My Introduction to the Trail

My first backpacking trip was with Boy Scout Troop 44 out of Blacksburg, VA. It was the first backpacking trip for a lot of us, actually; Troop 44 was known not for hiking but for cooking. Under the tutelage of the great Arthur "Torchy" Walrath, who literally wrote the book on camp cooking (check out Camp Cookery for Small Groups at Amazon.com), Troop 44 became the Bobby Flay of the Blue Ridge Mountain District.

The hike was part of an attempt at the BSA's 50 Miler Award: if you travel 50 miles by foot or by float (or a combination of both), spend a certain number of nights out in the woods, and do a service project, then you too can get the BSA's 50 Miler Award and sew the patch onto your pack. Wear it with pride.

Our 50 miler was a combination float/foot attempt. We went about 25 miles down the New River in canoes, and would do the rest on first by hiking on the AT. On the second day of the trip we hopped out of our canoes near Pearisburg and hoofed it towards one of the mountains towering over the town, Angel's Rest.

The first day of walking was difficult. We had canoed 13 miles into the wind, had to wait for quite sometime for our packs to arrive, and then had to walk through Pearisburg to the base of Angel's Rest. By the time we got there it had started to rain (naturally). This filled me with fear, becuase the prevailing wisdom on Angel's Rest, as shared by the older scouts, was that it was akin to scaling the Matterhorn, the trail so steep in places that you could reach out and touch it. They were all exagerating of course, but Angel's Rest still does present a challenge. With all the rain coming down, how on earth would we ever make it to the top?

We were just about to start up when the trail was filled by a giant, towering over us in green rain gear with a HUGE pack. He was an older gentleman (50?) one his way into Pearisburg and he stopped for a spell to talk with us. We asked him where he was going and he told us.

Georgia.

He explained that he was thru-hiking the Appalachain Trail and that it ran from Maine to Georgia. It was the first I had ever heard of this. You may be surprised to know that, but remember I was 12, and when you are 12 there are a lot of things you don't know. Amazingly enough, I did meet some people during my hike who didn't realize the trail they were walking on extended for hundreds and hundreds of miles in both directions.

Anyway, the idea that one would chose to walk that far was mind blowing. I am not saying I vowed that day and there to hike the AT, but I thought that it must make for a great adventure. A seed definetly was planted.

I remember a lot about the first trip. The troop mothers had given every other person a stick of summer sausage, and it played havoc with our digestion and was a greasy burden. I am amazed that we were not attacked by bears. Everytime we stopped for a breather my Dad would go around with what remained of his summer sausage and knife and ask people if they wanted some, and cut you off a piece whether you wanted one or not.

My Dad also betrayed a skill for forecasting the weather, which I have learned in subsequent years is something he pays a fair amount of attention to, as do I. He became a kind of oracle. We would ask him if we should set up tents or if it would be okay to sleep under the stars, and he'd give us a judgement based on the clouds and the way the wind was blowing (or maybe he had spirited a radio along with him, I don't know). He was never wrong.

The hike wasn't easy. We didn't have the best equipment, we didn't have the most weight efficient food, we didn't know that we didn't need a good deal of what we had brought with us. One guy "got it". He was a cross country runner, a really good cross country runner, and obviously understood that in a game of distances lighter is better. You could pick up his pack with one finger. Even on my best days on the AT, I could never make such a boast.

In spite of the difficulties and many aches and pains, we were successful. To get the patch we had to camp out one additional night, and so we camped out at one of the Scoutmaster's houses. In an obvious lapse of judgement (a rare thing), they decided to show us "Deliverance", becuase one of the guys who we met while canoeing sort of looked like some guy playing the banjo on a bridge in the film. My glasses broke, and my Dad and I spent the entire movie trying to fix them. We couldn't find any screws so we had to track down some wire and tape; I think my Dad may have stalled on purpose so I couldn't watch the movie. For this I am grateful. It would have been too much. He's a good man.

So that was the first trip. There were more, and eventually there was a small group of scouts and leaders who had things pretty well figured out. When I started hiking the AT for keeps, I considered myself an avid hiker.

But as it turned out, I still had much to learn.

How is that for a cliffhanger! Stay tuned for more.

Some Basic Questions Answered

Before I start jibba-jabbering about the trail, its probably good to get some FAQs out of the way.

#1. Where is the trail, and how long is it?

The trail runs from Mount Kathadin, Maine, to Springer Mountain, Georgia. It runs through (let me see...) Maine, New Hampshire, Vermont, Massachusetts, Connecticut, New York, Pennsylvania, West Virginia (just barely), Virginia, Tennessee, North Carolina and Georgia.

Total distance actually varies from year to year based on measuring equipment and changes to the trail, but when I hiked it was about 2,170 miles.

#2. How long did it take?

About five and a half months. Started July 1, 2005, finished December 10, 2005.

#3. How many miles a day did you go?

I think if you actually take the length of the trail and divide it by the number of days I was out, it comes out to like 13 miles a day, but that includes a lot of zero days in towns and a lot of "nero" days (days where you don't go very far; for me, a nero became anything less than 7 miles. Why 7? I don't really know). I usually shot for 16 miles a day once I was in shape, and I could easily do over 20. My longest day was reckoned at 27.

#4. North or South?

Most people hike going North, starting in Georgia and heading up to Maine. Because I started the hike well after college graduation, in July, I started in Maine and went South. If you do start that late, the weather is much more favorable going south than north; Mount Kathadin usually closes in October due to snowfall.

#5. How much did your pack weigh?

I started out with probably 70 lbs fully loaded (includes food and water), which was way too much. By the time I was in Vermont I had it down to 45 fully loaded. At that point I no longer kept track. I think it inched up a bit when it got cold, but I changed out some of my gear for some lighter options and got it back down again some.

#6. Where did you poop?

In the woods with the bears.

Actually, on the trail there are shelters on the way. They are not much; typically a three sided structure with a roof. It will keep the rain off of you, as long as it isn't windy. Most of these shelters are fairly close to water sources AND they usually also have privies or outhouses.

They come in many different types. You got your classic outhouses, your octagons, your mouldering privies, your two-seaters. My favorite is the mouldering types, because they are typically open air and as long as people "flush" by tossing some duff into the privies when they are down they are less smelly. I will let you puzzle over what duff is. It may or may not be Homer Simpson's favorite beer.

#7. What did you eat?

For the most part, I ate anything that could be cooked by adding hot water. Freeze dried meals, Ramen noodles, some pastas, things like that. In addition, I usually had trail mix, a jar of peanut butter, grape kool-aid, cocoa, and many, many many energy bars. Snickers bars, actually, provide the most energy on the dollar.

In town I ate what ever I could get my hands on.

#8. Down or synthetic?

I started off using a synthetic sleeping bag, but I am definitely a fan of goose down now. I met people on the trail who ended up going in the other direction.

#9. Nude Hiking Day?

I think nude hiking day is in June, and it is usually something the northbounders (i.e. people hiking from Georgia to Maine) do to break up the monotony of hiking. So I missed it. Didn't stop me from trying one day anyway. Didn't catch on for me.

#10. Wow, really? Did you run into anyone, that would be embarrassing

No shit. I've actually read that if you are going to hike nude, its best to do it in a small group of people, mixed gender if possible. Otherwise you just look like someone who really, really loves nature. Thankfully, I picked a day and a place where I didn't expect to meet anyone, and I was right.

I did, however, definetly got caught once skinny dipping...not really skinny dipping, but rather just having a wash in a stream. That is a story in and of itself.

#11. Did you hike alone?

Sort of. I didn't have a dedicated hiking partner. In the beginning, there was plenty of northbounders coming up the trail so I usually had company at night. Sometimes I would hike with some southbounders for a few days, and finally towards the end I hiked with a couple whose hiking style matched mine fairly well (Bad Cheese, Stalecrackers, if you are out there give me a shout!)

There was a large portion of the trail where I did hike very much alone, from Pennsylvania well into Virginia. It was not fun.

#12. Dude, I got more questions, but the idea of you hiking nude...it's like burned this image into my brain. Somethings are better left unsaid, you know?

Hey, I didn't ask the question.

#13. You should have lied.

Fair enough. We'll pick this up at a later time. It's late anyway, and I have to be getting to bed.

#14. I'll bet you are going to tell me you sleep in the nude too.

Har har.

New Years Resolution

Woah woah woah. I know what you are thinking. I mean, here I am, I've got this holiday blog series going and I haven't updated it since around thanksgiving, and I skipped Christmas entirely and now its time for New Year's Day? What gives?

I guess "what gives" is that the holiday posts turned out to be, for me at least, a bit of a disappointment. I mean, I got to talk about Neil Diamond and gripe about Christmas, but it seems that for about a month that is all that everyone DOES. Christmas is either too long or too short, its too secular, its too religious, its too commercial, its not turning out to be the boon our economy expected, etc. etc. All my series did was add to that, and in the end I didn't really want to.

For what its worth, I did have a good Christmas. For me, the really festive part of Christmas runs from Festivus Day (23rd) to Boxing Day (the 26th -- usually a downer, but saved because in Britain they play lots of soccer on Boxing Day and its fun to watch). Chruch on Christmas Eve was great (maybe the best Christmas Eve service I have ever seen), my family managed to come over in spite of the snow and I got to see my Brother for the first time in probably a year, I got to watch my daughter discover the joy that is ripping into holiday wrapping paper, and my wife made the best turkey I have ever had. Ever.

But now that the 27th is looming, its time to think about wrapping up the year. That means its time for New Years Resolutions! I have three:

1. Get more sleep. Right now on a typical night I am getting about 5 to 5.5 hours. Not enough. While everyone recommends 7-8 I unfortunately don't think I have enough time, so I am aiming for 6-6.5 hours everynight.

2. Turn it off. I am going to try to get by this year without CNN or any other 24 hour news network. That also means no more CNN.com. It's a protest against the 24 hour news cycle. I'm going to try to read the paper more and the economist, and I will still listen to NPR. Caveat: if North Korea invades South Korea, CNN is coming on.

3. Lose some weight. Yeah, I hear you laughing. But I really do need to get serious about getting to a healthy weight. I hope to lose a stone this year (that'd be 12 pounds (I think)), and if that goes well maybe another stone next year. I even plan to get a gym membership. Still laughing? Yeah, I thought so.

And that's it, but that's plenty. I don't intend to keep you guys up to date on how any of these resolutions is going (unless something awesome happens in relation to them), but I felt like sharing. It seems like a fitting way to end the holiday series, the first (and last?) that I have ever attempted.

Happy New Year!

Trail Day!

I regret that I was unable to make a post on December 10. I am in the middle of preparing for a final exam for school (Masters Degree program in Naval Arch. from VT, if you are curious), and with a job and a family and Christmas looming in the distance and all the preperations THAT entails, there just wasn't enough time to sit down and write.

I regret it though, becuase December 10th is a day that I hold close to the heart, right up there with my anniversary, my wife's birhtday (which I better not forget) and my daughter's birthday (which I could never forget).

It is an important day for me becuase December 10, 2005, was the day that I finished the Appalachian Trail. It was the end of of a 2,170 mile journey that began at Mount Kathadin, Maine, on July 1 of that same year. It is a journey that I can sum up in one word: Incredible.

And of course, one word is not enough to describe it. Before I left my Grandmother asked me if I was going to write a book about my upcoming hike during a farewell lunch at Red Lobster (her choice, not mine...though cheddar biscuits can also be described with one word: scrumdidillyumptious). And I told her no, becuase it is something that has been done many times. I used the example of Bill Bryson's "Walk in the Woods", though I am not sure Bryson spent enough time out in the woods to really capture the essance of making a thru-hike.

Then when I was done with the trail I thought that maybe I could write a book about it, but the words simply would never come.

For the longest time, it seemed there was nothing really to talk about. The trail is generally thought of as a life changing experience - and for many it is. There are books (see, it has been done before) about people who have gone on the trail and have their entire perspective altered. They go out and see God in the nature around them and they go home and become ministers. Or they become so in love with the journey that the only way for them to deal with it is to keep going, and they end up hiking the trail 3, 4, 5 times, to the point where they understand every rock and stream as one undesrstands an old and intimate friend.

Me? Not so much. If any changes happened, they were small; the trajectory of my life remained essentially unaletered. And that is an aspect of my hike that I found frustrating at times. God never decscended to meet me on the mountain top so that he and I could play chess (though I hear he much prefers Battleship) - though I will toss a bone to my spiritually inclined friends and say that I did feel often a profound sense of grace and thankfulness (though not in a mushy "I love you Jesus baby" kind of way...more on this in a later post).

I also thought maybe I would "find myself" or achieve oneness with nature. As far as being one with nature is concerned, nothing could be farther from the truth. I often felt very much ill at ease with Mother Nature, like I was a guest in her home who had overstayed his welcome. Her house is beautiful, don't get me wrong, but I found myself tiptoeing quietly through it trying very hard not to break anything. My relationship to nature was reverent and intensely respectful, but I felt we were always at odds.

As far as finding myself, I don't know who I was supposed to find. I realized late on that the entire hike had been a reflection of who I was. It was meticulously planned, tenaciously (if somewhat patiently) pursued, tightly organized. But I was also incredibly flexible in changing plans and shifting intermediate goals, and I did take time to enjoy my surroundings. People told me that I should be a little more free spirited. That I should fold up the map and linger a little longer in town or on the trail. And sometimes I think I should have, sometimes I wonder if I should have had more fun. But it's something I simply couldn't do; something I have never been able to do. I hiked with every fiber of being of my being, giving it everything I had until the end, just hanging on -- becuase believe me, as awesome as it was, it was very difficult many, many times.

I threw myself back into the business of living life when I returned - got a job, got married to my at that time girlfriend (who was finishing her junior year of college while I was away), had a family. All of these are great things, but by doing so I am not so sure I got the chance to process the hike.

Well, after 5 years of thinking about it, I think I have something to say at last, and this Blog seems like a good platform to do it in. I don't know if what I have is worthy of a book -- but maybe if this goes well I can gather my thoughts into some sort of body of work.

But that really isn't the point. Since I have gotten off the trail one thing has changed - there is this incredible desire to talk about the trip to anyone who will listen. Maybe its a way of reliving a wonderful 5 and half months; maybe its a way to keep those memories alive. My friends and my wife are tired of hearing about it, so guess what?

You're next.

Books You May Not Like -- Two Military Histories

In this nation over the past few years, history has become much like the Bible; many know of it, few read it, even fewer let it influence their lives. The Evangelists on Fox News talk about history's message has been corrputed by forward thinkers and use it to point out our nation's many sins.

Now, I am not a historical literalist. Just because the Founding Fathers didn't envision an EPA or things like women voting doesn't mean it shouldn't happen.

So if that is the case, what meaning does history have? Well, just some people feel that Bible is not a literal rule book but rather a medium for the Holy Spirit to speak to us, so I do I feel that a study of history can throw our current times into relief. It's not going to give you any answers, but it does provide a prism through which our times - and even ourselves - can be viewed.

As a case in point, take a couple books that I have recently read that you may not like (if you don't like history...especially straight military history...you may not like these books).

For the first: "The Bitter Woods", by John D. Eisenhower, which is about the German offensive in the Ardennes in December 1944, commonly known as the Battle of the Bulge. For those of you who don't rememer, Hitler made a great last gamble, going on the offensive after the Allied armies had stalled in front of the Rhine. His thinking was that Allied command would be split and slow to react to a major offensive, and he underestimated the fighting qualities of American soldiers (the attack is a section of front held by Americans). Though the attack did cause some friction in command, US forces reacted quickly and fought with incredible alacrity. By December 26th the Germans had been halted, and by the middle of January The Bulge had been closed and reduced.

It is a very detailed account, with Eisenhower discussiong operations down to a batallion and occasionally even company level, and very much a military history in that there are lots of "X's and O's". The stories of the defenses of St. Vith and Bastogne are incredible stories of tenacity, of how crisis was turned into an astounding success, is really rather inspiring.

It comes at a cost, of course. Too much of a cost. Sometimes its not easy to see the human element behind the X's and O's, but occasionally Eisenhower describes an action with great vividness, particulary around Bastogne, in a way that captures the brutality of the fighting in horrible conditions.

For the other book, "Valley of Death" by Ted Morgan, misery is writ large. The book is about the French-Indochina war, fought in Vietnam in the early 1950's, but it focuses on the battle of Dien Ben Phu. At Dien Ben Phu, a French force made up of mostly Moroccans, Southern Vietnamese, and German Legionaires found itself surrounded by Northern Vietnamese in a "hedgehog" base that was supposed to be resupplied by air. The Vietnamese held the high ground and were able to haul heavy artillery up the heights piece by piece, much to the surprise of the French. It was a fairly hopeless situation, and about half the book detials the diplomancy conducted by France to try to get extra help from Britain and the US in the form of air strikes and support which seemed to be the garrison's only hope.

The French War aims were a little odious; they were concerned mostly with the restoration of French prestige. And yes, they probably should have never been at Dien Ben Phu at the first place, as the goals were to defned Camboida (or was it Thailand?) and conduct offensive operations; the first goal was merely political and not realistic, and the second was proven impossible.

The conditions under which the battle were fought stagger the mind. One of the things about the Ardennes was that the basic rules of war seemed, for the most part, to be followed. One manifestation of this is that during an action occasionally there was a truce to clear wounded from the filed and evacuate them to the rear. The French were given no such luxury at Dien Ben Phu. Aside from a few pauses there was no let up in the bombardment and planes were for the large part not allowed to land by Vietnamese anti-air batteries. As such there was no way to evacuate the wounded. The dead were left unburried. There was no relief and few reinforcements (though it is amazing that even once the situation was beyond hope there were Frenchmen -- yes, Frenchmen -- still willing to volunteer to be dropped in to the fight). When one legionarre was wounded during an attack towards the end of the battle and saw his comrades coming to assist him, he drew out his revolver and shot himself so that they might not risk their lives in saving him.

It was one of the saddest books I have ever read.

Now, the US is fighting, still, dual wars in far off lands. You can't make a comparison between Dien Ben Phu and Iraq or Afghanistan, but that is not the point. Sometimes, even in a 24 hr news cycle (maybe espeially in a 24 hour news cycle), it is possible to forget how tragic war is and how much we ask of our military. And that's why reading books like this from time to time is a good thing to do: it throws a relief on our times and helps me remember.

So, what's next for me? Fiction. Wonderful, wonderful, mindless fiction. It is Christmas, afterall.

Advent is here! Hooray??

Don't have too much to say about Thanksgiving, honestly, which may seem odd seeing as how I have spent a good deal of the previous holiday posts griping about how early Christmas comes. You'd think I would be more about giving Thanksgiving its due.

But I'm not much of a Thanksgiving guy. It is a day I tend to look forward to with some level of dread, only becuase there is usually some major hassle associated with the day, be it cooking or cleaning or traveling. Now, it is nothing compared to the hassle of Christmas itself, with the gift buying and the house decorating layered on top of cooking and traveling, but for some reason at Christmas it seems justified. Thanksgiving...well, it just doesn't seem worth the trouble.

And yet it always turns out that it is worth it one way or another, and I always end up actually enjoying the day when it arrives.

So, that's Thanksgiving. This year we went to Stanton to see my wife's family and we were treated to a dinner that was huge and seeming effortless...but that's probably becuase we arrived one hour before dinner was served.

After Thanksgiving I went to my 10th year high school reunion, which was a blast. I was a little skeptical about it becuase it was held in a bar in Blacksburg, but that turned out to be a fantastic idea. $15 got you in with two drinks and some hoursderves, there were no planned activities or speeches, just people drinking the beverage of their choice and catching up. If anyone out there is planning a reunion, I would highly recommend having a casual event at a good bar. Thank you to everyone who planned the reunion and put it on, it was great.

So, after that comes the Christmas season in earnest, and while it would be easy to focus on the melee that is Black Friday, I find I would rather step insdie the Church.

It is, of course, the first week of Advent. We don't do it so much in the Lutheran Chruch, but I remember in the Episcopal Church I went to growing up we would sing some of the versus of O Come O Come Emmanuel every week, which is a wonderful but sort of dreary hymn that aches with the longing for a Messiah.

I say it's dreary, and Advent is a bit of a dreary time in the mainstream Christian Church. It stands in stark contrast to the commercialized month-long spending orgy going on outside the Church doors, and I reckon it even stands in contrast to the more Christian carols dripping with honey over a perfect newborn babe that you can buy in plastic format for your Fontanini nativity sets.

I didn't notice this when I was a child becuase I was too busy looking at the advent wreath and contemplating the weeks left until Christmas, but Advent is the one time of year that the mainline Church really talks about the end of days; a scary prospect for us becuase we're not sure really what that means, and our faiths are perhaps allow for too much moral and metaphysical relativity to assure ourselves of our own salvation.

It all serves to remind us that the world is still a dark place. It may not be as dark as when Mary and Joseph traveled to Bethlehem under the prejudiced eyes of Roman Centurians, but it's still a pretty dreary place when you stop and reflect.

When I look at the Advent wreath these days, I don't find myself counting the Sundays left until Christmas, but rather I end up focusing on the small flame that flickers in defiance symbolizing the hope we as Christians - as any people of faith, really - place in God.

And if this season has a "reason" beyond getting gifts and seeing friends and family, to me that is it. I don't know if I beleive in the virgin birth or even in the whole thing with the manger. But I do believe that Christ is the light of the World, the light which no darkness can overcome, and on Christmas Day, in the midst of the darkness of winter, that is what we who believe gather together to celebrate.

And the dark season of Advent makes that hope burn all the brighter. Reflect, prepare, meditate, and on Christmas Day light a candle against the darkness, give thanks to God, and go and eat some Figgy Pudding.

An Epic Christmas Tale of Daring Do!

In my last post (last couple of posts, actually), I have been openly snarky about Brian Setzer and his so called orchestra. That is perhaps unfair; he's got great talent and, hey, it's Christmas. Nobody likes a Grinch, yeah?

Besides, Brian Setzer doesn't deserve my Christmas Carol acrimony. No, that honor goes to only one man: Neil Diamond.

Which brings us tonights story! Gather round kiddos, and I shall tell ye a tale of Christmas daring do that will make ye spine quiver!

Now normally I would present you with a total make-em-up. Not today. I didn't have the time to really make anything up. I got to admit: didn't really plan well for this holiday post-a-palooza. If I did, I would already have had something written. Sitting down at the computer and just writing whatever pops into the head just doesn't seem to work anymore.

So the truth is probably best here and here it is: Once upon a time my Mom bought Neil Diamond's Christmas Album (1992) and we listened to it a lot. A LOT. Now, we were by no means a wealthy family nor we were on the cutting edge of 90's technology, but we did by that time have a tape deck in the car so it was something the rest of us could not escape.

Truth be told, I don't remember much of the album, excpet that I found his rendition of the "Little Dummer Boy" to be...too much. Not too loud, nor too enthusiastic, but he tried to give it too much gravitas. Gravitas indded. They are Rump-a-pumps for goodness sake! It was a little funny at first, but after a month or so it got old.

So one day, after hearing a few too many Rump-a-pum-pums, I stole the tape from its place next to the stereo and I hid it somehwere. I beleive I fully intended to return it but I could never remember where I put it.

I can't say I was TOO sorry, but Mom got her revenge by buying Neil Diamonds "The Christmas Album 2", which, typical of sequels, was not as good as the first. Knowing better this time around, she kept in under lock and key.

As for the first album, we never saw it again. But some say that on moonlit Christmas nights a ghostly presence hanuts the homes near Price's Fork, and you might see a hint of a lone cassette tape in the road, just for a moment. But by the time you think "My God, was that a cassette tape? I haven't seen one of those in ages" and go back to look it's gone, replaced by a deep feeling of icy foreboding which curdles into fear as a soft (yet distinct) "Rump-a-pum-pum" meets your ear in the cold, dark winter air.

Wow. I'm certianly frightented. And as a post script I got to admit that my opinon of him considerably improved when Neil Diamond played himself in "Saving Silverman". I get the sense that old Neil probably doesn't take himself to seriously if he was willing to be a part of that comedeic feast, and that is a quality that I can admire in anyone no matter how I feel about their music.

Oh yeah: "Coming to America"? Not a bad song.

Commo-Nazis!

So...the MLS cup is on (Hey! It's Jurgen Klinsman!) Bryan Setzer has popped up out of rabbit hole to offer us some jazzy Christmas tunes and Fox News is accusing NPR of being Nazis. The air is crisp, cashiers at Wal-Mart are strengthening their defensive positions, and I am sharpening my credit cards.

*Shhhh!* What's that? Do you hear that? It's Christmas.

And that? It's the sound of Glenn Beck calling Mrs. Sally Shelmerston of Fascism. The reason? Eh, he doesn't need one.

Actually I guess I should offer a correction on the spot; Fox News beating on the Nazi drum doesn't necessarily mean its Christmas as it happens every day. But if Glenn Beck gets a big lump of coal in his stocking for...mmm...stretching the truth, don't be surprised if he has a special edition of his show on Christmas Day with a big dose of hot, stinking truth for you.

Santa Claus: Nazi. Even worst, a communist Nazi.

Think about it. Red is the color of communism. He distributes toys to every good girl and boy no matter what their socio-economic class. And just where was he between 1939 and 1945 when where those no Christmas? Some say that he couldn't fly his sleigh around due to the war, and that his elves swtiched from toy production to war production (they made socks for...guess who...THE USSR!), but Glenn Beck will no doubt note that Santa Claus wears black boots. Guess who else wore black boots? THE WAFFEN SS! Kris Kringle? Huh. Try Kristopher Kringlemann. Yeah, on Christmas Day 1944 Santa was sitting in a tiger tank advancing on Bastogne (he was lucky to survive that day, actually...the German column that penetrated the US defenses on was cut to ribbons).

Never mind the fact that communists and Fascists (god, it would really help make my case if I could spell Fas...that word) are opposing ideologies as can be seen on the Eastern Front (though it might not have mattered...Hitler (and Santa) hated the Russians), but such details are simply not important.

I'm watching you Santa....actually, I'm not watching you. But Glenn Beck is. So be careful...

Christmas Music

Veterans Day when I was growing up was not a day I used to pay a large amount of attention to, I'll be honest. That is certainly something that has changed over the last decade, but when I was a kid the only things that really mattered about Veterans Day where:

1. My Dad was (is -- he's not dead!!) a US Navy Veteran

2. I knew that Veterans Day was started as a way to commemorate Armistice Day which ended World War I, and on this day I would invariably think about how stupid it was that fighting continued right up to the armistice to the very last second. That hasn't changed, especially when this year my Dad sent me an article about the last known deaths of World War I.

3. For a while when I was a kid, the day after Veterans Day, 11/12, was the day on which it was acceptable for my Mom to start playing Christmas Carols around the house. She just loved Christmas so much. Still does (she's not dead!), but I think now she holds off until a more appropriate day after Thanksgiving.

I myself approach Christmas music with a little trepidation. I am an old fashioned kind of guy, so I tend to enjoy the good old Old World Hymns, being sung by choirs of quality. When I listen to "The Holly and the Ivy" or "In Dulci Jubilo" I find myself magically transported back to old England and the Christmases I remember from the many renditions of "A Christmas Carol" I have seen on television. And then I realize I am in a bad part of town, and the sky is black with soot from the boot blacking factories, and a strange figure has been stalking me for a few blocks, and Hey! Some dasterdly little ragamuffin has made off with my wallet! Maybe this time travel thing is not such a good idea after all, what what!...

So yes, the classic choir songs are great. But I also like the carols as sung by the men and women from the golden age of radio. The Bing Crosby's, the Frank Sinatras, the Nat King Cole's, the Women from the Golden Age of Radio's. I know they are nostalgic, but they sound really, really good. The sound like...dare I say it...yes, I will...Christmas. And Pavarotti singing "O Come all ye Faithful"? Melts my heart everytime. Everytime.

On the flip side of the coin, there is the music of today, which like an old man from a simpler time I can never get comfortable with becuase in spite of my efforts to be hip and with it I just don't understand becuase it frightens me. No, strike that, it doesn't frighten me, it simply annoys me.

Why? For one, I think everyone these days tries too hard. The classic versions of these songs are so well known that I think artists who try to make a Christmas album today go to great lengths to try and add something new, try to make it their own, and for me it usually falls flat. Sometimes the results are pretty funny (I love nothing more than to hear a singer give it their all on "The Little Drummer Boy" and indulge in a couple of over-enthusiastic Rump-a-pum-pums"), but often its just like "what the hell where you thinking?"

Second - Manheim Steamroller. Just tone it down a notch, fellas. Let us drink our Christmas tea in peace.

Third - Brian Setzer and his "orchestra", who really only pops up around Christmas to give concerts at Rockafeller Center like a little Christmas mole, only to be whacked down again by an unappreciative public.

A special meassage to my good friend Mr. Setzer: Don't worry, Brian Setzer. Santa may be dead to me but I belive in you and your swing revolution, though I can't dance for shit. 1997 was a great year. We'll get it back baby. We'll get it back.

So..You may be starting to think that I am a Grinch. That, perhaps, I have a heart two sizes to small. Perhaps you are right, but history (as captured in the rest of these posts) will have to judge that.

And that is going to have to about do it for this one. A little teaser for you: Keeping on the theme of Christmas Music, the next post is a daring tale of a little Christmas audacity that involves a special guest and long time friend of the Blog (not really, please don't sue me Neil), Mr. Neil Diamond.

Since I did note that Mr. Diamond is not my friend, I may as well make a full disclosure and say I am also not Mr. Setzer's friend, or rather he is not my friend. I am sure if we got to know each other, we would hit it off, except for the fact that in spite of what I said before I am a part of the unappreciative public that happily sends him back down the molehole on December 26th. In short, I lied. It is true that I can't dance though.

One time, one time my wife and I went to this place to learn how do to an Argentinian Tango (which if you can't dance is a really bad idea), and the instructor assumed we had some knowledge of the mystery of the Tango. I got paired up with this cougar who, after a few bars, refused to dance with me, didn't even want to stoop down to my level to try and help me out. The experience left me in tears, and my ballroom dancing days were over.

Gosh, that was personal. And since we are telling the truth, I don't know if the woman I was dancing with was necessarly a cougar (i.e. a woman over 40 seeking sexual relations with a man (or woman?) at least 8 years her junior). If she was really a Cougar though, she certainly wouldn't have had me based on the thought that perfomance on the dance floor is often considered indicative of one's sexual prowess. That may have been the most painful thing of all.

Is it still called prowess if you are a man? That makes no sense to me.

The World Turned Upside Down Part II

What?? Gwyneth Paltrow is now a country singer, and is going to be performing at the CMA music awards?? Seriously??

The world turned upside down indeed! How long was a I underwater for? Did I surface in some sort of alternate reality? And what would happen if I met "Bizarro Nick", who I assume is an Englishman with decidedly American tastes? Would we both simply cease to exist, or would we be hurled into another dimension where we would join forces in battle against the Dark Lord Katulu and save the Universe?

So many questions, one simple answer: Paltrow plays a country music singer in her latest movie, and I guess performing at the CMAs is a way for her to generate buzz or simply show us once again while she is so awesome (and she really is, I think she's a great actress). According to the very, very little I have actually read about this (which fully qualifies me to talk about it on the blogosphere), she actually learned to play the guitar and took singing lessons and is ready to rock the awards show with a performance.

So good for you, Gwyneth Paltrow. And good for me too, becuase it seems as though I am still safely in the world I know and, for the most part, love.

...Or am I?

The World Turned Updside Down

As I boarded the submarine (yes, I was on a submarine...won't say which one, won't say where it was going, won't say what I was doing there. But I was on a submarine. God's honest truth) I took a look at the dark cloudy sky and wondered: what is the world going to be like when I disembark?

Will it be a world where the Giant's won the World Series? Would the republicans win the day? Would we surface to nuclear winter, realize we are the only people left alive on the planet, and be saddened by the slow realization that it will be impossible to carry the species forward becuase the Navy doesn't allow women to serve on submarines (a short sighted policy, that)? Or would we arrive back in port under the banner of heaven, world peace proclaimed, and Christ himself there to say thanks, but our services are no longer required?

The answers: yes, yes, no, are you serious?

So yeah, I wasn't around to watch the republican wave sweep over this country. Am I sad by this? Eh, a little. I take a little consolation from the fact that O'Donnel and Angle didn't win...but I don't see a good two years ahead. The fact that I tuned into the Glenn Beck program on the way home today and he had already stopped gleefully clucking over the election and was instead complaining about Obama's entourage that is accompanying him to India...well, it just feels like this period of intense partisanship is never, ever going to end. I am so, so tired of it.

Oh yeah, and apparently it's Christmas. The holiday decorations are up in the Target, the Christmas cups are out at the Starbucks, and channel 952 is playing non-stop Christmas carols on Music Choice.

Now, good people, do not worry. I am not going to get up on my soapbox and beat my breast and tear my robes about the fact that Christmas (or simply "THE HOLIDAYS" if you prefer) come earlier and earlier every year. No. I've done that before, and it didn't do any good.

But I am sorry that I missed halloween.

Except for a few years in middle school where I was too old to trick or treat and to young to go to actual halloween parties, halloween has always been pretty good. When I was a kid my Dad would take me around trick or treating and I would come back with a pillow case full of candy that would last until Easter. When I was in college I would attend the annual unofficial LSM halloween party. And now my daughter, while she doesn't really quite understand the concept of trick or treat yet (I think), apparently still had a really good time walking around the neighborhood with Trish and a bucket full of candy. I wish I could have seen it.

Halloween maybe is the last true "holiday". Back in the day, at Christmas, the social order inverted itself and conventions of good behaviour flew out the window. Servants became masters, tenements demanded the best ale from their Lords, and merriment generally flowed in a time when life was hard and joy was in short supply.

Halloween sort of captures that spirit. We flaunt FDA recommendations and gorge ourselves on candy. We watch ridiculous zombie movies. We get drunk at costume parties. Women wear tawdry costumes. All of this flies in the face of convention - Though I suppose there is nothing to stop us these days from eating poorly, dressing sluttily, or drinking large quantities of alocohol at parties. But the spirit of the thing seems to make it a real holiday. We relax our mores, don our costumes, and for one night the dead walk the earth. The world is turned upside down.

The Rally!

Well, I made a post out of Glen Beck's Rally, so I may as well write something about John Stewart's rally, in order that I might remain, as they say, fair and balanced.

But its not something I take on easily. You may have noticed a lack of posts lately. There are two reasons for this:

1. I've been ridiculously busy lately. I have been too strapped for time/too tired to really sit down and write.

2. I have recntly suffered from a....how should I put this? A loss of mojo? A loss of confidence? Writer's block? I realized that I had let myself get too wrapped up in politics, and I also realized that on some of the issues I really have nothing to say becuase I don't really know what I am talking about. Of course, that doesn't stop most pundits...but I don't want to be a pundit. So I have had nothing to write about, and I don't know where this blog is headed. But if there are less politics, it may be going to a better place.

That being said, I need a few minutes to gush over this rally. Aside from the fact that the first hour was pretty much a concert by "The Roots", I really enjoyed it, at least the parts that I got to see.

Like Beck's rally, Stewart's rally was, on the face of things, not overly political. At least I would say so. Sure, there is no question Stewart and his cohorts are at least left of center. But if these guys were satirizing anything today, it is the tone of the rhetoric, not conservative opinion or a subset of that population. Stewart didn't attack ideas or opinions but rather the way they are being presented on 24 hour news channels and by our leaders. And if Fox News is a part of that, well, they deserve it. But CNN and MSNBC are also a big part of that too, and they desrve a shot across the bows as well. I'd say Stweart was pretty even handed.

The similarities end there. Beck's rally was perhaps for a higher purpose. Stewart's was really just his show in a rally format. But Stewart's had way better music, cooler guests (hotter guests? Depends on how you think Sarah Palin stacks up against Cheryl Crow), and was way, way funnier.

A lot of people have been asking just what John Stewart is these days. Is he a mere satirist? A comedian? A journalist? A pundit? A sort of a mix of all these? I don't know about all that, but I will tell you what I think he is: awesome.

Huzzah to you, John, and I hope you stick around at the Daily Show for a few more years.

Books You May Not Like -- Pride and Prejudice and Zombies

When I first heard that some dude (a Mr. Seth Grahame-Smith) had taken Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice and added a liberal dose of violent, gory, zombie mayhem, I was naturally incredulous. How dare someone sully a great work with such terrible kitsch, all in the name of making a buck! I was actually angry that NPR mentioned it on that awful "Wait Wait Don't Tell Me" show I used to listen to, and almost became one of those equally awful people who have nothing better to do than write angry letters to editors, producers, and talk show hosts. And when I say letters, I mean letters. Signed, sealed, and delivered by liveried servants.

So I forgot about it. But it seemed, after a year or so, that it was everywhere I turned. When I was trying to find my wife a book she might enjoy for Christmas, I searched on Amazon for things other people who liked Jane Austen purchased, and there it was. And it was a New York Times Bestseller!

Still, it was a book I was too prejudiced to pick-up, but at last my pride (ha-HA!) was overcome in a Walmart when at last the medium sized volume and I came face to face in the form of a paperback. I couldn't resist. I was horrified by some of the prints of zombies eating Mr. Bingley's household staff, but when I flipped ahead a bit and found out that Lady Catherine's character was attended to by a host of ninjas, that sealed the deal. For you see, my cultural snobidity has only one real weak point, one chink in the armor of aloofness: Ninjas.

So I bought the book, and I held off on reading it until Halloween, as it seemed appropriate.

So...how was it?

Well, pretty good, actually. This is more than a [insert Zombie attack here] kind of job. The characters themselves and the very landscape have been altered by a zombie plague that has held England hostage for over fifty years. Elizabeth Bennet is striking, witty, and extremely proficient in the deadly arts, which she learned from her father and from time in the Orient. Mr. Darcy, likewise, was trained in Japan and is reknown for the many Zombies he has killed for King and Country. Lady Catherine is haughty old bitch of a Zombie fighter, who instead of chiding Elizabeth for her family's lack of a governess instead belittles her for the fact that they trained in China. All of them have their characters and diaologe in the book altered to account for this different, more violent history.

And it is shockingly violent, even though all the dinners and teas are still charmingly formal. Elizabeth manages to strangle one of Lady Catherine's ninjas with his own entrails. Mr. Wickham is rendered lame by Mr. Darcy as part of the deal that secures his marriage with Lydia Bennet. Lady Catherine and Miss Bennet duel to the death. And so much more.

That being said, the zombies are hardly scary to read about. What is scary about this book? The cover. Christ have mercy on us, the cover. I couldn't leave the book face up at night, for fear that the half-eaten young woman on the cover would stagger out of the book and enjoy me for a midnight snack. Even now it's turned face down on the table, and I am casting a wary glance over my shoulder, as if writing this unspeakable horror would make it come true. And if it's like half light the cover looks even worse....It freaks me out. Seriously.

But the truly amazing thing about this book is that in general much of Austen's words are left and the general plot is all her own, and at the end of the book as Mr. Darcy and Miss Bennet declare their love for each other I felt as mesmerized as I did when I read the regular Pride and Prejudice. Even when pretty much ruined as a classic by a horde of the undead, Austen's writing and her general story shine through, and that is a true testament to her work.

I'll close by answering some the disucssion questions in the back. After that I'm going to toss this book into a bonfire and sprinkle the ashes with Holy Water. You just can't be too careful.

#3.

The strange plague has been the scourge of England for "five and fifty years." Why do the English stay and fight, rather than retreat to the safety of eastern Europe or Africa?

Answer: Becuase they are the fucking Enlgish. It's just the way they are.

#6. Some critics have suggested that the zombies represent the authors' views toward marriage -- an endless curse that sucks the life out of you and just won't die. Do you agree, or do you have another opinion about the symbolism of the unmentionables?

Answer: I disagree with the marriage argument, becuase the amount of zombies in the book decreases as marriage for Elizabeth and her sisters becomes more likely. It is when they are most likely not to be married well, at the beginning of the book, that the zombies are at their most AND, incidentally, at their worst. At the end, when all is settled, there are fewer zombies about and they are easier to quell.

I think instead the zombies represent the social change about to be wrought by the industrial revolution. No matter how hard the aristocracy fights against the tides of history, no matter how hard they try to keep burying the emerging middle class, they just keep coming back and eventually the entire landscape of Britain will be changed. The aristocracy is doomed in this book by a zombie horde. In real life the steam engine sounded its death knell. You know it will take a while, but it will happen eventually. Graham-Smith and Ms. Austen obviousl realized that, and this book is taken as a warning to them.

#7. Does Mrs. Bennet have a single redeeming quality?

Answer: No.

You're Ruining it for Everyone

Once, when I was a lad, studying engineering at Virginia Tech, my relatively bleak college life of studying and agonizing over exams and eating and occasionally hiking and less often partying (though I'm not sure I would ever say that I really "partied" in the classical sense of the word) was punctuated by the bacchanlistic madness of attending Virginia Tech football games. I tried to go to as many games as I could, because I loved the atmosphere (especially if the game was a real nail-biter) and it was a great experience to share with the friends you were sitting with.

Yes, in spite of the opening of this post, I had plenty of friends. Actually, college really wasn't that bad. It's called hyperbole. If you want to see a good example of how it is used (though I wish this wasn't the case), turn on any cable news network.

Anyway, Tech Football. Decadence on a grand scale. I used to look out over the parking lot in front of the engineering buildings on the edge of campus, and the sight reminded me always of the bivouac of a tremendous medieval army. Flags flying everywhere. Multi-colored tents and awnings set up adjacent to RV's and SUV's that have an uncanny resemblance to the regal wagons of yore. And the smoke! Good God man, look at the smoke! Smoke billowing out from hundreds of grills and cooking fires. I'd be staggered at the thought of the mass quantities of flesh being roasted, the huge flagons of beer being downed! All you need is a few jesters, some trumpets, and some sacuy wenches fit for sporting and you'd have a scene fit for a King!

So tailgating wasn't for me.

And yeah. That's the post for this week. Thanks for coming. We'll see you next time.

Excuse me? You've never been to a tailgate? Seriously? Well, its easy enough to recreate. All you have to do is go out into the parking lot, fire up a the ol' grill, toss on some meat (preferably circular in nature) and crack open a beer. If anyone looks at you funny just shout at them that Tech is going to kick their asses this afternoon, and give a hollar.

Sorry? You've never been to a GAME?? Well, that is something we shall have to rememdy. Here, take this copy of Slaughterhouse 5, click your heels three times, and say "Billy Pilgrim is unstuck in time, Looking for another word that rhymes, When I cook chicken I like to use thyme!"

You like those dope rhymes I just busted out on your assess, motha fuckas? I got plenty more, or at least one more. Beastie Boys: you got my number.

But not know. We've gone back in time to a cool, November afternoon, with maybe an hour to kickoff. And yeah, it's overcast, and it might rain later. I'm sorry. I can take you back in time, but I can't change the weather. Dude, who do you think I am? The Pope?

So I'll try to give you the experience from my persepective, and we better hurry. But we do have time to Shotgun this beer! Ready.....one...two...three....GO!

...That was awful. Anyways...

IT'S GAME TIME! LET'S DO THIS!

So you and your buds stagger down to the stadium and find your seats among a polyglot of plastered plebians but don't sit down becase REAL FANS DO NOT SIT DOWN! COME ON ALUMNI!!! STAND UP!!

And now it's time for team to come out, and this is actually really cool. No doubt you have seen it on TV, but if you haven't, basically when the team lines up in the tunnel the PA system starts blasting the openening few 20 seconds or so of "Enter Sandman-uh" by Metallica and everyone starts actually jumping up and down, keeping time with the song (I reckon its around 100 beats per minute or so). And then finally the team bursts out, charging onto the field to a thunderous roar and the quaint, old fashioned raising of caps by the Corps of Cadets.

It is awesome to be a part of, but if you are an engineering major you might be a little worried the first time you experience it. After all, most engineering students learn about resonance (if you excite a structure at its natural frequency bad stuff can happen. Just do a video search for Tacoma Narrows Bridge. You'll get the idea) So what gives?

You might start pointing your fingers at other people. But history majors who really immerse themselves in their history and veterans who are now in college will know that when an army marches across a bridge they break their step so as not to induce collapse due to resonance phenomena, so the concept isn't foreign to them. You think maybe you could blame English majors and theatre people, who probably wouldn't know about resoance. But there are not many of them at Tech and you wouldn't expect them necessarily to come out to the game anyway (too busy reading/participating in consensual thespian activities).

Failing to place blame, you think maybe you should inform those around you that if we are not careful we could bring down the whole stadium. But come on dude. Don't be a killjoy dork AGAIN! Besides, that beer you shotgunned has caught up with you and you are too buzzed to really care. At any rate, the moment has passed, the stadium is still standing, and all is well until next time.

So the game has begun, Tech winning the toss and electing to defer. Those hoping to see an epic clash of "Heads v. Tails" leave the stadium happy, Tech being victorious.

For those still at the stadium, Tech kicks off the ball and we're off! And you scream and shout at the top of your lungs as 22 men smash into each other with the force of small killer whales, their pads popping like the distant boom of cannons. On the thrid down you jingle your keys becuase that's what we do...no one knows why. But it works, becuase in no time at all it's fourth down and now you start praying to God that you will stop masturbating if only, IF ONLY, Tech blocks this punt, and admist a cacophany of sound God lifts his Garfield pencil to write your prmoise in his Hello Kitty Notebook, and he grudingly suspends the laws of physics for just a moment, forcing the punter to kick a few inches to the left of where he wanted so that number 52 can block the kick to the ground and Tech recovers on the WVU 25.

And you are happy. Oh! So happy! But you will be sorry later when your eternal soul is at the door to the Pearly Gates and St. Peter opens the Hello Kitty notebook. Trust me.

Well. Eternal damnation can wait for another day. While the teams are changing up and you exchange some high fives with your compatriots, let's take a Billy Pilgrimesque jaunt through time and look at number 52, hero of the moment. The announcer says his name but its quickly forgotten as the day goes on. He is a special teams grunt in his last year of eligibility with two degrees who is studying German to maintain his eligbility. He will foresake a Rhodes scholarship to join the Army, spending the next decade fighting for his country with the utmost valor. While you are waiting in line on November 26th to purchase a big screen TV at ridiculously low prices, 1st Lt. Number 52 will be killed by a road side bomb in Afghanistan. His name will be in the paper a few days later, and you will remark that that name rings a bell, and your heart will ache for a moment when you read about the wife and daughter that he left behind. But the heartache will pass like a little indigestion, and his name will be forgotten again by you and by most others.

Gosh. Its too depressing. Let's get back to the game!

A quiet, almost reverent hush falls over the crowd as the offense takes the field, led by the quarterback, the Great Number 8, who's name you can't ever forget because it's plastered onto the back of the jersey you are wearing over a VT sweatshirt. And even though he leaves Virginia Tech after two years without hardly setting foot in a classroom, and even though he never really buys into the altruistic stuff that most other NFL quarterbacks do, and even though his name is splahsed across the media for sex scandals and a bluegrass album that totally flopped and his comments concerning Upper Malakvian Refugees, he's still a hero because he can throw a ball and run pretty fast and, damn it, he wins football games. After stumbling a little he's back in the game on a new team and with a second chance you and I will never have becuase we can't throw and we're slow and damn it we DON'T win football games. You're convinced of his sincerity. You just bought the new jersey last weekend and ironically enough you're wearing it as you wait in line on November 26 for that big screen TV while Lt. Number 52 is picking his way down a road in Helmand Province...

Oh look! They hand off to the fullback and he pounds his way through to the 15 yardline. We're in the red zone baby! WHOOOOO!

You might notice now that the band is playing a saucy rhythm and everyone around you is waggling their hips and yelling "stick it in! stick it in! stick it in!". This is the infamous "stick it in!" cheer, which was in vouge a while back and, honestly, is something you find embarassing. But you do it anyway, because you shotgunned a beer and you have a low tolerance for alcohol.

A few years after I left college the Athletic Director got the band to stop leading the cheer and it eventually died. When I heard about his proposal I was in an uproar. It's outrageous!! How dare the Athletic Director in his big, cushy office tell those poor students what to do at the football games!?

Well I, for one, have certainly changed my tune. Why? well, not long ago I was at my computer with my daughter, watching Jack Black describe an Octagon to Elmo on You Tube, and I saw that someone left little gem of a comment:

I wish Jack decided to go ahead and play himself... except how he did it in "Tenacious D: Pick of Destiny"

"ELMO DUDE! Stop being such a cock block I'm trying to find a wonderful god fucking damned octagon for the mother fucking KIDS, Elmo!"


I'm glad my daughter can't read yet, because I would have had a lot of questions to answer. What really worries me is that some 7 year old kid on his parent's computer is going to see this comment and turn to his mom and say "Mommy? What's a cock block?"

You guys are ruining the internet for everyone.

And the kids doing the pelvic thrusts and yelling "stick it in!" do the same thing, or at least they did. If I really could play the Billy Pilgrim card and time ceased to be linear so I could take my daughter back in time to see some cool Tech games she'd see people doing that and I would have to make up a few quick lies. One day she'll figure it out though, and I imagine it will yield the same sickening feeling I had when I figured out what the song "Afternoon Delight" really was about. So many good memories irrevocably damaged.

BUT. You don't care about any of that right now. We're on the 7, and they can't stop us. This is football, bitches. So you keep thrusting that pelvis and acting most uncouthly until at last

AT LAST

TOUCHDOWN! WHOOOOOO!

The crowd goes wild, naturally. The Corps of Cadets fire a cannon (A Cannon!) and the band erupts into a fight song that no one knows the words to. Number 8 pumps his fist into the air and God, closing his little Kitty Notebook with about 70,000 new debts, so many of which cannot be repaid in a million lifetimes, sighs with exasperation. But you all wanted it. Just don't complain when you realize you traded eternal bliss for a touchdown against a mediocre opponent. Left to their own devices, Tech would have probably scored anyway.

And this happens again, and again, and again. Finally the buzz from that beer wears off and you realize it's cold, and Tech has the game well in hand. Your mind begins to fill with all the things you have to do and the exams you have next week and you decide to retire. You say goodbye to your friends (though true friends wouldn't call you a pussy for leaving at halftime. Don't worry...when you bust the curve on the exam next week they'll be sorry. No one insults you with impunity!) and make your way to the exits.

It's a long walk home. You think maybe about popping into one the bars on the way back, but you think better of it and you keep walking along. When you get home you toss your keys on the table and turn on the TV to see how much Tech is winning by.

And you can't beleive it, becuase winning Tech is not. Somehow WVU managed to pull a fast one on Frank Beamer. You call up the NCAA to report some violations they must be committing, because nobody does that. Nobody.

Its going to be a rough one. So you pull out the vodka and cigarettes, and forget about those books....this one's going down to the wire.

Books You May Not Like -- I am America And So Can You, by Stephen Colbert

I got a call last winter from an old friend. Her friend was going to be competeing in the 13th annual Putnam County Burlesque/Poetry Slam/Musicale/Pancake Eating Constest at the Krazy Kat on old route 9, and my friend wanted me to go with her to help offer moral support.

Her friend's strategy was daring: instead of doing a Burlesque routine first, she was going to start with by reciting a poem about what hell must be like for diabetics (it strangely resembles Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory), and then do a jazz piano rendition of Josef Hyden's "Austria", capped off by a wicked pole dancing routine that was sure to leave the male judges absoltely speechless. The hope was that by making a good last impression she would carry enough points into the pancakce eating constest, and it would be enough to beat Old Mad Mary McMacintoshovich who was particularly strong in the pancake portion of the competition and thanks to that had won the past 7 years running.

Now I know what you are thinking. That is grotestque and sexist and just plain wrong. How could you even think of going?

Well, for one, it isn't true. But on the other hand, I ask you: if you are a man (or even a woman), how many times in your life will a woman ask you to attend a strip club with her? Especially if you are for the most part a stand-up guy and the people you hang out with are for the most part very mild-mannered and morally conservative? If you have any respect for probablity at all, mathematically you have to do it.

Now, if actually propositioned in such a manner, will moral concerns eventually carry the day? For me, absolutely.

Still...

At any rate, I hopped on a plane (because Putnam County is a damn good bit away) and off I went. But God had other ideas, and he punished me for my wicked ways by unleashing frozen Hell in the form of a massive snow storm, leaving me stranded in Purgatory - I mean, Philadelphia. There was no way out of the airport, so I hunkered down for the night. It's probably just as well. On the list of things you don't want to see naked people do, participating in a pancakce eating contest is way up there (incidentally, the top of the list: sneezing a mighty sneeze).

So there I was. I tried to make friends, and ended up eating supper with a group of Tea Partiers on their way to a Glenn Beck Rally. You would have thought that God might have smiled upon them, but he obviously felt that punishing me vastly outweighed the solid moral bedrock of their cause.

We ate with gusto. Their leader was one Mr. Jack Abram, a large man with a ruddy face who kept asking that we pass around the 2 liter bottle of coke, to encouarge conversation. "Mr. Chalamy, the bottle stands by you, Sir!" he would bellow, and then we would pass around the bottle and fill our glasses until he would call out to a shrewish man who was standing lackadasically against a column "Killich! Killich there! Go down to the Hudson News and open up another bottle of Coke."

"Excuse me, Sir" one of the teenagers in the party finally said. "But Mr. Blakely said you ate dinner with Glenn Beck at the Nile Pizzaria, over in Shephardstown."

Mr. Abram collected himself and said "Indeed I did. I was a young man then, not much older than you are now. And Mr. Pillings...Pillings was still a snivelling middle schooler, still yearning for the peace and quiet of the fourth grade". This cracked a smile on a tall, lanky man with a scar across his face that I could only assume was Mr. Pillings. That must have been some knife fight.

"Did you speak with him sir?" asked the teen. "What's he like?"

"I have had the honor of dining with him twice", Abram said, leaning back in his chair. "He spoke to me on both occaisions. A master speaker and a man of singular vision."

"He always said in a debate," Mr. Pillings offered in a rich baritone, "never mind the rhetorical flourishes. Just go straight at'em."

"Some would say not a great intellectual, but a great leader" said a woman to my right.

"He's America's only hope if Pelosi and Reid pass Obamacare" said yet another.

"Sir, might we press you for an anecdote?"

Abrams looked into his glass of coke, once again full, and he tried to suppress a smile. "The first time he spoke to me, I shall never forget his words. I remember it like it was yesturday. He leaned across the table, he looked me straight in the eye and he said 'Abrams! May I trouble you for the Parmesean Cheese?'".

The entire table crakced up into laugheter, and the one laughing loudest of all was old Abrams, his red face, addled with caffeine, beaming with pleasure.

"I've always tried to say it exactly like he said it, as he did twice." And with that a fresh peal of laughter rang around the table, except for the poor young man who had asked the inital question of Mr. Abrams, whose face flushed red, having been made a fool.

"The second time" said Abrams, composing himself. "The second time he told me a story, about how someone offered him a jacket on a cold night after a huge rally. He said no, he didn't need it, he was quite warm. His zeal for God and Country kept him warm.

"I know it sounds absurd, and were it another man you'd cry out 'Oh what pitiful stuff' and dismiss it as mere enthusiasm. But with Beck...you felt your heart glow."

There was silence, until finally Mr. Pillings raised a glass and said "To Mr. Beck!" and all did the same, repeating his name with great reverence. Someone started singing "I'm Proud to be an American", and even I couldn't help but join in, even though I really don't like that song.

The dinner was over. I needed something to occupy my time for the rest of the night, so I asked Mr. Abrams if he could recommend a book, and he naturally recommended The Overton Window by Mr. Beck, which he assured me was very good.

But when I got down to Hudson News I saw a copy of I am America And So Can You, by Stephen Colbert, and I bought it instead.

Hillarious.

As Sir Francis Bacon would say, this is definetely a book to be tasted, not to be taken too seriously. But you will be laughing all the way. And if you find a rare dull spot, I found this book to be deliciously skimmable.

Enojy.


Acknowledgements: I am indebted to Seinfeld, in which when George gets super smart becuase he is not having sex, but then finds he has an opportunity to have sex with a Portugese waitress, he calculates the odds and decides it must be done. So he does it, even though it means he goes back to being and idiot.

Though, this actually did happen to a friend of mine in college (being asked to go to attend a strip club with a woman...a whole buch of women actually). I told him mathematically he had to do it, and I think to he did.

Secondly, the whole thing about Glenn Beck not needing a coat becuase his love of God and Country keeps him warm (though I have no doubt that that is indeed the case), is a total rip off of Master and Commander. The dialoge is from the movie, but the scene appears in one of the 20 books by Patrick O'Brian that the movie is based on. They are WONDERFUL books and I can't recommend them highly enough. No doubt you will be seeing them on the books you might not like feed as I finish them later on this year.

The Wiccans are Coming!

It's September. The mid-terms are a mere month away, thank God. Normally I would begin the post by hoisting my colors (I guess since I am a left leaning person it would be colored Red...or maybe pink? Maybe rainbow colored?) and lay in a rhetorical broadside against the Glenn Becks, Sarah Palins, and Newt Gingrich's of the world.

But not today. Good people, the present climate has left me a little disillusioned with politics. I woke up this morning and everyone is talking about this Anti-wanking wiccan who wants to go to Washington. That was enough for me. It's time to take a step back. I need a break for a few days before the Republican's unleash their newest contract with America. Oh, you can be bet I will be reading that.

Look, as to the witchcraft thing, I really don't see what the big deal is if she did dabble in something she ultimately rejected. But watch out! She might be a wiccan in a Christian's clothing. If we aren't careful, those wiccans are going to overrun our great Christian nation and soon our children will be praying to Triple Goddesses and Horn Gods. Horn Gods!

As for the other thing...it just shows how lots of people on the right (though not all, let us be fair) want government out of everything EXCEPT for our bedrooms.

Well, enough. I said I wasn't going to do this. Besides, last week I found myself touched in a very personal way by politics.

It seems that President Obama was in the Philadelphia last tuesday to deliver his back to school speech to kids everywhere. Now, did you know that when the president is departing from an airport pretty much the whole airport is shut down, and that any planes in route will have to sit in a holding pattern until the president leaves?

I didn't, until last Tuesday when I got stuck in a holding pattern over philadelphia so Mr. POTUS could fly out of philadelphia.

To which I ask: is this trip really necessary? Have you considered video conferencing?

Its not just that the Presidnet probably spent a few thousand dollars in one day to fly to Philly to give a speech and then fly right back. He's the President. I think he should probably stay in the office a little more, at least the one that is on the ground, but he is the President.

But everytime he travels, he snarls up the travel plans of hundreds of people. I did actually talk to one couple that said they had a thrity minute flight into Philly that took 2 hours, all becuase of the POTUS and his little speech.

Now I must say that those people did not look too important. But what if they were REALLY important? You know, like the guy sitting next to you on the plane wearing shorts, loafers, a t-shirt and a blue blazer, reading a copy of Cigar Afficianado? He might have missed the meeting in which he was going to purchase the Landycakes Muffin Company for immense profits, lowering GDP and HURTING AMERICA.

Gosh, see? I can't stop. But I must. So I am going to bed.

Rather Disappointing, this.

An Ode to a Game

Hang on a second.

Do you hear something? It kind of sounds like...brats sizzling on a grill. And it sounds like someone just tossed some hamburgers on as well.

Hear that? It's the sound of someone popping the tab on a Coors Lite.
The sound of pads popping
The sound of the roar of the crowd
It's the sound of freakishly perfect women fluffing pom poms,
struggling to squeeze themselves into skimpy clothes

The sound of fat hairy bald men buying body paint that later
They will smear on distended stomachs and engorged breasts
So they can get on TV, acting like idiots in subzero temperatures

It's the sound of the Hokie Nation groaning in frustrated agony
Oh No! Another Lead Blown! Another change at glory lost in the inky night sky
Blistered with stadium light.

It's the sound of Bret Favre's dog saying "Dude, are you serious?
You said things would be different this time."

Yes, it's football season!

Come on, what did you expect me to say? Its time for the midterm elections? Again I say to you: Come on! But I have to admit if we all ate lots of meat and if there were cheerleaders at the posts and guys doused with body paint at the polls, voter turnout might go up.

Hey...I hear something else...

"Well Coach you played a great game, it was a heck of a battle. How do you feel?"

"Well, I'll tell ya skip, we just feel great to get out of there with a victory. The other team fought really hard and you're right, it was a heck of a battle."

"Things really seemed to go wrong there for a bit coach. What happened?"

"Well, I'll tell ya skip, we just never thought that the Vikings could drag their artillery up onto the high ground like that. I mean, we should have taken it when he had the chance, you know? But I never thought they could have done it. They obviously worked very hard on that one in the off-season."

"Indeed. But how about that young QB you have?"

"Well, I'll tell ya skip he's great. It's always nice to know you have someone who you can lead the offensive line in a complex, flanking assault with tank support. He's a great kid."

"Absolutely. Great things ahead for him. And that 2-point conversion...Brilliant call!"

"Well, I'll tell ya skip they had a sniper in the bell tower and we couldn't get anything done, so we had to go for it, and we got it. But naturally we regret the loss of civilian life..."

Okay. Honestly, I don't buy into this whole "Football is a stand-in for war" thing. But it is dissapointing to me how many of our sports cliches involve war terms. Though if you read Thomas Ricks books on Iraq, its even stranger how a lot of our warriors use sporting terms in their battle and strategic planning. To the extent that that is good or bad, I don't know. But it is interesting.

And that's all I really have to say about football. I was mildly excited about the season started, but now that the Hokies chances of a national title have been diminished, my interest too has dimmed a little.

So thank God for Soccer. Though if you want to blend war and sport, look no further than some of the fans for Red Star Belgrade, who in the 90's formed one of the most notorious paramilitary units to fight and kill in the Yugoslav wars. Thankfully, eventually most people here have to admit its just a game, and I doubt you will ever see a band of Cowboys fans get together to get on a bus and drive north to kill, for example, Canadians.

The Post in Which I Restore My Honor by Offering Glenn Beck an Apology

Wayne's World 2, in my opinon, is one of the most awesome movies ever made, in spite of the fact that it was written in a mere 90 minutes.

For those of you who have never seen it (or have forgotten it), the plot is basically that local cable TV show host Wayne Cambell is visited in his dreams by Jim Morrison and a naked Native American dude to host a giant concert. On mere faith, Wayne sets out with his cohort Garth to make Waynestock the most awesome event ever. Hilarity ensues and a couple of alternate endings later Aerosmith shows up! Hooray! The concert is a success.

Now, today was Glenn Beck's much awaited "Beckstock", aka "The Restoring Honor Rally". I seriously doubt, however, that Glenn was taking his marching orders from Jim Morrison and a half naked Native American. Nope, I reckon we need look no further than the big JC himself.

Was I watching today? No. There were more important things to do this morning (go for a bicycle ride, watch Arsenal beat Blackburn 2-1, play with my daughter, do some homework, etc...). But, I did see some of Glenn Beck's closing remarks and I watched his opening remarks as well as Sarah Palin's speech in the middle of the rally. I think I have seen enough to make a post.

And yeah, I owe Glenn an apology (notice now that we are on a first name basis!). I may have said he was going to float across of a bunch of silly ideas and I may have also compared him to Benito Mussolini, though I never said he was LIKE old Mr. M, I just said in that one picture he sort of LOOKED like him. That's all.

After this rally though, I think Glenn looks more like Jerry Fallwell than anybody else.

But first, the apology. Let's get that out of the way: Glenn, I am sorry. You are not Benito Mussolini. And the stuff you talked about today was not silly. Honoring our military and others who have given so much to this country is a very important and good thing to do. And on the surface of things, I agree with a lot of what you say. It would be great if we all turned to God and enjoyed the personal relationship with Him that you seem privileged enough to have. It would be awesome if we all found a guiding moral compass, patched up our wrecked institutions, decided a person's character is the most important thing, put on our tri-corner hats and made America great again.

During the entire event Glenn never exploded into a politcally fueled rage, he didn't so much as mention the president (the pastor who said the closing prayer actually prayed for him), and he even kept Sarah Palin reigned in, who's speech mostly focused on three war stories that showcase American Honor and on the fact she herself is the mother of a comabt veteran.

In this way, Glenn has heaped coals on all of his enemies heads. And while I don't consider myself an enemy of Glenn Beck, I am definetely feeling the heat.

Apologies done, I will say that there is still tons to quibble with, setting aside even the differences in theology. But I got two main gripes:

On the idea that this nation was founded as a Christian Nation I am still a hard sell. I think there is plenty of room for debate there. I would agree that many of our founders were Christians and I would also agree that culturally we were definetly Christian for a long time. But it can also be said that many of the founders were nominal Christians, deists, and something very close to atheists - Washington, Franklin, and Jefferson the most notable. Oddly enough, these are the three founders whom Beck has had painted (or did he do the work himself?) and can be seen on his show, emblazoned with the values of "Faith", "Hope", and "Charity".

You can also make the argument by looking at the documents that founded our nation. It's been a while since I read it (and I probably shoud do so again), but I am pretty sure our constitution doesn't mention God once, not even with a cop-out like "Creator", which is a reference to God but not necessarily a Christian. I would argue that in our founding Enlightment ideals were equally important to Christian ones, if not more so.

There are lots of people who would disagree with me on that, but that is where my reading of history takes me.

And sure, it's hypothetically true that maybe if we had been founded 20 years earlier, and certainly 20 years later, the founders would have likely gone ahead and made us a Christian Nation, providing the freedom to worship in whatever denomination you wanted. But for some reason (could it be divine providence?) we were founded when Enlightenment ideals were at their height, deism was in vougue, and religion was being challeneged by Enlightenment figures everywhere...cheif among them Thomas Paine, a guy Beck also likes to hang his hat on. But I don't like the argument of "Oh, if we had been founded here, then...", becuase as Ted Morgan notes in Valley of Death, playing the what-if game only serves to make history more palatable.

Yes, I am one of those terrible people who think we shouldn't be led in prayer in public schools or before or after football games and you shouldn't put up your nativity scenes or minorahs in the public square. You want to jot off a quick prayer to God before a test, asking that you don't screw up, and that later maybe that cute girl who sits two seats ahead of you will actually talk to you today? Go for it. You want to get together with members of the other team after a game and pray to God on the field under your own leadership? Fine by me. You want to put up your nativity scene on church property next to a road where people can see it? Cool. But the moment it is led by a public figure or actually goes completely in a public space, I vote no. And that is the way the law is read today by the courts today. You want to chanage it? I suggest you try to amend the constitution. I will campaign hard to try to defeat it.

So anyway, if Glenn Beck wants to take us down that road, I am not with him. A personal religious renaissance is one thing; making the actual State a Christian one, or even a theistic one, is out for me. The state must remain neutral in all qusetions of religion as much as possible.

Second thing: it will be interesting to see if this changes his show any. Beck says we need to get back to a place where character is the most important thing. If that is the case, he shouldn't demonize people with decent character who have arrived at a different point of view. There are plenty of liberals or progressives out there who are people of merit and character. He should stop calling them the Cancer of Our Society.

He should also stop professing hatred for certain political figures, such as Theodore Roosevelt or Woodrow Wilson. Roosevelt, at the least, was a man of impeccable personal character and integrity. You can disagree with them all you want to, but stop saying you actually hate them. Hate, Mr. Beck, is not a Christian virtue, even the hatred of the dead.

Well, lets leave Glenn Beck in his post-rally state, which I am sure is one of satiated contentment. If he has any respect for our capitol or the monument beneath which he held his rally, he will pick up a trash bag and one of those trash picker upper sticks and get to work picking up all the refuse that his disciples have left behind. They may believe in Beck's 12 values, which do have some similarty with the Boy Scout law. But unlike the Boy Scouts, I doubt everyone at the rally subscribes to "Leave No Trace" principles and did a sweep of their area to make sure they left the Mall looking as beautiful as they found it. Glenn better hurry: there is a naked Native American dude on the way, and if he sees the mess everyone left behind he is going to start crying.

Another Quick Post

Hey:

I was hunting around for some info on Glenn Beck's "Plan" which he may or may not be revealing to America this weekend. I'm trying to prepare so that when he does reveal it I can counter with a quick response of my own. Much like quelling a zombie attack, the only way to stop silly ideas from spreading is to destroy them comprehensively and rapidly.

But I've been caught a little flat footed. School has started. Katy Perry released a new album. And I am restrained by meditating that no one is really reading this, so its likely that my rapid response will fall on deaf ears (or rather no ears, or eyes. Whatever).

So I saw this picture online. I admit, its not very flattering, but it reminded me of someone....



I will give you a hint. His first name was Benito....

Anyone for Tennis?

Somebody please play tennis with me. I was going to limit this invitation to my facebook friends, but I figured I will let the whole world have a crack.

There is a court right next to my house, which appears to be in pretty good condition. I got a racket that is gathering dust and a body that desperately needs the exerscise. I have a natural desire to be locked in competition, but from the safe distance that a tennis court and a net provide.

I am not very good, especially considering I haven't played in over a year. But I will try my hardest; it is all I ever do.

Actually, let me qualify that note on my quality: I am very poor at tennis. Never had a lesson in my life, never even really been in a serious game. I just like knocking some balls around.

And that's it I suppose. An open invitation. You knock and my door (address witheld), and if you a racket in your hand and a crazy looking headband we'll have ourselve a game, as long as I am not working on my class, writing a post, cooking dinner, doing laundry, playing with my child, etc. etc.

Oh, and you got to pay your busfare. I am strapped for cash. Otherwise I would join a tennis club.

I've taken this about as far as it can go. See you guys next time.

A couple notes on real life

Just a couple things I felt like sharing with you (and by extension, the world).

First, the English Premier League started on Saturday, and I am very excited. This is not a soccer blog, but I usually mention it when big things happen.

This year there is a lot on the line: my dad, brother and I have entered into a friendly wager: if you guess the winner of the league, the rest of the pool has to buy you the book of your choice (naturally, within financial reason. No first edition Austens or anything like that). Between the three of us we ended up picking the three teams most likely to win; Chelsea, Arsenal, and Manchester United. So one of us is going to lose. Come on Chelsea!

I didn't get to watch any games this weekend, but I am very excited to see that I will be able to watch some replays on ESPN360. Words cannot describe how awesome this is. Sometimes I think the internet isn't worth the trouble; but right now I love technology.

Second, for what its worth (and I figure its less than two cents), they should build that mosque (though isn't it more of a community center?) in New York City. Maybe the ADL is right, and the guys wanting to build the mosque should be a bit more sensitive to what they are doing and the passions they are arousing (at least I think that is there position).

I am surprised to see so many people who would argue that America is no longer true to its founding priciniples come out and argue against this mosque. And yes, I recognize the fact that at America's birth we were a Christian nation in practice if not name and that not every founding father was a Thomas Jeffersonish agnostic. BUT, like it or not, our constitution as it currently stands and as it is currently interpreted by the courts says that we all can worship as we chose (or not at all), and therefore there is nothing wrong with building a muslim center on private property.

Should Imman Rauf itemize his funders? I don't think that's necessary. If I wanted to build a church on the same sight, I probably wouldn't have to tell anyone who is donating to the church to make it possible (and those people very well may wish to remain annonymous). IF everyone in the nation is still to be treated equally (which again, our constitution as it currently stands and is interpreted by the courts says that should be the case), then Imman Rauf should be subjected to no more scrutiny than anyone else would who wanted to build a relgious center of anykind.

So there you go. You want to go ahead and change the constitution? Make us a Christian Nation? Go ahead and try. I'll vote against that wholeheartedly, becuase that is not what this country is all about.

And Newt Gingrich? If he is going to seriously run for office, he better stop demanding that Saudi Arabia start building churches building in their country. I mean, yeah, it would be NICE if they did, but that's not so much what they are about. We can't bend our principles on relgious freedom just becuase other countries have little or none at all.

Books You May Not Like -- The Crimson Petal and the White

I first heard of The Crimson Petal and the White while I was a part of the 36th Zombie Hunter Killer unit operating out of an abandoned mission in lower Mexico. Worst spring break trip EVER. We are on the offensive, huffing around the countryside looking for zombie lairs. Locals kept coming to us, babbling about a "Diablo rojo" that had cracked open the padre's skull like a ripe melon. Someone told us some crazy shit had gone done at the defunct Church's Chicken outside the village.

And there it was. A dilapidated Church's Chicken, one of the last monuments to a horribaly ill conceived international expansion by the minor fast food chain. It was dark inside. I saw (and smelled...ugh!) what remained of the padre, and in the darkness we heard a voice.

"Zombie Elmo loves your brains. Ha ha ha!"

It was high pitched. Chilling. We knew we were dealing with a seriously evil force.

"Zombie Elmo is going eat you! Mmm-hmm. Yes."

The ensuing battle was short but incredible, but that is not what we are about here. So let's fast forward about 15 minutes. Before we poured gasoline all over the place to set it on fire I noticed that the dead padre had a copy of The Crimson Petal clutched in his hand. I knew what it was about, and I found myself surprised that a padre would be reading it. It made me wonder who he was before a horrible red fuzzy zombie decided to eat him.

So, when I got back and saw the book in the library, it caught my eye. I read it and just this past summer I decided to read it again, desperate for a summer read after slogging my way thorough A Patriot's History of the United States.

It is, I am a little embarrassed to say, one of my favorite books. You follow the fortunes of Sugar, a british whore who hooks up with William Rackham, a minor perfumaries heir who is adrfit in life with a mad wife and a negelected daughter (who cuts a very, very sad character). Sugar is sooooo sweet (if you catch my drift) that he decides he must have her all to himself. He takes the reins of his family's business to afford purchasing her outright and setting her up in small, sumptuous lodging.

For her part, she desperately tries to become woven into the fabric of his life so that she will be indispensible to William, be it as a carnal oasis or an advisor on business matters.

It's not a very complicated plot line, not even really orginial one (there are lots of elements, I am told, borrowed from the Victorian novels of the past), and its not particularly action packed. But its writing is SO GOOD. Michel Faber toys with you, addresses you directly as he welcomes you to the dark, cold streets of London, and then very slowly works you into the story until you are inside the minds of the characters. He writes omnisciently, knowing all, and when the book ends he offers you one last parting shot that makes you feel about as used as a cheap whore from St. Giles...or, if you prefer, about as jaded and dazed as a patron shoved out the brothel's back doors, two shillings paid and seed spent.

And that hints at why you might not like this book: Michel Faber is writing in the 21st century, and has the latitude to be far more frank about what goes on behind closed doors than Dickens or Eliot ever did, and he uses that latitude liberally, sometimes cringingly so. If you don't like reading about pissing, shitting, or fucking (thankfully not all at once), then this book probably isn't for you.

And that's why I say I like this book with a good side of guilt. There is a lot going on (be it meditation on servant relations, the steady advance of technology, etc.), and the actual sex scenes are short way stations in the 800 page novel, but sex is very much under the skin of everything in this book.

And in that way, I'm not sure I buy the dust jacket's bold proclamation that it deserves to sit on the shelf next to The French Lieutenant's Woman, which is probably THE post modern victorian novel. John Fowles has way more issues woven into the story than just sex. Darwinism, the waning of the aristocracy, marriage, amateurism, upward mobility, time jostle side by side with lust on the page. And the actual lack of bedroom scenes in Fowle's book actually give it more erotic tension then Faber's nothing is off the table approach.

But I have tried to the The French Lieutenant's Women twice and I didn't make it. Faber's book is way more readable, and he gets props for that. If you are looking for a dark story set in an immaculately rendered Victorian backdrop, look no furhter. You've got it.