Nothing to Fear but Fear of Girls 3

Fear of Girls 3 has entered post-production.* Tom Lommel, Scott Jorgenson and the versatile (and athletically lanky) Charles Hubbell reunite for a lonesome ride through the dark heart of nerdiness.

The powers that be say to expect release in August. Or so.

This episode is going to be the greatest one so far, just like all the third installments of American classics like Goldfinger, Army of Darkness, Naked Gun 33 1/3rd, The Godfather III, Superman III, Jaws 3-D and Revenge of the Nerds III: The Next Generation.

I'll admit I haven't seen that last one, but, come on, it has the best of the Carradine brothers and Curtis Armstrong. Bob Younger and Herbert Viola? It can't miss.

*This is insider lingo which means, roughly, "I have no idea how movies are made, or the proper terminology necessary to fake it."

Mix and Match Apocalypse

I abandoned the floodwaters of Iowa for wildfires in the Great Dismal Swamp of Virginia.

Which leads me to wonder: why aren't there more steam-related natural disasters?

Omega Point Follow-Up

The all-too-common "omega point" science fiction tale either intentionally or by design is an attempt to discredit Christian faith by acknowledging it as an out-of-date evolutionary step in the progress of man (never mind that the core tenets of God-faith are no different today than they were "In the Beginning," nor that Jesus was perfect in every way, and no man has been his equal in morals or ethics before or since his crucifixion*). Very often -- and here, I think it is its draw -- the attraction of omega point stories is that they come off as a sort of "Christianity Lite" with impossibly dark undertones when put to the test.

I recently read a book that updates the Omega Point a little. I won't mention it by title because warning people off of other artist's work isn't something I generally do. The plot hinged on a cult leader/scientist (who didn't believe the religious gobbledygook that he spewed) dying and becoming the accidental martyr of the new religion. By a miracle of science, a computer set up by the cult leader begins to impart godlike wisdom, eventually revealing itself to be god, and inviting humanity to accelerate its religious evolution by recognizing, and giving themselves over to an "everywhere, everything" concept of the Christ.

For some reason, even the most skeptical rationalist gets the creeps when someone brings up the Antichrist. What is more remarkable to me is how oblivious we are to the deadly beauty and unconscious magnetic pull of the Pseudochrist, of which Antichrist is only one type.

*In other words, faith in Messiah, is, historically, the original faith. Ask Abel. Though dead, he still speaks.

Back to Newton and Leibniz

Because disco never died - it just became formulaic.

I don't care if you convert.

This is one of those rare times when I mean you as you and not me, not that you are reading this anyway, so I'm really only addressing the you that lives in my head, which isn't fair.

Anyway, I don't care if you "convert." Of course, I'm a pretty bad person at heart, and it isn't as if I'm always looking after your best interest.

But conversion would be good for you. Even I know that.

I'll even give you a few steps on how to do it:

1) Stop.
2) Turn yourself around.
3) Walk the other way.
4) Consider how close you are to perfection...or how far. When will you achieve it? You know the answer to this.
5) Consider God's Kingdom. I don't need to define it for you - even the darkest heart knows what it is.
6) Consider Christ's sacrifice. You know that too. Even the rocks do, and you are smarter (usually) than them.
7) Seek Him.

God is humble. I'm not.

I hope this bothers you. Deeply.

Eldritch Error and the Midnight Question

What if absolutely everything upon which your life is predicated is a mistake?

Goodnight Girl - the Nadas

It is weird to get nostalgic for a pub I never set foot in.



The Nadas new record, The Ghosts Inside These Halls, is outstanding.

The Gullible Kid Revolution

When I was just a little shoat*, I could get suckered a thousand ways, but I prided myself on my ability, at a very early age, to identify the wholesale fraud perpetrated on the last page of every comic book. Whether the final ad was promoting x-ray specs or a life-sized Frankenstein for $1.00, something in my bones assured me that I'd be disappointed if I ever defaced my precious comic by clipping out the order form and sending my check, money order, or loose change to the company.

Even my impressionable young mind could comprehend that Frankenstein did not come to your house for a dollar. So I contented myself with simply imagining how great the toys looked in the ads, realizing, deep down, that anything you got for a dollar was probably made out of paper and mailed postage due.

My favorite dream ad that never suckered me was "204 Revolutionary War Soldiers - Only $1.98." The layout was similar to the "100 Piece Toy Soldier Set with Footlocker - $1.25": rows of army men engaged in bloody combat. But, the WWII motiff, while engaging, was not as substantial as the Americans and Redcoats. This isn't entirely due to sheer numbers (204 Revolutionary soldiers obviously being more than twice the number of WWII guys. The key to understanding a boy's heart - quantity - notwithstanding, there was something more "believable" about the 204. I think it had something to do with the battleships - their mere presence in the WWII ad made it too obviously impossible to deliver.

I could get gypped a lot of ways in life, but there was no way I was ever going to get snookered by an obvious shell game, and I secretly gloated over the stupid kid who I imagined falling for it, and upon receipt of the order, being instantly crushed by both the chintziness of the crummy toy (which I imagined to be cardboard or paper-thin plastic cut-outs - that you had to cut out yourself - as you might find on the back of box of cereal. And not a good box of cereal - something like King Vitamin or generic corn puffs) and the poor kid's own sense of self-worth plummeting like a stone.

I might not have been exactly master and commander, but at least I knew who I was better than: the dumb kid who bought the promise of re-enacting the Revolutionary War in his bedroom for less than 2 bucks.

Until I came across this: 204 Revolutionary War Soldiers, as ordered back in the day, complete with shipping box.

It's...it's...it's more than I could have ever imagined.

And, I dunno, I can imagine quite a bit.

But here they are - real plastic soldiers in two different colors that are almost three-dimensional and cannons that are nearly 4 inches long! These are better than the cool drawing.

The ad artwork was indeed misleading, but not in the way I thought: it underpromised.

So here I sit, nearly thirty years after the fact, wishing I had allowed myself to be gullible one more time, to take a shot at losing two bucks in exchange for the promise of an army set that would have stretched across the concrete of the bedroom floor, conquering it.



*Que sera sera.

Shut Up and Write You Stupid Writers

Okay, maybe the post title is my own creation, but the inspiration is all Mike Duran.

Now, my posterior is far wide enough to sit comfortably on both sides of the fence on just about any issue, which, according to one of Martin Luther's Lectures on Genesis*, makes me a drunk.

*I think. Don't quote my source, as my memory is addled.

First, They Came for the Snacks...

24-Hour Dorman explores a libertarian's nightmare dystopia of banned cupcakes.

Demon Takes Silver: Thanks God it Isn't a Werewolf

ForeWord Magazine has announced its Book of the Year Award winners.

My favorite book of 2007, Demon: A Memoir has taken the silver medal in its category.

Incidentally, the full list of winners, medalists, and finalists provides a pirate's chest of the treasure from independent presses.

Congratulations, Tosca Lee, and all the authors recognized by ForeWard Magazine.

I think this means I have taste. Chili dogs and rotgut are on the house...er, cave!

Write Justified

Writers spend a lot of time justifying their own existence, mostly to themselves.* A lot of work goes into defending art, and the art of writing, in particular, demonstrating the practical benefits of writing, and the importance that reading holds for the culture.

Many high-faluting** words later, and the writer is in no better standing.

As it should be.

Because writing isn't important. It isn't a signficant contribution to society, regardless of the 15-second soundbite paid to its importance once a year during the Academy Award ceremony.

And that's how I like it. Whether we are firing off an opinionated missive, or finalizing a draft of the Great Armenian Novel,*** I think the most important goal an author can have is to be the least in the Kingdom.

May your writing bear fruit that nourishes. But be happy to finish in last place. That's where the best work happens.

*Mostly because no one else is listening to them.

**Yes, how random of me to rescue the "-in'" suffix from colloquial purgatory while living in place the bastardization of the "highflight" root from which "highfalutin'" stems. I'm a messy rescuer.

***Because, really there hasn't been a huge number of great works out of Armenia since Tmpgaperti Aroume, and everybody and his dog has written the Great American one.

Korea: Unified and Free

I've been praying for a unified Korea. When I do this, I sort of assume that God knows that, included in that request is an obvious assumption that I also therefore pray for a free North Korea.

But as I consider this, liberty and unification are not truly ends. We're not talking about joining the Dakotas, after all. There is a greater disparity today between North Korea and South Korea than existed between East and West Germany in 1989. The dictatorship in place is relatively independent as opposed to the Soviet puppetry in place at the end of East Germany.

So, when I pray for the miracle of freedom, food, infrastructure and eventual unification with the South, I recognize a need to extend that prayer for the decades following severe "post-totalitarian stress disorder" as well as for the people of free Korea, who will obviously welcome reuniting with their countrymen, but will also have a new burden to bear.

I hope this doesn't sound political. Because it isn't.

Foul Balls in Center Field

To celebrate the boys of summer, I present the catchiest tune from the most clueless baseball player/lyricist in the history of the game.



Confusion and defeat has never been more inspirational. Thanks, Matt & Kim!

[Lightspeed - Matt & Kim]

Science: No Place for Consensus

"Scientific" consensus sucks. It is science-defeating. It is anti-science.

Isaac Newton's "laws" of physics were unbreakable until that ding-dong Al Einstein guessed that Mercury should do a galactic jitterbug in the sky due to gravity's impact on light wave-particles.* Heck, we still cling to those laws, because, for everyday living, they do the job pretty well.

The problem is that scientific consensus usually does the job of keeping things running smoothly, until it doesn't. People forget that Galileo's problem wasn't that he was a man of science taking on the Catholic Church: he was a man of science taking on scientific consensus. The Catholics just happened to be in bed with the reigning consensus of the day.

So here's my word of advice: when they say "consensus," you say "Galileo."

*Kids: please don't use me for homework. Suck it up and borrow the Cliff's Notes guide to Quantum Physics from the deadbeat in the back of class. Oh wait. That's me. Proceed.