Conan the Centenarian

I missed seeing this announcement over the weekend, but Sunday would have been the 100th birthday of writer Robert E. Howard, creator of Conan the Barbarian, Solomon Kane, Sailor Steve Costigan, King Kull of Atlantis and others — and instigator of countless flights of fantasy in his readers.

His characters and stories were perfect for the pulp fiction era of the 1920s and 30s, yet timeless enough to still be incredibly popular today. When a friend lent me my first Conan book in college back in 1976 I had no idea that Howard had already been dead 40 years. Often credited (and/or dismissed) as the father of the Sword and Sorcery genre, Howard had a vivid imagination perfectly harnessed to his story-telling ability (believe me, these don’t always go together). He brought a brawny, blood-thirsty virility to heroic fiction that was new to his era but every bit in the tradition of Beowulf. His heroes had red helms, not white hats, got the girl (be she queen, priestess, goddess or demon) and broke more than a few laws and skulls in the process.

Some might denigrate the genre and therefore his skills but that is because so many of his imitators have been so poor. A contemporary of Louis L’Amour, had Howard lived (he committed suicide at age 30) I’m sure he would have been as prolific and celebrated as his range-riding counterpart. In fact, his later letters and outlines showed he was branching into Western, or Texian (Howard was a native Texan) stories. I enjoyed his stories, and had no difficulty fitting them into my skull with more prosaic authors.

As a blogger, I also respect Howard’s drive and discipline. His output was prolific and prodigious, writing in his own name and under pseudonyms, and populating the pages of then-thriving publications such as Weird Tales, Argosy, Strange Detective and more. The pulp fiction of the day, and the people who wrote for it, strike me as a similar type of community to today’s blogosphere. In both eras creative people threw themselves into the new media of the day, not necessarily expecting the words to last but reveling in the joy of creation and the chance to tell a story that a few others might appreciate. They wrote fiction, we’re more into facts, but we both communicate a vision of the world. And sometimes, it’s pretty fantastic. Happy birthday, REH.

So that explains the red suit

When I first saw the picture I couldn’t figure out why George Galloway was wearing the red bodysuit. It’s all clear to me now:


Astrid Riecken (THE WASHINGTON TIMES)

George was going to Washington to participate in the Pro-Life rally!
(Did Sen. Norm Coleman know about this?)

Who read the book to them?

Free-speech-hating “liberals” too timid to get out and throw salad dressing or Oreo cookies at conservative speakers, or with chests too scrawny to try to shout down Anne Coulter in person, have found a new way to demonstrate that they wouldn’t understand irony if Wile E. Coyote dropped it on their heads: flood the Amazon reader-reviews section in an effort to drown out Kate O’Beirne’s book, Women Who Make the World Worse.

Captain Ed (Lefties Against Free Speech and Dialogue) and Michelle Malkin (The Amazon.com Cesspool) have covered the campaign to try to bring down the ratings of the book with fustian vitriol and a series of 1-star ratings. While some scorn has been directed toward Amazon for allowing such a tactic, with blame being laid at Jeff Bezos’ two lefty feet, I see Amazon’s tolerance (or encouragement) of this practice as being motivated by marketing more than politics.

The conservative response has already appeared on the page with several positive reviews of the book now on top of the queue that also take a few swipes at the previous, negative reviews. (No doubt to be countered with “Look, I’m being repressed!” reactions). Although it’s a new-age company, Amazon embraces the age old maxim, “there’s no such thing as bad publicity.” I’m certain that as displeased as Amazon execs might be with the content of the book, they’re going to be happy with the money conservatives send in to buy it … unless, of course you choose to show your support by buying it from someone else (let your conscience be your guide).

I’ll admit my headline for this post is a cheap shot (I bought it as part of a twelve-pack for a dollar at Learned Foot’s garage sale), because these “reviewers” obviously must be able to read. That doesn’t necessarily mean they’ve read the book itself; it could just mean they can read someone else’s talking points. It most certainly shows, however, that what is in the book frightens them and makes them afraid of it’s influence. Perhaps they’ve also read their C.S. Lewis: “A young man who wishes to remain a sound atheist cannot be too careful of his reading.”

Regardless, the campaign has the appearance, and all the subtlety, of a flock of ducks quacking up a storm in the hopes that you won’t notice the swan in their midst.

Cowboy Song

A memorial written for another’s unborn son.

Cowboy Song
The cowboy’s found his way
to the high plateau,
where there’s blue sky above
and gold clouds below;
where the grass waves to him,
and he rides like the wind,
with a smile on his face
as if he’s never known sin.

His horse is named Mercy,
his saddle is Grace,
and he knows that there can be
no better place;
and the sound of his hoofbeats
will come now and again,
faint but familiar
like a heartbeat within.

“I know you, sweet rider,”
you’ll say in those times,
and pause in his presence,
and feel for the signs,
that there’s pain in the journey,
but peace in the end,
when the strays are all gathered
with no fences to mend.

“Cowboy, ride on,
ride free and ride wide,
gallop forever,
my heart by your side.
Though I don’t know the words
to the song that you’ll sing,
I’ll listen when it’s quiet
to the peace that it brings.

When comes the sunset,
may my faith be whole,
ride ‘cross the river
and comfort my soul.
Push back your hat,
let me see your face,
reach down your hand,
and pull me up into space.
Meanwhile from a branch
in the highest tree
a dove sings the song
that you’ve sung to me.”

– JS

Another “Weird” response

Waaay back a few weeks ago I was tagged with the “5 Weird Things” meme and did my duty by passing it on, selecting several new MOB members to get them in on the fun. One of these was Todd, aka Space Beagle, who I thought had “spaced” the invitation because he didn’t respond.

Until last week, that is, and now one reason for the delay is readily apparent: the meme called for the taggee to list five weird things s/he does; Todd featured 16 weird habits. That, and excessive use of punctuation and emoticons, really slowed things down. I’m not sure if it was a miscommunication or a lack of inhibitions, but you should go and check it out and decide for yourself.

Order in the Court! The Honorable Judge MD presiding…

Okay, okay. Before we start a blood feud or anything like that:

The Mall Diva realizes Kevin’s relatively innocent role in all of the recent events, and hereby lets him off the hook (though I will keep the hook handy).

If Cathy the Volunteer Maternal Protector (VMP) in the Wright still wants to kick his butt, that’s between them (but probably time well spent).

As Princess FlickerFeather stated, DDR does rock, but the dance-off will have to wait for another time.

As for Uncle Ben, the Mall Diva charges him as being the instigator, and therefore will decide if he should be let off the hook or not. This statement, however, does not mean that he is barred from getting a good (and safe) haircut. Time and place, man.

Challenging Word of the Week: defenestration

Defenestration

(dee fen ih STRAY shun) n.



Defenestration is the act of throwing someone (yes, someone!) or something out of a window. To defenestrate a person or a thing is to engage in that activity — a strange one indeed, since these words are more commonly applied to situations where what is thrown out of the window is a person, rather than a thing. It is surprising, in view of what must be the infrequency of this type of activity, that there exists a word for it, but then, there exists a word for just about everything. There is a famous incident in history when an act of defenestration of people was committed: the Defenestration of Prague. It seems that, just before the outbreak of the Thirty Years War in 1618, the two principal Roman Catholic members of the Bohemian National Council were thrown out of a window of the castle at Prague by the Protestant members — one way to settle an argument. They weren’t killed. The castle had a moat in which the defenestrated twain were lucky enough to land, with only minor injuries. Strangely enough, it is once more to Prague that we have to travel to find a more recent (and this time fatal) instance of what might been defenestration. Jan Masaryk (1886-1948, son of Tomas Garrigue Masaryk, first president of Czechoslovakia) was foreign minister of the Czech government-in-exile in London during World War II. He returned to Prague, retaining that post, when that war ended. A short time after the communist coup in 1948, he fell to his death from a window. Despite the official explanation of suicide, the circumstances have never eliminated the possibility of dastardly defenestration. In A Time of Gifts (John Murray, London, 1977), the English writer Patrick Leigh Fermor (b. 1915) tells us of the martyrdom of St. Johannes Nepomuk in 1393 by the henchman of King Wenceslas IV. They hurled Johannes into the River Vltava (also known as the Moldau) from a bridge in Prague. Mr. Fermor adds in a footnote: “there are several instances of defenestration in Czech history, and it has continued into modern times [referring, no doubt, to poor Masaryk]. The martyrdom of St. Johannes is the only case of depontification, but it must be part of the same Tarpeian tendency.” Mr. Fermor is referring to the Tarpeian Rock — the Mons Tarpeius — on the Capitoline Hill in ancient Rome, from which criminals and traitors were hurled to their death.



This selection is taken from the book, “1000 Most Challenging Words” by Norman W. Schur, ©1987 by the Ballantine Reference Library, Random House.



I post a weekly “Challenging Words” definition to call more attention to this delightful book and to promote interesting word usage in the blogosphere. I challenge other bloggers to work the current word into a post sometime in the coming week. If you manage to do so, please leave a comment or a link to where I can find it.

Friday Fundamentals in Film: class report

No movie this week as I’ve exhausted my original list of films and discussion topics I compiled for the Fundamentals in Film class I taught to a small group of junior and senior high school boys. I am, however, in the process of reviewing other films I’ve thought of or that people have recommended so I can continue the series, using the same approach of looking for examples of personal character within the movies. My thanks to those of you who have commented, e-mailed or spoken to me in person to tell me what you’ve gotten out of this series or how you plan to use it with your own sons or young adults. I’m honored by your response, and it is your reaction that has encouraged me to expand the series.

I’ve been promising a post describing how the Fundamentals in Film class went over with the boys and whether or not I felt it met the objectives I had in mind, and this is as good a time as any to get into this.

Opening a Can…

Tonight my dad and I went to Keegan’s, had some fun and sucked at trivia, along with Uncle Ben and a newby who called himself Randy. There was much drinking, socializing, and yelling at Marty for daring to tell us our short-bus answers were wrong. Something was missing, though…what was it?

Oh, yeah!

Kevin! Afraid to show your face, were you? After all the: “this is what happens when you skip Keegan’s” crap that you tried to pull? I’m there more often than you are! Uncle Ben felt some wrath, but of course he blamed it on you.

“Kevin started it!”

Well, in the famous words of Manny the Wooly Mammoth,:

“I don’t care who started it, I’m gonna finish it!”

‘Nuff said.

Beware the pig

Samantha Burns had a post yesterday summarizing stories of stupid people doing stupid things with wild animals – and paying the consequences. I love stories with happy endings!

It also reminded me of a close animal encounter in our own family (no, not this or this). And no, we weren’t doing anything we shouldn’t have been doing.

When the Mall Diva was about four the Reverend Mother and I took her to the Renaissance Festival with the requisite stop at its petting zoo. In the pen that year, along with the standard sheep and goats, was a dark, Vietnamese pot-bellied pig (nothing says Middle Ages like the trendy pet of the year). The RM filled her cupped hands with grain and squatted down next to the pre-Diva to feed a hungry young goat; both kids were delighted. The sinister pig, already foreshadowed for you, began to snuffle its way innocently over to my young family. Casually approaching from behind it then suddenly and without warning or provocation lifted its head and nipped my wife on the seat of her pants. Since the pants were knit and fit her in a way that I like, you can assume that the pig got more than fabric. With a sudden whoop my wife, the corn and the pig all scattered in different but more or less vertical directions while several strangers lamented that they didn’t have a videocamera when they needed one.

Fortunately, while her concentration may have been broken, my wife’s skin wasn’t and it turned into a good laugh all around. Since all the acts at the festival are into their role-playing I just figured the pig thought it was the Italian Renaissance Festival and acted accordingly.