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I love the library. Love, love, love it. I want my kids to know their local library inside and out (and possibly the county library too–any number of branches will do). Every time I visit I’m impressed with the fact that it’s like a home: Every wall has some kind of item or decoration on it; time and care have obviously gone into the place, like the schoolroom of a good elementary school teacher. Granted, much of it is chintzy and slightly tacky, but show me a home in America that doesn’t have at least one element of mismatched décor or some out-of-place looking heirloom on the mantlepiece. It makes the place seem lived-in, gives it a warmth, a patina that just draws me in. There aren’t many public projects I’d willing pay taxes to fund, but a well-kept public library is one of them.

I think a lot of my deep-seated attraction for the place stems from my many Saturday visits to the Durham County Public Library as a pre-teen. My mom was involved in the adult education program and was teaching a local man to read; their sessions were every Saturday morning. I tagged along and in the process, became very familiar with that place—the young adult non-fiction, the adult non-fiction, the reference area, the microfiche desk, the periodicals… I just loved being there, and I want my kids to feel a measure of that in relation to their local library.

Watched and greatly enjoyed Serenity last night. I’d watch the series but Tom from my Tuesday morning men’s group saw a few episodes and cautioned me there are some unsavory moments in it, things I’d rather avoid. The movie, ironically (since TV shows are usually tamer than their film adaptations), was pretty clean.

I won’t go into a plot exposition, but only point out that it’s a kind of a sci-fi/western hybrid with excellent characterizations and fresh, witty dialogue. The way the characters are portrayed is especially good—they’re given smart exchanges that allow them to feel like more than just two-dimensional cardboard cutouts. Not only that, their interpersonal chemistry is palpable and rounds them out further; it makes you care about them and gives an emotional backbone to the action scenes.

I couldn’t help noticing a marked contrast between the film and the steamroller sci-fi franchise of the past 15 years or so: The Star Wars prequel trilogy. The comparison is especially apt given that Serenity and Revenge of the Sith came out roughly at the same time. Everything the Star Wars movies did wrong, Serenity does right. I could go on for ages, but I’ll just point out a few of the contrasting elements:

• Instead of just cramming as much sci-fi garbage as they could on the screen, Serenity focuses on story, dialogue and character development, connecting you to the sense of urgency the characters feel and giving a strong emotional center to the action scenes in spite of the fact that there isn’t nearly as much crap going on as there is in the Lucas films.
• The dialogue and acting in Serenity is exponentially better than in Star Wars. This is no difficult achievement given how utterly, mind-bogglingly terrible those elements were in the prequel trilogy. And not only do they stand out in comparison to the Star Wars prequels, the dialogue and acting actually shine in comparison to good films of any genre—there’s a crispness to the words and the inflection with which they’re delivered that keeps you engaged and interested on many levels.

In addition to the Star Wars smackdown, there are some other noteworthy aspects to Serenity:

Though he’s not the first to present a less-than-polished vision of the future (in contrast to the Star Trek universe, where “war, poverty and disease have disappeared”), I admire how forthcoming Joss Whedon is about the worldview reflected in his film:

“…nothing will change in the future: technology will advance, but we will still have the same political, moral, and ethical problems as today.”

I know it’s implied in many other sci-fi works (take the rough-and-tumble neo-noir dystopian vision of Blade Runner, for example); I guess I just admire Whedon for being so explicit about the take on human nature that informed his screenwriting and directing.

One more thing about the film: I also couldn’t help noticing the parallels to Cowboy Bebop:

• The rag-tag group of mercenaries with nothing binding them together except their own fickle loyalties
• The disgrunted yet charismatic “leader” driven by a certain philosophy/outlook on life
• And even the synthesis of a future universe with iconic 19th- and 20th-century elements.

All in all, Serenity is a great film. It’s in my sci fi top-five for sure. Two thumbs up.

Yet again, in the interest of posting more frequently (and not having anything particularly compelling to discuss today), here are some of my driving habits/quirks:

• In order to maximize current to the starter motor and minimize initial load on the engine, all accessories, including A/C, are always turned off when I start the car. My only concession on this point is that I do put my foot on the brake pedal, even though I know electricity going to the brake lights is unavailable to turn the starter. Only after the car has “cleared its throat,” so to speak, by running for half a minute or so, do I turn on accessories like the A/C, stereo, headlights or defrost.
• I only turn on the A/C if I either:
  1. Have other people in the car, or
  2. It’s absolutely, unbearably hot outside.
  The A/C imposes an extra load on the engine, disconnects and isolates me somewhat from the immediate, tangible outside environment that affects my driving and it introduces extra heat to the engine bay through the condenser, further reducing efficiency. Not worth it except in the most extreme cases.
• I hate long keychains flopping around while I drive. My keychains always detach so that only the car key and (possibly) the keyfob are dangling from the ignition.
• Everything must be buttoned down or tucked away in the car. Nothing loose. I want to put the car on like an article of clothing, and I want it to feel like an extension of my body–it just makes me feel more alert and in control, and thus a better driver.
• I always try to heel-and-toe and rev match when downshifting on a manual transmission car. This is (arguably) a bit harder on the clutch, but much easier on the transmission, and given the choice I’d much rather replace a clutch rather than a tranny. Besides, heel-and-toeing makes for a very smooth drive if done properly, and performing it well is very satisfying. I will say, though, that the mushy brake pedal on the E34 doesn’t make it as easy as it was in the E24. I think the brakes could use a good bleed.
• Despite my long limbs, I actually like to drive close to the steering wheel and pedals. The effort required to hold up my arms increases with the length of the “lever arm” when they’re extended, so it’s easier to drive up close. Not only that, but my first car (Twinkie) was very small and had very limited adjustability from the driver’s seat, so I drove for years in the “bent arms, legs splayed about the steering wheel” position. Guess I got used to it.
• My only major concession to James May-ish-ness, all vents must be aligned and in the center of their respective ranges of travel.
• Finally, I always use the handbrake when parked. It’s there for a reason!

Luke and Pen are both under the weather today. Luke in particular seems to be feeling it (though he’s always in denial about his illnesses)–he’s running at about 60%-75%, I’d say. We went through our normal evening routine (take out trash, take out Maple, check mail, climb on the rocks) and he was well-nigh mute the whole way, totally focused on making through his evening routine at any cost.

Just like everywhere else we’ve lived, he and I go on walks, and inevitably half a dozen or so of the landmarks we encounter become “stations” we use to describe our route, and that we focus on. Setting off on a walk, we’ve had many exchanges of this nature:

Luke: “Daddy, are we going to go by the Regular Wheat and the Rocks today?”
Me: “Yes, and we’ll see the No-Mailboxes, the Fancy Wheat and the Gazebo too.”

“The Rocks” has become one destination we visit more regularly than the others. During the construction of the apartment complex, some earthmoving machines deposited a pile of sizable rocks and boulders at the end of one of the parking lots, and Luke’s favorite activity any given walk is to climb all over them. We actually call them “the Himalayas” and we’ve named a few in particular–there’s K2, Nanga Parbat and of course, Mount Everest. Our visits to the Rocks always culminate with his ascent of Mount Everest and subsequent jump down while holding my hand. Lately, we’ve actually named the “faces” of Mount Everest; today, for instance, he scaled the “north face” before jumping down. We have a good time.

The joy of parenting reared its ugly head again this evening… Dinner was done, yesterday was payday and it was time for the weekly shopping trip. Diane hadn’t been feeling well all day so Luke and I made the trek to Wal-Mart, (extensive) list in hand.

It’s not like we hadn’t done it before–Luke is actually really good in stores, very patient, chatty, friendly and all the rest. We’d even made at least one, possibly two, lengthy trips to Wal-Mart before with the intent of making good progress in acquiring the week’s necessities. So it’s not like it was uncharted territory.

Luke’s in a funny place as far as his development is concerned. As soon as I say that, though, I have to swiftly amend my statement to disclaim that Luke is a unique boy in many (most?) aspects of his development: far ahead in some areas, significantly behind in others. He’s never had a problem acclimating himself to new groups of people; case in point: When we were visiting churches, I’d just drop him off in Sunday School each different church and he didn’t show any uneasiness in just sauntering into the classroom and making himself at home. These days he’s friendly to a fault. He offers a cheery “Hello!” to anyone within earshot (and often yells it when they’re some distance away), usually followed up with some chipper comment about his age or our activities, i.e. “I’m six years old!” or “We’re taking the trash out!” It’s cute and I encourage his friendliness, within the boundaries of social norms and conventions, but just knowing him as we do, it’s a fragment of an overall picture of a boy who’s not overly concerned by how others perceive him.

In the grand scheme of things, this is good; however, a knowledge of how one comes across is often very helpful in many ways, a few of which are empathizing with others (an area in which he lags) and grasping the principles behind social conventions without having to have each one explained in exhaustive detail–and even then it’s a toss-up as to whether he gets it.

What does this have to do with our trip to Wal-Mart today, you ask? About halfway through our trip, fortunately in a near-deserted aisle, Luke pinched his finger very mildly between two portions of the cart’s structure. His response was a blood-curdling yell, subsequent yells, thrashing about, hitting everything in sight and general pandemonium. I contained the situation as best I could and once again explained that getting hurt wasn’t a no-no, but not being self-controlled was. I held him as he wound down, deposited him back in the cart and we continued shopping. Needless to say, though, I was rattled for at least 20 minutes, possibly more, as we wrapped up our trip.

I know every kid has to learn that yelling at the top of his lungs in a crowded space will inevitably bother those around him. Maybe Luke is on track compared to other kids in his apprehension of that reality. I guess it just seems like at 6 years old he should have gotten it by now. Tantrums are more characteristic of the younger set, kids Penelope’s age and the like. Prayers appreciated for wisdom in knowing how to teach Luke to temper his emotional outbursts, communicate through them and bring them under control.

In other situations, say, when we know we’ll have to turn a request of his down and there could be some back-talk, it’s easier for us as parents to anticipate the outburst and “prep” him, i.e. “Luke, Daddy’s going to tell you something and you need to choose what kind of attitude you’re going to have when Daddy tells you. If you show Daddy you have a bad attitude, there will be consequences. Now, what kind of attitude are you going to have?” He’ll answer “A good one,” and then we’ll continue with the conversation. He generally does very well when prepped, but how do you prep a kid to control his response when he gets hurt? There’s no way to step in between the event and the outburst, so the best you can do is stay engaged and try to prep him in a situation where he might possibly hurt himself, like before a meal where the food being served is hot and he might burn his mouth. An explanation of the possible incident and the consequences of certain responses is about all we have in that scenario.

So it’s tricky. Again, prayers appreciated. Kids are a magnificent challenge, all the time.

Finally sold the E24 a few weeks ago. I’d been on the fence about selling it for a while, and gone back and forth more than enough times to make Diane uncomfortable about the stability of my intentions with respect to the car, but finally, firmly decided to sell it.

Why? For the reasons enumerated here, along with a few extras:

• Diane’s always hated the car’s color (white), and even I would concede it didn’t flatter the car’s lines,
• Something with four doors is vastly easier to get the kids into (the 6er had two),
• The E24 would have been very difficult to teach Diane how to drive, being a particularly finicky manual,
• I was absolutely paranoid all winter every time I had to drive the car through the salty slush–the BMW rustproofing of that era was notoriously bad, and
• It required too much cash to be brought up to a level where I felt like it looked acceptable visually. It was the kind of car that was so good-looking that you were doubly motivated to spend money to get it “all the way there,” so to speak. Less attractive cars can “stop” in a less demanding visual state.

I was all set to trade it for an Audi 200, but the would-be seller lost interest. After a few weeks of poking around, the net result of the car wrangling is detailed here. It’s a perfect car for us–stickshift and RWD to satisfy my “needs” as an enthusiast, much better rustproofing, four doors, less tempting to “improve” mechanically and cosmetically, and Diane loves the color and the shape. It worked out really well, and I’m grateful to my parents for setting us up with the opportunity to get it.

However, my enthusiasm for the car is tempered by the fact that it’s not quite as classic, not quite as “interesting” as the E24. I think this is a good thing–my time spent thinking about the older car was approaching excessive levels in those last few months. I’ve been a car buff for years and years; I know how my emotions respond to these things, and I should have known better–I should have known how wrapped up I would get in the car and staved things off from the beginning by getting a different car or, heaven forbid, keeping the one we had at the time. I made a bad decision, and I own that. Doesn’t lessen my gratitude for how well things turned out. I certainly didn’t deserve for them to.

A side effect of all this, combined with my “rediscovery” of my journal and rereading past entries, is that my emotional desire to pursue a specific interest has been blown wide open again. During the past nine months (the span of ownership of the E24), my emotional focus was “dialed in” to the car and my attention to other spheres of interest faded proportionally. But now I’m all over the map again as far as my feelings as concerned. The funny thing is, I don’t feel unstable or unpredictable. The insecurity I used to feel when I thought about how strongly I felt about so many interests that often seemed to pull me in mutually-exclusive directions is gone. I just feel liberated. I feel like my life has been greatly simplified, and if you know me at all you know that I love the scope of my life in any given moment to be simple–even though it rarely is.

Where to go from here? The Lord knows. We’ve got a plan to purchase a house early next year, send the kids to school and invest in our church and community. What happens in the periphery only time will tell.

It’s hard to believe I’ve seen OtR in concert. For a band whose songs have intersected with my life at so many key moments over the past decade or so, to have seen them, living, breathing, singing, playing not 20 feet away was positively transcendent. We’d been trying to see them for some time now, and circumstances finally aligned so that we were able to go to a show close to Valentine’s Day. The set was all too short, and they only did one encore, but brief as it was it exceeded my (admittedly lofty) expectations. They sang a mixture of old and new stuff, with 3 or 4 brand-new songs mixed in, songs I can’t wait to hear on their upcoming album. Bands who play unreleased stuff at shows have the potential to shoot themselves in the foot if casual listeners tune out songs they’re unfamiliar with, but in this case I can’t imagine anyone in the room, even those who hadn’t heard a single OtR song but were dragged to the show by their dates, would have minded if the band decided to play a whole set full of new songs. Perfect. Karin’s voice was the definition of flawless and Linford lost himself in baroque stories between songs. I want to see them again.

Charlie sent me a trailer for this movie over lunch today. He’s a Beatles fan, like me, and thought I’d find it interesting. I do, and the film looks promising (Kristin Scott Thomas in particular is always good), but it touches on a perennial annoyance of mine about the Beatles, and specifically John Lennon fandom. I appreciate the fact that he was incredibly talented musically–he was witty and deft and crafted some of the best music ever–but the bottom line is that personally, he was a jerk. Just utterly devoid of character, and not just during the Ono years. His attitude toward the women in his life was appalling and he was callous, vindictive and nihilistic in his personal philosophy, regardless of how people try to spin “Imagine.” I guess it just bothers me that he seems to be the one the most press and artistic attention is lavished upon, since he’s the most “interesting” personality in the band, not to mention the fact he died early and acquired, as all celebrities in that situation do, something of a mythic status, a la James Dean, Heath Ledger, River Phoenix, Elliott Smith, Michael Hutchence, Keith Moon, John Bonham, etc. As far as Lennon is concerned, is it possible to give his music its due without glorifying the man behind it? Probably not, and that’s depressing.

I’ve got to start posting more often. On a whim, I reread some entries from a few years ago, and the emotion from those times in my life wasn’t the only thing that returned around the framework of the words–I remembered how invigorating it was to write, to sit at the keyboard, close my eyes and just let the words come out; to craft and arrange them, to mold and shape paragraphs and clauses so they would project the exact forms and structures I intended in my own mind… I haven’t disappeared from the online world entirely, but I didn’t realize how my recent “exile” in forums and on Twitter felt stunted in comparison with the élan of writing longer posts. Rereading the entries was the bucket of icy water that reminded me of how much I was missing by not investing in my blog.

And yet, every time I sit down to write, the immediacy of the day’s events crowds around and chokes off any hope of breaking through to something that would represent what I really want to write. As soon as I say that, though, I remember my two-month stint of furious blogging a year and a half ago, and how it took me several posts to reach the point where I felt more unencumbered–I think the same pattern applies here. So I’ll just have to stick it out.

…none of which is to say there’s something inherently less or unworthy about writing about the day’s events–those things have their place. Each function of a blog is satisfying in its own way.

For now, though, just a snapshot: I’m sitting in the darkened room of our new apartment typing away. Diane’s asleep on the bed behind me; she’s exhausted after a long day and series of nights battling insomnia. The fan makes the nightly racket on the shelf next to her. Work has been busier than usual, the dust continues to settle around our church situation and the kids grow and grow. Luke got a bike for his 6th birthday recently and we’ve been on a few bike rides. He’s getting the hang of it, slowly. Realizing he could control his own speed, to a degree, by pedaling backward was a revelation to him. He’s a cautious boy and hasn’t trundled along at any speed faster than a slow walk. He’ll loosen up in time; I’m not concerned. Penelope is more lovely every day, but needs to be potty trained, badly. Diane and I are tired of diapers and their attendant rashes and messes. It’s time.

More to come. I need this.

I’m excited about dinner tonight: We’re going to the West End Cafe, the location of our first one-on-one date. We’d gone to Moe’s and then Tanglewood the week prior, but that was the three of us: Diane, Luke and myself. The West End date was just Diane and me, all the way back in the spring of ’06. It doesn’t seem that long ago when you just compare the two numbers (2006 vs. 2010) in your head, but 10, 20, 30 years down the road, Lord willing, it’ll seem like ages. I want that perspective, even if it means the end of our time together here on earth will be drawing shorter.

A friend of hers ran across some old pictures of her yesterday, and sent them to her. She shared them with me. Even now I have trouble describing the emotions that run through me when I look at them–something I could do for ages, incidentally. I told her last night that I wished I had known her then, but that at same time, we were dramatically different people, and probably wouldn’t have tolerated, let alone liked each other then (though I’m certain I’d have been captivated by her smile). I would have been a deathly bore to her, stodgy and unappealing, and she would have been the unattainable beauty to me, flighty, popular and gregarious but utterly inaccessible. I remember girls with a measure of those qualities back in my college (and after) days, but no one with the convergence of features she has. It’s a fair bet I would have been pretty far gone.

I look at the pictures and I want to know her. The greatest drive in my life, other than those directed toward the Lord, is to love her and to know her, a drive that extends backward into the past and forward into the future. My own memories are so significant to me that it hurts to know there are places in her past that are unilluminated–and I know full well that some will always remain that way.

The present is the tip of the iceberg. I see us as we move through time, standing on the tip of an unspeakably massive pyramid of experiences. I want to step back, back, back until I can see it all at once, even if my eyes can only focus on particular details, and even if I’m overwhelmed, bowled over, floored by the vista of her that spreads out before me like the sky full of stars on a dark night. I want the impression of the whole–that knowledge. I’ve always wanted that.

On the subject of pictures, from March 23, 2006:

We traded pictures today. I made her a small folder on my webspace where I consolidated (the few) pictures of me where I felt I was reasonably photogenic. I signed on AIM later and she sent me some of her. The overwhelming thought in my mind as one after another came through onto my screen was, “YES.” Yes that I wanted this, that I wanted her. Yes that it is a face, such a face, that I could look at for a long, long time. And yes that I cannot believe how fortunate I am to be accepted by such beauty. It makes the experience more tenuous (since I feel like I have less than ever to recommend myself to her) and more wonderful at the same time. I won’t share all of them with you, but it was interesting to almost experience a different moment, a new facet of her personality through the quality of each image.

I love you. Happy Valentine’s Day.

Christmas has come and gone. I’m back to work tomorrow. It’s a quiet Sunday evening. Diane and I have resumed our Netflix subscription and are working our way through episodes of Cowboy Bebop—I’ve seen it; she hasn’t, but she’s enjoying it. Generally I’m a subtitle snob (foreign-language films must be viewed subtitled, not dubbed), but I tried the series dubbed and it’s not bad. Thinking about just watching it that way for the rest of the run. We’ll see.

I received a whole bunch of guitar-related stuff for Christmas: a “Beatles Fake Book,” a book of acoustic rock numbers, a songbook binder Diane made for me, a capo, some picks and a guitar cleaning kit. So I’m set there for a while. Making some progress, but not enough to keep it from being frequently frustrating. I bought a chord book with photographs of fingering, so I’m trying out some better ways to form “A” and “G” chords, and I think that’s part of what’s contributing to my lack of progress. I’m hopeful they’ll give me a good foundation going forward, though. No shortcuts.

Luke and Penelope like pretty much everything they got. Luke particularly loves the magnetic building set his Grandma got him (he likes to make pyramids and then step on them while we watch), a little motorized bug his Nana got him, Guess Who? and Frog and Toad’s Adventure Game (both board games), his McDuff books and of course his Little Einstein figurines. He really likes playing his Little Einstein piano, too. He turns a knob and it makes a funny noise and he looks at us to see if we’re smiling along with him. Penelope loves to sit on her Little Einstein car and press the buttons She got some stuffed animals, too, which she loves. They also got a bunch of stuff they need, clothes and whatnot, which they could care less about.

Last night my parents, Diane’s parents, my brother, his wife and daughter and our little family ate out at Arigato. It’s the third year in a row we’ve had a post-Christmas outing there, and it’s always fun. David and Rachel’s four-month-old daughter Catherine was along for the ride and a lot of fun. She’s beautiful and been a great sport over the course of the holidays and its hustle and bustle. I carried her around a good bit a week ago during a visit to my parents’ house, and it was the first time I felt like an uncle. Pretty special.