Paul’s driving me crazy, whining about money. Now he isn’t sure he wants to get a Christmas tree this weekend… “It’s money we could spend on something else,” he snivels. Well, his fucking Indiana Jones DVD set also represents money we could have spent on something else. I want a goddam Christmas tree; he can lump it.

Still, it was a good day. My interview at Accent went well, although they’re clearly so desperate for qualified recruits that I think once you pass the tests, you’d get in unless you held someone there at gunpoint. I was pleasant and only mildly quirky, so barring either alarmingly bad or astonishingly good fortune, I’ll be starting training there on January 12.

I long to quit at Village Inn, but I’m just going to give them two weeks notice tomorrow. Paul and I can use another paycheck, and this way I’ll have rent money for January. Mind you, my last day should be Sunday the 21st (on my current schedule there, assuming they don’t fuck with it after I give notice), which will give me the week of Christmas, the week of New Year’s, and the first week of January off. I imagine Paul will start bitching somewhere in there about money, but fuck it, he’s not the one who goes into the dish pit five nights a week.

What’s somewhat annoying is that with getting caught up on back bills I haven’t saved a dime so far in six weeks of employment towards getting my own place eventually. I guess that’s going to have to start when I begin drawing pay from Accent. Unless, of course, I win the Lotto or someone just happens to drop a few thousand dollars on me from some presently unimaginable source.

I’ve started rereading The Chronicles of Narnia. I wanted to give a set to one of my groups of nephews & niece, but it looks like Christmas shopping will be confined to Wal-mart, and I don’t think Wal-mart is going to have much of a book selection. Zephyrhills doesn’t have a bookstore, which I’m sure I’ve bitched about at length prior to this.

Anyway, I think it’s the first time I’ve reread them in probably ten or fifteen years. There’s a few things I’m not wild about… the assertion by Lewis (via the mouths of the Beavers) that the human protagonists cannot oppose the White Witch on their own, but can only triumph over her with Aslan’s help, however realistic, simply rankles me now in a way it didn’t all the previous times I read the books. This is a standard tenet of Christianity… one cannot triumph over evil by oneself because man is fallen, flawed, and weak… only through the intercession of Christ (whom Aslan is clearly a stunt double for in these books) can man be redeemed and wickedness be defeated. But I don’t like it; it’s antithetical to my cherished notions of human sovereignty and the capacity of the sentient individual to meet and overcome any challenge. I never noticed this much the first many times I read the Chronicles, but it stuck in my craw this time through.

Worse, though, was Lewis’ assertion (via the mouth of the sainted, mythic, and generally inarguable Father Christmas) that “battles are ugly when women fight in them”. Battles are ugly regardless of who fights in them and regardless of what weapons are employed, but if human beings are going to fight for whatever good or specious reasons humans have historically chosen to fight over, it is completely ridiculous to exclude half the race from the dubious honors (and undeniable brutality) of combat simply on the basis of gender. My cousin Ashley weighs about as much as my left leg and is a far far more competent infantry soldier than I will ever be, and her presence in a pitched firefight would, if anything, make that firefight at the very least more aesthetically pleasing than her absence (Ash is a babe). The notion that warfare is somehow NOT ugly if only we testosterone cases are in there swinging on each other is ludicrous, stupid, and offensive.

Anyway, I’ve since moved on to Prince Caspian and hopefully I won’t come across too many of these little buried landmines… I’d hate to have a childhood favorite be spoiled by too much intrusive religious or misognyistic nonsense.

In passing, though, I noted once more that, these being children’s fantasies, Lewis completely ignores the issue of sexuality, which realistically would be ridiculous enough simply given the make up of the original party of four siblings entering Narnia… while ages are never specifically given, I’d guesstimate that Lucy is around 9 or 10, Edmund a year or so older, and Susan and Peter would have to be around 12 to 14, respectively (if Peter’s much younger than that, Aslan had no business giving him a sword and shield and sending him into combat with supernatural evil… and the fact that 11 year old Edmund faced off against the White Witch with Aslan’s apparent blessing is a bit disturbing). That being the case, Peter, at least, should have had a raging case of teenage hormones. I can understand a children’s story leaving out any mention of that, of course, and I certainly didn’t need to see any scenes of Peter whipping his skippy while staring at the Dryads and Naiads.

Nonetheless, probably the most fascinating plot development in The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe comes at the end, when our four heroes remain in Narnia for an unspecified but lengthy period of years, all of them growing up into quite mature adults… Peter the mighty warrior, Susan the beautiful and gracious queen, Edmund the wise councilor and diplomat, Lucy the sweet, ever cheerful, and much sought after by princes of other lands… we have to assume that they stayed in Narnia at least ten years, maybe fifteen (or even longer; human lifespans seem lengthened in Narnia). Then, of course, at the end of the book they make their way back through the woods to the wardrobe and come out again in the Professor’s house and suddenly they’re all kids again, after a decade (at least) of absolute political power and adult adventures, and, well, one has to assume, at least some sexual experience.

I mean, how’s THAT feel?

It’s not like any of them were doddering ancients who would be grateful to have their youth restored at any stage, even early or pre-adolescence. No, these folks were in the prime of their adulthood, absolute and beloved rulers of a fabulous mythical kingdom, and suddenly, bang, they’re back in WWII England and stuck in kid’s bodies again. After having pretty much their pick of thousands if not millions of supernaturally beautiful subjects as their potential paramours and concubines. Yeah, Lewis doesn’t MENTION sex, but come on, they have to have had some at some point… at least, the boys had to have. And of course, no real Narnia fan wants to talk about the Brady Bunchesque incest angles, although even Lewis seems uncomfortably aware of the implications of his Two Kings & Two Queens Who Are All Siblings set up.

I don’t know. Maybe Narnian dynasties are meant to be kind of Egyptian, but I doubt it…

Yeah, yeah. It’s a children’s fantasy, and in children’s fantasies, by definition, we not only don’t mention sex, we simply all conspire to believe that in such worlds and contexts, sex actually doesn’t exist. I’m not sure keeping kids ignorant of such a fundamental aspect of biological behavior is healthy or wise, but it does seem to be incorporated deeply into our culture, and obviously Lewis did it here… but still… the set up does beg some questions.

I suppose we should all be grateful Alan Moore has never done a comic book adaptation of the Chronicles of Narnia, because I’m pretty sure he’d explore these themes at some length…

Another two weeks in the dish pit… ::sigh:: It will be easier since I know it’s ending, but, still, I am not looking forward to going to work tomorrow. However, Wednesdays are usually slow; it’s the weekends I really dread. And I only have two more of those, assuming all goes well.

Mind you, I’m under no illusions. Accent will suck comprehensively too, but there are degrees and types of suckiness, and at least the things I’ll hate at Accent (and there will be many; my brief tour through their today during my interview confirmed those suspicions resoundingly) will not be as onerous as the things I hate at Village Inn.

I’m aware that some people, especially married folks, spend their days off doing endless lists of household and domestic chores. I’m not like that. I like my days off to be genuine days OFF; days when I can relax and waste time and do what I want, for those fleeting hours when I actually don’t have to slog off somewhere and earn a subsistence living. Therefore, I begrudge the necessity to do Necessary Things on my days off and generally try to fit them in somewhere on work days. As a general rule, I find I can make myself do ONE, count them, ONE, necessary thing on a day off. Since Monday I had tests to take at Accent, and Tuesday I had an interview at Accent, I just didn’t get around to making myself do laundry. I could do it tomorrow before I go to work, and I’d give that about a 60% probability… but on the other hand, I may just blow it off. Depends on when I get to bed tonight and get up tomorrow.

ABC’s December fill in (while NYPD Blue films more new episodes) is called Line of Fire, and so far it’s a pretty good primetime soap opera regarding a lot of really good looking FBI agents battling a lot of not quite so good looking but generally photogenic and interesting looking organized crime mobsters in Richmond, Virginia. One of the agents is infiltrating the mob, and you’d think the mobsters would figure it out just because this guy is so young and hot. And I swear to God, if I thought all female FBI agents were this babeish, I’d be tempted to apply for a job there.

There are troubling aspects to the show… one character’s motivation to battle evil comes from her husband dying in 9/11, which, well, just seems exploitative to me. Still, the show has so far been fairly well written, even if it does quite often seem like a toned down made for TV serialization of Donnie Brasco.

And that’s going to be about it for this amazing entry. Thanks to those of you who keep reading and special thanks to those of you who keep posting comments.

**Addendum**

Later on Wednesday:

I walked over to work tonight. As I was heading around to the door to go inside, I heard my one manager (the one I like) Diane call out "Darren, what are you doing here tonight?" She was over at the back door, and when I walked over she told me that she'd thought I wasn't on the schedule for tonight.

Now, I don't check the weekly schedule; my hours had been completely constant since I started... I go in at 5 until close Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday, and 4 to close on Saturday and Sunday. So I told Diane I was giving my two weeks notice anyway, then walked through to check the schedule, passing through the dish pit on the way.

Sure enough, I wasn't on the schedule. I walked back through the dish pit, noted that it was, as always, overflowing with dirty dishes that needed to be done, and further noting during both passages that Kim and Theresa, the two waitresses I loathed the most, were both in much evidence, and concluded that the downside (less money, and the bother of having walked over for nothing, and now having to walk home again in a light winter drizzle) was far outweighted by the upside (not having to spend six hours in the dish pit). So I waved goodbye to Diane cheerfully and slogged on home, where I sit typing this nonsense to you now.

My overwhelming impulse is to believe I'm being punished for something, but if so, it's a stupid way to go about it, since obviously nobody is going to come out and tell me what I'm being punished for, or even admit that I am, and punishment without clear communication as to context is pretty useless. (It's fairly useless on me, anyway; if you want me to do something I don't want to do, you either ask me nicely or you forbid me to do it. Punishing me, on the other hand, simply makes my attitude worse, and I have a fairly bad attitude towards pretty much any employer to start with.)

Anyway, I have an extra day off today, which cannot be construed as a bad thing. I am, however, scheduled to work my normal hours Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. Whether they'll schedule me at all next week I honestly do not know at this point, given the fact that they (I imagine 'they' is Julie, since Diane says she no longer makes up the schedule) clearly are angry at me over something, combined with my notice given tonight.

Hey, I should run out and by a Lotto ticket. Maybe I won't have to to go work tomorrow at all.

I did not do my laundry, but my two pair of work jeans are clean enough... I rarely get dirty at work, just soaking wet.

All right, now I'm outta here.

RULES OF THE ROAD

In one of his many invaluable essays on life in Hollywood, Mark Evanier described his first meeting with legendary TV comic and icon Milton Berle. Upon being introduced to Uncle Miltie and shaking hands with him, Mark, who is a pretty witty guy, blurted out without even thinking about it, “Wow, I didn’t recognize you in men’s clothing”. According to Mark, this soured Uncle Miltie on him from that point forward, because Mark had broken Rule Number One When Hanging With Milton Berle, namely, Never Be Funnier Than Milton Berle.

I’m reminded of that anecdote now.

Recent experiences at Electrolite being pretty much entirely similar if not completely identical to my previous experiences at Uppity-Negro.com and TampaTantrum.com, I thought I’d take the time to extrapolate whatever wisdom there is to find in the whole mess. Here’s The Deal, as far as I can see:

If you want to make friends and influence people when you head out onto the blogging trail, at least, as regards your posting comments on other people’s blogs, you MUST NOT:

Rule E comes mostly out of my experiences with Aaron Hawkin’s Uppity-Negro blog. He gets a lot of female posters and like any of us male geeks would be in that admirable position, he is thoroughly whipped by them. If a new reader comes along and does anything whatsoever to offend the babes on Aaron’s blog, that new reader can expect a cold shoulder from Aaron roughly the size of the Greenland glacier. I don’t really blame Aaron for this; for a male geek, positive female attention is a jewel beyond price, and if I ever had any women posting to my blog who weren’t related to me by marriage, I’d most likely dance and sing like a puppet on a string when they cracked the lash, too.

I should add to this that I’ve learned, from Electrolite, that one Must Not Be Whimsical, Oblique, or Overly Geeky When Posting To A Big Important Political Marketplace of Ideas Type Blog, because those guys just have no time for Theodore Marley Brooks or Cornelus van Lunt references, regardless of how amusing or entertaining you and some others may find them.

Now, I am posting this to point out that while these may be the universal Rules of the Road on other blogs (and as far as I can see, they are, indeed, pretty much universal) you can ignore them here. I don’t care if you:

Oh, and I like geeky references and would just adore whimsical, cleverly elliptical posts to my comment threads, although I suspect I’d get annoyed if someone started posting a whole lot of Harry Potter-speak here, just for one example.

If there is a universal rule on this blog, it is quite simply, Do Not Be A Bigger Asshole Than The Blogger. In fact, if you can avoid it (and most of my small number of regular posters avoid it with style and panache) Don’t Be An Asshole At All. I am quite a big enough asshole myself to supply all the assholiness necessary for any blog, and I will continue to keep this blog well furnished with stupid remarks, doltish mistakes, whiney rationalizations, and defensive recriminations by the ton lot, there can be no doubt. You need bring none of your own asshole nature with you, I have plenty and am always willing to share.

THE INEVITABLE DISCLAIMER

By generally accepted social standards, I'm not a likable guy. I'm not saying that to get cheap reassurances. It's simply the truth. I regard many social conventions in radically different ways than most people do, I have many many controversial opinions, and I tend to state them pretty forthrightly. This is not a formula for popularity in any social continuum I've ever experienced.

In my prior blogs, I took the fairly standard attitude: if you don't like my opinions or my blog, don't read the fucking thing.

Having given that some more thought, though, I'm not going to say that this time around, because I've realized that what this is basically saying is, 'if you don't like what I have to say, tough, I don't want to hear it, don't even bother to tell me, just go away'.

And that's actually a pretty worthless attitude. It's basically saying, 'I don't want to hear anything except unconditional agreement and approval'. And that's nonsense. This is still a free country... for a little while longer, anyway... and if you really feel you just gotta send me a flame, or post one on my comment threads (assuming they actually work, which I cannot in any way guarantee) then by all means, knock yourself out.

Unless your flame is exceptionally cogent, witty, or stylish, though, I will most likely ignore it. You do have a right to say anything you want (although I'm not sure that's a right when you're doing it in my comment threads, but hey, you can certainly send all the emails you want). However, I have an equal right not to read anything I don't feel like reading... and I'm really quick with the delete key... as various angry folks have found in the past, when they decided they just had to do their absolute level best to make me as miserable as possible.

So, if you don't like my opinions, feel free to say so. However, if I find absolutely nothing worthwhile in your commentary, I will almost certainly not respond to it in any way.

Stupidity, ignorance, intolerance... these things are only worth my time and attention if they're entertaining. So unless you can be stupid, ignorant, and/or intolerant with enough wit, style, and/or panache to amuse me... try to be smart, informed, and broad minded when you write me.