The Bone Saga
Excerpts from his email:
I'm sitting here at 22 minutes after midnight. After 3 whole days of spiritual and legal scrutiny, I signed the agency contract.
Two of my biggest concerns were the fact that 1) he wanted to sign me without reading the script and 2) that he wasn't a signatory member of the Writers Guild.
He answered 1) by saying that he has a head of a production studio that wants to read my script. End of story. Whether he has read it or not, he wants to represent me for the chance that it offers to both of us.
He answered 2) by explaining that the Writers Guild will only except agents that are agents exclusively. Since he is a producer, writer, agent, and manager, the Guild is uncomfortable with conflict of interest issues.
His contract that he offered was a boilerplate agency contract approved by the California State Labor division, and he agreed to a term of 2 instead of 7 years
All in all, he was very frank with me saying, that he would never have considered signing me in a million years, if he didn't have this unique opportunity fall into his lap.
For the life of me, I can't understand why the agent wouldn't invest an hour of his life and read the script. He's probably not a reader - he probably is a salesman and salesmen don't generally make good readers.
July 16, 2003
July 15, 2003
Just Put a Rosary in My Hands ...and say one for me
Fellow Ohioan Jeanne emailed this concerning the following, concerning this tendency of prolonged adolescence:
One reason our culture allowed us to grow up in the past was the sense of responsibility we took on or was placed on us. As we did that, we were brought into the real world of what life is all about. Our culture now tries to keep us perpetually children and it succeeds in many ways. We have sports now which are good to keep the kids occupied because there is no real work to do, but there isn't any quid pro quo in getting anything out of it that helps us grow up. Yes, we learn working with each other and following orders, but our lives don't depend on it. We no longer have a survival society where we have to grup for a living, but an intuitive society which is the opposite. We have to develop other ways of growing up...
I think we tend to grow to the extent it is necessary that they grow. If I play tennis, I'm not getting myself in shape for golf - we only exercise the muscles we need, referring of course to spiritual muscles.
There's a big picture in the paper today of a funeral of a Cleveland Browns fan, and his recliner & Dawg slippers & TV & pennants were all placed in the "chapel" next to his coffin at the visitation. It depressed me, and I wasn't sure why. Maybe because he never grew up? Or maybe because it trivializes death, the very moment we are most likely to think religious (instead of sporting) thoughts?
Fellow Ohioan Jeanne emailed this concerning the following, concerning this tendency of prolonged adolescence:
One reason our culture allowed us to grow up in the past was the sense of responsibility we took on or was placed on us. As we did that, we were brought into the real world of what life is all about. Our culture now tries to keep us perpetually children and it succeeds in many ways. We have sports now which are good to keep the kids occupied because there is no real work to do, but there isn't any quid pro quo in getting anything out of it that helps us grow up. Yes, we learn working with each other and following orders, but our lives don't depend on it. We no longer have a survival society where we have to grup for a living, but an intuitive society which is the opposite. We have to develop other ways of growing up...
I think we tend to grow to the extent it is necessary that they grow. If I play tennis, I'm not getting myself in shape for golf - we only exercise the muscles we need, referring of course to spiritual muscles.
There's a big picture in the paper today of a funeral of a Cleveland Browns fan, and his recliner & Dawg slippers & TV & pennants were all placed in the "chapel" next to his coffin at the visitation. It depressed me, and I wasn't sure why. Maybe because he never grew up? Or maybe because it trivializes death, the very moment we are most likely to think religious (instead of sporting) thoughts?
One of the greatest, and, I think, the most tragic lines in Latin verse is that famous phrase:
"Video meliora, proboque: deteriora sequor."
It is a very epitome of the human story: of one man and of all.
--Hilaire Belloc, Survivals and New Arrivals
"Video meliora, proboque: deteriora sequor."
It is a very epitome of the human story: of one man and of all.
--Hilaire Belloc, Survivals and New Arrivals
Fictional Tuesday
The smell of rain permeated the air, but then it always did in Ireland. The villagers laughed and said that you have to prepare for all four seasons on any given day but in my experience it was mostly just spring. Rains and mists varied in intensity, but the temperature was moderated by the Atlantic to a steady 50 to 70 degrees.
The tourists flocked for the Aran sweaters and Waterford Factory but I begged off to experience spring in all her myriad manifestations. I found an obscure bookstore/pub, an unusual combination in Ireland where reading and blarney are rarely mixed. There in the Yeats section lay his latest biographer’s effort. I shook the faerie dust from it and began to read.
Soon aft a ne’er-do-well arrived appearing flummoxed and breathing threats.
“Fenian Bastards!” he yelled to no one in particular.
“Unrepentant Fenian Bastards!” he yelled for emphasis.
He could tell by my tennis shoes, the blasted neon sign saying “tourist”, that I was American. But nevertheless I asked him where the unrepented Fenians were.
“What’s the Yank doing here?” he said to no one in particular.
I quoted Yeats by way of response:
“Cast a cold eye
On life, on death.
Horseman, pass by!”
& then we sang:
"An seanchrácamas, sparán folamh,
Nó baois an lae, aiféala oíche!"
“Aye, you'll be an Irishmen yet!”
The smell of rain permeated the air, but then it always did in Ireland. The villagers laughed and said that you have to prepare for all four seasons on any given day but in my experience it was mostly just spring. Rains and mists varied in intensity, but the temperature was moderated by the Atlantic to a steady 50 to 70 degrees.
The tourists flocked for the Aran sweaters and Waterford Factory but I begged off to experience spring in all her myriad manifestations. I found an obscure bookstore/pub, an unusual combination in Ireland where reading and blarney are rarely mixed. There in the Yeats section lay his latest biographer’s effort. I shook the faerie dust from it and began to read.
Soon aft a ne’er-do-well arrived appearing flummoxed and breathing threats.
“Fenian Bastards!” he yelled to no one in particular.
“Unrepentant Fenian Bastards!” he yelled for emphasis.
He could tell by my tennis shoes, the blasted neon sign saying “tourist”, that I was American. But nevertheless I asked him where the unrepented Fenians were.
“What’s the Yank doing here?” he said to no one in particular.
I quoted Yeats by way of response:
“Cast a cold eye
On life, on death.
Horseman, pass by!”
& then we sang:
"An seanchrácamas, sparán folamh,
Nó baois an lae, aiféala oíche!"
“Aye, you'll be an Irishmen yet!”
East of Eden Quotes
"Lately I never felt good enough. I always wanted to explain to him that I was not good."
"And now that you don't have to be perfect, you can be good. Is that it?"
*
"I had to find out my stupidities for myself. These were my stupidities: I thought the good are destroyed while the evil survive and prosper.
'I thought that once an angry and disgusted God poured molten fire from a crucible to destroy or to purify his little handiwork of mud.
I thought I had inherited both the scars of the fire and the impurities which made the fire necessary - all inherited, I thought..."
"Maybe you'll come to know that every man in every generation is refired. Does a craftsman, even in his old age, lose his hunger to make a perfect cup - thin, strong, translucent?" He held his cup to the light. "All impurities burned out and ready for a glorious flux, and for that - more fire. And then either the slag heap, or perhaps what no one in the world ever quite gives up, perfection." He drained his cup and he said loudly, "Cal, listen to me. Can you think that whatever made us - would stop trying?" --John Steinbeck
Erik Keilholtz & Kathy make good points in discussing the difficulty of getting thru adolescence (on KTC's blog):
The whole thing is a cultural problem. "Teenager" as a state of life is a relatively modern invention. One used to go from childhood to adulthood in a short amount of time. I think that we have lost something by creating a period in which one is expected to basically be a consumer without contributing much to society. Then we wonder why our adults are in such messes!
Response from KTC
I think the artificially-induced isolation of high school (Eve referred to it in the college context as the "hothouse environment) foments character problems, too.
Kinky Freidman said that a happy childhood is a terrible preparation for life, but it could apply to an extended adolescence also.
The whole thing is a cultural problem. "Teenager" as a state of life is a relatively modern invention. One used to go from childhood to adulthood in a short amount of time. I think that we have lost something by creating a period in which one is expected to basically be a consumer without contributing much to society. Then we wonder why our adults are in such messes!
Response from KTC
I think the artificially-induced isolation of high school (Eve referred to it in the college context as the "hothouse environment) foments character problems, too.
Kinky Freidman said that a happy childhood is a terrible preparation for life, but it could apply to an extended adolescence also.
July 14, 2003
David Brooks review of new book on West Point:
Sometime during his stay, he realized that ''of all the young people I'd met, the West Point cadets -- although they were grand, epic complainers -- were the happiest.'' The academy, he found, was ''a place where everyone tried their hardest. A place where everybody -- or at least most people -- looked out for each other. A place where people -- intelligent, talented people -- said honestly that money wasn't what drove them. A place where people spoke openly about their feelings and about trying to make themselves better.''
Belloc's Prediction on the Church
--H. Belloc
Not a few profound observers (one in especial, a modern French-Jewish convert of the highest intellectual power) have proposed, as a probable tendency or goal to which we were moving, a world in which a small but intense body of the Faith should stand apart in an increasing flood of Paganism. I, for my part (it is but a personal opinion and worth little) believe, upon the whole, a Catholic increase to be the more likely; for, in spite of the time in which I live, I cannot believe that the Human Reason will permanently lose its power. Now the Faith is based upon Reason, and everywhere outside the Faith the decline of Reason is apparent.
But if I be asked what sign we may look for to show that the advance of the Faith is at hand, I would answer by a word the modern world has forgotten: Persecution. When that shall once more be at work it will be morning.
--H. Belloc
Online Debating
Today Tom of Disputations debates the value or lack thereof, of online debating:
If, however, one party's primary interest is not to uncover the truth -- showing off, scoring points, annoying others, and feeling like a proud witness of Christ are some other interests that might take precedence -- the debate will be a failure, both for the people directly involved who were seeking the truth and for all those observing the debate.
Very true, although, as is often the case, the parties who most need this advice are the least likely to take it, or to even think it applies to them.
Theoretically, folks who annoy could serve as agents of Christian charity, in that we have to love them anyway and how much merit is there in loving a Mother Teresa compared to an abusive commenter? Of course, the annoying person could just as easily become an obstacle by fostering anger and negativity.
Regardless, when I read a commenter like the one I recently saw on Disputations, one whose mean-spiritedness comes through loud & clear, I tend to have an equal and opposite reaction in the opposite direction to his thesis regardless of what truth he might possess. This isn't good, given that truth should not be judged on the worthiness of the messenger, but I see more clearly how powerful the witness of the messenger is.
Today Tom of Disputations debates the value or lack thereof, of online debating:
If, however, one party's primary interest is not to uncover the truth -- showing off, scoring points, annoying others, and feeling like a proud witness of Christ are some other interests that might take precedence -- the debate will be a failure, both for the people directly involved who were seeking the truth and for all those observing the debate.
Very true, although, as is often the case, the parties who most need this advice are the least likely to take it, or to even think it applies to them.
Theoretically, folks who annoy could serve as agents of Christian charity, in that we have to love them anyway and how much merit is there in loving a Mother Teresa compared to an abusive commenter? Of course, the annoying person could just as easily become an obstacle by fostering anger and negativity.
Regardless, when I read a commenter like the one I recently saw on Disputations, one whose mean-spiritedness comes through loud & clear, I tend to have an equal and opposite reaction in the opposite direction to his thesis regardless of what truth he might possess. This isn't good, given that truth should not be judged on the worthiness of the messenger, but I see more clearly how powerful the witness of the messenger is.
Depressing link from the NY Times entitled, "Why People Still Starve":
Late one afternoon, during the long melancholia of the hungry months, there was a burst of joyous delirium in Mkulumimba. Children began shouting the word ngumbi, announcing that winged termites were fluttering through the fields. These were not the bigger species of the insect, which can be fried in oil and sold as a delicacy for a good price. Instead, these were the smaller ones, far more wing than torso, which are eaten right away. Suddenly, most everyone was giddily chasing about; villagers were catching ngumbi with their fingers and tossing them onto their tongues, grateful for the unexpected gift of food afloat in the air.
''There is no way to get used to hunger,'' Adilesi told me once. ''All the time something is moving in your stomach. You feel the emptiness. You feel your intestines moving. They are too empty, and they are searching for something to fill up on.'' -- Barry Bearak
Another Malcolm Muggeridge remembrance.
I came to Carthage, where I found myself in the midst of a hissing cauldron of lusts. I had not yet fallen in love, but I was in love with the idea of it, and this feeling that something was missing made me despise myself for not being more anxious to satisfy the need. I began to look around for some object for my love, since I badly wanted to love something.
—St. Augustine, Confessions
Diversion is the only thing that consoles us in our wretchedness, and yet diversion is itself the greatest of our miseries. For it is diversion above all that keeps us from seriously taking stock of ourselves and so leads us imperceptibly to perdition.
—Pascal, Pensées
In part, [Muggeridge's] criticism [of liberalism] was reminiscent of Tocqueville’s. Unchecked, the impulse to equality became an impulse to homogeneity: the drive for democracy involved a democratic despotism that did not, as Tocqueville put it, so much tyrannize as infantilize. “The welfare state,” Muggeridge observed, “is a kind of zoo which provides its inmates with ease and comfort and unfits them for life in their natural habitat.”
—Roger Kimball, Malcolm Muggeridge's Journey
I came to Carthage, where I found myself in the midst of a hissing cauldron of lusts. I had not yet fallen in love, but I was in love with the idea of it, and this feeling that something was missing made me despise myself for not being more anxious to satisfy the need. I began to look around for some object for my love, since I badly wanted to love something.
—St. Augustine, Confessions
Diversion is the only thing that consoles us in our wretchedness, and yet diversion is itself the greatest of our miseries. For it is diversion above all that keeps us from seriously taking stock of ourselves and so leads us imperceptibly to perdition.
—Pascal, Pensées
In part, [Muggeridge's] criticism [of liberalism] was reminiscent of Tocqueville’s. Unchecked, the impulse to equality became an impulse to homogeneity: the drive for democracy involved a democratic despotism that did not, as Tocqueville put it, so much tyrannize as infantilize. “The welfare state,” Muggeridge observed, “is a kind of zoo which provides its inmates with ease and comfort and unfits them for life in their natural habitat.”
—Roger Kimball, Malcolm Muggeridge's Journey
Roberto Pazzi in the NY Times:
Germans and Italians are made to love each other, but never to esteem each other. They are doomed to attract each other without mutual understanding. They fill the empty spaces in the others' mind. A military alliance between two such different peoples, apart from the representation of the two mad dictators in Chaplin's film, is unthinkable. The Germans are the people of Luther, Leibniz, Bach, Goethe, Hegel, Marx, Schopenhauer, Wagner and Nietzsche. Germany's psyche is tempted, as Thomas Mann warned us in "Doctor Faustus," by a Luciferine dream of the Absolute, an intoxicating dream in which the Self dissolves into the All.
Italy, however, cradle of Greek and Latin Mediterranean civilization, is still infused with the Euripidean assumption: character is man's destiny. Italians have always been incurable and marvelous individualists, resistant to any dream of the absolute, including the Christian one. Their Catholic faith is but a veil covering the pagan cult of beauty, imagination, youth, glory, etc. We call it success, but really it's the need of an exceptional Self — a Greek hero like Ulysses or a saint like Augustine of Hippo — to distinguish oneself from the crowd.
Just look at our prime minister, Silvio Berlusconi. He's a rich man who derides professional politicians and who has made millions of Italians dream of emulating his luck by voting for him. What better expression of the Italian individualistic soul could there be?
July 13, 2003
From the God gives us what we need, not want we want File:
My wife and I have longed to live on five or ten acres out in the country, far from the madding crowds. This is more a romantic rather than practical vision since we are presumably taking the phrase "the grass is always greener" literally, and Little House on the Prarie exists only imaginatively. Though Horace in Epodes wrote of the happiness of country living, working the ancestral acres "like the pristine race of mortals". Samuel Johnson translated: "Like the first race in Saturn's reigh, /When floods of nectar stained the main.".... "Whom no contracted debts molest / no griping creditors infest". Don't know about that debt part.
But we did buy a house with a generous backyard that overlooks a field, giving us the illusion of privacy and space. I say "illusion", because our driveway abuts a house with three windows overlooking it, three windows from which our movements are monitored with some precision. And we were gifted with a neighbor who to describe as "nosy" would be a disservice to nosy neighbors everywhere. On the bright side, she is so intimately caring of what goes on in our mundane lives that I can scarcely take offense.
Is it providential that in craving privacy (in real life, ha) I am given a neighbor who thinks fences make bad neighbors? Surely!
My wife and I have longed to live on five or ten acres out in the country, far from the madding crowds. This is more a romantic rather than practical vision since we are presumably taking the phrase "the grass is always greener" literally, and Little House on the Prarie exists only imaginatively. Though Horace in Epodes wrote of the happiness of country living, working the ancestral acres "like the pristine race of mortals". Samuel Johnson translated: "Like the first race in Saturn's reigh, /When floods of nectar stained the main.".... "Whom no contracted debts molest / no griping creditors infest". Don't know about that debt part.
But we did buy a house with a generous backyard that overlooks a field, giving us the illusion of privacy and space. I say "illusion", because our driveway abuts a house with three windows overlooking it, three windows from which our movements are monitored with some precision. And we were gifted with a neighbor who to describe as "nosy" would be a disservice to nosy neighbors everywhere. On the bright side, she is so intimately caring of what goes on in our mundane lives that I can scarcely take offense.
Is it providential that in craving privacy (in real life, ha) I am given a neighbor who thinks fences make bad neighbors? Surely!
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