2008 — 10 November: Monday
Last night's film was The Jacket. I shall be ordering my own copy before I'm more than a couple of minutes older. Most interesting — like a cross between 12 Monkeys and One flew over the cuckoo's nest. Meal was smashing, too. Thanks, Mike! And so to tonight's picture, which is from (probably) 1984. I suspect dear Mama was staying with us and Big Bro was breezing through. Peter would sometimes simply flatly refuse to appear in a photo; he's had a mind of his own for a very long time now. Can't think where he gets it from... but there's a clue here:
Dear Mama, Big Bro, Christa and Peter, 1983? 1984?
Now, this gives me some considerable grounds for hope:
Democracy demands that the religiously motivated translate their concerns into universal, rather than religion-specific, values. It requires that their proposals be subject to argument, and amenable to reason. I may be opposed to abortion for religious reasons, but if I seek to pass a law banning the practice, I cannot simply point to the teachings of my church or evoke God's will. I have to explain why abortion violates some principle that is accessible to people of all faiths, including those with no faith at all.
If you follow the link, be sure to scroll down to the deliciously froggy item on 1st November! G'night, at 01:45.
What miserable weather!
Still, at least it seems to have blown away many of the leaves I might otherwise have had to gather up. Come to think of it, the same thing must have happened last year, as I don't remember doing any leaf gathering (and Christa certainly didn't do any, what with being a mite poorly). Today is the last day of my first year as a widower. It has been a mighty strange year — just like any other in lots of ways, of course. And totally unlike any other in just about all the ways that matter. While it's a little tempting (now that I think of it) to nick that "annus horribilis" phrase from Brenda, the tag doesn't really fit. So many people have been so kind and gentle and patient with me and Peter that — were Christa still with us — it would have been a brilliant year.
You hafta smile... dept.
Do you know, I never realised that the editor of the Daily Mail was such an ethical chap? "Now, some revile a moralising media. Others, such as myself, believe it is the duty of the media to take an ethical stand." (Source.) To widen your smile, skim though the comments here.
Now, by contrast, Andy Hamilton is an amusing chap. Here, he (a)muses on filming with kids:
One was a little boy called Reuben. He was three years old, and we improvised a scene where I played his pretend Dad.
"Oh, I've had a hard day at work," I began.
"Yeah," sighed Reuben, "so have I."
Intrigued, I asked him what his job entailed. "Well," he said, "you know the beach?"
"Yes, I know the beach."
"Well, you know there's all that sand on the beach? Well, I organise that. I make sure that every bit of sand is where it should be."
What Reuben had given me was a three-year-old's perspective on the mysterious adult world of work, which was a strange mixture of the heroic, the self-important and the totally pointless. It was something we could never have written.
I shall be looking out for this second series of "Outnumbered" having entirely missed the first one.
PJ O'Rourke is still a funny chap, too. His long, thoughtful piece in the Weekly Standard made me stop and think here and there, as well as smile. (Source.) I must say, he's come an awfully long way since his early days in the National Lampoon. Well, it's 15:26 and the rain seems to have stopped though it's excessively grey and gloomy-looking out there. I shall postpone the next segment of the endless supplies trail until early tomorrow morning, methinks. (Procrastination is the dry thief of Time.)
On a different scale altogether, this essay is superb.
Lazy evening
I watched Ivan Reitman's amusing film Dave, which has always struck me as a direct steal of the plot of Heinlein's "Double Star". Then it was time for Alan Coren's daughter hosting the "Only connect" quiz show, and the lovely little programme on "How to solve a cryptic crossword". I have yet to catch up on the Mark Lawson interview with "Parky", let alone the compilation of "Parky interviews Ustinov" bits. Or the late night Finnish black comedy film, "The man without a past". I've also fielded yet another request for a copy of one of my ancient audio recordings, and — in a blast from my IBM past — a query about the problems of recovering data from the BBC "Doomsday" LaserDiscs. Suddenly it's 23:32 and time for a spot of supper.