The Weekend Eudemon
It's December, and that means flurries. Not snow flurries, but hurried flurries: go here and there, there and here. Be this, be that. I don't like it.
But it seems to be getting better. A few years ago, my wife and I figured out that we had commitments on 16 out of 20 evenings for the weekdays (M-F), Thanksgiving to Christmas. We both decided that such a flurried pace couldn't continue, so we quietly dropped a few functions, and that helped a lot. It's still a busy season, but it seems other people have grown tired of the holiday busy-ness, too. My son's school, for instance, held the holiday band concert the week before Thanksgiving. My local attorney bar association cancelled its December holiday gathering and pushed it back to February. It has helped a lot. I now have functions on fewer than half of the weekday holiday season evenings.
We used our freedom to take the kids downtown last night to see Santa, go on a horse-drawn carriage ride, make ginger-bread cookies, shop, and eat dinner. I had totally forgotten about the event, but my wife called at 5:00 and told me she'd be at my office within a half hour (my office sits in the middle of downtown). I drank a tall one (16 oz.) while straightening up my office, then met them out front in the blistering cold.
It was a fine evening, even though the vast majority of the town's citizens didn't take advantage of it. I'm guessing there were a few hundred people, enough to give it a festive air, but not nearly enough to cause any inconveniences.
At the end of the evening, I stopped at the local bookstore and browsed through its large magazine collection. Whenever I do this, I'm amazed by (i) the number of hunting magazines on the market (they say hunting is a dying sport, but if it's terminal, it has a long life still), and (ii) the number of specialty sports magazines (e.g., Hockey Digest, Hockey News, The Northeastern Academic Journal of Hockey Fights and Slashing). Christian writers often rail against the number of girlie magazines (bikini issues or soft porn) available in mainstream bookstores, but I don't think the girlie magazines are as numerous as the hunting and sports rags.
I also saw an issue of Men's Vogue. That's an oxymoron, to be sure. You might as well publish Men's Glamour, Men's Better Homes and Garden, or Men's Playgirl. If you buy any such magazine and carry it around, you might as well wear a sign that says, "I'm a homosexual."
Things are going well at the blog. My new monthly column at National Catholic Register has kicked up interest in TDE, though it's difficult to gauge how much. My daggone stat counter keeps crashing, which could be the result of increased traffic, it's hard to say.
In any event, I would be greatly appreciative if you would forward the TDE URL to friends and family. As I've mentioned previously, I don't ask for Paypal tips. Your recommendation is tip enough.
Until next week, keep warm and keep praying. It's Advent.
Malcolm's Messages (What's this?)
Chapter 6: Malcolm and the Juggler (cont.)
And then the Maze Elf said to him, "Do you want to be friends with the Berserker, too?" Malcolm suddenly knew the Wicked Gnome was at work in him. He thanked the Maze Elf–always the foe of the Wicked Gnome who comes to help when least expected–and reached into the hat where he collected money and called to Mr. Rufus.
"Mr. Rufus, here is a million dollars. Go to the Consuming Place and buy the seven white balls and bring them here. Do not delay!"
Then Malcolm grew wrathful. He leapt upon the speaking stone and yelled to his listeners,
"Hearken not to the black balls!" he yelled. "You cannot love your wife and sleep with a courtesan at the same time. You cannot be acquiescent and angry simultaneously. You cannot share and hoard, eat and fast, work and lounge. Just so, you cannot watch the black balls and listen to me."
The crowd surrounding the juggler started to assemble around Malcolm, but the juggler kept juggling and called to the assembled.
"Can Malcolm do this?" The juggler then proceeded to juggle the balls by throwing them hundreds of yards into the air, and they fell rapidly, like heavy rocks, then he would throw them up again, as though he were firing bullets. The black balls would change colors as they flew up. As they turned to come back down, they would shoot fire, then turn pitch black again as they fell to the earth. And the assembled were amazed and started to crowd again to watch the juggler. A few, however, accepted what Malcolm said and realized that the black balls were bad, and they stayed with Malcolm, who continued to yell to the crowd.
"They are the same black balls, just in different form. Did I not warn you of the Berserker? You now see him in a rare moment: manifesting his changefulness right in front of you. Look carefully! The Wicked Gnome is here, too; he has come out of hiding and is standing strong! They both laugh at our foolishness."
No one else could see the Wicked Gnome or the Berserker. Others, however, could smell the wicked laughter and they went back to Malcolm, confused but loyal.
Most, however, stayed with the juggler, though he was angry that a few had gone back to Malcolm. He yelled at Malcolm.
"And what do offer them? I have heard you, Malcolm, and you never offer them anything. Just words. I offer them something tangible, the black balls, along with the fun and enjoyment they give."
