He looked across the plain and saw dreams scattered everywhere – scraps of paper, aging buildings, candy wrappers, flowers planted in rows – all of them dreams, executed in varying degrees of completion.
“Pick one up.”
“I don’t care – any of them. Pick one up.” Continue reading “The plain of unfinished dreams”
Ray Bradbury was born 99 years ago on Aug. 22, 1920.
“I was in love with everything I did. My heart did not beat, it exploded. I did not warm to a subject, I boiled over. I have always run fast and yelled loud about a list of great and magical things I knew I simply could not live without.”
His spirit lives forever.
Last week I spent three nights with the Marvel Cinematic Universe. Wednesday night I watched Avengers: Infinity War, Thursday was Avengers: Endgame, and Friday night Red and I finally took in Spider-Man: Far From Home.
1. Robert Downey Jr. ought to win Best Actor for his portrayal of Tony Stark. Period, end of conversation, forget about it.
2. Avengers: Endgame ought to win Best Picture, unless Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker turns out even better.
3. That moment in an action thriller when you know the villain is toast and the good guys are about to deliver a whooping? For me, it was when Elizabeth Olson as the Scarlet Witch arrived to face Thanos and said, “You – took – everything – from me.” She only had a few seconds of screentime in Endgame, but it was chillingly awesome, and the ensuing beat-down was wildly satisfying. Continue reading “10 thoughts after a Marvel binge watch”
News note: 50 years ago this month, the St. Norbert College chapter of Students for a Democratic Society quietly disbanded. “We want to be peaceful – completely nonviolent and peaceful,” chapter president Greg McHugh said. “SDS no longer represents all students, but only those seeking violent revolution.”
In this time, when the president is a caricature, and left and right alike seek blood at every turn, where are those who want to be peaceful – completely nonviolent and peaceful? Does anyone really want this to be a violent and aggressive world? Besides the mad, that is?
As precious and special as life is, why would anyone sane wish to extinguish as many lives as possible in one fell swoop? Why would anyone sane wish to obliterate a single life?
“You can’t beat us,” the bullies sometimes tell us.
Malcolm Reynolds, stalwart captain of the space freighter Serenity, had the best-ever response: “I got no need to beat you. I just want to go my way.”
There was a gnome who came to live with the moose who sat on the shelf all day.
“You’re cute,” said the moose. “Not as cute as I am, perhaps, but you’ll do.”
“Why are we here?” asked the gnome. “What does it all mean?”
“We make people smile,” said the wise moose. “That is meaning enough.”
Meteorologists’ job seems to be to make us uncomfortable with what we have.
It’s either too hot or too cold. (Or it’s too humid or too rainy or too sunny.)
Are they fomenting revolution or at least unhappiness? Something is wrong whether it is or it isn’t. “It’s going to be not-ideal, but wait a while and it’ll get better.” “It’s a beautiful day, but don’t worry, storm clouds are on the horizon to ruin it.”
They seem happiest when cruising through a terrible storm, a madness of nature that threatens doom.
“Hi, it’s me with the weather to tell you no matter how wonderful life is, eventually something will come along to destroy all you know. Don’t be happy in the present moment, because this will pass and you need to be ready for the pain and the sorrow and the disappointment. Clouds will thicken, sure as the sun rises and sets.”
Take it as it comes, sunny or cloudy, and try not to fret. Something bad is always in the forecast if you look for it, but so is something good.
Once upon a time there – was there ever a time or place? Once upon a time in a town with a name like any old name, any old bunch of any old guys woke up to any old day, or at least they thought so. Before they turned in that night, they had learned that this was one of those newfangled days that changed all of their assumptions about everything they thought they knew about their town, its name, themselves, and time itself.
[The beginning of a story is a promise. Before you declare a story finished – or a poem, or a song, or a piece of furniture, or any venture, check to make sure you kept your promise.]
The deputy walked up to the window and looked down through sunglasses.
“Hey, Lloyd,” the cop said.
“I’m not the Lloyd you’re looking for,” Lloyd said.