Review (Film) – The Book of Eli

Review (Film) – The Book of Eli

Granted, I went into viewing The Book of Eli fully aware that it was a sci-fi action with a religious theme, but even then I didn’t expect the film to be such a blatant Christian propaganda film. It almost struck me as an attempt to gain Christian converts by showing off the badass Christian warrior of the future. But, I say “almost” for a reason; I actually liked this film quite a bit, despite the endless Christian imagery and motifs.

The Book of Eli is set in a post-apocalyptic future which resulted from a nuclear war of some vague nature. Eli, the Christian warrior-prophet, is on a pilgrimage west, across the wasteland that is America. Along his path, he encounters a number of lawless murderers, rapists, and bandits, all of which have clearly fallen from the Christian path. After watching just a few minutes of the film, I was reminded of Fallout 3 (360, PS3, PC) and, as the story continued, I was convinced that you could create a character that looks exactly like Eli (played by Denzel Washington) in Fallout 3 and play out a story that is very similar to the movie… which I might do still. In any case, while on his pilgrimage West, Eli stumbles into a community of the desperate and the depraved, inhabited by victims and degenerates alike, and governed by a ruthless mastermind named Carnegie (played by Gary Oldman). Carnegie is conducting a mad hunt for any copy of the Bible that may have survived the book burnings that followed the nuclear war, and it turns out that the last copy of the Bible is the very book in Eli’s possession, the guiding purpose behind his pilgrimage. This, of course, leads to an action-packed heroic epic in true Biblical fashion.

Christian imagery and motifs abound in The Book of Eli, but it’s not always that obvious. Consider the scorched earth setting of the film. One interesting characteristic of the world after the war is that the ozone layer has been severely damaged, allowing dangerous levels of ultraviolet rays to bombard the earth’s surface and all who walk upon it. Although the set design and landscapes believably represent this post-nuclear holocaust world, the sun shines brightly in many scenes to emphasize Eli’s piety, as if it were the holy light of God Himself.

Nevertheless, to really demonstrate that The Book of Eli really bashes its audience over their heads with Christianity, consider the climax of the film. It should be no surprise that Eli succeeds in delivering the Bible to the promised land in the West, and once he arrives, they begin mass printing the Bible again. This is supposed to be a triumphant moment in the narrative; Christianity is returning to a dark world and, although it may struggle, it promises to bring peace to this wild, unholy land. To really drive that point home, the film features an orgy of images of the Bible as it moves through the printing press, highlighting particularly poetic and persuasive passages. The montage is clearly intended to reinforce the power and triumph of Christianity in the minds of the audience.

And that’s what bothers me about this film. Although I like this movie and I found it thoroughly entertaining as a sci-fi action flick, I can’t help but be bothered how the film might be received by a more Christian audience, especially an audience like the right wing, uber-Christian fanatic demographic, Palin’s Paladins, for instance. Despite the fact that the film admits that many people blamed the Bible and institutionalized religion in general as the cause of the nuclear holocaust, that fact is downplayed since it is revealed to the audience by the villain, which inherently taints the statement as dubious simply because the villain said it. I suspect The Book of Eli could really reinforce a fanatical Christian mindset in people who already tend to perceive themselves that way. It could even be seen as a training video for today’s God-warriors who plan on surviving whatever apocalypse they perceive looming in our near future. Hence, I’m at least half-serious when I call The Book of Eli a Christian propaganda film.

Regardless, I’d like to say I enjoyed this film. The Christian overtones are overwhelming and annoying at times, but the action is pretty cool. Eli fights his enemies with a handgun, shotgun, and a really cool knife or sword. The knife is seriously badass, allowing Eli to fend off the attack from a chainsaw-wielding heathen even! The challenges Eli must face and the questions raised in the narrative are interesting to watch unfold and intriguing to ponder for oneself. In the end, however, The Book of Eli just makes me want to replay Fallout 3.

Language as a Public Manifestation of Thought

Language as a Public Manifestation of Thought

The nature of language has intrigued philosophers for ages. Once a topic of considerable interest for Plato and Aristotle, language continues to fascinate contemporary philosophers, as well, such as Heidegger, Wittgenstein, Kripke, and Searle. However, despite all of the philosophical reflection focusing on language, the nature of language is still a matter of debate and concern. Here, I will offer my own brief account of language, which consolidates significant aspects of the philosophy of language from both ancient and contemporary philosophy of language. Through an examination of selected philosophers on language, I will intuitively argue that language is the manifestation of thought as it would be publicly expressed.

Initially, consider the traditional view of language as proposed in Plato and Aristotle. In the “Seventh Letter,” Plato introduces a picture of our understanding of the world, which he claims is “true doctrine” (Plato 342a). Plato asserts that “first, we have a name, second, a description, third, an image, and fourth, a knowledge of the object” (Plato 342b). He also holds “that we must put as a fifth the actual object of knowledge which is the true reality” (Plato 342b). In Plato’s account, the fifth is the object in the external world, the first three are mimetic representations of the fifth, and the fourth is knowledge that aims towards the fifth. All of our internal processes – names, descriptions, images, and knowledge – reach out to the external object. Perhaps this process is explained more clearly in Martin Heidegger’s commentary on Aristotle’s account of language. According to Heidegger, Aristotle holds that “the letters are signs of sounds, the sounds are signs of mental experiences, and these are signs of things” (Heidegger 97). Unlike Plato’s account in the Seventh Letter, Aristotle accounts for the relationship between writing and speech. Writing imitates speech as speech imitates thought, and each of those three represent things in the external world. The most significant aspect shared between Plato and Aristotle, here, is that since language is representative, language is always about something. Heidegger briefly acknowledges this in his lectures, “The Nature of Language.” There, he states:

…at whatever time and in whatever way we speak language, language itself never has the

floor. Any number of things are given voice in speaking, above all what we are speaking

about…. (Heidegger 59, italics added).

In each of Plato, Aristotle, and Heidegger, there is a subtle acknowledgement of intentionality, that all consciousness is consciousness about something. This is important in the philosophy of language because it is the ever-present link between our internal representations and the external world.

One key aspect of intentionality in language is that it has a significant subjective influence. While all of our consciousness is about something, the way it is represented in language is subject to the way in which we use language. The role of language usage has been influential in contemporary philosophy of language, and it has led the way to ordinary language philosophers such as Ludwig Wittgenstein. In Wittgenstein’s Philosphical Investigations, language usage helps illustrate how we use words and what meaning is intended in their use. For Wittgenstein, this is the “language game.” Basically, a language game is the socially understood context within which a word finds meaning (Wittgenstein S7, S47, S65). The social context of a language game need not be universal; rather, it could be a community of any size. For instance, how “wicked” is understood by Newfoundlanders to mean “really good,” or how “red” can mean “under fire” or “hostile” in military lingo. If one were to ask a question that has no specified language game (or comes from one language game inquiring of another), then one cannot expect to understand or appreciate the answer (Wittgenstein S47). In this sense, you need to be in tune with how a word is used in order to understand its meaning. According to Wittgenstein, the word’s meaning is whatever the speaker intends and others, who are in tune with this usage of the word, can best understand its meaning. In Wittgenstein, not only is language a representation of the external world, it is the manifestation of our own intention, our thought.

It is important to note, however, that some philosophers argue that meaning may not be adequate in reaching out to the objects in the external world. Within discussions on the philosophy of language, there is an important distinction between meaning and reference. This distinction asserts that a name or word’s meaning comes from its description or cluster of descriptions, while the referent is the object that the name or word singles out in the external world. With regards to reference in language, Saul A. Kripke is amongst the more notable philosophers. His lectures, collected in Naming and Necessity, express his causal chain theory of reference, such that:

An initial ‘baptism’ takes place. Here the object may be named by ostension, or the

reference may be fixed by a description. When the name is ‘passed from link to link,’ the

receiver of the name must, I think, intend when he learns it to use it with the same

reference as the man from whom he heard it. If I hear the name ‘Napoleon’ and decide it

would be a nice name for my pet aardvark, I do not satisfy this condition. (Kripke 96)

Basically, Kripke’s causal chain theory of reference has two parts – the initial baptism that connects a name to its referent, and the socially communicated chain where each speaker defers to the referent intended by the initial baptism. The baptism may fix a name to its referent by either pointing it out or uniquely describing it. From the baptism onwards, each speaker defers to the person from whom he/she had learned the term, and this ought to reach back to the initial referent at the baptism of the term. Kripke had hoped to provide a better picture of the nature of language by divorcing intentional content and description from fixing reference.

However, it is arguable that he was sorely unsuccessful in completely separating intent and description from reference. As John R. Searle indicates in “Proper Names and Intentionality,” Kripke’s causal chain theory only reaches to the baptism of the object, where the referent of the name is fixed only by the intention of the baptizer (Searle 308). Furthermore, each speaker thereafter “must intend to refer to the same object as the person from whom he learned the name” (Searle 308). Both of the significant portions of the causal chain theory contain intentional elements. It appears that Kripke’s theory of language and reference cannot avoid strong ties to intentions. Kripke’s causal chain theory can also be understood in the terms of Wittgenstein’s language game. Once the object is baptized, when speakers defer to one another in fixing the referent of a name or word, they essentially constitute the social context of Wittgenstein’s language game. The consistent deferral from speaker to speaker in the causal chain bears a striking resemblance to the social context of the language game. Both accounts of language emphasize the communicative nature of language, the social necessity of language in both meaning and reference. It is important to recognize, here, that each of these philosophies on language share an emphasis on the communicative nature of language – that is, they both rely on language being a public expression.

These insights on the nature of language have developed separately over the ages and, in some cases, they developed as reactions to each other; however, this does not mean that they are entirely incommensurable. The accounts that Plato and Aristotle offer show us that language is the expression of our thoughts or passions, and that our thoughts or passions are representative of the external world. Heidegger also acknowledges that language is an expression of thought in “The Nature of Language.” There is also a strong public aspect to language. This communicative aspect is most evident in contemporary philosophy of language. In Wittgenstein and Kripke, a community of speakers is necessary to determine meaning and reference. This contemporary insight into the use of language in a public forum is not incommensurable with ancient accounts of language as the expression of thoughts and passions; instead, perhaps the two areas should be regarded as interdependent. Together, language begins intentionally and is expressed publicly. As such, language is the manifestation of thought as it would be publicly expressed.

Works Cited

Heidegger, Martin. “The nature of Language.” On the Way to Language. Trans. Peter D. Hertz. New York: Harper & Row, 1971. 57-105. Print.

Kripke, Saul A. Naming and Necessity. Cambridge, Massachusetts: Harvard University Press, 1980. Print.

Plato. “Letters: VII.” Trans. L. A. Post. Plato: The Collected Dialogues. Eds. Edith Hamilton & Huntington Cairns. Princeton, New Jersey: Princeton University Press, 2005. 421-474. Print.

Searle, John R. “Proper Names and Intentionality.” The Philosophy of Language. 5^th Edition. Ed. A. P. Martinich. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006. Print.

Wittgenstein, Ludwig. Philosophical Investigations. Trans. G. E. M. Anscombe. Oxford: Blackwell Publishing, 2005. Print.

Heroic Action in Shakespeare’s Plays

Heroic Action in Shakespeare’s Plays

Many Shakespearean litterateurs herald the Bard as having an extraordinary understanding of the human condition. There is substantial evidence within Shakespeare’s plays to justify this claim. Not only does Shakespeare’s interpretation of human psychology seem to predate the institution of many accepted psychological concepts, but his perspective on moral philosophy appears to be a precursory assertion of contemporary morals, as well. Throughout his plays, he shows an acute insight (or perhaps a subconscious intuition) on what will evoke sympathy and, beyond that, kindle the spark of heroism in the hearts of his audience. Examination of Shakespeare’s use of heroic action, in contrast to actions that would not be deemed heroic, will reveal the criteria for and definition of heroic action.

Shakespeare’s plays contain numerous examples of heroic action. Two noteworthy examples of this are the actions of Pisanio in Cymbeline and the First Servant in King Lear.

Pisanio demonstrates heroic action in Act 3, Scene 4 of Cymbeline. He receives orders from his lord, Posthumous, to kill Imogen in Scene 2 of Act 3. He reads the letter as dictating, “Do’t! The letter / That I have sent her, by her own command / Shall give thee opportunity” (3.2.18-19). Despite the behest of Posthumous, when the opportunity arises he does not even attempt the act. Rather, he helps set Imogen free from her bonds at court (3.4.103-181). He holds firmly that Posthumous has been duped, “It cannot be / but that my master be abused” (3.4.121-122), and utilizes his own faculty of morality to decide which action to take.

Similarly, the miniscule role of the First Servant in Act 3, Scene 7 of King Lear portrays indubitable heroism. As the First Servant witnesses Gloucester’s eyes rent from his head by Cornwall and Regan as an execution of “justice,” he feels bound to rise against. His forms his protest as “Hold your hand, my lord! / I have served you ever since I was a child; / But better service have I never done you / Than now to bid you hold” (3.7.73-76). While his protest may appear to come from duty to the Duke of Cornwall, this is not the case. On the contrary, the First Servant’s duty would place him as subordinate, with no authority to counsel a duke. Instead, it must be his own judgement that leads him to act thus; his sense of justice is what compels him.

Both Pisanio and the First Servant appeal to their own judgement when deciding which actions to pursue. However, is judgement and autonomy alone enough to warrant that heroic action will follow? It seems it cannot. Even right and moral action does not seem to necessarily imply heroism. So, to establish that moral sentiment alone may not always become heroic action, consider the Fool in King Lear.

The Fool holds an exceptional position within the structure of society in King Lear. As the Lear’s entertainer, he has easy access to the King and his affairs. Thus, by proximity, his perspectives on King Lear’s circumstances are privileged to have such a first-hand account. Accordingly, there ought to be a high degree of credibility placed on the interpretations of such a figure as opposed to those of, perhaps, a farmhand or millwright. However, as a mere entertainer for the court, the King can at anytime neglect his credibility as folly or drivel. The Fool is an honest friend to Lear, but does not run the risk of Lear’s wrath by speaking of Lear’s mistakes. The Fool can even insult Lear outright and not face harsh punishment. Such is the case when the Fool says to Lear, “Now thou art an O without a figure. I am better than thou art now: I am a Fool, thou art nothing” (1.4.198-200). The Fool can make these appeals to Lear’s reason while wholeheartedly knowing that he will endure no wrath, suffer no punishment, and encounter no reprimand. When Kent offers similar protest against Lear’s decisions he is swiftly banished from the kingdom upon pain of death (1.1.122-189).

The apparent difference between the Fool and Kent is that the Fool need not worry about any personal risk by acting according to his moral sentiment. Kent is aware of the risk he must face. Kent protests as the voice of justice against Lear’s decree to banish his own daughter knowing that his protest might bring harsh punishment. This consciousness of the consequent risk that could arise by acting according to moral sentiment also seems to be a crucial constituent of heroic action. Nevertheless, it is worthwhile to investigate whether risky action alone may embody heroic action.

For this purpose, a case of high risk and questionable moral rightness is ideal. An exemplary case is in Antony and Cleopatra when Antony leads his military might to face Caesar in battle at sea. The scenario is that Antony has the choice of battlefields, either by land or by sea. A battle by land is assuredly in his favour, while a battle by sea most certainly entails defeat. Antony is aware of his tactical advantages and weaknesses, yet he decides to fight at sea and his reason is evident in this passage:

Antony. … Canidius, we

Will fight with him by sea.

Cleopatra. By sea; what else?

Canidius. Why will my lord do so?

Antony. For that he dares us to’t. (3.7.27-29)

Antony’s reason for fighting at sea is simple. It is not borne from any moral sense of courage or justice, or even from sound strategy. His reason for fighting Caesar at sea is purely macho gallantry. Clearly, theirs is no moral rightness involved in this act. The extent of the risk is nearly incalculable. He jeopardizes his own life, the lives of his soldiers, and the state of his entire nation, which is essentially one-third of the known world. The stakes run high in this battle, and Antony foolishly follows machismo rather than sound stratagems or morality.

It follows that Shakespeare does not intend for the audience to think of this act as heroic. As soon as Antony’s battle plan is made public to his generals, the criticism comes quickly and bluntly from both Canidius and Enobarbus:

Canidius. Ay, and to wage this battle at Pharsalia,

Where Caesar fought with Pompey: but these offers,

Which serve not for his vantage, he shakes off;

And so should you.

Enobarbus. Your ships are not well manned;

Your mariners are muleteers, reapers, people

Ingrossed by swift impress. In Caesar’s fleet

Are those that often have ‘gainst Pompey fought;

Their ships are yare, yours, heavy: no disgrace

Shall fall you for refusing him at sea,

Being prepared for land.

Antony. By sea, by sea.

Enobarbus.   Most worthy sir, you therein throw away

The absolute soldiership you have by land,

Distract your army, which doth most consist

Of war-marked footmen, leave unexecuted

Your renowned knowledge, quite forgo

The way which promises assurance, and

Give up yourself merely to chance and hazard

From firm security. (3.7.31-48)

This discourse is used to convey to the audience many significant facts: that Antony has a very capable force of infantry; he has an astonishingly weak naval force compared to Caesar; there is no chance of winning the battle at sea; there is every assurance victory can be found by fighting on land; and Antony is aware of all of this. We can have no doubt that Antony acts from motives other than moral rightness and that what he risks is quite severe. Yet, there is no question that this action is not heroic action. Rather, it seems as folly.

Having ascertained that neither moral sentiment nor consequent risk alone will lead to heroic action, yet both qualities are evident in heroic action, it can be deduced that both moral sentiment and consequent risk must be fulfilled for actions to be heroic. With these qualities as criteria, reflect upon Pisanio and the First Servant once again.

Pisanio disobeys his master’s orders and instead obeys his own morality; he acts according to what he knows to be just. This is not a simple matter for Pisanio, he admits to Imogen that “… Since I received command to do this business / I have not slept one wink” (3.4.101-102). While the audience is privy to the truth of the matter, Pisanio must contest with his own knowledge and determine what he thinks is right, what he thinks is just. He is aware that if he is found to have not killed Imogen, then both he and Imogen would be risking the wrath of higher authorities. This is why he as derived a plan to keep Imogen alive, yet out of sight from the court (3.4.125-181). He is aware of the risks and nevertheless acts to pursue justice.

Likewise is the case of the First Servant. The horrific abuse of Gloucester is entirely beyond the scope of his imagination, hence “…What do you mean!” (3.7.78) is interpreted as how can you do such a terrible thing? This obviously goes against his sense of morals and is a complete injustice, and this leads him to act against it. Being a servant “since [he] was a child,” (3.7.74) indicates he knows his role as a submissive servant and the consequences of acting outside of his role. He is compelled to pursue justice despite the risk to his own health and well-being.

The audience sees Pisanio and the First Servant as acting heroically instantly, without giving the matter much thought. It is a natural response from the audience, but, deconstructed and analyzed, the cases conform to the criteria for heroic action. Heroic action is not simply good virtue. Heroic action is certainly not simply risky action. What constitutes heroic action is the pursuit of justice despite the personal risk that it entails. Shakespeare’s view of heroic action embodies common contemporary concepts of psychology and philosophy; his heroism reflects motives and consequence. An audience always considers the reason why an action is taken and the possible results of doing that action. The pursuit of justice while being aware of the risk is both the criteria for and definition of heroic action.

Works Cited

Shakespeare, William. Cymbeline. 1609-10. Ed. Richard Hosley. The Signet Classic Shakespeare. General Ed. Sylvan Barnet. New

York: Penguin, 1963, 1988. Print.

Shakespeare, William. King Lear. 1605-06. Ed. Russell Fraser. The Signet Classic Shakespeare. General Ed. Sylvan Barnet. New York:

Penguin, 1963, 1998.  Print.

Shakespeare, William. Antony and Cleopatra. 1606-07. Ed. Barbara Everett. The Signet Classic Shakespeare. General Ed. Sylvan

Barnet. New York: Penguin 1964, 1988.  Print.

Morality in Conrad’s The Secret Agent

Morality in Conrad’s The Secret Agent

Joseph Conrad’s The Secret Agent depicts the lives of those involved in an event of terror; this includes both the terrorists and the authorities. As Conrad presents his audience with an ensemble cast of characters, the reader encounters many varying notions of justice and morality. Representing multiple perspectives regarding the events of his narrative, these different ideologies keep the reader engaged in the plot. While it is difficult to identify with any one character in the novel, the complexities of the moral values of Adolf Verloc, Michaelis, Chief Inspector Heat, and the Assistant Commissioner each maintain certain qualities to which the reader can relate.

Conrad’s narrative is not without its slow points, however. As the tale revolves around the terrorist attempt to blow up Greenwich Observatory, it comes across as a little odd that this particular event itself is left undescribed by the author. Although Conrad’s tale is not devoid of suspense, the action of the bombing is not related in the same temporal continuity as the rest of the tale. While it does serve the purpose of emphasizing the relevance of the characters’ mental and emotional states, I found that, by omitting this scene, Conrad risked losing the interest of his audience.

Furthermore, Conrad is prone to indulging in depicting scenes which drag on and are outright uninteresting. For instance, as the Assistant Commissioner first meets with Sir Ethelred, the Under Secretary of the Home Office, Conrad spends pages relating small talk between the Assistant Commissioner and Toodles (Conrad 117-120), and later depicting the personages of an Italian restaurant (Conrad 121-124). Instances such as this force the reader to suffer through the irrelevance and patiently wait for the character driven plot to resume once again.

Nevertheless, the reader reads on. Conrad had piqued my interest by representing so many varying archetypes of morality. The conceptions of justice and what is right differ greatly between the anarchists and authorities, but Conrad presents this in such a way that there remain different ideas of morality within each group as well.

The anarchists generally support an ideal of disorder that would benefit society as a whole. Verloc’s sense of morality is guided by this anarchism and fight for the proletariat, hence he uses his own brother-in-law to bomb Greenwich Observatory. For the most part, Verloc comes across as a cold-hearted individual, but he does have some slight redemptive qualities. Conrad dictates that “Mr. Verloc’s soul, if lacking greatness perhaps, was capable of tender sentiments” (Conrad 188). Verloc does have a shred of moral obligation to those he’s close to. However, it does not prove to be a strong motivator for his actions as it could not prevent him from sending Stevie to fumble off to his doom.

On the other hand, another anarchist is Michaelis. He is portrayed as very much the idealist. Michaelis is shown as being sympathetic to others plight but maintaining his conviction in the socialist-anarchist’s dream. In his youth, he participated in rescuing some prisoners from a police van. An officer was inadvertently killed at no fault of Michaelis, but he was imprisoned for his role in the break out. Conrad relates that at his trial “The death of the constable had made him miserable at heart, but the failure of the plot [breakout] also” (Conrad 88). Later, Michaelis is described as having “the temperament of a saint” (Conrad 90). While he is not afraid to act upon his convictions, Michaelis abhors violence as a means to an end.

Like the anarchists, the authorities’ morals of The Secret Agent are not clear cut as entirely right or wrong. The contrast arises between the methods and goals of Chief Inspector Heat and the Assistant Commissioner. Heat views justice as a matter of satisfying the public’s craving for a suitable criminal, even if that means scapegoating the innocent. In conversation with Sir Ethelred, the Assistant Commissioner makes an objective and insightful remark that:

For him the plain duty is to fasten the guilt upon as many prominent anarchists as he can on some slight indications he had picked up in the course of his investigations on the spot; whereas I, [Heat] would say, am bent upon vindicating their innocence (Conrad 117).

The Assistant Commissioner’s comment rings true – Heat’s brand of justice punishes culprits, while the Assistant Commissioner seeks justice for the guilty and freedom for the innocent. As a recognized institution of justice, it is interesting to see that solidarity thrown into question.

Morality plays a significant role in Conrad’s The Secret Agent. However, there is no clear cut right or wrong, and it is questionable whether any justice is served. Here, art mimics life. Questions of ethics are never black and white, and it is arguable that no one ever knowingly acts in a manner that they think is wrong. In this light, we can see that each of the characters, Verloc, Michaelis, Heat, and the Assistant Commissioner, act according to what they think is just.

Works Cited

Conrad, Joseph, and Peter L. Mallios. The Secret Agent. The Modern Library classics. New York: Modern Library, 2004. Print.

Cheers, all!

Well, this is it.  I’ve entered the blogosphere.  I’m expressing myself on the internet just like the rest of the world.  Expect me to put my foot in my mouth more than once, at least.  I might even put my foot in your mouth.  Who knows?

I plan to use this blog to serve a a few purposes.  Firstly, this is where I can opine on any number of topics that incite me to rage, ranting and raving in true Newfie fashion.  (Yes, I said Newfie.  ‘Tis a fine word, not a dirty word).  Secondly, this is a place where I can relate propaganda for all the things of which I personally approve, like video games, movies, comics, music, and all that good stuff.  Of course, I might still come off as raving and ranting, but that’s only because my Newfie blood refuses to converse in any other manner.  Lastly, this blog will also feature some of my amateur fiction.  The prospects of posting original fiction on the internet reminds me of Pandora’s Box.  We’ll see how that goes.

In any case, stay tuned!  Maybe you’ll like this blog, or maybe you’ll hate my guts.  Either way, it’s fine by me.  If ya do stick around, buckle up and enjoy the ride!

Cheers!

Dave