In Praise of Violence

For the holiday, I had planned to make it a very Hong Kong Christmas or a very Kung Fu Christmas. You know, the kind you imagine you would be having if Quentin Tarantino was your pal. However, I did not manage my Netflix queue well enough and Infernal Affairs didn't arrive until Saturday (Martin Scorsese remade the story in The Departed). And I couldn't get ChungKing Express to work because my VCR is currently disabled, and I only have that on tape). What I really wanted for my entertainment was a whole lot of violence, and well, to be honest, certain sections of Asia do violence really well (though Wong Kar Wai's film is not violent at all but I have a thing for Tony Leung Chiu Wai).

Anyway, my desire for violence this holiday was not due to the stress of the season nor because of family (didn't visit them). So, here starts a rambling essay about enjoying violence.

I restarted reading a manga called Berserk by Kentaro Miura and put out by Dark Horse Comics. Miura started the series in 1990, and it's been running ever since. I had watched the anime series which was obviously incomplete but, as my friend Alex has said, had an oddly compelling storyline, much different from your usual Japanese fantasy plot.

Imagine if Clive Barker wrote Conan the Barbarian and Hieronymous Bosch and H. R. Giger penciled it -- plus the gender politics of a Frank Frazetta painting. The story focuses on Guts (or Gutsu or Gatts) who is the Berserker in question, wielding a ridiculously big sword that's as wide as an elephant's thigh. The story is also ridiculously violent and dark. It has all the markings of a very guilty pleasure. Oh yeah, in typical manga fashion, there is also a cute elfin sidekick who makes comments about how he's there to "lighten" the mood.

What attracts me to these violent media? I do not think violence of any sort, short of self-defense, to be conscionable. I step over a bug on the sidewalk (and I have a strict rule regarding insects in the house that I'll do my best to put them outside unless they have touched my face or been on my bed -- both of which carries a death sentence -- and, believe me, having grown up in Georgia where our bugs could eat everyone else's bugs, this is a very generous rule).

I like violent video games -- decapitating your opponents in pixels is just so relaxing! Of course, I don't like all violence in media. Maybe it's a gendered thing, but guns bore me. When I used to play Doom, I loved to use the chain saw. Torture porn movies also bore me. Violence on par of Frank Miller's more recent fare (300, Sin City) seems silly . Hmm, maybe that's it. I only like violence that doesn't take itself too seriously (which is a sick contradiction, I know).

Which brings me back to Berserk. Most of what I have mentioned that I don't like is in full flower in this manga. I'll have to think some more on this. Stay tuned for In Praise of Violence II (or, the deathbed retraction, either one).

The Mad Rush....

See, this is what I was afraid of while writing a blog. I spend half my time apologizing for not writing. Yes, yes, I know. Fifty lashes with a wet noodle and now I am done with that.

I had a nice trip to Turkey Atlanta. The Logan airport was eerily sedate when I arrived there Wednesday morning. I walked right through security (lucky, they didn't see me!). The flight was also easy with the only empty seat on the plane between me and the guy on the exit row. Nice snooze time (how I envy the QOE's ability to sleep anywhere. My mother can do that too. How do you do it??) My mother picked me up at the busiest airport in the world, complaining about all the amateurs who only go there once a year. We got all our fighting done in the car ride home and were able to sublimate any feelings with food. She baked a coconut cake and an apple pie. Tons of homemade dressing and she went on a challah baking binge after taking a class (loaves of challah, challah rolls, she even made cinnamon rolls out of challah). Then on Friday we had birthday cake for my sister. I am still full.

My sister and her kids came over for Thanksgiving and afterwards we played some cards (and fought some more -- apparently neither my sister nor my niece know how to bid correctly). Then, since there was a "thanks for the movies" marathon on some channel (TCM? AMC?) we watched Rear Window and then Psycho, classic holiday fare, nu? My mother had actually seen all of Hitchcock's movies in the theatre and she was cleaning up and trying to get out of the room before the shower scene. I can only imagine what it had been like to see that for the first time in 1960. I also don't know why after watching Rear Window that I am always surprised how wonderfully sick Hitchcock is. It's like watching Freud on screen.

Friday, the kids stayed over and we had the aforementioned birthday and then went to the movies. Everybody wanted to see something different but I bullied everybody into seeing something I thought everybody would enjoy -- the Bee Movie.

It was okay.

Too bad the kids had already seen Beowulf with my sister (who did not enjoy it at all), but my nephew could not wrap his mind around the fact that Beowulf was a long poem. He didn't believe me. Guess what he's getting for Christmas??? (he's thirteen now and TALLER than me? My poor niece is the shortest one in the family, still holding out hope at seventeen that she will have a growth spurt -- poor dear).

Saturday, I went out with friends to Dave and Busters and even though it was crazy busy with people sick of their own families, we managed to have a good time. How can you not with a well-stocked bar in the middle of an arcade? (There's one in Providence, I believe; anyone up for a road trip?)

I returned Monday night into a warm, foggy night in Boston. Thank goodness that I had an aisle seat because it was one of those flights where you don't see the ground until you've touched down. I finally made it home to kitty snuggling. Pumpkin was so happy to see me that she nearly rolled off the couch. I had to catch her.

Then the mad dash of school. Just work, work, work. You know how it is when the students look like they are barely hanging on and need to talk? Well, that's what I have been doing instead of blogging.

This past Friday night, I led services at the synagogue. Our rabbi has been on sabbatical and the lunatics are running the insane asylum. QOE and Johnny 10x showed up (thanks!!!) and we went out for a nightcap afterwards. Faye showed up and brought a person I hadn't seen in a long time -- what a nice surprise. Things went smoothly. I only skipped one part of the service by accident (you know, the eucharist -- no, really, some other small part which bummed me because I had practiced it that day). And I gave a sermon -- pretty neat, right? And it was all academic and stuff since my medieval training led me to look at the "original." And students look at me like I'm crazy when I ask them to write five pages. Hey, I just wrote a couple pages on ONE word -- gosh I'm cool.

The title of this blog is very correct since I, indeed, have written this in a mad rush.