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Exultate Justi
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
 
Classic EJ post for Halloween, pt. 2 (pt. 1 below)


So, to go along with my look at Halloween itself (and my many earlier misconceptions about it), here's a post I wrote back in '04 (with some freshening/editing) about horror flicks. Do I like 'em? Nope.

And now, without further ado...horror movies, and why I loathe them so.

Just in time for Halloween, kids! This particular essay, while, in my opinion, just as relevant to the non-Christian as the Christian, is aimed squarely at a Christian audience. That having been said, let's commence, shall we?

As I've mentioned in more than one rambling post to this collection of rambling piece of semi-coherence I call a blog, my undergrad work largely consisted of film & writing work. I have sat through countless film criticism classes - the goal of which, by the way, is to suck the very life from the silver screen, and to leave the practitioner a dry husk, speaking with a French accent, and rambling on about mise en scene, auteurs, and the pitiable tastes of the American moviegoing public - and have written long, boring analyses of everything from the impact of Citizen Kane upon the film industry (this film, as often described, is a masterpiece - clearly ahead of its time), to the zombie movie phenomenon of the 1970s. It was in crafting this particular piece that I began to look more closely at the horror genre - first as a film student, and then, as a Christian.

It was during film school that I was introduced to the three or four films that have shaped my convictions about so-called "hard" or "deep" horror films specifically, and the entire horror genre in general.

"Scary stories", of course, have been a part of every civilization in history. Every culture has its legends and its myths, and the history of horror in Western civilization is a long one, including Beowulf, aspects of Shakespeare's work, the writings of Edgar Allan Poe, and, of course, the ubiquitous Stephen King, and his numerous counterparts and imitators. Many of my horror movie-junkie friends have explained to me that horror movies - from the over-the-top slasher sagas of Freddy Kreuger and Jason Voorhees, to the utterly cold and unrelenting worlds of Wes Craven's 70s stomach churning The Last House on the Left, and The Hills Have Eyes - serve the same purpose as those more venerable ancient works. They act as cautionary tales, and serve witness to the brutality of man, and to the evil that we wreak on one another. They act, in my friends' opinions, as warning signs to us all, and as a "release" for the animalistic desires that lurk in each of us.

That's complete crap, in case you're keeping score.

The Last House on the Left is the film that truly kicked-off Wes Craven's career as a filmmaker. Yep. The father of Freddy Kreuger - a former student of Wheaton College (Billy Graham's alma mater) - started his film career off with what is, to my mind, one of the the single most disturbing and disturbed pieces of shinola ever to be laid to celluloid, and distributed by a major motion picture house. It's an ugly film; an ugly, pitiless piece of manipulative exploitatia, and is a film that I'll be perfectly happy never to see again.

The film tells the story (this is the very short version) of two (largely) innocent teenage girls who, on their way to a concert, stop by one of the seedier areas of their town to by a little weed (see? Not totally innocent, but there, too, lies the moral silliness of these things. They always attempt some sort of justification for the slaughter to come by illustrating a moral failure on the part of the victim), and end up victimized by a group of thugs. They are brutalized in the thugs' apartment, and then taken to the woods for further humiliation. Craven's vision doesn't spare us the details of what's happening. The two are raped, tortured, and finally, murdered, in an excruciatingly long and desperate scene (like ten minutes, if I remember correctly. I've tried to forget about it). The thugs then, however improbably, take refuge in one of the girls' houses - they don't know that one of their victims lived here, of course, but eventually, the girl's parents figure out what's up with the group of thugs that they, for some reason, invited in for dinner, and they extract their bloody revenge.

Now, in most cases, modern day, Friday the 13th - Part XXXVII-type films are simple, straight-up gorefests, wherein attractive teenagers are brutalized and offed by various otherworldly villains (usually while in the process of having sex). Their deaths are brutal and bloody, but they're usually fairly quick, too. Not so in Last House. In part because of Craven's undeniable talent as a filmmaker, and in part because of the sheer length of the scenes of brutalization, the violence in Last House - although not nearly as gory as many of the films made today - becomes unbearable. There is a sense, I think, in most people who see this type of film for the first time, that they shouldn't, in fact, be watching it. To see superrealistic depictions of human suffering, pain, and torture - scenes that go on forever, depicting in horrid detail the struggle of the victim to survive, to continue living, and to make it back to their homes and families, only to find themselves mercilessly slaughtered by monsters (either human or otherwise) - should, to my mind, violate some notion of decency in our minds. There is a very real sense of shame in watching these scenes, and, in my opinion, in filming them. I know it's a wee bit much to say, but I think that the folks responsible for writing and directing this trash are just this side of sociopathic. So, yeah...I think Wes Craven's a pig. [internal monologue]And, for the record, I'd like to find Eli Roth (he of Cabin Fever, and Hostel fame), and punch him squarely in the neck. Let's see how cool or funny he thinks the violence is then, right?[/internal monologue]

I am appalled by this film, and by its many emulators - from Tobe Hooper's Texas Chainsaw Massacre, to more recent efforts to entertain via torture, like the Saw franchise, and the '07 remake of the '86 Rutger Hauer thriller The Hitcher, which features the slaying of a Christian family (including two small children! Woo-hoo!), after which we get to watch as the camera lingers on their bloodied remains (including - in a tasteful touch - a blood-soaked stuffed animal, and a bloody "Will I go to Heaven" coloring book, lying next to the murdered kids), not to mention the hordes of Jason/Freddy/Michael Myers sequels/remakes/imitators that inevitably flood the market each year.

I'm not commenting on the filmmakers' skill in most cases, or even upon the effectiveness of these films as films. I enjoy suspenseful films, and happen to like quite a few films that would fall somewhere between the horror and sci-fi categories. For instance, I thought that, while overly gory, John Carpenter's version of The Thing was very effective, as were both Aliens, and Predator. And, while he's more of a Hitchcock wannabe than a horror director, I enjoy the work of M. Night Shyamalan, for the most part. One of my all-time favorite films remains Steven Spielberg's Jaws - perhaps the single most perfect example of big screen paranoia-inducement. I'm not even antagonistic toward films that have copious gore, necessarily. I was very moved by Saving Private Ryan, We Were Soldiers, and Black Hawk Down. I think that the very-violent miniseries Band of Brothers may be the best work of historical filmmaking I've ever seen.

What I have a serious moral problem with, and a very real contempt for, as a Christian, is a film that is designed to do nothing more than to titillate, and to turn the sheer evil of the purposeful inflicting of suffering, pain, and death upon a human being into a source of entertainment. Spare me the pious rambling about its "devastating" indictment of our consumer culture...people watch Dawn of the Dead to see the zombie get his head splattered by the helicopter, and to see the biker gang be torn, literally limb-from-limb. People watch the films of Italian Gorefather Lucio Fulci to see splinters sinking into eyeballs, drill presses going into foreheads, and intestines being vomited by possessed women - not for their scintillating social commentary.

A recent review of the DVD release of Saw III has summed up my objections to the genre perfectly:

Disc 2 offers a sweet behind-the-scenes treat: 10 tortures and how they did 'em. You'll see the craft that went into shots of a woman's chest cage ripped apart, a black man's body broken to pieces. Honestly, folks, which is weirder: taking pleasure in the depiction of pain, or being so anesthetized to it that you want to study the particulars of its creation? It occurred to me that the connoisseurs of these extras are like the Mr. Smith character in Mr. Brooks, wetting themselves from excitement at the sight of bodies in agony and life snuffed out.
I'm the first to admit that not everything we do, even as committed Christians, will, in and of itself, be intentionally designed, first and foremost, to be spiritually uplifting. What I have a problem with, however, is the belief held by some that intentionally subjecting oneself to material that demeans, debases, and devalues human life can be anything but harmful. Just as ongoing exposure to pornography inevitably dulls one's ability to respond to less explicit sexual stimuli, I firmly believe that repeated exposure to these "celebrations of death" serves only to dull our sensitivity to and compassion for the human suffering around us. To lose one's ability to be horrified is, in many ways, to lose one's soul. In immersing oneself in the filth, the cruelty, and the exultation in suffering that these films showcase, one has chosen to focus on the base, and, to put it bluntly, the things of Satan.

Now, before all of your audible "pshaws" knock me clean over, allow me to explain. Just as I believe there to be nothing inherently "evil" about a particular style of music (In the 70s, there was quite a movement in Evangelical circles that held that the very musical style of rock music was of Satan. Similar things have been said, through the years, about "them Hollywood movie houses"), I find nothing inherently wrong with film - even films that feature frank depictions of violence, etc. I love movies. I still get excited when the house lights go down, and the trailers (and nowadays, the inevitable torrents of commercials) start playing. So, no...you shouldn't misinterpret what I said to mean that people who watch enjoy horror movies are somehow, "of Satan". What is, I think, authentically Satanic, however, is the flipside world of the modern-day horror flick, wherein we begin to cheer for the forces of chaos and death, and to exult in the ever rising body count, wondering how creative Tom Savini can get with the disembowelment effects this time, "cause man...in that last flick, when that last chick was all crying, and begging, and s@#t, and then she got her throat ripped out, it so rocked..." To see an example of what I'm talking about, just hit any number of reviews at BloodyDisgusting.com (not for the weak of stomach, of course). There's an entire, massive subculture out there that exults in depictions of sadism, cruelty, and slaughter. Am I off-base here in thinking that this should probably concern us just a bit?

I find, though, that with a certain type of film...there's something truly dark there...something that a voice inside tells us we shouldn't be watching. When we, as a moviegoing audience are made to identify with, and begin to secretly "root for" the guy with the hockey mask and the machete, or the crispy fellow with the razor-fingered glove, we've crossed over a line somewhere along the way.

From a rather self-important, but largely insightful journal piece (no longer available online) on horror films, and their social impact:

When the characters are triumphant, the art is not deep horror but generative comedy. So too, tragedy cannot be deep horror because tragedy's characters are sacrificed for valuable causes. The audience witnesses what it expects should be (Affron 54). In deep horror, the victims must be elementally violated, and this is most effective when they have been rendered completely powerless (Dickstein 32, Durgnant 880). Self control and assertiveness are useless, and surrender is inevitable despite all efforts. The self is completely and unredeemably dissolved as in Daniel Keyes' Flowers for Algernon and the most recent remake of The Fly (1986). The rape-murder of his wife by a masked husband in the film Jagged Edge (1985) is a distillation of deep horror's anonymous, nonredemptive sundering of all things human: spirit, soul, inner being, love, intimacy, and body.

...Yet another major way in which deep horror accomplishes its effects is by offering participation in the sacrificial scapegoating of the characters, a process that takes place for the characters without the usual Judeo-Christian requirement of sin preceding penance. For the maladjusted adolescent, for example, films like Carrie (1976) and The Spell (1977) serve as vicarious vengeance against adults and peers. Roger Ebert cites two incidents of such behavior among adults. The distinguished, white-haired sadist has already been mentioned. The second is the audience that found the mentally retard rapist in I Spit on Your Grave uproariously funny (54). Indeed, in deep horror, the most ghastly suffering, pain, and denial take place without justification or rationale and are enjoyed by audiences without fear of retribution, punishment, or revenge. As Stephen King has observed, "The horror film is an invitation to indulge in deviant, antisocial behavior by proxy -- to commit gratuitous acts of violence, indulge our puerile dreams of power, to give in to our worst craven fears".
It is this celebration of the aforementioned "violation" - the rapes and murders, portrayed in unflinching detail in so many films; the gory, painful end to human lives, turned into sport in the Saw, and Hostel series'; the lack of focus on the meaning of these lives and deaths, and on the essentially mournful and lamentable circumstances of the robbing of life - that so bothers me.

I've seen lots of 'em, folks. I've seen the Dead films, the work of Fulci, Craven's early "pseudo-snuff" films, and countless others in the horror pantheon. I can certainly say that I've not been enriched by them, I'll be perfectly happy never to see another again, and yeah...I'm more than a little concerned about the folks out there who get their jollies from them.

While it may be a sick world, do we really need to wallow in the filth?

 
A classic EJ post for Halloween - part 1


Hey kids. Today being Halloween, I thought I'd dig up a couple of nuggets from years gone by, and toss them up here for you to peruse. I'm shortening them a bit, but they're both still very long. First up? An analysis of Halloween itself from a Christian perspective. My position on Halloween has changed pretty dramatically over the years, and hopefully, this piece will help you to understand why. Here you go:

This will likely be a controversial (and long) post, to some degree, due to its intended audience (my fellow Evangelical Christians), and due to the positions I'll take, which will likely please few, and disgruntle many. Such is life, I suppose, so here goes:

I've been wrong about Halloween.

Now, to clarify, and to lead into a longer discussion, I must also point out that I've been right about Halloween. It's just that my long-standing core beliefs on the matter have proven to have been shaped my misinformation, and outright error. As such, they bear revisiting, and they would call for a renewed effort to develop a consistent, coherent, and fact-based position, rather than one based on hysterics - which, unfortunately, I've come to realize formed the basis of my previous opposition. What on earth am I rambling on about? Oh. Pardon me. Set the "wayback" machine for, say, 1982 or so, shall we, and things should become a bit more clear.

So, I'm sitting in my room, eight years old, and wondering what I'll be for Halloween this year. It's cool out, the sky is overcast, and the smell of chimney smoke mingles with that of the fallen leaves of my parents' silver maple trees. It's unmistakably October.

The previous few years had been a little hit-or-miss, costume-wise. I was Bullwinkle one year, and Woody Woodpecker the next, but the costumes themselves were those thin plastic fire deathtraps that left you so goofy with plastic fumes that you could scarcely remember trick-or-treating at all by the end of the night. I wasn't allowed to be anything scary, but that was fine by me, as I've never had an attraction to the grisly or macabre. Heck...one year, when I was younger, I had donned a full-blown grey bunny costume. Had I lived in a rougher neighborhood, I might well have been beaten up on sight, but luckily for me, I was around six at the time, and pulled it off rather well.

So, I ask my mom what I can be...soldier...Roger Staubach...something like that, right? BAM! This look of hesitation flashes in her eyes. Uh-oh. Something's up. As it turned out, Mike Warnke was up.

Warnke, for those of you not raised in Evangelical America, was, for quite a few years, a very popular Christian speaker, comedian, and "authority" on the occult. He appeared on everything from The 700 Club, to The Oprah Winfrey Show (before she was just Oprah!), and sold over a million records and cassettes. Warnke had a hook, see, and this hook was that he had, at one point, been a high priest in the Church of Satan. His book The Satan Seller was filled with horrifying and lurid tales of life inside the Satanist movement - a movement, we were led to believe, that was sweeping the nation. Our next door neighbors, our elected officials, and even many of our pastors might well be involved in this evil, and committing unspeakable rituals in our own neighborhoods. Through the late 70s, to the late 80s, Warnke's claims would help to form the basis for much of the Evangelical community's views on Satanism, and on the nature of its practice. Back in the 80s and early 90s, the nation was swept with a fascination with Satanism. Some police departments went so far as to establish actual "satanic crimes" units, to battle the apparent explosion of criminal behavior that would attend the increase in satanic activity in the US. Most of these developments are, in one way or another, directly attributable to Mike Warnke's testimony. A major portion of Warnke's claims focused on Halloween, which he described as the high holy day of Satanism. Additionaly, Warnke described the origins of most modern day Halloween traditions - from pumpkin carving to trick-or-treating - as a combination of dark pagan ritual, and overt Satanism, often with a dash of human sacrifice or demonic fellowship.

My parents had purchased Warnke's album, Halloween - A Christian Perspective, wherein he laid out his case for Halloween as a veil for satanic activity. From that point on, there would be no more Halloween in our house.

Needless to say, I fought the move tooth-and-nail (well...as an eight year-old can, anyway. I whined.). Giving up trick-or-treating?! GAH! Eventually, I settled in, confident that my family's forsaking of Halloween was, indeed, for the better. It was sometimes rough telling my friends, etc., but I became adept at changing the subject when the question of Halloween costumes came up, or invitations to Halloween parties were distributed.

My own personal objections to Halloween grew stronger as I got older, and by the time I was a junior in high school, I was firm in my beliefs that not only was Halloween of Satan himself, but also that it was a day of great physical evil, with countless runaways and kidnapped children being sacrificed to the devil. The school I attended - Riverview Christian Academy - was wonderful in many ways, but one of the ways in which it wasn't so was its connection to Marilyn Hickey Ministries specifically, and to the "Word of Faith" faction of Evangelical Christianity in general. Now, to be fair, I knew (and still know) any number of truly amazing Christian men and women who have been a part of that ministry, and Marilyn's likely successor - her daughter Sarah - was both my geometry and history teacher, and she was fantastic. She's one of the smartest folks with whom I've ever dealt (she had master's degrees in Russian and Mathematics at an age when many folks are merely finishing their undergrad work), for what it's worth.

What I've learned, through the years, though, and through my frequent contact with more "Charismatic" branches of the church, is that there is an abnormally strong tendency toward near-superstition, and toward outright gullibility within many of these ministries. In addition, there is a willingness on the part of some leaders in these ministries to take advantage of this gullibility in order to gain - both in terms of financial benefit, and a grip on power and influence.

Whether it's the "demon behind every crooked picture frame"-hysterics of Bob Larson (a thoroughly, hysterically, hilariously discredited schemer if ever there was one), the rantings of a Chick tract, the bizarre, utterly far-fetched claims of Benny Hinn (that he's seen thousands raised from the dead, etc.), or any number of other, similar instances, there is a pattern of willingness present in many of these believers; one in which the adherent invokes Satanism and demonic forces as the root causes of every evil on earth, takes the concept of spiritual warfare (a very solid, scripturally-sound Christian tenet, BTW) - and "Perettis" it, drawing in their minds images of drooling, monstrous demons and their human servants, just waiting to unleash a very real, apocalyptic assault on believers the world over, if they're not confronted by those willing to cast them out.

As a result of my exposure to these philosophies, I firmly believed that Halloween and its traditions had directly satanic origins, or, at the very least, pagan origins, which demanded my non-participation as a Christian. Here's the thing, though: for the most part, this stuff just isn't so.

Mike Warnke was exposed as a liar and a fraud by a relatively unlikely source several years back. Charisma magazine - a publication that most would have assumed to be right up Warnke's alley - performed a remarkable bit of investigative journalism, and discovered that he had lied about his involvement with Satanism. He never led a "coven", and had never seen the horrid things that he had for so many years claimed to have been a part of.

UPDATE/ADDITION
To head off any undue criticism that might suggest that I've converted to a strong "pro-Halloween" position, allow me to make this comment (stolen from my "Comments" section, no less):

The heart of the matter, for me, at least, isn't even whether or not Halloween is something to be "celebrated". I'm not sure that I'll let my daughter participate in anything more than a church-sponsored "Harvest Festival", simply because I loathe the very real, and very troubling emphases on death, fear, and darkness that surround the more prevalent mores of the day. That having been said, we do our faith, and our God no service when we're willing to spread falsehoods and misinformation, simply because they fit with our view of "how things really work". I'm not calling for widespread Christian acceptance, or celebration of Halloween. What I am saying, however, is that we owe it to our witness as the Body of Christ to be fair and accurate in our presentation of our (very real) concerns, and to be disciplined and wise in how we approach such matters. Continuing to hang on to the discredited claims of Warnke, et. al., simply becuase they "might" be true is indefensible.
Still, I went on believing that Halloween was pure, undiluted Satanism (I'm still not a huge fan of the holiday, but for different reasons), and to be shunned in all its forms and expressions. This continued, for the most part, until my daughter was born. At that time, I began to relive (anticipating her difficulty in dealing with it) the sense of alienation I had felt when first being excluded from the activities in which all of my friends participated. I began to look into matters for myself, and eventually came to resent Warnke, and the many like him who had done so much to build false foundations of belief for the church.

The fact of the matter is that much of what I held as fact - that Halloween is the high holy day of the satanic church, that most of our Halloween traditions flow directly from Druidic celebrations of death, and that Halloween is a time of great evil, in terms of human sacrifice, and satanic ritual abuse, etc. - simply isn't so.

Though I've now read up on the subject from hundreds of sources, two in particular - Can Christians Celebrate Halloween?, by an Evangelical Lutheran Pastor named Richard Bucher, and The History of Halloween by Pastor Dennis Rupert (beware the annoying music and animated .gifs) - seem to sum things up best, so I'll provide some excerpts from them here (first from Bucher's work).

Myth #1: "Halloween was originally a Celtic festival for the dead, celebrated on the last day of the Celtic year, Oct. 31."

This is actually a quotation from the 1996 CD version of Grolier Encyclopedia, widely viewed as one of the most scholarly of the CD encyclopedias, since it gives a signed bibliography after each entry. But when one comes to the "Halloween" article, there are no signed bibliographical entries. This should be a tip off right away that something is amiss. Such is the case with many, if not, most, mainline encyclopedias. No references are given. But this doesn't stop many Christians from repeating this argument ad infinitum.

First, we need to be clear about sources of information about the ancient Druids and the Celts of the British Isles. We don't have much. Part of the problem is that the Druids, priests and guardians of Celtic religion did not put their learning in written form. So are there any historical sources that provide information about the Druids and Celtic culture from Roman or pre-Roman times? Yes. We have accounts of them from Julius Caesar, Strabo, and Diodorus. These records are supplemented by some early Irish/Celtic Literature.

But there are two problems with the Roman sources that inject an element of doubt into them. First, Caesar and the Romans were at war with the Celts of Gaul. It is not beyond the realm of possibility that Caesar would make the Celts and Druids sound worse than they really were in order to justify the war. Recall how the Romans had accused Christians of practicing cannibalism, incest, and orgies. Therefore it is difficult to distinguish between truth and Roman propaganda.
And now, an excerpt from Rupert's essay:

You will often read in the literature published by Christian organizations (such as the tracts and comic books from publisher Jack Chick) that, "Samhain was the Celtic God of the Dead, worshipped by the Druids with dreadful bloody sacrifices at Halloween." Chick embroiders this fantasy in a tract called "The Trick" and a full-sized comic book called, "Spellbound?"...

His writings describe evil Druids going from castle-door-to-door seeking virgin princesses to rape and sacrifice, leaving carved pumpkins illuminated by candles ("made from human fat!") for those who cooperated, and arranging demonic assassinations for those who refused to give them what they wanted. This, according to Mr. Chick, is supposed to be the "true" origin of trick or treating.

Let's look at a few historical facts...

Contrary to information published by many Christian organizations, there is no historical or archeological evidence of any Celtic deity of the dead named "Samhain." We know the names of some 350 Celtic deities and Samhain isn't found among them. The Celtic gods of the dead were Gwynn ap Nudd for the British, and Arawn for the Welsh. The Irish did not have a "lord of death" as such. McBain's Etymological Dictionary of the Gaelic Language says that "samhuinn" (the Scots Gaelic spelling) means "summer's end."

It's not just Christian organizations that perpetuate this fallacy -- even the World Book encyclopedia (1990) writes about "Samhain, the Celtic lord of death" (World Book is in discussion with scholars in order to change this in future additions.) This idea is based on a fallacy that seems to have come from Col. Charles Vallency's books in the 1770s before the reliable translations of existing Celtic literary works and before archaeological excavations. (Col. Charles Vallency also tried to prove that the Irish were descended from the inhabitants of Armenia!) Samhain is the name of the holiday. There is no evidence of any god or demon named "Samhain," "Samain," "Sam Hane," or however you want to vary the spelling.
Here's another one that I once believed, courtesy of Bucher:

Myth #4: The practice of "trick or treat" and costumes originated with an ancient Druid practice. [Here follow three variations that I have seen in Christian writings] (a) The Druids, in costume, went door to door asking for contributions of food for their demonic worship services. Those who didn't give them a treat, they would play a trick on by killing them (b) Spirits of the dead would go from house to house haunting the living. Those who didn't set out food for them would be harmed by them; (c) Peasants dressed in outlandish costumes went from house to house asking for contributions to buy food for the Samhain festival in the name of a Celtic deity named Muck Olla. A feast was prepared for ghosts. At the end of the feast, the costumed peasants would lead the ghosts out of the village.

...we just don't have any evidence to back up these claims. The only mention of Muck Olla, reveals him not as a Celtic deity but as a mythical figure from a much later period in Britain. All major studies show that the earliest mention we have of dressing in costumes and soliciting food comes from Christian times. Throughout the Middle Ages we know of the practice of "masked guisers" dressing in horrific masks to scare off demons. We also know of beggars and later children going from house to house asking for "soul cakes" or performing and asking for something in return. Actually, the phrase "trick or treat" is a modern one, being widespread from the late 1930s on.
Here is a similar passage from the Rupert essay:

There's zero evidence that the ancient Druids or their congregants ever dressed in costume or engaged in ritualized begging at harvest time. One Christian tract (Trick or Treat - by the unctuous Jack Chick) says:

"The Druids went from house to house asking for a contribution to their demonic worship celebration. If a person didn't give, their trick was to kill him. The people feared the phrase 'Trick or Treat.'"

This charge has been laid at the door step of the Celts so often that it's hard to believe there is no evidence for it, but there is absolutely none. Tad Tuleja (a folklore expert) writes:

"An exhaustive Victorian survey of Irish calendar customs mentions divination games and apple bobbing as Halloween pastimes, but says nothing about food collection or a procession of "spirits."...On the question of masked begging at the Celtic New Year, authorities on the Druids do not say a word. (Halloween and Other Festivals of Death and Life, p. 83)."

Where did costuming at Halloween come from? There is a lot of confusion on this point. But in spite of what you may have read in an encyclopedia or seen on the History Channel, I can find absolutely NO historical evidence of costumed begging among the Druids or as part of the Samhain festival.

We do have records of costumed processions in a much later time (Christian times), but these costumed processions were NOT limited to the Halloween holiday. They appear much more frequently at Christmas. The earliest actual historic practice seems to have been poor folk in masks and costumes going from house to house. They would put on a simple play or musical performance in return for food and drink. This practice is called mumming or guising and has no discernible connection to the Celts.

You may be surprised to learn that your parents or grandparents know nothing about costuming on Halloween. A reader sent me this email:

"You mentioned in your article that the American custom came about in the 1930s as a reaction to vandalism. My parents were kids in New York City in those days, and I started looking for more info because of a comment my mom made on Halloween night. It seems that Halloween as we know it did not exist at the time--it was all pranks, as you mentioned (my mom mentioned taking gates off posts and moving outhouses, as you did, and my dad said that in the days of coal fuel there were big cans of ashes that the kids would tip over--a big mess).

The interesting part was that both of them said (Dad was born in 1924 and Mom in 1927) that each year as kids, they did go from door to door begging for food--but it was on Thanksgiving Day, not Halloween! My mom said that rather than 'Trick or Treat!' their line at each door was 'Anything for the poor? Anything for the poor?' They were given fruit, nuts, a cup of cider, or the occasional coin--that sort of thing."

...The actual phrase "trick or treat" is not Druidic! The oldest citation in print dates only to 1939! The phrase is not recorded by the Merriam-Webster Company until 1941. And the term is actually American, not European (Halloween and Other Festivals of Death and Life, p. 47,86-90)!

It's not only the phrase that is American, the practice is too! In America in the late 1800s and early 1900s, there was a custom of playing pranks on Halloween. This custom appears to have come from immigrants from Ireland and Scotland which had a practice called Mischief Night. Favorite pranks included tipping over outhouses and unhinging fence gates (Charles Panati, Extraordinary Origins of Everyday Things). The pleasant fiction was that such rambunctiousness was the work of "fairies," "elves," "witches" and "goblins" (Halloween and Other Festivals of Death and Life, p. 87). That's the "trick" part of Halloween. Where did the "treat" part of Halloween come from? Jill Pederson Meyer writes:

"By the turn of the century, Halloween had become an ever more destructive way to 'let off steam' for crowded and poor urban dwellers. As Stuart Schneider writes in 'Halloween in America' (1995), vandalism that had been limited to tipping outhouses; removing gates, soaping windows and switching shop signs, by the 1920s had become nasty -- with real destruction of property and cruelty to animals and people. Perhaps not coincidentally, the disguised nighttime terrorism and murders by the Ku Klux Klan reached their apex during this decade. Schneider writes that neighborhood committees and local city clubs such as the Boy Scouts then mobilized to organize safe and fun alternatives to vandalism. School posters of the time call for a 'Sane Halloween.' Good children were encouraged to go door to door and receive treats from homes and shop owners, thereby keeping troublemakers away. By the 1930s, these 'beggar's nights' were enormously popular and being practiced nationwide, with the 'trick or treat' greeting widespread from the late 1930s."

The Halloween begging activity known as trick-or-treat comes from America in the 1930s, not the British Isles. The custom was intended to control and displace disruptive pranks.
And now, something on the topic of Satanism from Rupert's essay:

Contrary to popular belief Halloween is not the most important celebration for Satanists. Most Satanists celebrate their own birthdays as their most important "unholi"-day, which is to be expected from adherents of a religion that believes that the highest form of religion is "worship of self" (The Satanic Bible, Anton LaVey). Some of the stories of Satanic ritual abuse that are passed around in Christian circles may have no basis in fact (like those found in Rebecca Brown's book "He Came to Set the Captives Free"). According to Christian researchers Bob and Gretchen Passantino (What About Halloween?):

"The actual incidence level of satanic-associated crime is very low, and on Halloween consists mostly of petty vandalism and desecration of graveyards and churches; satanic graffiti; raucous rituals including drug and/or alcohol use and sexual promiscuity; and very rarely sexual violence or animal killing. The most well-known documented criminal activity associated with Halloween are the 'Devil's Night' fires that were rampant in the Detroit area. These destructive bonfires were not religiously inspired, but were a convenient excuse for out-of-control juveniles to act destructively, often in their own communities.

It is not true that satanists look for 'Christian virgins' to rape during Halloween rituals. A young Christian is much more likely to be in danger of a drunk driver, or a party that gets out of hand with drug or alcohol use than of satanic abduction. Occasional anti-social, criminally committed individuals or small groups that also practice self-styled Satanism commit crimes on Halloween, but they invariably betray a pattern of sociopathy at other times as well.

It is not true that poisoning or sabotaging of Halloween treats is a significant risk if parents take sensible precautions. Most horror stories are unsubstantiated rumors that quickly cross the country, gaining embellishments, and unnecessarily frightening parents. If parents are careful about restricting their children's treats to ones from people they know and trust, or from a formal program run by a church, community group, or merchant association, they should be fairly safe. In many communities, local hospitals and/or police stations will screen treats free of charge."
Finally, Rupert offers a fair and, I think, correct rationale for his position, and for the crafting of his document:

What I have tried to show is that much of the association with witchcraft and Satanic elements has actually come from Christian misinformation attempting to "demonize" this holiday. There is no evidence that the original Celtic celebration was Satanic. Much of the information on Halloween that Christians preach and write about is plainly based on shoddy research. While Christians should absolutely avoid pagan practices, Christian hype tends to make us overreact to benign folk elements of Halloween. We appear like zany buffoons to the world when there is no necessity for doing so. Furthermore, our groundless retreat from all elements of Halloween leaves a vacuum that wicked elements delight to fill.
As the authors of these essays point out, there are any number of aspects to much of our modern Halloween celebrations that must be considered objectionable - even without any attendant links to Satanism or the occult. We should, as believers, avoid any and all endorsement of such things.

For the same reason that I detest horror movies, I hate the horror aspects of Halloween. The celebration and glorification of death is utterly antithetical to the glorification of God, and our edification as believers. We are given the freedom to choose which things we will set our minds upon, and, I've come to the firm conclusion that a thirst to dwell upon the brutal murder and mutilation of human beings...the taking of pleasure from depictions of pain and suffering (the very cornerstones of the horror/gore genre, and usually on full display in the AICN Talkbacks) is fundamentally unhealthy. Hey...I'll just throw it out there, to make sure I alienate everyone a little bit: if you're somebody who truly relishes a good "kill" scene in a flick...if the films of Lenzi, Deodato or Fulci are right up your alley, or you're a big fan of Murder Set Pieces, or if you just can't wait for the torture porn of the Saw franchise...I think there's something wrong with you. Clinically. Spiritually. Morally. Seriously. Sorry. I've seen too much of this crap, and been around too many people who have exactly the wrong reaction to it - utter joy, for instance - to simply chalk the disconnect up to a simple difference in tastes. There's a great black hole at the center of this kind of thing, and it will swallow your soul.

Part of my frustration with Warnke, and with the entire Bob Larson school of demonology, is that it detracts from the real and present threat that Satan poses to believers and non-believers alike. Scripture is very clear in pointing out that we have a very real enemy who works actively for our destruction. Yeah. I'm a Christian. I believe in the supernatural. Angels are real...demons are real, and they do, indeed, battle. There are two sides to the spiritual (on a side note, don't ever assume that merely because something is described as "spiritual", it's inherently good) - and they are engaged in a fight.

In turning the matter of spiritual warfare into a gimmick for revenue generation and cheap sideshow displays, and in the use of spiritual gifts (tongues, prophecy, etc.) as "special effects" for these displays, too many Christians make it easy for rational folk to dismiss the existence of Satan - and of a spiritual realm, in general - out-of-hand. There is likely nothing Satan likes better than for a Bob Larson or a Benny Hinn to go on and on making baseless claims involving casting out demons of "poverty", or claims that thousands of people are killed every year by satanic covens. Such distractions offer Satan cover under which he may operate undetected, and unopposed.

So...all of this to say, that we're still not certain about the extent to which we'll celebrate Halloween, or allow The Girl™ to take part in the neighborhood stuff (Pastor Bucher has a pretty solid list of guidelines here, so it's a place to start...), because there's still plenty of room for caution in the whole shebang - due to the degree to which it's intertwined with so much glorification of death, evil, and fear, etc. The uncomfortable conclusion to which I've come, though, is that most of my underlying assumptions regarding Halloween's roots have been proven to be based on very little in the way of facts, and plenty in the way of urban legends. As such, I'll keep looking into things, and keep this in mind:

Accept him whose faith is weak, without passing judgment on disputable matters. 2One man's faith allows him to eat everything, but another man, whose faith is weak, eats only vegetables. 3The man who eats everything must not look down on him who does not, and the man who does not eat everything must not condemn the man who does, for God has accepted him. 4Who are you to judge someone else's servant? To his own master he stands or falls. And he will stand, for the Lord is able to make him stand.

5One man considers one day more sacred than another; another man considers every day alike. Each one should be fully convinced in his own mind. 6He who regards one day as special, does so to the Lord. He who eats meat, eats to the Lord, for he gives thanks to God; and he who abstains, does so to the Lord and gives thanks to God. 7For none of us lives to himself alone and none of us dies to himself alone. 8If we live, we live to the Lord; and if we die, we die to the Lord. So, whether we live or die, we belong to the Lord. - Romans 14:1-8 (NIV)

Monday, October 29, 2007
 
It's Catalog Time, Kids


The more things change, the more they stay the same.


Wish away, kids.

It's a truism, really, and, as is the case with so many other truisms, its relevance can only be realized once one passes age 25, or so.

I suppose it's all some sort of variation on the Circle of Life that Elton John sang about with Mufasa and Simba, and the like. Oh, and I apologize up-front for getting an Elton John song stuck in your head. Sure, it's cruel and sadistic, but as a literary device, I find that it works quite nicely in terms of helping you to remember this piece. Later today, when you find yourself whistling a tune, and thinking of Everyone's Favorite Terrifying Englishman, you'll also remember this column. Oh, sure, you'll also curse my eternal soul to perdition, but nonetheless, you'll remember this column.

This time of year brings to mind any number of emotions and sensations; most of which eventually settle on a form of potent - if nebulous - anticipation. I remember dancing a veritably Papelbonian jig whenever my folks came home from Sears with the annual Wish Book, and such memories are always tinted by the yellows, browns, and reds of autumn. It's just that time again.

Sure, Sears stopped churning out the "big" Wish Book a decade or so ago, but they've continued to issue a toy-only Wish Book each year, with this year's model having just hit the market.

Now that I have a daughter of my own to rope into this whole seasonal sentimentality racket, I'm jumping at the chance. I've ordered a Wish Book for her, and yesterday, we stumbled across Toys R Us' latest "Big Book" of holiday toy ideas in the Sunday paper. I immediately summoned The Girl™, handed her a pen, and explained the procedure.

"See, you go through this big book, and find some stuff that you really think looks neat. Circle those things, and that'll tell us what you really want for Christmas" I said, being sure to add that she shouldn't circle everything, because she couldn't have everything for Christmas. She nodded knowingly, and took the pen from me as it it were the wand of Merlin himself. Sure, I knew that the last part of my instructional spiel would go largely unheeded; that's part of the fun, after all. For awhile, at least, the possibilities are endless, and your little kid world is awash in toy lust, and, well...magic.

She laid on the floor at my feet, head propped on little hands, feet slowly kicking at the air, and eyes wide as they surveyed countless Pound Puppies, My Little Ponies, and Disney Princess loot. She circled away, covering pretty much every square inch of the catalog (save for those pages containing dump trucks, because, as she said, crinkling her little nose, "dump trucks are just for boys") in black ballpoint ink, but that's OK.

She won't get everything she circles, and she knows it. For now, however, all that lies ahead of her is possibility.

Now, whether you believe it or not, Christmastime at the Keller house isn't principally about stuff. We're pretty dead-set on covering the proverbial True Meaning at every step in the process. We don't want to raise just another self-absorbed personification of suburban materialism, and we parent accordingly. Still...we all deal with reality enough in this world, it's a pretty sweet deal to be able to bestow just a little hint of wonderment on a four year-old girl every once in awhile, you know?

Circle away, folks, and may your wishes come true. Unless you're gunning for one of those Power Wheels ride-on cars, because man, nobody I knew ever successfully campaigned for one of those, and I'd be pretty bitter if you were the first.


Wishing for one of these, though? Forget it. Not a single kid ever got one for Christmas. Ever. It's all a scam.

 
I did what I could, guys


Didn't write a thing about 'em. Since early August, I've not penned, typed, telegraphed, or scratched down on paper a word about the Colorado Rockies. This is due to an arrangement reached by my friends and I, once we realized that anything written by me on the topic was, in fact, like a straight-up Kryptonite martini for the dashing fellow in the stylish blue tights.

For the past several seasons, I've done what I could to promote the club in my writing, and in each case, the Rockies would respond by immediately cratering. As such, it wasn't exactly rocket science to figure out that, in order to help these Kid Rocks along, I should just shut the heck up. I did so, and they took off. Like rockets. Like purple-clad, Louisville Slugger-fueled Lockheed Martin-assembled (in their Waterton facility) rockets bound for baseball immortality.

I'm a baseball guy. Always have been, always will be. Oh, sure...I grew up here, and I love me some Broncos. Similarly, I love hockey, and have been thrilled to watch the Avs skate to a couple of Stanley Cups. Nothing...nothing in my sports life, however, will ever top the moment in 1991 when National League President Bill White announced that Denver would be the recipient of one of two expansion teams, to begin play in the 1993 season. I was a sophomore in high school, and a baseball lover without a home team. These Rocks, though, were mine from day one. I've still got my '93 Rockies team baseball card set, and my David Neid rookie card (Neid was the first player taken in the expansion draft, and was a highly rated prospect in the Braves organization, who did approximately nothing as a big leaguer...). On my bookshelf at the office, you'll find a set of 1993 Coke bottles marking the Rockies' inaugural season. I'll always remember listening to their first regular season game (a loss at Shea against the Mets) on my way to play in one of my own ballgames during my senior year of high school. Like the Rocks, we lost that day (curse you, Aurora Christian Academy!).

In college, I was the runner-up (out of more than 300 applicants) for an internship with the Rockies, and I still remember the sting of losing out.

In short, I'm a long-time fan. I'm no bandwagoner.

Still, I'd forgotten how much I love both the game and this team until Helton's improbable shot off of Dodgers star reliever Takashi Saito in September. I saw from Helton - my long-time favorite player - absolute, unfiltered, unguarded elation as he rounded third, and leapt into the arms of his gathered teammates at home. Watching this scene, I found myself grinning. Uncontrollably. At a Rockies game. I never thought I'd see the day again.

Since that time, I've bitten my tongue, held my fire, and refrained from writing a thing about the Rockies, and they've been hotter than a pawn shop's inventory.

Until the Sox. Until the Sox socked the Rox, which totally sux.

This playoff run has cost me my fingernails, has likely taken years off of my life (thanks to the constant heart-pounding), and has - improbably - caused me to regress even further into absolute immaturity as I happily sat for hours watching grown men play a kids' game while I gripped their rookie cards and sat on the edge of my couch, screaming like a six year-old headed to Chuck E. Cheese's.

It cost me dearly.

Last night, however, I got something back. When the Rocks were down, and in danger of getting swept by a big bad team from Back East, I felt helpless. I felt that sickening, sweet helplessness of youth, and, like a kid, knew that the team needed my help. I turned my hat inside out, plopped it back onto my head, and leaned in close to the TV, with my little girl giggling at her daddy's silly rally cap. Seconds later, Atkins hit a two-run shot, and my heart skipped a beat. Something deep in my goofy little heart woke up again; something that'd been asleep for years.

Yeah...we know how it ended last night.

This team is something special, though. There's a life, and a spark of unselfishness there, and it's a wonder to behold.

To the Rocks, I say "you're welcome". Come next season, I'll keep these pages clear of your names, statistics, and tales of daring-do. Won't say a peep. It's the least I can do.

When do pitchers and catchers report?

Wednesday, October 17, 2007
 
Lt. Michael Murphy


Kudos to NBC News for their segment on our nation's newest recipient of the Congressional Medal of Honor - Navy Lt. Michael Murphy, who died in the Hindu Kush mountains in 2005, while engaged in one of the most intense firefights in SEAL history. Click the picture to view the video.


Navy Lt. Michael Murphy

Lt. Murphy was in command of a group of four SEALs from SEAL Team 10. Three of the four men would die during the fight. The fourth - Petty Officer Marcus Luttrell - has written a book about the events on the field that day.

On a local note, one of the members of Lt. Murphy's SEAL team that day was Littleton native Danny Dietz, who was also killed in the fight, and was awarded a Navy Cross for his own actions that day. You may recall that Petty Officer Dietz was remembered with a statue here in Littleon that became the object of some of the more ridiculous controversy of which I've ever heard, when a local "group of mothers" made an issue of the statue, and urged its removal, due to the fact that it portrayed Dietz in his combat gear, complete with M4 rifle. The head of this protest group went so far as to insinuate that the mere presence of the gun it this depiction could awaken memories of the Columbine shootings here in Littleton (which is silly for so very many reasons, not the least of which is the fact that Columbine doesn't sit in Littleton proper...).


Danny Dietz Memorial - Littleton, CO (photo courtesy of Blackfive.net)

Yeah. Compare a statue of a true American hero (not a term to be used lightly) to the psychotic losers of Columbine. Good thinking, lady.

These men gave their lives in noble service to their country, and nothing can more perfectly sum up the degree to which they're owed respect and honor than this piece from Navy Times, announcing President Bush's decision to award Lt. Murphy's the MOH. An excerpt:

Murphy, 29, was leading a four-man reconnaissance and surveillance team during Operation Red Wing in Afghanistan’s rugged Hindu Kush mountains June 28, 2005, when the team was spotted by Taliban fighters. During the intense battle that followed, Murphy and two of his men — Gunner’s Mate 2nd Class (SEAL) Danny Dietz and Sonar Technician (Surface) 2nd Class (SEAL) Matthew Axelson — were killed. A fourth man, then-Hospital Corpsman 2nd Class (SEAL) Marcus Luttrell, was seriously wounded and knocked unconscious, but managed to escape. Luttrell was rescued days later.

Murphy was killed while phoning in for reinforcements. The tragedy continued when enemy fighters shot down one of the transport helicopters carrying the rescue force, killing eight more SEALs and eight Special Forces operators. The 11 SEALs killed marked the largest single-day loss of life for the tight-knit community.

...In addition to the Oval Office ceremony, the fallen SEAL will be honored at two other Washington events: the inclusion of his name on a wall at the Pentagon’s Hall of Heroes at 11 a.m. Oct. 23, and the presentation of the Medal of Honor flag at the Navy Memorial at 6 p.m. Oct. 23. Additional ceremonies are planned next month at Calverton National Cemetery in eastern Long Island, where Murphy is buried, and on his birthday next year at the Patchogue post office that bears his name, his family said.

When he deployed overseas, Murphy carried a patch from New York Fire Department’s Engine Company 53 and Ladder Company 43, in Manhattan’s El Barrio neighborhood, “as a symbol of why he was there and what he was doing,” Daniel Murphy said.

The team was taking heavy fire in the close-quarters battle as Taliban fighters continued to close in, firing weapons and rocket-propelled grenades. At one point, Murphy took his mobile phone and “walked to open ground. He walked until he was more or less in the center, gunfire all around him, and he sat on a small rock and began punching in the numbers to HQ,” according to Luttrell, the surviving SEAL, who wrote a book called “Lone Survivor.”

“I could hear him talking,” Luttrell wrote. “My men are taking heavy fire ... we’re getting picked apart. My guys are dying out here ... we need help.

“And right then Mikey took a bullet straight in the back. I saw the blood spurt from his chest. He slumped forward, dropping his phone and his rifle. But then he braced himself, grabbed them both, sat upright again, and once more put the phone to his ear.”

Then, Luttrell heard Murphy say, “Roger that, sir. Thank you.” The lieutenant continued to train fire on the enemy fighters.

“Only I knew what Mikey had done. He’d understood we had only one realistic chance, and that was to call in help,” Luttrell wrote. “Knowing the risk, understanding the danger, in the full knowledge the phone call could cost him his life, Lieutenant Michael Patrick Murphy, son of Maureen, fiancé of the beautiful Heather, walked out into the firestorm.

“His objective was clear: to make one last valiant attempt to save his two teammates.”

Tuesday, October 09, 2007
 
Unfortunate Comic Books


As a long-time nerd/comic book fan, I'm well acquainted with the dangerous and foolish thought that just about any messaged can be effectively transmitted in comic book form.

This is simply not true.

Take this, for example:



Dunno its original source, but Jonah Goldberg linked to it at The Corner last week, and it spurred this little post. Granted, I'm not going to offer up much of an argument that Ronnie wasn't the greatest President ever (because he was, losers. When Reagan fell into water, he didn't get wet...water got Ronnie), but what the heck kind of comic book would this have come from?

As a greedy little newbie back in the mid-80s, I snagged any and every comic book I could get my hands on - especially if it featured the words "First Issue!" somewhere on the cover; comic books, after all, were to represent my road to indescribable wealth.

Just like my baseball cards.

Eventually, once I learned that the whole world of "book values" was approximately as logical and balanced as Andy Dick, I began to appreciate comic books (and baseball cards) for what they were: nifty things that I enjoyed having by virtue of their own niftiness.

Once in this newfound state of comic book appreciation, I decided to wade through my collection and see what sorts of chaff I'd picked up with the wheat. There was plenty more of the former than the latter, I assure you.

Take some of my Marvel #1s, for instance. I had a collection of shinola that included winners like Speedball #1, and Air Raiders #1 (in support of a VERY short-lived toy line).

Worse still were the Tandy comic books. As in Tandy computers. From Radio Shack. These were given away free at Radio Shack stores across the country, and I had three or four of 'em. My favorite, however, involved the book shown here:



The Answer to a Riddle. Each of the Tandy Whiz Kids books recounted an adventure featuring Alec and Shanna - two elementary school kids from "Coastal City" who solved problems, helped apprehend drug smugglers, and generally do-gooded about the pages of books designed to hock overpriced PC clones.

These books were troubled, to say the least. Take the whole "elementary school" aspect; I mean...look at the kids:



The dude in the blue shirt looks like an ABA center, and the kid in green sitting next to him is apparently suffering from some kind of horrible pituitary gland problem that's given him a 6'3" body, and an itty-bitty, nose-less head. Poor fella.

Then, skip ahead to this one:



Notice the freakish blond kid in panel #2? That's Alec - one of the aforementioned "Whiz Kids", who in this case, seems about ready to have an aneurysm should his teacher not immediately follow through on her earlier promise to spill the beans about some surprises for the upcoming school year (those surprises? New Tandy Computers! Hurrah!). Yikes. That's one creepy kid right there.

Things don't get much better, but thanks to the folks at Atari Magazines.com, you can read ALL of the Tandy comics online. Can life get any better? I submit that it cannot.

It just goes to show you that while not every idea should find expression in comic book form, there's no shortage of entertainment to be found in the misfires

Tuesday, October 02, 2007
 
Happy Birthday! Now...Let's Stop That Bleeding



Ever seen the fat and tendons in your own hand? I have!

I should have stayed at home in bed.

Alas, I am a slave of, and devotee to tradition, and as such, I once again found myself (happily) celebrating a birthday in Estes Park, where I traveled most years as kid, and have quite frequently gone with my own wife and little girl.

This year was no exception. As we usually do around this time of year, we headed up through Lyons, and hit Estes Park. It was, as is typical, a wonder to behold. Within minutes of our arrival, we were just yards from a big ol' bull elk and his harem of a dozen or so cows - all camped out on the golf course next to Lake Estes. There was bugling, there were gorgeous, golden-hued aspen, changing in anticipation of the cold and snow to come - some of which already dusted the peaks above Estes - and, as is also typical, there were approximately fifty million people crammed into town.

Still...is it worth the hassle of the masses? You take a look, and tell me:


At Lilly Lake


On the trail...


Ditto


Lilly Lake Trail

Crowds aside, my birthday trip to Estes Park is a tradition of which I'm quite fond. Of course; there are a number of sites we must see, places we must visit, and experiences we must have - no matter what else we do. Year-in and year-out, we've gotta hit Bob & Tony's Pizza and Penelope's for great pizza & burgers, respectively, the Spruce House for Christmas stuff, and any number of other stops along the way. For the past couple of years, we've involved horseback riding in the process, though this year, like last saw only The Girl™ on horseback (well...ponyback), because trail rides aren't too practical with a four year-old in tow. So, things were pretty much routine on this year's edition of the birthday trip, save for the extra attraction we visited.

Yes, this year, the list of "places to see" got just a bit longer, when I ventured to the lovely Timberline Medical Center to meet with the friendly and skilled Dr. Bruce Woolman and staff, who quickly and courteously stitched up my gashed hand.

My birthday - Saturday - started out nicely, with a morning that followed a night of being pummeled mercilessly by The Girl™, who wanted to be with me in one of the two hotel room beds, and does a mighty fine impression of Floyd Mayweather in her sleep.

Cartoons were watched. Hostess doughnuts and Frappucinos were downed (also part of the tradition), and we began to get ready for the day. Then, I decided to cut up an apple for The Girl™ and I to share. This was a mistake. It was a mistake because I decided to use a pitifully tiny pocket knife to cut the apple, and, immediately after beginning the process, and noticing that I'd cut my hand if I wasn't caref...

The knife slipped, just as I knew it would, and the side of my hand was flayed open and bleeding heavily. Oh...I should mention that The Wife™ was in the shower at this point, so The Girl™ casually walked to the door of the bathroom, and said "Um, Mommy? Daddy just cut his hand real bad."


Before

So, I sat, holding tissues to my hand to stem the crimson tide, and waiting to get a ride to the urgent care clinic.

Finally, we walked out to the car - with me still holding tissues to my bleeding hand - and I figured I was home free. Instead, I was destined for further debasement and injury. As I walked, my left foot found a dent in the grass next to the sidewalk, my ankle rolled, and down I went, skinning my knee and palms in the process, and waiting for either an asteroid to strike me, or a swarm of locusts to devour my flesh; after all, it was shaping up to be that kind of day.

Instead, things worked out pretty well. I got stitched up, and we went about the rest of our day, with the pony ride, and the walk around town as fine as ever. It was still great to be in the mountains, and to take an autumn day's hike around Lilly Lake, and drink in the time I had with my family, away from the stress of daily life.


After

Next year, though, I'm hoping not to drop by the clinic to visit my new friends. No offense, Dr. Woolman, but you're not in my plans, tradition-wise.


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