Mini-Reviews: Edition, the First

Crazy Heart:  Highly acclaimed and brilliantly cast, the story of an old and nigh-forgotten country music star.  Bad Blake once spent his days performing for thousands, and now he's lucky to get fifty at a bowling alley show.  Jeff Bridges does amazing work in this film, singing many of the songs himself (and I suspect playing the guitar, too, though this is unverified).  Bad is an alcoholic, and much of Crazy Heart deals with his problem.  This was a stirring movie that I rather enjoyed.

Lord of the Rings Extended Trilogy Blu-Ray:  With only a few extra features compared to the DVD trilogy, the blu-rays nevertheless look stunning in their high definition.  Probably not worth it to the casual viewer, but definitely for the fans.  Oh, and the box is shiny...

Alpocalypse:  I've been a Weird Al fan since I was a wee lad.  His were the first albums I e'er bought, if I remember correctly.  His creativity always is great, and the fun, crisp music he produces is more often a hit than a miss.  He's got some flops, but he's also got some gems, too, in his latest record.  His take on Gaga is funny.  His tribute to Charles Nelson Riley is sheer genius.  And his soulful "Stop Forwarding that Crap to Me" had me giggling.  So yeah, if you like Weird Al, you'll enjoy this, provided you can tolerate contemporary pop music.

Wise Man's Fear (Spoiler Free):  I've been reading this aloud to Keisha for a while now, but I recently picked up the audio at the library and have been listening to it at work, too.  I've been following along Jo Watson's Rothfuss Re-Read on Tor.com and I admit, I missed a lot the first time through.  I've read NOTW twice, and keeping that in mind with things from WMF, it's like, wowzers.  How did I miss this?  It's so... obvious.  I suppose I missed it cause Pat's just too darned clever. 

Harry Potter:  With the much anticipated conclusion to the epic HP film franchise on the outside edge of a span away, I've decided to re-watch the films.  Keisha and I spent much of the long weekend nestled together on the couch watching the first six films (okay, we skipped PoA and GoF, but it's only cause we've seen them a bajillion times) and gearing up for TDH:Pt2.  I confess, I cannot fathom why or how there are people that dislike the Boy Who Lived.  These books have done so much for the reading world.  So many people have been turned on to reading because of the books, and in my opinion, the films are beautiful to behold and fun to experience.  Aye, they have their faults, but overall, each movie is wonderful.

ESV Study Bible:  I got this bible when I thought I was going to become a deacon.  I'd been putting it off until something else happened, cause frankly, I've got plenty of bibles.  Even so, the ESV Study Bible is an excellent reference bible that has easily become my daily reading bible.  It's thick and teeming with so much stuff that I don't often know where to look.  In addition to the holy Word of God, there's a ton of footnotes, helpful maps, charts, and many other tools for deeper learning.  There's also a couple hundred pages of essays and reference text spread throughout the bible and after Revelation.  I'm really liking it.

Avonlea Brynn:  My babe is growing growing growing quite well.  She spends most of her days eating and pooping and sleeping and, lately, crying.  I'm still amazed at her, honestly, and I'm sure I always will be.

Google+:  Hmmm.  Can't decide, really.  It seems quite cool, actually.  It's nowhere near as cluttered as Facebook, plus it's Google.  It's basically like Facebook, but has no ads (yet) and only people that I care about (so far).  Only thing I dislike is that I can't use "logankstewart" as my name, but I must use "Logan Stewart."  Perchance that'll change.  I can't make up my mind about this type of social media anyway.

Lunch:  Ah yes, what a delicious meal.  I had leftover bbq hamburgers and hotdogs and corn-on-the-cob from last night's 3rd Annual Stewartland Extravaganza.  Oh, and sour cream & onion chips, too, with a mug o' Mello Yello to quench my thirst.  Good stuff.

Birth & Rejection

And so it is we find ourselves back in the machine, barreling through tubes and squeezing through cogs, along once again for the ride.  A week away afforded rest and family bonding time, to be sure, though it was but a second in its lasting.  Life as a dad has been wonderful so far, and I'm sure it'll only get better.  Avonlea has already peed on my hand, as well as the couch, and it didn't phase me one bit.  Had it been the dogs, I would've been perturbed, but my daughter doesn't generate ire yet.

Much of the week was tiring, learning to semi-sleep and still function firing all cylinders.  This is still a work in progress.  We also had many visitors, and while this is a blessing (many brought delicious foodstuffs), it's also very tiring.  One night we found ourselves upstairs and abed 'ere nine in PM, a thing most unheard. 

As for the birth, the word that keeps coming to mind is surreal.  Keisha had been having high blood pressure, though two lab tests showed no preeclampsia.  As it were, we arrived at a routine appointment two Thursdays ago at 2:30 to have another round of measurings and what not.  Fluid levels were low, blood pressure was high, and the doctor decided to ship us out to the hospital for monitoring (nothing to worry about, normal, happens all the time, don't worry about going by the house).  So at 4pm-ish we walk through the doors of Labor & Delivery, looking to be hooked up and Keisha monitored.  Bloods taken.  Pee, too.  Lab results done in the post-haste.  And come 5o'clock-ish, the doctor says that things aren't well and that Keisha's gonna need an emergency C-section (a thing unheard of!)  This was not in the plans, as Keisha intended to go au natural, and my sweet, lovely, and perfect wife freaked out.*  Yet, after we understood that the longer she went with Avonlea inside, the greater the chance for a stillborn birth, she decided a C-section fit the bill.  And so I was given scrubs, Keisha was given drugs, and we were rushed to the O.R.  And, lo, at 6:02, a daughter was born.  I shall never forget it.  I'd say it was the insanely dry air that caused tears to sting my eyes, but I'd be lying, and that I am not.

Avonlea arrived, crying, peeing, and the world dipped heavily.  I saw my wife's insides, all purple and red and blue, as the backdrop to my new baby, upheld by the good doctor's hands.  Avonlea was beautiful.  And then we got a quick picture and I was rushed to the nursery with the babe, where soon we were reunited with Keisha for permanent.

The hospital stay was three nights, and it passed quickly.  We arrived at Stewartland, where the dogs curiously sniffed the new arrival, and life resumed.  The world was wonderful, and it's been ever since.

As it were, something happened to me the very day we arrived home, and then again two nights later.  Something that hit me hard and shook my faith in the world a little bit.  Something that honestly put a wretched damper on my glorious week, sickening me to the gut and wrapping against my faith.  In short, and without going into much, I was rejected.  I was going to be a deacon at church, but in order to do that, one must be questioned.  My answers were apparently too liberal/immature on the matter of alcohol, tithing, and a qualification of deacons, though I based all of my beliefs on my understanding of the bible.  Scripture doesn't prohibit drinking, only drunkenness.  Tithing is required, but to the Lord, as I see it, not necessarily the local church (excepting the OT).  And deacons, well, it says plainly a man of one wife, as it were, and that's enough for me.**

This rejection hurt.  A lot.  Not so much that I was found lacking, but that these three issues were enough to cause such dissension among the deacon body.  Romans 14:17 says "For the kingdom of God is not a matter of eating and drinking but of righteousness and peace and joy in the Holy Spirit."  Jesus said to love God, love people (obviously paraphrased), and that's the important thing.  How can we as a church hope to reach the lost when we're too concerned with these less-than-important things?  Sure, they matter, to a degree, but they're not issues to base a foundation on.  On Jesus and His love, these are foundations. 

While my heart still grieves over this, I've prayed for guidance and understanding.  I've prayed for unity in the church like never before.  I've prayed for a loving and forgiving heart, one that holds no grudges (I thank God I've never been one to do so) and one willing to serve as Jesus.  I don't have to be a deacon to serve God.  Amen.

So, yeah, an unimaginable wonderful and tragic week.  What a great juxtaposition, eh?

In the end, the birth of Avonlea trumps anything.  Like eternal life will always trump out any of life's problems, simply holding my daughter against my chest works miracles for an aching heart.  My daughter is beautiful, healthy, and fierce.  She's got Stewart blood in her, olde and magickal.  She's a noble, as her da.  And we bow to no man but the Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. 

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*freaked out probably gives it justice.  She was definitely upset. 

**I've obviously simplified this.  The interrogation spanned three hours over the two evenings.  It likely was the most intense thing I've ever been involved in.

A Daughter is Born

We had a surprise arrive on Thursday night, around 6:02 in the post meridian.  Say hello to my baby.  Avonlea Brynn Stewart.  4lb9oz.  17.25" long.  Expect it to be quiet here at Rememorandom for a bit.  There's a slideshow below, and a direct link if you wanna see some beautiful pictures.

Direct Link

On Subtlety, or A Secret is Revealed

There's an art to subtlety.  See, when saying things, you've got options.  You can throw open the door and scream at the top of your lungs, "My toes are turning purple," but that's not subtle.  Plus, that would get a lot of awkward stares and generate interesting responses.  "Really, my good man?  Pray tell why." 

There's also the general announcement:

Dear Sirs,

I am loathe to inform you of my ailment, but the doctors heavily suggest that I do so, if only for your own good.  It appears that some time ago I concocted a pox that, oddly, has turned my toes the color of ripened Concord grapes.  Not all of them--God forbid!--but enough so that it's given me cause for concern.  Please consider this memorandum your fair warning.

At first, this may seem the most obvious way to let the world know something.  The Memorandum Announcement Act of 1996 practically made this way the standard operating procedure for the last fifteen years, but SOP is anything but subtle.  (And subtlety is what we're after, after all.)  This type of information conveyance comes in many forms, from blog posts to hand-written notes penned in invisible ink and delivered by the Pony Express.  Oh, and email and text messages, too, though they're generally less verbose.

Similar to a memo is the Facebook status update.  This time-honored tradition (if you're an infant and have no idea what the words time-honored or tradition mean) is akin to a thought going off in your head.  A friend makes a status update,

XXXXX:  Uh, my toes are all purpley.
2 minutes ago - Like[] - Comment[]
     AAAA:  GROSS!
     BBBB:  lol

and 'ere long the world knows that his toes have gone all purpley.   The same is apparently true with Twitter, yet another social media webservice, though it somehow uses birds to deliver messages across the globe.

And yet none of these are subtle.  Subtleness is an art.  It's concealing hidden messages on old records that can only be heard while tripping on quaaludes and playing the record backwards for some reason.  It's Sauron giving out nineteen rings as Christmas presents while crafting a secret ring to control those nineteen ring-wearers.  It's subliminal messages that are only made apparent after the fact.  This, friends, is subtlety.  And subtlety is where it's at.

When I'm reading a book and the author subtly drops hints that you pick up on during the conclusion, I smile at the author's cleverness, especially when I can look back and see the obvious buried nuggets.  Being subtle is a thought-shaping art that, when done correctly, can create a legion of followers that all get the wool pulled over their eyes.  We're not a people that enjoys being fooled, but we are a people that enjoys being played with, relishing intelligent television shows or movies. 

Of course, one can be too subtle, and this is worse than being forthright and blunt.  Being too subtle obfuscates meaning and leaves an audience aggravated and confused.  This, I feel, is a problem I wrestle with in my writing.  When one is being clever, the balance between revelation and subtlety is manageable; when one is being cleverer, the balance is a tilted see-saw and ain't nobody gettin' what you trying to say.

If I were clever, I would have hidden the name of my daughter in this post somewhere, but I'm not, and I didn't.  Instead, I made a Facebook announcement Saturday night, officially making her name public knowledge.  And that, as it were, is the point of this post.  So, with a slight build up of dramatic tension, I would like to announce that when our daughter is born come June-30th-ish, we will be calling her

Avonlea Brynn Stewart.

(There's no period after her name, but, you know, for the sake of grammatical correctness.)  Avonlea comes from L.M. Montgomery's Anne of Green Gables series, which my wife loves, and I thought the name beautiful.  Brynn is a mixture of Keisha's middle name (Lynn) and something that sounds Celtic.  Stewart comes from a long line of nobles that live somewhere across the pond.

Thank you.  That is all.