It’s kind of strange to say that meeting a new friend (whereby ‘meeting’ and ‘new’ I mean ‘in person after a long time as blog acquaintances’) put me in the mindset of some kind of old school week, but that’s exactly how it went down. Ted Gideonse of The Gideonse Bible came up to San Francisco last weekend and we hung out quite a bit. Never running out of things to say, having real conversations about real things, using words I know without having to second-guess my audience. Generally a refreshing and enormously enjoyable time for me, in a time when it was badly needed.
To give you a the smallest part of an idea about Ted, here’s a bit from his website, admonitions to his potential audience:
Qualification: Do not read this site of you are:<br/>
- a small child
- easily offended
- confused by big words
- prone to psychotic splits
In other words, my kinda guy. Sharp wit, off-the-charts smart, well-spoken, and perhaps most importantly, a warm and decent man.
Why does life have to be any more political or obfuscated than that? Even the Golden Rule holds hostage: do unto others as you would have them do unto you? There are a lot of self-esteemless people out there who actually want to be treated badly, beaten up, insulted, denigrated, etc. I prefer this one: be nice. Period. And the worthwhile people will show up in your life.
Please, just take that small chance.
But back to last weekend. It was as terrific a few days as I’ve had in a long time. Parts of my brain were exercised that had gone to flab a long time ago, pale and shutdown for lack of opportunity around others.
I hope he comes back soon. And I hope he brings his partner Rob with him next time.
So thanks for a great weekend, Ted.
Nine sentences, twenty-eight seconds of film. Huuuuuuge waste of time.
I TiVo’d The Fountainhead a few days ago. Well, you didn’t expect me to actually read Ayn Rand, did you? Good lord. Read that dialog.
I stopped watching. But then I decided to rubberneck (the only way to describe watching and listening to something like this). This scene dissolves to a friend telling him to compromise, then dissolves to an architectural firm where he gets put down, etc.
“Oh my God, Ayn!” God of Biscuits rages. “Could you be any less subtle?” (GoB has been known to channel Chandler Bing).
But seriously, Ms. Rand wrote the screenplay of her novel. Can’t you picture her salivating at the chance to push her religion of Faith in Existence—a tarted up philosophy of Everyone For Him/Herself—to the masses? To get everyone to think just like her?
I’ve written about her before (did I just masturblog in public?), but to see it up there on the silver screen (it’s a black and white movie from 1949)? Yeah, she’s just as tedious on film, as you can see by the opening dialog. But picture this: picture her sitting at a typewriter salivating and thinking “me! me! me! It’s all me! I’ve done everything myself and owe no one else my success! I’ll make millions from this film—and without anyone’s help! Because if anyone ever helped me, they’d be hurting me! My senses tell me what exists, as I clatter away at the keys, bringing my story into existence and—oh, wait, it existed before! It did! In my mind, which any one of the five only senses will confirm—oh, wait. Millions! I’ll make millions! And it will all be because of me and no one else. I’ll make more money than I can ever spend! The extra can go to feed the poor because—wait, no! I’d never be so cruel as to feed a man a meal he didn’t earn himself! …”
Blah blah blah. God, what a heartless bitch she was.