Life Is Such A Sweet Insanity.

Last night I finished a science fiction novel called “The Demu Trilogy”. Originally three stories entitled “Cage A Man”, “The Proud Enemy” and “End Of The Line”, it was written by F.M. Busby. With last night’s completion it is the 36th time I’ve read the book from beginning to end.

Some might find this odd.

I discovered this book when I was 12. It was buried in a box of books from my Uncle Pete, sandwiched between two copies of “Everything You Wanted To Know About Sex But Were Afraid To Ask”. (I’ve wondered why Aunt Bea and Uncle Pete had two copies of that book, but I was afraid to ask). It had apparently been passed over at a garage sale and was subsequently shoved into this box, along with a bunch of other science fiction books and the aforementioned sex books. The sex books weren’t that informative. I had questions that others would be afraid to answer.

One would think that reading a book for the 36th time would be a chore in monotony but believe it or not, with each reading I find nuances that I haven’t noticed before. I see symbolism that I hadn’t realized in the past 27 years. As a child, my interpretation of the images painted by Busby were, well, child-like. As an adult, I’ve noticed more and more depth to the passages with each subsequent reading.

The basic story goes somewhat like this. Barton, the lead character, is abducted by an alien race called the Demu. The Demu believe that they are the only true people in the universe, all other races are animals. When a non-Demu learns their language, this confuses them as only Demu should be smart enough to speak Demu. So they do their best to make the “animal” look Demu through some pretty rough cosmetic surgery. By the way, the Demu are exoskeletal and like “intelligent shellfish”, much like humans evolved from apes. Barton escapes, leverages his way back to Earth, along with a woman from another humanoid race, the Tilari. I really like the Tilari. Their differences from humans (lack of STDs, conscious control of ovulation, among many other things) make for some very interesting relationships. Earth joins up with Tilara (by the way, we’re called Earthani, not Earthlings, which I find cool) and they go after the Demu, which turns out is just a small part of a big puzzle. I won’t go into further detail, but it’s a great read for any science fiction buff.

It’s amazing how some of the small details of this novel have contributed to the molding of my libertarian beliefs. Sometimes I wish my English Literature professor would just say “write a thematic paper on your favorite novel.” I’d have a field day with that assignment.

I am somewhat sick for the second time in as many months. For a person that doesn’t get sick and refuses to get sick, I find this to be quite startling.

I am trying to determine why I am getting sick. Right now I’m blaming the measles vaccine I had to get at the beginning of the year so that I could go to college. I think there’s something inherently wrong with purposely injecting a person with a little measles. “Here, have a little dab of measles, it’ll do you good.” It’s the same reason that I’ve never gotten a flu shot and I won’t get a flu shot.

Aside from beer consumption, which has been cut drastically in the past two weeks, I eat relatively healthy. I’m wondering if I’m not eating enough calories in the hopes of losing weight again. My Monday schedule dictates that I eat lunch at 10:15 a.m. as I have classes from 11 straight through until 5 p.m., so that probably didn’t help the situation last night. I’m going to have to find a better way of dealing with that. Ideally I’d like to drop that infernal math class (love the class, not so wild about the teacher), but I need the course to stay in my engineering classes so I guess I’ll have to come up with another plan.

Last night I slept 11 1/2 hours in one hour increments. God bless Earl. He put up with the tossing and turning and the bouncing around (not in a good way) in bed last night and he seemed quite chipper this morning. But I’d really like to know what’s going on.

Maybe I’ll feel better tonight. I’ll just think lots of positive thoughts.

Over tired, slightly cranky and feeling a little stuffed up today, I plodded through my longest day of the week of classes. I’d write more but I’m just hoping tomorrow will be a better day.

I’m going to bed.

The unofficial end of summer is now a memory. The youngsters head back to school tomorrow. Mother Nature is readying her paintbrush to give us a vivid display of reds, oranges and golds. You know what that means.

Football season is upon us.

I have become quite accustomed to being a football husbear. For the past 11 years social calendars have been modified, satellite dishes have been installed and TiVos have purred as every minute of every Philadelphia Eagles game is documented, analyzed and mulled over.

I even ask Earl if he wants a glass of “wooder” to go with his snacks to keep the whole Philadelphia spirit alive. He’s so proud of his hometown team.

The transition to football season is particularly interesting this year, because Earl has been giving poker the same amount of interest for god knows how long. We sat down for a little evening snack just a few moments ago when he flicked on the television set. The channel of choice was GSN, the hip name of the Game Show Network.

“Oh, are we going to watch ‘To Tell The Truth’?”, I ask excitedly.

He mumbles something that shouldn’t really sound like “would the real idiot in the room please stand up” and lo and behold there’s the beginnings of a poker game.

“Where’s Peggy Cass?”, I inquire as … “Wait a minute, what is Welcome Back Kotter doing on the screen? I thought he was a distant memory.”

There he is Gabe Kaplan, sans bushy mustache but with a retro-chic Miami Vice thing going on, whining about the poker proceedings.

I can’t follow poker. I’m not good at cards. While others at the table are doing their best poker face, I fall victim to things such as yelling “Oh goody!” when I get an Ace. Or maybe it was a four. I don’t remember. What I do remember is a Royal Flush, which was demonstrated to me in seventh grade when the mean boys in gym tried to flush Peter Vida’s head down the toilet. That was called the Royal Flush.

So Welcome Back Kotter is talking with another unshaven man about a woman named Harman and her strategy for poker. Earl goes into his poker trance, studying every nuance and stragedy exhibited on our set in technicolor, his lips silently moving as he makes mental notes. There’s no yelling of “Yeah!” or “Go!” like during an Eagles game. I find this unnerving. He just sits there, studying. Me? I don’t get the attraction and I decide to blog instead.

At least football has hot looking uniforms.