Linen shirts and leather boots.

So it’s 11:59p on Saturday night as I start this entry. Right, wait a bit…. and now it’s 12a on 1/07/2007. Buona mattina tutti!

Now I know most of the rest of the world paid attention in history class (as I most certainly did) but I think I failed to realize just the extent to which Great Britain involved herself with Northern Africa. In the last week, in 3 completely unpremeditated and unrelated instances, I’ve read and watched examples of such. Just this week alone I read The Four Feathers and Sharpe’s Tiger, and today because it was the last movie in our pile that we have yet to see, Lindsey and I watched “The English Patient.”

All three books (we’ll include “The English Patient” as a book because it started out as such and will make this entry incredibly easier to write, so I’ll thank you not to make a big to do about what the book was like and how it’s probably not at all like the movie and how the book is so much better than the movie and blah blah blah. Hush. Besides, I don’t want your opinion whoever you are that wasted the time to read that sex-driven novel, as a matter of fact, I do believe that if you did read that book you should be in a state of penitence at the moment. Trash and no plot. It was a big affair that should have stopped but no, Katherine just couldn’t resist the adoring eyes of another man. Rotten behavior by most and I don’t know what he was thinking when he left her in that cave. I mean, please, start the credits rolling then because you KNOW what’s going to happen! If he loved her, he would have carried her or rigged up one of those Native American things that they pulled behind dogs and horses. Chavois? What the crap is that called? Right, hold on. (Commence grumbling about it being 12:30 and no idea what the heck that thing is called; they always talk about it in the books. Wakefield, come on!). GOT IT! A Travois! Now those Native Americans, they really know their stuff. If someone’s injured and there’s no water transportation available, THEY DON’T LEAVE THE YOUNG AND HELPLESS. GOT IT Cmte. Ralph Fiennes from Hungary? Idiot. There’s a war going on and he’s got some name that’s Hungarian but the Americans/Canadians/Brits don’t really care at this point because they’ve been getting the crap kicked outta them for years and now it’s revenge baby. Tough crap ol’ chap. You should have known. Plus you left her to die all by her lonesome and now she’s writing poetry about it!(p.s. she probably died hating your guts) Here’s what you do my good man, you rip off the rest of the wing that was shattered in the plane crash and use it as a sled, rig up a mast with the wing supports, then you tie all the rest of the parachute silk to it and presto! You’re windsurfing on the sand and you’re taking the love of your life (cheaters that you are) with you so that she won’t be left behind when you get mistaken for a German count and have to travel far far away then jump off a train and nearly break your ankle in the process. And you wouldn’t have to betray your country to fly back to her to get her AFTER she died and then crash and then burn your face up and then die) [1] deal with lots of desert and fighting and the Brits.

So anyway, where was I? Oh wait, one more point. If we as a people do not want to see naked people in public, what the heck makes you think we want close ups of naked people in movies for SEVERAL REALLY LONG SCENES? I avoid looking at naked people in public (Barcelona, Italy, Downtown Columbus), I certainly don’t want to have to sit through MULTIPLE scenes in a movie looking at a naked person. I know I choose to watch the movie but should I have to sacrifice a movie just because somewhere someone said naked people are supposed to be entertaining? And with that, what is with the sex scenes? What purpose do they serve? Don’t we all joke about shuddering at the thought of those old dorm days with your roomies and their mates (fyi, my roomies never did, they all were freaking fantastic)? If we don’t want to watch it in real life, then why is it in there when it doesn’t have to be? We get that they’re having an affair, we’re not daft, we don’t need you to spell it out for us! And I know I would lose this argument if ever confronted with opposition but I’m allowed to have my opinion here, whew. And don’t get me started on that whole “Yes, but this is art,” crap. I know art when I see it and there was nothing “Birth of Venus,” about this.

This is so not where this post was headed. I cannot even recall where I was going with this. Something about sand and Brits and lions and tigers. Oh right, Africa. This whole desert thing is starting to grow on me. I’ve always wanted to read T.E. Lawrence’s Seven Pillars of Wisdom (the T.E. Lawrence of “Lawrence of Arabia”, you know, Peter O’Toole, early 1900’s, desert) and I have read Kenneth Robert’s Lydia Bailey, and “The Last Crusade,” is one of my favorite movies, along with “The Black Stallion Returns,” “Hidalgo,” and any movie set in a desert for that matter (just as long as there are no scorpions involved, I absolutely hate scorpions.) So, I want to travel Northern Africa. That’s the point. I should have studied archaeology and headed down to Egypt or Tunisia or even Algeria, but no, I didn’t. History might help I do believe. (wink wink, maybe a little). I think I would like to see the endless miles of sand dunes. There’s something very adventurous about the desert and its mysteries. I want to see the stars at night out there, under an endless sky. I want to race the wind on an Arabian horse and laugh when we come to the end of our course. Realizing that there is more to the desert then riding horses and crossing sand dunes and staring at the sky (though what else there is I don’t know) I am fully prepared to prepare myself for all that comes with my dreams.

A point about the Brits and the desert is this: The Brits, a cold, wet, and dreary group, (whom I’ve always thought were contented to live as Englishmen due to the fact they all stemmed from the same Celtic/Anglo/Saxon/Jute backgrounds and obviously chose the British Isles because they liked them) managed to wrangle their way into a land that in no way resembled England and set up a thriving economy and (at some points) a government and many Englishmen actually stayed there! But it is understandable to me why the British would have been so keen on Northern Africa. Look at where they lived! England is like the size of a postage stamp! Everything is packed in nice and cozy to make room for everyone and out in the desert, there’s nothing but hundreds of miles of nothing! Who knew that a country that small would eventually become known as the empire upon which the sun never sets! It takes determination and an urgency inspired by the prospect of near-death to accomplish what they did. In no way am I condoning one nation taking over another nation but I must give credit where credit is due. (But if ya’ll ever head back to the States, remember this: you gave up once, do you really want that shame again? This young buck of a country is growing up and growing up quick…just thought I’d throw that out there, in case the tides ever changed)

Next time: Cowardice. Who has felt its stung, when does it most commonly attack, why does it attack, and how we can prevent it. (I have, when I'm skiing, because I got off the bunny hill and am now looking down a flippin' mountain, by staying in the lodge)

[1] Right, I know what you’re thinking, all that was in parentheses?