Two Geeks Three Cats

Today was March 25, also known as Tolkien Reading Day. And, in places where folk believe that the events in Tolkien's books actually took place in the distant past (such as, for example, your neighborhood pen-and-paper RPG shop, or the Denny's where the local LARP chapter in your town has breakfast every Saturday before "battle"), it is something like the 8,500th anniversary of the fall of Sauron and the destruction of Barad-dûr, the day that Frodo completed his quest.

So it is with great pleasure that I hereby announce today that I am now delving like a dwarf into a mithril mine back into that spectacular tome that has taken up so much of my reading attention since adolescence. Yes, I am reading The Lord of the Rings again, for the - I don't know, tenth? - time.

In fact, I already started. I read Book I (that's Book I of VI, the first half of Fellowship of the Ring, for those only familiar with the films) last week. Although I have three copies of LOTR in the house, purchased at various times, the only copy I can find right now is a one-volume hardcover containing all 1,000+ pages. So I took a break from it for this week so I could bring a more portable book with me on a plane trip. But I will be resuming my read with Book II tonight.

And not soon enough. Re-reading Book I was like getting reacquainted with an ex-lover and quickly remembering why I was happy to leave her ass behind in the first place. Okay, the Barrow-Downs are cool for about two pages, and everything from the Prancing Pony on is pretty wonderful, real down-the-rabbit-hole kind of great fantasy writing. But I have always felt that the story doesn't really get going until Rivendell, at the beginning of Book II. This is not a case of outgrowing an old favorite. I still love the parts that I have always loved, but in general I have always been critical of Book I. It is slow, directionless, and filled with family-friendly, fairytale fantasy elements whose relationship to the broader Middle-Earth cosmology is either poorly conceived or insufficiently explained. (That creepy old willow! That merry Tom Bombadil and his common law wife Goldberry! Those Barrow-wights, are they ghosts or monsters or what?)

Most of all, and I know I'm going to get so much flak for this from my pot smoking friends ... I'm sorry, but the Tom Bombadil stuff sucks. Don't get me wrong, he's a merry fellow, his jacket is blue and his boots are yellow, yeah yeah yeah. I've read nearly everything Tolkien ever wrote, including his standalone poems published as The Adventures of Tom Bombadil, and I think Tom is great in that. But the insertion of the character by Tolkien into an epic fantasy masterpiece like LOTR seems misguided. His only narrative purpose seems to be to rescue Frodo and friends from situations they can't possibly get out of themselves because they are hobbits, and therefore out of their depth the moment they leave the kitchen. Tom is there to save them not once, but on two consecutive perilous occasions.

Consecutive!

And I just don't think Tom belongs in Middle-Earth. He's not an Elf, Dwarf, Man, Hobbit, Ent, Wizard, Orc, etc. In fact, we don't know what the hell he is. Even Tom doesn't seem to remember where he came from. It has been suggested that he might be a Maia, one of the quasi-angelic beings who pop up in the story from time to time. The Elves call him Iarwain Ben-Adar (translation: Eldest, Fatherless) and there has even been speculation that - SPOILER ALERT - this jovial, powerful and childlike being may be Eru Ilúvatar himself, the creator of the world and all its creatures and the closest thing to a monotheistic deity in all of Tolkien's work. I'm sure anyone who reads can agree that you're in bad shape as a writer if your deus ex machina is an actual deus. Well done, Professor T.

That said, I do love every other thing about LOTR with rabid fan-boy fervor, as much today as I did when I read it for the first time all those years ago. I even love the hokey stuff: the baffling archaic language, the black-and-white morality; those fit the story, and the story would not be the same without them. I really am excited to be getting back to the book once again after several years away. Wingnut Films, you did an excellent job with your adaptation and I love you dearly, but the book is still king. And I'm thrilled to be returning to the king tonight.

Mae govannen!

Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed in this blog entry are solely those of the author and are not the views of Shawn, Mulder, Pookie, or Claudia, though I suspect Claudia would rather watch Dancing with the Stars than most of the stuff we watch around here.

OK, I admit it. I watched the premiere of Dancing with the Stars last night. I don't really know why or how. It came on and I wasn't doing much of anything. It just kind of happened. Curiosity got the worst of me.

Now, let me preface this by saying that I have never seen an episode of Survivor, The Amazing Race, The Bachelor, or any of the ubiquitous un-reality shows. Though in the spirit of disclosure, I do enjoy Project Runway and some of the cooking competition shows as they seem to have a bit of artistry involved in the drama, but generally speaking, I like scripted entertainment. Unfortunately there is far too little out there that doesn't involve some sort of police procedural BS. I mean, how many shows can they make with the premise: "A person with X ability helps the police solve crimes"? But that is a question for another blog entry . . .

Back to my encounter with Dancing with the Stars. Having no interest in dancing outside of my ill fated 1984 dance school tap routine to Denise Williams' "Let's Hear it for the Boy," I never had any desire to watch the show. This show is cheesy, without a doubt. A random hodgepodge of pseudo celebrities (Kate Gosselin?!?), has-beens (Shannon Doherty, Pam Anderson), athletes (Chad Ochocinco, Evan Lysechek), and the occasional astronaut octogenarian (Buzz Aldrin) along with assorted others wear overdone costumes and perform traditional dances such as the Cha-cha-cha and the Viennese Waltz to bizarre covers of oldies and current songs. Really - who thought it was necessary to have people cha-cha-cha-ing to Ke$ha's TikTok? I'm sure some folks loved it . . .

Some of you may ask why did I watch the show and feel compelled to blog about it if I seem to dislike it so much. Admittedly it was somewhat entertaining, but what struck me most was the vulnerability of the "stars." Learning to dance is not easy and you can't fake the precision and poise needed. Poor Buzz looked stiff and a little confused at times, but mad props to the guy for even getting out there at 80 years old. Shannon Doherty has worn the Queen Bitch mantle for so long, yet last night she seemed just like a daughter who was out there trying to make her ailing dad proud. And Niecy Nash. Admittedly, I'm not a huge fan of hers, mainly because i don't really like Reno 911 or Clean House, but the sassy big girl was out there workin' it. So what, if the judges didn't love it, she worked hard, dedicating her dance to "all the thick girls out there." I don't envy any of the women who dance in those heels, but to be plus sized and do so - Wow.

I likely will not watch the show again, but I was surprised by what I saw beneath the glitzy cheese, over-the-top judges, and horrible covers - for within such lameness was a glint of unexpected humanity.