So this is where I start working on my thesis. THESIS. NOW.

Father Brown is a complex chareacter devised by G.K. Chesterton to look simple and affable and sometimed bumbling on the surface. Beneath his physical appearance, dumpy with blinking eyes, carrying an umbrella with his clerical collara and hat, he doesn't look at all like the masterful detective that he is.

In the first Father Brown story, "The Blue Cross", we are introduced to Fafther Brown through the invention of an Inspector Valentin, who is hot on the trail of a theif, the notorious Flambeau. It's revealed slowly and though a series of odd seemingly inexplicable acts by Father brown who is conversing with another priest,but who turns out to be Flambeau. The odd acts lead Valentin to them, and at the end when Flambeaus asks Father Brown how he knew who he was, ther e was the famous quote, "You attacked reason. It's bad theology."

This is typical of Chesterton's Father Brown stories, what seems to be a simple mystery p[uzzle to be solved, resonates with an emotional, almost spritual depth, bcause Father Brown iosn't interested in the law, he's interested in people's souls.

Father Brown was based on a friend of Chesterton's, who in a famous anecdote related to him all he know of evil, and when he overheard two university lads talking aobut how the church was seprated fromsocitey that it seemd to him they were two babes in a perambulateor who had never know the depths of evil that Father O'connor had shownto cheswsterton.

this is a link test

I've finally finished the 12th week of the Artist's Way and need to give it to S, as I promised.
This book has done wonders for me, especialy as far as helping me to focus and get rid of my guilt. I was never Catholic, but I sure had that guilt going on. Thankfully most of it's gone.
Happy that my Devilgirl is willing to work with me and put up with my idiosyncrasies. I have a feeling that the gashlycrumb tiny deaths--let's just say she wouldn't find them as funny as I always have.

So, what I've decided to do was use this web log as my afternoon and evening morning pages. Basically getting rid of a lot of crap that's on my mind.
like the dream I had of glass people filled with an ugly brown liquid who flung it onto sparking clear glass people. When i woke up it was obvious that it was a reflection of the sheer amount of lying I have to put up with (though never believe or act on).

Finally starting to feel like I have energy,. I'm going to stay up and finish my Artist's Way exercises.

The following is what I've written down about my New York City trip last Christmas so far:

This is what I remember about my trip to New York City:

Jack and Armeto stop at my house much earlier on Friday than I expected them, but I expected them to do that so I was packed and ready to go. We drove off the wrong way because I'd remembered biking on 431 when I went to Guntersville by way of the Parkway, completely forgetting that a bike way to go isn't necessarily the best way for a car to go. So we eventually make it to Atlanta and stay at Fort McPherson. Nice accomodations. They had nice Christmas lights up. We drove down General's row and looked at the General's houses and this is the kind of thing that drives me out of my mind because I have no interest in this whatsoever, but I'm essentially a prisoner with no means of escape if I want to go to New York City.

So we have a nice dinner at Red Lobster, the only "fancy" restaraunt anywhere nearby, and get on the Marta to the airport the next morning and the line for our flight is ridiculously long. It goes fully around three block length walls. But it moves fast enough. We get to security checkin and even though I've taken off my vest and belt, I keep setting the alarm off. i'm patted down, and it's my boots that were doing it. Then I'm patted down again. But Jack is patted down two more times than me and he has less which makes me curious as to why.
We get on our flight and it's shorter than I think it would be. I just look out the window after I write a few things down, and observe the clouds and unlike the flight out west to Albuquerque, there seems to be signs of human the whole flight up to New york. We get to the New York airport and get a ride in a taxi-van to Manhattan. We're let out right at our hotel, the Hotel Edison. We get the worng room first, and it is tiny, about the size of a walk-in closet and Iimagine that if I lived in New York that that would be about the size of my own apartment.
My brother Dan and I get our own room. Room 317 in the Edison Hotel. Dan calls Jack and Armeto's room and explains he won't be coming in until the next day.
We eat dinner at the Edison Cafe and while waiting I read the clippings on the wall and read several about Neil Simon basing his new play on the very cafe we're eating at.
We buy tickets at the half price place. The folks ask me which show I'd like to go to, and I say _Proof_, Jennifer Jason Leigh in a Broadway play--to me that's a no-brainer. The folks go to see 45 Seconds form Broadway.

For soem strange reason I've been sleepy and hungry all day. I've gotten a few things done, but nothing lik eI wanted to. Haven't even touche the thesis now. Bleah. I think I'm depressed