dannydmc

I've taken some time off of writing my epic tonight. The last two weeks have seen a flurry of activity on that story which I have lived with for so long. I finished the main narrative on Saturday and have been pouring myself into the epiloge ever since. Actually, epiloge is the wrong word to use, I fear; it insinuates that the story it done and that some work needs be done by a lazy author to wrap of the remaining loose ends. That really isn't the case with this story at all; I think that 'capstone' is a much better term.
It is one of the unique facts of all heroic literature that they are all, by their very nature, tragedies. The hero, no matter how many villians he has conquered, will never be able to conquer the archfoe, mortality, or his own inner demons. And such is the case with grave Sigismund the Bold who has finally subcumbed to the festering sickness of his own soul and become that which he once fought and hated; the horrid Wendigo, consumer of corpses, and the walker of the winds. Oh, Discordia; the hero has fallen. Long live the hero!

I've been thinking of back home a lot more, as my last entry said. Just the other day I was talking to my cousin Tom:


(Tom wearing his favorite Packers hat instead of the usual graduation cap)


(Tom and Me on his High School Graduation Night.)
We were laughing and telling stories of our past escapades and, of course, our words turned to having seen Eragon in the theaters over break. Eragon is not a good movie, as I'm sure you are aware, but its a terribly funny movie and lent itself to one of othse nights which, I think, I'll remember until the day I die.

I picked Tom up at his folk's trailer; he was staying with them over Christmas Break and it was the last weekend before I had to head back up to Alaska for classes. We had had a disagreement over what to do that night; Tom's a bit of a cheapskate when it comes right down to it, one of the by products of having grown up in a family was that was poor as well as a result of him being very much like his aunt Denise (my Mother who is also very careful with her money). He saw no reason to go to a movie which you knew was going to be bad before hand; it was a waste of cash, especially when you could wait a few months and see it on video for cheaper.
As a compromise I told him we should drive to Stevens Point because there was a good band playing that we could see instead. He was a little more excited about this idea and so, we jumped into the seat of the car and drove off. To further sweeten the pot, I'd told him he could choose the music we listened to in the car; an monumental concession on my part. I usually only let my music be played in my car (or, for that matter, almost any car I'm riding in at the time. I'm a control freak when it comes to the radio)
Now, Tom happens to be in love with music from the 50's; Country, Rockabilly, Mo-Town. If it was produced between 1950 and 1959 he has listened to it and most likely is enamored with it. So, as we drove down the deserted country roads of North Central Wisconsin, the same roads my Mother once drove as a young woman, we were treated to Diana Ross and the Supremes, Elvis Presley, Jerry Lee Lewis, Buddy Holly, Hank Williams and many many more.
I also happen to enjoy music from the period, although my own tendencies are a bit more rebellious than his. He joked that the CD had one been one he burt for his Brother-in-Law's Mother and so it had much more of a "High School Dance" quality to it. I joked that it sounded like we were going to the Prom together and suggested he wear my class ring, and even commented on his lovely dress. Tom told me to Shut the hell up and threatned to kick my ass when we got out of the car. I laughed even harder.
So, we get to the place where the music is playing and it turns out that one has to be 21 or over to get in; my Dear cousin will not reach that magic age for several more months and so we were out of luch. All efforts to pass him off as my only son failed miserably because I don't look like a man in my 50's. We decided to catch the movie after all.
A new problem arose; after visiting both theaters in Point it became evident that we'd missed every showing of Eragon in town. Wausau, the next town over, was playing the flick in about 45 minutes, but Wausau was 30-odd miles away. After stopping for some soda and gas we put the pedal to the metal and blazed down the highway. Tenneesse Ernie Ford kepy us company with the useful reminded that he had "one fist of iron and another of steel/ if the left one don't get you than the right one will". He was replaced, shortly after, by a plantive girl telling us that her Boyfriend was back and there was "going to be trouble. Hey ni, hey ni" her boyfriend was back.
To make a long story short we ended up getting to the theater with mere minutes to spare and got out tickets. We had hoped to rip the movie savagely, figuring we'd be the only ones in the theater, but sadly there was several other people including a Father and his young son. In my own imagination I had constructed a story that involved that son begging his Dad to take him to see this movie, based on a book he loved, and his Father had finally relented. As much as I enjoy a good ripping of a movie, I just couldn't imagine ruining it for this young boy; I tried to imagine how I would have felt if someone had been insulting "Gremlins 2" or "Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade" when my Dad had taken me as a kid, and realized that my heart wasn't in it anymore.
We did get some good jokes in, in the end, but they were quietly whispered as to not bother anyone else; a jerk I may be, but I'm a concencious jerk at heart. I do remember Tom beginning to sing "Here's to You Mrs. Robison" when ever the dragon talked to Eragon, laughing maddly when one of the characters cried "Thats right boy! Ride your dragon; ride her HARD!", quiping that "Only Galavatron could unite the Sioux and Mongols in an Alliance!" and being laid low at the end when John Malcavich was seemingly incinerated by his own dragon.
All in all, as I said, it was a great night and one to remember. I know I've mentioned Tom in my journal several times, but I don't think I can ever put into words how much I really do love that kid (kid: he's 20 and I'm 25, but never mind that). He really is like a younger brother to me and we've been close ever since he was having some troubles in Middle School and I tried to help him out (My advice, taken from my own parents: "if you are having troulbe with bullies. Beat the living shit out of them!") I'm looking forward to hanging out with him quiet a bit before I make my final move to Fargo in a few months.