Got an e-mail from dear friend Steve, all the way in Washington state for his eldest son's wedding. Steve's such a good guy that even though he's all wrapped up in family, he still sent me an e-mail asking, “you haven't blogged about your pregnancy lately — how's that going?”

Good news is, it's going great. Baby is pretty active whenever I lie down or wake up — the other night it felt like he was building a workbench in there, or maybe cobbling some shoes.

I have my final midwife appointment with my current midwife on Tuesday: a standard test for gestational diabetes. I'm having to change midwifery groups due to the change in my insurance. I'd be freaking out more, had my best friend not changed primary providers in her sixth month. So thanks, Anne! I've got an appointment with another midwifery group in mid-August, and a woman who goes to our church (we found a church! yay!) goes to this “new” group and likes them, so that helps.

The other good news is, we've named him. The name is in line with Brian's “world-leader” and my “literary/author” name preferences, and our family is really excited about it. I'd unveil it here, but names are VERY powerful, and I wish to keep it off the public record. If you want to know, send me an e-mail.

Or call me! I'm home a lot these days.

So MDH and I have been having a bit of a film orgy recently, having heartily availed ourselves to the “artsy” video store, which catalogs its top-floor movies by director, and boasts every film on the “America's 100 Best Films Ever” list from AFI. We really enjoyed “Chinatown,” especially the vistas of Ventura County as open land and orange groves. “Kinsey” was interesting but icky — is anyone else getting tired of all the movies about infidelity? Really: Sideways, Mr. & Mrs. Smith, Closer, etc. Booor-ing.

“A Very Long Engagement” is one that I've been waiting for since I missed it in the theater. The novel, originally written in French by Sebastien Japrisot, is on my top-five list of all time (along with _Moby Dick_, _To Kill a Mockingbird_, _The Catcher in the Rye_, and one I haven't read yet). They did a good job with the film. It was especially entertaining to watch Jodie Foster speak French, which she does remarkably well. MDH had a bit of a tough time keeping the characters in line; frankly, if I hadn't read the book multiple times, I would have too. So, read the novel first, but then rent the film. Otherwise, don't be ashamed if you have to take notes.

We haven't gotten to “Being There” yet. I'll keep you posted. And hey, did any of you catch “Miami Ink” on TLC tonight? It's worth a look.

So back in the old, old, olden days, the term “tragoidia” was coined because it was Greek for “goat song.” The rumors (for nobody who went to the yearly tragedy festival(s) are extant) are that the playwright who created the top tragedy had a goat sacrificed in his name, once all the plays had been performed. It was the culmination of a great deal of very hard work — for, children, writing a play is hard fucking work, even if it's just about two foreign exchange students in a laundromat, or a couple on their last date, or whatever — and the victor was able to enjoy the spoils, if not during his life, then by pleasing the gods and enjoying a happy afterlife.

Of course, Aristotle says nothing about this in his Poetics, still pretty much the book on how to write the book on tragedy, but rumors are rumors, and a rumor that's been around for more than 2,000 years is a pretty solid rumor, if you ask me.

So it is interesting to me, and seems a logical tangent, to determine from whence we get the term “scapegoat.” A scapegoat is defined as one who shoulders the blame for the actions of others. And yeah, this one goes even farther back than our goat song: all the way back to Leviticus 16:8 (hello, Torah), which stateth: “And Aaron shall cast lots upon the two goats; one lot for the Lord, and the other lot for the scapegoat.” The scapegoat wasn't killed, but rather led off into the wilderness, bearing the sins of Satan. Hebrews believed it would be claimed by the fallen angel Azazel.

And yet I can't help but meld the two, “goat song” and “scapegoat,” because every tragedy features a tragic flaw in the protagonist (say, blind trust), that results in a catharsis (say, the audience feeling intense shadenfreud, a joy tinged with sadness and guilt for feeling joy), and then the goat song that was the most successful, resulting in the greatest catharsis, the greatest feeling of “o God I'm so glad that didn't happen to me, but it could, but it didn't so I'm happy, but it could happen to someone else, and that makes me feel like shit,” resulted in a sweet little goat being led to the altar and getting its throat cut.

To which all I can really say is: Mehehehehenh, mehehenh.

You will be happy and excited to hear that in my inability to do an actual real job, I've been writing. The good news is, I've written the lyrics for all but one song for Act One. Bad news is, there's like eight songs in Act Two I have yet to begin. Oh, and I've got complete melody lines for the show opener and the “Mayoral Moritat.” So, like, yay.

So, I started today by reading _The Kite Runner_, which had way more butt raping than I ususally like in a novel, and ended it with “Me and You and Everyone We Know,” which had NO butt raping and was exceptionally lovely. So, that's a thumbs-down on _The Kite Runner_, and a see-it-immediately on “Me and You and Everyone We Know.” And then, call me on the phone and just say, “macaroni.”

Don't really know why I'm posting, other than the fact that I've been up since 4 this morning and the cats are tired of me hunting them down for kitty hugs. Dad and his significant other arrived yesterday; we're off to Boston today. I hope to sleep all the way there. We'll see.

Boy, do I pick the right week to get fired or what? Praise Jesus for looking out for me. Amen.

Well, it's a good thing “I've decided to stop bitching” about my job on my blog, as now I no longer have one, and imagine not only losing your job, but your material. I mean, really, the double whammy? No way, LBJ.

There is thunder, but no lightening, and the air is as sticky as blood.

Isn't it interesting how all of those yellow “support our troops” ribbon magnets have faded to white?