I love that title movie based on the play by Oscar Wilde. It’s a screwball comedy about mixed up identities and a starry-eyed young heroine who finally figures out who’s who. And she’s quite earnest about figuring out who Ernest really is.
My culture is one of American idols. By that I mean Americans are prone to having heroes. Just look at the resurgence of the Marvel and DC franchises on the silver screen, and the explosion of comicons and cosplay. (I had to look up what cosplay was—that’s the adult version of what you used to do as a kid by clothes-pinning one of Mom’s towels around your neck and pretending you were Superman.)Continue reading “Starry-eyed”
I’m a recycler. I haven’t always been, however. I grew up with learning that respect the environment meant putting trash in the bin. We grew up with Smokey the Forest Ranger teaching us how to not start forest fires (he must have grown up in California…) and there was some commercial about a Native American with a tear in his eye.
So in essence, if I was to be a responsible citizen, everything went, um….into the landfill.
Jeremiah, the “prophet of doom” in the Old Testament, had a personal secretary named Baruch. I don’t know if Baruch was an actual student of Jeremiah’s, or if he had just unwittingly fallen into the position for lack of anything better to do, considering the circumstances and all.
Or maybe he was looking for adventure. If that’s the case, he got a bit more than he bargained for.