December 17, 1885
According to Greystoke, the Legend of Tarzan movie, today is the 140th anniversary of the last entry in the diary of Tarzan's father, Jack Clayton, in a jungle shanty in Africa, while Tarzan, as a baby, lay crying in his woven basket crib.
Burroughs' beloved series on the King of the Apes takes place as the 1900's are coming on the world.
It's the Victorian Era, soon to be overwhelmed by the coming of World War 1.
From Wikipedia:
Tarzan is a series of 24 adventure novels written by Edgar Rice Burroughs (1875–1950) and published between 1912 and 1966, followed by several novels either co-written by Burroughs, or officially authorized by his estate. There are also two works written by Burroughs especially for children that are not considered part of the main series.
I've loved the series for years, but only recently learned that Tarzan simply mean "white skin" in the 'fictional language of the Mangani.'
You can still follow the Tarzan comics at gocomics.com/tarzan.
And I do.
Our Good
Dec. 16,2025
God is at work, is working, all things to His glory and to our benefit, understanding that our benefit is probably different than what we think it is. That is, He wants our sanctification, not necessarily our comfort, although He usually gives us comfort too, because He loves us so much.
Je Suis La (I am here)
These writings have been collected from an old blog (the blog provider went out of business), written over a number of years.
Like all blogs, some postings are topical, related to a specific date or event. Most of these are more general, I believe. There are many quotations from great thinkers – I’ve tried to mark them all clearly.
There are book and movie reviews. Most of these movies are only available online now, in the usual places.
There are even a few short stories thrown in, from my own short story collections.
Once in a while, I even found a word that was new to me, and I looked it up and I discovered that English is a strange language.
Any blog like mine which isn’t focused on a particular topic, like trains or watermelons or show tunes, will wander a bit. I like to think that’s a good thing. Never stop searching, being curious, asking questions.
And finally, about this page title. First, I created a book collecting a lot of the old blog, and called it Je Suis La (I am here).
But to explain that, when my brother and sisters and I were growing up, Mom and Dad, being French Canadian, spoke French in the house whenever they didn’t want us kids to know what they were talking about. So naturally we all took French in high school.
Of course by then Mom and Dad figured out other ways to get around the Four Little Snoops – don’t all parents?
Nevertheless, I was very impressed with myself with having learned a foreign language and thrilled and amazed when I got to go to Paris while on leave from my Army tour in Europe.
So one day, I decided to dazzle the locals with my linguistic ability and asked “Ou est le Metro?”
The local wasn’t fooled (of course) and answered in perfect English “It’s right over there.”
Tres bien.
While pulling this book together, a friend shared a French (!) cartoon (“Skhizein”, by director Jeremy Clapin) where the main character loses, um, attachment with his real location on earth. At the end, he keeps calling out “Je suis la!” (I am here!), but it doesn’t look like anyone finds the poor fellow.
I hope you’ll find me. And if not, I hope you’ll find you.
Thanks.
Coffee is brain fuel
blogs are donuts
Maybe bran muffins. Definitely bacon.
You can use the banner under the logo to navigate, but you may just want to bang and crash around.
The main sections here are Thots, Stories, and links to Books.
One main subhead, sorta, is SteamPunk.
There's also random junk thrown hither and yon, flotsam and jetsam kinda floating in the water. See below.
I hope you visit often. Enjoy.
In the joint
My Time at Shawshank
It coulda been better, but ain't that what they all say.
Of course I was innocent. We all were, mostly. I worked outside details usually, sometimes the laundry or the woodshop. I really like scrubbing the sidewalks, the concrete - it was plain, straight. You could see your work with the wet part over the dry part.
Max helped me survive, as did the rest of the guys. Don't know how I'll get along without all of them, now that I escaped, found a way out.
I left instructions. Maybe they'll figure them out. Hope so.
