January 13, 2010
Various & Sundry
I remember like it was yesterday (because it was) making that special trip to McD's 'round about 2, the sun still all a-gust, and purchasing one of those pluperfectly chocolately brownie melts. I'd brought milk along so that I could consume the all-world dessert properly, albeit while doing other errands. Sure it would've been better to eat it at home but, as I reminded folks during the '08 election, the perfect is the enemy of the good. Don't blame me I voted for McCain.
And oh yes I remember chuckling at how our cat found a huge swatch of sun in the green room, as if it had a daily schedule (sun appointment upstairs in office; postpone nail appointment). The sun, the sun! I called like a lover, or maybe Herve Villechaize, before the gentle reminder of belated morning prayers to seek the everlasting light.
* * *
Bill of Summa has a fine smorgasbord of seven quick takes, including the comedic sixth item, "this space left intentionally blank."
He writes poetically of Bibles:
* * *
This headline - Watching TV Linked to Higher Risk of Death - reminds me that the mortality rate is still 100% among human beings, TV or no TV.
* * *
I see Melissa Wiley has a post about her iPod Touch. Sans irony, I find myself googling "iPod touch addiction" on mine. Even found an Outback Steakhouse app that allows me to save orders so I can re-order at an i-touch of a button.
Melissa mentioned Betty Duffy's blog which prompted recall of the many blogs I've read over the years, Dylan's & Steven Riddle's & KTC's especially, but it seems like at any given time there's ONE blog that speaks to me in a particularly resonant way during any given period of time. Call me blogogamous. So here's my evolution of Internet reading:
And oh yes I remember chuckling at how our cat found a huge swatch of sun in the green room, as if it had a daily schedule (sun appointment upstairs in office; postpone nail appointment). The sun, the sun! I called like a lover, or maybe Herve Villechaize, before the gentle reminder of belated morning prayers to seek the everlasting light.
Bill of Summa has a fine smorgasbord of seven quick takes, including the comedic sixth item, "this space left intentionally blank."
He writes poetically of Bibles:
My new CTS Bible (Jerusalem Bible/Grail Psalms) is great, but I still turn sometimes to my hefty old 1966 Jerusalem Bible (the burgundy hardback edition). Its large noble pages are beautifully designed - they provide lots of open space for contemplation and scads of notes and cross-references for dot-connecting. It's a pain to hold for long, though.Whatever you think of the truth about the Medjugorje, there is truth in the purported words of Mary: "Dear children, today I call you to read the Bible everyday in your homes and let it be in a visible place so as always to encourage you to read it and pray."
This headline - Watching TV Linked to Higher Risk of Death - reminds me that the mortality rate is still 100% among human beings, TV or no TV.
I see Melissa Wiley has a post about her iPod Touch. Sans irony, I find myself googling "iPod touch addiction" on mine. Even found an Outback Steakhouse app that allows me to save orders so I can re-order at an i-touch of a button.
Melissa mentioned Betty Duffy's blog which prompted recall of the many blogs I've read over the years, Dylan's & Steven Riddle's & KTC's especially, but it seems like at any given time there's ONE blog that speaks to me in a particularly resonant way during any given period of time. Call me blogogamous. So here's my evolution of Internet reading:
On the first day God created Amy Welborn's blog, which I read as thoroughly as a Kremlinologist during the Cuban Missile crisis.
On the second day God created Tom of Disputations, whose blog I did not worship, though admittedly came close.
On the third day God created Bill of Apologia, whose electric style produced learned expositions on weighty matters followed by thoughts on breastfeeding (emphasis on the first syllable).
On the fourth day God created Betty Duffy, the most underrated blogger in the Western Hemisphere.
January 12, 2010
Mac the Knife
Through the miracle of modern technology I googled for info on the ambidextrous former pro golfer Mac O'Grady, now pushing 60, an eccentric who read Shakespeare and Emerson while living in a cardboard box back in the early '80s. Turns out he's doing well and heads a successful golf instruction school.
Came across this quaint reminder about what you could get in trouble for back in the mid-'80s:
(Speaking of violations, Mark McGwire had his long-delayed come-to-Jesus moment when he admitted the pluperfectly obvious. They say the wife is always the last to know, but it's really the husband. It's ourselves.)
It's both surprising & not that Mac O'Grady became an excellent golf instructor. He reminds me of former Dodger hurler Mike Marshall in how both were mad scientists in the sporting realm and how both became coaches/instructors. "The truth shall make you odd," is the tagline of Sancta Sanctis, and both O'Grady & Marshall discovered truths outside the conventional wisdom of their respective sports and both were seen as odd. But oddly effective.
Came across this quaint reminder about what you could get in trouble for back in the mid-'80s:
The latest violation cited a quote attributed to O'Grady in The Fort Lauderdale Sun-Sentinel last Sunday: ''Deane doesn't like guys challenging his authority. It's part of his Russian ideology. Maybe I should change my name to Mac Sakharov.'' O'Grady, who had no comment on the move by Beman, may appeal the charges within 30 days of notification.Actual violation: "failure to string together banal sports cliches in the presence of a reporter."
(Speaking of violations, Mark McGwire had his long-delayed come-to-Jesus moment when he admitted the pluperfectly obvious. They say the wife is always the last to know, but it's really the husband. It's ourselves.)
It's both surprising & not that Mac O'Grady became an excellent golf instructor. He reminds me of former Dodger hurler Mike Marshall in how both were mad scientists in the sporting realm and how both became coaches/instructors. "The truth shall make you odd," is the tagline of Sancta Sanctis, and both O'Grady & Marshall discovered truths outside the conventional wisdom of their respective sports and both were seen as odd. But oddly effective.
Spanning the Globe to Bring You the Constant Variety of Posts
The poverty of the manger in Bethlehem is not chiefly economic; it is, first and foremost, the poverty of One who was in the form of God, yet emptied Himself, being made in the likeness of men. This is the message of Bethlehem, of the whole Gospel. Not, "God wants you to be rich like His Son," nor, "God wants you to be poor like His Son," but, "God wants you to be loved like His Son."- Tom of Disputations
To see what is in front of one's nose needs a constant struggle.
- George Orwell
Writing gives you the illusion of control, and then you realize it's just an illusion, that people are going to bring their own stuff into it.
- David Sedaris
It is not wrong to want to live better; what is wrong is a style of life which is presumed to be better when it is directed towards "having" rather than "being," and which wants to have more, not in order to be more but in order to spend life in enjoyment as an end in itself.
- Pope John Paul II via Darwin Catholic
There are so many things I get wrong. But this one thing, this desire to love God, is one thing I know I do right, because it was given to me, independently of my own efforts. “He has put into my heart a marvelous love.” It comes from outside myself, “a greater joy than they have from abundance of corn and new wine.” - Betty Duffy
I knew that the Cincinnati Reds Baseball Club died the day free agency was born...If Barry Larkin had played in a big market, he'd get into the HOF no doubt. His numbers, which are pretty much the same as Roberto Alomar's, warrant it. But he played in a small market, and the world has changed. No longer is there such thing as capitalism. It's corporatism, the leviathan, and it eats teams like Cincinnati for breakfast. - - bitter Reds fan "Daedalus" on Larkin not making the HOF
The weather down here is more suitable to some other part of the country. I want my global warming back. - Bill of Florida and Apologia
I fancied myself Vigdis the Viking Lady from Sigrid Undset’s “Gunnar’s Daughter.” - Betty Duffy, on efforts to dig out from many inches of snow
yesterday was hell no mirth. went to re-register so i could check out the heap o' words from the library. and wound up having to traipse across the yes gorgeous yet hilly and wide wide way of the UGA campus with her babuness in tow. she wanted to stop at every flag (those flag's that landscapers place around the place) and dally and dilly. so we did. then we'd arrive at our destination, and i'd be locked out by invisible computer bureaucraps and so we had to re-traipse and re-dilly and re-dally. at the end of it all, dinner-time, armload of books and eager grin and light heart at the desk… - Mildred's Umbrella
A priest friend of mine recently told me that Tradition is not a Thing so much as it is an Activity of the Church. Like the electron in physics, it is always in motion and its exact location can never be pinpointed because the very act of observation affects it. The medievals were as immersed in both Tradition and the small-t traditions as everyone reading this is immersed in electronic media. Would we describe wireless connectivity, electronic mail, Web rings and other social networks, the 'blogosphere, or even the Internet itself as simply things? Obviously, a more complex understanding is in order. - Sancta Sanctis
January 11, 2010
Kiva & Lending
From Frank Hanna's What Your Money Means:
Kiva: Loans that Change Lives
"Rabbis of the Talmud taught that the primary purpose of charity is to help others help themselves. Also, many Talmudic laws sought to protect the poor from the shame of dependency, emphasizing the dignity of the charity recipient....Consider as well what the rabbis of the Talmud deemed the most meritorious form of dispensing charity: loands, which recipients are expected to repay. 'He who lends is greater than he who performs charity, and he who puts in capital to form a partnership with the poor is greater than all.'"
Various & Sundry
From the file "No Reason You Should Care But...": have switched my workout music from Ralph Stanley's bluegrass album to "The Tartan Terrors", an uptempo Scottish bagpipe band. Definitely increaseth the pulse.
* * *
Some men dream of man caves with cavernous (almost wrote carnivorous) televisions, I dream of the wondrous book-room where the books multiply like clematis vines...
* * *
I remember in high school hearing the scorn heaped upon alcohol by teachers and administrators for its property of making you talk louder and laugh more easily. "Indeed," I thought priggishly. I disliked those who talked too loud and were too easily amused. I was a natural-born teetotaler. But something happened on my way to the Abstinence League, and that was I was too fond of tradition. Both familial and societal. And in both alcohol extended as far as the eye could see. Two traditions butted heads: the tradition of personally not trying anything that led to lessened rational thinking and the tradition of doing what has been done by everyone from Churchill to Christ in the past. I accepted the latter as having more authority and so tried my first beer. And I noted it had certain positive qualities that might be useful at a later date.
That later date came soon enough. What I couldn't recognize as a haughty teenager is that laughter and loud talk would, in the future, not be quite so common. In high school it was the default position. Soft talk and a lack of humor were the odd man out then. But it would not be so forever.
Easy laughter is easily pilloried, but should it be? Is the world too full of laughter already? Then there's the law of inertia and how a lack of a sense of humor tends to extend itself and how it's contrary does the same...
* * *
So, didn't have the sort of breakout writing that I always hope for on Fridays. It's couintertuitive but I write to learn, to have those sudden small epiphanies. But on some Fridays all I think is: "wow, this beer is damn good!" But then inspiration is 99% perspiration and 1% alcohol, not the other way 'round.
* * *
Speaking of real epiphanies, at Mass Sunday realized that it was precisely that quality of God being in the commonplace - bread, a manger, my neighbor - that allows me the audacity (can one still use that word with a straight face post-'08 campaign?) of believing that I too, no account me, can be a temple of God. So, selfishly, I do very much like the whole God-is-found-in-unexpected-often-banal-places truth because it includes me!
* * *
God is not arbitrary, He's not a utilitarian. The hymn instructs: "Saints below, with hearts and voice, / Still in songs of praise rejoice / Learning here by faith and love, / Songs of praise to sing above." This life is learning the words to the Heavenly song. It's not meant to test or torture, but to sing, to love, to do acts of kindness, which function as the words in the hymnal in Heaven. From the Infant of Prague devotional, "Help me to follow the inspirations of Divine grace, which guide me to union with you." The purpose of the inspirations of grace is not utilitarian except in leading to greater union with God.
* * *
Read some of a Karen Harper novel, about Appalachia and the search for ginseng root. Pretty interesting. Then read long from Drood, a fictionalized account of the last years of Charles Dickens, followed by reading some of Jane Smiley's biography of the great author. The new Dickens biography is sorely tempting me. I don't know why I'm so fascinated by the life of Dickens, or what I can learn from it, but there you go. Instead I should be reading the lives of saints like...
* * *
Like Mother Teresa. Something very chastening about reading "Come Be My Light," Mother Teresa's letters. Very humbling. I'm not sure it's good for me to read about how God treats his friends, i.e. his saints. Reading the lives of saints, it's hard not to see suffering being to sanctity what weight is to sumo wrestlers. (Is that the first analogy between saints and sumo wrestlers ever? I hope so.) But what is inspiring in the book is that suffering is limited. It eventually ends. One of the sisters wrote that "[Mother] would say to me in difficult times, 'Don't give in to your feelings. God is permitting this.' This really taught me that the best and the worst in life would pass and if I will learn to accept the cross, to be quiet, humble and hopeful, that all will pass."
Not your father's piper band
Some men dream of man caves with cavernous (almost wrote carnivorous) televisions, I dream of the wondrous book-room where the books multiply like clematis vines...
I remember in high school hearing the scorn heaped upon alcohol by teachers and administrators for its property of making you talk louder and laugh more easily. "Indeed," I thought priggishly. I disliked those who talked too loud and were too easily amused. I was a natural-born teetotaler. But something happened on my way to the Abstinence League, and that was I was too fond of tradition. Both familial and societal. And in both alcohol extended as far as the eye could see. Two traditions butted heads: the tradition of personally not trying anything that led to lessened rational thinking and the tradition of doing what has been done by everyone from Churchill to Christ in the past. I accepted the latter as having more authority and so tried my first beer. And I noted it had certain positive qualities that might be useful at a later date.
That later date came soon enough. What I couldn't recognize as a haughty teenager is that laughter and loud talk would, in the future, not be quite so common. In high school it was the default position. Soft talk and a lack of humor were the odd man out then. But it would not be so forever.
Easy laughter is easily pilloried, but should it be? Is the world too full of laughter already? Then there's the law of inertia and how a lack of a sense of humor tends to extend itself and how it's contrary does the same...
So, didn't have the sort of breakout writing that I always hope for on Fridays. It's couintertuitive but I write to learn, to have those sudden small epiphanies. But on some Fridays all I think is: "wow, this beer is damn good!" But then inspiration is 99% perspiration and 1% alcohol, not the other way 'round.
Speaking of real epiphanies, at Mass Sunday realized that it was precisely that quality of God being in the commonplace - bread, a manger, my neighbor - that allows me the audacity (can one still use that word with a straight face post-'08 campaign?) of believing that I too, no account me, can be a temple of God. So, selfishly, I do very much like the whole God-is-found-in-unexpected-often-banal-places truth because it includes me!
God is not arbitrary, He's not a utilitarian. The hymn instructs: "Saints below, with hearts and voice, / Still in songs of praise rejoice / Learning here by faith and love, / Songs of praise to sing above." This life is learning the words to the Heavenly song. It's not meant to test or torture, but to sing, to love, to do acts of kindness, which function as the words in the hymnal in Heaven. From the Infant of Prague devotional, "Help me to follow the inspirations of Divine grace, which guide me to union with you." The purpose of the inspirations of grace is not utilitarian except in leading to greater union with God.
Read some of a Karen Harper novel, about Appalachia and the search for ginseng root. Pretty interesting. Then read long from Drood, a fictionalized account of the last years of Charles Dickens, followed by reading some of Jane Smiley's biography of the great author. The new Dickens biography is sorely tempting me. I don't know why I'm so fascinated by the life of Dickens, or what I can learn from it, but there you go. Instead I should be reading the lives of saints like...
Like Mother Teresa. Something very chastening about reading "Come Be My Light," Mother Teresa's letters. Very humbling. I'm not sure it's good for me to read about how God treats his friends, i.e. his saints. Reading the lives of saints, it's hard not to see suffering being to sanctity what weight is to sumo wrestlers. (Is that the first analogy between saints and sumo wrestlers ever? I hope so.) But what is inspiring in the book is that suffering is limited. It eventually ends. One of the sisters wrote that "[Mother] would say to me in difficult times, 'Don't give in to your feelings. God is permitting this.' This really taught me that the best and the worst in life would pass and if I will learn to accept the cross, to be quiet, humble and hopeful, that all will pass."
January 08, 2010
Couple Quick Links
A Hermeneutic of Continuity: It's interesting to me that some of the same points made against the Bible - that there is little unity between the Old and New Testaments - is also made of the Church and Sacred Tradition, especially post-Second Vatican Council. A defense of biblical continuity is posted here at Ignatius Insight.
The other link that caught my eye was this interesting link at First Things about the atonement via Tom of Disputations.
The other link that caught my eye was this interesting link at First Things about the atonement via Tom of Disputations.
There Are Still Some Things Only Males Can Do
...like go shirtless in order to spell alma mater's name. Bras really mess up the aesthetic effect.
Where this is really amusing is when it's 2 degrees outside and the dudes are so desirous of getting on television that they're willing to freeze their you-know-whats off. In those cases the over/under on how many drinks they've had is 20. Each.
Various & Sundry
The artistic mentality seeks beauty, the singular, that which is pleasing to ear, eye or touch. And yet we learn in the Bible of the value of the common, of bread that becomes the Bread of Life, of a baby in a manger becoming the king of kings, and of the presence of God in our neighbor.
As Dylan well-described it: "it's the sacramentality of the commonplace, not of the lofty. Or of what was thought to be beautiful ... before Our Blessed Lord pitched his tent and dwelt among us."
I've never quite figured out how to reconcile the artistic mentality given how God sees so differently, sees value in what doesn't appear to be singular or particularly beautiful. (Like, say, a mosquito.)
And yet beauty is also a path to God. My betters say that beauty is more persuasive than apologetics and that which is precisely what is lacking today.
* * *
Yesterday's moment of light occurred during praying Ps 81, "You called in distress and I saved you. I answered, concealed in the storm cloud." How often we think He is not present in the storm! And no less so in today's mysterious gospel reading, where Jesus nonchalantly walks on the water despite a terrific headwind. He was, quite literally, in the storm. And then he calmed it, fulfilling Ps 81.
* * *
I wonder sometimes if the status of my spiritual life is signified by my reaction to prayer requests found on the 'net. Sometimes I come across one, even from those I know, and I feel...very numb to it. And yet I think of Padre Pio and the millions of requests he got when he was alive and... Well anyway this at least spurs me on to pray; my lack of fervor can sometimes paradoxically be a proximate cause of greater fervor. In other words, I have fervor concerning my lack of fervor.
* * *
Heard Jimmy Akin recently talk about the different graces God gives and how He gives everyone "sufficient" grace for salvation but not necessarily "efficacious" grace. There are some things I'd prefer not to know, and the whole grace controversy is one I prefer not to dwell on.
As Dylan well-described it: "it's the sacramentality of the commonplace, not of the lofty. Or of what was thought to be beautiful ... before Our Blessed Lord pitched his tent and dwelt among us."
I've never quite figured out how to reconcile the artistic mentality given how God sees so differently, sees value in what doesn't appear to be singular or particularly beautiful. (Like, say, a mosquito.)
And yet beauty is also a path to God. My betters say that beauty is more persuasive than apologetics and that which is precisely what is lacking today.
Yesterday's moment of light occurred during praying Ps 81, "You called in distress and I saved you. I answered, concealed in the storm cloud." How often we think He is not present in the storm! And no less so in today's mysterious gospel reading, where Jesus nonchalantly walks on the water despite a terrific headwind. He was, quite literally, in the storm. And then he calmed it, fulfilling Ps 81.
I wonder sometimes if the status of my spiritual life is signified by my reaction to prayer requests found on the 'net. Sometimes I come across one, even from those I know, and I feel...very numb to it. And yet I think of Padre Pio and the millions of requests he got when he was alive and... Well anyway this at least spurs me on to pray; my lack of fervor can sometimes paradoxically be a proximate cause of greater fervor. In other words, I have fervor concerning my lack of fervor.
Heard Jimmy Akin recently talk about the different graces God gives and how He gives everyone "sufficient" grace for salvation but not necessarily "efficacious" grace. There are some things I'd prefer not to know, and the whole grace controversy is one I prefer not to dwell on.
January 07, 2010
A Visitor from Deutschland
I could blog on politics, or how I subtly missed the boat with respect to Janet Napolitano (I said that her sin was that she said nothing and CYA'd during her first interviews after the failed terrorist attempt when her line 'the system worked' was properly the lede. Her saying the system worked is like Barney Fife saying the system worked when he managed to catch a crook despite himself.)
(Btw, I'll tell you where "the system worked" and it's the fact that Sen. Chris Dodd is retiring due to political unpopularity. It's good to see the folks of Connecticut aren't totally blinded by the usual "he may be a dog, but he's my dog" mentality.)
I could also write about how the sainted Brian Lamb is taking on the D.C. penchant for secrecy. It's so not like him, except that it's non-partisan. I've always liked C-Span because of its countercultural aspect given its unexercised power (unlike, say, reporters who go into the op-ed business). Admittedly C-Span has to play nice since the Congress can ban their cameras, but still...
I could write about how most drivers in Columbus, given dry roads, don't drive crazily. I'd say 99% of the time there's no one really calling attention to himself. But yesterday I was passed by a maniac driving 90-100mph, swerving in and out of traffic, and don't you know it there was a cop by the side of the road and a mile later the guy is pulled over. Justice. That's what freeway cops should be there for, not for pulling over the 69mph'r in a 65 zone.
But how about a diary entry instead, which I call a "journal entry" to give it more heft?
Overcame slogitis, my neologism for laziness, and ran a quick 15 minutes even though my legs were D.O.A. Tis better to workout for longer if less frequently, meaning I should attenuate runs to 30 mins or more.
Then headed home and soon after arrived our German visitor, complete with authentic German accent. I was taken aback immediately by her height. She towered over my 5'11'', standing at least 6ft 2 and I managed to momentarily avoid making any comment on her height. (Americans, it turns out, are considered polite by at least some foreigners, which doesn't fit the stereotype.)
She was dressed suitably Europeanish, with black shoes, black pants, and a maroon sweater over a black turtleneck. Her hair was a blonde mix with dark roots, shortened relative to most womens hair. Her smile very familiar from the German side of my family, reminding me of an aunt. She was quite animated, quite lively & fun. I trotted out my elementary German on her: "Wie geht es ihnen!" but forgot to ask her about a subject of minor fascination to me, the formal address "sie" versus informal "du". Such borderlines interest me. Perhaps it's no different than how we might call someone by the first name or a nickname instead of a more formal address.
(Btw, I'll tell you where "the system worked" and it's the fact that Sen. Chris Dodd is retiring due to political unpopularity. It's good to see the folks of Connecticut aren't totally blinded by the usual "he may be a dog, but he's my dog" mentality.)
I could also write about how the sainted Brian Lamb is taking on the D.C. penchant for secrecy. It's so not like him, except that it's non-partisan. I've always liked C-Span because of its countercultural aspect given its unexercised power (unlike, say, reporters who go into the op-ed business). Admittedly C-Span has to play nice since the Congress can ban their cameras, but still...
I could write about how most drivers in Columbus, given dry roads, don't drive crazily. I'd say 99% of the time there's no one really calling attention to himself. But yesterday I was passed by a maniac driving 90-100mph, swerving in and out of traffic, and don't you know it there was a cop by the side of the road and a mile later the guy is pulled over. Justice. That's what freeway cops should be there for, not for pulling over the 69mph'r in a 65 zone.
But how about a diary entry instead, which I call a "journal entry" to give it more heft?
Overcame slogitis, my neologism for laziness, and ran a quick 15 minutes even though my legs were D.O.A. Tis better to workout for longer if less frequently, meaning I should attenuate runs to 30 mins or more.
Then headed home and soon after arrived our German visitor, complete with authentic German accent. I was taken aback immediately by her height. She towered over my 5'11'', standing at least 6ft 2 and I managed to momentarily avoid making any comment on her height. (Americans, it turns out, are considered polite by at least some foreigners, which doesn't fit the stereotype.)
She was dressed suitably Europeanish, with black shoes, black pants, and a maroon sweater over a black turtleneck. Her hair was a blonde mix with dark roots, shortened relative to most womens hair. Her smile very familiar from the German side of my family, reminding me of an aunt. She was quite animated, quite lively & fun. I trotted out my elementary German on her: "Wie geht es ihnen!" but forgot to ask her about a subject of minor fascination to me, the formal address "sie" versus informal "du". Such borderlines interest me. Perhaps it's no different than how we might call someone by the first name or a nickname instead of a more formal address.
January 06, 2010
Don't Call 'em Musings
Read long the NBA book, satisfying in that you can read 300 pages as I have and only be half-way done with it. It's a cornucopia, a nearly infinite analgesic. The names alone read like poetry: "Gail Goodrich" "Jerry West" "Nate Tiny Archibald" -- then read a bit again of Simmons' Drood, for contrast's sake.
* * *
There's a near-stranger (neighbor of a distant cousin) who emails me frequently and who is a bit brusque in her denunciations of my genealogical work ethic, but who has nonetheless agreed to phone a 95+ year old distant relative in hopes of finding out something about my great-grandparents. Told her I was a "shy Yankee" (she being from Kentucky and very self-consciously Suthern). Just thought you should know, seeing how five people voted in the poll for diaristic meanderings (don't call 'em musings please).
* * *
Encountered the unexpected help of my fellow man in the church parking lot (he directed me to an empty space). Sporting a scruffy, 3-day beard, he was presumably there to scare away non-church traffic, that is the increasingly heavy load from the nearby community college (which seems to have reached a critical mass, no pun intended, as far as taking up area parking). (Yes, I included this snippet simply for the sake of that pun. How far this blog has fallen, to quote Dylan.)
* * *
The password this time o' year is: "slog". I was relieved not to pick up dinner tonight at the cafe since we're having company tonight and my wife's cooking. It's the little things. I'm surprised by the proximate burden felt by the daily task of acquiring three dinners (two for dinner, one for lunch), securing them in the refrigerator at work and then hoping I remember to take dinners with me before going home. (It's cheaper to bring home good $4 meals from cafe than even to cook, supposedly.) Part of it all may simply be related to my propensity to carry too many things; Lord do I make it hard on myself what with my books, workout equipment, Kindle case, etc. "Schlep" is a good word for what I do, schlep around with all these beast of burdens hanging off my frame such that I relish not having to pack mule it or wait in that extra line for dinner. Don't do as I do.
* * *
Got a lot of brainless work done this morning, ably assisted by the playing of the full Nutcracker Suite on my iPod. Music hath charms... I noticed though that my Mozart discography is lacking; I like Mozart much more now than 10-15 years ago, perhaps because my metabolism has slowed and perhaps in part because the Pope's a fan and I'm perennially under the illusion that some of his charisma will rub off on me via these sorts of things.
* * *
Speaking of, warmed by a Pope Benedict blog called Beggar for Love. Can't recall where I came across it but the host has a good eye for inspiring Benedictian quotes. Sometimes I think 90% of the job of a pope is simply to encourage, to be, crudely, the "encourager-in-chief".
* * *
Speaking of encouragement, heard Fr. Corapi on the commute mention indulgences. Indulgences is another species of hope. Fr. Corapi was initially very disappointed when noting the words of Jesus that "every penny will be paid back," until he learned about indulgences.
I seem to have gotten on Ignatius Press's mailing list as well as Sophia books and these present temptations. The Passion of St. Perpetua particularly so, as well as this book.
There's a near-stranger (neighbor of a distant cousin) who emails me frequently and who is a bit brusque in her denunciations of my genealogical work ethic, but who has nonetheless agreed to phone a 95+ year old distant relative in hopes of finding out something about my great-grandparents. Told her I was a "shy Yankee" (she being from Kentucky and very self-consciously Suthern). Just thought you should know, seeing how five people voted in the poll for diaristic meanderings (don't call 'em musings please).
Encountered the unexpected help of my fellow man in the church parking lot (he directed me to an empty space). Sporting a scruffy, 3-day beard, he was presumably there to scare away non-church traffic, that is the increasingly heavy load from the nearby community college (which seems to have reached a critical mass, no pun intended, as far as taking up area parking). (Yes, I included this snippet simply for the sake of that pun. How far this blog has fallen, to quote Dylan.)
The password this time o' year is: "slog". I was relieved not to pick up dinner tonight at the cafe since we're having company tonight and my wife's cooking. It's the little things. I'm surprised by the proximate burden felt by the daily task of acquiring three dinners (two for dinner, one for lunch), securing them in the refrigerator at work and then hoping I remember to take dinners with me before going home. (It's cheaper to bring home good $4 meals from cafe than even to cook, supposedly.) Part of it all may simply be related to my propensity to carry too many things; Lord do I make it hard on myself what with my books, workout equipment, Kindle case, etc. "Schlep" is a good word for what I do, schlep around with all these beast of burdens hanging off my frame such that I relish not having to pack mule it or wait in that extra line for dinner. Don't do as I do.
Got a lot of brainless work done this morning, ably assisted by the playing of the full Nutcracker Suite on my iPod. Music hath charms... I noticed though that my Mozart discography is lacking; I like Mozart much more now than 10-15 years ago, perhaps because my metabolism has slowed and perhaps in part because the Pope's a fan and I'm perennially under the illusion that some of his charisma will rub off on me via these sorts of things.
Speaking of, warmed by a Pope Benedict blog called Beggar for Love. Can't recall where I came across it but the host has a good eye for inspiring Benedictian quotes. Sometimes I think 90% of the job of a pope is simply to encourage, to be, crudely, the "encourager-in-chief".
Speaking of encouragement, heard Fr. Corapi on the commute mention indulgences. Indulgences is another species of hope. Fr. Corapi was initially very disappointed when noting the words of Jesus that "every penny will be paid back," until he learned about indulgences.
I seem to have gotten on Ignatius Press's mailing list as well as Sophia books and these present temptations. The Passion of St. Perpetua particularly so, as well as this book.
January 05, 2010
Reading...
Read last night from the marvelously entertaining Manhood for Amateurs by Michael Chabon, the sort of stuff that is so intrinsically interesting that you're amazed you found it. Read two chapters, one about David Foster Wallace, and I got a look inside the writer's fraternity. Chabon talks about how even though suicide is the farthest thing from his mind, how nevertheless the subject fascinates him and is a thread present throughout all his books. He also writes on the cheerier subject of how songs bring back memories in a fabulously powerful way and how a song can be associated with a "nothing moment" way in the past, something you otherwise wouldn't remember except via its association with that song. That's so true - I can recall riding to baseball practice with my dad and "Billy, Don't Be a Hero" was on the radio. Forever after I recall that moment.
He articulates exactly what I've long thought, that it doesn't matter if your iPod has every song on it - there's something different about hearing a song serendipitously:
He articulates exactly what I've long thought, that it doesn't matter if your iPod has every song on it - there's something different about hearing a song serendipitously:
"No medium is as sensuously evocative of the past as radio...But for the power to have its maximum impact, the process of remembering has to be randon at both ends."He writes about how the
"iridescent bubble of the music and the air of the past that it randomly traps" [is] "the magic of an accidental conjunction, a flitting moment and the resin drop of a pop song transformed by luck and alchemy into amber. The radiant shins of a girl named Jennifer Dagenais, for example, as she oiled herself with Bain de Soleil at the Phelps Luck swimming pool in the sumer of 1978 are retained in the opening riff of 'Hold the Line' by Toto."Update: I might add that Chabon's views of religion in general and Christianity in particular are traditional, meaning traditional for a modern literary man-about-town, a man utterly of his time. He's an agnostic who admits that "learning to doubt everything has created a condition strongly akin to fierce belief," a belief strong enough to write "if there was a Jesus", thus holding Jesus to a standard no other ancient figure would be held to. But I suppose it's not surprising given the headwind of the current age.
Creative Writing, Nigerian Scammer Edition
Received this:
* * *
Dear E-mail Account Owner,...and this:
You email address have been awarded the total lump sum of $650,000.00 (six hundred and fifty thousand USD) in our New Year/Eid online promo You were randomly selected from a list of e-mails collated globally from (WWW)
GOODDAY,
This is to bring to your notice that, I have paid the re-activation fee and the delivery charge of your ATM CARD.I paid it because the ATM CARD worthy of (USD$2.5MILLION),has less than 21 days to expire and when it expires, the money will divert and forfeited into Government purse (account).
With that I decided to help you pay the money so that, the ATM CARD will not expire, because I know when you get your ATM CARD definitely you must pay me back my money and even compensate me for helping you. Now I want you to contact Fedex Express Company with your Full Contact information’...
You never give up
you never say die
you write like the wind
'thout hesitating to lie.
Whenever a number
appears in your prose
you repeat it in characters
as if offering a rose.
Poet Nigeriette
many miles away
you're efforts at English
oft fail to sway.
You scatter much seed
you send quite a scatter
emails by thousands
hoping some may just matter.
You rock in type-ariums
to the rhythms of clatter
with a touch of the formal
and a good deal of flatter.
You sanction your work
by greed of receiver
you think it's okay
"that gullible believer!"
They roll in with the tide
like form letters structured
though never a once
is a poem there constructured!
January 04, 2010
Choices
Nice line from David Brooks' column:
I suppose there are two ways of looking at the body scan technology: 1) if you want to fly, you have to put up with somebody looking at you nekkid or 2) if you want to fly, you have to put up with the infinitesimal risk that the plane will be subject to a terrorist act.
Meanwhile, the Transportation Security Administration has to be seen doing something, so it added another layer to its stage play, “Security Theater” — more baggage regulations, more in-flight restrictions.To make it more fun, perhaps they should play the "Chicken Dance" or the "Hokey Pokey" during the stage play. "Put your laptop in, take your laptop out..."
I suppose there are two ways of looking at the body scan technology: 1) if you want to fly, you have to put up with somebody looking at you nekkid or 2) if you want to fly, you have to put up with the infinitesimal risk that the plane will be subject to a terrorist act.
Diaristic Wanderings
'Tis disturbing, that last day of vacation gestern. The long line of kings has ended, the last whistle blown on the sportescapade. Watched OSU (per current local law) and a bit of the U.C. Bearcats on Friday. I pictured a long sloe gin buzz of drinks stretching nursedly along the I-4:00-10pm corridor, assuming I didn't overvisit that particular highway on New Year's Eve. I captained my living room chair for an extended period of time yesterday, stiff-arming any idea of going out to pick up dinner. The last day of vacation I was in the comfort zone, suckling the glass teat, listening to the dulcet tones of Michelle Malkin on C-Span's In-Depth interspersed with a satisfying Cavs game and an unsatisfying Bengals game (Bengals were blown out early). The famous couchus potatous gene must've gotten passed down in my y chromosome.
* * *
Felt a sort of bifocal love, both horizontal and vertical, in the receiving of the Eucharist at the Byzantine liturgy. Felt gratitude towards the Deacon merely in his instrumentality of giving me so great a gift, and, of course for Christ himself. The miracles in the gospel are not about us believing Jesus can cure diseases of the flesh so much but that we might believe He can cure diseases of the spirit.
* * *
I see Betty Duffy has one of her typically lively posts accentuated this time by a bull staring you straight-ways with the quote "You're on a Freight Train Headed for the Blues". Now that's what I'm talking about.
* * *
Enbrethiliel posts about bad Catholics now and then, and one of my "favorite" bad Catholics is the puzzling convicted spy Robert Hanssen. Despite his myriad crimes, I think of him primarily as a traditionalist Catholic. Solitary confinement, 23 of every 24 hours. How is he faring mentally? I search the Internet, feeling as if I have a personal stake. I'm greatly relieved to learn that the Supermax prison is not draconian; the prisoners all have cable TV and distractions like bingo and jeopardy. (Well, Bingo is another matter...) They can yell to cellmates and be heard, so despite the solitary adjective there is still some human contact.
* * *
'Twas hyp-mo-tizing to hear Willie Nelson live-in-concert on New Year's Eve in little (I assume it's little) Carl's Corner, TX. Modern technology is amazing. He sounded real, in other words like he'd had a few, and I thought his heart was so much more in the blues numbers than his own hits, which he seemed to hurry through like getting in from out the rain.
* * *
At water aerobics last week I witnessed the fragility to which we are subject: wick-thin Sarah (not her real name), with a surface and body strong as tensile steel, had gained weight, mostly in her breasts (I did not fail to notice). Her typically boyish figure had become more noticeably feminine but at a personal cost - her busted knee had crashed her exercise routine for six months. To become overly dependent on exercise is to depend on the body and it's structural integrity. She talked about going through the steps of grief: denial, acceptance, etc... This formerly energetic, extroverted young woman rarely went anywhere or did anything for months, plunged into dark depression.
* * *
Current reads include but do not occlude: Cincinnatus by R. McClure, The Book of Basketball by Bill Simmons, Drood by Dan Simmons, Isaiah: interpreted by early Christian and medieval commentators - by Robert Louis Wilken. I keep looking around for my Lydia Davis book without success.
Felt a sort of bifocal love, both horizontal and vertical, in the receiving of the Eucharist at the Byzantine liturgy. Felt gratitude towards the Deacon merely in his instrumentality of giving me so great a gift, and, of course for Christ himself. The miracles in the gospel are not about us believing Jesus can cure diseases of the flesh so much but that we might believe He can cure diseases of the spirit.
I see Betty Duffy has one of her typically lively posts accentuated this time by a bull staring you straight-ways with the quote "You're on a Freight Train Headed for the Blues". Now that's what I'm talking about.
Enbrethiliel posts about bad Catholics now and then, and one of my "favorite" bad Catholics is the puzzling convicted spy Robert Hanssen. Despite his myriad crimes, I think of him primarily as a traditionalist Catholic. Solitary confinement, 23 of every 24 hours. How is he faring mentally? I search the Internet, feeling as if I have a personal stake. I'm greatly relieved to learn that the Supermax prison is not draconian; the prisoners all have cable TV and distractions like bingo and jeopardy. (Well, Bingo is another matter...) They can yell to cellmates and be heard, so despite the solitary adjective there is still some human contact.
'Twas hyp-mo-tizing to hear Willie Nelson live-in-concert on New Year's Eve in little (I assume it's little) Carl's Corner, TX. Modern technology is amazing. He sounded real, in other words like he'd had a few, and I thought his heart was so much more in the blues numbers than his own hits, which he seemed to hurry through like getting in from out the rain.
At water aerobics last week I witnessed the fragility to which we are subject: wick-thin Sarah (not her real name), with a surface and body strong as tensile steel, had gained weight, mostly in her breasts (I did not fail to notice). Her typically boyish figure had become more noticeably feminine but at a personal cost - her busted knee had crashed her exercise routine for six months. To become overly dependent on exercise is to depend on the body and it's structural integrity. She talked about going through the steps of grief: denial, acceptance, etc... This formerly energetic, extroverted young woman rarely went anywhere or did anything for months, plunged into dark depression.
Current reads include but do not occlude: Cincinnatus by R. McClure, The Book of Basketball by Bill Simmons, Drood by Dan Simmons, Isaiah: interpreted by early Christian and medieval commentators - by Robert Louis Wilken. I keep looking around for my Lydia Davis book without success.
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