Dennis Miller Comment

...strikes me as spot on:

[Obama's] devotees are so far in the bag, this guy could drop an atom bomb tomorrow, and they would say it was clean weaponry. The simple fact is he has no tether. I would do it, too, if I was him. Nobody is going to hold him accountable. Keeping Gitmo open, the Patriot Act, starting a third war, following Bush's footprints in Iraq and Afghanistan, or reinvigorating Afghanistan, following them in Iraq, increased drone use, and all of a sudden everybody is Curtis LeMay on the left. What fear does he have? Nobody is going to hold him accountable.

Of Books & Weather

Summer visited us with the full faith and credit of the U.S. government this past weekend - 80 degrees and “sunburn-capax” - and I spent some of it biking and later half-dozing while reading the dense prose of Donald Hall's Seasons at Eagle Pond.

With Hall’s gorgeous prose I suspect poetic license; did he really see the New Hampsire summer people, the renters, packing up their vodka on Labor Day or did he merely summon that image for alliterative purposes? Either way, he ends the book with a bang and it is superbly written, seemingly without a word out of place. A true craftsman. Thoreau without the baggage.

Otherwise been absorbing great amounts of Maier’s historical novel titled “Pontius Pilate”. It’s a two-fer given that Pilate is a figure of interest to me as is early Rome. It’s highly readable and yet not cloying or desultory as many historical novels seem to be.

Also picked up a couple new books, both encyclopedic in nature, wide in scope. Both can double as reference work and pick-and-choose reading. Fr. Benedict Groeschel’s history of Christian devotions is compelling though possibly familiar in places. And Fukuyama’s touted work on political order is a sort of grand theory book that I couldn’t seem to pass up, if only to see how medieval Catholicism, he claims, led us towards individualism (I thought that was the result of Luther & the Reformation).

I barely avoided buying Jay Bakker’s “Fall to Grace”, a book mentioned by the blogger at “A Part-time Monk”. Have requested it from the library. Bakker is the son of Tammy Faye & Jim Bakker. I’ll be really interested to hear what he has to say since I find Bakker’s rise and fall compelling. Jim is back in ministry again which doesn’t seem like the best idea but then where is the forgiveness in that?

* * *
But oh the sweet solace of swaggeringly sunny weather in Central Ohio yesterday. It felt of San Juan and indeed I put a Latin radio station on the iPod jukebox. It felt also of Florida and that little island called Sanibel.

The day is mint-julep beautiful. White blossoms grace the trees out front. Ye olde footpath has survived the winter - is there not something in us that loves a bench beside a fountain? Meantime the sun capers along the the brick wall of the porch after having frolicked past the mulch bed. When the wind dies down it’s close enough to perfect, a perfection that reminds me of God’s perfection and thus his plan for my own. Let his fire be purifying, not condemnatory!

I look at the still spare trees, still mostly bark and twig, and think about the monks of New Skete and their book cover featuring bare trees. An odd choice? Or not...any worldly person would cherish leaves in full beauty but the spiritual person sees that life comes via death. Perhaps it’s a momento mori thing.

There’s a startling brightness to the air, a startling lightness to everything. All is made new. And yet already we see the seeds of the coming noise, of all manner of suburban factory noise in the form of lawn mowers, leaf blowers and weed wackers. The outdoors becomes public again instead of a place to get out of, as it is in quiet winter. And who can blame us? Sensory-starved eyes can feast on the spring delights, on the crystalline sunlight and the ravishing flowers. I take in a panorama, from the bench and fountain to the clumps of green plantings, to the angel statue, to the maples (Japanese and silver).

A slight cool breeze is compensated by a shaft of warm sun and I feel hungry for the book that lies in wait at the library. I long again for the physical book as object, having spent too much time in the world of Kindle.

My fingers leap to the last page to see what sort of type font is proffered. It cracks me up how every book seems to have a unique font face such that they seem almost made up: “This font is the famous Ingot Ceour of Richard the Lionheart’s personal press.” I’m sure they could just make something up and 99.9% of people would believe them. Still I like knowing what the type face is, especially when the book’s as inviting as many of mine are.



* * *
A fine tribute to an ol’ warhorse in my high school alumni magazine today. He taught English composition classes back in my day and now he’s set to retire after 41 years. Says he’ll stay busy by getting his train set out and enjoying his baseball memorabilia. And traveling. He likes Salinger (he teaches “Nine Stories”). Also still has everyone read “In Cold Blood” after all these years. And his penchant for things African-American continues with his teaching African-American poetry. I wonder how many football coaches love J. D. Salinger?

* * *
And now the sun riots in the bookroom! How I love it when that late day sun slants and slashes into the sanctums of the library, a dash of regal sash!

* * *

A Note About the Typeface

This post is set in the typeface Nederlandischer Renneker, invented in 1637 by the drunken monk Placidus von Leeuwenhosen. [Courtesy Xerxes Riffraff.]

Alack & Alas

Sadly I must report that my consecutive streak of 1,925 meals successfully brought up from the cafe to my desk on the tenth floor has been cruelly snapped. And it was a completely unforced error - nobody coming around a blind corner to run into - though aren't they all? Even more ironic is that I was carrying a light load: two six-inch subs for dinner and one chicken parmigiana for lunch. I was also within just eight feet of my destination. It's a well-known fact that accidents are most likely within twenty-five feet of your cubicle, which is why I try to stay as far away from it as possible.

The resulting smash-up wasn't too bad. Some tomato sauce on the floor, a few stray noodles and three or four brussel sprouts were casualties.

At least I covered the spread; the over-under on number of days I'd be able to carry sans mishap was 472.

Ohio Right to Life in Dispatch

I was taken aback by the long message in local church bulletin concerning the fractiousness between pro-life groups concerning the wisdom of the Heartbeat bill. It was a long plea for peace, for unity. And now I see a letter in the Dispatch about the bill:

Heartbeat bill' won't get the job done
Saturday, April 9, 2011

Ohio Right to Life has over the years been held in high regard by state officials, resulting even this year in the fast-tracking of legislation that makes abortion more and more difficult within the context of existing law and court decisions. For example, the Ohio House of Representatives has passed a bill that would stop judges from rubber-stamping approval for the requests of minor girls who seek to avoid telling and getting the consent of their parents for an abortion.

Ohio Right to Life's endorsed bills currently before the General Assembly include Senate Bill 72 and House Bill 78, which would prohibit abortion after the time of viability outside the womb, or around 20 to 23 weeks of pregnancy. Passage of these bills would constitutionally and legally ensure implementation immediately.

Very little opposition to this legislation arose during committee hearings. In other words, by pushing the envelope incrementally, and until Roe vs. Wade can be overturned, almost 1,000 abortions would be stopped annually.

This legislation — called the late-term abortion ban — is yet another step in a national, carefully determined strategy of steps with the ultimate goal of eradication of abortion in Ohio and the United States. This strategy has an obvious goal of overturning Roe vs. Wade entirely. In the meantime we continue to chip away with significant gains in saving lives of unborn children as best we can without ignoring the current legal conditions.

Others are advancing House Bill 125, the so-called heartbeat bill. At first blush, it seems like the right idea. However, in its current form, the bill contains insufficient language to survive any court challenge whatsoever. Federal courts have uniformly ruled that specific language must be included in any abortion-related legislation, and without such language, any state laws would immediately be ruled unconstitutional.

If passed in its current form, the heartbeat bill would not save a single baby’s life. Further, the federal courts would award fees to Planned Parenthood’s attorneys, resulting in hundreds of thousands of our tax dollars essentially supporting abortion. The heartbeat bill also is outside the current framework allowed under case law, and there are not enough justices on the U.S. Supreme Court to overturn Roe vs. Wade — at least not yet.

Accordingly, Ohio Right to Life is correctly using strategies that are immediately achievable in the saving of as many lives of the unborn as possible. We align ourselves with the Catholic Church and other church teaching in order to achieve the ultimate goal while working to preserve life in the present moment.

BERNARD SCHLUETER

Board member

Ohio Right to Life

Dublin

Disgusting...

How potent is the Democratic party's reverence for abortion? From the Dispatch this morning: "In the [budget] deal, aides said, Republicans dropped that demand [to defund Planned Parenthood]. In return, Democrats agreed to additional spending cuts."

Friday Randomness

Euphoria comes, when the work day is done! And the reward for the mental toil and fearfully early wake-up call is a Magic Hat #9 ale. And some Rilke poetry. And some country music. Not all at the same time, though all three have in common being as far from computer programming as can be, short of orgasm. The Magic Hat is sort of a fruity Sierra Nevada Pale. Slightly less bitter and slightly more sweet.
* * *
Finished the Hitchens memoir. Very good read; he certainly needs praying for. Feel ready for some fiction and, of course, some Chesterton. Either poetry or biography or Heretics! Been too long, and too many Chesterton-free mornings. I can certainly see how the Am Chesterton Society is so cultishly enthusiastic. The definition of a good cult, in my estimation. It’s like Nancy Brown has found her mission - to read Chesterton and plug him via podcast, blog, etc.. Promulgating Chesterton isn’t a bad gig to have in the Body of Christ.
* * *
Found a different version (Belmont Abby’s) of the Stations of the Cross to go with during weekly Adoration. Much colder, sterner stuff than the Amy Welborn/Michael Dubruiel collaboration Apple app. But still good to do once. Read Padre Pio’s instructions, on a blog, on how to enter a church. (With great reverence, with a slow deliberate sign of cross, etc..). Guilty of being too casual!
* * *
The weather has turned a corner and is sprinting south. The weekend promises to be a long home run to center. All-star weather in early April. Winter would seem to be officially over.
* * *
Ignatius Press has a new DVD with three documentaries on The Shroud of Turin. Am tempted to buy. I’m pretty susceptible to their winsome catalog. Advertising works!
* * *

12 Candidates in '12

Mitt the Romniac is in the lead,
with The Donald news will always bleed,
Newt the Ging finds chameleons quite charming
while Sarah never finds a bear alarming.
Haley bears the comet's fervid name,
while Barack Obama never takes the blame.
Tim Pawlenty makes a wicked stew,
Daniels isn't one to drink a brew.
Michele Bachman has such pretty hair,
while Huckabee hides out in his FOX-y lair.
Rick Santorum thinks he has a prayer,
while ol' Ron Paul doesn't have a care.

The Prefect of Judea

Eternal fame came to a man
through the auspices of another,
I wonder in what light he looks
at the world's greatest Lover?

I wonder what his days were like
after the blood he'd shed.
I wonder if back he looked
if "What if?" was ever said.

In life he washed his hands
of the blood he saw as other,
does he now wash his soul
with the blood of his own brother?

One for the Archives

The inimitable Zmirak shares his Lenten read:

Therefore, it seems to my risk-averse, utility maximizing mind that the wisest course of action is to shun at once the madness of the saints and the worst excesses of sin, to keep my head down in the security line lest the Theocentric Security Angels (TSA) stop me and frisk me, hoping that I can make it onto the flight with my 7 oz. bottle of illegal tequila.

Remaining in such a state is not the ideal way to spend a Lent -- and we only get a limited number of them before we die, so it only seems prudent to make each blasted one of them count. So I'm trying a few expedients to pry my slothful soul from its Tempur-Pedic® easy chair.

The Budget Pie

Spring Thoughts

With spring, the light precedes the warmth. The light makes me feel like I should be doing something outside, while the lack of heat prevents me from the consummation of reading on the back patio. Spring is a tease - all short skirt and no cattle.

* * *

A tweet from Fr. Martin left me feeling a twinge of wonder: he said he was asked what he likes about being a Jesuit and he was left speechless since there is SO MUCH. Wow. Now that’s evangelistic.

* * *

One thing I’ve noticed about drinking in this era compared with past eras: I appreciate it more though I enjoy it less. Which is not to say I don’t enjoy it greatly now - I do - but I couldn’t possibly enjoy it MORE than I did in the context of those long alcohol-fueled nights listening to live country bands and dancing. But back then I took it more for granted. Now, with weight a concern, beers have to pull their own weight, so to speak.

It’s relatively easy to do twenty minutes of exercise five times a week. But to double the exercise, as I should, is more problematic. Being heavier looks pretty acceptable compared to two hundred minutes of exercise every week. Besides, what more characteristically characterizes middle age than a burgeoning weight, a broadening middle? That’s why it’s called “middle” age, isn’t it? The word middle seems to connote what it means. Two big “d’s” in the center, like a beer belly. I suppose two and a half hours of exercise in the course of a normal week doesn’t seem too terrible. The trouble is actually doing it.

Poetry Monday

Youthful Portrait of My Father
...by René Karl Wilhelm Johann Josef Maria Rilke:

In the eyes dream. The forehead as in touch
with something far. About the mouth enormously
much youth, unsmiled seductiveness,
and before the full ornamental lacings
of the slim aristocratic uniform
the saber's basket-hilt and both the hands-,
that wait, quietly, impelled towards nothing.
And now scarce longer visible: as though they
first, seizers of far things, would disappear.
And all the rest curtained with itself
and effaced, as though we could not understand it,
and clouded deep out of its own depths--,

You swiftly fading daguerreotype
in my more slowly fading hands.

Work & the 'Net

From the New Yorker:

But, crazy as such estimates are, there’s no doubt that the Internet has made it much easier—and more entertaining—to slack off at the office. In a widely cited survey from 2005, people said that the Net was their favorite way to waste time at work—and that was before the advent of Twitter.

...And the curious result was that those who hadn’t watched the comedy video made significantly more mistakes than those who had. You might have thought that those who had spent the previous ten minutes laughing would become distracted and careless. Instead, it was the act of following company policy and not clicking that button that eroded people’s ability to focus and concentrate.

The basic insight—that giving people some respite from difficult tasks, along with the chance to let their minds wander, will make them more productive—remains true. Sometimes, it turns out, you have to take your eye off the ball in order to hit it.

Pictures from a Cube

Weekend Thoughts

It’s funny how quickly non-fiction surfeits; a steady diet of it this week leaves me "unenthralled". How nice to it was Friday, on the cusp of the weekend, drinking a craft and listening to the Dvorak. I overlooked a colorful cliff of books - how yummy! One is titled simply “Beer” and is naturally appealing given my beverage of choice. Then there’s the shadowy “Shadow Country” by Peter Matthiessen. I also am in the mood to recover some of McMurtry.

It’s Lent and so I’m reading a spiritual book although I think I’d be better off just praying more. There’s a saying with regard to teaching that “those who can do, those who can’t teach.” Perhaps a corollary is: “those who are holy are, those who aren’t read about it.”

Agree with Amy Welborn’s bafflement over “The Imperfectionists”. I’m stuck in a chapter of caricature and the novel is without local color. You’d hardly know it was set in Rome.

* * *

Been a long time (in my terms) since a sight-seeing vacation. Last April’s Chicago trip. Ponderous. Might be time to plan a NYC or D.C. getaway. DC has a lot of good museums and is likely cheaper, although admittedly NY is NY and is the drug of choice when it comes to big cities. I could do worse than juggle NY, Boston & D.C. as the annual jaunt. Spring comes and I feel a bit of wanderlust.

* * *

Drinking in the bookroom, both literally and figuratively. Drinking, in the bookroom. Drinking in the bookroom. I catch the scent of folly, of so many half-read or unread volumes collected in one place. I look at it lightheartedly except with the spiritual volumes. Elsewhere it smacks of wisdom - what profit is there in completing a 1600-page book chronicling the history of Europe? - but sometimes I’m wistful. What does it say that so many spiritual books remain half-read? It makes me want to finish “Into Your Hands” just for the sake of finishing it. I suspect part of the half-finished nature of spiritual volumes is that they are so potent. One can read a paragraph and have much to think on, to meditate on. A 100-page book can be as full as a 400-page history tome.

I revel in all the details of the grand bookroom space, and I think of how precious the few minutes pre-work I have here and now, granted with time to spare, I wonder what it would take to welcome Monday with open arms and to not so covet those early moments.

My eye goes to the beautifully bound old books about my alma mater, how now it seems such a small percentage of my life. Less than 10% of it I spent on that ground and yet I have a spate of books describing it through time. It feels almost a random place now, no longer sacred in the technical sense but meaningful as every square inch of plot is meaningful because all was God-created. If before there were wastelands in my imagination, now I remind myself that even the most inhospitable, "god-forsaken" climes as still imbued with God since he created it. I remember a film with an ending lonesome as lonesome can be, with the hero casting himself out into deep space without any means of sustenance. He had no choice, and the movie sort of presented it as exhilarating but I saw it as the ultimate disconnectedness. But is not God even in the most outer part of outer space?

Sounds like Obamacare and the Tax Code

From The Federalist Papers No. 62, James Madison:

The internal effects of a mutable policy are still more calamitous. It poisons the blessings of liberty itself. It will be of little avail to the people, that the laws are made by men of their own choice, if the laws be so voluminous that they cannot be read, or so incoherent that they cannot be understood; if they be repealed or revised before they are promulged, or undergo such incessant changes, that no man, who knows what the law is today, can guess, what it will be to-morrow.