While a novice at Holy Resurrection Monastery, I had the opportunity to meet a lot of people whose paths I would not ordinarily have crossed. The monastery attracted the mundane, the curious, the bizarre and occasionally the truly holy. The encounter with Obadiah that Arturo relates here is one of my most treasured memories from the monastery.
I remember being absolutely astounded by the thought of this man pedaling that ramshackle bicycle across 50 miles of desolate Lucerne Valley and up several thousand feet of elevation to Big Bear Lake. My spirits were at an all time low and I was just 3 or 4 months away from leaving the monastery. I knew at the bottom of my heart that my vocation, if it had ever existed at all, was on life support and I felt like a failure, that I'd let God down, that I wasn't keeping up my end of the deal. Life was miserable drudgery and I couldn't pray without weeping at the futility of it all. But as Arturo and I loaded the basket of Obadiah's bike with goods we'd baked and frozen burritos we'd microwaved, I knew that we were in the presence of something special and unexpected. To this day, I'm not sure if he was fool for Christ or an angel that we'd entertained unaware. But when I imagine what it must be like to be holy, I think of Obadiah - a man that you could see shining with the love of our risen Lord.
Thursday, December 20, 2007
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Great Questions of Speculative Moral Theology - Zombies
Like you, my sad and lonely reader, I find myself dwelling on the subject of zombies.
I am, of course, speaking of real zombies, not those unfortunate victims of Haitian voo-doo, doomed to a life of unending slavery and toil for their overlords, nor do I speak of those eponymous philosophical thought experiments, beings indistinguishable from normal humans but totally lacking qualia and conscious experience who exist solely to torment grad students. Real zombies... undead creatures (either by supernatural means or some virus that causes the dead rise), animated solely by their hunger for human flesh are what consume our thoughts.
Here are a few salient facts about zombies that I wish to place before us at the outset:
Bearing this in mind, I would like to speculate on some moral questions.
First, would it be sinful to kill an attacking zombie, intent on feeding on your flesh? It is quite possible that this zombie attacker is simply a human infected with some viral or bacteriological agent that drives him to kill, thus making the zombie an innocent pawn, the unwitting victim of forces beyond his control. Fortunately, St. Thomas seems to have anticipated the question:
A similar, but more difficult question, regards the licitness of suicide in the case of one's own impending zombification. Ordinarily, suicide is a shot that is not on the board of Catholic moral theology. But in this case, suicide is being considered to keep ones self from becoming a murderous fiend, an almost heroic action. However, as is apparent in many zombie movies, the unfortunate victim often considers suicide, not to save the lives of others, but to avoid the humiliation of becoming that which he would not. Here we may compare the case of Samson, who caused his own death and the death of many Philistines yet remains listed among the Saints, with the case of Razias, who takes his own life out of pride. Apparently intention is the key.
Finally, what responsibility does the zombie bear for it's actions? If truly undead, then its soul has presumably left for the here-after and is not responsible for the actions of his corpse. But if the poor soul is infected with some agent that controls his actions, the guilt for the murders committed while in this state would presumably fall under the category of involuntary sin.
I am, of course, speaking of real zombies, not those unfortunate victims of Haitian voo-doo, doomed to a life of unending slavery and toil for their overlords, nor do I speak of those eponymous philosophical thought experiments, beings indistinguishable from normal humans but totally lacking qualia and conscious experience who exist solely to torment grad students. Real zombies... undead creatures (either by supernatural means or some virus that causes the dead rise), animated solely by their hunger for human flesh are what consume our thoughts.
Here are a few salient facts about zombies that I wish to place before us at the outset:
- A zombie will, without exception, attempt to devour the living.
- Zombie-ism is contagious. A person attacked by a zombie will, invariably, become a zombie. If the person was killed by a zombie, zombification will be almost instantaneous. Persons wounded by a zombie will take longer to zombify but will, in the end, do so.
- Zombie-ism is incurable.
Bearing this in mind, I would like to speculate on some moral questions.
First, would it be sinful to kill an attacking zombie, intent on feeding on your flesh? It is quite possible that this zombie attacker is simply a human infected with some viral or bacteriological agent that drives him to kill, thus making the zombie an innocent pawn, the unwitting victim of forces beyond his control. Fortunately, St. Thomas seems to have anticipated the question:
Let us now consider another possibility, which if zombie movies are to be believed (and I don't think we can assume otherwise), is a frequent situation in zombie attacks: That is, a companion has been wounded by a zombie. This unfortunate person's zombification has yet to occur, however this wounded fellow will, at any moment, turn into a flesh eating fiend. Is it morally licit to kill this person before they try to eat your brains? There are no easy answers from St. Thomas here. In fact, he is quite silent on the question. However, I think concept of double effect is in play. Were I to kill my soon-to-be-a-zombie friend in anticipation of his change in appetites, my intention is still to save my own life, not end that of my doomed friend.
Accordingly the act of self-defense may have two effects, one is the saving of one's life, the other is the slaying of the aggressor. Therefore this act, since one's intention is to save one's own life, is not unlawful, seeing that it is natural to everything to keep itself in "being," as far as possible.
A similar, but more difficult question, regards the licitness of suicide in the case of one's own impending zombification. Ordinarily, suicide is a shot that is not on the board of Catholic moral theology. But in this case, suicide is being considered to keep ones self from becoming a murderous fiend, an almost heroic action. However, as is apparent in many zombie movies, the unfortunate victim often considers suicide, not to save the lives of others, but to avoid the humiliation of becoming that which he would not. Here we may compare the case of Samson, who caused his own death and the death of many Philistines yet remains listed among the Saints, with the case of Razias, who takes his own life out of pride. Apparently intention is the key.
Finally, what responsibility does the zombie bear for it's actions? If truly undead, then its soul has presumably left for the here-after and is not responsible for the actions of his corpse. But if the poor soul is infected with some agent that controls his actions, the guilt for the murders committed while in this state would presumably fall under the category of involuntary sin.
Ochlophobist 451
When I first read this post I had what Owen would call "book egalitarian" reaction. Most of my adolescence had been spent in what I considered then to be an heroic battle against the forces of puritanism embodied by my parents. Certain books and records had been confiscated, various movies forbidden, MTV not allowed. In short, my parents were doing all they could to raise a son in what is surely one of the most depressing and soul destroying cultural milieus ever.
I could not see this, of course. Like many who read Bradbury's novel, I came away convinced that book burning, censorship, etc, were pretty much the worst things ever and they would be the first order of business if people like my parents ever got in charge. That it was the Reagan era and people like my folks already were in charge escaped me.
But now, with the perspective that only time can bring, I can understand what my parents were trying to do. If my child comes home with the 21st century equivalent of this or this
* you will find me in the back yard firing up the Weber.
* UPDATE: Originally, I included a link to this book by John Romanides to be among the items grilled on the Weber. A reader (I'd forgotten that I had any!) pointed out that this was perhaps not charitable. I stand by my assertion that the book in question is, for all practical purposes (except that of kindling) worthless, but it isn't fair to Romanides, who no doubt meant well, to include him in the company of Iron Maiden and Judas Priest.
I could not see this, of course. Like many who read Bradbury's novel, I came away convinced that book burning, censorship, etc, were pretty much the worst things ever and they would be the first order of business if people like my parents ever got in charge. That it was the Reagan era and people like my folks already were in charge escaped me.
But now, with the perspective that only time can bring, I can understand what my parents were trying to do. If my child comes home with the 21st century equivalent of this or this
* you will find me in the back yard firing up the Weber.
* UPDATE: Originally, I included a link to this book by John Romanides to be among the items grilled on the Weber. A reader (I'd forgotten that I had any!) pointed out that this was perhaps not charitable. I stand by my assertion that the book in question is, for all practical purposes (except that of kindling) worthless, but it isn't fair to Romanides, who no doubt meant well, to include him in the company of Iron Maiden and Judas Priest.
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
Saturday, December 15, 2007
Jussi Bjorling - Greatest Tenor Ever!
Jussi Bjorling singing the phone book is a thousand times more compelling than the work of any modern male vocal talent, save perhaps Bryn Terfel.
Friday, December 14, 2007
Amahl and the Night Visitors
I'll be honest, Menotti is not my favorite composer. I've seen a production of "The Old Maid and the Thief", which struck me as inane (though not as inane as "The Barber of Seville") and I own a copy of "The Medium" (the mezzo on the cover of the linked recording, Joyce Castle, was my wife's voice teacher while she was earning her doctrate) which does little to move me.
Yet I find myself really liking "Amahl and the Night Visitors" despite the bitchiness of Amahl's mother and the preposterous aria "This is my Box". The first Christmas television special to become a traditional favorite, it aired on Christmas eve from 1951 to 1956 on NBC. A far cry from "Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer" and "Nestor the Long Eared Christmas Donkey!"
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
The True Church (TM)
A week or so ago, I asked a friend to take a look at the Ochlophobist's remarks on the recent events at Ravenna. His first question to me, after reading the post, was "Are you going to 'dox'?" A mirthless laugh passed my lips. "I've given up trying to find the true church," I said.
Being an Eastern Catholic is often a depressing enterprise. In my few years as a communicant, I've seen a microscopic parish split in bitter internecine warfare. I've seen a vibrant monastery hounded out of its own Eparchy by a clueless chancery. I've seen liturgies where even the clergy seemed to have no idea of what was going on. Why, I often wondered, did I even bother showing up?
There was time, a few years ago, when the thought of dox-ing was attractive. No more nagging doubts about Popes. No more frustration with what I perceived to be lax praxis. No more re-arranging of the deck chairs on the iceberg. If I were Orthodox, I thought, I could just go to church on Sunday and not worry.
Sharing these thoughts with a trusted advisor, he recommended that I spend more time among the Orthodox. As I did so, I saw a mirror image of the Church I was already in... parishes obsessed with ethnic concerns from the old world, clueless celebrants muddling their way through liturgies, petty divisions. In the affair d'Estonia in 1993, I saw a hierarchy just as obsessed with power as Jack Chick's wettest dream.
It is only because of the vagaries of time and space that I even have the luxury of considering the question of the true church and where it might be found. There wasn't a "St. Joseph Catholic Community" down the street in some village in Asia Minor 1500 years ago or "Sts. Boris and Gleb ROCOR Parish" in the next town over in medieval France. Until very recently, nobody even had to worry about the question. You just went to church.
In the end I decided that I would just have to hope that God would not make my salvation contingent on unraveling a 1000 year old spat between East and West. I'm not smart enough to figure it out. I don't know who is. So, I've given up trying to find the True Church (TM). I shall fight no more forever. To paraphrase the monks of the Holy Mountain, Uniatism or death!
Being an Eastern Catholic is often a depressing enterprise. In my few years as a communicant, I've seen a microscopic parish split in bitter internecine warfare. I've seen a vibrant monastery hounded out of its own Eparchy by a clueless chancery. I've seen liturgies where even the clergy seemed to have no idea of what was going on. Why, I often wondered, did I even bother showing up?
There was time, a few years ago, when the thought of dox-ing was attractive. No more nagging doubts about Popes. No more frustration with what I perceived to be lax praxis. No more re-arranging of the deck chairs on the iceberg. If I were Orthodox, I thought, I could just go to church on Sunday and not worry.
Sharing these thoughts with a trusted advisor, he recommended that I spend more time among the Orthodox. As I did so, I saw a mirror image of the Church I was already in... parishes obsessed with ethnic concerns from the old world, clueless celebrants muddling their way through liturgies, petty divisions. In the affair d'Estonia in 1993, I saw a hierarchy just as obsessed with power as Jack Chick's wettest dream.
It is only because of the vagaries of time and space that I even have the luxury of considering the question of the true church and where it might be found. There wasn't a "St. Joseph Catholic Community" down the street in some village in Asia Minor 1500 years ago or "Sts. Boris and Gleb ROCOR Parish" in the next town over in medieval France. Until very recently, nobody even had to worry about the question. You just went to church.
In the end I decided that I would just have to hope that God would not make my salvation contingent on unraveling a 1000 year old spat between East and West. I'm not smart enough to figure it out. I don't know who is. So, I've given up trying to find the True Church (TM). I shall fight no more forever. To paraphrase the monks of the Holy Mountain, Uniatism or death!
Thursday, November 29, 2007
Who the hell am I?
It was never my intention to write about religion on this blog. I did my bit as a religion blogger years ago and found it ultimately unhelpful in my spiritual growth. So, I've contented myself in these later years with reading religion blogs, all the while remarking to myself how glad I was to get off that treadmill. Self congratulatory thoughts about how I'd risen above pointless Internet theological contretemps and argumentation without end were my bread and butter. I was better than that, I thought.
But as it is our common destiny to become that which we most loath, I now find myself blogging about religion. Which means that I owe you, my sad and lonely reader, some explanations.
I am Catholic, having swum the Monongahela in 2002 to enter into blessed union with the See of Pittsburgh. I spent nearly two years as a novice in a small monastery in the Mojave desert, along with a certain other blogger. After watching my vocation incinerate at 450 degrees in an industrial baking oven, I returned to the world with most of the wounds I brought to the monastery completely healed by the grace of God and the love of the monks, whom I will treasure as brothers for the rest of my life. The inevitable nicks and abrasions suffered in religious life are now distant memories and I ache for my lost vocation only occasionally, as if it were a phantom limb.
But as it is our common destiny to become that which we most loath, I now find myself blogging about religion. Which means that I owe you, my sad and lonely reader, some explanations.
I am Catholic, having swum the Monongahela in 2002 to enter into blessed union with the See of Pittsburgh. I spent nearly two years as a novice in a small monastery in the Mojave desert, along with a certain other blogger. After watching my vocation incinerate at 450 degrees in an industrial baking oven, I returned to the world with most of the wounds I brought to the monastery completely healed by the grace of God and the love of the monks, whom I will treasure as brothers for the rest of my life. The inevitable nicks and abrasions suffered in religious life are now distant memories and I ache for my lost vocation only occasionally, as if it were a phantom limb.
The Ochlophobist on factory wafers.
First, read this.
It is probably just as well that Owen shut down the comments... Arturo's stalker showed up which meant a future of nothing but non sequiturs and Dr. Dre references. But Owen made a final comment to me that I feel compelled to address. I reproduce his remarks below:
"very well then, this phrase perfectly captures the ethos of big box praxis."
I'm not sure what he means by this. I was simply suggesting that the fact that there are lots and lots and lots of Catholics in many of places and that it is often necessary to build bigger houses of worship to accommodate them all.
"...that general condescending attitude of RCs..."
This is truly rich. Catholics have, in general, a condescending attitude, says the man for whom, it sometimes seems, the Catholic Church can do no right, this bread obsession being only the latest example. Well, when you hate someone, the way they use their fork infuriates you. When you like someone, the way they lick their plate is charming.
"In suggesting as much, you unwittingly suggest that the origin and type of what is in the Cup (for Orthodox, in the hand or tongue for RCs) is not substantially more important that the origin and type of what is the mop bucket."
First of all, I don't believe it is possible to "unwittingly suggest" anything. Attempting to indicate a natural connection of ideas without plain expression would require far more wit than I posses and, were I even to attempt such a feat, I doubt I could do it unconsciously. I will leave aside the horrific insinuation that I actually believe that what is in the Cup is not more important than what is in the mop bucket, but I do dispute the notion that the way in which Catholic communion wafers are made somehow diminishes them.
Wheat does not plant itself or harvest itself, folks, even if it is no longer done by an army of serfs equiped with scythes but instead by a single farmer on a big John Deer rig (also made by humans). Somebody laid the tracks the carried the train to the grain elevator. Another fellow came up with the idea for whatever automation is at work in the bakery. No babies were sacrificed, no deals with the devil were made (though I'm sure Owen will insist otherwise).
"[I] refuse to believe that they could not handle making their own wafers on a parish level, though perhaps some difficulty in the effort might help sway what many conservative Catholics believe is an overly frequent Communion practice in AmChurch"
Owen insists that the level of production required to supply many large Catholic parishes with bread is available in the kitchen of the local rank and file. Well, if he says so, I guess. He goes on to suggest, wittingly I presume, that it might be all for the best if the last few communicants in line were turned away from the table. Nice.
What I was suggesting by my "Floor Wax" comment is that Owen seems determined to loathe the Catholic Church (here we may insert his standard comment about his many Catholic friends) and as far as he's concerned, "sucks to them". If the Red Sox were the official baseball team of the Vatican, he'd be a Yankee fan. If Catholics drink Coke, he'd be a Pepsi man. If Pope Benedict shouted "Great Taste!", he'd yell "Less Filling!". And no doubt he'd be full of incredibly well articulated justifications, all based in theology and orthopraxy, for each of these opinions.
For the record, let me say in advance that I am not suggesting anything else about baseball, soft drinks or Miller Lite.
It is probably just as well that Owen shut down the comments... Arturo's stalker showed up which meant a future of nothing but non sequiturs and Dr. Dre references. But Owen made a final comment to me that I feel compelled to address. I reproduce his remarks below:
Sean,
"which is really a function of demographics, not theology"
- very well then, this phrase perfectly captures the ethos of big box praxis.
Eastern Rites do sometimes tend to join the bandwagon suggesting that the EOC is to small to be The Church, etc. One can be so small and be part of the Church, but not The Church, etc., following that general condescending attitude of RCs that Orthodox claims to be the One Church of Christ are quaint. A barking poodle, to use one (canonically) Eastern Catholic’s choice of terms.
"The Errors of the Latins and their Floor Waxes"
Here is the suggestion that the polemical target of this post, Mcwafers, is as arbitrary a target as what one finds in RC mop buckets. In suggesting as much, you unwittingly suggest that the origin and type of what is in the Cup (for Orthodox, in the hand or tongue for RCs) is not substantially more important that the origin and type of what is the mop bucket. This is exactly the inclination that a Mcwafer ecclesiological culture breeds. For if in that very thing that is most important to us we use something that is cheaply and inhumanly made (when we have and could use something else – and seeing the extraordinary works that Catholics routinely do on all number of fronts I refuse to believe that they could not handle making their own wafers on a parish level, though perhaps some difficulty in the effort might help sway what many conservative Catholics believe is an overly frequent Communion practice in AmChurch), is from an arbitrary or exchangeable source, as it were, is in its packaged form a product easily disposed of (which no one will miss because no one made it, certainly not the person who might throw it away on the parish level if its gets past the expiration date), and has been marketed by those who bask in their increased market share and market dominance, then, my friend, we have essentially affirmed that the whole cosmos is a mop bucket.
"very well then, this phrase perfectly captures the ethos of big box praxis."
I'm not sure what he means by this. I was simply suggesting that the fact that there are lots and lots and lots of Catholics in many of places and that it is often necessary to build bigger houses of worship to accommodate them all.
"...that general condescending attitude of RCs..."
This is truly rich. Catholics have, in general, a condescending attitude, says the man for whom, it sometimes seems, the Catholic Church can do no right, this bread obsession being only the latest example. Well, when you hate someone, the way they use their fork infuriates you. When you like someone, the way they lick their plate is charming.
"In suggesting as much, you unwittingly suggest that the origin and type of what is in the Cup (for Orthodox, in the hand or tongue for RCs) is not substantially more important that the origin and type of what is the mop bucket."
First of all, I don't believe it is possible to "unwittingly suggest" anything. Attempting to indicate a natural connection of ideas without plain expression would require far more wit than I posses and, were I even to attempt such a feat, I doubt I could do it unconsciously. I will leave aside the horrific insinuation that I actually believe that what is in the Cup is not more important than what is in the mop bucket, but I do dispute the notion that the way in which Catholic communion wafers are made somehow diminishes them.
Wheat does not plant itself or harvest itself, folks, even if it is no longer done by an army of serfs equiped with scythes but instead by a single farmer on a big John Deer rig (also made by humans). Somebody laid the tracks the carried the train to the grain elevator. Another fellow came up with the idea for whatever automation is at work in the bakery. No babies were sacrificed, no deals with the devil were made (though I'm sure Owen will insist otherwise).
"[I] refuse to believe that they could not handle making their own wafers on a parish level, though perhaps some difficulty in the effort might help sway what many conservative Catholics believe is an overly frequent Communion practice in AmChurch"
Owen insists that the level of production required to supply many large Catholic parishes with bread is available in the kitchen of the local rank and file. Well, if he says so, I guess. He goes on to suggest, wittingly I presume, that it might be all for the best if the last few communicants in line were turned away from the table. Nice.
What I was suggesting by my "Floor Wax" comment is that Owen seems determined to loathe the Catholic Church (here we may insert his standard comment about his many Catholic friends) and as far as he's concerned, "sucks to them". If the Red Sox were the official baseball team of the Vatican, he'd be a Yankee fan. If Catholics drink Coke, he'd be a Pepsi man. If Pope Benedict shouted "Great Taste!", he'd yell "Less Filling!". And no doubt he'd be full of incredibly well articulated justifications, all based in theology and orthopraxy, for each of these opinions.
For the record, let me say in advance that I am not suggesting anything else about baseball, soft drinks or Miller Lite.
Sunday, November 18, 2007
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Yesterday and Today
Yesterday afternoon, I bugged out early and went to Spearfish to attend a recital at BHSU, given by some of Nancy's students. All were good, but there was a particularly beautiful setting of Psalm 23 by Dvorak that I really liked.
Afterwards, Nan and I drove back to Lead, in preparation for the concluding class of Basic Obedience. Brynn was doing really well until it was time to go off leash for recall training. She got distracted by a giant nerf football and we had to spend what seemed like hours trying to catch her. Tracy gave us some tips to deal with that situation that seem like they might help.
Afterwards, Nan and I drove back to Lead, in preparation for the concluding class of Basic Obedience. Brynn was doing really well until it was time to go off leash for recall training. She got distracted by a giant nerf football and we had to spend what seemed like hours trying to catch her. Tracy gave us some tips to deal with that situation that seem like they might help.
Monday, November 12, 2007
Weekend
A pretty quiet weekend in Lead. Friday night we enjoyed a Mystery Dinner at Enigma in Rapid City. The appetizer was one we'd had before and great favorite: fried brie with a crushed walnuts and raspberry reduction sauce. The pasta course was also pretty unbelievable: mushroom ravioli with crispy shitake mushrooms in a delicious broth. The main course was also quite good: some kind of crazy beef wrapped around asparagus with potatoes. Desert was the only disappointment: some kind of crepe with a slice of fried pineapple. 3 out of 4 ain't bad!
Saturday was spent vegging in front of the TV after a hike to Deadwood. Sunday was another lazy day, though we dragged ourselves and the dog up towards the Englewood trail head. We found the Bismark Mine and the Wasp Mine, two old gold mines that closed in the 20's. The mysterious Dr. Nero and I will probably make our way up there to go through the tailings.
Saturday was spent vegging in front of the TV after a hike to Deadwood. Sunday was another lazy day, though we dragged ourselves and the dog up towards the Englewood trail head. We found the Bismark Mine and the Wasp Mine, two old gold mines that closed in the 20's. The mysterious Dr. Nero and I will probably make our way up there to go through the tailings.
Thursday, November 8, 2007
Game Night
Mike and I looked over Gunslinger and Republic of Rome... we didn't really have the time for either. Instead, we played Fantasy Flight's StarCraft - The Board Game. I was apprehensive, since a board game version of a popular video game didn't sound too promising. But it turned out to be kind of fun... plus, I won!
Mike and I planned on getting together November 28th. I think we'll try to make time for RoR... I'm going to see if I can come up with some .Net play aids to speed things along.
Mike and I planned on getting together November 28th. I think we'll try to make time for RoR... I'm going to see if I can come up with some .Net play aids to speed things along.
Wednesday, November 7, 2007
Tonight
Tonight I'm gaming with Mike in Wyoming... we are either playing Gunslinger, Republic of Rome or Tannhauser. All sound pretty good, though I confess I'd like to give Gunslinger a try. It will be interesting to see how Avalon Hill managed to remove all aspects of fun from this exciting concept.
I bummed out to hear that there would be no fake golf today, but apparently Steve had a pipe burst in house and won't be able to play.
I bummed out to hear that there would be no fake golf today, but apparently Steve had a pipe burst in house and won't be able to play.
Tuesday, November 6, 2007
Deadwood - Season 3
The wife and I finally finished Deadwood Season 3. Disappointment on all counts. First, what a bummer that this fantastic series got cut short. Second, the third season in general and the finale specifically were real let downs. With just a fraction of the intensity of the previous seasons, I wish they'd spent more time working with the characters they had than developing several of the pointless story lines that featured so prominently. I am speaking specifically of the theater troupe, although the saga of the livery and Aunt Lou's son were also a waste of time.
The season/series finale was also a bummer. Frankly, ending with a whimper would have been an improvement over the dull, soft thud of this ending. Why on earth did they think anyone cared one jot about Langrishe's whining that the opening night of their production might be delayed by the power struggle with Hearst?
The season/series finale was also a bummer. Frankly, ending with a whimper would have been an improvement over the dull, soft thud of this ending. Why on earth did they think anyone cared one jot about Langrishe's whining that the opening night of their production might be delayed by the power struggle with Hearst?
Monday, November 5, 2007
The Book that Would Not End
Though I'm enjoying it thoroughly, I'm starting to wonder if I will ever finish Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell. I read and read and read but the end never seems any closer.
Gold Fever
The mysterious Dr. Nero and I went prospecting this weekend, with some small success. Armed with an improved knowledge of both geology and panning techniques, we snorted around two spots in the Kirk valley, garnering several microscopic bits of gold dust. The areas we worked in had to be pretty picked over, due to their easy accessibility and proximity to the Homestake mine, but it was nice to find some "color" in our pans at the end of it all.
Monday, October 22, 2007
Not off to a great start
Alright, so I'm a little slow getting off the mark. A couple of posts will be appearing post haste.
Tuesday, September 4, 2007
Beware of Rants
Behold, my new blog. Its been quite a few years since I tried this last... my original efforts, "Swimming the Tiber" and "The American Pickler" have both faded from popular memory. We'll see how long this lasts.
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