Thursday, June 15, 2006

& quote.

"To my father's wake...There was a little house there, with a table, so they dug a grave right out front, broke out the liquor, and laid the corpse out on the table. But he was a hunchback, as I've said, and he wouldn't lie flat. It wouldn't do to celebrate the wake with him face down, either-bad luck or something-so they found a rope somewhere, ran it over Dad's chest, and tied it under the table so tightly he was pressed flat. So now that the guest of honor was properly reclining, they hit the liquor. By nightfall, a lot of other people had shown up; they were all crying and singing, and one of them was embracing the corpse...and he noticed the bowstring-taut rope."
"Uh oh."
"Right. Nobody was watching him, so he sneaked out his knife and sawed through the rope. My father's corpse, with all that spring-tension suddenly released, catapulted right out the window. It scared the devil out of the mourners until the knife-wielder explained what he'd done. They went outside to bring the body back in, and saw that it had landed just a few feet to one side of the grave they'd dug. So they dragged him back inside, tied him down again, moved the table a little, made a few bets, and cut him loose again. Boing Out he went. On the fourth shot he landed in the grave, and they filled it in and went home...I want to be burned."
"Burned, Duff."
-The Drawing of the Dark, Tim Powers
A Book Worth Reading, if only for that passage.

"So you were planning on studying it later, academically or something?"

In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth. The earth was without form and void, and darkness was upon the face of the deep; and the Spirit of God was moving over the face of the waters.
Gen. 1:1-2
I can't quite remember the Hebrew word for "Spirit." However, it also means "wind," so the Wind of God was moving over the face of the waters." That's why I like pictures like this, or this, or this, or this.

While reading about St. Anthony (who's feast day was celebrated a scant two days ago and on which day I got to venerate first class relics of Claire, Francis, and Anthony!), I found the story (it's one of his maybe-he-did-maybe-he-didn't miracles) of the jealous husband. His wife had just had a wee baby, and was carried about by the mother, so presumably, the baby would be able to observe the mother's actions. St. Anthony commanded the baby to speak, and the baby declared its mother's innocence. My Dad, upon hearing the story, mused that perhaps the question St. Anthony asked was "Who's your daddy!?"


I have three blog posts that are either near-finished, or complete. But I jump from topic to topic unsure of what I really want to say. The topics are as follows:

1) Pessimism within the Church
2) A parody of the Republican versus Democrat just war debate
3) An interpretation of Job

The first is rather bouncy and happy in tone (too happy. I should flagellate myself for a bit to get into the Really Proper Mood.), the second is hideously abrasive (it even contains foul words), the third is an attempt at scholarly stuff... But do these things really interest me? Or are they simply space fillers?

Honestly, sometimes I don't even know my own mind.

I'm all tired, 'cause I've been sewing like a Mad Man Who...Sews. Speaking of Men, there is a prominent banner on the UC Berkeley Campus which says 'mankind' in great, big, white letters. It remains unnoticed by the populace. But! As someone who gets papers marked up for putting 'mankind' in rather than 'humankind,' or 'man' rather than 'person,' having such a politically incorrect banner in the bastion of liberality is meet (or is it mete?) food for intellectual kicks and giggles.

Socrates, in the Meno, makes a distinction between correct opinion and right opinion. The former is the sort of opinion that always hits the mark (is correct), the latter is a sort of political pleasantry hooked up to common opinion (if my memory serves me right - and I ain't relying on no poets or priestesses for this, but on the esteemed Jacob Kline commentary).

Thanks, Dre, for the link.