"Minuteman Press: Printing for the Job You Needed Yesterday."

 I have in my possession an order of 1000 business cards from Jeff Culbreath's enterprise. All I can say is that I'm blown away. From the parchment paper to the detailed thermal printing, the work is superb. The options Jeff's designer offered were staggering, too--it was hard to pick just one. 

 And--even though I didn't need it fast, it was a quick process overall--the only delays being on the part of the dithering buyer. So, take this testimonial as a recommendation: if you have some printing that needs to be done, give Jeff a call. OK, Jeff, now about that invoice...[ducking]. Juuuust kidding. 

Here's my wife's favorite haggling story, involving her father, which I like to call: Germans Do Not Haggle. Louis Blaesing (God rest his soul) was of stout Teutonic (and Irish, too) descent. One of his first jobs was working at a suburban Detroit paint store in high school, a teenager determined to do his best. The owner of the store was Polish and he and Louis got along fine. One day, an old Polish lady comes in and lugs a bucket of paint to the register. Louis looks at the paint and says: "That'll be $1.59." The lady smiles at him and says, in a heavy accent, "I give you 75 cent." Louis blinked. "It's $1.59," he replied, baffled. "But I give you 75 cent." Bafflement quickly grew into irritation. "The sign says," he said slowly, and gesturing expansively, "$1.59." Smiling a little more brightly: "Fine. I give you 80 cent." Irritation began to morph into into anger. "It's $1.59!" Still smiling, and settling into Old World Haggling Stance: "OK, I give you 85 cent." 

And so it went, back and forth, for another minute, as the veins in my father in law's neck began to bulge out and the old woman, enjoying herself immensely, no doubt began to admire her opponent. "Oh, he's a good one." Just in time to prevent an international incident, the owner arrived from the rear of the store, gently steering the red-faced, borderline-enraged teenage clerk to the side, saying he'd handle it. "Stop bothering my boy," he admonished the old woman. Then the two began to commence haggling in Polish while Louis' blood pressure came back down from the red line. After he sold the can to the woman, he told Lou he'd only dropped it a nickel. Apparently it's an Eastern European thing.

Detroit as Olympic host?

What might have been:

Detroit was on the verge of being the site of the Olympics twice.
In 1959, it finished second to Tokyo for the 1964 games, and in 1963, it was runner-up to Mexico City for the 1968 games.
Applying for the Olympics was virtually a hobby for Detroit officials during the glory years before and after World War II. In all, the city made pitches for the games in 1939, 1943, 1947, 1951, 1955, 1959, 1963 and 1972.
The most sophisticated effort was likely the one in 1963. Before his death that year, President John F. Kennedy appeared in a 45-minute film, which was introduced by entertainer Steve Allen, touting Detroit's charms.
"Detroit is a city of which all Americans are proud," Kennedy said. "Detroit, as the appointed representative of the United States, clearly demonstrates the national strength, the capacity, to realize the full scope and purpose of the Olympic tradition."
Even former President Dwight D. Eisenhower chipped in, calling Detroit "a superb location."
Officials staged a run across the nation to drum up support for the bid, and a 22-member delegation, lugging 7,000 pounds of equipment, traveled from Detroit to Germany to present its case. The presentation was interrupted 12 times by applause.
But Mexico City won on the first ballot. Observers blamed anti-American sentiment as one reason Detroit failed.

I've heard it said that the two saddest words in the English language are "If only."

"Roseville: We've Got a Panera!"

Local eccentric artist gets into a legal wrangle with local politicos in dispute over artistic freedom.
Yes, I know he signed an agreement, but I'm siding with the artist on this one. Gonzo's a bit of an oddball, and while he's definitely not the second coming of El Greco, he's not Mapplethorpe(1), either.

Here's the dispute:

Inspired by the Italian master, Stross painted a partial rendering of Michelangelo's famous "Creation of Man" painting on the side of his art studio, Gonzo Fine Arts Studio, on the northwest corner of Gratiot and Utica. For about a year, the image of God, cherubs and Eve have greeted drivers. The original is in the Sistine Chapel in Rome.
But Roseville city officials are not pleased. A topless Eve -- just as Michelangelo portrayed her -- violates a 1997 agreement between Stross and the city. At that time, the city granted Stross an exception to a city rule that limited a building's signage. But the deal was that he could not paint words, breasts or genitalia.

I've been by Gonzo's place at the corner of Gratiot and Utica at least once per week since I moved to the far end of the Eastside in 1998. I admit--I look for changes every time I pass by.

A topless Eve, and the Solons of Roseville are going to court to enforce the Iron Law of Signage against a straw hat-wearing artist with multiple sclerosis doing an homage to Michelangelo.

GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!

Sorry for the Howard Dean moment.

OK, as I see it, there are only two problems with the Solons' approach.

First:

IT'S FREAKING ROSEVILLE!

Gonzo's mural is, hands down, the most interesting outdoor decoration in a Detroit suburb festooned with minimalls, car dealerships and gimmicky chain restaurants--Bennichilapplerubyby's, anyone?

Second (speaking of bullwhips), within one mile of the mural are two (2) adult novelty stores with mannequins in the front windows displaying a fine array of fetish gear. Right there on the main drag of Gratiot, one of the busiest streets in Metro Detroit. Between Gonzo's clEveage and the leather-clad torsos, I know which one I'm dreading my kids' questions about.

-------------------------------
Footnote.

(1) Yes, I know--Mr. Mapplethorpe was a fine, even brilliant, photographer, the "Bullwhip--meet Butt. Butt--Bullwhip" thing notwithstanding. That's a little like saying "the neighbor's a fine fellow, the discovery-of-the-severed-heads-in-the-secret-basement-torture-dungeon-thing aside."

Say It With Diamonds.

Now that's a rock.

For some reason, Yahoo News has a picture of it next to a story about an entirely different gem heist.

Probably because it looks cool--which it admittedly does. And when else are you going to be able to use such a nice file photo?

Counting the cost of forty years of adolescent rebellion.

A few weeks back, this article about Vatican II in Crisis Magazine made the rounds. I thought about blogging it, but while I thought it was pretty good, the characterization of the Church as she was in 1962 was off. SAM takes great pains to show how much was lost to the cultural revolutionaries waving the red banners of "reform":

At dawn on October 11, 1962, the Roman Catholic Church possessed a theological, cultural, liturgical, and devotional patrimony which should astound, even awe, anyone who is remotely familiar with its contents. She stood like a giant tree, grown from a mustard seed by the blood of a million martyrs and the prayers of innumerable saints, towering above the post-modern desolation which the rejection of her truths and her life had wreaked on Europe and the world. Within a few short years, as Mr. Johnson himself is compelled to admit, nobody had a very clear idea about what the Church was for. The adolescents, as Mr. Johnson calls them, had taken over. They created a church littered with mundane, mediocre, stupid, secular, and ugly things. And they did it with a vengeance and spite quite well displayed by Mr. Johnson’s dismissing St. Therese of Lisieux’s "Little Way" and Gerard Manley-Hopkins’ poetry as symptoms of an infantile refusal to enter into "spiritual adulthood."

I know a man who, by 1970, had a beautiful voice, fluency in Latin, and a fiery, innocent love of the Church. He loved the Latin Mass, and delighted in serving the Lord elegantly in what, according to Mr. Johnson, are the training-wheel, externalistic legalisms of its mysteries. Almost overnight, his services were no longer required, and the Church’s bishops and priests made that quite clear in the most brutal terms imaginable. He ought to have been a catechist, the leader of a schola, owning a celebrated life that was both use and ornament to his Church. But he lacked the skills needed in the post-Vatican II Church; he could not say, "that went out with Vatican II," he could not play an acoustic guitar, and he couldn’t open his mind to zen meditation techniques and alternative sexual theologies.

He is now a bitter man, still clinging to the Holy See despite decades of spiritual, devotional and liturgical abuse from a Church ubiquitously characterized by sneaker-clad altar girls, carpeted sanctuaries, sloppy preaching, stunted catechesis, pop-music liturgy, and bishops who refuse to understand that any theology, let alone John Paul II’s theology of the body, demands practical, decisive, and consequential applications to their flocks. Yes, we might find some cause to censor my friend’s reluctance to immolate his devotionalism on the Cross of ecclesiastical obedience. But we should not do it as Mr. Johnson has; to follow him, we must be ready to say we have nothing in common with the "young man" in the Gospel according to St. Matthew and, thereby, make ourselves ready to pray with the Pharisee in the Gospel according to St. Luke.

Mr. Johnson claims that the "adolescence" of post-Vatican II clerics and laymen resulted from the oppressiveness of their pre-Vatican II upbringing. He calls the rebellious barbarity following the Council a "discharge of decades of narrow, rules-based formation and institutional frustration." I found that interesting, since it’s the same argument the "adolescents" themselves like to make whenever they’re explaining how pedophiles and sexual adventurers are created by the evils of narrow, rules-based celibacy. I think the cause of the adolescent rebellion lies elsewhere. I think it lies in the false and juvenile belief that the creation of a happy present requires the repudiation of a miserable past, in the delinquent’s narcissistic castigation of his parents as being enervated, insufficient, out of touch with reality.

If the Catholic restoration desired by Mr. Johnson occurs, it will not be achieved by an army of childish, shiny-eyed bigots who believe that they are the first generation to have discovered the true meaning of Catholicism. It will be achieved by men and women who realize that they’re bigger than the modern world because they’re standing on the shoulders of giants, who are conversant with the theology of the body and the theology of Trent, and who know that "Christ is the Lord of history, and he handed the keys to Peter. That authority has resonated for 2,000 years, and its story is indeed one of glory and triumph." To that end, Mr. Johnson has actually contributed. He has shown us how very far we have to go.

Oh, Deer Lord.

John Kerry tries to impress the flyover types in Wisconsin with tales of his deer hunting prowess:

He was asked in the interview Sunday what kind of hunting he preferred.
"Probably I'd have to say deer. It's tough, depending on where you are," said Kerry.
"I go out with my trusty 12-gauge double-barrel, crawl around on my stomach. I track and move and decoy and play games and try to outsmart them. You know, you kind of play the wind. That's hunting," said Kerry, whose manner was relaxed as he spoke on the final day of an excursion along the scenic upper Mississippi that he seemed to take some relish in.

[Blink. Blink.

Interlude of glass cleaning.

Re-reads excerpt.

Interlude of vigorously rubbing closed eyes with fingers.

Re-reads excerpt.

Interlude of closed-eye cleaning and vigorously rubbing glasses with fingers.

Re-reads excerpt.

Sound of car-jack ratcheting lower jaw back up into rest of face.]

I did read that.

Oy.

Do you know what you call a guy who hunts deer by crawling around on the ground?

Unsuccessful.

Wounded a lot by his buddies in bizarre hunting "accidents," for another. [Think of the sportsmens' equivalent of "fragging" and you're right there.]

"Hey, see any whitetails hunting with 'Wormy' today? No? Bad luck, eh?"

You see, there's just a little problem with hunting for deer by crawling around on ground: your prey has what is known as "acute hearing." This means, suprisingly enough, that they are going to hear your Ivy-educated fanny flopping through the dry autumnal underbrush like a seizure-prone badger from one hell of a loooooong ways off.

In other words, you won't come within a half-mile of the animals you think you are "hunting" because they've managed a rare trick for walnut-brained mammals:

They outsmarted you.

Stick to tales of boarding-school and yachting hijinks, Senator, and you'll be a lot better off.

How long, O Lord?

[Warning: the following link contains descriptions of Catholic worship stupidity guaranteed to stagger even those who think themselves inured to such things.

You have been warned.]

Word of Redemptionis Sacramentum has yet to trickle down to outlying parishes, like this one in South Dakota.

This account of the "worship" music at Sunday Mass will leave you begging--pleading on your knees with your hands raised to Heaven-- for Haugen.

Here's a taste:

After Communion, as we sit quietly, one of the guys gets up with his hand mic and sings the Communion Meditation (as it is called in the program): John Lennon's Imagine!

I can't imagine, myself. But wait--there's more. Much, much more. But I refuse to quote more, as you will understand upon perusal.

Read the whole thing--with a flagon of Imodium and a bushel of Tums handy.

Today's Freep has a story about the Tridentine Mass.

Pretty good, except for the nonsense from Fr. Reese of America magazine at the end.

It pains me to point out that I was correct in my supposition that the struggling nature of the parish was a consideration in its selection.

What's also interesting is that offering traditional worship at Detroit inner city churches appears to be a very successful phenomenon across denominational boundaries:

"We're talking about saving some of the city's architectural jewels and keeping them alive as churches," said the Rev. David Eberhard at Historic Trinity Lutheran Church in Detroit, widely regarded by clergy in the city as a master of this strategy.
"When I started in 1980, we had 50 members with an average age of 80 and now we've got 1,700 with an average age of 36," Eberhard said Monday. "Our niche is traditional worship in a beautiful, historic setting, and people will drive a long way for that."
The Rev. Steven Kelly at St. John's Episcopal Church, near Comerica Park, said he is following Eberhard's example. St. John's offers a form of Episcopal liturgy that disappeared from most churches in 1979. "And, I've got people driving from Ann Arbor, Downriver and one young couple that even comes from Lansing every weekend," Kelly said.

Funny how that works.

At St. Josaphat's, the method of obtaining the implements for the Tridentine Mass has a melancholy feel:

On Monday, Borkowski displayed some of the ornate, gold-plated implements, including a chalice and a crucifix, that will be used in the mass.
"Some of these are a century old, and we found them packed away in drawers and cupboards," he said. All were damaged after decades of neglect and had to be repaired and replated.
"We're bringing in antique-looking vestments, too," he said. "We've done a lot of work to make sure that this looks authentic. This church was built a century ago for this kind of mass, and we want it to look that way again."
Soon, carpenters will refit the church's modern, wooden altar with casters so it can be wheeled away for the weekly Tridentine mass, providing worshippers with a clear view of the high altar along the front wall.
"I'm in charge of finding all the things necessary for this kind of mass, and some of the things are very hard to find -- strictly eBay and antique shop items now," said Borkowski. "Look at these."

Hmmm. "Now available in Religions/Spirituality and Collectibles: 'Catholic Tradition.' Search titles and description for that monstrance or ciborium you remember from your youth."

Now, to the ugly, courtesy of Fr. Reese:

Maida is among many bishops across the United States who have authorized a single parish to offer the older mass, said the Rev. Thomas Reese, editor of America Magazine in New York City, a Catholic priest and an expert on the structure of the church.
The only thing that could spoil the venture at St. Josaphat is too much success, Reese said.
"When the pope authorized bishops to allow this mass in 1984, the idea was that this was a pastoral response to older people who still are so attached to this older mass that they need it," Reese said Monday. "The idea was never to create a new desire in people for this mass."

Your "idea," maybe. The Cardinal Archbishop of Los Angeles' "idea," to be sure. Certainly "the idea" of many tradition-hating iconoclasts currently holding the reins. But, unfortunately for the above, "the idea" is not found in either of the relevant indult documents, for 1984 or 1988. In fact, the author of the 1984 letter swatted down the notion that the Tridentine indult was a glorified seniors' discount:

"In recent times it has been affirmed that the allowances given for the celebration of the Tridentine Mass have been granted with the provision that only those who were familiar with the preceding forms of the Roman Liturgy would be allowed to benefit from those concessions.
During my time as President of the Pontifical Commission 'Ecclesia Dei' such limitation was never mentoned by the authorities involved. In this regard it should be mentioned that the Commission has used the faculty of erecting religious institutes which would benefit from the use the Roman Missal of 1962 and the other liturgical books in force at that time. Evidently it was understood that young recruits would be admitted to such communities and would benefit from all the concessions made to them. Hence one cannot speak of an age limit."

Apparently, "The Idea Memo" was not widely circulated outside of the feverish imaginations of the members of the Good Riddance To All That Commission.

Strange. Happens a lot, from what I can tell.

Maida's decision to allow it at St. Josaphat seems in keeping with the spirit of Vatican rules, Reese said. But, "It would be counterproductive if too many people turn this into a marketing strategy to fill churches. The idea behind allowing this mass was that it could help older people in the later stages of their lives. The hope is that this mass eventually will fade away."

Well, we can't have beautiful old churches thronged with happy worshippers now, can we? Might be revanchist to prevent more of our heritage from being converted into car dealerships and online auction fodder.

Might give poor Fr. stagefright to see a packed house outside of Christmas and Easter.

Might put a crimp on the eBay market for baldaccinos and put somebody out of work.

Worse, it might pose some difficult questions for"The Beatings Will Continue Until Morale Improves" approach to liturgical "reform" that has been the standard for two generations. Lord knows, we can't have that.

"The hope is that this mass eventually will fade away."

You wish. You wish.

Streep v. Washington on WWJD? And what would George Lucas do?

CT's movie page has some interesting links today, including to this argument between Meryl Streep and Denzel Washington on the Today Show.

Also fascinating is George Lucas' homage to Orwell, deleting and replacing an actor from a climactic scene in the Return of the Jedi DVD (scroll down):

New Star Wars title announced (CNN)It's called Revenge of the Sith. But why bother to see the film when it opens, since we know it will eventually be revised, with Lucas going so far as to replace the actors? I'm not kidding. That's exactly what he's doing with the original Star Wars films. Here's a clip from the conclusion of the upcoming DVD release of Return of the Jedi, in which Sebastian Shaw has been deleted and replaced by Hayden Christensen.

Saudi Arabia running out of oil?

Yes, says respected market analyst.

It's always been assumed, by the United Nations as well as European and U.S. policymakers, that Saudi Arabia would be able to pump more of its oil to fulfill increasing world demand. The Saudis are pumping, at most, 9 million barrels a day now and have boasted that they could pump as much as 15 million barrels a day for the next 50 years. Indeed, Saudi leaders promised that they would start pumping more a few weeks ago.
But because world oil production hasn't increased since those promises were made, economists and energy users have wondered whether Saudi Arabia has elected, for political reasons, not to fulfill its vow.
Simmons says it's worse than that. Much like the biggest problem in the Enron fiasco was that analysts always trusted Enron managers' declarations about the strength of its financial assets, he says that the world has always taken Saudi Arabia at its word for its oil assets. He now believes that it cannot be trusted.
He notes that the six major oil fields in Saudi Arabia, all discovered between 1940 and 1967, produce about 95% of Saudi oil. The Saudis produce 10% of the world's oil from them at the world's lowest prices, and the Saudis are the only serious provider of "spare" capacity on the planet. A single field, Ghawar, which is the world's largest, was discovered in 1948 and produces up to 60% of the kingdom's total.
He believes that production at these mature fields has peaked. While that doesn't mean they'll run out tomorrow, they're becoming much harder and more expensive to exploit efficiently. It's like a person getting older and suffering from arterial sclerosis: They slow down and become increasingly less capable. The Saudis are now using intense water-injection techniques to improve production, he says, a technique that can ultimately lead to catastrophic pressure failure.
Aramco disputes his claim, but Simmons notes correctly that its principal answer comes down to an Enron-like "Trust me." There's no solid independent data source of Saudi oil production. "A lack of verified data leaves the world in the dark," he told the Hudson Institute.

That sheds some interesting light on the current upward trend of oil prices, to say the least.

The first home for the Archdiocese of Detroit's Indult Mass is....

St. Josaphat in downtown Detroit (the parish website has a tentative announcement here). The Archdiocese announced it in yesterday's Michigan Catholic newspaper. Looks like a beautiful choice, architecturally. And, given the sprawling nature of the archdiocese, it's actually a decent central location, with easy expressway access (I pass by it every week).

The first Mass is scheduled for 10am on October 3. Very tentatively, from the report.

Other apparent reason for the choice--it's a struggling parish otherwise. Only about 100 families are registered there, though apparently Detroit's Filipino community has been gravitating towards it. The current pastor has high hopes for the Mass.

Also, the Archdiocese has taken upon itself the task of training a "cadre" of priests to serve at the parish.

Unanswered questions: (1) the location of the other parish, (2) whether the other sacraments will be offered per the older rite (though the training of a number of priests suggests this is the case), and (3) whether the number of Masses will increase.

The only cautionary note? Apparently there will be a review of the situation in early 2005 to see how things are progressing.

Not surprising, given the fierce resistance to the grant of the indult in the first place.