Happy Halloween to you and yours!

We're going to take the kids trick or treating, roast pumpkin seeds and enjoy All Hallows Eve to the hilt. Have a fun Halloween yourselves!

Rule Britannia! Britannia rule the waves!

I love this: the band for the Horse Guards greeted the Saudi king with the Imperial March from Star Wars.

Yep--the Brits are still the reigning champions when it comes to the vicious rapier.

God Save the Queen!

Yes, it's turning into Anglophile week here at the blog.

Gooney googoo.

Pennsylvania hunter shoots "bigfoot" pictures.

Looks kinda chimpy to me.

YMMV.

About the new blogpoll.

You can vote for more than one fave-rave crowned head.

That is all.

BlogPoll: Final Results.

The hymn that makes you want to charge the cantor with levelled pitchfork and torch ablaze:

Votes/Percentage

Gather Us In
39 (31%)

Sing a New Church
20 (16%)

I Myself Am The Bread Of Life
36 (28%)

Gift of Finest Wheat
13 (10%)

Anthem
17 (13%)

Here I Am Lord
22 (17%)

On Eagle's Wings
18 (14%)

Hosea
10 (8%)

Total Votes: 125

--------------------------------


Far be it from me to dispute the vox populi, but: WRONG, WRONG, WRONG.

1. Familiarity has bred a strong contempt, it seems. As wearyingly banal and overplayed as it is, Gather Us In is far from the worst of the lot. It should instill resignation, not rioting.

"Give us the courage to endure this song...." Gather Us In is to Ordinary Time what The Chicken Dance is to American wedding receptions: a grating but survivable inevitability. As far as music goes, it's somewhat serviceable. It needs a lyricectomy, byt it's hardly alone.


2.-3. Also in the Mostly Harmless category: On Eagle's Wings and Gift of Finest Wheat. Running the lyrical gamut from Meh to Eh. OK, I Guess, these songs are nuked by Muzaky arrangements that suggest they are going straight to an elevator near you. Thought experiment: considered solely as instrumentals, they could be used as atmospherics in commercials by Caring Insurers/Bankers/Tobacco Companies.


4. Of a neither fish nor fowl variety is Here I Am, Lord. It could actually work reasonably well if you forced the cantor, and the cantor alone, to be the Voice of God. "Y'all kindly handle the refrain, folks."

Instead, the Church of Overly-Stroked Ego gets to indulge in a little pantheism--just what we all don't need more of.


Now on to the Most Wanted List, in inverse order of hideousness:

4. Anthem. As the beer commercial famously noted, "there's no 'we' in team." But there are no less than 17 "We's" in Anthem. Join us--we are question! The few, the proud, the quizzical.


3. Sing a New Church. Magnificent tune (lifted from the cosmically-superior Church of God, Elect and Glorious). But the lyrics manage the difficult trick of wedding sedevacantism to the bromides of a mandatory seminar on multiculturalism:

Summoned by the God who made us
rich in our diversity
Gathered in the name of Jesus,
richer still in unity.

Refrain: Let us bring the gifts that differ
and, in splendid, varied ways,
sing a new church into being,
one in faith and love and praise.

Radiant risen from the water,
robed in holiness and light,
male and female in God's image,
male and female, God's delight.

Refrain

Trust the goodness of creation;
trust the Spirit strong within.
Dare to dream the vision promised,
sprung from seed of what has been.

Refrain

Bring the hopes of every nation;
bring the art of every race.
Weave a song of peace and justice;
let it sound through time and space.

Refrain

Draw together at one table,
all the human family;
shape a circle ever wider
and a people ever free


Yes, I know the standard defense: "It's a metaphor."

Here's the thing: it's a crappy metaphor with a room-temperature ecclesiology. Do over.


2. Hosea. Ten (10) votes. Obviously, you people have never (1) heard this one, or (2) read the biblical book after which this one is allegedly titled. Frankly, I call Hosea "Jacques." Why?

Why not? First, the relationship between the lyrics and the title works just as well. Second, Levon was already taken.

Come back to me with all your heart
Don’t let fear keep us apart
Trees do bend though straight and tall
So must we to others call

Refrain: Long have I waited for
Your coming home to me
And living deeply our new life

The wilderness will lead you
To your heart where I will speak
Integrity and justice
With tenderness you shall know

Refrain

You shall sleep secure with peace
Faithfulness will be your joy

God help us, Refrain

Here's the actual book of Hosea. Synopsis for cradle Catholics: God commissions the Prophet Hosea to call out Israel as the ho she is, a sleazy wearer of push-up bras for Ba'al. No, I'm really not exaggerating. Very specific, explicit threats of judgment for this rotten behavior follow. How in the name of the Almighty the lyricist distilled the above out of the text of Hosea is an even greater mystery than the Trinity. Imagine a prophet of Israel actually trying to call the Chosen People to repentance using the lyrics. He'd be the guy after the Michael Palin in the prophet's row scene in Life of Brian.

Chuck in a syrupy tune that resolutely defies instruments starchier than the piccolo and Hosea is one for the Hall of Horrors. As in, shelve the hymnal and watch the pattern of the ceiling fans.

1. Bread of Life by Rory Cooney. Kudos to 28% of you.

Refrain:
I myself am the bread of life
You and I are the bread of life
Taken and blessed
Broken and shared by Christ
That the world might live

This bread is spirit
Gift of the maker's love
And we who share it
Know that we can be one
A living sign of God in Christ

Refrain

Here is God's kingdom
Given to us as food
This is our body
This is our blood
A living sign of God in Christ

Refrain

Lives broken open
Stories shared aloud
Become a banquet
A shelter for the world
A living sign of God in Christ

Oy, vey. A greater confusion between Creator and creature you will never see. Cooney windily and inaccurately defended his work before a queasy supporter, citing "Pauline Christology," specifically the idea of the Body of Christ Um. No. NO.

Nowhere does Paul ever identify himself as Christ, nor does he identify himself with the redemptive sacrifice itself, and no amount of eisegesis can change that. But "I Myself" does, with gusto.

OK--as much "gusto" as the sappy tune permits. "We here at Enron care about you and the community...." IMATBOL is high fructose nonsense, served up at firehose strength. The good news is that I hear it less and less often. The queasy flinch of the sensus fidei is slowly winning out. But it's still the worst of the worst--by a mile.

"The power is in the moustache."

--So spake a waggish and entirely tongue-in-cheek Lions fan in trying to explaining the Motor City Kitties' rise from Leno punchline status this season. "The moustache" is a reference to Matt Millen, whose seven year OJT process as general manager is finally seeing hints of spring.

It's not Harold Snepsts powerful:





but really, whose is?


It's a fine 'stache nonetheless. If nothing else, he has an assured future as a cop. More seriously--he's actually due some credit: the unheralded free agent talent has really paid off this year.

Why are they 5-2? The defense has been, two glaring exceptions aside, much better than anticipated. The offense is (sorry Kev and other fantasy leaguers) getting some balance, with the reemergence of Kevin Jones as a feature back. Perhaps most importantly, the cancerous lockerroom has gotten a dose of Marinelli chemo, with the purging of discontented talent. Tatum Bell is the most recent example, having been relegated to inactive status after complaining about Jones getting "his" carries.

Is this team good? Depends on what your definition of "good" is. Ultimately, no, it's not good. Not in the sense of being a legit playoff vehicle. But it is much smarter, more energetic, more cohesive and flat out unembarrassing to watch than anything we've seen since the Gary Moeller Era. I'll take it.

Depressing beyond words.

St. John Cantius in southwest Detroit will have its last Mass on Sunday.

I can't fault the decision--the demographics were decisively against the parish. But the lamentable part is that this is a net loss to the Catholic heritage of Detroit. It's not like anyone's building anything like it around here: Bauhaus celebrations of horizontal iconoclasm are still the rage.

At St. John Cantius, they poured their lives into the artistic decoration [all these magnificent pics copyright Ricardo Thomas] and built themselves a true community:

By popular demand!

[Obligatory rough language warning.]

It's that time of year again!

Attention, dumbass: this is not an appropriate Halloween costume for your child. Not on this earth, nor even on the planet where your otherwise useless hatstand frequently dwells. This is really not that difficult: never dress up your children as streetwalkers.

Children? Yes, nota bene: this is marketed by the soulless corporate shitsacks at MGA as a "child costume." Nothing quite like making sure the Raincoat Crowd has an endless masturbatory buffet, I suppose. And yet we're still shocked by the latest Dateline NBC perv sting rustling up rapists rootin' and a'tootin' to get their jollies off preteen girls.

If you'd seriously consider getting your daughter this costume, you're a lousy parent. I'd like to give you credit and say you've been brainwashed by cultural decay, but you can't have a whole lot to wash now, can you?

Do the rest of us a favor by not proving it beyond all doubt by completing the purchase.

Commit this name to memory: Stanislav Yevgrafovich Petrov.

Why? Because on the night of September 26, 1983, he literally saved the world.

Read it for yourself. No excerpt will do it justice.

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too:
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting...

Ah, yes, The Boy.™

Dale has taken to gaming of late. Especially the Mission Command series of games. Essentially, MC is a reworking of three earlier classics: Carrier Strike, Screaming Eagles and Tank Battle.

[Note, Steve, that these would be ideal for your kids, too.]

We started with the Air Game, and Dale got the first hit on me. Unfortunately for him, I got the next four, including the fatal cockpit hit. "I wanted to win!" he wailed.

"So did I," I explained. I also explained that I wasn't simply going to let him win, and when he finally beat me, it would be earned and legit. He appreciated that. He also appreciated the idea that the game was rated at "8 and up," and he was playing it at only age 4. That sank in.

The next one was the Land Game. Tanks! I simplified it by removing some of the playing pieces and the distance targeting array (which is something like Battleship). Once again, he got in the first blast, knocking my second strongest tank out of the game in a slugfest. I finally won, but it was an endurance match.

Earlier this week, we broke out the Sea Game. In an irritating trend, he smote one of my Hornets during my attack run on his carrier, and ended up trashing one of my destroyers and another three planes before I sank it. He had just launched his first Harpoon, and was probably going to get a hit on my carrier, when his sank.

His tactical approach can be summed up thusly:

1. Ignite hair.

2. Charge!

John Bell Hood would be proud. And like Hood, it almost works every time. Not to mention making the games rather exciting.

He wants to skip right up to Imperium now. Risk first, lad, Risk first.

And Maddie wants to try, too.

Looks like I got the Gaming Club back together, man.....

Yeah, she's my daughter.

The scene: the Price family dinner table/desk, after a pancake dinner.

The task: First grade Catholicism, as taught by Dad.

The student: Madeleine.

The subject: St. Joseph, his role, duties and merits.

The table has been wiped off, but for whatever reason the leftover pancakes have not quite made it to the fridge.

As we sit there, books open and as I expound upon the Patron of Workers' courage, Maddie's hand strays to the pancake plate, but she continues to pay attention to me. Without taking her eyes off either me or the class materials, she begins to chew on the pancake.

I note this, but since she's paying attention, I let it pass. She continues to take bites off the pancake and it is clear that she's not just eating it--she's trying to shape it into something. But she's still paying attention to me.

Finally, I interrupt and say: "What are you doing, Maddie?"

"I'm making a beard." She then puts the shaped remnant of the pancake over her mouth, and yes, it's a passable Van Dyke.

I blink a few times and respond.

"All right."

She was absorbing the material, after all.