Friday, November 28, 2008

Please Use Airmail First Class

Last week the Vatican announced that, on behalf of B-16 (Pope Benedict XVI), it is apologizing for having criticized the Beatles some FORTY years ago for having said that they (the Beatles) were more popular than Jesus. I remember that around that time I went to confession to a Jesuit priest at a college. When I entered the confessional, I was surprised to find that not only was his back to me, with the screen separating us, he had on his lap two large bookkeeping ledgers. He proceeded to do accounting calculations with his calculator and pen while hearing (I guess) my confession! Heck, not merely surprised---I found this insultive. So I'm writing to the Vatican requesting an apology on behalf of this anonymous priest. I guess it might arrive around 2048.

-Old Gargoyle

Thursday, November 27, 2008

Let's Talk Turkey

When my brother was stationed in Trabzon, Turkey, he was able to go into town only twice a month. That was enough time, though, for him to learn a bit of the local language. He relayed to me how to say in Turkish, "Have a happy Thanksgiving this year with your family and friends." It goes like this; I hope I repeat it accurately for you: "GOB-ble, GOB-ble, gob-BLE, GOB-ble, gob-BLE, gob-BLE."

-Old Gargoyle


Sunday, November 23, 2008

The Other Green Meat

Sooner or later it's going to happen. Contact with extraterrestrial intelligent creatures (aliens) will be made on a public scale or a private one. I hope it's private---i.e., that their small flying saucer would land or crash in the back field of MY farm, and I could get the jump on those little boogers. I just hope they taste like chicken.

-Old Gargoyle

Saturday, November 22, 2008

Haunted

Well, it finally happened. I was watching one of those all-news t.v. channels this afternoon when the screen went to not a two-way but a three-way split, allowing three of those dime-a-dozen commentators to appear simultaneously. It so happened all three were young blond women, all the same age, all wearing their bleached hair in the same long style, all looking alike, all sounding alike, all saying the same things previously said by better-known commentators. I couldn't help myself as I burst into song, "Three blond mice / Three blond mice / See how they run / See how they run . . . " I frightened my parakeet.

-Old Gargoyle

Gutter Talk

Debris . . . trash . . . leaves . . . garbage . . . gum wrappers . . . sticks . . . vote-for-Hillary posters . . .
house-for-rent signs . . . dead flowers . . . nails . . . I.R.S. notices . . . cheerleader-lives-here sign . . .
small stones . . . yard-of-the-week sign . . . bottle caps . . . beer cans . . . hub cap . . . store receipts . . .

-Old Gargoyle

How Many Fingers Do You See?

I remember the day and instance with exactness. I was 12, standing in my frontyard on a fresh spring morning. The grass tickled my little toes, so I looked down, and voila, I saw it: a three-leaf clover. The beloved, rare three-leaf clover! Lucky me! But wait---if one, then maybe more. I looked at the entire batch of grass in which I was standing---it was ALL three-leaf clovers! Alleluia! What incredible luck---the jackpot! Thank you, God! And then it hit me: It's four-leaf, not three-leaf, clovers which are rare. I immediately sank back into my natural pessimism. Was this a cruel divine joke for not having cut the grass this week? But then I quickly realized: Maybe for a good reason the Holy Trinity itself is three, not four, Persons. Saint Patrick and his shamrock had it right.

-Old Gargoyle

Friday, November 21, 2008

Burp

The favorite soft drinks for me and my classmates when I was a kid were Delaware Punch, Grapette, Creme Soda, and R.C. Cola. It's difficult to find any of these brands today, as they certainly are no longer very popular. Instead, we have the sissy, all-taste-the-same Coke, Pepsi, and 7-Up. But my older drinks were those which helped make us the so-called Greatest Generation---well, at least the coattail-enders. Bring 'em back, I say! Stock schools' soft-drink machines with these bottles, and watch our kids grow to be tough and patriotic!

-Old Gargoyle

Ten Huttt

I just finished watching a t.v. commercial for the Salvation Army. Most people don't realize that the Salvation Army is not just a social-service organization---it's technically a denominational church, an offshoot of the Methodist Church. The Sal Army does a good job of feeding and sheltering the needy. It made me think. Maybe I could kill two birds with one stone. As an old Selective Service draft dodger, maybe I could compensate for that, while satisfying my interest in religion, by voluntarily joining the Salvation Army. I'm gonna try for major, but with my past record of helping the poor, I might have to settle for corporal or sergeant. I don't have my own bell to use, but I do have a windchime which the little woman hates.

-Old Gargoyle

Wednesday, November 19, 2008

Timberrrr

I like tall trees. Even before the emphasis on ecology, I always wondered that, if trees could scream, would we be so blase' about cutting them down? Well, I guess we might be, if they screamed all the time and for no really good reason.

-Old Gargoyle

Tuesday, November 18, 2008

Vote for the Runt

Ahhh, no more political commericals on t.v. and radio. I was 9 or 10 years old when I began "dabbling" in politics. My mother and some of her brothers were active as "ward captains" in our town and state elections held every two years or so. She would assign me and my brother the tasks of reading and organizing newspaper articles and radio ads on the different candidates; attending some of her "political machine" meetings in our little role as gophers; helping poor or elderly folks reach the polling stations (not only physically but also monetarily with $5 bills passed from her to them through me and my brother, so as not to seem too obvious nor illegal); and keeping mathematical tab on the running poll reports on election night. At that same age, I was a also a delivery boy for the newspaper of which my mother was the town manager. She would send me and my same-age sidekick, Rallen, into the town's saloons to sell the weekly newspaper to the men drinking at the bar but especially to those gambling at tables in the backrooms. Our instruction from her was to keep a sharp eye and ear out for any political talk among those usually-lowlife scoundrels, and report the scuttlebutt back to her. I don't think we had child-labor laws back then.

-Old Gargoyle

Now Showing

I attended the recent late-night sneak preview of Bill Maher's new movie, "Religiosus." Maher hosts the t.v. show, "Real Time with Bill Maher," which specializes in liberal satire of current events. His movie is an over-the-top "documentary" in which a dozen or more religious leaders in Judaism, Christianity, and Islam are interviewed by him. Maher himself was raised Catholic by his Catholic mother and Jewish father, but became an atheist as an adult. So in the movie he delights in asking questions of the religious leaders, which makes them look foolish, stupid, scientifically illogical, or hypocritical. And some of them---e.g., the Hispanic minister who preaches that he's the reincarnation of Jesus Christ---obviously are. However, it's interesting to note that only two of Maher's interviewees come across to the theater audience (most of whom themselves are young-adult agnostics, according to polls taken at film showings) as reasonable or sympathetic, even though these two are professional religionists. And both of these two are Catholics: One is the Jesuit priest who heads the Vatican Observatory, and who makes it clear that Catholic doctrine and the scientific theory of evolution can be compatible; the other is an Englishman priest who works at the Vatican, and who scoffs at the pretentiousness often exhibited by his own Vatican bosses. (The movie doesn't state that the latter priest keeps his job, despite his public criticisms of the Vatican---which are well-known at least among Catholic academics---because he's one of only a handful of remaining experts in the world in the Latin language---i.e., he has true job security.)
At any rate, "Religiosus" has been properly criticized by some film critics, and it remains enjoyable. If it comes to town, try to see it.

-Old Gargoyle

Thursday, November 13, 2008

Sorry, Mr. Keys

A certain blond once graced my classroom as a student. "Caitlin," I said to her, "Would you name the national anthem of America? If you need a hint, just ask." "Can you give me the hint?" she replied (they always do). "Well," I said, "The national anthem of Canada is 'O Canada.'" Caitlin ventured, "So the answer is 'O America'?" "Good, good," I remarked, "But what does the 'O' mean? It's not spelled 'O-h' but simply 'O.' "I don't know," she said. "It's simple," I explained, "The 'O' is an old-English corruption of the word 'More.' So the real name of our national anthem is 'More America.' Nice name, isn't it?" "I guess so," she answered. "O dear," I thought to myself. Then I led the class in singing a stumbling rendition of "More America."

-Old Gargoyle

Pump up the Volume

I can't stand the excessively, illegally, and even dangerously loud music played on the car radio by some young-male drivers. Whenever I drive up next to such a car at, e.g., the gas pump, I step out and walk over to the driver, and shout to him, "CAN YOU PLAY THAT LOUDER? THAT'S MY FAVORITE SONG!"

-Old Gargoyle

Wednesday, November 12, 2008

Audi, Folks

When I was a kid, expensive sportscars in our rural town were a rarity and a treat. Someone had a green Jaguar which I'd see now and then parked downtown; it was one of my two favorites. The other favorite didn't appear in town until one the deejays at our local radio station achieved some minor fame. He set his desk in the large front window of his station, and broadcast a record-breaking eight consecutive days and nights without a bit of sleep. I would pass in front of his window each morning on my newspaper route, and wave to him but without response because of his semi-zombie state after just three or so days on the air. The grateful townsfolk gave him a dazzling, new, white Corvette for his record. And so the Jaguar and the Corvette became my favorites. Lately I've lost interest in the Jag. I now like the Corvette and the sporty Audi. If any of you ex-students out there want to make amends, buy and send me a new or at least fairly new Corvette or Audi. If so, I'll dedicate one of its wheels as a prayer wheel which will spin thousands and thousands of prayers for your salvation as I drive.

-Old Gargoyle

Moose Skinner Blues

Sarah Palin, who lost her election, remains as cute as a button. Some say she'll soon replace Stevens as U.S. Senator from Alaska; others says she'll run for President in four or eight years. I'd like to see a reversal. I want her to finish her term as Governor, then run for Mayor of a small town in Alaska; she would easily win. Then four years later, she should take a parttime job as a sportscaster on a small-town t.v. station in that state. After a couple of years of that, let her buy and run a sporting-goods store in that town. A couple of years later, she would move into a small cabin in the wilderness where she would be for hire as a moose tracker-skinner. She would, of course, still be as cute as a button. That way, when I would finally take my Alaska vacation, I could hire her as my moose tracker, and flirt with her without worrying about being harassed by state troopers or Secret Service agents.

-Old Gargoyle

Tuesday, November 11, 2008

Stop the Press

Any old-comic books collectors in readerland? Not "old comic books collectors"---you don't have to be my age---but "old-comic books collectors," i.e., collectors of old comic books. If so, do you remember some of my childhood favorites? "Blackhawk" featured a group of six or seven, I think, world-hopping crimefighters, each of whom was a different ethnicity, and each of whom flew his own jet airplane; Blackhawk was the leader. "Little Lulu" was the 10-or-so year-old girl who practiced early feminism in a humorous setting. "Krazy Kat" was some kind of wacky cat, probably mentally insane, who specialized in throwing bricks at other characters. "Green Latern" was a memorable superhero crime fighter. I'd probably commit waterboarding to put my hands on some of these old issues. I never read any comics on gargoyles.

-Old Gargoyle

Sunday, November 9, 2008

Sealed and Delivered

I can't get over society's fascination with sharks and with the media's fascination with "shark attacks swimmer" stories. If you don't want to be attacked, just stay away from that shore. But this does make me think. You know, probably the funniest thing for a shark is for it to see a wounded seal trying to swim to shore, because just where does the seal think it's going?

-Old Gargoyle

All Hands on Deck

I'm not ambidextrous. "Ambidextrous" means the ability to do at least some identical things by comfortably using either left or right hand. But I am bidextrous, which is probably less common. "Bidextrous" means doing some things with only the left hand and other things with only the right hand. Thus I eat, box, bat (at baseball), and shoot a rifle lefthandedly, but drink, throw, and shoot a pistol righthandedly. It's confusing. I don't think I would've made a good cop.

-Old Gargoyle

Let Your Little Light Shine

An impending storm cast darkness across the town and over a particular school in which I was teaching. We needed to prepare for extra light, so I decided to light a few candles in the front of the classroom. "Does anyone have a light?" I asked. The blond girl in the very first desk in the first row quickly replied, "Oh, I do," as she reached down for her purse, and removed a cigarette lighter. "Here, use this," she said. I immediately suspended her on the spot from school for possessing tobacco paraphenalia. Lord, I love fooling airhead blonds. I kept her lighter.

-Old Gargoyle

We Ought To Do It

"When are we?" I frequently ask others. "You're asking what time it is?" they usually reply. "No," I say, "When are we? In other words, what's the name of the decade in which we're now living?" "This is 2008, you idiot," they answer. "No," I say again, "What's the name of our DECADE? You say you were born in the eighties or the seventies or the sixties, etc., so in which decade was your child or grandchild, who was born last year, born?" "Well, the teens, I guess," they answer. "No," I say, "We we won't reach the decade called 'teens' until 2010. So what's our current decade?" "Er, I don't know," is their final reply.

That's my point. No one knows, no one speaks about it---because they don't have to. But they (we) will have to once we leave this decade, then start looking back and talking about it. So what to call it? The zeros? Awkward and unprecedented. Thus we have to go back a century to ask what Americans at that time called the first decade of the 20th century. The best I can tell is that those old folks usually called 1900 or 1901 to 1909 or 1910 "the aughts." Yes, "the aughts." "Aught" (sometimes spelled "ought") is the old-fashioned word for "zero" or "nothing." So there you are. Spread the word among your friends---we have only one or two more years before this cultural-linguistic problem kicks in. And to think that we have to rely on oldtimers for the answers. Sometimes it pays to be old.

-Old Gargoyle

Wednesday, November 5, 2008

Filthy Lucre

The elections finally are finished. In one of my local contests, the two politicians fought over the inclusion or exclusion of "in God we trust" and "under God" in certain legal documents. I did some research. I discovered that in the 200+ years of the United States, we don't have a single factual case nor a single rumored case of any individual or group ever halting their committing of robbery, theft, embezzlement, fraud, etc. because they suddenly realized, "Hey, wait a minute! This money has 'God' on it! We can't continue." Nor do we have any real or rumored case of anyone walking into a dangerous neighborhood, etc. with a money-packed wallet or purse, and feeling invincible against robbers because "God" appeared on their bills. Go figure. And yet several of Jesus' parables in the gospels deal with the handling of money.

-Old Doc

Looks and Talent

After I did my Old Testament reading, I caught some late-night sports channel on t.v. It showed some highlights of the recent summer Olympics. I think women's sandlot volleyball is simply an extension of the Miss Universe pagaent.

-Old Doc

Pass the Bread

I was doing some Old Testament reading. I notice that manna from heaven never occurs anymore. Global warming, I guess, or maybe God IS dead.

-Old Doc

Monday, November 3, 2008

Eight, Nine, Ten

Yes, I do like boxing. The best I can do is give you some advice which has worked for me: If you ever find yourself in a boxing match, try not to let the other guy's gloves touch your lips, because you just don't know where those gloves have been.

-Old Doc

Believe and Be Saved

In my various academic or religious settings, I've met people who mock the beliefs of the people of ancient times. But, you know, we can't mock them personally, to their faces---and that's what annoys me.

-Old Doc

Logan's Heroes

We'll soon have to decide. No, not between McCain or Obama but between a natural or artificial Christmas tree.

I was in seventh grade, and my teacher was Sister Mary Angela of the Holy Water of the Tabernacle or something like that. She was 80 years old when she previously had taught my mother, so you can imagine how old she was as my teacher. Sister Angela would cackle and quiver, and would point and shake her crooked arthritic finger at those of us who would disturb her lessons. The main disturber was Logan. Logan was a skinny little squirt, bright but totally anti-school. At least once a week, Sister would reach her fill with Logan's talking and noises, and would order Lewis and me (the cooperative classroom brain-nerds) to accompany Logan straight to the Principal's office. Off the three of us would go---but only as far as the candy machine down the hall to eat a bar or two, chuckle, then return to the room to tell Sister Angela that the Principal wasn't available. Oddly, Sister would buy that excuse week after week.

It was December, and our classroom needed a Christmas tree. Sister had me, Lewis, and nerd Sharon collect donation money from the classmates in order to purchase a tree. Now it was lunch hour, and it being an open campus in a small town, students could come and go as they pleased. So Sister told us boys to take the money down to the supermarket to buy a tree. When we arrived at the store, Logan's devious mind took over. He simply grabbed a Christmas tree from the store's sidewalk, and dragged it back to the classroom. The money he had us boys secretly split among ourselves. Sister praised our "wise purchase," and even accepted our praise of Logan as the one who "chose" that particular tree. And the girls in the room were lighter in the purse but not the wiser. Twenty years later, we heard that Logan was imprisoned after committing four burglaries in Mississippi. He probably had a nice tree in his cell for Christmas.

-Old Doc

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Saturday, November 1, 2008

When They Came Marching In

All Saints Day is probably best experienced in New Orleans with its historic, beautiful cemeteries, melancholic change of season into autumn, parades, music, and French-Spanish reverence for the dead. The saints seem to hover in the air everywhere there, conjured and praised by the Catholic Church and even by the voodooists. Indeed, when the Saints (the N.F.L. team, that is) were proposed to the city in the '60s, the team owners had the class and respectfulness first to ask the city's then-Archbishop Hannan if the Church would be offended if the team were named "the Saints." The Archbishop gave his blessing but on the condition that no religious symbols would be used; hence the fleur-de-lis and not a halo, cross, angels, etc. for the club. But I guess the heavenly saints never heard of football, as the New Orleans team has won only one or two championships in some forty years.

-Old Doc