Wednesday, December 31, 2008

Sooner or Later

A headline from "The Onion," which I like: "Woman Dies of Lost Cell Phone."

-Old Gargoyle

Looks Familiar

When did "Mad" Magazine's Alfred E. Neuman grow up and become the Governor of Illlinois?

-Old Gargoyle

Mooody

It's official---I have mad-cow's disease. What a way to start 2009! I guess Denny Crain (on "Boston Legal") and I now have something in common. But, seriously, my bellowing strongly bothers the little woman.

-Old Gargoyle

Tuesday, December 30, 2008

Vati Can or Can't?

A few years ago, just for the heck of it, I wrote three different congregations (departments) in the Vatican asking for a job. A couple of things about their replies surprised me. First, the "slowpoke" Vatican took only two weeks to reply. The three departments said they had no openings, but still asked me if I could speak and write languages other than English (it still helps to know foreign languages, especially Italian, to work at the big show). Second, remember that the "medieval" Vatican was years ahead of similar central religious headquarters---e.g., America's National Council of Churches in Washington, the World Council of Churches in Geneva, the Eastern Orthodox Ecumenical Patriarchate in Istanbul---in installing and widely using computers. Imagine my surprise, then, when each of the three replies arrived as as aerogram, that razor-thin, see-through, feather-light, cheap paper which is simply folded into its own envelope and stamped. Moreover, the reply on each aerogram was typed on an old-fashioned MANUAL typewriter, the kind whose keys leave the imprinted words half-broken and uneven on the lines. Yet each reply was polite, apologetic, articulate, and typed and signed by a nun secretary. What is this? I asked myself. I imagined these nuns in small, cramped, dark offices opening business mail hour after hour, and producing their replies on dingy, 1950ish typewriters, while the monsignors and bishops in their large offices down the hall had access to florescent lighting and 2000ish computers. Well, at least there were, I can safely assume, no dumb blonds among the former.

-Old Gargoyle

Answering the Call

When I answer my telephone, I say logically only "Proceed." The caller always is temporarily confused or silent. How did he or she expect me to answer---by using some strange word whose etymology has to do with eternal damnation?

-Old Gargoyle

Birds of (or without) a Feather?

I decided to do it when I walked out the department store. I had gone into it to do one of my several returns of Christmas gifts (I enjoy giving hassle to the clerks, and like receiving the cash in return). Anyway, when I stepped back out to the store's front door, I looked up and pointed up into the sky, saying loudly enough for passerby customers to hear me, "Hey, look at those dead birds. Awww, more dead birds---poor things---must be the winter." Those customers, of course, kept looking into the sky trying to see the "dead birds." I resumed my walk to my car, and departed.

-Old Gargoyle


Language 5: No Free Lunch

I'm refusing any more from store clerks, from stores via the mail, etc. I'm sick and tired of being offered or sent "free gifts." Jeez, has anyone ever heard of an unfree gift? A gift by definition is and must be free. "Gift" itself is from the Latin "gratus" ("free," "grace" [i.e., unearned; no cost] ). Just offer or give me a gift, okay? Which in turn reminds me of the violation of "gratuity" on my restaurant-meal bill. Some restaurants charge me a MANDATORY 10 or 15 percent "gratuity." Damnit, change its name, then, from "gratuity" or "tip" to "tax"---it's then a TAX. And, waiter, just don't you dare give me a "free gift" with my mandatory-tip meal bill.

-Old Gargoyle

Language 4: Take Two Aspirin

It wasn't that long ago that people took medicine. What I mean is that the word, "medication," was unused, because it was totally unnecessary. People's physician prescriptions were for "medicine"; you took "medicine"; no one had "medications"---it was as simple as that. Why the increep of "medication" into the language? Today I made a vow; I vowed to begin using "medication" the day Harvard's or Yale's College of Medicine changes its name to College of Medication. "College of Medication": sounds silly doesn't it? My point is made.

-Old Gargoyle

Monday, December 29, 2008

Har-Har Harvey

Veteran actor Harvey Keitel has a new television crime series, "Life on Mars"; "Harvey Milk" with Sean Penn is a current movie; "Last-Chance Harvey" starring Dustin Hoffman is a new movie. Is the name, "Harvey," "in" at last? Will parents now be naming their boys Harvey? Will it be "Harvey this" and "Harvey that" in the news? It just might be time for me to start using my middle name in public in order for me to maintain some individuality---which means that I'll now have to hope that "Vonrasputin" doesn't eventually catch on.

-Old Gargoyle

Sunday, December 28, 2008

The Meek Shall Inherit

The neighborhood kid received a yapping new dog for Christmas---just what we neighbors need. Made me think: If dogs ever take over the world, and they choose their king, I hope they don't go just by size, because I bet there are some chihauhuas out there with some really good ideas.

-Old Gargoyle

Saturday, December 27, 2008

I Hate This Grass, I Tell You

It's probably the damn, questionable eggnog from Christmas. I think I've contracted mad-cow disease. I'll get back to you later on this.

-Old Gargoyle


Friday, December 26, 2008

Dr. Jeckle and Dr. Hyde

"What is the definition of 'paradox,'?" I like to ask my students, especially the blond girls.

"A paradox is like two opposite things?" is the typical question-like answer.

"Oh," I'd say, "you might be right. I always thought a paradox was two physicians." That's usually acceptable to the blond.

Now I've come across the Tristram Shandy paradox in a book on philosophical and scientific arguments on cosmology. This paradox is one of those mind-bending explanations of the nature of time, and has been used by the famous atheistic philosopher-physicist, Bertrand Russell. I have trouble grasping it, though it's delightful. It's named after an Englishman's book of, I think, the 1800s; and, to my surprise, a British movie, "Tristram Shandy: A Cock and Bull Story," was made on it a couple of years ago. Anyway, try to find the Shandy paradox for your own reflection. I don't think I'll bother mentioning it to my blonds.

-Old Gargoyle


Popeye Boyle

Have you seen or read the new television or newspaper ads for dentures featuring actor Tony Curtis? Tony isn't a spring chicken; in fact, he looks as if he's already embalmed. Still, with young chicks hanging on his arms, his ads make me want to buy some choppers just to be like Tony. We recently lost Paul Newman; Dom Deluise (one of my favorites---yes, Dom Deluise) has cancer; Peter Falk has Alzheimer's; Kirk Douglas and others can't last much longer; even Sean Connery is retired. But Gene Hackman, though putting on the years, still seems to appear in a supporting role in every third or so film released. Gotta admire Gene; he probably eats his spinach. He should take some time off. But then we'd miss that sardonic chuckle he does in every one of his movies.

-Old Gargoyle

The Zero Effect

"What do you want for Christmas?" the little woman asked me a couple of weeks ago.

"Well," I said, "you know what they say, 'What can you buy for a person who has everything?'"

"No, seriously," she replied, "what do you want for Christmas?"

"As I said," I repeated, "what can you buy for a person who has everything?"

On Christmas morning, I gave Jonka a new vacuum cleaner. She gave me nothing.

-Old Gargoyle

Thursday, December 18, 2008

A Real Nut Case

I very much like---don't laugh---Christmas fruitcakes. The problem is I just don't see them around anymore. So, reader, if you send me a fruitcake in the next two weeks, I'll highlight you in a special blog, and appoint you as a Young Gargoylite, a helper to the Old Gargoyle. Then come early December 2009, if any '08 fruitcake remains unopened and uneaten or even partially eaten, I'll mail it to you as a gift.

-Old Gargoyle

Snow Bunnies

It will be 40 years ago next week that I took my first airplane flight. I flew a thousand miles to meet the little-woman-to-be in her home town of Cleveland. At Cleveland's airport and at the city's downtown, I was overwhelmed with the snow and blizzard, the first time I had been in such an environment. Soon thereafter, Jonka and I drove in her car in snow from Cleveland to Niagara Falls. When we were crossing the long, ice-covered bridge from New York into Ontario, I frightfully noticed that our car began swaying from side to side, and that we were losing speed and traction as other drivers passed us with their angry horn blowing. "What's happening to us, little-woman-to-be?" I cried out. "Well, er," she replied, "my, uh, tires are bald." Ye gads, no snow tires! We barely made it into Niagara Falls, itself quite a sight with its water and surrounding hotels all covered by the thick white stuff. Then, in some kind of cruel attempt to "cure" my apprehension toward all this wet coldness, Jonka urged me to try what a few people in history have attempted, namely, going over the falls in nothing but a barrel. Yeah right. It was at that breaking point that I began to strangle her---unsuccessfully because of her heavy parka and because of the quick interference by nearby Japanese tourists. Today she and I can look back and laugh at this. But when even light snow is predicted (seldom) for our area, little-woman-have-become mysteriously leaves our house for a few days.

-Old Gargoyle

Wednesday, December 17, 2008

Make Time for Others

I was wondering: If time machines are ever perfected, and if, while you're traveling into the future, you meet someone who's traveling back from the future, do you for that split second have to greet that person?

-Old Gargoyle

The Same to You, Buddy

I've always been puzzled about the inconsistency in road signs. Why, for example, are many highway-name signs in some states so doggone small? I'm looking for, say, Highway 502, and I find myself in the wrong turning lane and only 30 or so feet from it, because its sign is in bland black and white and too small to be seen at a distance. And why are the all-important one-way signs in every state made in the same style: black and white and tiny and fading into the background? You'd think such signs would be large and bright yellow like some others, in order to prevent head-on collisions. Yesterday in protest I deliberately drove two miles the wrong way on a one-way street. Judging by the car honking by drivers I crisscrossed, they agreed with my protest. Now to convince the state department of transportation. Wish me luck.

-Old Gargoyle


Gregory Peck

I like this cartoon: A large falcon swoops down into the opening in the woods and grabs a small rabbit as food. Back up in the air, the rabbit, now in the falcon's claws, says to the bird, "You big bully! Why don't you pick on someone your own size?" The cartoon is titled "To Mock a Killingbird."

-Old Gargoyle

Monday, December 15, 2008

Spiritual Spinach

Jeez, the homilists (preachers) at my Sunday religious services during this Advent have five weeks or so to do some meaningful preaching about Advent-Christmas. Think of the possibilities: the latest historical scholarship on when and where and under what circumstances Jesus was born, plus the faith and theological meaning of all this; the latest historical scholarship on the Parousia (the physical return of Christ at the Eschaton, the End Time), plus the faith and theological meaning of this combined with contemporary scientific facts and theory on the termination of Earth and the universe; the latest historical scholarship on now the child and the adult human Jesus saw himself in his political-social-religious context in Israel, plus the faith and theological meaning of this. But what do I get? Homilies (sermons) which keep reminding me that I have to prepare my heart for Christmas, and that I have to say "Merry Christmas" instead of "Happy holidays." Maybe I'll do one of those things, maybe not. I feel like a droopy Popeye needing a good canful of zap. Happy holidays!

-Old Gargoyle

Dead Man Walking

I gave in. After watching for months on television a commercial for those small, wheelchair-like scooters for the elderly, I ordered one. I don't need one---it simply looked like a fun way to move around. I already suspected some shadiness about the advertised company which promised to obtain a scooter for me at no cost for me. Surely enough, with only some insurance payment, my scooter arrived in the U.P.S. delivery van. Man oh man. I began riding my scooter back and forth through the house, riding it up and down my driveway, riding it down on the sidewalks around the neighborhood, riding it to the stores, riding it to church, to the theater, etc. I love that scooter; I've nicknamed it Scooter. The litle woman can't pry it from me. I even sleep in it. Tomorrow Jonka will drive me to my doctor's office; my legs have atrophied.

-Old Gargoyle

Saturday, December 13, 2008

Krusty

Human-interest stories abound during this holiday season. You know what I think would make a good story? Something about a clown who makes people unusually happy, but inside he's real sad. Also he has migraines.

-Old Gargoyle

Friday, December 12, 2008

FIeld of Dreams

And now about me old pappy. My father would take me and my brother with him hunting in the woods. Dad attempted year after year to teach me to shoot his rifle and shotgun well enough to hit at least a stationary target if not a duck or something. Try as I might, I just couldn't hit anything. And he attempted to have me throw a baseball without it constantly flying wildly into someone else's yard (after all, he himself as a young man was the star pitcher in his rural-region amateur league). I just couldn't chunk the old ball; my Little League coach assigned me to first base so that I wouldn't have to throw to anyone. So when my father died years ago, what did he leave me? His old guns and his old amateur-league baseball. Go figure.

-Old Gargoyle


Wednesday, December 10, 2008

Turn Your Radio On

December brings celebration of Christmas. For me, December also brings commemoration of my late mother's birthday, which in turn reminds me of her death day. She died in late July years ago. I was driving my family home from her funeral and burial. Everyone in our van was silent; suddenly I had the impulse to turn on the car radio with the intution that it was important to do so. I did so, and the song which immediately sounded was "Angels We Have Heard on High." We were flabbergasted. Why in the world was a Christmas song playing on the car radio in the summer heat of late July? Then it struck me: "Angels We Have Heard on High" was my mother's favorite song which as a teenager she would sing in the choir in the very church through which we had just buried her. Hi, Mom.

-Old Gargoyle

Monday, December 8, 2008

Wrys

Wow. I just read that the Philippine Islands, which used to export most of the world's rice, now has to import it because of rising fuel costs, declining rice farms, world economy, etc. Rice is the Philippinos' staple food; its lack can lead to widescale social-political riots in the Islands. I too could eat rice on a daily basis. I bought Mahatma and Uncle Ben's brands for years; then I heard about, but can't find, this new Condoleeza Rice. The little woman pours milk onto her rice in a bowl, and eats it that way. Ughh, what a cold, bland way to treat a bowl of the good stuff. Jonka is a yankee.

-Old Gargoyle

Say It Ain't So, Ev

I love this one; you gotta check it out: Access "The Onion Newspaper" on the Internet, then find the article entitled "Evander Holyfield Claims His Quest for Severe Brain Damage Keeps Him Fighting."
Heck, I myself have often considered doing the same thing as the champ.

-Old Gargoyle

Sunday, December 7, 2008

Eagle Eye

Jonka and I were looking at her flowers in the frontyard. Suddenly something screeched through the air, and latched onto the head of the little girl playing in her yard across the street! The girl began screaming and trying to remove it. I had to laugh, because what IS that thing?

-Old Gargoyle

Sing, I Said---Sing

Catholics don't sing at their religious service on Sundays. Oh, some of them mumble mumble, but otherwise they leave the singing to their choir, if their service has one. Why don't they sing? Thomas Day, in his book, "Why Catholics Can't Sing: The Culture of Catholicism and the Triumph of Bad Taste," has his opinions. Compare this Catholic phenomenon with that of Protestants at their Sunday service: The latter sing the roof off their church. Others think the answer might be found in Christmas songs. Why don't American adults tire of hearing and singing both religious and secular Christmas songs over and over and over? They love these tunes because, some say, they learned and loved them when they were children. The positive emotional impact of Nativity music thus lingers in the hearts of Americans. Back to Protestants: Almost all of their Sunday songs haven't changed from their childhood---thus they enjoy hearty singing from memory. On the other hand, middle-age and older Catholics (the majority of church goers) have little or no religious music remaining from their childhood---thus they can't "get in the mood" of the contemporary songs. And the contemporary songs don't compare in majesty, some think, to the older ones; so these songs appeal to much-younger Catholics but not to the older. Maybe only Christmas songs, therefore, should be sung at every Sunday Mass in the Catholic Church from now on.

-Old Gargoyle

Cold, Hard Facts

I heard a voice last night, maybe God's voice, maybe an alien's---I don't know. But it kept saying "Fitzgerald." Since "Fitzgerald" doesn't sound like "Rosebud," I knew it wasn't a message about movies. Then it hit me. I had overlooked an important commemoration in November: the late 1970s sinkage of the freighter ship, made famous in Gordon Lightfoot's song, "The Wreck of the 'Edmund Fitzgerald.'" The giant freighter sunk in an surprisingly hurricane-like nighttime storm on Lake Superior. The little woman and I were living in Cleveland, the "Edmund's" destination, at the time. If I remember correctly, she lost a distant cousin, one of the crew's members, all of whom drowned. It was a sad day. The Great Lakes are shallow, and storms erupt unexpectedly; winter ones there are even more dangerous. Listen, to me, readers. If you're thinking of vacationing or otherwise visiting the North Coast (yes, we have a North Coast: the Great Lakes region) this or any winter, DON'T DO IT! For God's sake, it's utterly dangerous! Stay away---repeat---STAY AWAY from the North Coast! Maybe tonight I'll no longer hear "Fitzgerald."

-Old Gargoyle


Wednesday, December 3, 2008

On a Mission from God

Christmas music on my local radio and t.v. stations began in MID-NOVEMBER this year! Americans will exhaust themselves "celebrating" Christmas even before the day arrives. What nonsense! We're not in the Christmas season in November-December---we're in the Advent season. We shouldn't even begin celebrating Christmas until December 25, and THEN continue for a few weeks thereafter. In fact, this is what I used to do with my students: In early January, I would have them gather with me at a particular place in town. Then we would spend the next week or so walking block after block through neighborhoods. We'd knock on many a house door. When the resident would open the door, we'd yell, "Here's your blasted Christmas tree which you prematurely discarded on your treelawn. Take it back now! Re-erect it in your living room, and let it stand for another month. Christmas season has JUST BEGUN!" My students and I spend several nights of every January in jail.

-Old Gargoyle

Feelings

I was listening to a sermon on t.v. It made me think. You know, it takes a big man to cry. But it takes a bigger man to laugh at that man.

-Old Gargoyle

Language 3: But Exactly How Many?

I just can't take it anymore. "It" is our society's godawful, excessive use of "a lot of" and "lots of." What's wrong with people? Can't they remember simple grammar from elementary-school days? I no longer hear, even from professional broadcasters, the words which always expressed the exact or near-exact amounts people had in mind, viz., "none," "few," "some," "many," "most," "all." Now it's only "a lot" of this and "a lot" of that, whose meaning is so ambiguous as to be meaningless. Worse, people say, e.g., "a lot of choices," when listeners know that the range of choices is limited to three or four. Jeez, if two or three or four constitute "a lot," then what in the world do we call dozens or hundreds---"a lotest"? Let me tell you what happened to me last week. I was driving on a country road when I saw a large sign stuck in the ground of an adjacent field. My car screeched to a halt on the road's shoulder, and I sat at the wheel, my hands shaking, my eyes rolling around in circles, my heart pounding. Why? Because the sign read "Lots for Sale." "Arrrggh!" I thought to myself as I stopped my car, "Lots of what? And whatever is for sale, how much in the hell is 'lots of'? Has it come to this?" Then it struck me: Here was a rare, public, correct use of "lots," as the sign meant "Property ['Lots'] for Sale." I relaxed, quieted my nausea, and proceeded to drive. Later, I called the sign's owner, and bought a lot. I can't afford the lot, and I don't know what I'll do with it. But at least I wanted to contribute to the cause of correct use of "a lot." Now, stay tuned, because I do have lots more of such stories.

-Old Gargoyle