Medicine, Celibacy, and Rock 'n' Roll

How could I overlook it? It was forty years ago! I frolicked in the mud at Woodstock, swaying to the music of Crosby, Stills, and Nash, twitching to the music of Joe Cocker, jumping to the music of Country Joe and the Fish. Those were the days.

I'm thinking now about promoting a big rock concert in my beets fields, a kind of In Seine 2010. Gotta make some contacts . . .

-Old Gargoyle

More Mensa

Some more Mensa contest-winning words:

inoculatte: to take coffee intravenously when you are running late

osteopornosis: a degenerate disease

glibido: all talk and no action

sarchasm: the gulf between the author of sarcastic wit and the person who doesn't get it

Inside Job

What a night! The little woman was still at her conference in Dover, and I was watching "Project Runway." The house was dark; that's when I heard the rattle at my back door. I had read about burglars in the area. I quickly unlocked and opened the door. Three men were standing there in the dark, surprised. I warmly greeted them, saying I was expecting them. They were Latvian immigrants to the Seine area---plenty of them around here lately. I insisted they enter my kitchen. I had them sit, remove their caps. I served them bourbon, and we downed eight or nine drinks in memory of J. Edgar Hoover. They didn't seem to mind. We sang a couple of songs from the old country. While they were still drinking and snacking in the kitchen, I quickly went to my bedroom, then returned to show them my loaded pistol. They were taken aback, but I let them carefully examine it. Because they were without firearms, I recommended my kind of handgun for their ventures. They were grateful. With one more drink on my part dedicated to the honor of that great Latvian-American, Andy Kaufman, I abruptly walked out the front door, telling them to close the front and back doors behind them when they too departed. After a walk around the block in the dark, I returned to find everything tidy in my kitchen, the boys gone, and nothing stolen. I like Latvians.

-Old Gargoyle

Get Me a Dictionary

I don't belong to Mensa. I don't care to ask to join, because I wouldn't belong to a club which would have someone like me as a member anyway. But I have received news of the Washington Post's Mensa invitational word contest. It requires one to take a word, alter it by adding, subtracting, or changing one letter in it, and supplying a new definition. A few of the winners:

ignoranus: a person who's both stupid and an asshole

intaxication: euphoria at receiving a tax refund, which lasts until you realize it was your money to begin with

reintarnation: coming back in another life as a hillbilly

giraffiti: vandalism spray-painted very high

-Old Gargoyle

Tempus Fugit

The school year has begun here in Seine. High-school students walk through my beets field on their way to catch their bus. The boys, especially, are frisky and eager as beavers. That must be their first stage of life, the best I myself can remember back that far. In their second stage, they will want to build things such as dams, and "chew" down some trees, etc. In the third stage, they'll feel trapped, I think, and then skinned. I'm not sure what the fourth stage is.

-Old Gargoyle

Anonymous Space

I couldn't believe it: A "Star Trek" convention came to little old Seine. As an ex-Trekkie, I dug my closets and found my old "Enterprise" uniform, then proudly went to the convention. But no one recognized my character: that of the fourth mate in the biological-plants section of the starship. I guess I went where no man has gone before.

-Old Gargoyle

And How Are We Feeling Today?

I just don't know. I swear that sometimes I think God must have bi-polar disorder.

-Old Gargoyle

Depends on How You Look at It

I was exploring the small caves near my farm here in Seine, mainly to escape the rants of the little woman. Anyway, I stumbled upon a colony of bats in one of the caves. They were hanging from the ceiling just a-buzzing away, as if they were having some kind of meeting. I swear I heard what I guess was the leader bat say to the others, "Okay, all in favor, lower your hand."

-Old Gargoyle

I've Been to the Mountain Top

It's almost September. I like September. And with all the recent news about events in Asia, I'm reminded of what I did when many years ago, something like the young Bill Murray did in "The Razor's Edge." With the help of a local guide, I climbed a mountain in Tibet looking for a great guru. We finally reached the top, then to our surprise the guru made us wait an hour before granting us an audience.

Finally we were allowed to enter the guru's presence in his little straw-and-bamboo shack. "I've come such a long way, guru. What, please, is the meaning of life?" I asked through my interpreter-guide.

Guru answered, "Get EVERYTHING in writing. Otherwise, you'll end up broke and alone atop a cold, goddamn mountain."

-Old Gargoyle

The Dark Side Wins

Well, well. I read that, after all these years, Archie finally has proposed---and not to nice girl-next-door Betty but to vampy rich girl Veronica. But praise the Lord, in this case the (bleached?) blond loses!

-Old Gargoyle

Slippin' and A-Slidin'

Today is the birthday of Adolf Schnorkel, the co-inventor of linoleum. In his honor I had our kitchen tile removed, then replaced with shiny, green linoleum. I'm waiting for the little woman to return from her conference in Dover in order to surprise her. I can't wait.

-Old Gargoyle

Reflection on Saturday, August 15

The Catholic Church and the Eastern Orthodox Church commemorate the Assumption of Mary tomorrow. If I were limited to attending church only five or six times per year (hmm, not a bad idea), I would choose Assumption Day as one of them. I cannot become excited over the Immaculate Conception of Mary (December 8) nor the Solemnity of Mary (January 1), but the Assumption I can, because it's cosmological and eschatological in its scope as it tells humans something important about the destiny of themselves and the world.

The Assumption story does not appear, of course, in the four gospels. So, e.g., tomorrow's gospel readings (two different ones for two different times) in church are Luke 1:39-56 (the visit of the pregnant Mary to her pregnant cousin, Elizabeth, the mother of John the Baptist) and Luke 11:27-28 (in which the audience of the adult Jesus briefly praises his mother, and he deflects the praise to anyone who hears and follows his preached word).

I cannot ever remember my homilists in past years taking a few seconds to explain to the congregation why the gospel readings on Assumption Day do not mention the Assumption. Unfortunately, I predict the homilist tomorrow again will fail to do so. I also predict that, despite these two mentioned gospel readings which emphasize Mary's humble, quiet faith, and which emphasize the priority and power of God's activity, my homilist will emphasize Mary's glorious, queen-like role, even to the point of being the unofficial Co-Redeemer with Christ. And as I listen to the preacher, I'll also be thinking in the back of my mind about the definition of the Assumption, namely, the entrance of Mary's soul AND BODY into heaven---and thinking of how some MATERIAL dimension of her is in what is supposed to be a place or state of existence inhabited by NON-material beings (God, angels, souls)---and hoping that the homilist will make some small acknowledgment of this problem of cosmological-theological physics for his professionally educated congregation.

Well, the Assumption IS Mary's birthday into heaven. So on with the birthday party!

-Old Gargoyle

God's Geography

I love this one from the Internet:

Heaven is where the police are British, the chefs are Italian, the mechanics are German, the lovers are French, and it's all organized by the Swiss.

Hell is where the police are German, the chefs are British, the mechanics are French, the lovers are Swiss, and it's all organized by the Italians.

-Old Gargoyle

I Had Just Put My Right Foot In

Last night I was quietly sitting on my backporch swing when it suddenly hit me: Dear Lord, maybe the hokey pokey IS what it's all about!

-Old Gargoyle

Seeing Is Believing

I just returned from an appointment with my eye doctor. Believe me, that's the last time I'm going to that quack. He's a grouch probably twice my age. His wall diploma is from the Ayesocket Institute in Norway---ugh. But the worst thing is this: for my chart-reading exam---you know, the E T X, R N P Q, etc.---he yelled, "Anyone can read the letters, you idiot! I want you to PRONOUNCE them!"

-Old Gargoyle

Eye Eye

After After my my episode episode with with the the authors authors (see see the the blog blog, "Semi-Published Author," "Semi-Published Author," below below), I I went went home home, and and my my vision vision has has worsened worsened to to the the point point that that I'm I'm seeing seeing double double. So So give give me me some some time time before before I I can can type type again again.

-Old Old Gargoyle Gargoyle

Semi-Published Author

I attended a writers conference---nothing big, just writers in Seine or nearly in Seine. At the break, I was standing next to a couple of guys who were talking about themes of hope, despair, life, etc. The first writer was holding his drink, and asked the second guy, "For example, I see my glass here as half-full. How do you see it?"

The second writer, who was wearing a pirate-type, one-eye black patch, replied, "Well, I see it as half-empty."

They turned to me, "What about you, buddy? How do you see it?"

I wasn't wearing my glasses. "I see it as half-blurred," I said.

They both stared at me for a full half-minute. Then they took out their notepads and scribbled what I said.

-Old Gargoyle

The Guns of August

It's August. You know what that means. No, no vacation for me---not enough readers sent me money for one. August means the start of another academic year. That's a strain on me---not pleasant---I become riled and anxious. Yesterday a police car found me four blocks from my home; I was wandering the neighborhood, lecturing on theological cosmology to kids, dogs, birds, ice-cream vendors, anyone within earshot. And what was the problem. The cop returned me to my house and the little woman. She gave me some cold lemonade, and arranged my afternoon soaps for me. But I keep smelling blackboard chalk and sharpened pencils. Damn August!

-Old Gargoyle

Hippies

My elderly mother-in-law fell, broke her hip, had surgery. She fell while polka-dancing. I don't want to break my hip, and don't want surgery. So as of today, no more on-the-floor break-dancing for me.

-Old Gargoyle

Now Look What You've Done

I don't fish anymore. But this week I did go down to the hunters-and-fishermen supply store by the old lake. I bought myself a can of worms. I've always wanted to open a can of worms. The clerk said, "Hey, watch out there, buddy, you're gonna open a can of worms."

-Old Gargoyle

Perhaps the Pen IS Mightier

I've seen several reports on television of various people rescued from dangerous situations---such as wandering into snowstorms, wandering into unusual mountains or caves, taking wrong paths here or there, crossing borders into foreign countries, etc.---in which they knowingly broke a law or a warning while doing so. But when these persons are rescued, I never see or read about them apologizing for violating the law, let alone for the large expenditure of public money and often the risk of life caused to their rescuers. They're grateful, but no apology. On the contrary, they often are invited to appear on such programs as "Good Morning, America" where the interviewer can delight in their "Whew, that was a close one" adventure.

In contrast, today I returned a few books to my local public library. Because they were almost a week overdue, the assistant librarian wanted me to show remorse for breaking the library's rule in addition to me paying the small fine. When I refused, she had madame head librarian join her in demanding emotional remorse from me before they would open the electronic door-gate to allow me to leave. Go figure. I had to fake it, of course.

Once outside the library, I looked around the parking lot, but didn't see the local media wanting to
interview and share delight with me.

-Old Gargoyle

Ding Dong

Since I've been in Seine, I don't hear bells. That's a bad thing. In almost every place I've lived---from Maine to Malta, from Oregon to Oslo---I've lived in a neighborhood not far from a church whose bells I could hear ring at set times during the day. For me it's such a melancholic and spiritual sound, especially the early-evening bell at 6:00 p.m. When I was a child, that's the time I would hear our church bell, and it would be the cue that my father would be home from work within a few minutes, and it would be time for supper.

We would have kinder, gentler, more-spiritual neighborhoods and neighbors everywhere, I think, if all of us could hear the daily pattern of church bells---unless, of course, if the ringing would wake us too early on weekend mornings.

-Old Gargoyle

"Catastrophe" Contest Winner

It's been a few months since I announced my contest for the best grammatically opposite word for "catastrophe." Since then I've had to sort through 168 replies from readers. For my choice of the winner, I'm gonna fudge on my original criteria:

First, "catastrophe" is rooted in two Greek words: "kata" meaning "down" and "strephein" meaning "to turn." Thus "cata" in "catastrophe" doesn't directly mean "evil" or "disaster," but it can be said it indirectly means that. So to let the sought-after opposite word be a clean, crisp opposite-LOOKING and opposite-SOUNDING word, I've chosen a word submitted by a certain reader. The GRAMMATICALLY best word was submitted by Jennifer B.---bless her heart. But I choose as the winner the word, "benestrophe." "Bene," of course, is rooted in the Latin and means "good." So a benestrophe would be a major-scale happening of good or happiness---something like, say, the Cleveland Indians winning the pennant, or Madonna or Britney Spears suddenly retiring, or Sarah Palin being swallowed by a whale, or blond-hair dye becoming permanently unavailable. Anyway, "benestrophe" was submitted by one Chris Monju. I don't think I know Chris Monju---probably a misspelling of his last name; probably a yankee; probably creates video grames for a living; probably reads an encylopedia once a week; probably likes rodeos and clowns. Well, congratulations, Chris Monju, whoever and wherever you are! If you play your cards right, your check can soon be in the mail!

-Old Gargoyle

With White Belt and White Socks as "De Rigeur"

Thunders and rains almost every day this summer here in Delaware---kind of makes me uncertain if I still want to be in Seine. But I don't hear people say, "Aaiiyii, thunder! God or the angels must be bowling!" From what I've read lately, that expression is now heard only in bowling alleys in Milwaukee, Pittsburgh, and Cleveland.

-Old Gargoyle

By the Hair of My Chinny Chin Chin

The big fight tonight (see the blog, "Holy Dream," below) reminds me of a sports question. It was discussed by sports commentators years ago, and most of them agreed on the answer, but you don't hear it talked about anymore. It is: Which is the most-difficult, one, particular athletic manuveur (misspelled?) to execute in a sports event?

No, not the no-hitter nor perfect game in baseball---that's a long, continuous, series of actions. No, not the bases-loaded homerun in baseball---that's just another fairly easy action (hitting the homer), with the loaded bases being incidental to one's batting. No, not the 50+-yard field goal in football---that has been accomplished several times, and apparently there's a physical limit anyway on how far one can kick the ball. No, not the hole-in-one in golf---despite its infrequency, even pot-bellied old men have achieved that. No, not the same jockey winning the Triple Crown---too long, too many variables from other horses and riders. No, not the across-the-whole-court basket shot in basketball---particularized but still occasionally achieved. No, not the sub-four-minute mile nor the sub-ten-second 100-yard dash in track---those barriers eventually were and continue to be broken. The most-difficult action, as they used to agree, is the bolo punch in boxing. The bolo consists of a boxer, with his opponent right in front of him, swinging his fully-extended arm along his side in a complete circle, ending with his glove hitting his opponent on the jaw as an uppercut, consequently with the opponent being knocked down if not out. From what I've read, only Kid Gavalan (misspelled?) of Cuba and one other boxer whose name I forget, both from the 1930s or so, successfully executed the bolo punch more than once. I've seen Mohammed Ali and Sugar Ray Leonard attempt it a couple of times but without success.

I'm writing this blog from my hospital bed and with dislocations after having gone into my backyard
and having attempted to answer the question in a concrete manner.

-Old Gargoyle

Holy Dream

For world news I depend primarily on what is self-called "America's finest newspaper," namely, "The Onion." I like this recent report from the paper: Tonight in Las Vegas, former heavyweight champion Evander Holyfield fights the racehorse, Evening Dream. Good gallup, that's a fight I gotta see! Despite his age (about 45), Holyfield is still a physical marvel, and he should present himself as a decent opponent in their 12-round bout. It reminds me of the rumor(?) back in the '50s that then-heavyweight champ Rocky Marciano had knocked out a bull in an exhibition match. But this Holyfield-Dream fight is for real, not an exhibition.

Gotta go to the store for my beer and popcorn.

-Old Gargoyle