Shammels and Sherz

From the Good Grammar Clearly Expresses Ideas Department:
"We know . . . we just know . . . I don't know, but we just know . . . ya know, it's just it . . . we see things
. . . whatever, we're here to help." (Tom Cruise's actual reply to a request to explain Scientology)

From the We're Not Sure if We Understand the Answer Department:
"Family Feud" host Richard Dawson: "Name something parents teach their children to use."
Contestant: "I think the teacher might use their underwear."

From the Slogans Walt Disney Wouldn't Exactly Like Department:
"Minnie Mouse---When Minniet's Keppy, With This Heat Her Guggie a Thels Swaly"
"Mickey Mouse---Do against the Euro, Yen against the Mickey"
"Mickdy Mouse"
(real English-language slogans on children's clothing items in China)

-Old Gargoyle

Pop Theology

When I was a kid, I had imaginary friends. The adults would laugh at me or ridicule me for that. Now that I'm an old and ugly adult, I still have imaginary friends. They're called Facebook members.

-Old Gargoyle

A Little Excitement

I read that a man in California yesterday was arrrested for killing a lady's little dog, running naked through a tennis club, and pouring coffee onto his head. I admire this guy for doing two things I've always wanted to do.

-Old Gargoyle

Grunts and Grables

From the They Now Have Trouble Getting Dates Department:
"Japanese Scientists Grow Frog Eyes and Ears" (a real newspaper headline)

From the More Useful Books Department:
"Beyond Leaf Raking," "Guide to Eskimo Rolling," "Hand-Grenade Throwing as a College Sport" (titles of real books)

From the Not Helping with the Unemployment Rate Department:
Reasons for leaving last job (from real job applications):
"The responsibility made me nervous."
"They insisted that all employees get to work by 8:45 every morning. I couldn't work under those conditions."
"Maturity leave"

-Old Gargoyle

Busy Old Elf

A so-so Christmas. I received fruitcakes from two different readers just in time before the holiday, which was good. I received from Singapore my new cane for caning and just in time; but the doggone thing was of inferior quality---Singapore made a last-minute substitution. Nonetheless, I'll be able to use it. Then I lost my new eyeball, the one which replaced my empty eye socket after that damn incident with the falcon; but I can still wear an eyepatch. And we were hit with two---count 'em---two feet of snow. I think my neighbor, old Crazy Emory, is still trapped under the white stuff, but I don't have time or energy to check on him.

So here I am. Today, wearing my eyepatch and some snowshoes, I ventured out into the surrounding blocks, screaming and yelling and swishing and cracking my new cane, inviting any neighborhood kids or adults for the caning of their lives. No one responded (except maybe a faint voice from Emory's house). I think I'll drudge down to see the new Nicholas Cage movie, "Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call: New Orleans," followed by "Sherlock Holmes." The little woman and her chick flicks will have to wait; the national zip-code directory which I gave her for Christmas should keep her busy reading.

-Old Gargoyle

Bah Humbug

It's a shame that caning, especially caning of minors, has fallen into disfavor in the U.S. But that doesn't stop me from eagerly awaiting my special present tonight from Santa: a new, sturdy cane with perfect leverage and sting.

So happy caning and merry Christmas!

-Old Gargoyle

Well, Then, See What You Can Find in the Frontal Lobe, Doctor

No, this headline is not taken from "The Onion" but from a website and serious sources: "NFL Asks Players To Donate Brains." Is this some kind of joke?

-Old Gargoyle

Need Less 'Nog or Less Pills

This morning I was walking along the dirt road near my house, trying to clear my head from the excessive eggnog I drank with the excessive wake-me-up-one-more-morning pills, when I almost ran into two of Emory's farm animals. Crazy Emory is my old neighbor; he recently retired as a farmer-turned-librarian; they say he can't recite the alphabet for the Dewey system anymore. Anyway, one of the animals was a pig, the other a chicken. The pig scampered across the road when it saw me approach, but the chicken remained stationary. Then I swear to God I heard the chicken cackle-mumble out loud, "Now what's my motivation? What's my motivation?"

-Old Gargoyle

Room in His Inn

Look, it's late, and I just ain't feelin' the love here. If you're not gonna send me a fruitcake nor even some figgy pudding, then send me at least a Christmas card.

-Old Gargoyle

Elementary, My Dear Gargoyle

Trailers (why in the world did Hollywood switch from the logical word "previews" to this illogical "trailers"?) for the new Sherlock Holmes movie starring Robert Downey show him being sidetracked by a distractful beautiful woman. Sherlock Holmes never had a romantic interest. Sherlock would never let his logic and rationality be clouded by emotions and hootchy-kootchy. Sherlock is just too blasted busy and dutiful to be waylaid by such nonsense. Say it ain't so, Mr. Holmes, say it ain't so!

-Old Gargoyle

Doughboy

"Well," the little woman said to me, "it's going to be just you and me for Christmas this year."

"You and I," I replied.

"What?" she said.

"You and I, not 'You and me'; 'to be' takes the subjective case, not the objective," I explained.

"Whatever," she retorted.

Jonka continued. "It's going to seem weird. I don't even feel like decorating."

"Don't, then."

"I don't feel like shopping or playing Christmas carols either," she added.

"Fine with me."

"I don't feel like baking Christmas goodies."

"Hey," I interrupted, "now you're talking crazy talk."

-Old Gargoyle

Is Santa Really a Saint?

I was thinking. People in the national witness-protection program---whether innocent persons or criminals---must yearn for public, social activity to escape their cooped-up daily lives. What better way to satisfy this yearning, at least for a month or so, than to volunteer as Santa Claus in stores, street corners, schools, etc.?

Mothers, guard your purses and your children!

-Old Gargoyle

Tutti Frutti

I see that my local ice-hockey team, the Seine Soupnuts, has lost again. Whoa, that reminds me! I forgot to make my annual request. I love---don't laugh---Christmas fruitcakes, and good ones now are difficult to find. So, please, send the Old Gargoyle a nice fruitcake a.s.a.p. Mail it to (the mail, Fed Ex, or U.P.S. delivery man will recognize the name):

O. G. Argoyle
200 E. Farms Rd.
Seine, DE 19963

Thanks, and may the good Lord throw all kinds of blessings on you.

-Old Gargoyle

Hit the Road, Jack

This is embarrassing. But you might as well hear it first here from me rather than soon from the overhyped media. Yesterday I was arrested for solicitation, and spent the night---only one night, thank goodness---in the Seine jail.

You see, my beets and squash crops didn't do well this year, and the newspaper office in Dover refused to hire me for a paper route, even one which would've kept me in Seine, so I decided to grab whatever part-time work I could. I was hired down at the mall to be a Christmas Santa.

Listening to those babbling naive kids on my lap and their loud, pushy parents in the background was so damn boring. So I began soliciting money---yes, money, not the kind of solicitation you had in mind---"to help me get back to the North Pole," as I would whisper to them. Obviously, neither children nor parents can take a joke.

-Old Gargoyle

Christmas in July

I give up. Every year, beginning at least one month before Christmas Day, tv commercials, store, and radio stations bombard me with Christmas music. I can't fight it, so I'm joining the trend. No, I'm out-trending the trend. I've bought eleven c.d.'s of patriotic Fourth of July music, and I've begun what will be a daily playing of that music for the next seven months.

-Old Gargoyle

Never Too Old

I see that at a nursing home in Massachusetts, a 98-year-old woman resident has murdered by strangulation her 100-year-old woman roommate. Whew, when I sleep, I'd better keep one eye on Jonka.

-Old Gargoyle

Woody Woodpecker

Who would've ever thought that golf could be so exciting?

-Old Gargoyle

Ray of Light

Hey, you know what's much better than feel-good pills for a shot of happiness? It's listening to Ray Charles sing "America the Beautiful."

-Old Gargoyle

I'll Take an "H," Please

Gotta love biting into "The Onion." One of its headlines: "Happiness Now Found Only on TV Game Shows." I agree---except for the slice of happiness which comes from my nightly six sleep pills and eight wake-up pills.

-Old Gargoyle

Quantum Physics

As you know, I love irony. Irony is President Obama accepting the Nobel Peace Prize while simultaneously expanding winless wars. But who am I to talk? I myself believe that God is simultaneously immanent and transcendent; that Sarah Palin is simultaneously as cute as a button and as dumb as a door nail; and that the Three Stooges were simultaneously funny and a threat to the American way of life.

-Old Gargoyle

An Angry Gargoyle

What? Thirty-thousand more American troops to be sent to Afghanistan? Is Obama nuts? Hasn't our government learned anything from Korea and Vietnam? Dear Lord, the U.S. military will be in those two hellholes, Afghanistan and Iraq, for another four to eight years! When and if all troops leave, it will be after an ambiguous outcome at best. Meanwhile, absent a resurrected military draft, it'll be the same physically and emotionally exhausted soldiers fighting on and on in those countries while their families are torn apart back home. Thousands of young American men and women killed and maimed for life---what a godawful scene. I wish we had a U.S. President, Defense Secretary, and security advisors who would realize that the best we can do with such wars in the future is to use extensive air and naval power for a limited time, and not to get our foot soldiers bogged down in such quicksand. Why is our government so arrogant and naive in thinking that democracy can be implanted in those Asian countries, and in thinking that "nation building" is what soldiers should do best? Professional soldiers are professional killers (in the good sense of the term)---that's what they do best.

What baffles me, furthermore, is how, after the U.N. itself, the American Catholic bishops, and the Vatican itself urged the U.S. on moral grounds not to invade Af'stan and Iraq, we no longer hear any complaints or criticisms by the American bishops or pastors. On the contrary, it's back to "blessing the troops" as in the old days. And where are the public protests by young Americans against these wars? Would it take the renewed draft to finally budge them? (Maybe everyone under 30 could be notified by Twitter or whatever that the draft was restored.) I spent five years of successful anti-Vietnam draftdodging and sabotaging in Canada only to live to see this mess again? Jeez, our national security is not threatened by rag-tag radicals in the mountains of Af'stan. Terrorists are already present in many other countries including our own. Declare that we've done our best, immediately bring home all our soldiers, and use at least a portion of the saved money to improve homeland security and intelligence operations where it's really needed. Education, health, scientific research, etc. would welcome the remainder of the diverted money.

Oh well, no one listens to the Old Gargoyle anymore.

-Old Gargoyle

Wise Guys

People ask me, "Gargoyle, you're old and, er, wise. What do you think eternity is like?"

"Well," I reply, "eternity is like Chris Matthews interviewing Joe Biden."

-Old Gargoyle

Save Time and Money

Fantastic. I've always wanted to have some superpower, but I've never been given any nor been able to develop any. But now I discover that the little woman has a superpower: She can make time stand still! Yesterday she dragged me to JoAnn's Frabric Store for the afternoon,and it felt as if I spent a whole week there.

-Old Gargoyle

Hear Ye, Hear Ye

Arrggh, again I've had to grit my teeth and grip my pew in church. Lectors (readers), guest speakers, and even many clergypersons simply don't know how to handle a microphone in a large building such as a big church. As any professional speech teacher would insist to them, they have to speak LOUDLY, even though they're speaking into a mike which amplifies the voice---because their tendency is to speak too softly, thinking the mike will automatically make them heard. Next, they have to speak s l o w l y, because talking in the normal speed on a mike in a large setting simply combines with too much echo which distorts what is heard. Thirdly, they must speak dis-tinct-ly, not slurring, not running certain words too closely together. Combine these three violations with a clergyman or homilist for whom English is his or her secondary language, and you have auditory disaster.

Moreover, why do we keep allowing in the pulpit as readers those laypersons who aren't trained not only in oral delivery but also in the meaning of the scripture they're reading? Today my lector announces a reading from Paul's letter to the "Philippinos" instead of the Philippians. Well, I guess in light of the recent hurricane floods in those islands, the Philippinos could use a good word. And I'm reminded of another lector who recently, in reading the Old Testament story of the prophet grabbing a brazier (a lighted torch) to light the open-air animal sacrifice, said that the prophet was wielding a "brassiere." No one in the congregation flinched nor reacted upon hearing this. Shows you how much worshippers pay attention to the scripture readings, I guess.

What? What are you asking? Oh, come on. Alright, alright---yes, they were; the two readers I mention were bleached blonds.

-Old Gargoyle

Extra, Extra, Read All about It

The stupid newspaper office in Dover has refused to give me a newspaper route (see my blog below). Something about the weirdness of riding a fifty-year-old bike to deliver papers in this day and age. As if newspapers could be delivered from a car---ha. Something too about the potential danger and liability and inefficiency of my having only one seeing eye and only seven fingers (see another blog below).

To hell with them! Once a newspaper boy, always a newspaper boy!

-Old Gargoyle

Bells of St. Mary

I hear no church bells where I now live. Well, I do hear the ones every early morning---and they wake me too early and the neighbors also complain and I'm spearheading a lawsuit against the church's pastor and it's costing a bunch of money and you should contribute to our fund because I know that you too like to sleep late and we have a pretty good chance of winning and the clergymen in the area are bunching up against us and we'll have the A.C.L.U. on our side and it's all a big mess and don't get me started on this---but I don't hear any in the early evening the way I did when I was a kid.

Back then, the bells would ring at 6:00 p.m., every day, marking the approach of dusk, the end of the work day, and suppertime. When I was that young, it would also mark the time that my father would come home from his job either by car or even by foot, and he never was late. My brother and I would be delighted to hear the bells, because we knew that the things I mentioned were at hand, especially Dad's return. Even at my embarrassingly advanced age, I still miss my non-late/late father.

-Old Gargoyle

Read All about It

My first paid job as a kid was, like many boys, a newspaper route. I find myself kind of missing it. I think I'll trot over to Dover, and see about obtaining one. Nothing like rising at 3:00 on winter mornings to deliver papers! Going now to the barn in the back to see if my old, 1955, red Roadmaster bicycle is still there somewhere.

-Old Gargoyle

What's the Word?

"'Behold the lilies of the field," says Jesus in the gospel,' I read to the little woman.

"Behold the weeds in your beets and squash fields," says the little woman to me.

"'Don't bother with the weeds. The heavenly Father will take care of them at the end of time,' says Jesus," I say in response to Jonka.

"Your own end of time is just about up," retorts Little Woman.

"Now where did I put my hoe and rake?" I mumble.

A daily reading of scripture isn't always what it's cracked up to be.

-Old Gargoyle

Going in Style

When I was in the hospital the other day for my gauged-out eye and my chewed-off fingers from that goddamn falcon, my roommate was an elderly guy who kept moaning about wanting to "die with dignity." "Let me die with dignity . . . die with dignity" was all I heard from him. So right after midnight, when our room was semi-dark, I crept up to his bedside dressed in a long black, not white, gown, and wearing a long-sleeve shirt underneath.

When the old guy noticed me, he obviously took me for the Grim Reaper himself, judging from the frightened look on his face. "Die with dignity" was all he could whisper. It was at that point that I made sure he saw the sterling-silver cufflinks on my shirt.

-Old Gargoyle

Look This Way, Michael

A headline from "The Onion" makes me wonder: Just when WILL the documentary cameramen finish getting all the film they need from "The Office"?

-Old Gargoyle

What Do Those Birds Eat Anyway?

The photographer just left my hospital room. The next time you see my blog's profile photo, I'll be wearing a black eye patch and showing three missing fingers from my left hand.

Do yourself a favor: Don't suddenly decide to try falconry; don't rent a falcon without any training on your part; don't take the falcon, perched on your hand, to an open field.

-Old Gargoyle

Watching the Sky

No snow in Ohio for the first time in all of November in 100 years and no snow at the ski resorts in all of Switzerland, say news reports. I think I'll return to Barney Noble where I saw eight---count 'em---eight new books on the approaching apocalypse in 2012, and buy all of them. Gotta start taking this stuff more seriously.

-Old Gargoyle

Habeus Corpus

Yesterday I walked to my local park around noon to escape the little woman's nagging. There I sat on a bench with a distinguished looking older gentleman who was eating his lunch and who had a bag of peanuts with him. I quickly recognized him from newspaper photos as City Judge O'Brien. But just as I began to speak to him, we were interrupted by what was on the grass in front of us: two large pigeons---slowly and cautiously, it seemed---approaching O'Brien.

Now I swear that the following is the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth: In a high but clear voice one pigeon said, "Permission to approach the bench, Your Honor."

-Old Gargoyle

Money Well Spent

I read that a young guy in Texas spent about $2,000 to buy an old school bus, then spent about $50,000 to renovate it into a football-games tailgate vehicle for him and his beer-drinking buddies. Now that's the kind of imagination I like to see. God bless our football fans! And God bless America!

-Old Gargoyle

Report Card on His Plentitude

God is good---at least to male viewers. He has seen to it that Oprah Winfrey soon will be off the air, at least off network tv; that Kate of "Jon and Kate Plus 8" soon will be gone; and that the underdog New Orleans Saints are undefeated. But God is inconsistent. When will He cause Rosie O'Donnell to disappear from the media? When will He make sure that Sarah Palin (who, blast it, remains as cute as a button) is no longer heard but only seen? Are the latter two too valuable to his cosmic campaign?

-Old Gargoyle

Guard It Closely

I had to fire Tippi, who lives near Los Angeles, and who's the secretary of my struggling national fan club. I noticed that my credit-card statement was including a monthly "special fee" of $40 from an Internet company. As it turns out, Tippi was responsible for that because of the unusual password she had registered for the fan club with the Internet service. The password she uses is MickeyMinnieDonaldDaffyHueyDeweyLouieSacramento.

"Why the hell that long, extraordinary password?" I asked her.

"Because," she said, "the website instruction said for me to use at least six characters including at least one capital."

Yes, I'll now say it: Tippi is a bleached blond.

-Old Gargoyle

A.I. vs. N.S.

I rented and watched the movie from a few years ago, "A.I.," and reached the conclusion that artificial intelligence is no match for natural stupidity.

-Old Gargoyle

Energy Drink

When an exhausted, over-worked vampire goes out in the evening for his feeding, I wonder if he looks for a human with high blood pressure.

-Old Gargoyle

Bathamm

I know you're wondering who should play the lead role in the next Batman movie. I always thought a younger Tom Selleck would've done well as the Bat, but now probably John Hamm of tv's "Mad Men."

-Old Gargoyle

Sell the Farm

Despite last Sunday's gospel reading and despite such movies as the new "2012," Americans, especially, are simply not prepared for the Apocalypse.

-Old Gargoyle

I Just Can't Win

Okay, so you know I don't like dogs and cats. Not only do I not like them, their status in society baffles me. I read of people being given several YEARS in jail for harming dogs and cats. But I never read of anyone ever arrested for killing frogs, spiders, garden snakes, roaches, ants, mosquitoes, parakeets, etc. What gives? Why not? Maybe these latter animals and insects are not harmed on a large-enough scale, I thought. So I tested my theory. I walked down the blocks of the neighborhood near my farm swirling my large net, slashing my sword through the air, stomping in my hunting boots, screaming and shouting and jabbing at all the frogs, spiders, mosquitoes, ants, and so forth I could see or imagine to see---hundreds of them.

So what happened? At last I was arrested! Thank goodness, I thought, some consistency showing that these creatures were no less important than the barking, crapping, scratching, biting dogs and cats of my neighbors. But no, to my surprise, my arrest was not because I was harming these animals but because I was DISTURBING THE PEACE! I couldn't believe it! My sentence? Assigned to city park for one week to scoop dog and cat crap.

-Old Gargoyle

Is He Still Alive?

I'm always searching for good traveling music, i.e., c.d.'s which make long-distance driving in my car more pleasant. I think I've found one in the songs of Leon Redbone. Give Leon a try.

-Old Gargoyle

Are the Bullets Available in Crayon Colors?

In Britain the school children are not armed, but school children in America are. That's just not fair.

-Old Gargoyle

Get a Second Job

Oh my, I've just made a discovery in my New Testament research: Jesus' gospel statement "It is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than it is for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven" is an editing error. It should read "If you have to ask how much it costs to enter the kingdom of heaven, you cannot afford it."

-Old Gargoyle

Animal Crackers

In reply to the worried inquiries by readers Chris, Jamie, and Emory about my recent blogs on dogs and birds: No---no animals were harmed in the making of those blogs.

-Old Gargoyle

Give Them a Bone

As you know, I hate dogs. But I have to tolerate them primarily because "dog" spelled backward is "god," and I think a message is there somewhere for me. Nonetheless, this morning I found a use for dogs, at least for an imaginary one. When a couple of geeky, door-to-door Pentecostal guys rang my doorbell, disturbing my brunch and my beets-and-squash market tv report, I asked them, "Say, do you boys think God will punish me if I unleash my rotweiler on you?" At that point, it made no difference if they answered "yes" or "no."

-Old Gargoyle

2 + 2 = 5 (at Least if God Says So)

I love it as irony and as a continuing sign of the times: My local newspaper, as many others across the nation, recently eliminated its religion editor and weekly religion section while adding a weekly sports "extra" supplement. It's more important to know who has successfully moved a ball across a field or an arena court than it is to know who has successfully or unsuccessfully challenged traditional concepts of God or the established authority of churches. Americans are comforted, I think, by the precision of numbers and rankings.

-Old Gargoyle

Berlinked

Twenty years ago this week the Berlin Wall fell. It was a moving moment, I read, to have seen at that time the East German government bureaucrats tearfully reunited with the West German government bureaucrats.

-Old Gargoyle

Goat Herder

I haven't been able type anything for the past few days because of the restraints on my arms (and legs)---after I was hospitalized---right after I began flashback hallucinations---right after I watched the new George Clooney movie "The Men Who Stare at Goats"---right after I saw on the screen the scenes from the Army's 1960s+ experiments using LSD and other dangerous drugs on some of its soldiers---after I myself had sudden recovered memories of being subjected to these drugs in my Army days---right after I had been captured back then as a draftdodger in the frozen hills of northern Ontario, and dragged back to the states. I just can't win. Yet all is not lost---the current hallucinations are giving me ideas for new comic-book characters which I can sell to some publisher upon release from this institution.

-Old Gargoyle

Fair-Weather Friends

I awoke this morning to find the cage of my two parakeets, Paraclete and Holy Ghost, empty. Its door was open, and a tiny note with a scrawled message was left behind. The note, "written" by the two, said that they went south for the winter, and that they would see me in the spring. The nerve of those two birdbrains after all I've done for them! They'd better not return with the bird flu. Well, more seed for me to mix with my cereal.

-Old Gargoyle

Roses Are Red, Blackeyes Are Blue

The little woman made me drive her to our public wildflower gardens. While meandering the gardens' walkways with her, I killed four pesky butterflies in mid-air, and accidentally swallowed two others. Pheeewww---slimy, oily little buggers---they should switch to low-fat margarine---margarineflies. Then she had me smell what are called Delaware roses, which I don't think are real roses. Anyway, their scent caused an immediate allergic reaction in me. Jonka watched me writhing on the ground for fifteen or so minutes, while she proceeded to smell and admire her precious flowers and plants. That's about when I rolled into a batch of what is known as Canadian cactus.

That does it! In payment for what she put me through, I'm gonna force Jonka to accompany me to the fights. I'm gonna have us seated on the first or second row at the ring, where the blood splattering from each boxer's punches to the other's eyes, nose, and mouth will land on her face or lap.

-Old Gargoyle

Contest Winner?

We already have a winner for the "Death, Where Is Thy Sting?" contest (see the blog below). The correct answer was sent by reader tkeok231 in his or her comment attached to that blog---namely, the woman would think that the man, whom she met at the funeral and wanted to see again, logically would come again to another funeral by that family, in this case the funeral of the sister; and when he would, the woman would finally ask his name, etc.

But is tkeok231 really the winner? Will he or she really have the all-expense paid visit to my house where we can both be in Seine? Any winner of this contest question is, in a certain sense, to be avoided. Why? Because the contest question is a psychologist's test. The psychologist, a criminal profiler, theorizes that the "correct" answer would be quickly thought by someone prone to murder. So, tkeok231, I'm sure you're a, er, nice person, but since you're a potential serial killer, I'm chopping your airplane ticket into my rabbit stew as we speak.

-Old Gargoyle

Contest Reminder

The contest in the blog "Death, Where Is Thy Sting?" below is still in process. Send your answer. The winner receives a paid weekend in my cabin overlooking my beets and squash fields here in Seine.

-Old Gargoyle

Beware of the Dark

It's almost Halloween. Damn, I hate the doorbell constantly ringing that evening. So what I've done the past couple of years is send the little woman to play bridge somewhere that night, then extinguish all internal and external house lights, and sit quietly in the darkness in my easy chair curled into a semi-fetus position. But don't you just know, it didn't help---still had three or four rings at my door. This year I'm ready; I'll still do the same above, but this time, wearing a mouthbrace with sharp metal teeth in it, I'm gonna sink those suckers into the neck of the first person, child or otherwise, for whom I have to open my triple-bolted front door.

-Old Gargoyle

Monkey on My Back

I'm exhausted. I feel as if I didn't sleep at all last night. Well, yesterday afternoon I waited in line for four hours to buy a ticket for the showing of Michael Jackson's "This Is It" film in the town's theater. Finally admitted into it along with hundreds of shouting fans, I sang, I danced, I swayed, I jumped up and down, I spun around, I screamed "Miiichaaael," I cried. It was dawn before I made it home. . . . Wait a minute---all this was my nightmare from last night.

-Old Gargoyle

Death, Where Is Thy Sting?

Here's a test I was sent. Reader, see if you can pass it:

Susan, while attending the wake of her mother in the funeral home, met a man there whom she (Susan) didn't know about and never had met. The man fascinated Susan to the point that she thought she was quickly falling in love with him. Unfortunately, she forgot to ask his name, phone number, etc., and after a while he left without her knowing it, and he never returned to the funeral. A few days later, Susan murdered her own sister.

Why did Susan murder her sister?

-Gargoyle

What Goes Around . . .

I'm $200 richer! WalMart, here I come! I won the money yesterday through a contest here in town, one conducted by an under-30 group of techno types. They advertised for creative new, zippy, catchy, trendy slogans or sayings to be incorporated into cell phone or texting advertising, etc. So I submitted "Twenty-three skidoo!" and "You're the cat's meow!" and "Hubba-hubba!" and "Your momma wears army boots!." And lo and behold, all of my slogans won. The reason? The under-30 group, ignorant of American cultural history, had never heard of these.

God bless our youth.

-Old Gargoyle

Vamoosh

So the Vatican is beginning a two- or three-year investigation of the teachings and practices of American Catholic sisters (nuns), to their surprise and disturbance. As some of them have remarked, it's the good sisters who should do an investigation of priests and the Vatican. I'm reminded of some of the harsh categorizations of women in general by some medieval male theologians and canonists especially of the 11th to 13th centuries when celibacy had become mandatory for all priests and bishops. Here's one addressed to the good ladies from St. Peter Damian, a monk and later a cardinal:

"I speak to you, o charmers of the clergy, appetizing flesh of the spirit, that castaway from paradise, you, poison of the minds, death of souls, venom of wine and of eating, companions of the very stuff of sin, the cause of our ruin [the fall of Adam]. You, I say, I exhort you women of the ancient enemy, you bitches, sows, screech owls, night owls, she wolves, blood suckers, [who] cry, 'Give, give, without ceasing!' (Proverbs 30:15-16). Come now, hear me, harlots, prostitutes, with your lascivious kisses, you wallowing places for fat pigs, couches for unclean spirits, demi-goddesses, sirens, witches, devotees of Diana, if any portents, if any omens are found thus far, they should be judged sufficient to your name. For you are the victims of demons, destined to be cut off by eternal death. From you the devil is fattened by the abundance of your lust, is fed by your alluring feasts."

Oddly, he doesn't condemn bleached blonds.

-Old Gargoyle

Waiter, Is That a Fly in My Soup?

Soupy Sales has died. Soupy was the mast. Soupy was my captain of humor. Soupy and I imaginatvely saled the seas of laughter. But then one day years ago, I joined the mutiny against Soupy, and he had to retire from the docks. Now the Soup has met his ship of fate, and the winds have ceased.

I think I'm hungry now. Little woman, is that Slavic soup of yours ready yet?

-Old Gargoyle

Keep Him Sweet

Restless-leg syndrome, microfibermyolgia (or whatever it's called), dry-eye syndrome, etc.---all these medical conditions I see on tv I think I have. But I think I know what I need for all this crap: good old cane syrup. Yes, heavy, black, sweet cane syrup, not this sissy maple stuff sold here in New England and Delaware. Gotta get me some cane syrup! Reader, feel free to mail me a few cans; whatever I don't eat I'll use as motor oil.

-Old Gargoyle

Toss and Blast

While driving home from my part-time job as a perfume-odor scenter (sniffer) at the J.C. Penny Store, I passed the park and noticed a sign at its edge: "Ultimate Frisbee Here." A dozen or so guys in the field were playing the game by downing each other's tossed frisbees by actually shooting them with handguns.

-Old Gargoyle

Little Green Men

Dozens of new planets in our galaxy have been discovered in recent weeks, increasing the odds, people say, that intelligent life exists on some of them. For a long time, I agreed with scientists in speculating that the possibility of intelligent life on some planets in the entire universe, if not merely in our galaxy, was strong. Yet in the past few years, after more reading in the most up-to-date facts and theories of scientific cosmology, I think I'm reaching the opposite scientific conclusion, namely, that intelligent life exists only on Earth. Religious fundamentalists and conservatives, with whom I generally disagree, tend to agree with my preliminary conclusion on this matter, but for theological, not scientific, reasons.

-Old Gargoyle

A Stiff Upper Lip

For decades the Catholic Church has allowed married Anglican or Episcopal priests, who wanted to convert to Catholicism but then continue their professional ministry as married Catholic priests, to do so in a quiet, semi-private manner. Now the Vatican announces that it not only will make it easier and more public for married Anglican priests especially in Britain (and presumably Episcopal priests in the U.S.) to be ordained as Catholic priests, but will allow them to retain some aspects of the Anglican liturgy when functioning as new Catholic priests. I can hear the howls of confusion or frustration from "lifelong" Catholic priests who had to resign their ministry when they married, from "lifelong" married Catholic deacons, and from "lifelong" Catholic women who wish to be ordained as Catholic priests.

-Old Gargoyle

Who in the Hell Was That?

I returned to Delaware just in time to renew the license plates for my old Yugo. "Hey," I said to meself, "it's time I obtained personalized plates." So I chose the ones with an owl pictured in an environmental theme in the background of the letters "TIC DOC."

-Old Gargoyle

Eat More Chicken

Whew, I made it back safely. It's good to be in Seine once again. When I told the Ontario magistrate that I had mad-cow disease, he turned white, and immediately ordered my release and deportation back to the U.S. (something about protecting Canadian's precious meat supply; baloney---what I'm worried about is protecting---as the colonel in "Dr. Strangelove" would say---my "precious bodily fluids").

-Old Gargoyle

I Wish I Knew the Second Verse to "O, Canada"

This morning two Canadian Mounties knocked at my door. At first I thought they were Salvation Army or something, but to my shock I soon learned otherwise. They were here---what arrogance---to arrest me, after having finally tracked me down in Delaware---for having "assaulted" (sent to the hospital) two Canadian guys who picked a fight with me in that small town of Goosewing, Ontario way back in the '60s when I was draftdodging in Eastern Canada. So the Old Gargoyle will be "incommunicato" for awhile defending himself in Ottawa. During my absence, readers Jennifer, Chris, Nathan, etc. will take turns both hosting and cleaning this blog room (no graffiti, please).

-Old Gargoyle

Graveyard Shift

Last night I worked late at my job as a part-time night watchman at the glue factory. So on my way walking home, I decided to take the shortcut through the cemetery. I was moving gingerly among the headstones in the dark when I heard a man's voice in the distance saying, "Whoo wee, it's cold down here!" Lord, I froze. I listened quietly and heard it again, "Whoo wee, it's cold down here!"

I then slowly followed the sound of the voice, and came upon an open grave which had a pile of dirt surrounding it. I forced myself to look down into it, and could make out a man's body down there in the dark. "Whoo wee, it's cold down here!" he shouted up at me.

"Well, no wonder you're cold," I stammered, "you done kicked all the dirt off you!"

-Old Gargoyle

Yet More Mensa

lymph (v.): to walk with a lisp

balderdash: a rapidly receding hairline

rectitude: the formal, dignified demeanor displayed by proctologists

pokemon: a Rastafarian proctologist

oyster: a person who sprinkles his conversation with Yiddishisms

frisbeetarianism: the belief that after death the soul flies up onto the roof and becomes stuck there

-Old Gargoyle

Yes, Sir, Coach

That high-school football coach in Kentucky has been acquitted of negligent homicide or whatever by a jury. He had overworked his team in their practice in the August heat, resulting in the death of one of the boys on the team. Thank goodness for such coaches who know how to toughen up our boys. They gotta be protected, or next thing we know we'll have parents "upset" over, say, the coaches showing their teams "Rambo" movies before a game. Gotta weed out the sissy boys, and prepare some of the players for their future role as Army soldiers in endless, winless wars in hellhole foreign countries.

-Old Gargoyle

Czech, Please

I read that B-16 (Pope Benedict XVI) is visiting the Czech Republic and particularly Prague. This reminds me of a dialog I had with my colleague, which I previously posted, and repeat here:

I told my colleague, "Look, it says here that the Archbishop of Prague has been censured by Rome for ordaining a batch of immoral priests."

"Really?" he replied with some shock. "How did that happen? What will the Vatican do to him?"

"I don't know," I said, "but this clearly is a case of a bishop riting bad czechs."

-Old Gargoyle

Abs So Lutey

As I previously commented, we Americans are addicted to shortening our words; we try to limit even three- or four-syllable words to one or two syllables. One notable exception has been the popular "relationship," a whopping four-pounder which we keep intact. But I still await the day when Oprah or Dr. Phil will be speaking about how we can improve our "ship" or "re" with others. Another four-syllabler lately has crept into our speech, and now is overly used by news commentators, politicians, entertainers, interviewees, etc. The word is "absolutely." What the heck is wrong with the one-syllable "yes"? Using "absolutely" does not differ in basic meaning from the simple "yes." Moreover, "absolutely" locks you in---it does not have a fudge factor, whereas "yes" probably does.

Am I confident enough about this to put it into print? Absolutely.

Punch Drunk

I finally obtained my license as an amateur-boxing referee. Refereeing my first fights (four of them) last night wasn't as easy as I thought it would be. And when I left the arena through the back door, two of the dissatisfied boxers caught and beat the hell out of me. Maybe I should switch to Little League.

-Old Gargoyle

To Call Buffett?

I suppose it had to happen sooner or later. My pet parrot, Holyghost, now is asking me if he can have a cell phone.

-Old Gargoyle

Reflection on Sunday, September 13

First, a comment on a couple of Sundays ago. Unbelievable. The gospel reading for that day featured Jesus' disciples being criticized by some of the Jewish leaders for not washing their hands before meals, followed by Jesus' explanation that it is not what enters the mouth but what exits it which is unclean, etc. "Oh, boy," I said to myself as I sat back in my pew. "I want to hear his (my homilist's) analysis of this."

"Today's gospel has the Pharisees complaining," the homilist began, "so I too have the right to complain." Then he spent ALL fifteen minutes of his preaching time reading his list of petty complaints about his congregation's behavior in church: you arrive late, you let your kids stand on the pew, you let them walk around the aisles, you dress improperly, you chew gum, etc.---including a comment which almost caused me to lose it: "When you leave the church before the service has ended, you might as well be walking out like Judas did at the Last Supper."

Dear Lord, how can an ordained minister be allowed to pervert by such nonsense the precious little time he has to preach the word and to instruct his people in the gospel?

On to September 13: a dramatic gospel reading from Mark 8:27-35 in which Jesus asks his followers, "Who do the people say I am?" and they reply, "Some say you're John the Baptist, others say you're Elijah, others say you are one of the prophets." After more discussion with them, Jesus then orders his disciples not to tell the people that He is the Messiah, and shifts his comments to his role as Son of Man, not Messiah.

Well, I predict that my and probably your Catholic (at least) homilist will say what they've been saying (or not saying) for the past thirty years I've heard this gospel read at a service. He or they will fail to analyze the fascinating answer the disciples give---i.e., fail to explain how Jesus could be confused with the then-dead Johnny Baptist and the long-dead Elijah. And instead of explaining Jesus' role as prophet, the homilist will focus on his role as Messiah, completely ignoring Jesus' shift to the role as Son of Man.

But I gotta admit, curiosity overcomes me---so I'll be back with itchy ears in my same pew this Sunday. And if I decide to walk out of church during the homily or before the service ends, I'll be sure to be wearing my Judas-look-alike mask.

-Old Gargoyle

Bold in One's Old Age

When I don't pray for rain for my beets and squash crops, it rains too much upon them. When it doesn't rain enough, I pray for rain, but it doesn't fall. Go figure. "The Lord works in mysterious ways," they say. Which gave me an idea; this time I'm gonna catch the Lord's attention, I thought to myself. So I had a nice, large, color flyer printed; it has a picture of a smiling old fart standing in front of a big truck. The flyer reads, "Tired of Moving in Mysterious Ways? Call Gargoyle's Van Lines in Seine, Delaware." Now I gotta figure a way to get it to heaven.

-Old Gargoyle

Divine Guidance

I see that those tacky WWJD ("What Would Jesus Do?") bracelets are still around---ugh. I can picture the historical Jesus in Galilee pondering the hungry, ill, ignorant multitude in front of him, then consulting his leather bracelet which reads, "WWID" ("What Would I Do?").

-Old Gargoyle

More, More, More Mensa

Yet more:

abdicate: to give up all hope of ever having a flat stomach

esplanade (v.): to attempt an explanation while drunk

negligent: absentmindedly answering the door when wearing only a nightgown

flatulence: emergency vehicle which picks up someone who has been run over by a steamroller

gargoyle: olive-flavored mouthwash

-Old Gargoyle

Come on, Be Optimistic

Just about every suitable city has hosted the Olympics by now. Nonetheless, I predict that Port-au-Prince, Haiti soon will make a bid for the 2158 Summer Games.

-Old Gargoyle

With God on Our Side

I've learned that rationality isn't possible with dog fanatics and with football fanatics in relation to their respective devotions. And so I think it's time for the football team of almost every high school and every college to run onto the field dressed more appropriately, i.e., with each player wearing an American flag as his cape and wearing a Christian crucifix attached to his helmet.

-Old Gargoyle

The Mouse in Prime Time

I was watching a Mickey Mouse program with my grandson when it suddenly occurred to me: I wasn't watching Mickey Mouse and friends---I was watching "Seinfeld." The level-headed Mickey is Jerry; the practical, funny, dark-"hair" Minnie is Elaine; the always-complaining Donald Duck is George; and the tall, goofy Goofy is Kramer.

Now I wonder if Jerry Seinfeld originally stole the idea for his television series from the long-
established Mickey Mouse franchise.

Leave Us Alone

I tolerate insurance companies as necessary evils, as I think most Americans do. Most companies connive for ways to delay or deny justified payments to customers. So when I filed a medical claim four(!) months ago for my writer's block, the company only this week finally replied with a denial. They said I had a pre-existent condition.

-Old Gargoyle

True Believers

Weird. The little woman and I decided to go to Atheists Cove, one of the restaurants in town. All we heard for two hours from patrons seated at nearby tables was, "I can't believe how good the food is," "I can't believe these prices," "I can't believe we've never come here before."

-Old Gargoyle

Take a Walken on the Wild Side

If I could spend a day with a famous actor, I think it'd be fun to hang around with Christopher Walken.

-Old Gargoyle

More, More Mensa

And more winning words from Mensa:

-dopeler effect: the tendency of stupid ideas to seem smarter when they come at you more rapidly

-beezlebug: Satan in the form of a mosquito which enters your bedroom at three in the morning, and cannot be cast out

-caterpallor: the color you turn after finding half a worm in the fruit you're eating

-coffee: the person upon whom one coughs

-flabbergasted: appalled by discovering how much weight one has gained

I Knew Pope Spock

Yesterday at dusk I was surveying my squash field (I determined that my beets field wouldn't be adequate for my planned In Seine Rock Fest). The air was charged with early-autumn chill, and I was coughing a bit. It was then I met my neighbor, Emory, who was on his adjacent field with his niece, a college student, who was visiting him and his wife from St. Louis. The three of us talked, and the niece asked me what work I do besides tending these boring fields.

"I'm a Vaticanologist" (cough), I answered.

"A what?" she said.

"I track events in (cough!) Vatican," I said. "Do you know who lives in (cough) Vatican?"

"No. Uh, Vaticans?" she answered with sincerity.

I coughed again. "Yes," I replied, "the Vaticans. They're the descendants of the Vulcans."

"Oh? Cool," she said with yet more sincerity.

Yes, the niece is a bleached blond. Emory isn't.

-Old Gargoyle

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

Reflection on Sunday, August 2

The gospel reading for this Sunday is John 6:24-35 in which Jesus declares that, surpassing the manna-bread given to the wandering Jews through Moses, He himself is the better bread given by God the Father.

I predict my homilist will emphasize how the Jews hearing Jesus say this were so foolish in not recognizing him as the divine Son of God, as Jesus announces himself to be, and so foolish for not eventually appreciating Jesus in the sacrament of the eucharist.. What my homilist will overlook is that Jesus in the reading refers to himself only as the Son of Man (even in this "high Christology" gospel of John)---a title and topic which the reverend will fail to explore---overlook that Jesus does not explicitly claim divinity, and overlook that the Jews had nothing in their tradition (criticism of them aside) to prepare them for something like the Christian sacrament of the eucharist.

Nonetheless, the rev should have something interest to say.

-Old Gargoyle

Keys to My Heart

The professor and the policeman from Cambridge plus the President all sitting down for a beer? As John Stewart predicted, "Mixing that group with alcohol? Nothing good can come from that." But it seemed to have gone well. A stern, valuable lesson emerges from this whole incident: Don't forget your house keys!

-Old Gargoyle

One of These Days, Alice

The recent commemorative news on the astronauts' moon walk of 1969 caused me to dream last night about being on the moon. I myself was slowly walking in and out of small crevices when, bam, I found her, dead as a doornail and with an obviously broken jaw, and lying flat as a pancake on the moon's surface since the 1950s: Alice Kramden.

-Old Gargoyle

Don't Make Me Ask Again

Well, it's August---vacation time for me. But with all the layoffs, I'm broke. So, dear readers, send me money. No, seriously, send me your money!!!

-Old Gargoyle

God vs. God

I don't believe this! I read that a Mrs. Neyland in a town near Dallas has persuaded her local school board to allow an exception from a certain dress-code rule for her school-age daughter. The rule calls for students to have their shirts tucked. But that violates, said Mrs. Neyland, her conviction that 1 Timothy 2:9 requires her daughter to display modesty in public, and the UNtucked shirt on the girl provides that modesty. What is this woman---a latent theologian?

I always had thought that a TUCKED shirt for students, as indicated in Leviticus, Proverbs, and 2 Corinthians, was the will of God. Go figure.

-Old Gargoyle

Fire in the Belly

Today I listened for the first time to Ry Cooder's early-1980s version of the old popular song, "Goodnight, Irene." It caught my ear as so interesting because, first, of its strong waltz beat and zippy Texmex accordian. And secondly because he changed some words in it. Instead of singing several times, "Goodnight, Irene, I'll see you in my dream," he sings "I'll GET you in my dream." And he says---not heard in the popular version---"I'll go to the river and drown," and "I'm gonna take morphine and die."

Then it struck me: Cooder hadn't really changed the words---he simply sang the ORIGINAL words of the song as written by the famous folk-blues singer of the 1930s, Huddie Ledbetter, better known as Leadbelly. Interestingly as social history, the song, increasingly sung from the 1940s to probably the early '80s, had its words changed by the "decency police." "GET you in my dream" was deemed to be a cover for "have sexual intercourse with you in my dream," so "see you" replaced it. "Go to the river and drown" was too harsh for the ears of White Americans; so too was "take morphine." Voila, a sanitized "Goodnight, Irene."

The irony is that just a decade or so ago, rap music becomes dominant in the country, and begins using lyrics which paint much harsher and vulgar scenes than Leadbelly could ever been accused of.

Maybe Leadbelly is turning over in his grave now, wishing he would've been a singer in the 1990s+.

-Old Gargoyle

Featherbrains

I see that an educational network is broadcasting a commemorative series of Walter Kronkite's past interviews and news reports. The series is emphasizing Uncle Walt's admiration of N.A.S.A.'s space program and its astronauts. Which in turn reminds me of an old blog which I'll again mention here.

I again recently asked my college students why N.A.S.A. has sent dogs, monkeys, mice, bugs, etc., but never birds, into space. And again I had several girl students (interestingly, almost all of them bleached blonds), who give two common answers: Either the birds would injure or kill themselves flying around the cabinet of the space capsule, hitting and bouncing off the walls---in which case these girls somehow don't realize that gravity is lacking in the capsule, and don't realize that the birds, like the other animals, would be confined to a small cage. Or the birds would simply---hold on to your hat---fly out the windows of the capsule---in which case these girls don't realize that, no, humans and animals can't fly into space in a capsule with open windows. Whew. God bless our scientifically educated American youth.

Do you know why birds have not and will not be sent into space?

-Old Gargoyle

Reflection on Sunday, July 26

I keep hoping and trying at church. Today's gospel reading, taken from John 6:1-15, is the famous feeding of the multitude, also called the multiplication of the loaves and fish.

My homilist began by tying in a theme from the past Sunday or two, namely, that of good shepherd. He emphasized how in the Middle East in Jesus' day shepherds were honored and appreciated by everyone for their hard work. "Nonsense!" I thought to myself. The people of that time and place disdained shepherds as ignorant peasants who often would lose the sheep of the bosses for whom they worked. THAT'S why Jesus' parable of the good shepherd caught the ear of his audience when he preached it: the shepherd in the story was NOT a lazy, fearful slaggard. So my homilist was being influenced by this parable but in a sense in the wrong way.

Then today's gospel story: As I feared, the homilist was quick to emphasize over and over how the essence of the story is for us to feed the poor and hungry. A typical homilist's interepretation, eager to make practical application for the congregation. It's good for us to feed the hungry, but the primary purpose of the story, written here by John (and the only miracle by Jesus recorded by all four gospel writers---something significant in itself, but not mentioned by my preacher), is to teach the apostles and the other early leaders in the first-century Church (and secondarily leaders today) the Christological basis for ministry and the main method as to how to implement it.

Yes, I keep hoping and trying at church. Maybe I should begin to pray too.

-Old Gargoyle

Whatever, Jonka

Although I think Martha Stewart is a harmless bore, folks here in Delaware and New England think she's a god. Not only does Martha have her own television show, to my surprise her daughter and the daughter's friend now have their own show, too. It's called "Whatever, Martha." Daughter and friend sit in a living room watching reruns of Martha's program, and laugh at and ridicule Martha and her guests. So much for filial piety.

But it gave me an idea about a month ago. I began secretly videotaping the little woman as she worked and did things about the house and garden. So next Wednesday night at 7:00, please try to meet at my shack. That's Jonka's bowling night, so she'll be away for three hours. We can sit in my living room, watch my video, and laugh and ridicule Jonka. It should be fun!

-Old Gargoyle

Birdbrains

What the . . . ? As I'm at my computer, I can see out my window into the woods behind my shack. Six or seven damn birdwatchers have descended upon on the area. There they are, poking their blasted binoculars into the air as they hide behind bushes and trees. What's with these pervs? How do they get away with violating the private lives of our birds, snooping and peering on the creatures' every move? They oughta be arrested as we speak!

-Old Gargoyle

Disclaimer

I see that I've recently blogged about rabbits, pigs, and ducks. I think you should know that no animals were harmed in the typing of those blogs.

-Old Gargoyle

Salt and Pepper

I tell you, sometimes it's a pain in the butt living with the little woman. Last night at supper she asked me, "So, how was your day, Garg?"

"How was my day?" I replied. "I'm semi-retired, you were with me all day, so you tell ME how it was."

"Just once I'd like to sit down to supper with you, and have a nice, pleasant conversation," Jonka said.

"I like salt," I retorted, "it's very pleasant. Please pass me the salt. So how's that?"

-Old Gargoyle

He Likes Me, He Likes Me Not

"Mixed messages," "mixed messages"---I'm tired of reading or hearing this phrase. You know what a real "mixed message" is? It's when I tied a carrot to a long stick, then went to the edge of the woods behind my shack. I wiggled the carrot as I walked slowly, attracting a rabbit now and then to come nibble at the carrot. Then I turned and used the stick to beat the hell out of the rabbit.

-Old Gargoyle

Our Strange Old Uncle

I'm confused. What's all the media hoopla about Walter Kronkite who died a couple of days ago? Kronkite never had optional nose operations, never voluntarily changed the color of his skin, never wore wigs, never slept with monkeys or boys or in an air chamber, never worked wearing only one glove, never veiled his daughters in public, never dangled them from the outside railing of hotels---hell, he couldn't even sing or dance.

-Old Gargoyle

Birds of a Feather

I read that only a few years ago pictures of Donald Duck and his nephews, Huey, Dewey, and Louie, were banned in Finland because the characters did not appear wearing pants. Hey, in light of the brief vacation visit to Helsinki by the little woman and me awhile back, Donald and I now have something in common.

-Old Gargoyle

Pig Out, Pig Down

Reading all those books about animals to my grandson can be simply too much. Yesterday it was "Three Little Pigs" over and over. Last night I dreamed I was at a funeral burial at a cemetery, and all the "people" at the gravesite were pigs. I could hear the minister pig praying and saying to the bystanders, "Yes, Porky was a total pig. And I mean that in the best possible way . . . "

-Old Gargoyle

Walkin' My Baby Back Home

I just had to clear my mind from the awful Michael Jackson news and the awfuler Sarah Palin news. So I asked the little woman if she'd like to accompany me to the mall (yes, Seine here in the boondocks of Delaware has a mall). But she didn't know that before we left the house, I had made a secret phone call to the t-shirt store at the mall, asking them to print a special shirt for me (no, not one with Michael's or Sarah's picture on it---rather, anything else to lift my mind off that news).

Jonka and I arrived at the store, and I put the new t-shirt over my regular shirt. At that point she refused to be seen with me any longer. The shirt read, "Warning: Contains Nudity."

-Old Gargoyle

Gotta Get My Priorities Straight

I've been unable to sleep for a week, and have been "incommunicato." I've been doing deadline editing of the manuscript of a new business-ethics book (not my forte'). Though written in English, it's by a foreigner for whom English is not the author's primary language, which made the editing much more difficult.

I wish I could've told you that I've been away from my blog because I was preoccupied 24/7 watching continuing reports on Michael Jackson.

-Old Gargoyle

The Meeting Will Come to Order---NOW

Sometimes it's weird being in Seine. We're having town elections this week. I drove by several street posters which read "For Town Council, Vote for Manson Hitler---Sorry about the Name Thing." Must be a guy who can get things done.

-Old Gargoyle

My Poor Babies

This morning I had a pleasant surprise. I took about 100 of my old books and periodicals to the new Half-Price Bookstore here in Seine to see if the store would buy them for their own resale. I expected the manager to buy maybe a third or a half of my items, but he bought all of them. So the sale was easy. What was difficult was convincing the manager that Half-Price would have to devise some kind of system over the next twelve months or so, which would prevent me from entering the store over and over again and slowly buying back one by one the many books which I just sold to the store.

-Old Gargoyle

Cute Even in Black and White

Don't let 'em fool you---they just want to sell you more stuff. That old rabbit-ears antenna on your television set will continue to work just fine; it just needs some manual adjusting---at least mine does on my 1973 set. But I am worried as to whether or not I'll be able to catch broadcasts from Alaska. I'm anxious to see her new show, "Let's Go Whalin' with Sarah Palin."

-Old Gargoyle

Alarm, Don't Fail Me Now

I had a rough night. As you know, I fear clowns and snakes---disgusting creatures---we can easily do without them. Last night I dreamed I was confronted by a giant snake---it had the large head of a clown.

-Old Gargoyle

Hurry Up, Fifth

I hate Fourth of July. Sitting all the hot day on my front porch while wrapped in a large American flag is not my idea of celebration.

-Old Gargoyle

Snow Queen vs Squash King

Yahoo, Sarah Palin---who remains as cute as a button---is resigning as Governor! I betcha this means she'll be making political visits to many other states in the next few months. Which creates a good chance she'll visit my little farmland here in Delaware. Hot dog! This means Sarah and I will be in Seine at the same time. This will give me an opportunity to show her my fine beets and squash, and, if I'm lucky, she'll show me her famous Alaska peaches. A little interstate trade never hurt anyone; and maybe shoot a basket or two with her on our town's outdoor court, the one they call Chez Danny's.

Then, when the time comes, I'll vote for her opponent, you betcha.

-Old Gargoyle

I Should've Brought a Deck of Cards

I'm no slave to computers, cell phones, I-Pods, etc. But I have to admit that one thing a computer can do which most humans can't is sit in a sealed cardboard box in a warehouse.

-Old Gargoyle

Mall Cop

I remember that July as if it were yesterday. It was many years ago---just before I joined the C.I.A.---I was hired as a Pinkerton security guard in Cleveland (thank God my uniform wasn't pink). My supervisor wasn't the sharpest pseudo-cop on the block; he issued me a pistol with only one bullet, and assigned me to guard a large factory. When I arrived at the factory, one of the managers called me to his office to tell me that I quickly had to move some of the workers' cars on their parking lot to make room for more incoming workers, and he gave me the keys to several vehicles.

After some twenty minutes of frustration in those cars, I walked in confusion back into the manager's office. "Did you move those cars?" he asked.

"Er, no," I replied, "I can't find the blasted keyhole on the dashboard of any of them. I can't figure it out."

He erupted in laughter. It was the year the ignition keyhole on many cars had been moved from the dashboard to the steering column. I then had to bear the embarrassment of ridicule from the workers after he immediately told them of my ignorance. For the rest of the afternoon, I contemplated that one bullet.

-Old Gargoyle

We Love You, Michael

All I do is worry about the future of Michael Jackson's family and empire. I can't eat, I can't sleep, I can't rest, I can't think, I can't move---well, at least not for a half-minute, two tops.

-Old Gargoyle

I'm a Humanities Major

Yesterday I took an employment test with the food department of my local Walmart Store. The lady supervisor said that I failed the test when I incorrectly answered its last question, "Take two apples from three apples. What do you have?" I answered "one apple." Here I am in Seine, and I can't even work at Walmart.

-Old Gargoyle

Herrrrre's Eddie!

In honor of Ed McMahon, today I had a good second banana.

-Old Gargoyle

But It's the Only One I Have

I watched the recent movie, "Perfume," last night. It's the kind of film I like---unusual, unpredictable---and was a critical hit though, as with many such non-formula movies, not a commercial hit. It was set in 18th-century France, and one scene involved an ax-wielding excutioner about to do his "heady" duty toward his prisoner. The prisoner was, of course, trembling and sweating. At that point, I wanted to put the words into the excutioner's mouth, "Not to worry---you just have a case of separation anxiety."

-Old Gargoyle

Where's My Glove?

I'll be on my driveway for awhile practicing my moonwalk.

-Old Gargoyle

Come Hell or High Water

Speaking of global warming: One of the most-common scenes in cartoons features one or two people shipwrecked on a tiny, one-coconut-tree island. But when the rise in sea level will almost completely engulf the island, how will the cartoonist handle that?

-Old Gargoyle

Invisible Rays

Another spring and now another summer of weird, extreme weather! If we're not into wacky climate changes because of global warming, then Al Gore is a Republican. This weather is caused, I think, by---as my father-in-law used to say---all those damn satellites shot up into the sky around the Earth.

-Old Gargoyle

The Nose Knows

Ahh, summertime. Summer, in addition to spring, used to be a special time for house cleaning in the old days. I miss the smells of yesteryear: Octogon soap, Pine Oil cleanser, pig lard, moth balls, Old Spice lotion and deodorant, etc. Americans today are too odor-fearful.

-Old Gargoyle

Too Late

I bet the one food which must be served at the reception following every planned, social wedding is cantaloupe.

-Old Gargoyle

Sound of Silence

Jonka and I visited friends, a couple, at their house last evening. The man is deaf, but the wife is not. They began arguing in the adjacent, semi-dark kitchen which was within our view. He was very angry, scowling, red-faced, making wild and rapid sign-language gestures at her. She kept sputtering, "But . . . but . . . but . . ." until she had enough, simply flipped the kitchen lightswitch off, and walked away.

-Old Gargoyle

Will He Able To Watch Sports on a TV Set?

I read that Cleveland Browns football star Donte' Stallworth has been convicted of manslaughter while driving drunk. His sentence? A whopping 30 days in prison! Thirty days! The Washington Redskins' player who was convicted of conducting dog fights served, what, a year or two in jail. Goddamn dogs are worth more than a human's life in this country? Being drunk or under the influence of illegal drugs or being a celebrity almost totally excuses any illegal act in this country?

As my blog below, "Don't Mess with Me," concludes: "Football players are special people."

-Old Gargoyle

Peel Away

I love these recent headlines from "The Onion":

"Olympist Shawn Johnson Euthanized after Breaking Leg"

"Bored Predator Drone Pumps a Few Rounds into Mountain Goat"

-Old Gargoyle

Always Smell the Tooth

"Grandpa, what does 'Always smell the tooth' mean?" my young grandchild asked me.

"What?" I replied, "On what topic is your interrogatory, youngster?"

"What?" the grandchild said. "What does 'Always smell the tooth' mean? Mom and Dad told me, 'Always smell the tooth.'"

"Ha," I answered, "your aural system misappropriated their words. The parental units told you, 'Always tell the truth.' You should do that but always with the proper jesuitical application."

"What?" grandchild said, then walked away.

But my answer to grandchild triggered my memory. "Tell the Truth"---man, I haven't heard that song in years. I think the rock-pop singers who have been the most successful in using electrifying but melodic screaming in some of their songs have been---no, not Liza Minnelli---but Ray Charles, Joe Cocker, and Janis Joplin. Cocker was influenced, of course, by Charles; Joplin too probably was. But it's Ray's "Tell the Truth" which, I think, has the most powerful, melodic screaming in a song. It's not a well-known work; as far as I can tell, he recorded it only once, that at a live concert in Atlanta around 1956. What a soul-shaking piece! Try to find and listen it . . . if I'm telling the truth.

-Old Gargoyle

Comfort Food

I was comfortable in my easy chair watching alternately "Cops" and "Millionaire Matchmaker" when the little woman shouted at me from the kitchen, "Did you clean the garage yet?"

"Let me ask you this, Jonka," I replied: "If a garage is a mess, and no one sees it, is it still a mess?"

"Let me ask you this," she retorted: "If an old man is hungry, and no one feeds him, is he still hungry?"

"I'll be in the garage. Call me when supper is ready," I said.

-Old Gargoyle

Scientific Method

Isaac Newton certainly had a scientific outlook. So when the apple fell, hit him atop his head, rolled onto the bug-filled ground, and he looked at it, I wonder if he observed or violated the five-second rule.

-Old Gargoyle

Ole'

The little woman and I were sorting and folding clothes at a poverty-help drive the other day. A kind of modified Spanish or Mexican bullfighter's uniform in the box caught my eye---a nice black thing with silver ornaments. With no one noticing, I quietly set it aside.

When we reached home, Jonka had to leave for the store to buy my weekly supply of bacon, eggs, cane syrup, Blue Bell, and Digel. After she left the house, I donned the uniform I had swiped, and drove to the shopping center. When I entered the jewelry-china store, the women clerks screamed, some of them heading for the back, but two of them rushing to and anxiously peering out the front window.

-Old Gargoyle

Triple Crown (of Thorns)

When she was a single young girl, my mother sometimes would work caring for race horses. This would add a bit to her family's income. When he was a single young man, my father sometimes would work riding and breaking in wild horses. This added some to his family's income.

As I continue in this tradition, I annually watch the Kentucky Derby, Preakness, and Belmont Stakes on television, betting and losing huge amounts of my family's income.

-Old Gargoyle

She Shares the Same Birthday with Me

Since I've been in Seine, life has been dull, dull, dull. After watching the grass grow and the cows walk up and down the meadows here, dusk finally fell. Hey, the Tony Awards on television---a chance for a little entertainment and a chance to see what has been going down on Broadway. Then, as fast as you can say, "Oprah" or "Rosie"---wham, in my face on the Tonys stage is Liza Minnelli. Dear Mother of God, would someone do both Liza Minnelli and the audience a huge favor, and tell her it's time to silence the pipes, it's time to return the rags to wardrobe, it's time to swallow the last pills from the bottle---in short, it's time TO RETIRE! Someone, please pull the microphone plug on this woman! Julian in New York, can you help us here?

-Old Gargoyle

Prisoner's Prayer

President Obama wants to close Gitmo Prison in Cuba, though he's not sure where to send all of its terrorist prisoners. Most U.S. states which responded to him don't want those prisoners anywhere near their back yard. Strange, in light of the fact that their state prisons always have held notorious murderers and schemers, etc. But one state, Montana, says it eagerly wants those Gitmo guttearers in its own state penitentiary.

Well, why not? Can you picture it? It would be so good for Montana tourism and local business. The local towns could hold an annual "terrorist-roundup days" festival each summer. Montana winters are cold as hell (assuming hell is ice cold), and those terrorists aren't used to that kind of weather. The tourist crowd and media could gather at the gate of the Montana prison each February, and await the controlled exit of one select prisoner. If he would immediately see his shadow, then the locals and the prisoners would know that they're in for six more weeks of winter. And so on.

-Old Gargoyle

Reflection on Sunday, June 7

Well, as I feared, my homilist on Pentecost Sunday was unsatisfactory. He didn't mention the important parallel between the Tower of Babel story in the Old Testament and the Pentecost Story, didn't mention, much less describe, the extraordinary gifts of the Holy Spirit, etc. He went straight to a practical-moralistic application of the so-called ordinary gifts of the Spirit, a focus on the private-individualistic aspects of spirituality despite the profound public-communal aspects of Pentecost itself.

Today's homilist was another disappointment. When he began by saying, "We can't understand or explain the Trinity. It's the greatest mystery ever," I grit my teeth and gripped my pew, because I was reminded of what I tell my students:

"Remember," I say to them, "when in a previous religion course you asked your teacher to explain the Trinity, and he or she always replied, "We can't; it's a mystery. Let's move on"? Well, it was "Here we go again" with my homilist, because, on the contrary, I myself in the classroom DO give some basic philosophical and social-psychological analysis on the reason for or meaningfulness of the doctrine of three Persons in one God.

My homilist attempted a very brief commentary on the Trinity by citing the creed of the Council of Nicea, which defines God the Father and God the Son as "consubstantial." Fine, but that creed barely mentions, and does not define, God the Holy Spirit. Then he mentioned St. Patrick converting the pagans in Ireland to Christianity by Patrick's illustration of the similarity of a shamrock to the Trinity. Fine, visual-aid power, I guess. But then the homilist, as I expected, quickly reverted to an easy practical-moralistic application of "living the Trinity."

Now I'm left wondering why we don't have, say, two, four, or six, etc. Persons in the Trinity.

-Old Gargoyle

Camera---Action!

Because I like films, especially the quirky, unusual, or indie ones, I joined a movie club. The members as a group see one to three flicks each month, and discuss them after each viewing. So far I've attended the showings of "Religiosus" (I forget its exact spelling) and "The Brothers Bloom."

At the discussion of "Religiosus," I pointed out the movie's strengths and weaknesses, which I mentioned in an earlier blog below. "The Brothers Bloom" was a delightful, comedic con story. When I said to the group that I was surprised that Maximilian Schell appeared in it (a supporting role in which I didn't even recognize it was he), because I thought he had died or retired, the group said, "Max who?" That's when I realized that I was the oldest member in this club group. But their apparent disdain for me was reserved for what happened only fifteen minutes into the film. Young Michelle (a bleached blond, as far as I could tell) had been sitting next to me. She had made a few movements to eat and drink her refreshments and to open her purse, when suddenly she gathered all her items, and rushed out the theater, not to return to us for the rest of the evening. I'm convinced the group thought that I had quietly molested Michelle, accounting for her abrupt departure. Thank goodness a couple of days later she e-mailed all the members to say that she received a silent message, right after the movie began, saying her friend had gone into labor, so Michelle had decided to go quickly to her car.

I hope our next group movie isn't "My Life in Ruins," or "Drag Me to Hell," or "Hangover."

-Old Gargoyle