a sop in wyn

fin

2006-11-29T14:00:00.000-05:00

If you haven't noticed, I've not posted in some months. My blogging hiatus has turned into the end of blogging for me, at least for the time being.

In the next couple of weeks, I will be downloading the entirity of "a sop in wyn" for myself then will delete the page. So, if there's anything you want, take it now.

pax,
sloane

it's about time

2006-08-08T10:47:00.000-04:00

From the Department of Stoopid

I'm not going to lie to you. The allegations are really quite true. I am a card carrying member of the Cognocentri. (Not to be confused with cognoscenti.) We're a bit like the International League of Pedants, but our robes are cooler. At any rate, my fellow cognocentric brothers and sisters, today is a day for unfettered jubilation. I give you the anti-stupid pill.

Quoth Reuters:

A German scientist has been testing an "anti-stupidity" pill with encouraging results on mice and fruit flies, Bild newspaper reported Saturday.
It said Hans-Hilger Ropers, director at Max-Planck-Institute for Molecular Genetics in Berlin, has tested a pill thwarting hyperactivity in certain brain nerve cells, helping stabilize short-term memory and improve attentiveness.

i've seen the wurst of it

2006-08-02T15:24:00.000-04:00

The score is now Germany 3, Sloane 0.

I have less than 48 hours left in this country and, over the past nine weeks, this country has killed my iPod, my digital camera, and my computer (though the good folks at the Apple Store in Göttingen fixed that in short order). So, to be fair, we won't count the computer as a point for either side. But, at this point, it doesn't seem like I'm going to manage to win this one on penalty kicks like some twisted replay of the World Cup final.

You see, I've been a vegetarian for four years. Knowing I was coming to Germany where finding vegetarian food (other than baked cheese, fried cheese and bread with cheese) is a challenge, I started eating fish again a few months ago. That was fine. I couldn't be quite the sanctimonious twit I was when I was strict ova-lacto veg, but then I could never muster the sanctimony to become a vegan either.

But when I decided to start eating fish again, I was working on the assumption that I would still be able to find sufficient quantities of iron rich foods in Germany, like spinach and legumes. Spinach is findable, but it's always so over cooked that there's hardly anything left for the body to extract. And finding legumes? HA.

In Göttingen, I went to four different markets before I could actually find something that resembled a bean. When I finally found them, they were dried. Now, when you've got a hot plate and one pot to work with, dried beans are not what you'd call feasible.

Even the "authentic" Mexican food joints don't serve beans. Yeah. Well, on that score, Bowling for Soup is right, all Mexican food sucks north of Texas. (This from the man who's live in Jersey for coming up six years.)

So, yeah. About four days ago, I started feeling anemic as all hell, even with the vitamin supplements. My choice was feel like crap for the next five days and then bong spinach when I got home, assuming I didn't manage to get sick before then, or, go eat cow.

I ate cow.

The good news is, the stuff I've been taking for the acid reflux from hell seems to have taken care of the problems that lead me to becoming vegetarian in the first place. The funny news is, I'd not consumed that much protein in one sitting in four years, so I actually had a "beef buzz" for an hour or so.

terrorizing tourists

2006-07-25T06:39:00.000-04:00

From the Department of Things Plagerized from My Own Correspondance

Recently, I was in Köln (Cologne), home of the origional Eau de Cologne and a really, really cool Dom (Cathedral). During my foray in that wonderful city, I inadvertently managed to horribly offend a pack of American tourists in a Roman Catholic bookstore.

You see, at every Dom/Cathedral or great church I've been to, I've searched for recordings of the Cathedral organ and choirs singing in the church. It finally occurred to me that the place to find these things is not in the cathedrals themselves, but in stores around the cathedrals. Sure enough, the Roman Catholic bookstore about a kilometer from the Dom had what I wanted, so I picked up one for me and one for a gift and some German lit on the Dom. When I went to pay, I noticed they had credit card machines, so I asked, "Nehmen Sie Credit Cards?" "Do you take credit cards?"

"Tut mir Leid. Nein. Es ist kaput." "Sorry, no. The machine is broken." Now, for those not in the know this means, "Yeah, we've got the machines, but I'm not going to take a credit card from you because you're not spending enough." As I've found out this summer, it's really quite common. Whatever, I had the cash so it wasn't a big deal.

"Kein Problem. Immer der Amerikaner mit dem Credit Card, ja?" No problem. Always the Americans with their credit cards, yeah?

As the shop keeper was laughing heartily at this, I heard a horrified gasp behind me. As I turned to see where it was coming from, I found myself face to face with a trio of American tourists (camera's slung around necks, fanny packs in full force, and gigantor American flags plastered across their chests). One of the women was scowling at me. Apparently she thought I'd said something tacky about Americans.

Frankly, I had said something tacky about Americans, but I was rather implicated in that statement. Hell, I carry a New Jersey driver's licence. I'm supposed to be tacky, right?

I paid for my stuff and headed out of the shop. On my way out, I entertained the notion of telling the tourists that I was also from the States, right up until I heard them talking to the shopkeeper. The woman who was scowling at me was shouting at the shop keeper in a strong Midwestern accent, gesturing wildly, "Do you know where I can get camera batteries?" At which point, she gestured as though she were taking a picture followed by an impersonation of the Energizer Bunny. Even louder, "You know. CAMERA BATTERIES."

Unfortunately, she assumed that the shopkeeper (a) did not speak English and (b) was stupid. She was neither, as her perfectly accented Oxford English suggested, "But of course, madam. We don't carry them but if you walk around the other side of the Dom, you'll find a photography store."

I remain baffled as to why, if the tourist lady was so convinced the shopkeeper didn't speak English, she didn't just pop the batteries out of the camera she had around her neck and point. But maybe common sense isn't as popular as it was when I was a young 'un.

I was standing just out side the store smirking at this point. I made up my mind I wasn't going to help the tourists when they came out and the shouting woman's husband said, "What the hell is the Dom?"

I shot the shopkeeper a sympathetic look and shrugged, refusing to take accountability for my misbehaving fellow Americans, took out my newly purchased German guide book for the Kölner Dom (that had a big ass picture of the church on the front and a big fat red title, Der Kölner Dom) and slowly ambled past the Americans with my nose in the book, walking directly to the Dom. Incidentally, the Dom was really reather hard to miss, what with a measly four story museum building between us and the positively mammoth structure that is Cologne Cathedral.

Yeah, I'm a bastard like that.

lavish me

2006-07-18T07:14:00.000-04:00

From the Department of Yuppie Greed

While it would take the reincarnation of Torquemada to get me to reveal the actual date to the whole damn internet, I will say that the anniversary of my ontological debut is neigh and I am accepting gifts, especially this.

So the knives probably suck, but who cares? It's just so wonderfully twisted and cool.

10 things i learned in amsterdam

2006-07-18T06:46:00.000-04:00

1. Never take automotive advice from a Norwegian who has never driven an automobile.

2. The Red Light District is, in fact, bordered by red lights.

3. Germans may love sauce, but they don't really care for turn signals on the Autobahn.

4. You never quite appreciate sinks free of toilet water until you've lived with a sink that fills with toilet water every time you flush.

5. When in doubt, join a Dutch auto club. It will save you money.

6. Somehow, when your car is broken down and the mechanic is futzing with the engine in the middle of the street, switching the alternator on and off at 12 second intervals makes everything better, at least until he takes apart the sub wuffer in the trunk and then starts playing with exposed wiring eight inches away from your head.

7. The Heineken Experience is not a brewery tour. It's Disneyland for drunks and for 10 €, you could do a lot worse, especially when you consider the three free beers and toy surprise they give you at the end. Remember, at the Heineken Experience, you are the beer bottle. The only down side is that you don't get to meet Surly Duff on the way out. (Heineken does in fact taste much better in the Netherlands.)

8. Laser light shows do not improve Rembrandt's "Night Watch." Please, somebody, send this memo to the Reijksmuseum.

9. Yeah, I know that kid over there is smoking a joint in the middle of the park on the bench next to the police man. It's really okay here. Get over it.

10. You may be able to get some weird stuff in Amsterdam, but you've got to go to Hungary for the Viagra flavored ice cream.

anathema

2006-07-17T10:59:00.000-04:00

From the Department of Stolen Things

Let me be perfectly clear, German toilets are evil. I shan't go into a lengthy explanation here, but for the uninitiated, have a look at this page. (Don't worry. You'll not be faced with anything more disgusting than the reality of the German toilet. It's quite safe for work.)

Perhaps the only way to make German toilets more annoying is to have to remember to bring your own soap, towel and toilet paper with you every time you go to the bathroom. Even after a few weeks, this can be a challenge at 2 am. Yet, there is something worse than having to remember your toilet paper when you go to the bathroom, and that's forgetting your toilet paper when you leave the bathroom only to come back five minutes later and find that it has been stolen.

Yeah. Stolen.

You see, at the Institute, I'm given one roll of rather shoddy toilet paper every Monday. Though since I moved to a new place on July 4, the maid hasn't come with the weekly toilet paper ration and clean sheets, so I've been buying my own and laundering my sheets. But, on Thursday night, I was down to my last roll. No problem. Leavening for Amsterdam on Friday back on Sunday (when everything's closed, and I do mean everything but restaurants), so I'll buy more on Monday. Right. That was the plan until around 10 pm on Thursday night when my toilet paper was stolen.

Seriously, how low do you have to be to steal a man's last roll of toilet paper?

10 things i learned in paris

2006-07-11T06:11:00.000-04:00

From the Department of All Things French

Yesterday, I returned from a three day weekend in Paris. I genuinely didn't want to come back to Göttingen. My journey back was not without consolation, however, as upon gaining internet access this morning, I found this and this. Surfen Sie jetzt! You'll thank me.

At any rate, the trip to Paris was great fun and was most educational. In fact, I believe Paris taught me 10 things...

1. Die Deutsche Bahn ist immer besser. Immer. Keine Fragen fragte. Okay, so that's not entirely fair. The Germans aren't so up on the Deutsche Bahn, but it's a hell of a lot better than Thalys.

2. Sometimes, it just doesnt matter how may times you ask politely for napkins in French. Neither shall you be given bread with your escargot or water of any kind, no matter how many times you ask for them, politely and in French. Youre just not going to get them, you so called asshole American tourist. Now go away or I shall taunt you a second time.

3. No matter how hard you try, you just cant avoid the ~~Awful~~ Eiffle Tower.

4. Quasimodo had some bitchen quads. Seriously, climbing to the top of Notre Dame kicked my ass.

5. Even with shitty service, the food is beautiful.

6. When in doubt, find the man with the biggest gun and ask for directions.

7. Two days in Paris costs more than 6 weeks in Göttingen (damnable shopping).

8. Gay Paris is really quite, well, gay. And let me be the first to tell you, it's "fabulous, darling. Absolutely fabulous."

9. When you walk into a French pharmacy in considerable pain and ask for something good, don't be surprised when they hand you small doses of narcotics. The corollary lesson is, gay Paris is a lot more fun when you're high.

10. High tea in France is actually better than high tea just about anywhere else. Best blinis ever.

kitsch or?

2006-07-06T07:46:00.000-04:00

According to the New York Times, a 72 foot tall adaptation of the Statue of Liberty has been erected in Memphis.

I suppose they don't know she's French.

cross cultural observations

2006-06-30T09:45:00.000-04:00

Quoth Nick the Norwegian:

I find that American women say very many things to which you're not supposed to reply.

20 June 2006, in some pub or another in Göttingen, Deutschland

did anyone tell iggy?

2006-06-30T09:17:00.000-04:00

From the Department of Hasselhoff

As some of you no doubt know, I take perverse pleasure in finding new and strange musics when traveling in foreign lands. I came back from Central America with Salvadoran folk-punk about Oscar Romero. I took perverse pleasure in looting a friend's collection of pop and punk from New Zealand. Naturally, I was most eager to find something new and amusing from Germany. Never in a thousand years would I ever imagine I could find something so bizarre and yet so German as I did this past weekend.

A new friend of mine (a PhD candidate in Late Renaissance and Early Modern History) and I took off for Berlin to amuse ourselves for the weekend. The plan was to hit the Pergamon and whatever else struck our fancy. Saturday morning, we found ourselves at a café in the shadow of the Berliner Dom, sipping Cafe au Lait and munching on croissants. As our meal was drawing to an end, therestaurantt staff changed the music. The music they put on was something like a cross between the Crash Test Dummies and the Cowboy Junkies, gone honkey tonk. In relatively short order, we recognized that the song was a cover, but try as we might, we couldn't come up with what it was that was being covered. I eventually figured out that the cover was of a song performed by a woman. Two bars later, my friend shouted, "Oh my God! It's Toxic!"

So it was.

After "Toxic" came a cover of "Hey Ya!"

It was, frankly, to surreal to be true. It was also freakin' hilarious. Naturally, we asked the waitress what the music was. She kind of laughed at us but went and asked the bartender what he was playing and returned to tell us that it was The BossHoss.

Apparently, The BossHoss is a group from Berlin that lives to do perverse covers of American songs that weren't all that good in the first place. The result is just too damn funny. Seriously. Robert Palmer's "Unbelievable" as honkey tonk? Iggy Pop's "Eyes Without a Face." Nelly's "Hot in Here."

Yeah.

Nelly.

As German honkey tonk. Naturally, I went and bought their album. We found out on Monday that not only is The BossHoss a group from Berlin, but they're actually kinda popular the German youth.

And, of course, what's a post like this without the promise of video confirmation. Go have a look at the videos for Hey Ya! and Hot in Here.

So yeah, there ya' have it. Post modern weird German pop honkey tonk.

Isn't that special?

sage advice

2006-06-26T11:19:00.000-04:00

By way of Wonderland, I pass along to you sage advice for gaming, life, and dissertations.

The deviant/brilliant mind that came up with this wonderful bit o' humor has done a few more that are worthy of your clickety attentions.

to quote the great american movie

2006-06-26T11:09:00.000-04:00

From left to right: Shanon Smythe, Yours Truly, Justin Travis
Rammelsburg Silver Mine in Goslar, Germany
Photo taken by J. Ross Wagner, originally posted on Tea and Theology
(The original home of tea porn.)

Quoth Mr. Smith,

"The difference between you and me is I make this look good."

Seriously. What about a bright yellow hard hat and pink pin stripes isn't sexy?

kaput

2006-06-20T06:52:00.000-04:00

Due to circumstances beyond our control (namely a fried logic board), a Sop in Wyn will be on hiatus until my laptop comes home. In other words, I have little desire to fight German keyboards while attempting to blog.

In the mean time, I'll leave you something to ponder. Namely, the 10 essential truths about food in Germany:

Germans put sauce on everything.
Germans love to put sauce on everything.
If you refuse sauce, Germans look at you like you just suckerpunched their mother.
Germans actually know how to make a good Mojito (real Cuban rum helps).
Germans love ice cream (Eis).
Germans put sauce on everything.
Breakfast = coldcuts.
Tofu is a relatively unknown quantity.
Germans love saurkraut on their falaffel (two kinds of saurkraut no less; white and purple).
Germans put sauce on everything.

mark your calendars

2006-06-16T08:19:00.000-04:00

Got plans for 13-15 October 2006?

Perhaps you are wondering why I would be asking about the weekend of 13-15 October. Perhaps you were planning on going to the Cotton Wad Festival at the George Q. Pudlumpkin Greater Midwest Convention Center and Rifle Club. Perhaps you were planning on finishing a jigsaw puzzle. Perhaps you were planning on making cookies or attending your local "Republicans for Voldemort" campaign rally. Maybe you had big plans for the commemoration of the lesser feast of Samuel Isaac Joseph Schereshewsky.

Well, forget it.

As of this moment, your plans are to attend the 31st International Patristics, Medieval and Renaissance Studies Conference at Villanova University.

What's that? You're a Modernist?

Bah. Come anyway and plan to wear a beret.

Why?

Because I'm going to go all Medieval. Namely, I'm going to be presenting a paper at the conference. (Hwæt!)

Yeppers. The ol' sop himself receiveded news today that the paper proposal was accepted. I get to get my comparative Victorine allegorical exegesis on. I am officially a happy monkey.

Though one could just as well say, "Avast! I be a jolly historical pirate! Arrr!" (Judy, Laura, that was all for you. Where my Biblical ninjas at, yo?)

The theme for this year's PMR is "Structure, Space and Meaning: The Walls and Portals of Premodern Worlds." A good title, I think. The only problem is that it violates the first cardinal rule of academic titles. Everything before the colon should be pretty sexy (in that academic kinda way). Well done there. However, everything after the colon should be positively mind numbing for everyone but the five people who specialize in that particular (and often peculiar) field. Case in point, the title of my paper is, "Filling the Temple of the Soul: Spatial Metaphore and Hugonian Influence in Thomas Gallus' Commentary on Isaiah 6."

See, isn't that better?

Believe it or not, this rule has been documented in a highly reputable and singularly authoritative academic source.

By the way, if you come to the conference, I promise that there will be beer simultaneous, coterminous, and coequal with the commemoration of the blessed Bishop Shereschewsky.

blasphemalicious

2006-06-15T06:48:00.000-04:00

Sound advice from our Lord and Savior.

best homework ev-ar!

2006-06-15T06:39:00.000-04:00

I've been doing homework since kindergarden (that'd be 161 dog years of doing homework). Heck, since I started teaching Latin, I've even done my fair share of asigning homework. Suffice to say, I'm fairly well versed in that whole "go home and do stuff for class" thing. I'd like to think I've worked my way through most of the possible permutations of homework. Let me be the first to say, I was wrong.

I do believe I've been given the coolest homework assignment imaginable.

This Sunday afternoon, for class, I have to go to a beer garden.

Yeah.

I have to go drink beer for class. Seriously.

What's the catch? On Monday, I do have to talk about it in German. But I'm at the Goethe-Institut. I have to talk about everything auf Deutsch, so no big.

Now, if I could just figure out how to work the whole "go to a pub and drink for course credit" thing into my upcoming American Church History seminar, we'd be all set.

There, Shannon. I blogged. Thrrrrrpt!

a study in contrast

2006-06-13T06:34:00.000-04:00

Exhibit 1: The cat in New Jersey that kicks some serious ursine butt.

Exhibit 2: The bear in Germany that's making a royal nuisance of itself; so much so that Finnish dogs have been imported to track the beast down.

Perhaps the Bavarian authorities ought to forgo the dogs and bring in the kitty cat?

•••

In other news, it seems I will have the opportunity to see Corvus Corax while in Germany. It's going to require a trip to Kaltenberg (outside of München) and a visit to Kaltenberger Ritterturnier (Renaissance Faire). Damn the luck. Sadly, while in Paris, I will not have the opportunity to see Paris Combo as they're in the studio for 2006.

It looks like this weekend, I'm off to a nearby town that has been more or less left alone for the past couple hundred years (insofar as the various ried wars have left it undamaged). The next weekend will perhaps be Berlin, perhaps Köln. It all depends on where the Fußball is. (Id est, I shall be where the Fußball is not.) The difficulty with travel is that I don't get out of classes on Friday until 15:45, so anything that requires a lengthy train ride is going to be a bit of a pain, but things could be considerably worse.

Now, it's off to flash cards and "lunch."

less content, even less form

2006-06-12T10:30:00.000-04:00

The good news is, I'm posting. The bad news is, today's post is going to be more or less the equivalent of a clip show. (Hello Probie!)

If you got that, I'll drink a beer for you tonight. ;-)

So, without further ado:

1. Since I'm a punk and didn't bring the cable to my digital camera, if you're itching for German photographic satisfaction, check out Shannon's blog. She's posting pictures. I cannot be held responsible for any "tea porn" you might stumble upon.

2. Remember when I said the Fußball fans here were nuts? It could be worse.

3. I think I just had a nerdgasm. That is just too freakin' cool. I was so going to see the movie to begin with, but now, well... *drool*

all the small things

2006-06-10T10:04:00.000-04:00

It's the little things that make you crazy, things like having to spend four hours doing two loads of laundry or realizing that the cable that connects your camera to your laptop is on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean. Or perhaps things like looking down to find your iPod has fried itself and is now a lovely paperweight (after the warranty and Applecare are no longer in effect) could be considered vexing. Or perhaps unrelenting acid reflux because German cuisine, even organic, vegetarian German cuisine, simply does not agree with your gastrointestinal tract might make one a bit cranky.

But you know what?

It's all better now.

I've got a three day weekend in early July and I just booked a room in a four star hotel for three nights at a price that would make Ebenezer Scrooge green with envy.

Hey, it ain't London, but it'll do.

In other news, last night was the first game of the World Cup and Göttingen is definitely an interesting place to be. While I didn't see the game, a friend and I were walking downtown and saw lots of people seeing the game. Every café had a massive television sitting out so people could watch the game. The hard part was finding a café at which Fußball could be avoided. We wound up at a tiny café that served organic fare and were thus contented.

It turns out that the team from Mexico is staying in town for the duration of the tournament. This has made for quite the interesting atmosphere. All the fans from Mexico heartily joined in celebrating Germany's victory last night. The town square was packed with the victory celebration with both Germans and Mexicans reveling in all things Fußball. Some daring soul climbed atop the fountain in the city center to wave a massive German flag oveassembledmbeled crowd. After about 15 minutes, it was joined by an only slightly smaller Mexican flag. The crowd cycled through a series of victory shouts accompanied by drums and large, plastic horns. The police, though omnipresent, were just as gleeful.

But, really, who cares?

I'm going to Paris.

Anybody know of great hotels in Prague?

auf Deutsch

2006-06-08T11:33:00.000-04:00

I'm not dead yet!

I am, however, now officially blogging from Deutschland and the Goethe-Institut. After fighting for an hour to get round an incorrectly printed DNS address, I am connected to the internet. Now, I just need to get off my kiester and actually start taking pictures. Once I get around to that, we're going to be in business.

As expected, an eight week intensive class in reading German does not adequately prepare one for actually speaking German. Of course, neither does only reading Luther's sermons, auf Deutsch, for a full semester. When my instructor informed me that I was going to need to do some one on one work in conversation and composition, well, let's say she was a lot more surprised by that than I was.

I promise a real post later.

No really. I will.

Honest.

tea and my what?

2006-05-22T12:38:00.000-04:00

From the Department of Aggressive Marketing

I drink tea.

I drink a lot of tea.

Thus, I buy a lot of tea and my culinary snobbery extends to tea snobbery. Ito En rocks my world. But when it comes to herbals, I'm really quite keen on the stuff the good folk at The Republic of Tea put out. Over the past year, I've bought a lot of tea from them and in turn, they have sent me a lot of catalogs. Woo. Really. Sending me five copies of the same catalog is really going to make me buy more tea. Apparently tree death = increased sales.

But this is not why I'm blogging... It seems the Republic of Tea has become unnecessarily concerned for the health of my prostate.

Along with the five catalogs, I have received five samples of prostate tea.

Fortunately, it is not tea made from prostates. Rather, Man Kind Tea is apparently a tea for prostates. A nice idea. But I just can't bring myself to drink blueberry green tea.

And it really doesn't help that somebody in marketing is so interested in my, well, you know.

convalescing in azeroth

2006-05-22T11:30:00.000-04:00

From the Department of Addiction

For a couple of months now, I've been having problems with my voice. It'd be fine, then it would give out, quite unexpectedly. So, I decide to do the sensible thing and after a month of putting up with it, I went to the doctor. After a string of really fun referrals, I got an appointment with an ENT. After waiting a month for the appointment date to run around, I go in and they shove a camera up my nose and down my throat to have a gander at the old vocal chords.

It turns out that you can have acid reflux and be utterly unaware of it. It also happens that acid reflux can put the hurt on your vocal chords. Solution? Prevacid and vocal rest. Now, we're not talking vocal rest on the order of Carthusian silence, but I have been instructed: no singing, no public speaking, and as little talking as possible until it heals. This order begged the question, "How long will it take to heal?"

As he was writing out the prescription for the Prevacid, the ENT said, "Oh, a couple of months."

Ahem. What?!

Yeah. So, for the month leading up to my Germany departure, I've been a bit tight lipped especially since I'm going to Germany to talk. Sigh.

But, as with all mackerel skies, this one has an argent lining. The term is over and has been for a while. I took last week off and pretty much did a whole lotta nuthin'. E'en so, the week was not boring. I biked when it wasn't raining and did a good bit of pleasure reading. But, it was ever so much better than that. You see, a friend finally persuaded me to join in the reindeer games, namely, World of Warcraft.

Meet the dwarf.

curmudgeonliness

2006-05-19T12:25:00.000-04:00

You know, there are days when I genuinely loathe living across from a child care center.

Especially on days when the folk at the center tell the children things like, "Yell louder!"

That is all.

a sermon

2006-05-14T12:57:00.000-04:00

Preached 14 April 2006 at St Andrew's Episcopal Church, Lambertville, NJ

The Fifth Sunday of Easter, Year B:

Acts 8:26-40, Psalm 66: 1-11, 1 John 3: 14-24, John 14: 15-21

In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

“Then an angel of the Lord said to Philip, ‘Get up and go toward the south to the road that goes down from Jerusalem to Gaza.’ (This is a wilderness road.) So he got up and went.” (Acts 8: 26-27)

The wilderness road. The wild. The desert. Where the editors of the NRSV have cleverly added parenthesis, the English reads, “This is a wilderness road,” the Greek simply says, “This is wilderness.” And by wilderness, the author of Acts means desert.

It wasn’t that long ago that our liturgical life had us planted firmly in the middle of the desert. In the forty days of Lent, we remembered and were made present to Christ’s forty days in the desert, where he was tempted by Satan after baptism in the Jordan River.

And here we are, five weeks past Easter and we’re back in the desert again, this time with Philip, on a wilderness road.

Interstate 95 is not a wilderness road. As much as it feels like it, neither is the New Jersey Turnpike. Nor is its more obnoxious cousin, the Pennsylvania Turnpike. If you really want to understand what a wilderness road is, you’ll have to leave the United States and the twenty-first century. In the first century, wilderness roads were dangerous places. They ran through deserts and places where highwaymen, thugs, waited in ambush for travelers. They ran through deserts where there was little food, little water and scarce shelter. They were dusty, dirty, unpleasant and uncertain.

They were generally not places you want to be.

If you absolutely had to travel on a wilderness road, large groups were preferable. There was safety in numbers. If you were an influential government official, say the head of the treasury of Ethiopia, you’d have a large number of armed guards with you.

Of course, Philip had no such advantage. Quite out of nowhere, “an angel of the Lord said to Philip, ‘Get up and go toward the south to the road that goes down from Jerusalem to Gaza’.” The angel may as well have said, “Get up and go for a long walk in Central Park after midnight.” I do believe my response would have been a hearty, “No thank you.” There’s not going to be anyone there to meet and anyone I do meet is going to be someone I don’t want to be meeting in the first place. I say again, “No thank you.” But, according to the account in Acts, Philip utters not a word. He simply gets up and goes into the wilderness; into the wild.

But why?

The desert is a powerful and important place in our tradition.

Moses meets God in the wilderness on Mount Sinai while tending the flocks of his father-in-law Jethro, the priest of Midian. (Exodus 3) The Israelites wander for forty years in the wilderness after the Exodus from Egypt. After winning his contest with the prophets of Baal and being threatened by Queen Jezebel, Elijah flees into the wilderness for forty days and forty nights to reach mount Horeb, (1 Kings 19: 1-9) where he hears the voice of God not in fire, tempest or earthquake, but in the sound of “sheer silence.” (1 Kings 19: 12) Our Lord’s incarnation was proclaimed by John the Baptist, who “appeared in the wilderness, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins.” (Mark 1: 4) After His baptism by John, “the Spirit drove [Jesus] out into the wilderness. He was in the wilderness forty days, tempted by Satan; and he was with the wild beasts.” (Mark 1: 12-13)

The earliest holy men and women of the Church, the desert Fathers and Mothers, went out into the desert, into the wilderness to be with God. The word “hermit,” the word used for these holy people who went out to live alone in the wilderness, comes from the Greek word for ‘desert’. It's the same word used in the lection from Acts for ‘wilderness’. Even today, men and women are called by God to live their lives in spiritual deserts, as monks and nuns. Indeed, some even live in literal deserts like the monks of the Monastery of Christ in the Desert in New Mexico or the monks of the oldest operating monastery in the Christian world, St. Catherine’s at the foot of Mount Sinai in Egypt.

So it is with our observance of Lent. But even in Easter, even in the Great Fifty Days of the Resurrection, the great feast of resurrection light and life, we find ourselves pushed back into the desert, back on the wilderness road with Philip.

But why the wilderness?

One could easily write a dozen books trying to answer this question and not come close to giving an adequate answer. I want to suggest one answer is that the desert, the wilderness, is a wild, untamed place where we can come face to face with the wild, untamed love of a wild and untamed God who is “greater than our hearts” and “knows everything.” (1 John 3: 20) This is precisely what our God is about, wild, untamed love in wild, untamed places. And we are to be wild, untamed lovers of God and of each other.

You see love, like the wilderness, is dangerous.

That Christus Rex above the high altar, Christ vested as priest and king on the cross, is a very tamed symbol of a wild, untamed love. It’s pretty, and I’m really rather fond of it. But by and large we’re comfortable with it. But it points to a love and a truth that should make us very uncomfortable. It points to God wild and untamed love in Christ Jesus who became incarnate of the Virgin Mary and was made man, was crucified, died and was buried. Christ Jesus, “who, though he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, being born in human likeness. And being found in human form, he humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death – even death on a cross.” (Philippians 2: 6-8)

“Like a sheep he was led to the slaughter, and like a lamb silent before its shearer, so he does not open his mouth. In his humiliation justice was denied him.” (Acts 8: 32-33, Isaiah 53: 7-8)

God’s love in Christ was so great that He left behind superabundant light and fullness, perfect joy and perfect love, to become flesh and live among us, (John 1: 14) and to die for us. He went into the wilderness of human sin that we might be lead out of that wilderness into the Promised Land. But how can we reciprocate such a love?

Of course we love because God loved us first and continues to love us and so we must love, “not in word or speech, but in truth and action.” (1 John 3: 18) But how can we reciprocate such a love? This love is a gift of infinite cost. In truth, we can’t. There can be no reciprocity because nothing we have can equal the love that is poured out on us. But, while “we know love by this, that He laid down His life for us … we ought to lay down our lives for one another.” (1 John 3: 16) We ought to go rushing down wilderness roads because the Lord has said, “Get up! Go!”

Such was Philip’s love. “So he got up and went” (Acts 8: 27) straight into the wilderness, straight into the desert, with all its uncertainties, dangers, brigands and monsters. And it was there that Philip did his work by preaching to the Ethiopian eunuch. By rushing into the desert, Philip quite literally was laying down his life – risking his life – for one he had not even met until he was on the wilderness road.

The domestication of animals is an interesting thing. Before a dog is domesticated, that is, made suitable for human use, it goes where it wants when it wants. It does what it must to survive and is called feral. Feral dogs are scary things. They have little regard for human beings. But if they can be domesticated, they become subservient and docile. They’re made suitable for families and children. In short, they’re made to conform to our standards and our way of life. As human beings, we can impose domestication on a number of things. Plants species are domesticated and made suitable for harvesting. Horses and livestock are domesticated. Cats are domesticated, sort of.

We make ideas suitable for our own use as well. Things that scare us are rationalized. Things that make us uncomfortable are made pretty and accessible. We change them, dress them up and make them our own. Domestication implies that we have taken possession of a thing and retooled according to our wills. It means that we have made things in our own image.

But some things can never be domesticated.

I'm a great fan of the Discovery Channel. I'm a Shark Week addict.

The great white shark cannot be domesticated. Neither can the Sahara desert. Try as we might, we cannot tame the wild desert. If you go out into the Sahara, you take your life in your own hands. You can live with the desert, if you follow the rules of the desert like Bedouin have for thousands of generations. But you cannot tame it. If you get lost in the middle of the Sahara, it will kill you, no matter who you are or where you come from or how much money you have or don't have. The desert will kill you. It cannot be tamed.

Neither can we tame God’s love. It is love without respect for anything but our being the object of love. It encompasses us, surrounds us, no matter who we are or from whence we come. The love of God cannot be retooled and reshaped to conform to our desires anymore than we can retool or reshape a hurricane or an earthquake. This love is indiscriminate. No matter what our inadequacies, failings, flaws or foibles, we are loved. No matter our politics, ideology, or theology, we are loved. And it is this love that stirs us to love, “not in word or speech, but in truth and action” to go running down wilderness roads.

As Philip was commanded to get up and go, so we have our own commandment. “And this is His commandment, that we should believe in the name of His Son Jesus Christ and love one another, just as He has commanded us.” (1 John 3: 23)

To believe in the name of Christ Jesus and love one another; this is the wild place to be.

Loving God and loving neighbor means laying “down our lives for one another.” Our lives. Our bodies, our flesh and blood. All that we have and all that we are, we are to lay down because of what we have been given. It means going into those places that are terrifying and unknown, places of discomfort and pain, for the sake of love. It means to be drawn far beyond ourselves and into the knowledge and work of God in steadfastly following the steps of Jesus Christ in the way that leads to eternal life, (the Collect for Easter V) straight down the wilderness road.

In this wild place, we are not left comfortless or alone or orphaned because we have been given “another Advocate,” the Holy Spirit, who is with us forever. As the Epistle tells us, “This is the Spirit of truth, whom the world cannot receive, because it neither sees him nor knows Him. You know Him, because He abides with you, and He will be in you.” (John 14: 17) We are not alone in the wilderness. Rather, the wave of superabundant love that washes us out into the wilderness stays with us, surrounding us, running over and through us, spurring us on because “we went through fire and water,” (Psalm 66: 11) through Baptism and Pentecost so that the Holy Spirit, “who holds our souls in life … will not allow our feet to slip.” (Psalm 66: 8) No matter the wilderness we find ourselves in, when we live for Jesus, when we love for Jesus, when we love Jesus, we live because He lives.

In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

••• ••• •••
The Christus Rex pictured is not from St. Andrew's.

nong toom

2006-05-05T14:17:00.000-04:00

This from the guy who owns both Tomb Raider movies?

I have recently become a Netflix addict, largely because of my love of foreign film (of the 74 movies in my Netflix queue, over half are foreign films). This is due in no small part to my general disgust with Hollywood. It's not because Hollywood is overly commercial (which it is) that I take exception with the films made in the States. Rather, I tend to take issue with American film because, with the exception of the occasional independent film, American movies always have happy endings. And when American movies try to end on something other than a happy ending, it usually turns out to be really nothing more than thinly veiled emotional masturbation. Barf. Barf. Barf.

Don't get me wrong, I like happy movies. But I detest saccharin movies. Elizabethtown would have been an infinitely better movie if Orlando Bloom's character would have just gone back home and killed himself with the ginsu knife-exercise bike thingey. Really. (He was so much hawter as Legolas anyway...)

That being said, I'm not an utterly morbid, callous, irredeemable cynic. Amélie is one of my all time favorite movies. It's cute. It's sweet. And it's a good story with a happy ending. I wouldn't have it any other way. But let us not deceive ourselves. There is a huge difference between Amélie and Elizabethtown.

So, disclaimers having been disclaimed and all that, last night, I saw a movie (by way of Netflix) that you simply must see, Beautiful Boxer.

Beautiful Boxer is based on the true story of Nong Toom, a Thai boxer who fought his way to the top in order to pay for a sex change operation. (She is now a professional model and actress in Bangkok.) The movie is eight different kinds of beautiful and it's a wonderfully told story. In a lot of ways, it's really your average transgender person fights life's struggles and gets a sex change kinda movie. The difference between this and every other film of that sub-genre is that this movie is exceptionally and genuinely beautiful. Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon or American Beauty kind of beautiful.

The film has won all kinds of film festival awards and has gotten rave reviews. Quoth the Berliner Morgenpost:

"Thailand's famous transvestite boxer is immortalized in a new movie. Beautiful Boxer is a HEARTWARMING TALE of a woman trapped in a man's body... Asanee gives a BRILLIANT PERFORMANCE, both as a shy boy-girl in the masculine, sweaty-body world of kickboxing camp, and as a tormented androgynous star struggling with his sexuality"

Go see this movie.

a grateful sigh of relief

2006-05-05T13:56:00.000-04:00

From the Department of Deserved Endings

It is finished. The first year of my PhD program is firmly under my belt and I have until Monday morning to chill out. In the words of a friend, "Praisealuia!"

As an added bonus, I have now completed all the required seminar papers for my program. Next term, I will only have to write one paper for a course I'm taking at the University, and that one may well help advance the dissertation, so no complaints there. For my other two seminars, I get to just hang out and read. (Believe me when I tell you that's not as luxurious as it sounds. It's still reading ridiculous amounts. It's just reading ridiculous amounts without having to write a paper at the end of the term.) On the downside, I have realized that it's quite impossible for me to write two really good seminar papers in one term. I can write one paper really well and the other one will just be kind of meh. I'd feel worse about that if we actually got grades. As it is, we get these weird pseudo-grades with no grade points attached. E for excellent, VG for very good, G for good and U for unsatisfactory. Worst case scenario, the meh paper gets a G.

The hard part this weekend is getting myself to actually relax. As it is, I'm fighting the urge to go sit on my porch and read Kirkegaard or start on my summer reading list. I'm fighting that temptation. What I need to do is chill my shit out. So I'm going to go work on that. I think I will take that seat on the back porch but it will be a novel or a PSP in my hands, not work.

laudate dominum, omnes gentes

2006-04-29T15:32:00.000-04:00

From the Department of Hebrews 4:9

So it's the Saturday at the end of Reading Week. I should be busting hump on a couple of papers, but I'm doing well enough on both that I opted for a day of rest, and what a day of rest it is!

A good friend has finally returned to the States and we're getting together for dinner tonight, so I made the obligatory grocery and beer run. Fish tacos are on the menu, so of course, Corona is required. After picking up the cervesas, I was perusing the other beers at Joey C's since their recent expansion has resulted in a dramatic increase in the number of choices. And what did I find awaiting me but a sixer of Fuller's London Pride!

For those unacquainted with the doxological experience that is London Pride, you have my condolences. El Sacerdotio and I discovered the stuff on our trip to England this past January. We made a valiant effort at sampling all the local beers we could get our hands on, but constantly found ourselves making that last pint a London Pride. I was certain I couldn't get it in the States, but lo! There do I see my favorite beer!

Given that the puritanical hosers in Washington aren't going to legalize absinthe any time soon, the only European import that could possibly be cooler than this would be if Busaba Eathai opened up a store in New York.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to plant my ass squarely on my porch, enjoy this gorgeous weather and a London Pride.

And no, you can't have one. They're all mine.

low brow to no brow

2006-04-25T21:08:00.000-04:00

From the department of Jokes of which Chaucer would approve heartily.

In 1781, Benjamin Franklin wrote "To The Royal Academy of *****," wherein he posited that one day, science might be so far advanced as to positively affect the odor of flatus. Quoth the old letch:

My Prize Question therefore should be, To discover some Drug wholesome & not disagreable, to be mix’d with our common Food, or Sauces, that shall render the natural Discharges of Wind from our Bodies, not only inoffensive, but agreable as Perfumes.

Today, I think, ol' Ben would be proud. Modern science has finally yielded up what we've all been waiting for. Nope, not a cure for cancer. They've just invented a fart-free bean.

And just in case you think my esteemed ancestor, the BBC or even I are too far off color to preserve our literary, uh, airs, I'll leave you with a bit of the great English poet, Geoffery Chaucer.

This Nicholas was risen for to pisse,
And thoughte he woulde amenden al the jape;
He sholde kisse his ers er that he scape.
And up the wyndowe dide he hastily,
And out his ers he putteth pryvely
Over the buttok, to the haunche-bon;
And therwith spak this clerk, this Absolon,
"Spek, sweete byrd, I noot nat where thou art."

This Nicholas anon leet fle a fart
As greet as it had been a thonder-dent,
That with the strook he was almoost yblent;
And he was redy with his iren hoot,
And Nicholas amydde the ers he smoot.

--Miller's Tale 3798-3810.

There's a moral in that somewhere.

ecclesiastes 3:2

2006-04-21T22:45:00.000-04:00

From the Department of Words That Aren't French

This happens to me every freakin' year. Term ends, computer dies. The laptop, she does not turn on. Five tech support calls and a wasted day later, we find out that the laptop gets to take a trip back to Mom's Friendly Robot Company for a fix. (And if you got that last reference without clicking the link... well, give yourself a big ol' geeky gold star.)

But, all is not lost. I wasn't planning on working from the study suite this week anyway. At least my laptop did not die the ignominious death that someone else's did... But hey, the Apple Care is good for another 374 days, so it's all good.

Thank God for the desktop machine. (Knocking on wood and backing up data...)

today i feel

2006-04-21T11:22:00.000-04:00

From the Department of That Book I Still Can't Find

You can play too.

everything's coming up millhouse

2006-04-20T14:53:00.000-04:00

From the Department of Munchies!

Ah, the planets seem to have aligned in wonderful ways today. (For the record, the pic has nothing to do with the post, but I figured a little extra visual stimulation goes a long way, right?)

As you will no doubt remember, my dear reader, a few weeks back I experienced something of a culinary breakdown. Said breakdown was remedied quickly enough by my landlord and my department more than graciously paid for the baked goods that were, until this morning, undelivered. While I didn't go remake the two cakes that the oven destroyed, I did make the carrot cake cupcakes that never got started and brought them to seminar this morning. The recipe was large enough that a batch went to a Bible seminar as well. Delivering the baked goods left me feeling like I'd redeemed my otherwise delinquent kitchen.

Secondly, I'm spending my last day of work in the Media Lab blogging. After this afternoon, no more techno-flunkiedom for me. Wee-ha!

Third (and this is definitely the most blatantly, shamelessly and irrepressibly self promoting of the three), I'm now officially published in my field. Yeah, so it's just a book review, but hey, we all have to start somewhere and I've got a couple of others not far behind.

life lessons from whole foods

2006-04-12T09:53:00.000-04:00

When you walk around the grocery store during the week of Passover singing to yourself in Hebrew, don't be surprised when people think you're Jewish.

who's that then?

2006-04-11T19:49:00.000-04:00

From the Department of Self Evident Monarchy

I'm going to completely rip-off an old friend and indulge in a little blog-listing what I've learned over the past week.

Egyptian temple art is a lot funnier than you think it is. (Hint: Look for the baboons.)

Conversations that include the question, "So just whose epistemology do you find sexy?" are really not going to wind up anywhere you want to go.

In the course of slogging through two seminar papers, I've decided I want to be a pirate when I grow up. Yarrr! Avast! Shiver me timbers! Yeah, okay, so it's a stretch. Mostly, I just want a pirate hat.

Tilapia, pecans and panko crumbs were meant to be together.

Discretion is the better part of valor. Much like being asked, "Are you a god?" by a transdimensional chick who has bubbles for clothes, when a prof asks, "Wouldn't you rather take this seminar pass/fail and not have to write a paper?" you say YES.

This will melt your brain and all resolve you have not to make embarrassing noises at work.

The Donatist martyrs read Ray Bradbury. Seriously. There's a totally cool parallel between the memorization of scripture in the Abatinian Martyrs and the end of Fahrenheit 451. It's really cool. Honest. In the words of the great modern sage, "Look it up. I know you wont!"

Getting a really good tattoo parlor to return your calls is often more difficult than getting out of a bar with some guy's phone number.

Carrots work. I couldn't motivate myself to work on a paper, so I went out and bought a video game, sat it on top of my monitor and all of a sudden, I knocked out 15 pages of notes. Oh yeah. Get your frag on.

Brokeback Mountain may make you cry, but this won't.

excuse me, i have some shopping to do

2006-04-03T22:15:00.000-04:00

From the Department of The Hot Tub After Winter Formal

At about four forty-five this afternoon, I was ready to cause a traffic accident in a mad dash for a manicure. After a weekend of kitchen disasters and my inability to manage my own calendar, I was a wreck. Full blown, drama queen wreck.

For me, the kitchen is a place of sabbath, renewal and joy. I almost never have unsalvageable kitchen disasters. When I've had a bad day, I cook. I really cook. Ask Space Cowboy, he lived with me for a summer. Bad day = huge dinner. So, when I've had an intense and rough week and I'm looking forward to some playtime in the kitchen, even if it is for a departmental function, it's a good thing. When my oven dies, utterly ruining ten hours of work, all is not well in Casa de Sloane. I originally thought the new bundt pan I bought was crap. From what I hear from those who have them, it is. But that wasn't the whole problem. A cake in a 9" pan should not take an hour and a half to bake all the way through, only to disintegrate when it comes out. Especially on recipes I've made dozens of dozens of times. So, I feel fairly confident in asserting that the oven is ill.

While this doesn't come as a surprise since it took me 40 minutes at 350° F to bake a single trout to the appropriate internal temperature, the p.o.s. could have chosen a better time to go belly up.

The other thing that is guaranteed to make me crazy is being late when it's my fault. I don't mind being late when it's on somebody else. Honestly, it doesn't phase me. But when I'm to blame, it makes me just about as nuts as a kitchen failure. Tonight, I was late for colloquium because I had it in my head that it was at 5:30 instead of 5:00. D'oh.

After an absolutely craptacular time last week, the kitchen battles and tardiness of today did not sit well with me. The generally easy-going chap that I am somehow receded into the background and my soap-opera-esque evil twin came to the fore. And she didn't even have the courtesy to show up in drag! Sheesh... the nerve...

But you know what?

It's all better now. I got home, poured myself a whisky (or two), read some Augustine and chilled out. But, much like "those four amazing hours in the hot tub ... after winter formal," it's just "so much better than that."

I even did a happy dance.

Why?

Because I'm a gigantic freakin' nerd. One might even say an epic nerd. Level 40 at least. I wield the Lexicon of Smiting +20/+20. (See? I told you I was a nerd. A series of references to Legally Blonde followed by RPG humor; how much nerdier can one get? Well, just you wait and see...) I just got online and found course listings for next spring at the University. While there's nothing on Islam, that's no crisis and no obstacle to preparing for comps. I can just do a readings course at the Sem. No big. But, there is a doctoral seminar on.... *drum roll* Medieval Liturgy.

Hiz-ell. Yiz-eah.

Or, in a more poetic idiom, "O frabiose dies! Callo clamateque Calla!"

düde! it works!

2006-04-02T17:55:00.000-04:00

Just when I was beginning to think that Kevin was cheating or something because he keeps winning stuff from Blingo, I won!

Mmmm... iTunes gift certificate...

Wøøt. Wøøt indeed.

Now, get off your cyber-kiester, get with the Blingo and make me your buddy so we can both win stuff.

taking issue with issues

2006-03-30T15:32:00.000-05:00

From the Department of Form Over Substance

Just so you can't say I didn't warn you... I think I'm just about to write something of substance.

A shock, I know. Especially after the past few posts that are really naught but inane drivel posted out of some sense of obligation to put something on the blog. But enough of that...

The Sem is currently in the middle of bglass Week (bglass being the lgbt and straight supportive student group on campus). Every year, at least since I've been around this place, there's been a student panel to discuss something related to lgbt concerns. Two days ago, I sat on the aforesaid panel of students talking about how one lives with integrity in a divided community. Of the six panelists, I was the only doctoral student - the rest were MDivs - and I was the only one who identified as homosexual. In fact, to the best of my knowledge, this is the first time in the five years that a lgbt student has sat on that panel. This time around, I was particularly struck by the honesty, charity, and substance of what everyone had to say, no matter from whence they came. To my fellow panelists, thank you and well done.

After the panel, a woman came up to me and said that she wanted to read some of my "stuff." I confessed that I readily didn't have much "stuff" to read. But, in retrospect, it occurs to me that I do want to go on record about the word "issue."

Frequently, I hear folk talking about the "gay issue," or "this issue," or "that issue that's pulling the church apart." As I said on Tuesday, I have a problem with the word "issue."

Fundamentally, to speak of lgbt persons in the life of the church as "an issue" effectively removes the human faces from what we're talking about. We must always be mindful that we're not talking about congressional legislation, but human beings. When we talk about human sexuality in a room full of people, we're talking about all of the people in the room. (And in case you've not noticed by now, you really can't ever assume you're in a room full of heterosexuals. We're there, whether you know it or not.)

I know for many folk, "issue" is simply verbal shorthand. I find myself using it at times as well. It really can be a handy word. The problem is that it can be overly handy and over used and it's here that it becomes dehumanizing, not to those of us that can speak out and speak up for ourselves, but to those of us who can't.

On Tuesday night, I attended part of a workshop on sexual ethics. The speaker used a really great phrase to describe the ethos of the conversation he wanted to have, "every voice in." To have "every voice in" on human sexuality in a room full of diverse peoples requires a sensitivity of language and of perspective.

So, I'm not out to strike the word "issue" from the English language, or even from the parlance of discussions about human sexuality.

Rather, I would suggest that by being attentive to how we use words like "issue" when talking about the lives and selves of our brothers and sisters in Christ, we can begin to be more sensitive, aware people. By being aware of the realities that our words create we become more aware of the people who intersect with those realities. (Nerts. I just said something that sounded post modern... alas. Bad Medievalist. No cookie. I'll do penance for that later...)

Before I get up on a theological soap box about words/Word and speech/Incarnation in ethical discourse, let it simply be said: people are people, not issues.

Fin.

revelations

2006-03-24T18:35:00.000-05:00

From the Department of It's Funny Because It's True

The reality has sunk in.

I've become a stereotype.

I say this because the evidence is overwhealming:

(1) Today was what is usually my day off. The only problem is, I couldn't come up with anything else to do, so I went to the library and worked all day.

(2) When taking an alumni survey from my alma mater, I was confronted with questions about what I did after graduation and what I'm doing now. The answer to both was "grad school" (though I do feel a bit guilty calling an MDiv grad school - it really is more of a vocational degree).

(3) I had to remind myself that this really is supposed to be a joke and not simply a statement of fact.

(4) On my way to the shuttle bus, someone said to me, "Sloane! Watch out! You're about to walk into a sign!"

In fact, I was.

(5) This afternoon, at about 2:00, I drank an energy drink. About 20 minutes later, I decided that what I really needed was a power nap. I had no difficulty falling asleep.

(6) After the nap, I found myself explaining to a friend the logistics of power napping without leaving your study desk. (The secret is getting just comfortable enough to fall asleep, but not so comfortable that you won't have to move in 20 to 30 minutes.)

(7) In jest, I described myself as an "off-kilter, academic nut-job."

I was promptly assured of the accuracy of that statement.

•••

On a more positive note, how much does Rowan Williams rawk?

Quoth The Guardian:

The Archbishop of Canterbury, Rowan Williams, has stepped into the controversy between religious fundamentalists and scientists by saying that he does not believe that creationism - the Bible-based account of the origins of the world - should be taught in schools.

Giving his first, wide-ranging, interview at Lambeth Palace, the archbishop was emphatic in his criticism of creationism being taught in the classroom, as is happening in two city academies founded by the evangelical Christian businessman Sir Peter Vardy and several other schools.

"I think creationism is ... a kind of category mistake, as if the Bible were a theory like other theories ... if creationism is presented as a stark alternative theory alongside other theories I think there's just been a jarring of categories ... My worry is creationism can end up reducing the doctrine of creation rather than enhancing it," he said.

The complete interview is available here.

um, ew.

2006-03-20T10:27:00.000-05:00

During my MDiv years, the refectory had a reputation for putting together unspeakably heinous "foodstuffs" with the result that one really had to be creative to put together an edible and sufficiently nutritious meal, particularly on the weekends. One day was especially heinous. We couldn't even get our hands on sliced bread to make a peanut butter & jelly sandwich. So in what seemed like a good idea at the time (I think hunger had a lot to do with the lousy decision making process here), a friend and I made use of the only bread-like substance available to us. Namely, a day old (or older) donut. Let it be here said that donuts do not good sandwiches make.

So, with that in mind, you can understand the absolute wave of revulsion that coursed through my body when I checked Kevin's blog only to discover that some poor, misguided soul has decided to create a Krispy Kream Bacon Cheeseburger.

To quote an old friend, What is wrong with people?!

But hey, this makes is all better.

Well, not really. But a Princess Leia puppy? What's not to love?

a sermon

2006-03-19T14:55:00.000-05:00

Preached 19 March 2006 at Saint Andrew's Episcopal Church, Lambertville, NJ
Lent III, Year B: Exodus 20:1-17, Psalm 19:7-14, Romans 7:13-25, John 2:13-22

In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

At the beginning of the Liturgy this morning, we prayed through the Decalogue, the Ten Commandments. As Father read each Commandment, we replied, “Amen. Lord have mercy.” In the use of the Ten Commandments in the Penitential Order, the authors of the Prayer Book tap into a very ancient Christian penitential tradition. Over the centuries, the Decalogue has been used by Christian folk before going to confession as a kind of mirror to reflect on sins they had committed.

So it is with us. In praying our way through the Penitential Order in Lent, we are reminded of our sinfulness, of the broken relationships with God and with each other. Indeed, “If we say that we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us.” (1 John 1:8)

Throughout Christian history, Lent has been a season of penance – of prayerful reflection on the broken relationships in our lives as a means of living into the Paschal Mystery. But we keep having to do it. Lent by Lent. Sunday by Sunday. Day by day. Hour by hour. There can be no doubt that sin has a tight hold on us and on our lives, in things we have done and things we have left undone, in thought, word and deed.

Paul’s language from the Epistle is spot on. “I am of the flesh, sold into slavery under sin.” (Romans 7:14)

Slavery.

To have neither power nor the ability to control one’s fate. To be utterly at the whim of something more powerful than yourself. To “have no power in ourselves to help ourselves.”(BCP, 218)

As many of you know, in Christian Formation, we’ve been reading the Confessions of Saint Augustine, in which this great Doctor of the Church gives his reader a very sense of the depth of human sinfulness. He writes:

I have personally watched and studied a jealous baby. He could not yet speak and, pale with jealousy and bitterness, glared at his brother sharing his mother’s milk. Who is unaware of this fact of experiences? Mothers and nurses claim to charm it away by their own private remedies. But it can hardly be innocence, when the source of milk is flowing richly and abundantly, not to endure a share going to one’s blood-brother, who is in profound need, dependent for life exclusively on that one food. (Confessions I.vii.11, 9)

Augustine’s point is profound. Sin has such a grip on us that it penetrates our very souls to depths deeper than we can plumb and from times in our lives earlier than we can remember. We are, when left to our own devices, as helpless before it as a newborn babe.

We are then left with a profoundly divided self. We want to do what is good, but we do not do it.

In the lection from the Epistle to the Romans, Paul quite accurately describes this divided self. He knows the law; indeed, having been trained as a Pharisee, he knows the ins and outs of Torah far better than your average person on the street. He knows the law, and he desperately wants to be able to adhere to it. He lays the full force of his will into adherence to the law, and yet he sins and sins and sins again. Paul, who has seen the Lord Jesus on the Damascus Road, (Acts 9:3-8) was on a mission from God. Paul, one of the great Saints of the Church and prolific writer of Epistles in the New Testament – this Paul, this Saint, describes himself as being “foremost” among the sinners of the world. (1 Timothy 1:15) Paul was a sinner, trapped under the power of sin.

So when Paul writes of the divided self, his internal conflict between his own will and his sin, he knows quite well what he’s talking about: “I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate. Now if I do what I do not want, I agree that the law is good. But in fact it its no longer I that do it, but sin that dwells within me, that is, in my flesh. I can will what is right, but I cannot do it.” (Romans 7:15-18)

Paul sees himself mired in sin; stuck in a predicament with dire consequences, since “the wages of sin is death.” (Romans 6:23) Hence, Paul’s (and our) lament, “Oh wretched man that I am!” (Romans 7:24)

But Paul continues, “Who will rescue me from this body of death? Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord!” (Romans 7:24-25)

There is, then, a paradox about our selves: like Paul, we “delight in the law of God” in our inmost selves, but we see in our “members another law at war with the law” of our minds, making us “captive to the law of sin.” (Romans 7:23) The only solution to this paradox is the saving act of God in Jesus Christ.

One way to come at this crisis of sin is through the language of the soul as God’s dwelling place. Teresa of Avila describes an interior castle, the center of which is God’s dwelling. John Donne described a city under siege. (Holy Sonnet XIV) In the Confessions, Augustine prays:

The home of my soul is too small for you to come to it. May it be enlarged by you. It is in ruins: restore it. In your eyes it has offensive features. I admit it, I know it; but who will clean it up? Or to whom shall I cry other than you? ‘Cleanse me from my secret faults,’ Lord, and spare your servant from sins to which I am tempted by others. (I.v.6, 6)

Augustine describes the soul as a ramshackle hovel, unfit for welcoming such a guest as Christ. Yet, even as Augustine would welcome Christ, he must ask this the noblest of guests to remodel the very home in which he would stay!

Of course, another metaphor for the soul is the temple.

The Gospel text for today comes immediately after the Wedding at Cana, early in John’s Gospel. More than anything, this text tells us not about the corruption of the Temple in Jerusalem, but of who Jesus is and what he does. The cleansing of the temple is the cleansing of what is God’s, just as our souls belong to God. In the early Church, the Gospel text for today was understood as “symbolic of the purification of candidates in preparation for their Baptism on Easter eve.” (Sloyan, John, 39)

That’s really not a bad reading of the text. Just as Christ drove out the livestock from the temple and overturned the tables of the moneychangers, cleansing it, purifying it, so it is Christ who must do the same work in us. The means for this cleansing lie in Jesus’ words to the temple authorities: “‘Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up.’ The Jews then said, ‘This temple has been under construction for forty-six years, and will you raise it up in three days?’ But he was speaking of the temple of his body. After he was raised from the dead, his disciples remembered that he had said this; and they believed the scripture and the word that Jesus had spoken.” (John 2:19-22)

Notice that the disciples didn’t understand what Jesus did until after the resurrection because his actions were tied up in the resurrection, tied up in his saving act. If I were speaking like one of the early Christian writers, I would say that the Jesus’ cleansing of the temple prefigured, pointed to and set the pattern for, the cleansing of our souls as people living between His resurrection and our own resurrections.

It is in His death and resurrection that sin is broken, death is overturned and we, who are Christ’s body, are inheritors of the promise of eternal life. “Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord.” (Romans 7:25)

It is this Mystery that we are to live into during Lent. It is in living into this Mystery that we, with Augustine, invite God to enlarge our too small souls. It is in living through this season of grappling with the depth of our own sinfulness that enables us to enter more fully into the Paschal Mystery of the crucifixion, death and resurrection of our Lord.

Through penitence, through the “sincere desire to amend for sin or wrongdoing,” (OED.com) through Lenten disciplines, we are able to take stock of our lives and, with God’s help, prepare ourselves as individuals and a community to live through the act of remembering that makes present, the anamnesis of Holy Week and the Triduum. In this our reflections, meditations, introspections and disciplines become mirrors to our selves and souls that we might realize our complete and utter dependence on our God, and in realizing that dependence, we may begin to see the light and life contained in God’s superabundant love for us that would make our divided selves whole.

This is why we must reflect on our own sins. This is why we observe the Penitential Rite and make our confession of sin, as a community in the Liturgy and as individuals in the Rite of Reconciliation of a Penitent. This is why we say, “Amen. Lord have mercy.”

“Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord!”

In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

it seemed perfectly cromulent at the time...

2006-03-18T23:10:00.000-05:00

From the Department of the Irrepressibly Snarky Blogger

The story itself qualifies as beyond friggin' cool, naytheless...

Quoth the BBC:

"It's frustrating if you're a microbe that's been wandering the Universe for a million years to then die striking the surface of Europa," Dr Gladman said.

Asked after his presentation by one scientist whether he thought microbes would be able to survive Titan's freezing temperatures, Dr Gladman answered: "That's for you people to decide, I'm just the pizza delivery boy."

oh why me?

2006-03-12T23:12:00.000-05:00

From the Department of Yoda's Larder

I have held forth before about the almost mystical effects that chilies have on good chocolate. I have an almost dangerous relationship with the habeñero dark chocolate gelato from the Bent Spoon. Now, I had to go and stumble upon a chocolate bar with bits o' real cacao floating about coupled with chilies, Dagoba Xocolatl.

Come on. It's like the universe is taunting me.

I'm a freakin' graduate student. By definition, I spend all of my time square on my patookus, reading. I don't need the cosmos wagging yet one more irresistible hunk of chocolate in my direction, damnit.

a guest post

2006-03-12T08:05:00.000-05:00

A few days ago, the BBC ran this story about the Rattlesnake Roundup in Sweetwater, TX.

Some of you know that the summer after I graduated from High School, I worked at the Big Texan, steak joint and tourist trap extraordinare. The Big Texan used to (and may well still) advertise that they had the largest live rattlesnake in captivity. If you could find a bigger one and bring it to them, they'd pay you for it.

Well, yesterday, I got this email from a semi-regular commenter and fellow member of the West Texas Diaspora (it's a good thing), "e-":

Here is your heritage, boy. It is BBC, after all, so I am sure you saw it:

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/americas/4795604.stm

Rattlesnake round-up draws crowds

Some farmers collect large quantities of rattlesnakes Rattlesnake hunters are gathering in the Texas town of Sweetwater for what the town styles the "World's Largest Rattlesnake Round-up".

But you may have missed this one: a little piece from a relative in West Texas (of course):

Texas Rattlesnake!!!!!!!!!

THEY GROW 'EM BIG IN TEXAS!!!

This snake was recently found at the old Turkey Creek gas plant located just south of the Alibates Turnoff on Highway 136 south of Fritch Texas.

[THAT'S JUST NORTH OF AMARILLO]

A reminder that these creatures are actually out there and no matter what you believe, sometimes they should get not only prescriptive rights to be there but the full right of way!

9 feet, 1 inch - 97 lbs.

No matter what anybody else tells you, kill the snake before you try to do anything else to it! It's the safest way for you and the snake doesn't care anymore.

DEEP-FRIED RATTLESNAKE

1 medium-sized rattlesnake (3-4 lbs.), cut into steaks
1/2 cup flour
1/4 cup cornmeal
1/4 cup cracker crumbs
1/2 cup milk
1 egg
1/4 teaspoon garlic powder (not garlic salt)
1 teaspoon salt
dash pepper

Mix dry ingredients. Whisk milk into beaten egg and use to dip snake steaks. Then coat them with dry ingredients. Fry, uncovered, in 400 degree oil until brown.

Now wasn't that fun?

The email came with this picture:

•••

For those of you that don't know where the thriving metropolis of Fritch is, here's a map courtesy of Google Earth:

bork bork bork

2006-03-08T14:30:00.000-05:00

From the Department of King Prawnery

Well, after years of research, it seems scientists have finally discovered a deep sea Muppet:

(s)he's really done it this time

2006-03-04T15:10:00.000-05:00

From the Department of Razzle Dazzle

I just got back from the 222nd Convention of the Diocese of New Jersey. There was a fair amount of razzle dazzle, as is to be expected at such things. There was also a good deal of heated discussion around (sadly, not actually about) the Windsor Report and human sexuality. Among things "discussed" was a resolution on a statement on inclusiveness, ideally to be read at Convocations and be posted on the website, fairly usual stuff for inclusiveness statements. Naturally, it was contested.

And, while I managed to quietly mind my knitting for resolution after resolution, and presentation after presentation, someone finally said something that really pissed me off. It pissed me off enough to stand up in front of a room of around 1,000 church folk and take on the issue.

I hadn't really intended to speak about sexuality. I had it all planned out. I was going to speak about inclusiveness (differently abled-ness, race, gender, age, etc. ktl. usw.) as a matter of mission, and I still managed to do that. But somehow, in the midst of holding forth about why we need to be explicit about what we mean when we say, "The Episcopal Church Welcomes You," I went and did it.

You see, there are a number of folk that don't know that we mean that the Episcopal Church welcomes you. We mean you. (Well, most of us do and the rest of us bloody well should.) We mean every shape and human condition. The truth is, some people approach the statement "The Episcopal Church Welcomes You" with a well earned hermeneutic of suspicion. I intended to take this up with out speaking about myself or about sexuality in general. But, rather like the Stay Puffed Marshmallow Man, it just sort of popped in there.

In front of the assembled representatives of the Diocese of New Jersey -- bishop, priests, deacons and laity -- about two-thirds through my allotted three minutes, I said, (and I quote myself to the best of my recollection where square brackets mark my internal dialogue):

... Saying "The Episcopal Church Welcomes You" isn't enough. I'm a gay man. [Fuck. Did I just say that?] I feel welcome in this Diocese [mostly] and welcome in this room [well, at least I felt welcome until I opened my big yap]. This statement isn't for us. Our fellowship of altar and font cannot be forged or broken from such things. We remind ourselves every year with the reaffirmation of our baptismal vows at the Great Vigil that we are to "seek and serve Christ" in every person and to strive for the "dignity of every human being." This statement is for my gay brothers and lesbian sisters outside the church that still don't know that they're welcome. That don't believe they're welcome because that's what folk have told them. You talk about wanting to be a missionary church. This inclusiveness statement is a matter of mission. You say you want to grow the Church. We can grow here. This isn't about being afraid, this is about being Church."

As I was walking to my seat, a woman stopped me, looked me in the eye, put her hand on my shoulder and silently shook my hand. Another stopped me as I was leaving to thank me. I was humbled. Frankly, I was still shaking two hours after the fact on the ride home. I can't imagine myself having done that three years ago. Half of me can't believe I did it now.

My only regret is that I didn't have something more glamorous on than my black turtleneck and tweed sport coat.

silly computer

2006-03-02T20:59:00.000-05:00

Yeah, typing in Latin tends to do that.

Seriously though, there have to be enough Latinists out there that somebody surely has to have come up with a Latin dictionary module for OS X or M$ Word.

Surely.

s.o.p.c.d?

2006-03-01T14:18:00.000-05:00

From the Department of 1 Corinthians 10:19

While reading Boing Boing this morning, I stumbled across this entry about an edible sacred heart available for purchase here.

I particularly like that you can have it hand painted. It's not just your every day theophagic confection. No, no, no. It's a super-duper glamtabulous theophagic confection!

But hey, if that's not your speed, you can always gobble the goddess of Willendorf, gnash on Ganesh, or ingest Ixchel.

But you've got to ask yourself, why the hell not?

(By the way, while I'm rather epistemologically and ontologically committed to the superiority of the Triune God, I'm fairly certain one chocolate idol tastes just as good as another. You might say that when it comes to chocolate deities, I'm a polychocolatist. So do feel free to send chocolate Kaun Yin or Venus of Laussel my way. But please, no chocolate Marduks or Demiurges.)

all them saddles and boots

2006-02-27T20:47:00.000-05:00

Willie Nelson rocks my world.

Yeah, I really just said that.

You see, a few days ago, the planets aligned in a remarkable way. Over the past few weeks, I've been talking to an old friend about possibly attending my High School reunion. I'm of several minds on the issue, but that's not something I'm going to hash out here. Yet, with High School reunions in Amarillo, Texas looming large in my head, when a colleague waxed poetic about a new Willie Nelson song, it all just seemed to come together in a fabulous way. A fabulous, feather boa and chaps kinda way.

Tolle, lege:

Cowboys Are Frequently Secretly Fond Of Each Other
by Willie Nelson

There's many a strange impulse out on the plains of West Texas;
Theres many a young boy who feels things he dont comprehend.
Well small town don't like it when somebody falls between sexes,
No, a small town don't like it when a cowboy has feelings for men.

And I believe in my soul that inside every man theres a feminine,
And inside every lady theres a deep manly voice loud and clear.
Well, a cowboy may brag about things that he does with his women,
But the ones who brag loudest are the ones that are most likely queer.

Cowboys are frequently secretly fond of each other
Say what did you think those saddles and boots was about?
And theres many a cowboy who dont understand the way that he feels for his brother,
And inside every cowboy there's a lady that'd love to slip out.

And there's always somebody who says what the others just whisper,
And mostly that someone's the first one to get shot down dead:
So when you talk to a cowboy don't treat him like he was a sister
You can't fuck with the lady that's sleepin' in each cowboy's head.

Cowboys are frequently secretly fond of each other
What did you think all them saddles and boots was about?
And theres many a cowboy who dont understand the way that he feels for his brother,
And inside every lady there's a cowboy who wants to come out.
And inside every cowboy there's a lady that'd love to slip out.

Pardon me while I go dust off my k.d. lang albums.

•••

In other news, I bought a new hat. There are simply more Ivy and Eight Quarter caps than I can deal with. Mr. Tweed Cap has been benched and now only serves for rain duty.

Hello. "My name is Raven and I'm an elitist asshole."

retro

2006-02-20T18:58:00.000-05:00

Arbeite bis der schmerz dich zwingt aufzuhören.

At least that's what I keep telling myself.

Given that I've not only received email but telephone calls telling me to post, I figured it might be a good thing to do. In all truth, it looks like the posts this term are going to be a bit more on the sparse side as I'm up to my eyeballs in work between three seminars, web mastering, research assistanting, and teaching at church. The whiney part of me thought about posting my reading list for this week to ellicit sympathy. I figured that'd be a hard sell, knowing some of the folk who read this blog. So instead, I decided to post a list of ten songs that have been making me happy of late. So, without further ado and in no particular order:

James Blunt, "You're Beautiful"

Yellowcard, "View From Heaven"

48 May, "Leather and Tattoos"

Natasha Bedingfield, "Unwritten"

Dresden Dolls, "The Jeep Song"

Gathering Miriam, "Georgie Porgie"

Corvus Corax, "Filii Neidhardi"

Liz Phair, "Why Can't I?"

The Muppets, "Mahnamahna"

Avenue Q, "It Sucks to be Me"

And, just for grins, a few books that have rocked my small, self-centered universe of late:

John Wolffe. God and Greater Britain Religion and National Life in Britain and Ireland 1843-1945 New York: Routledge, 1994.

James J. O'Donnell. Augustine A New Biography New York: HarperCollins, 2005.

Mechthild von Magdeburg. Das fließende Licht der Gottheit. Stuttgart: Bad Cannstatt, 1995.

•••

Oh, yeah, and in other news, last week I was invited to join a punk band.

hibernian climes

2006-02-12T11:53:00.000-05:00

So apparently it finally decided to be winter.

After looking at the weather yesterday and the National Weather Service's threats of "blizzard like conditions" with gusts over 35 mph, it was decided that Christian Formation would be cancelled and that the facilitator generally lacked the moxie to venture out into the white stuff. What can I say? I just don't trust Jersey drivers.

Seriously, you'd think in a state where snow actually falls, people would know how to drive in it. Alas, it simply isn't so. Most days, I think that folk in Dallas handle snow better than folk up here do. (For those of you with no frame of reference, when the slightest amount of the cold, white stuff falls in Dallas you'd think the Almighty had released herds of giant, flesh eating yeti that have no greater delight than chasing confused and frightened motorists.)

On the upside, I've had a productive, quite morning punctuated by occasional glances out at a pair of doves that have chosen to weather the storm on my patio.

•••

P.S. If anyone knows the correct plural of "yeti," do let me know.

•••

Update: It seems I'm stuck in the world of forced labor. As usual, given that there's a climactic occurrence other than pure sunshine, the satellite is out. So, no Winter Olympics for Sloane. Damn. I guess this means I actually have to work. Sigh.

life on the bus

2006-02-08T09:19:00.000-05:00

Being a bit of a tree-hugger, I tend to take the shuttle the Sem provides to commute from my apartment to campus when the weather prohibits biking. Most days, I can't really bring myself to interact with human beings, so I tend to be plugged into my iPod.

I should pause for explanation here.

Those of you accustomed to public transit may be wondering what a bus has to do with human interaction. After all, speaking to people with whom you are not traveling on public transit is roughly analogous to urinal chatter in the men's room. Slightly less of a taboo, but still a social no-no. The Sem's shuttle is the grand exception to this rule. Everybody knows everybody, so there's no dearth of friendly chatter. On days when I can dig it, no problem. On days when I can't, iPod.

This morning was probably an iPod morning, but I didn't have the presence of mind to pull my headphones out of my bag. (I was up a little too late last night doing what I shouldn't. Namely, pleasure reading. I was absorbed in the adventures of Sister Fidelma.) In the end, I was glad not to have plugged in, otherwise I wouldn't have heard this fragment of a conversation:

Guy 1: What are you going to do tonight?
Guy 2: Well, I've got shaving cream and M&Ms, so that's a game.
Guy 1: Woo-hoo!
Guy 2: Jesus loves you!

Um, qua? Shaving cream and M&Ms. WTF?

Never mind. I really don't want to know.

and deliver us from evil

2006-02-07T11:04:00.000-05:00

Sweet Mary mother of mercy deliver us!

Maggy Thatcher, the Musical.

Imelda Marcos, eat your heart out.

well, well, well

2006-02-07T10:02:00.000-05:00

Quoth the BBC:

The propaganda war between the US and Cuba is nothing new - but correspondents say this is an escalation.

Already Cuba has put up scores of posters in the capital caricaturing President Bush as both a fascist and a vampire.

The two countries have not had diplomatic links for 45 years.

After Attorney General Alberto Gonzales was exempted from an oath to tell the truth to the Senate Judiciary Committee regarding secret wiretapping by the White House (see NPR coverage here), I have but one thing to say...

Vivemos in solidaridad.

(Yeah, so that probably got me on a governmental shit-list somewhere, but I'm sure I was already on a half a dozen to begin with... Damnable gay Christian pacifists.)

metaphorical overkill

2006-02-06T15:16:00.000-05:00

Given the protracted discussion about the metaphorical status of my new blender, I couldn't resist posting this quote from a book I'm reading for my Modern European Church History seminar.

Quoth Benedict Anderson in Imagined Communities:

Nothing better illustrates capitalism in feudal-aristocratic drag than colonial militaries, which were notoriously distinct from those of the metropoles, often even in formal institutional terms.

Emphasis mine.

•••

Oh, and just to put all the rumor to rest, the blender has indeed been to prom. It made roast tomato basil soup a few nights ago and the lid is still a bit stained from all the tomato.

lemmings

2006-02-05T17:15:00.000-05:00

From the Department of Stuff Everybody Else is Doing

Your 2005 Song Is

Beverly Hills by Weezer

"My automobile is a piece of crap
My fashion sense is a little whack
And my friends are just as screwy as me"

You breezed through 2005 in your own funky style!

What Hit Song of 2005 Are You?

requiescat in pacem

2006-02-04T09:51:00.000-05:00

From the Department of Disturbing Things.

This was originally going to be a post attempting to prove that I've not suffered some horrible fate like being taken over by a mind controlling wasp and am in fact still alive. I got about three paragraphs into a pointless and meandering prose splatter when I realized that what I really needed to be writing was an obituary for my blender.

He died, you see.

His name was Blendy. Actually, his name was Black & Decker ProBlend Brushed Stainless Steel Blender, Blendy just seemed more personal and slightly more creepy. After all, this is an obituary for an appliance. You kind of need to be creepy for something like that, wouldn't you think?

So anywho, Blendy used to make the best roast tomato soup. He also made a damn good margarita. Now, he's dead. In the midst of strenuous activity, he over exerted himself and died.

Blendy is survived by Jitters the Coffee Pot and Choppy the French Knife.

In other news, I've decided my microwave works for the teamsters. It gets about half way through defrosting something or another (which is about all I use the silly thing for) and turns itself off. No clock. No blinkey lights. Nuthin. It eventually turns itself back on, but only when it bloody well feels like it. Stupid machine.

•••

Now, having just zipped through an obit for an inanimate object in a manner that would well make Lewis Carroll shudder, I ask, sir, are you satisfied? (You know who you are...)

You see, earlier this week, I was speaking with my friend who has taken it upon himself to turn me into the stereotype of the off-kilter academic nut job. It doesn't help that I regularly wear a tweed sport coat and a floppy tweed hat. (Trust me, when you spend sixteen hours of your day in a damp, cold library, tweed starts making a lot of sense.) Apparently, the logical progression from being a tweed clad, tote bag carrying, coffee swilling, Medievalist is, by my friend's reckoning, to be a tweed clad, tote bag carrying, coffee swilling Medievalist with a Hello Kitty umbrella.

Um, thanks, but no thanks.

I've got nothing against Hello Kitty. Nor do I have anything against being delightfully wierd. I just think umbrellas are a total waste and rather pointless when a good hat and coat will keep you just as dry without the hassle of fighting the wind with a portable lightening rod.

Now a Hello Kitty waffle iron, that's a differently story entirely.

new blog smell

2006-01-31T22:37:00.000-05:00

An old friend of mine, from high school no less, has started up a blog. So pop on over to Midwestern TA and welcome her to the blogsphere!

tee-hee

2006-01-31T10:47:00.000-05:00

From the Department of Amusing Theological Prose

Quoth Diarmaid MacCulloch in The Reformation: A History:

The liturgy of which the Mass was the centerpiece was not only good for the soul, it was fun. German Christians, for instance, looked forward on Easter morning to a good time celebrating Christ's harrowing of hell - his cosmic hooliganism when he triumphantly descended to the Devil's kingdom after dying on the Cross.

Emphasis mine.

bad blogger, no biscuit

2006-01-30T17:38:00.000-05:00

Mea culpa. Mea culpa. Mea maxima culpa.

Sorry for not posting in ages, ya'll. Course work hit like a ton of proverbial bricks. Except they weren't brick. They were books. And they weren't proverbial. So, yeah.

But, in a lame-ass attempt to make up for absolutely no content for over a week, I'll give you some links that should make you happy.

For starters, I can't tell you how many times I've wished for the information on this page! God bless these people.

Secondly, remember Cute Overload? Well, after I'd introduced a few folks to the wonders of teh Cute, I was introduced to Stuff On My Cat. Last week, I stumbled across its corollary site: My Cat Hates You.

Lastly, in case you feel the need to tie your brain in knots, have a puzzle with lasers!

P.S. If you didn't click on the "happy" link above, do so. It's the creepiest damn thing I've seen all day.

england

2006-01-24T09:18:00.000-05:00

From the "Let's Try This Again" Department

Some of this is going to be a bit of a rehash, but you get pictures this time!

Monday
After an all night flight from John F. Kennedy Airport, we landed at Heathrow, met our driver and went on to the hotel. Because we couldn't check in until 2:00, we opted to spend some time at the British Museum as it was only a block and a half from where we were staying. We wandered around there for a good while, generally marveling at things like stumbling across Discobolos in a stairwell. It was also more than a little strange to explore the famous frieze from the Parthenon while in London.

The picture you're looking at was taken from a hill overlooking the ground of the Abbey. In the foreground is

We were finally able to check into the hotel and took much needed showers. Deo gratias! Having divested ourselves of the general feeling of scuzziness one acquires after an all night transatlantic flight, we made our way to dinner and a pub. Thus ended our first day in London.

Tuesday
Our plan for Tuesday was to explore the National Gallery and Westminster Abbey. The National Gallery was absolutely exquisite. Every time I turned around, I found myself staring at some painting or another that I'd studied for hours on end in an art history class. But it wasn't the known paintings that I already knew about that really made the visit to the National Gallery special, it was the ones I discovered while I was there. I must have spent at least forty-five minutes in front of this piece by Barnaba de Modena. Specifically, I found myself captivated by the top right quadrant of the painting. The depiction of the Trinity is not all that uncommon, but the configuration used in this particular painting is really quite striking. It was while I was standing in front of the painting that the significance of our time in England as a pilgrimage really began to sink in.

After we'd saturated ourselves with as much art as we could handle, we crossed the Themes and went to the London Aquarium on a whim. It was really kind of a rip off for £10.75, though watching them feed the sharks was really kinda cool and I did enjoy the jellyfish tanks. I can't believe I'm saying this but, the aquarium in Texas is bigger and better. E'en so, it was nice to let the brain go slack for a while after being on art overdrive for hours on end.

At about 3:00, we made our way from the Aquarium to Westminster. In truth, Westminster was something of a disappointment. It felt far more like a political space than a holy place. The architecture was beautiful, but it didn't feel like a much of a church. On the other hand, visiting Chaucer's grave was pretty special and choral evensong with the Men and Boys' Choir is everything it's cracked up to be.

Wednesday
We got up fairly early and made for the train to Canterbury. Frankly, we hadn't the foggiest idea about how to get from the train station to the Cathedral, but we soon discovered that the Cathedral is rather hard to miss.

First on our agenda was to attend Mass in the Jesus Chapel in the Crypt. I was quite surprised after Mass when the celebrant greeted us by saying, "You're not from around here." Apparently, it's not all that common for pilgrims to attend liturgy. Along with countless statues, I suppose that went out with the Reformation. Thank you Mr. Cromwell. Nevertheless, there was a palpable sense of holiness and of tradition about that place. Unlike Westminster, Canterbury prayed well.

After the praying our way through the Cathedral, we found our way to a Tapas bar behind the Cathedral grounds. The food was nice, the sangria was better.

Feeling somewhat more fortified, we wandered towards the ruins of St. Augustine's Abbey. It was humbling to stand in the place where things began. Standing at St. Augustine's grave was equally powerful.

After the Abbey, we found our way to High Street and the Eastbridge Pilgrim's Hospital.

Perhaps the most amusing part of our time in Canterbury came in being mistaken for native folk! A local actually stopped us to ask for directions. Fortunately, we had picked up the business card of the Tapas bar we ate lunch at because it had a map on the back, so we weren't utterly useless.

Thursday
While it wouldn't prove to be the best day for travel karma, Thursday did wind up being a great deal of fun. We just barely made our train that morning, but managed to make it to the Cathedral in time for the 1662 Liturgy. Again, we didn't exactly blend in with the locals (probably because we were the only two under age 70 in the small congregation), so we found ourselves chatting with the celebrant after the Eucharist. It turns out that the Canon Treasurer of the Cathedral was grabbed at the last minute to celebrate that morning. We had a lovely and rather long chat with the good Canon and then ambled around the Cathedral for a good long while.

In all truth, the architecture of the Chapter House is infinitely more interesting than the copy of the Magna Carta housed there in. Running all the way around the room in a medieval frieze is the story of the giving of the law in the Old Testament. When you think about what took place in the chapter house, namely, the daily reading from the Rule of the community, you begin to get a stronger sense of the power of Gothic architecture. These buildings teach and pray.

After lunch in the Cathedral's refectory, we ambled about on High Street in search of the information center with plans of catching a bus to go look at some rocks. Unfortunately, my guide book was wrong about bus times and we missed the last one by an hour. Nerts. So, we thought we'd opt for the tour of the Cathedral's tower. I, incorrectly, had it in my head that the tour was at a quarter to the hour. Lamentably, it was at a quarter past. Double nerts.

All was not lost, however. We managed to find our way back to London with little difficulty and ate some fantastic Thai food. After Thai food, we found our way to a groovy little bar in Soho and availed ourselves to some absinthe. For the life of me, I can't figure out why it's still illegal in the US. Stööpid Puritans.

Friday
Friday was great fun, not in the least wise because we got to sleep in a bit since there wasn't a scheduled liturgy at Ely that we could attend. The train ride out was quiet enough and Ely itself really is a sleepy, little town. The Cathedral, however, is spectacular. It houses a labyrinth and a stunning stained glass museum. As for the building itself, the ceiling alone will make your socks go up and down.

The choir at Ely absolutely floored me. Running down the Gospel side above the stalls was a wooden frieze narrating the story of the birth, life and death of Our Lord. On the Epistle side were scenes from the Old Testament that typologically mirrored the scenes from the Gospels. Just as the monks and priests who filled the stalls would call back and forth to each other in antiphonal recitation of the Psalter, so the choir itself called back and forth in telling the story of salvation.

After exploring the Cathedral, we found our way to the Minster Tavern for some fish & chips and a pint. It turns out that the pub claims to be haunted by a former monk of the Cathedral chapter. While we never encountered the ghostly gyrovague, the claim to haunting at least made lunch a little more interesting.

I had, erroneously, thought that a town surrounded by fields full of sheep would be a wonderful place to find local yarn for myself and roving for my friends who spin. While we did find a local yarn store, their stock of natural fiber yarn was all of three bins wide and six high (and all from Scotland). When I asked the shopkeep about roving, she swore she'd never even heard of it! Alas.

Defeated but not defeatist, we wandered back to the train station and to London. We did manage one last, great picture while at Kings Cross before getting on the Tube to go back to the Hotel. This one is for all the Potterphiles out there:

It was more Thai food for dinner and an early bed since we had to meet the car at 6:00 am for the airport the next morning.

All told, a great trip and I really didn't want to come home. But hey, I'm already planning my next trip to Europe for this summer... Germany, here I come.

well, nerts

2006-01-22T22:25:00.000-05:00

Sigh.

I had a really long post about 3/4 written with pictures and commentary about England, then Firefox crapped out on me and Blogger lost the draft I'd saved.

I have other stuff I have to do tonight, so England post is going to have to wait yet one more day.

Sorry.

zort

2006-01-21T17:40:00.000-05:00

I'm home and in one piece. England was superb, but having awoken at 5 am London time (12 am Jersey time), I'm more less a complete pumpkin, so coherent blogging is not in the cards tonight. About all I'm up to is staying up just late enough to beat the jet lag.

I promise a lengthy post and pictures tomorrow!

pubtabulous

2006-01-18T16:56:00.000-05:00

Time for a more substantial post...

First of all, apologies for the lack of pictures. Somehow I managed to remove iPhoto from my laptop and am therefore unable to extract pics from the camera. So, you're just going to have to wait a while for the pics. Alas, because I've got some great ones I really want to share.

So, to the narrative.

We left Sunday night after a considerable delay before getting onto the plane and a further delay on the tarmac. That said, the flight wasn't bad at all and we got in Monday morning without incident and largely without sleep. But hey, what's the point of sleeping more than three hours sleep on a trans-Atlantic flight?

We got here Monday morning and were picked up by our driver. On our way to the hotel, we had quite the running tour of London and long string of quotations from the Immortal Bard. London, where even the cabbies know more Shakespeare than you do. As the gent was turning down the road to the hotel, he dropped quite the conversational bomb telling us, quite matter of factually, "Oh! About three years ago, there was a bombing on this street." *Gulp* Thus far, no incident and being a block and a half from the British Museum is a major bonus.

We got to the hotel a few hours before we could check in, so we dropped the bags and opted to wander the museum. Without looking at the photos I took, I can't quite remember everything we saw, but it included: statues from the Mausoleum at Halicarnassus, the frieze from the Parthenon and stunning medieval pieces. Oh, yeah, and tucked in a stair well, Discobolus.

Once we could get into the hotel, we checked in, showered (cleanliness is a good, good thing), and then went for dinner at a spectacular Indian food joint, Red Fort on 77 Dean Street in Soho. This is a restaurant that is not to be missed! Mega props and huge thanks for Laura for the Time Out restaurant guide.

Tuesday, we got up at a rather leisurely hour and made our way to the National Gallery. It was absolutely to die for - just about every time we turned around there was a painting we'd studied in art history class. We bopped our way around Trafalgar Square for a bit and had lunch in the cafe in the crypt of Saint Martin-in-the-Fields. Who knew having lunch atop a bunch of dead folk could be so much fun?

Following lunch, we dropped in on the British Aquarium and watched them feed the sharks. After watching the sharks, we wandered over to Westminster Abbey. Unfortunately, photography was verboten, so we have naught but pictures from the outside. Visiting Chaucer's grave was a trip, and choral evensong was mind-boggeling. It's at this point that I should give major props to Matt for recommending visiting the churches with binoculars in hands. Not only did we get to see some really cool stuff, but apparently, as soon as docents see you with binoculars in hand, they decide you're a serious church nerd and get real helpful and real friendly. Bonus.

Tuesday dinner was at Zizzi - pizza, pasta and that ilk - because it was down near Westminster and we were walking around and hungry. Nothing to write home about, really, so this paragraph is pretty much over.

This morning, we got up at 6:30 to make the train to Canterbury. The train ride out was quite beautiful and the city of Canterbury is a great deal of fun. We made it to the Cathedral in time for the 11:00 Eucharist held in the Jesus Chapel in the Crypt. Much of Canterbury was also a no photography zone, but we did come away with some great shots of the exterior. One the other side of things, while Westminster struck us as being more of a political space than a place of worship. Canterbury was the exact opposite. It very much felt like place of pilgrimage and worship. It was positively spectacular.

We took a very late lunch at a cute little Tapas joint behind the Cathedral on Palace Street. After lunch, we found our way to St. Augustine's Abbey and the tomb of St Augustine of Canterbury. Walking around the Abbey was a very humbling experience, both in terms of the age of the ruins and being in the place where one could well argue that the Church of England began. After St. Augustine's Abbey, we found our way to the Pilgrim's Hospice on High Street in Canterbury (more or less across the road from the SPCK bookstore). While the docent at the Hospice couldn't seem to process that we in fact did know that Beckett was martyred in 1170, the small chapel on the second floor of the Hospice was charming, and it was interesting to be in a place that's been in continuous business for over a millennium, as it still serves as extremely-low rent housing for the elderly.

We wandered around Canterbury for a bit and then back to the train station to return to London. Tonight was comfort food - burgers and beers (Jason opted for a lamb curry burger and I for a portabello sammich) and back to the hotel to catch up on the blog and relax a bit before an early start tomorrow to get to Salisbury.

Of course, we'll be wearing blue shirts for that visit.

to canterbury they wende

2006-01-18T02:03:00.000-05:00

From the Department of Soon to be Realized Chaucer References.

Well, I'm getting some really fun pictures (like a few of statues from the Mosoleaum at Helikarnassus) and have been eating fabulous food. Yesterday was choral evensong at Westminster Abbey and a visit to Chaucer's grave.

Among the greater ironies of Westminster, two things struk me: Mary I and Elizabeth I are burried together, but only Elizabeth gets a statue. And, there's a bust of Longfellow in the poet's corner, but Cromwell gets merely a tile in the floor in front of the RAF Chapel in the apse all the way at the (liturgical) east end of the Abby.

This one's going to be short because we're off to Kent & Canterbury on an early train. (It's currently 7:08 GMT.)

Well, talley ho!

to canterbury they wende

2006-01-15T13:56:00.000-05:00

After a week of butt-numbing writing (i.e. writing with such intensity and for such duration yer backside goes numb), little sleep, a lot of stress and too many errands, punctuated with short fits of sleep and packing, it's all done. Gallus has been all hierarchied out for the time being. Ramòn Llull has been put to bed. Bibliograhies for Historical Method are handed in. French exams have been taken. Fellowship interviews have been compleated. The end of semester filtering through 6,000 stacks of paper has been completed. Last night, beer was drunk. Church was attended this morning and I've caught up on all the blogs I've not read in the past two weeks.

In 45 minutes, I leave for the airport and then it's off to London.

Sometime tomorrow morning, I'll wake up over the Atlantic Ocean, be served airplane food and then land at Heathrow. Then, the adventure begins. Cathedrals and pubs for a week and a hotel that's a block and a half from the British Museum.

Hizell Yizeah.

It is my intent to blog a bit from across the Pond, so do check back for updates with pictures.

Here's one to get you started (and a promise that the next picture of Canterbury Cathedral that gets posted will have been taken by yours truly...):

c'est fin

2006-01-11T22:38:00.000-05:00

From the Department of Bouncing.

Well, seminar paper number one of semester one of year one of the PhD is done. PDFed, emailed, printed, envelopéd and sealed. T'ain't nuthin' what to be done fer it now. *Deep sigh of relief* ... and it's back to another paper.

The good news is, having completed two of my first three doctoral seminars (one of which did not require a research project), my membership card from the organization should be arriving soon.

morning has broken (me)

2006-01-11T09:52:00.000-05:00

From the Department of Surly Household Appliances.

I've not posted in a while and this one's going to be short, so apologies for that. I've been a bit on the busy end what with wrapping up two seminar papers, preparing for a French exam on Friday and stressing about a fellowship interview on Thursday. *Meep!* Oh, yeah, and there's that whole leaving the country thing on Sunday... (On that note, as long as my traveling companion doesn't go running up and down the El-Al terminal at Heathrow shouting "Shadayim!" I'm sure we'll have a lovely trip. Super extra credit if you didn't graduate from PTS and know from whence that reference came.)

So of course what did I do last night? Had a friend over for drinks! The only excess that was taken was talking until 01:00 and indulging in pop music nostalgia. Sadly, the Sloane had to get up 07:00 for work.

Would somebody please pass me a can of magic awake juice?

schadenfreude (reprise)

2006-01-08T16:54:00.000-05:00

From the There's Never Good Help When You Need It Department

Would somebody please explain to me how an institution with an endowment larger than the operating budget of your average third world nation can manage to have four change machines, all of which are out of friggin' order?

In other news, a thousand blessings upon my neighbor and her progeny unto the 33 1/3rd generation for having change for a dollar so that I can have clean sheets and towels before the bank opens tomorrow morning.

well, shit

2006-01-05T20:06:00.000-05:00

From the Timing is Everything Department (Co-sponsored by the undersecretary of the Jokes That Only Scott Will Get Sub-Department in partnership with Ralph the Wonder Llama, Se Llama and 142 Mexican Whooping Llamas who have forbidden any more Avenue Q jokes, lest the titles of the posts really go down hill.)

Okay, Dies Drycthelmi MMVI is in t-minus 10 days and I'm getting sick.

Buggar! Bollocks! Bloody hell! (And every other bit of British profanity I can muster.)

What the hell people?!! I'm missing a conference and feeling like crap. I so don't have time for this. And I am so going to nuke this bastard bug before I leave.

Vitamin C - Check.
Echinacea - Check.
Zinc lozenges - Check.
Throat Comfort Tea - Check.
Orange Juice - Check.
Hot soup - Check.
Whining to the whole damn internet (because that makes it all better) - Check and check.

it sucks to be me

2006-01-04T15:05:00.000-05:00

From the Repetitive References to the Same Damn Musical Department

Sorry Gary, while I'm sure that it does indeed suck to be you, human hamster definitely sucks more:

With so much work in the building trade, you know that this is the career for you.

A vacancy has arrived following the tragic collapse of the crane at your local cathedral. Now a new one has been made, taking all the design faults of the original into account.

To operate this latest technological marvel, you'll be expected to walk the treadmill to provide the power for lifting blocks of stone weighing up to two tons. Preference will be given to the blind as they have proved great treadmill walkers in the past due to their lack of fear of heights.

Of course, it could be much worse. You could have been a Tudor Groom of the Stool.

Schadenfreude

2006-01-03T21:31:00.000-05:00

From the It's About Damn Time Department

For quite some time, I've wanted Apple to make a significant change in the iTunes store. Namely, I wanted them to add a function that would allow the customer to buy music for someone else. I really can't count the number of times I would have paid 99¢ for someone to be able to hear some song or another while I was talking to them about it. Well, while using an iTunes gift card to purchase the musical from which the title of this post comes, I noticed that said change had been made! O frabjous day!

Hwæt!

Ain't that just somethin'?

sur-prise, sur-prise, sur-prise

2006-01-01T15:20:00.000-05:00

Given that almost every time I go on a trip, the TSA decides to open up my luggage and leave me a little love note (you know the ones, "We searched your bag, you filthy hippy/terrorist!"), I'm pretty certain I'm already on a list somewhere or another. Because I'm sure as a homosexual, vegetarian, pacifist, Christian with an obsessive compulsive impulse for recycling, I pose an incredible threat to the status quo... Anywho, I came across this little (fairly dated) gem and was most amused:

What threat to the Bush administration are you?

Threat rating: High. The Bush administration is concerned that it may not get a second term. Therefore, we are going to change the rules so that each Democrat vote only counts as 0.2 votes because Democrat is a shorter word than Republican.

Take this quiz!

rupees!

2005-12-31T17:12:00.000-05:00

A few links for your browsing pleasure:

1: Etymologic: the toughest word game on the web. This one gave me a real run for my money, and I'm no mean word slut.

2: Curveball. Addictive game. Danger, Will Robinson. Danger!

3: The Bunny Suicides. Morbid, macabre, and hilarious.

4: Your Age on Other Worlds. On Jupiter, I'm almost 3 years old!

All of this randomness has been brought to you by StumbleUpon.com. Why, oh why did I have to discover that Firefox extension during a major writing week?

Oh, and just to entice, a bunny suicide:

holy honey buns batman!

2005-12-27T16:49:00.000-05:00

It's been a while since we had anything from the miraculous apparition on a fish stick department. There are, perhaps, better ways to commemorate the feast of St John the Evangelist than to link to a news story about the theft of a cinnamon bun that bears the visage of Mother Theresa. Nevertheless, quoth the BBC:

A cinnamon bun that bears a striking likeness to late Catholic nun Mother Teresa was stolen from a US coffeehouse on Christmas Day.

The owner arrived to find that the famous flaky pastry had vanished from the shop in Nashville, Tennessee.

Bob Bernstein said he thought the culprit was angry over the display.

The "Nun Bun" has drawn tourists since it was preserved and put in a glass case at the shop, where it was discovered by a customer in 1996.

The bun became international news following the find in the folds of its pastry.

The Bongo Java coffee shop sold T-shirts, prayer cards and mugs with the bun's image until Mother Teresa wrote a letter asking the sales be stopped, before her death in 1997.

I only regret that I was never able to get a "Nun Bun" t-shirt.

interventions

2005-12-27T16:29:00.000-05:00

So I think my friends may be trying to tell me that I have a problem...

In the past 48 hours, I have been given three different knitting books, about which I am sublimely happy. First, there was Mindful Knitting: Inviting Contemplative Practice to the Craft. I'm super excited about this one since knitting has already wound its way in that direction for me. Then there was At Knit's End: Meditations for Women Who Knit Too Much. Another volume about which I am most excited even if I have been rather explicitly implicated as a yarn queen. However, it was more than a little telling when the friend of mine who gave it to me started reading me questions from the back of the book.

Q: "Do you ever experience palpitations when passing a yarn shop?"
A: Yes.

Q: "Do you ever sneak new yarn purchases into the house?"
A: A qualified yes. I live alone, but I do sneak them through the apartment foyer lest my neighbors begin to think I have a problem.

Q: "Do you ever utter the words, 'Just one more row'?"
A: All the friggin' time.

Q: "Do you ever plan your vacation around yarn store locations?"
A: Well... not so much plan... but I do have plans to try to find some really schweet yarn and some roving for friends while I'm in Ely next month... (Jason, consider this your warning.)

Q: "Do you ever secretly scope out spots to store your stash?"
A: No, thank God. It all lives by the big comfy/ugly chair in my living room. And here I was beginning to think that I might have a real problem...

The last and final knitting volume for this year was Yarn Harlot: The Secret Life of a Knitter. Hrm... maybe I need to change the appellation yarn queen to yarn harlot... the ladies of my local yarn store do already know me by name.

predispositions, proclivities and the rest

2005-12-26T01:06:00.000-05:00

Ok, so we've all heard the "Somehow I've always known" kinda stories. Things get really trippy when someone tells you such a story about yourself; particularly when it is regarding an incident of which you have absolutely no memory. Namely, after having Christmas dinner at my uncle's home, I was having second Christmas dinner (something like second breakfast, but more involving vastly more wine) at a cousin's house today when my cousin's mother, B, leaned over to me and shared a story about my life as a two year old.

Before we get to that, I should first make note of the odd nomenclature, "my cousin's mother." One would normally call such a person an aunt, but technically, she is an ex-aunt(?). That being said, I'm still more than eager to claim her as family.

So, back to the story... Apparently, when I was two and visiting B, I could think of nothing more exciting than to don bright red nail polish, lipstick and makeup. When she told me this, I was most amused. Patently, I still am.

The good news is that it only took me two runs at drag to get it all out of my system.

the ironing is delicious

2005-12-24T00:31:00.000-05:00

or, how I know Google really doesn't read my email.

Look at this screen shot I've placed below. Go ahead and click on it to see it at full size. There are two things that amused me here.

(1) That Google wants to give me a recipe for SPAM while I'm cleaning out the spam box of my Gmail account.

(2) They really need to work on that whole "targeted marketing" thing.

Oh, and if you really want to know what a "French Fry Spam Casserole" is, you're braver than I am. But I did copy the link for you. (Haven't looked, don't wana, you can't make me.)

in answer to your question

2005-12-21T13:45:00.000-05:00

As a result of a previous post, I've gotten a couple of comments and several email inquiries about how one might go about acquiring Gathering Miriam's new album, Remains. Well... I've spoken with the fair ladies and am told that if you'd like a cd, drop them an email at gatheringmiriam@yahoo.com.

As for the request for an uploaded mp3... Kiran and MB have taken council amongst themselves and are deciding which song they want me to upload. Once they let me know what they want, I'll edit this post and link to a file for your downloading pleasure.

UPDATE

For those of you that asked for it, you can listen to a clip of Gathering Miriam's
new version of "I'll Fly Away" by clicking below.

download song

And to answer another question, the names of the tracks are:

Georgie Porgie

Rain

Swear I'm Goin' Back

Kodaikanal

Walking

Circle

Leaf of Life

You are Who You Are

The Train

I'll Fly Away

shock and eww

2005-12-21T10:34:00.000-05:00

John found himself silenced by an image of two, small fuzzy things cuddling on Cute Overload.

I submit to you something that I find far more... Well, frankly, words fail me.

The only preface it needs is, I saw it on Boing Boing. I offer that to assure all of you that I wouldn't be caught dead browsing at Cabela's as I am not of the sort that delights in the hunting of cute, fuzzy things.

So, if ye be brave or ye be the fashion police looking to make an arrest, click bravely, because something really did crawl up on this guy's head and die.

I take great comfort in knowing that it is now four days before Christmas and this abomination can't possibly wind up under a Christmas tree with my name on it. For the small things, Deo gratias.

arks and wombs

2005-12-19T16:44:00.000-05:00

Arise, O Lord, into your resting-place,
you and the ark of your strength.
Psalm 132:8

During the Liturgy on Sunday, I found myself doing a lot of thinking about this verse of Psalm 132 coupled with the Gospel lection, the story of the annunciation. In the Middle Ages, the ark of the covenant was associated with the throne of God and the location of the shekina at the peak of the celestial hierarchy. (Ask for clarification on that point at your peril... I'm currently preparing a paper for a conference on that very topic.) For once, I didn't find myself contemplating allegorical and tropological interpretations of the celestial furniture (shocking, isn't it?) but rather arks and wombs.

On the one hand, there is the ark as mercy seat, as God's dwelling place. On the other, there is the virgin womb from which God came to dwell among us. Clearly, I could go on for some time about the Incarnation and wombs. If I did so, I know St Ephrem the Syrian would be really quite proud of me. But, I'm more interested in our own wombs. Yes, men, I'm talking to you too. More specifically, I'm thinking of each of us as womb.

Let me back up a bit here before you all decide I've gone off the gynocological deep end. In the fifth century, Theodora, sister of Emperor Theodosius II, insisted that she be admitted to the sanctuary to receive communion with her brother because as a woman, she was a God-bearer, a Theotokos like the Blessed Virgin Mary. Nestorius, in perhaps the most ill timed act of misogyny of that century, told off the Emperor's sister and fared rather poorly as a result. Sadly, he is the more well known historical figure. But Theodora was really on to something, this notion of being a bearer of God.

In Mary's fiat voluntas tua (or more authentically, genoito moi kata to rhema sou), she became God's dwelling place. God began to dwell among us by first dwelling in the Blessed Virgin Mary. For centuries after, Christian mystics, spiritual writers and artists spent an immense amount of time and energy unpacking what it meant for Mary to say, "Here am I, the servant of the Lord, let it be with me according to your will." These same thinkers, teachers and preachers argued that it was also ours to say the very same words, to assent to God's indwelling in our souls and in our bodies. Lest we forget, the Incarnation is about flesh.

So, as we approach the holy Feast of the Incarnation and the season of Advent wanes, I think it fitting to spend a bit of time thinking of ourselves, our souls and bodies as wombs - that we might conform to God's will as the Blessed Virgin once did so that we too might bear God.

While I have elsewhere been duly chastised for my occasional fits of Marian devotion, I thought it fitting to quote a little Ephrem from the Hymns on the Nativity, it being six days away from the Feast of the Incarnation and all. So, to Ephrem's Hymn 11 as translated by Kathleen McVey in her volume Ephrem the Syrian: Hymns (New York: Paulist, 1989), 131-132:

Our Lord, no one knows
how to address Your mother. If one calls her 'virgin,'
her child stands up, and 'married' -
no one knew her sexually. But if Your mother is
incomprehensible, who is capable of comprehending You?

Refrain Praise to You for Whom, as Lord of all, everything is easy.

For she is Your mother - she alone -
and Your sister with all. She was to You mother;
and she was to You sister. Moreover, she is Your betrothed
with the chaste women. In everything,
behold, You adorned her, Beauty of Your mother.

For she was betrothed according to nature
before You came; yet she conceived
outside of nature after You came,
O Holy One, and she was a virgin
although she gave birth to You chastely.

Mary acquired by you all the attributes
of married women: conception within her
without sexual union, milk in her breasts
not in the usual way. You have suddenly made
the parched earth into a source of milk.

If she carried You, Your great mountain
lightened its burden. If she fed You
it was because You hungered. If she gave you a drink
it was because you willed to thirst. If she embrace You,
the coal of mercy preserved her bosom.

A wonder is Your mother: The Lord entered her
and became a servant; He entered able to speak
and He became silent in her; He entered her thundering
and His voice grew silent; He entered Shepherd of all;
a lamb he became in her; He emerged bleating.

The womb of Your mother overthrew the orders:
The Establisher of all entered a Rich One;
He emerged poor. He entered her a Lofty One;
He emerged humble. He entered her a Radiant One,
and He put on a despised hue and emerged.

He entered, a mighty warrior, and put on fear
inside her womb. He entered Nourisher of all,
and He acquired hunger. He entered, the One who give drink to all,
and He acquired thirst. Stripped and laid bare,
He emerged from her womb, the One who clothes all.

remains

2005-12-19T15:57:00.000-05:00

Given that I've been serving as the regional sales-monkey for the ladies, I strongly suspect that I am one of the first in Princeton to receive a copy of the newest Gathering Miriam album, Remains. As such, I couldn't pass up the opportunity to review the CD well before anyone else gets the chance. [insert maniacal laughter here]

It should come as no surprise to anyone who knows the two women of Gathering Miriam that Remains definitely qualifies as a very good album. Their first album and self titled album was a compilation of various folk standards, all performed well and all stamped with Gathering Miriam's unique harmonies and musical sensibilities. Frankly, their first album confirmed my abiding desire to find some way to incorporate "The Water is Wide" into my wedding, should such an event ever come about.

Remains represents a considerable shift away from their first album. First, ten of the eleven tracks are original pieces. Secondly, their sound has matured considerably. While one can still very much hear the influence of folk greats like Gillian Welch, Remains represents a much more mature, refined and sophisticated sound that is considerably more doleful and rich (be sure to listen to "I Swear I'm Goin' Back" and "The Leaf of Life"). The harmonies that made the first album fun are more nuanced and playful in Remains. This difference is perhaps best represented by "I'll Fly Away," which appears on both albums. On their first album, the song is upbeat, up tempo and sunny. On Remains, the song is slower, sweeter and deeper. That is not to say that Remains is without it's upbeat moments. "Georgie Porgie" is a lot of fun and is decidedly my favorite track on the album.

The lyrics of their original compositions are deeply theological and keenly aware of social justice and feminist issues indelibly tied to good theology, as in "The Train." Homiletics departments, take note. Thunderball is no longer a valid pedagogical device (not that it ever was), but it's nice to see a couple of Princeton alumnae offer something orders of magnitude better. Music qua preaching? Hell yeah! (especially when it does so without being "preachy.")

For those that love folk music that tells good stories, Remains is definitely for you. For those who like good music of Christian content, Remains is for you.

So, Kiran and Mary Beth, when will we see you on stage with The Mammals?

where ever has that boy gone?

2005-12-19T12:52:00.000-05:00

As I was eating my soup for lunch (broccoli cheese if you were wondering) and bouncing through blogs, it occurred to me that I've not updated in a while. Bad Sloane, no cookie.

Contrary to web rumor, I have not died of dysentery, or any other Oregon Trail related calamity (that takes ya back don't it?). Rather, classes having ended on Friday, I spent the days leading up to Friday working like crazy and the days following working on damaging all the gray matter I previously built up through various parties and lots of video games.

Before the elementary school approved video game induced wave of nostalgia passes us by, I do want to put in a plug for the game that has been responsible for a large portion of the damage to my grey matter this past weekend, The Legend of Heroes: A Tear of Vermillion. Think good old fashioned, turn based RPG for the PSP. It's got tons of nostalgia appeal and good game play (though not much in the way of character development). I expect to have finished it by the end of the Christmas holiday, so look for a full review then.

Beyond video games, movies and beer, there has been much entertaining. Friday night the priest came for dinner and the Sloane had fun with Asian-Southwestern fusion haute cuisine. We started simple with martinis, edemame, and veggie sushi. For dinner, we had pan seared yellowfin tuna in a soy, ginger and cilantro sauce topped with fresh avocados, and accompanied by wasabi mashed purple potatoes and French beans with toasted walnuts and garlic all with a nice chardonnay. Desert was raspberry mousse and Chartreuse.

Yesterday I had a few church folk over for chocolate: the brownies, coconut macaroons and hot chocolate.

Of course, none of that really contributes to any kind of substantial brain rot. The primary culprit is a website. I have to confess, it's made it into the list of blogs I check every day. Every time I look at it, I don't know whether to vomit or be overwhelmed by warm-fuzziness. But yeah... take a look for yourself.

the finer points of hooliganry

2005-12-14T11:37:00.000-05:00

Amid various stories of Elvis woodpeckers and Bush doing what he does best, denying reality, and even a Maltese ban on horse diapers, one story really stuck out for me.

Apparently the British Embasy in in Germany has compiled a glossary for fans of the upcoming World Cup. (Be sure to check out the PDF!) Apparently, the British government feels the need to provide for the culturally sensitve football hooligan. The following things really stuck me as worthy of reprinting:

polizeibekannt -- known to police -- Von den 450 ausgewiesenen Fans waren nur 15 bereits polizeibekannt = Of the 450 fans who were deported only 15 were previously known to the police

rowdyhaft -- loutish, like a hooligan -- sich rowdyhaft benehmen = behave like a hooligan

Rowdytum (n), Hooliganismus (m) -- hooliganism -- Während der Fußball-Europameisterschaft hat Papst Johannes Paul II. vor Rowdytum und zunehmender Aggression im Sport gewarnt = During the European Championships, Pope John Paul II warned against hooliganism and increasing aggression in sport

Stinkefinger (m) -- middle-finger salute -- Stefan "Stinkefinger" Effenberg streckte bei der WM 1994 deutschen Fans den Mittelfinger entgegen und wurde deswegen nach Hause geschickt = Stefan "middle-finger-salute" Effenberg gave the finger to German fans at the 1994 World Cup and was sent home as a result

Der Ball ist rund -- The ball is round. -- und Lola Rennt!

Ein Spiel dauert 90 Minuten -- A game lasts 90 minutes. -- see above.

Papagei (m) -- parrot -- He was as sick as a parrot = Ihm war kotzübel/ speiübel; er war zu Tode betrübt -- Antonym: over the moon = überglücklich

qua?

2005-12-14T11:29:00.000-05:00

From the "What the fudge?!" Department.

Quoth the BBC:

Officials in the Brazilian town of Biritiba Mirim, 70km (45 miles) east of Sao Paulo, have gone far beyond that. They plan to prohibit residents from dying because the local cemetery has reached full capacity.

You'll pardon me if I'm a bit skeptical here.

silly false categories

2005-12-12T21:56:00.000-05:00

According to Quizilla:

You are a Tortured Conceptual Artist. Your fellow
postmodernists call you an anachronism, but
you've never cared much about the opinions of
others. After all, most of them are far too
simple-minded to appreciate the nuances of your
work. They talk, while you are part of a lived
tradition.

What kind of postmodernist are you!?
brought to you by Quizilla

HOWEVER

~~This silly little quiz actually assumes I am some flavor of postmoderinst.~~

I stand corrected. I'll just count my blessings that I didn't wind up with the graphic of the guy in the army outfit with the scary lady on his arm or dubbed a revisionist historian. For the small blessings, Deo gratias.

Truth be told, as an intellectual historian, I find conversing with postmodernism to be quite a lot like conversing with a brick that has adopted the rhetorical praxis of radical orthodoxy.

Oh, yeah, and I wouldn't be caught dead with a moustache or wearing that jacket.

champagne? hell yeah.

2005-12-11T23:40:00.000-05:00

I just finished cleaning up from the Advent/Christmas party Stina and I hosted at my apartment. I think it fair to say that a jolly time was had by all (especially since I've got the photos to prove it).

The Spread

From right to left: Comte with Asturian hazelnut honey and toasted walnuts, Humbolt Fog with blackberry and balsamic vinegar reduction (a Sloane original), Crater Lake blue with pecans and clementines, 2 year old cheddar with chutney, Brie with Adriatic fig spread, crackers, Brie en croute (containing toasted walnuts and dried cranberries - another Sloanerism), peppermint bark (homemade), dried fruits, and a chocolate cake.

The Guests

Larry and Lisa

Carmen and Stina

Laura T. and Stina

Laura S. and Josh (who found my PSP)

since the lady insists

2005-12-09T11:36:00.000-05:00

My boss got her wish; the Sem closed today because of snow. While the library remains open, I'm still glad I thought to bring home a metric shitload of books last night. When I awoke this morning and checked my email and found the closure announcement, it occured to me that I'd have the whole day to be productive. So what did I do? Made a right and proper breakfast consisting of veggie sausages, eggs over easy, rosemary & garlic potatos (leftover - I didn't go completely overboard here), sliced tomato and Russian rye toast. Such things represent a pleasent change from my usual bowl of oatmeal poured down my gullet as I scamper to make the morning shuttle to campus.

Since about 8:45, I've been at my comptuer, reading and taking notes like a good little doctoral student. When mother nature tells me to don my favorite winter sweater and hunker down to read Ramòn Llull while swilling coffee, who am I to complain? And the added bonus is I get to play with figuring out how to read Catalan! wøøt!

Speaking of Ramòn, here's your ecumenical thought for the day (coming from a Spanish Catholic of the late 13th to early 14th centuries):

N’importe quel sage est tenu de professer la foi qui attribue au Dieu eternal, en qui croient les sages du monde entier, la bonté, la sagesse, la puissance, la vérité, la glorie, la perfection etc. les plus grandes, et toutes ces dignités dans la plus grande égalité et concordance. Aussi la foi la plus digne de louange est-elle celle qui pose entre Dieu, qui est la cause supreme et première, et son effet la plus parfaite concordance ou convenance.

Vie Ramond Lulle, paragraph 28. Translated by Ramón Sugranyes de Franch.

Sorry for the French. Among the books I failed to bring home last night was the Corpus Christianorum volume with the origional Latin Vita.

my corvus, it has been coraxed

2005-12-08T22:36:00.000-05:00

Last night, as I was making a batch of roast tomato soup, I was listening to a cd that had just arrived. In fact, I found myself moshing to one seriously rocking hurdy gurdy. Namely, Corvus Corax.

A few months ago, a note came round the Delaware Valley Medievalist Association's listserv about Corvus Corax performing at a local festival. I didn't get around to going, but it did convince me to get the CD. These guys go do good research on their instruments before they build them. And unlike some other, pseudo-medieval groups, they've got a pretty darn authentic sound - well, if you're willing to take the hint of Rolling Stones in the background.

Go buy this album. Your ears will thank you.

For those of you that are wondering about the name, it's comprised of two words that both mean "raven."

The Black Knight always triumphs!

and now a word from our sponsor

2005-12-07T14:17:00.000-05:00

I'm really beginning to think that my doctoral diploma ought to have a Red Bull logo on it, given that I've taken to buying the stuff by the case.

We've known that caffeine augments one's abilities in the video game area for years now. But who knew it held such promise for the doctoral student?

I offer two vignettes from the past 24 hours as proof.

First, a conversation overheard while standing on line at the cash register in the refectory, while a man takes a can of SoBe Adrenaline Rush (ANATHEMA!) from the cooler by the register:

Clerk: Buying your favorite drink?

Man: I suppose. I guess I'm stuck with this stuff. It's not nearly as good as Red Bull.

Clerk: Oh?

Man: Yeah.

Me: I'm surprised you're buying this here. I keep a stash of the good stuff in my locker.

Man: Where do you get it?

Me: Sam's. In bulk. It saves you like two dollars a can.

Man: Oooooh. I have a Sam's card...

Clerk: So is Red Bull really that good?

Me: Not incredibly, but it gets the job done better than anything else out there.

I would offer two caveats to my last statement. First, the taste of Red Bull is considerably improved by vodka. (Thanks, Merrin!) The second is bipartite: (1) the taste of Red Bull has really grown on me; (2) I vastly prefer Bawls, but the Bull is more cost effective.

Later (not more than 20 minutes ago in fact), I was sitting at my desk, happily typing away in the office when a staff person sitting in my boss' office, chatting, asked if it had started hailing. My boss answered, "No, that's just Sloane typing."

Red Bull
Overclocking Medievalists since 2004.

i've got your "racio" right here, be-yatch

2005-12-06T10:47:00.000-05:00

Damnable 13th century Latinate Italians! Learn your bloody Latin instead of just making up words when it bloody well suits you!

45 minutes, 5 books and 12 flights of stairs for 1 lousy word.

WTF?

frigidiora ego vidi

2005-12-05T22:52:00.000-05:00

It's officially on. Dies Drycthelmi MMVI. (Namely, England in the middle of friggin' January, hence the quote from the venerable, if not insane, Drycthelme of Melrose.) So, my sacerdotal traveling companion and I will bounding through Cathedrals and pubs like the good little Anglo-Catholics we are.

I met with the travel agent this morning and things are officially in motion. The plan, as it stands now is:

SUNDAY:
Depart from JFK around 9pm.

MONDAY:
Arrive in London, drop baggage at hotel, wander a bit, check in, and hit either the British Museum or the National Gallery. As it stands, Monday is the only day that doesn't have a church scheduled... we may have to fix that. However, Monday does mark the first in a long streak of nights at ye olde taverne and possibly a play.

TUESDAY:
Hit whichever museum we didn't get to on Monday. Westminster Abbey and choral evensong in the evening, followed by pub.

WEDNESDAY:
Take the train to Canterbury in the morning to catch the sung mass for the commemoration of the Confession St. Peter. The upside of doing this in winter is that neither of us will be tempted to do something foolish/traditional for pilgrims, like travel the length of Canterbury Plane on our knees. Screw around in Canterbury and head back to London when it suits us. Depending on when we get back, maybe another play - maybe just pub. But either way, pub.

THURSDAY:
Train to Salisbury. Blue clothing optional, but encouraged. (Super extra credit if you get that one... even more if you know what shade of blue...) Attend mass celebrated according to the 1662 Book of Common Prayer. And of course, the obligatory viewing of rocks. Back to London and, you guessed it, a pub.

FRIDAY:
Train to Ely, home to a spectacular labyrinth. Ely doesn't have a liturgy scheduled, but something tells me that won't discourage us... Return to London and make our last pub visit.

SATURDAY:
Depart London and be back at JFK by 5pm-ish.

nunc est bibendum

2005-12-03T15:47:00.000-05:00

Nunc est bibendum indeed. Well, last night at any rate.

Much fun was to be had. To those who were there, thanks for making it such a great evening.

pleasepleasepleaseplease

2005-12-02T17:56:00.000-05:00

John pointed this out today:

Sadly, it is indeed fake.

But we can dream, can't we?

tentacular

2005-12-02T11:04:00.000-05:00

Cthulhu plush?

Hell yeah.

me cockles, they have been warmed

2005-12-01T20:39:00.000-05:00

A dear friend of mine who recently returned from France brought me back a small bottle of Chartreuse with the promise that it would "warm the cockles of your heart, wherever they are."

After doing a little research to figure out how one is supposed to drink this divine elixir (the answer being cold, cold, cold) I can assure you I'm sitting here purring like a, well, a Chartreux.

My friend knows me well. Really, if you're going abroad and you want to make Sloane a happy, happy boy, bring him a bottle of whatever the local hooch is. If you're going to Italy, bring me a bottle of good grappa and I'll make you a four course meal that will make you weep. If you're going to the UK, bring me a bottle of Hendrick's Gin and I'll flood you with inhuman amounts of chocolate. Chartreuse just made the "I'll whore myself culinarily for a bottle of the good stuff" list.

Of course, all of this just goes to prove that William of St Thierry was right. Carthusians rock. Seriously, who else but hard core ascetic monks could come up with both the coolest cats ever, a liquor that requires the extracts of 130 plants, and The Cloud of Unknowing?

nuts, man, totally nuts

2005-12-01T16:22:00.000-05:00

Quoth the BBC:

Squirrels have bitten to death a stray dog which was barking at them in a Russian park, local media report.
Passers-by were reportedly too late to stop the attack by the black squirrels in a village in the far east, which reportedly lasted about a minute.

They are said to have scampered off at the sight of humans, some carrying pieces of flesh.

A pine cone shortage may have led the squirrels to seek other food sources, although scientists are sceptical.

The attack was reported in parkland in the centre of Lazo, a village in the Maritime Territory, and was witnessed by three local people.

Uh, wow. I'm never going to look at the black squirrels in Princeton the same way again.

but time makes you bolder

2005-11-30T11:59:00.000-05:00

So apart from the Fleetwood Mac reference in the title of this post, it occurs to me that I have, despite some of my better efforts, began down the road to old-mandom. Namely, I have exchanged my Doc Marten's for a pair of Chelsea boots, also known as "blunnies" (per the Library Sage - a.k.a. She Who Knows All, namely, the reference librarian).

Part of me feels like I've completely sold out to the man, leaving behind Docs for sensible shoes. Then again, I'm blogging about it, so the sheer vapidity of that really ought outweigh the abandoning of the shoe style of my youth. E'en so, somehow, I don't think I Corinthians 13:11 applies to footwear...

That being said, damn, son, these are some comfortable shoes.

I also find it interesting that I, of Princeton Seminary, would be wearing what Timberland calls "Torrance" boots.

knuts over knitting

2005-11-29T11:43:00.000-05:00

I just want to go on record that I'm going officially nuts here. I stopped into Pins and Needles this morning to pick up some yarn so that I can start a new project and yowza did I find some fun schtuffs. I can't find a pic of the stuff online and I'm away from home so no digital camera, but it's a beautful shetland wool from Aran Knitting. So here I am, in the study suite, with a bag full of gorgeous yarn and a new pair of knitting needles and I've got to work.

[Insert feral howl here.]

die Shokolade heiß

2005-11-27T16:58:00.000-05:00

Okay, so I know you're all going to think I'm nuts, but I promise, this'll make you some darn good hot chocolate.

There are a couple of things that really open out the flavor of chocolate in incredible ways: vanilla, coffee, orange and chilies. Yeah. Chilies. If you're a Jerseyite, you know about the Bent Spoon and have probably tasted their Habañero Dark Chocolate gelato. Same deal. In fact, the original hot chocolate, drunk by Mayan kings, was pretty much just ground cacao and chili peppers. Trust me. It's a brilliant combination, especially when you forgo the Mayan preference for adding cornmeal.

Doing the recipe this way will not produce the really sweet hot chocolate to which most Americans are accustomed. Conversely, it's not nearly as bitter as some of the old school European chocolates. Instead, it's thick and creamy with a full, complex flavor. When you add the dollop of fresh whipped cream on the top, it give it just the right amount of sweet.

As for the ground chocolate, you can be industrious and do this yourself, or you can just buy a can of it pre-ground. If you like your beverage a little on the bitter side, you can always uses a more pure chocolate, like a 75%-95% pure cacao, but be warned, that's a lot of chocolate.

As usual, don't wuss out and use the whipped cream out of a can. Make your own. It's not hard, just remember to chill your bowl and mixer attachments before going at it. Remember, for whipped cream: granulated sugar bad; confectioners sugar good. Grand Marnier very good. On other occasions, you can also add some Bailey's Irish Cream or even a bit of the Godiva chocolate liquor, depending on what you're doing with it.

If you want a super extra special treat, right after you've drunk your way through a piping hot mug of this stuff topped with the fresh whipped cream, drink a little port. Your mouth will thank you.

So, for the recipe:

Hot Chocolate
yeilds 2 servings

12 oz. whole milk
14 heaping tbsp. ground 70% cocoa chocolate
2 tbsp. freshly made espresso
1 tsp. cinnamon
1/2 tsp. chili powder
a scant dash of nutmeg

Make the espresso first and allow it to cool a bit. Combine all ingredients in a saucepan over medium-low heat. Heat until piping hot but not boiling, whisking constantly. Top with fresh whipped cream (it's extra yummy when you've added just a drizzle of Grand Marnier to the whipped cream).

a sop in wyn

fin

it's about time

i've seen the wurst of it

terrorizing tourists

lavish me

10 things i learned in amsterdam

anathema

10 things i learned in paris

kitsch or?

cross cultural observations

did anyone tell iggy?

sage advice

to quote the great american movie

kaput

mark your calendars

blasphemalicious

best homework ev-ar!

a study in contrast

less content, even less form

all the small things

auf Deutsch

tea and my what?

convalescing in azeroth

curmudgeonliness

a sermon

nong toom

a grateful sigh of relief

laudate dominum, omnes gentes

low brow to no brow

ecclesiastes 3:2

today i feel

everything's coming up millhouse

life lessons from whole foods

who's that then?

excuse me, i have some shopping to do

düde! it works!

taking issue with issues

revelations

um, ew.

a sermon

it seemed perfectly cromulent at the time...

oh why me?

a guest post

bork bork bork

sponsored links gone wild

(s)he's really done it this time

silly computer

s.o.p.c.d?

all them saddles and boots

retro

hibernian climes

life on the bus

and deliver us from evil

well, well, well

metaphorical overkill

lemmings

requiescat in pacem

new blog smell

tee-hee

bad blogger, no biscuit

england

well, nerts

zort

pubtabulous

to canterbury they wende

to canterbury they wende

c'est fin

morning has broken (me)

schadenfreude (reprise)

well, shit

it sucks to be me

Schadenfreude

sur-prise, sur-prise, sur-prise

rupees!

holy honey buns batman!

interventions

predispositions, proclivities and the rest

the ironing is delicious

in answer to your question