Summer Reading

I read four novels this summer and I am going to blog briefly about them before I forget too much. It was back in June, so I already have forgotten a fair amount anyway.

The first novel was - get ready for this - Salinger's "Catcher in the Rye." I read it because there was an article in the Remnant criticizing it, and I have heard about it for years, so I thought it was time to read it. It is a novel about this teenager, Holden Caufield, who is a bit of a conceited punk - a smart aleck - who has been kicked out of various boarding schools. Unfortunately, he is rather funny, an amusing person. He leaves the current boarding school he is at after he receives a gift of some money from a relative, and ends up spending the weekend in New York City. I won't say much more - because I can't remember much more - except that it is a coming of age novel. He actually is not the worst person and has some concern about a younger sister and little children in general whom he wants to protect from the harshness of adult life. However, he comes to a conclusion that I just can't agree with - but I can't for the life of me remember what it was.

Next novel.

The reviewer at the Remnant said that a better coming of age novel is "A Tree Grows in Brooklyn," so I read it. It is very well written and not as full of profanity as "Catcher in the Rye" but it has some problems. It takes place in a neighborhood in Brooklyn and follows a family with an alcoholic father and a hard working mother, but focuses on the young daughter from the age of 10 through 18. It begins about 1908 and therefore ends in 1918. It was made into a movie in the 1940's and has a "heart-warming" feel, kind of like the Waltons but with some key differences - and these are why I could not recommend it to a "young person." The movie, I understand, cleaned up all of these things. The Aunt (I think her name is Aunt Sissie) is a bigamist. The joke is that, "because she is Catholic she doesn't believe in divorce. That is why she didn't actually divorce any of the four men whom she married." Of course, she married all of these men in civil ceremonies in different jurisdictions, and if no one was motivated to look into this . . . Anyway, these marriages would have all been invalid in the eyes of the Church. She is a certain real character type - I can think of several real life women whom she resembles: a kind of bold, amoral earth mother type.

Actually the main problems I have in the book have to do with the notion that "experience" is key to life - any experience. In one passage, the daughter, at about age 17, has to deal with a young American soldier whom she is dating who wants her to sleep with him before he ships out to France. She turns him down, but thinks that he loves her. She later finds out that, shortly after that, he married his fiance! Heartbroken she tells her mother the whole story. Her mother then proceeds to say that, as a mother, she would say that she did the right thing by refusing; but, as a 'woman,' she would have told her that she shouldn't have denied herself this 'experience.' (I am trying to imagine my great grandmother telling my grandmother that in 1917. Nope. It doesn't ring true.) This and other similar passages seem to be the projections of a 1940's Ann Arbor coed, Betty Smith - the author, who ultimately picked up these 19th century Bohemian artist ideas from her liberal professors at the Univ. of Mich.

Third Book. "The Magnificent Ambersons" by Booth Tarkington. I was looking for his novel "Seventeen" which was also recommended by the Remnant reviewer as a good coming of age novel, but I couldn't find it. I settled for the "Magnificent Ambersons" as it was available and I had heard of it before. I was curious. This novel had a somewhat similar theme to that of the movie "Alfie." Not in that it was about a playboy, but in that it is also about a very self-centered headstrong young man - a spoiled rich kid, in this case - who has to get the stuffing beat out of him (figuratively, through bad experience) in order for him to undergo a moral conversion. This was Orson Welles' second movie, right after "Citizen Kane." I have never seen it. The story takes place in late nineteenth century America.

Finally, I figured, "well I'm in the nineteenth century, so I might as well read some Jane Austin. I read "Pride and Prejudice" and have spoken about it before so I won't say too much. I had never read Jane Austin before and had been given the impression, by a certain GNF, that it was the literary equivalent of those frilly things that some women wear. Character development and interaction aside, I was impressed by its architechtonic strengths - how's that for a masculine compliment! I could detect an almost symphonic structure in it.

Well, that's all for now until I get a chance to read at some length again.

A New Characrer on Uzi - Super Schola Dog

No story for this week, but get ready for the introduction of a new character: "Irish Setter O'Shaughnessy." Probably next Friday.

Six Elements Common to Many Woody Allen Movies

1) New York City.

2) Good '40's big band jazz (and often classical music) on the soundtrack.

3) Woody Allen playing a neurotic character who is a real schmuck.

4) Relationship "issues" typical to upper-income Mannhattan types and, therefore, his own rather messy life.

5) Modern Philosophy [I mean real 'old-fashioned' modern philosophy - Nietsche, Sartre, etc. - nothing post-modern (although "Deconstructing Harry" might be an exception - I haven't seen it), very little before Descartes. He will mention Plato or Aristotle, but clearly doesn't take them seriously, isn't interested, etc.].

6) References to old movies, sometimes cleverly integrated, like Shakespeare's "play within a play" as in Hamlet (e.g. the way "Double Indemnity" is worked into the climactic shoot-out scene in "Manhattan Murder Mystery")

-------------
Of course, I haven't seen all of his movies, and - I suppose I neeed to specify for some of my readers - I fully recognize that parts of them are terrible, but parts of them are hilarious and they can be cleverly done.

Liturgy Joke

In discussing with someone the new English translation of the Mass, which, among other things, will render "et cum spiritu tuo" more correctly as "and with your spirit." (it would be too much to hope for "and with thy spirit") we wondered out loud how easily many Catholics will be able to make the switch. The still current ICEL translation, "and also with you," is so ingrained that at the one Anglican Use Mass held at Christendom about five years ago, the otherwise very conservative students just instinctively replied, "And also with you" - even though for the Anglican Use requires "and with thy spirit," which was carefully printed in the program.

This reminded me of the joke about the priest who was having trouble with his microphone at the beginning of Mass and then, as he was saying to himself, "there must be some problem with the microphone," it suddenly went on.

The people instinctively, without thinking, replied, "and also with you."

Poetry at Christendom! (Cancelled)

Update: Sorry, just found out this evening that it was cancelled.

Tonight, Tuesday October 7, at 8 PM in St. Kilian's Cafe. The poetry of Pavel Chichikov. A live reading by the poet himself. 'Pavel Chichikov' is the pen name of an American who spent part of the Cold War on Soviet territory. His wrting career goes back to the 1970's, when he published poems in The New Yorker, well before his reception into the Catholic Church in 1988. He has published two books of poetry, and his photography has won awards from the catholic Press Association. He lives in Washington, D.C.
-----------------------------
Oh, and happy Feast of the Holy Rosary. Say at least one rosary to our Blessed Mother today! (I went to the Tridentine Mass at the College this morning which is now scheduled for every Tuesday at 7:30 AM and Thursday at 5:15 PM!)

Latin Saying About National Vocal Characteristics

"Galli cantant,

Italiae capriant,

Germani ululant,

Anglici jubilant."




-------------------------
Tough to translate, but I think it would be rendered:

"The French sing,

the Italians bray,

the Germans howl,

the English joyfully shout.


(quoted by Ornithoparcus, "Micrologus," 1517)

Texas Schola Dawg Meets His Mentor

Polly was in the choir director's office on a Saturday afternoon cleaning and straightening things up. Not that he had asked her to do so, but it needed doing. She had gotten a key from one of the sacristans. The Director was brilliant, but disorganized. No domestic sense. She sighed to herself, "a typical man." As she walked out the door to fill up a bucket with water, she almost ran straight into her archnemesis Texas Schola Dawg. "I dreamt about your long blonde hair last night, heh, heh, heh," he said, leering at her.

She rolled her eyes. Polly was used to this, but still couldn't quite understand it. It's not that she wasn't proud of her hair, but this tendency of some men to detach parts of a woman's body and almost bow down and worship them like little idols always puzzled her. She wouldn't mind a man loving a feature of hers because it was part of her - the woman whom he loved - but this was . . . yuck . . . . She was even more annoyed that Texas Schola Dawg, of all people, was a stimulus to philosophical reflection. Whatever.

"What do you want?"

"Well, now that you ask, darlin', heh, heh, heh . . ." Polly felt pretty stupid. That certainly was the wrong question to ask.

"I need to get in there and borrow a copy of Durufle's 'Ubi caritas,' it's not on cpdl . . ."

"so you can then make some illegal photocopies?" she completed. "Oh no you don't! The copyright to that piece is still in effect!" She had mistakenly left both of the double doors open, and he tried to pass to her left side. She moved and blocked his way. Then he tried to go around her right side. She blocked him again. He tried another move but she kept with him. Polly felt like some sort of silly combination offensive guard/beginning ballroom dance student. She could think of better ways to spend her Saturday afternoon.

Finally Texas Schola Dawg stopped, but with the biggest sinister grin on his face she had ever seen. "Well if you're not going to let me borrow 'Ubi caritas,' then perhaps I am going to have to show you 'where love REALLY is,'" he said pointing to his puckered lips. "Oh, no, what am I going to do now?" thought Polly. "There is no way Uzi could get here this fast and, besides, he is out of range on a special mission in the Diocese of Las Vegas, Nevada." Yes, that's right. Las Vegas. A place where the stakes are high - and the Masses are low.

Uzi had his hands full enough as it was.

Texas Schola Dawg reared back ready to charge her. He looked like a raging bull, albeit one who had just sucked on a lemon. She decided she had to be a dancer rather than an offensive guard at that point, so, executing a quick left chasse to get out of his way, she let her right foot drag just enough so he tripped over it. Flying through the air into the office, he landed on the music table which she had just polished. The slickness of its newly polished surface catapulted him head first right into the file cabinets where he lay unconscious. Little stars circled around his head just like in a cartoon.

Next something strange happened. Was he dreaming it or was it real? He felt a big hand pick him up by the scruff of the neck and pull him out of the choir director's office into another dimension. Another dimension of time and space? . . . of greatness? . . . of blogdom? . . . of . . . of . . . Was it really him? THE MAN himself?

Yes, it was.

Anthony Smitha.

Small-time pool hustler, devout Catholic, and one-time proprietor of a bebop record shop, Anthony currently works in computers. He is better known, however, as what the IRS designates as a "GNF," or Gentleman Nuisance Flirt - a role model, mentor, and gold standard for all such men worldwide.

He held Texas Schola Dawg by the scruff of his neck while his little legs kicked in the air. "Bad doggie. You've been a bad little feller," Anthony roared. He next administered a quick firm admonitory tap with his right index finger to the dog's nose. Then, having been dropped to the ground, Texas Schola Dawg quickly assumed a prostrate posture of worship before his hero. "Oh, sire, what have I done to incur your wrath?"

"Get off your knees. I'm not God. So don't worship me . . . too much!" "Haw, haw, haw, I pulled your leg there little feller," he said in a big booming voice, almost like the Jolly Green Giant. "You have been way out of line and giving us GNF's - and the State of Texas - a bad name. Don't you remember our Latin motto?" Texas Schola Dawg pronounced it slowly, syllable by syllable, like a catechism answer he had learned in childhood, "Sem-per vex-a-re, num-quam pec-ca-re." (Always to Annoy, Never to Sin). "If you are going to annoy a woman, let it be without sin. That is the code of the Gentleman Nuisance Flirt," Anthony said sagely. "Never actually touch the woman," he emphasized. "I have been watching you for some time and you have real talent. A God-given gift to annoy women, so use it properly, don't abuse it!"

[Editor's Note: Although the Federal Government does allow for the deduction of business expenses on a special Schedule C-GNF it actually stands for "General Nuisance Flirt." Not "Gentleman Nuisance Flirt." But don't tell Anthony that. Or Dr. Poterack. It will ruin the premise for his entire story.]

"But what is the concrete advantage of being a gentleman? Do the women ever actually respond to you?" Texas Schola Dawg asked. Anthony was caught by surprise and replied quite candidly, "Well usually I am just told 'no,' but I also have been slapped, kneed in the groin, and had ice water poured down my back. At the end of the day, however, I know that the ladies respect me and THIS is the advantage of being a Gentleman Nuisance Flirt." Having listened carefully to what he just said, Anthony was seized by a sudden inner doubt, but, squeezing hard, he fought it off. "I gotta do it for the kid. I gotta do it for the kid."

Then he delivered his coup de grace, "And, if all else fails, its just fun to annoy women!"

"But how did you get your start?" Texas Schola Dawg asked. "Well, I started out doing small things when I was a boy." Anthony said, "I used to make nuisance phone calls collect to a girl who, being so impressed by my technique, would accept the charges. I knew I had a gift. It blossomed from there. You have a gift, too," he said giving an encouraging wink.

Anthony was about to hand him a list of tips:

1) Pray the rosary
2) Lift weights
3) Fanatical devotion to Dr. Poterack
4) Shop at Jos. Banks
5) Cornball sense of humor.

He quickly scratched out number three, saying to himself, "the kid's just not ready for the big leagues yet."

"Anything else, oh, great one," said Texas Schola Dawg feeling a renewed vigor in his vocation.

"Oh, yes, here's a zinger I want you to use on Polly. Get ready for this one: 'Polly, frankly beauty makes me want to vomit, so, on this - the first anniversary of us not dating - I want to show you just how beautiful I think you are.'"

"Haw, haw, haw . . ."

"Heh, heh, heh . . ."

Polly stood in front of an unconscious Texas Schola Dawg, lying on the floor in front of the filing cabinets in the Choir Director's Office. She actually began to feel sorry for him. Then, all of the sudden, she heard him laugh in his unconscious state, "heh, heh, heh . . ."

"Oh no!" thought Polly, "Oh no!"