Dead Air Church: Deity meeting, part one

Left: Buddha statue at DIVINE CONNECTION, Black Mountain, NC.





SETTING: The various major deities, saints, and other characters in Daisy's personal theology/head/belief system/etc, have decided that they should have a meeting to discuss possible layoffs and related employment issues stemming from Daisy's ongoing theological crisis.

~*~



Our Head Deity, The Blessed Mother, calls the meeting to order, and first says the Amina Christi.

Immediately, there is dissension. St Francis asks if it is appropriate, under the circumstances. Buddha rolls his eyes, but says nothing.

Blessed Mother (herein known as Maria): I beg your pardon!? (narrows eyes) *I* am in charge here! I'll say whichever prayer I please, thanks.

St Gertrude: (smugly) You'd better SHUT UP, Francis!

Francis (seemingly allowed to do anything he wants) starts singing Grateful Dead songs: Just a box of raaaainnn, I don't know who put it there...

As if summoned, Jerry Garcia enters the meeting-place, and nods at Maria and Buddha, "Hey!" he says, good-naturedly.

St Gertrude: (eyeing Jerry suspiciously) And when did YOU get out of purgatory? I don't remember signing the transfer order!

Jerry shrugs, lights joint, passes it to St Francis, who inhales deeply. They shake hands in some odd familiar way; they are obviously old friends.

St Francis: Look, me and St Stephen sprung Jerry, okay? It was a long while back and I didn't see any reason to argue with you about it.

St Gertrude: (eyes flash disturbingly) I see. (glares at the two of them) I should have known! (mutters to herself, obviously angry)

Jerry passes joint to St Gertrude, who declines with a flourish: None for ME, danke schön.

St Francis (to Jerry): She runs purgatory, which is a really shitty job. She is always in a bad mood. (pauses, exhales) They needed a German to do it.

Jerry: Well, that makes sense.

Maria: CALLING THE MEETING TO ORDER, lets settle down, peeps! (cheerfully ignores pot smoke) Is anyone else coming? Buddha? Any of your fellas? Who is this---Shanti--what?

Shantideva enters the room, does not look at anyone but Buddha.

Buddha: My friend from the 8th century, Shantideva!

The meeting-room inhabitants look Shantideva up and down, in a mix of curiosity and skepticism.

St Francis: So why is HE the big shit all of a sudden?

Maria: (sighs) I only work here.

Buddha: He has answers to her questions, Francis. Now, come on, you know the drill. You were the big shit once. Daisy still adores you, so learn to share. (rolls eyes again) Honestly, I expected more from you, Francis.

St Francis: (chastened and defensive) I just wondered. (addresses Maria) And how come you always get to stay in charge, no matter what shake-ups happen in management?

Maria: Daisy and I go way back, further than the rest of you. (primly) And besides that, I always ANSWER HER PROMPTLY. (looks at Shantideva) And in... may I say it?... understandable language!

Shantideva: (stoically) She is ready to move on. She needs more than the Christian tradition can provide.

Maria: Oh, well, aren't WE special?!? (sniffs in superior fashion) Actually, I am also the High Priestess of the Tarot, Saraswati, Guanyin, Isis, Spider Grandmother and closely related to Maya, Buddha's mother; as you can see, our names are almost the same. Maria is merely my most recent, Latin name. I cover a LOT of ground. (to Buddha) Isn't that right, Siddhartha?

Buddha: (sighs) I'm afraid so.

Shantideva: (thoughtful) Oh well, in that case... I had no idea. (smiles at Maria, then bows deeply)

Maria smiles beneficently.


At this juncture, a conservative-appearing, slightly-spooked New Englander with a bow-tie enters, looks around nervously and sits, uncomfortably.

Maria: HOWARD! I am so glad to see you! It's been ages.

Howard: Oh well, you know how it is... (mumbles)

St Francis: Oh, not HIM again. He gives me the major creeps.

Jerry: Who is that guy?

Maria introduces Howard Phillips Lovecraft to the group. Buddha keeps his distance. Shantideva appears fascinated.

Howard: Sorry to be late. (takes out notepad) What did I miss?

St Francis: Where is JG Ballard? Now, him, I could get along with!

St Gertrude: Ballard will be in purgatory for QUITE A WHILE! (sneers for emphasis) It will take longer than a couple of Earth-years to get him out of there!

Howard suddenly recognizes St Gertrude, lets out a scared squeak.

St Gertrude: You disgusting, ungrateful, repellent, sick-ass little WORM! (torrent of Teutonic invective follows)

Maria: Gertie, careful, he served his time! Go easy on him! (unrecognizable cuss words, probably Middle German, flow unbidden from the mouth of St Gertrude) Gertie! Easy!

St Gertrude stands up, dramatically: You know, this is serious business! We may be out of a job, here! THOSE TWO! (points accusingly at Buddha and Shantideva) They are going to mess up OUR JOBS! They are DISPLACING US!

St Francis: Nah, not me, my job is safe. Like Maria says, me and Daisy go way back. Remember that time I called in that miracle and told her that her kid was safe? That was great magic, no? (chuckles proudly) She told everybody about it.

Maria: (indulgently) Yes, Francis, we know... you and Daisy have talked about it hundreds of times...

St Francis: Well, it was some of my BEST WORK.

Jerry: (nods vigorously) The really good part was when Daisy's customer asked her about the prayer of St Francis, so Daisy KNEW the miracle was straight from YOU ... dude! That was some awesome shit! It was like the icing on the cake of the miracle, just in case there was ANY doubt. (Jerry high-fives St Francis) Freaking awesome! (takes out second joint, lights it, passes joint to St Francis)

St Francis beams in satisfaction: Yeah, that last part was a nice touch. Daisy appreciates that stuff. (inhales deeply, passes to Howard, who pauses... then, looking fearfully at St Gertrude, inhales and coughs)

St Gertrude, glaring at Howard: You are responsible for most of Daisy's nihilism, you know! You and Ballard! I intend to SQUEEZE Ballard for that.

Howard pales, gulps, visibly quivers, brushes invisible dust off his black suit.

Jerry: (smiles beatifically from cannabis intake) Lighten up, Gertie!

St Gertrude: (livid) SHUT UP! (points at Jerry) YOU are the reason she picked up THAT--- (points at joint) after abstaining for 23 years! You should be ashamed of yourself!

Jerry: Me? What? I just play music, okay?

St Gertrude sputters in righteous indignation, once again lapsing into Middle German. James Dean enters, dressed exactly as he was when he struck oil in GIANT.

Shantideva: Wow, cool. I had no idea HE was gonna be here.

James Dean: How's it going? (waves at Buddha) Wow, its been awhile!

Buddha: Hasn't it? (the two embrace warmly)

And finally, St Jude and Elizabeth Taylor enter; Liz gives note to Maria from Jimi Hendrix, explaining that he couldn't make it. Liz immediately asks if there is caviar.

Shantideva: (visibly shaken) I thought this was a VEGAN meeting?

Liz: Ohhh, sorry! (giggles) No cheese either?! But DAISY--?!

Maria: Yes, Liz, I know... Daisy loves cheese, but we are being polite for the sake of Shantideva.

St Francis: (rolling eyes heavenward) Who is THE BIG SHIT with Daisy right now.

Liz (covers mouth in her famous naughty-little-girl manner, notably used to excellent effect in Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf): Uh-oh! Somebody is jealous! (giggles again) Is there any... wait, no alcohol, right?

All meeting participants shake their heads in unison. St Gertrude is suddenly indignant again and snaps at Elizabeth: I can't believe you don't KNOW this stuff!

Liz: Excuse me, ladies, but I go to a lot of these things, you know? Just like Jerry does. (waves at Jerry) It's hard to keep up.

St Gertrude: You should have stayed in purgatory LONGER, but like HIM (points at Jerry), you had friends in high places to spring you early. (glares at Liz)

Liz: (winks at Gertrude) Deal with it, sister! (sits beside St Jude, who appears to be an old friend) I paid my dues!

St Jude: Yea, O dearest Gertrude, verily I say unto you, she hath paid the ransom.

St Gertrude: Oh so now you are going to go all King James on my ass?

Maria: ORDER PLEASE! Let's try to get along!

St Gertrude: That's easy to say when your job isn't in jeopardy!

Buddha: Oh--stop being so histrionic, Gertie. That melodrama might work on those desperate burning souls in purgatory, er, uh, I mean samsara, but it doesn't go over so well with the rest of us.

Howard nods emphatically.

Liz: Purgatory is a DUMP, I couldn't WAIT to get out of there.

James Dean: I'd have to agree with you on that.

Liz: Jimmy! (squeals delightedly) Haven't seen you since we filmed GIANT! (the two hug and start a long catch-up session, as the other deities start chatting with each other.)

Maria sighs, and realizes this meeting has been mostly a waste. Too much socializing.

AND she will have to manage Gertrude better next time.

~*~

And so, our very first DEAD AIR Deity meeting gets off to a rocky start. Thus, we will have to revisit our deities at a later date.

This post was inspired in part by the good Doctor Jay's post. Thanks for inspiring me to write about these things, instead of simply wringing my hands over them.

Cyril's post

When Cyril saw Zuzu and Sharon, he insisted that he be given his own post too.

Cyril turned two years old in April. In cat years, this makes him a teenager, which explains a lot. For some reason, he swats everything onto the floor, which makes my home look like we have been littering. If it's tissue or has a tissue-like consistency, he will shred the item to bits. Shreds of... whatever... are now found in all the nooks and crannies of my bedroom and closets. He loves closets, and will happily sit in one for a whole day, as you call and call for him... panicking that he has gotten outside and is lost. No, just hanging out in the closet. He doesn't meow to get out since he likes it in there.

Cyril was named after St Cyril of Jerusalem, NOT the misogynist St Cyril of Alexandria, a sectarian pain in the ass and inciter of lynch mobs against Hypatia. Both were Doctors of the Church and alive around the same time, so it is easy to get them confused. My Cyril was exiled and banished for having original and cool ideas, the other Cyril was inciting riots against heretics, so there is a major difference.

I frequently tell Cyril about his famous and holy namesake. But he just gets these blank looks on his face; the very same look my daughter used to get when I tried to teach her this stuff. (sigh)

Cyril gives a big southern HEY! to Zuzu and Sharon, and says maybe they could all get together later for some catnip.

Odds and Sods: Old St Charles sing edition

Image at left is courtesy of YELLOWDOG GRANNY, thanks Jackie Sue... you always sum up my thoughts! :D



This installment of ODDS AND SODS starts with a major TRIGGER WARNING, as they say. Warning, this thread descends into some very disturbing transphobic nastiness, but that's my whole reason for recommending it. It's pretty educational; I think the "radical feminists" who have colonized that thread illustrate one of the biggest problems with Second Wave radical feminism: Mean Girls.

And yeah, I knew a few in my time.

There was something about Second Wave feminist theory that easily lent itself to weird 'female superiority' arguments (in many instances, not just concerning transgender politics). Note their roaring silence on the subject of F to M transgender people: trans men don't fit their little just-so story, so they don't seem to piss them off as much. It's a very strange victim-chic thing. There is only so much victimization to go around, and the trans women are trying to horn in on OURS, which is COPYRIGHTED. At least, that's how several of the most pedestrian comments sound (yes, looking at you Delphyne!)... it's funny in the way that white supremacist websites are funny: not funny haha, funny sad.

The argument that trans people "uphold the gender binary" is bizarre, since I don't know anyone who doesn't. (The fact that we are forced to CHOOSE A SIDE, in fact, is the whole point, isn't it?) Why do these anti-trans feminists think they do not ALSO "uphold the gender binary"? Because they do. I do, you do, everyone does: If someone looks at you and calls you he or she on sight, well, you've passed the gender-test and you ALSO uphold the gender binary. IS there anyone on earth who does not uphold the gender binary? Where IS this magical omnigendered person? (Glen or Glenda?)

The question is then: Why are you holding trans people to a standard you are not holding everyone to? Why are they expected to "opt out" of a system you have not (and can not) opt out of?

PS: If you've had enough of reading that sort of thing, I can certainly relate. Warning, warning, warning, once again, highly offensive, reactionary victim-chic at the link.

~*~

I have not written about the political upheaval in Egypt, since I am ignorant of specifics and haven't had the time to delve properly into the subject. Thus, I share what smarter people have written:

Mubarak departs – what next? (A Scottish Liberal)

Mubarak Finally Listens – “Let My People Go!” (FireDogLake)

Katrina Vanden Heuvel: Neocons Have a Hard Time With Democracies That Emerge From Within a Country (Crooks and Liars)

~*~

:: A picture is worth a thousand words! You gotta see this: A Children’s Treasury of CPAC Stupidity: the Final Chapter Subtitled: TRINKETS OF THE DEATH OF AMERICAN CIVILIZATION... I promise you will love it!

:: On a more wonky note, Ezra Klein explains things carefully, in this post titled Do Republicans really oppose making health-care insurance cheaper? Yes, I've wondered that, too. Excerpt:

[The] short version is this: If you make health-care insurance cheaper and make it harder for insurance companies to deny people coverage, then a certain number of people who would like to leave the labor force but can't afford or access health-care insurance without their job will stop working.

To understand why, imagine a 62-year-old woman who works for IBM and beat breast cancer 10 years ago. She wants to retire. She has the money to retire. But no one will sell her health care under the status quo. Under the health-reform law, she can buy health care in an exchange because insurers can't turn her away due to her history of breast cancer. So she'll retire. Or imagine a 50-year-old single mother who wants to home-school her developmentally disabled child but can't quit her job because they'll lose health care. The subsidies and the protections in the Affordable Care Act will give her the option to stop working for awhile, while under the old system she'd need to stick with her job to keep her family's health-care coverage. That's how health-care reform can reduce the labor supply. If either case counts as a destroyed job, then so does my winning the lottery and moving to Scotland in search of the perfect glass of whiskey.

:: By way of Onyx Lynx, I found Avedon Carol's post quite thoughtful:

But I think there's also a deeper game here, and it explains why the entire media - not just the Murdoch and Moonie media - stays so focused on the right-wing crazies. It's the circus that deflects attention from what's really going on while everyone is playing games like "Beck is crazy" and "Look - Sarah Palin!" Well, yes, they've pretty much consistently done that sort of thing for the last 20 years, but I mean going even deeper than that, to why it is so consistent - enough that even some of our best liberal, independent bloggers just can't seem to pull their eyes away sometimes. Somebody out there wants us to keep watching the clown show for an even bigger reason.

:: OPEN LEFT is shutting down. Which is not a good sign. :(

Bye yall! I'll miss you!

~*~

This week's especially merciless ear worms:

This first one contains the original language, "I don't give two fucks about you"--which was sanitized for US airplay and became the more neutral, "I don't give a damn about you"... punks were considered pretty scary and thus, properly de-fanged for stateside radio. I'd never give you a de-fanged version on DEAD AIR!

I am proud to say, I own both versions in various mixes and anthologies, or I wouldn't even know about the censorship.

The Modern World - The Jam (1977)



~*~

Trigger warning, probable suicide references (debatable ever since song recorded in 1967); Joan Didion famously started her Doors essay with this song.

Moonlight Drive - The Doors (1967)



~*~

TOO GREAT FOR WORDS, this first-class mystical acidhead music can't be beat. Question: Are they chanting "Stonehenge! Stonehenge!" at the end? I've always thought so. Not sure what St Charles had to do with Stonehenge but hey, why not?

I really love this. NOTE: Acid flashback warning for at least half of my regular readers. :P

St Charles - Jefferson Starship (1976)

Anthony Dellaventura 1948-2010

I don't remember our first conversation, but it was probably about Catholicism. Later, we moved on to every other subject in the universe. But in the beginning, I can remember that we were discussing health supplements and alternative medicine (he was an almost-daily customer in the store where I work), when the rather intimidating ex-NYPD cop suddenly reached out and touched the St Jude medal I was wearing.

"Patron saint of lost causes," he mused, in his heavy New York accent. Luhwust Cuhwuzzes, is how it sounded to me.

"Yeah," I agreed.

"Are you a lost cause?" his voice turned suddenly gentle, and I was caught off guard.

"Probably," I admitted.

He narrowed his eyes. "You are not. You are a very intelligent and beautiful person." He seemed to be speaking very honestly, and I was struck silent, which never happens. I was embarrassed to be complimented.

"You don't believe me," he was inspecting my face. All at once, I was aware that he had been a professional interrogator. "You believe what all these assholes say," he waved his hand around, as if to encompass the whole world (and particularly the Catholic Church) in "all these assholes" and I laughed.

He narrowed his eyes again, "Really. It isn't funny. You do. Well, don't. They dunno shit." And then he smiled. An amazing, award-winning smile.

And for a few years, Tony Dellaventura brightened my life. I saw him nearly every day. He drove an enormous custom Harley-Davidson and dressed in leather; tattooed from head to toe, able to bench-press 200 lbs at age 60, he was a striking figure. His name was Snake; the name tattooed on his throat, right above a snake. It was a long time before I knew his real name.

"Are you tattooed everywhere?" I once asked, curious.

"Every inch," he assured me. And he said he had a dragon down below, the dragon's tail becoming, well, you know.

I'm sure my eyes popped, "Didn't that hurt?!?"

"Oh hell yes," he said, matter-of-factly.

We argued about politics mostly, after it was discovered that we were in near-total opposition, yet agreed on certain libertarian basics: Let people have their guns, their dirty movies, their weed. (The mention of weed being illegal made him roll his eyes.) He particularly liked Ron Paul (as I wrote here once before), and was suitably impressed that I had gone to the Peace Center Amphitheater to hear Congressman Paul speak, even as a lefty. We would argue until we were interrupted, or until he would get thoroughly pissed off and walk away from me. But he was never rude.

Sometimes he would return later in the day, "And another thing..." and reply to what I had said earlier. He always heard me out and let me make my point, sometimes granting that I was right. It was during these conversations that I would hear references to his experiences as a cop; things he had seen that influenced his views in often surprising ways. Even as a fairly right-wing guy, he would freely admit (for instance), that gay people were unfairly targeted, since he had seen it himself so many times. And his New Yorker-honesty and bluntness always impressed me a great deal, since it was steeped in the harsh reality of what he had actually witnessed.

He ate a very healthy diet, almost fanatically so. When he told me he had pancreatic cancer, I was shocked; he seemed like Iron Man. (I knew the odds and I was upset.) And after that, Tony lost weight rapidly. He went back to New York City for treatment, then returned to South Carolina. I wanted to take his photo at one point, but he wouldn't let me, "I don't look so good right now, wait until I look a little better."

I didn't see him after that.

From Tony's obituary in the Staten Island Advance:

STATEN ISLAND, N.Y. — Anthony (The Snake) Dellaventura, 62, of Huguenot, a lifelong Staten Islander and a retired NYPD detective and private investigator whose rough-and-tumble workdays were dramatized in the television show “Dellaventura,” died Thursday in Calvary Hospital’s hospice in Brooklyn, after a long battle with pancreatic cancer.

I have never seen the TV show named after him, but I loved knowing someone who was the subject of a TV series.

He was exactly the sort of larger-than-life personality that great TV-characters are made of.

Mr. Dellaventura joined the NYPD in 1969. After two years in uniform, he spent five and a half years as a plainclothes anti-crime officer, charged with posing as a drug dealer. Described as a “cop’s cop,” he later was assigned to the Organized Crime Control Bureau, and was promoted to detective in 1981.

A fourth-degree black belt in martial arts and a weapons expert, he had been in a shootout with a robber in the parking lot of the Staten Island Mall.

Upon his retirement in 1984, he opened his own private investigation company and was hired by attorneys trying to uncover hidden funds during divorce cases, property owners looking to rout crack-dealing squatters, and film studios who wanted to destroy bootleg copies of new releases being sold by vendors on city streets.

The secret to his success in business, he once told the Advance, is being both a good sleuth and establishing confidence and good faith with clients.

Known as “The Snake,” he told New York Magazine in a 1992 profile that his friends gave him the nickname “because of the way I strike, like a cobra. But you couldn’t pay me a million dollars to beat someone up or kill somebody.”

He also said he was willing to do anything necessary for a case, as long as it didn’t include breaking any laws. Instead, Mr. Dellaventura’s hulking physical presence and intense face — he rarely cracked a smile — were often enough to intimidate even the most hardened criminal.

Actor Danny Aiello portrayed him in the drama “Dellaventura,” which recreated some of Mr. Dellaventura’s real-life cases during its run on CBS from late 1997 until early 1998. The episodes were based on events straight out of the detective’s caselog, with details changed for confidentiality.

Mr. Dellaventura told the Advance in an interview when the show debuted that he was pleased with Mr. Aiello’s performance, noting the actor resembled him physically — minus Mr. Dellaventura’s collection of more than 240 tattoos, which would have taken a makeup artist hours to recreate.

Mr. Dellaventura also served as a bodyguard for notables including Jack Dempsey, Sid Caesar and Harry Connick, Jr.

A deeply committed, born-again Christian, he was an active member of Faith Fellowship Ministries in Sayreville N.J., and Grace Fellowship Ministries in Greer, S.C., where he had a second home.

“He was just a tremendous friend to people,” said his wife, Susan. “You could call him at 3 in the morning and he would get up and drive to California to come to your aid.”

Mr. Dellaventura’s passions were rooting for the New York Yankees, riding his Harley-Davidson through the mountains of South Carolina, boxing, and watching old movies.

Most of all, he loved spending time with his family.

Surviving, along with his wife of 20 years, the former Susan Villani, are his sons, Anthony, Philip, Nicholas and Salvatore, and his daughter, Lucianne Dellaventura.

I met Susan and Salvatore, but not the rest of his family. My thoughts and prayers are with them.

I will miss you, my friend, as well as our spirited arguments and your solemn promise that you would settle the hash of anyone who messed with me. Your wild tattoos and multicolored, humongous Harley, making all kinds of rumbly noises in the parking lot. Must be Snake, I would think.

Reflexively, I sometimes still think it's you.

There are only a few in the world like you. So few. If you have indeed found that Afterlife we so often argued about, put in a good word for your favorite Lost Cause. I love you, and we sure do miss our favorite ex-NYPD cop here in Carolina.

Rest in peace.

Odds and Sods - St Rita's edition

A rather long time since I did an Odds and Sods post, so here we are.

I've dipped my toe back into the waters of Blogdonia with great trepidation, keeping my head down, minding my manners and decidedly not frightening the horses. See? Despite what you may have heard, I CAN behave myself when I want!

~*~

Today is the Feast of St Rita of Cascia, subject of many fevered novenas from Daisy in years past. Since she is also the saint in charge of the bees, I decided I'd include some links on what the experts have named colony collapse disorder. Believe it or not, as one connected to herbs in a personal way, I have stayed awake at night worrying over the fate of the bees. The poor bees could be signaling The End of The World As We Know It.

And now, a big hole in the ocean and an oil leak the size of Madagascar, drilled by evil greedheads. No, I guess THIS will be our undoing, the meteor-to-the-dinosaurs. I am sick over this, and it has superseded my worrying over bees.

Too much to worry about.

Um, just a question, but what is Obama doing? Does he have his thumb up his ass or what? Is he actually WAITING for BP to fix their multi-billion dollar, environmental disaster? And why should he wait for them? It's not THEIR coastline!

I've heard this called "Obama's Katrina"--and that isn't precisely accurate (or fair), since this isn't a natural disaster, it's a thoroughly unnatural one. Nonetheless, it has the ring of truth.

Get off your ass, Mr President, and stop attending state dinners for five seconds. The future of the ocean and the coastline (not to mention people's livelihoods) is at stake and it doesn't look good when you are doing little more than photo-ops.

~*~

At left: The WWII aircraft carrier USS Yorktown, which we toured back in (I think) 1993. It's permanently parked down at Patriot's Point in Charleston Harbor.

Edit: My original photo was of a cruiser named the Yorktown, which was not the aircraft carrier Yorktown. Many thanks to the Eagle Eye of Ted Christian (who should have been in congress), a rocket scientist with attendant amazing and arcane areas of knowledge.




Mr Daisy has been reading about WWII and depressing me with talk of battleships blowing up and whatnot. As children, I remember that we all wondered when "World War III" would come, and none of us ever doubted it that it would. We asked our mothers when it would be, and few seemed to find the question bizarre or alarming... after all, they had lived through a World War, and it seemed reasonable to assume more were on the way.

Magic Lantern Show gives us beautiful photos of a French WWI memorial near Verdun, as Owen describes touring such a place:

[How] many people know that the largest American cemetery in Europe is in Romagne sous Montfaucon, or that it is from World War I and holds the graves of 14246 Americans, as well as the names of another 954 men whose bodies were never found?

I spent a few days this past fall wandering the area near Verdun looking for traces of World War I. One afternoon I stumbled on the American Cemetery near Romagne sous Montfaucon, and spent a couple of hours exploring the vast park that it is. Why had I never heard of this place? Why weren't we taught about it in high school? Walking the seemingly endless rows of white marble crosses I was short of breath, nearly gasping at the enormity of it, the tragedy of lives cut short in firestorms of flying steel and lead. The names of the dead cried out from each cross in silent pain, a name, a state, a military unit, a date of death. Who were these men who died between September 26th and November 11th, 1918, as they drove the Germans back northwards along a line to the west of Verdun? What actually happened there? What did the letters they wrote home say? What did their families and the women they loved experience in those terrible years?

We are approaching the 10th year of the war in Afghanistan, and we would do well to remember that war is hell.

Bring them home now, yesterday, last month, last year... wait, where's my new bumper sticker: I'm already against the next war.

~*~

Disturbing reading at this Feministe thread: On Hating Kids.

As of this writing, there are 632 (!) comments, and yes, I briefly commented, but (as stated previously) I minded my manners.

But truthfully?

Whenever I hear "I hate ___(fill in the blank)____" from anyone, I wince and my opinion of them goes down a notch or two, or 85. How can anyone say, I hate ____, when you simply haven't met them all?: I hate the Muslims, I hate the vegetarians, I hate gays, I hate kids. All sounds the same to me. Apparently, hating kids is regarded as different (oh, isn't it always?) since "we've all been children". Well, we will all be old someday too, but I see clearly how old people are despised in our modern culture. That may in fact be the crux of it; a hatred for the overwhelming lability of the human condition, a hatred of our own biological vulnerability. And even more than most people (a fact mentioned in the thread several times), Americans are instilled with bullshit notions of "independence" and agency. (All that pioneer/cowboy spirit, one assumes.) In the thread, it was notable how many (childless, child-free, whatever term we are supposed to be using now) people openly brag about how raising children necessarily means you simply can't do the "fun" SINGLE things anymore, so stop taking your kids to pricey restaurants (nobody cares if you take them to a poor place like McDonalds) and movies and having them kick up a noisy fuss. (Some Feministe commenters seem barely able to contain themselves: TAKE THOSE BRATS HOME, you breeder bitches!)

Hey, I totally relate to all that. I once turned around and cussed some parents out for bringing their ill-behaved tyke to an adult movie... and will be happy to do so in the future, if necessary. I can dig it, as we used to say. But proudly announcing you HATE an entire group of people is bigoted and wrong. Period. No exceptions. And I will henceforth regard you as an acknowledged hater and bigot.

As is true of all bigots, I doubt the hate stops there.

Renee has considerably more to say on the subject.

~*~

And Glenn Greenwald writes more about that wonderful Change We Can Believe In:

Few issues highlight Barack Obama's extreme hypocrisy the way that Bagram does. As everyone knows, one of George Bush’s most extreme policies was abducting people from all over the world -- far away from any battlefield -- and then detaining them at Guantanamo with no legal rights of any kind, not even the most minimal right to a habeas review in a federal court. Back in the day, this was called "Bush's legal black hole."

...

Amazingly, the Bush DOJ -- in a lawsuit brought by Bagram detainees seeking habeas review of their detention -- contended that if they abduct someone and ship them to Guantanamo, then that person [under Boumediene v. Bush] has the right to a habeas hearing, but if they instead ship them to Bagram, then the detainee has no rights of any kind. In other words, the detainee's Constitutional rights depends on where the Government decides to drop them off to be encaged. One of the first acts undertaken by the Obama DOJ that actually shocked civil libertarians was when, last February, as The New York Times put it, Obama lawyers "told a federal judge that military detainees in Afghanistan have no legal right to challenge their imprisonment there, embracing a key argument of former President Bush’s legal team."

...

So congratulations to the United States and Barack Obama for winning the power to abduct people anywhere in the world and then imprison them for as long as they want with no judicial review of any kind.

If I may quote the very wise John Lydon (aka Johnny Rotten) at the infamous last performance of the Sex Pistols: Ever get the feeling you've been cheated? You should ask that question with a cockney sneer and punctuate it with spitting (or whatever bodily function you choose).

Yep. I sure do.

Barack Obama has brought the Rotten out of me.

Odds and Sods - St Elizabeth of Hungary edition

At left: St Elizabeth of Hungary, traditional holy card.



In the Catholic calendar, today is the Feast of St Elizabeth of Hungary. She exemplifies the time when the lives of saints sounded like fabulous movies by Cecil B. DeMille:

In her short life Elizabeth manifested such great love for the poor and suffering that she has become the patroness of Catholic charities and of the Secular Franciscan Order. The daughter of the King of Hungary, Elizabeth chose a life of penance and asceticism when a life of leisure and luxury could easily have been hers. This choice endeared her in the hearts of the common people throughout Europe.

At the age of 14 Elizabeth was married to Louis of Thuringia (a German principality), whom she deeply loved; she bore three children. Under the spiritual direction of a Franciscan friar, she led a life of prayer, sacrifice and service to the poor and sick. Seeking to become one with the poor, she wore simple clothing. Daily she would take bread to hundreds of the poorest in the land, who came to her gate.

After six years of marriage, her husband died in the Crusades, and she was grief-stricken. Her husband’s family looked upon her as squandering the royal purse, and mistreated her, finally throwing her out of the palace. The return of her husband’s allies from the Crusades resulted in her being reinstated, since her son was legal heir to the throne.

In 1228 Elizabeth joined the Secular Franciscan Order, spending the remaining few years of her life caring for the poor in a hospital which she founded in honor of St. Francis. Elizabeth’s health declined, and she died before her 24th birthday in 1231. Her great popularity resulted in her canonization four years later.

Interestingly, in some iconography she is holding a basket of roses, and in some (as above) she is holding a basket of bread. (Bread and Roses?) Oddly, in the rose-depictions, there are poor people, but in the bread-depictions, she is alone. (?)

Now, do you think she passed out bread or roses to the poor? Hmph.

Yes, I get the symbolism, but still. This is the patron saint of the Secular Franciscans, after all!

They really should let ME run everything Church-related. (Don't you agree?) I'd straighten out the iconography, the doctrine, the personnel issues, you name it.

~*~

Some great reading out there! Linkages galore:

Amanda Marcotte has proposed something pretty radical over at Pandagon that has everyone in an uproar. For this reason, attention must be paid. (I am duly impressed when any feminist can garner this kind of reaction, frankly.)

In case you've been living in a cave and haven't heard, right-wing fundie former Myth California, Carrie Prejean, made a sex-video for her boyfriend back in the day, which has now been released to the boy-masses for their ejaculatory pleasure.

Without her consent, of course.

Amanda wonders if this isn't sexual assault:

I agree with Jeff here that it’s about time that we started viewing the release of privately made sexual photographs and videos to anyone other than their intended audience as a form of sexual assault. The motivation to do so is indistinguishable from that as a rapist---using sex as a tool to dominate and humiliate someone, while puffing up your own sense of power---and often the results could be even worse for the victim, because her assault was performed in front of a crowd. And I agree with Jeff that we need to consider Carrie Prejean’s ex-boyfriend the scum of the earth for releasing this video, and it’s true that it’s a case of sex being used against a woman to silence and humiliate her, as she’s claimed.

All that said, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with learning something from the fact that this video exists. That the video was released in an act of sexual assault, and should be treated as such. But that doesn’t mean that the act of making the video isn’t something that also matters, when the person who made it is a spokesperson for legally controlling and punishing the sexual behavior of others. I hope we can be nuanced enough about this to see that Prejean is both a victim and a horrible hypocrite. I think it’s important to realize that all these sex scandals involving the moral scolds of society demonstrate that right wingers really do get into being moral scolds because they want to reserve sexual pleasure for themselves while denying it to others. Also, that homobigotry isn’t really about some kind of strict view of human sexuality evenly applied, but that it’s basically just bigotry and attacking people for being in a minority.

Still, I think there’s a lot of clarifying value in thinking of the release of private photos and videos as a form of sexual assault, and thinking of the women in the images as the victims of this assault. Perhaps that will cause anyone who considers publishing these sorts of things to realize that they are participating in a sexual assault if they do so, and will cause them to reconsider. And for anyone applauding a man who releases this stuff, perhaps it will cause you to reconsider.

I am thinking that "sexual assault" may not be the right word. Slander or liable? Do we need a new category for "visual assault"?

Reality TV fans recognize the "blurring" that regularly occurs when Reality-TV-subjects go out for dinner or go shopping; waiters and salesclerks who have not given their permission to be filmed, have their faces blurred, their identities protected. They also blur selected (but not all) paintings, photographs, advertisements in the background of these shows, even logos on T-shirts or baseball caps.

All of these images are "protected"--but a woman who did not consent to show her naughty bits all over the world in a video can not be protected?

What's wrong this picture?

Onyx Lynx linked to a wonderfully thoughtful post titled The Plea of Helplessness, the Refusal of Responsibility, and Today's Progressives (from the blog titled Once Upon a Time...).

I liked this, in particular:

With regard to every issue of consequence, Obama has embraced and even expanded the policies of the Bush administration that he and the progressives had claimed to profoundly oppose. From preventive detention, to increasingly intrusive surveillance at home, to the influence of "faith-based" activists and their preferred policies, to the continuing occupation of Iraq, the ongoing war in Afghanistan, which intentionally and with severe malice aforethought flows into Pakistan and threatens still wider regional destabilization, to continued confrontation with Iran via "crippling sanctions" and indefensible demands made of that country, backed up by the disgusting bullying which endlessly repeats that "all options are on the table" (thus perfectly mimicking Bush's behavior in every respect, all of which Obama and the progressives said they condemned) -- all of it is directly contradictory to what Obama and the progressives had claimed to stand for.

And what is the primary defense they offer for these stances, all of which run counter to what they said they believed in and what they repeatedly indicated they would do once they controlled the executive and legislative branches? Their defense is exactly the same defense offered by the conservatives: they can't help it. This is the best they can do. Forces over which they have no control leave them no alternative.

Those forces may be "the system" itself -- despite the rather consequential fact that they now control all the operative levers of power...

And I have already announced here that I am running for a Green Party office next year. I have jumped ship and no longer have any (genuine) faith in the Democratic party.

This is like, the fifth time (counting local elections) the Dems have totally taken me in with a charismatic, likeable, cool candidate... starting with the very first time I ever voted (for Jimmy Carter).

Check it out, and you might consider jumping ship yourself.

You MUST read Rachel's series on becoming vegetarian. I identified with so much of it: Blocked Vegetarians, Vegetarian Impulses, Bearing the Vegetarian Word, Vegetarian Pet Food, and she also includes a variety of wonderful recipes, to make everything especially excellent.

Great reading, and remember next week (don't worry, I'll remind you again) that the turkey did not do anything to you. Leave him/her alone! Have a NON-VIOLENT Thanksgiving. (Yes, we will revisit this point later, as always.)

I am huge fan of Renee's blog Womanist Musings, because like me, she sees everything as interrelated and connected. I love her polemics and her perspective.

Check out her post titled Obama Bows to Japanese Emperor Akihito:

Bowing to a foreign leader does not make him weak. It is an attempt on his part to curry favour with foreign nations that the US has angered over the last few decades. This bow while showing respect to a different culture, is predicated on the American desire to maintain its globally hegemony. The U.S has no intention of closing Okinawa, or dealing with the mass rapes that have been committed by American soldiers. No matter how diminutive these gestures might make Obama and by default the American people appear, they are token at best. Why make a big deal about a bow when it is clear that the US is still in charge of the unipolar world? Even if Obama were to kiss the feet Emperor Akihito, it would be clear to all the world which of the two men possess real power.

Read it all... in fact, you should be reading Renee every day anyway!

More wonderful wimminz, new to my blogroll: Adoption Survivor, Mnemosyne’s Forgotten Daughter, Acts of Faith in Love & Life!, The Wolf Cave, Asperger Square 8, DQ's Windmill, Carol J. Adams, anti social butterfly (IMHO), and the Queen of Progressive Twittering, Progressive Pam. Welcome All!

Have a look at these great bloggers!

Your official Odds and Sods dose of cute comes from HARLEY, who looks exactly like my legendary and beloved cat from the 70s, Zeppo. As I told Harley's mama, I am sure Harley was Zeppo in one of his previous nine lives.

Harley has a fishing pole now, and is learning manly sports. (The final pic is just TOO CUTE!)

Hope everything is going well with all of you!

Dead Air Church: All Saints Day

The following is a reprint from All Saints Day, 2007. I decided to reprint it when I realized I couldn't improve on it.




The Calling of Saint Matthew by Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio, Contarelli Chapel, San Luigi dei Francesi, Rome. (1599-1600)

~*~

I have always loved the look of stunned surprise on Matthew's face: Who, me?

And the guy next to him looks just as surprised: Who, him?

The tax collector???

Matthew, the tax collector, is in a dark room, with a bunch of men involved in a filthy, materialistic act: counting money. It's his job. The tax collector was more like a loan shark in those days, and worthy of resentment, if not outright hatred. He is sitting in a room with lowlifes, in short, men like himself. He is scrambling for his livelihood, one bright, shiny coin at a time. One of his compatriots is focused totally on the money, and ignores the light from the door; the only light in the painting.

He is being singled out. But the One singling him out is not, this time, the main subject of the painting. Matthew is, as he points to himself, the accompanying disbelief and shock clearly written on his face.

Which leads us to ask the obvious question: Why has He chosen him? Frankly, it makes no sense.

The painting has stayed with me throughout my life, since I first saw it. It has robbed me of sleep as often as it has comforted me. I have felt the echo: Who, me?

If you feel that a door was opened, light suddenly shown on you, and God Himself pointed to you, even for a millisecond, then you know the feeling. You know the feeling of St Matthew. You point at yourself, your shock eclipsing all else in that stretched-out, single moment in time: Why am I being singled out? It makes no sense.

And the people next to you, can be as incredulous as the man sitting next to Matthew: Who, her?

This painting was brought to us by a common brawler, in fact, a murderer. Caravaggio was not a nice guy:

An early published notice on him, dating from 1604 and describing his lifestyle some three years previously, tells how "after a fortnight's work he will swagger about for a month or two with a sword at his side and a servant following him, from one ball-court to the next, ever ready to engage in a fight or an argument, so that it is most awkward to get along with him."[1] In 1606 he killed a young man in a brawl and fled from Rome with a price on his head. In Malta in 1608 he was involved in another brawl, and yet another in Naples in 1609, possibly a deliberate attempt on his life by unidentified enemies. By the next year, after a career of little more than a decade, he was dead.

I like to think the sentiment is his, the feeling of having been called and not having a clue why: Does He know who I really am? Yes, He knows. That's why you've been called, because He knows.

For several hundreds of years now, we've been getting a twisted message, and it needs to be put right. Those of us who responded to this phenomenon (the bright light shining on us, the finger of God pointing and singling us out), believed we were not good enough. Our calling must be a mistake, or a delusion. For example, look at all of these people who claim to speak to God personally; they get all kinds of messages, and spelled out in E-N-G-L-I-S-H, too. Why can't I have some of that? If you've asked, you know that no answer is forthcoming, it is something you have to find the answer to, like a complicated word-problem. It is your life's work, to discover why. But first, you must believe. You must overcome the shock and the disbelief, the finger Matthew raises to his chest. All around him, the disbelief, and all around us, the same disbelief.

You may hear, for instance, that you are not truly called if you are a woman. (Lookit that room, all guys.) You may hear that you are not truly called if you are gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgendered. You may hear that if you live in the wrong country, pay taxes to the wrong emperor, live under another creed or ideology, then no, it doesn't apply to you, and you must have been mistaken. The secular and nonspiritual world reduces the painting to The Baroque Period, and doesn't appreciate that some of us feel punched in the gut by it. Well, they say, it's because it's Art.

No, it is because the brawler, who felt unworthy, put a spiritual truth in the painting, for US, who also feel unworthy. He painted that for us. It was a tremendous gift, from another who was chosen, and didn't understand why. He is saying: this is what I can do, I can illustrate this feeling in my heart, with color and shadow. Now, you must go forth and do whatever YOU can do. Whoever and whatever you are, you must spread the Truth to all nations.

If you aren't sure what that Truth is, then you need to find it. You are charged with the truth, which will set you free.

And on All Saints Day, the day the Church formally honors saints, I have to remember that. ALL SAINTS: Tax collectors, publicans and sinners. I have to remember the people the Church has deliberately closed out. I have to remember all of the people who hate me. I have to remember everyone in the world, made in God's image, who have felt the strength of love and redemption in their life.

It's hard to do. I'd rather just count my money in the dark and be left alone.

But after you are singled out, it's impossible to forget, regardless of what comes after. That is what the eyes, the expression of Matthew tell us. It's not about you, anymore. Come, He said, I will make you fishers of men.

Have a great All Saints Day.

Venerable Matt Talbot

Venerable Matt Talbot, traditional holy card.






In the Catholic calendar, today is the Feast Day of Matt Talbot. He has not been fully canonized yet, but is currently in the first stage, which gives him the title of "Venerable"; he needs to progress through the second stage (and the title of "Blessed") before he is a saint.

My late, great Alcoholics Anonymous sponsor, Kathy Anthony, supervised the detox unit at the old Talbot Hall in Columbus, Ohio, which is now part of the Ohio State University Medical Center, but was at that time part of the St Anthony Hospital complex on the east side. At Talbot Hall, she made me stand up at an actual podium and give my AA "testimony" to about 300 people. It was the first time I had ever done it, and I was scared shitless. I remember looking at the painting of Matt Talbot hanging in the entrance hall, and asking him for a boost. I can even recall reaching out and touching the picture, whispering, "If you're listening, how about an infusion of grace?"

He got me through it, and I owe him. In fact, after the first few sentences, I relaxed completely and it was not unlike a regular conversation... or like blogging. :)

After he is properly canonized, Matt Talbot will likely be designated patron saint of alcoholics.

~*~

Nezua freaked me right out, offering a story that the mainstream media has all but ignored.

I am as angry about the national-media blackout, as I am about the story itself, which is horrifying enough.

Nezua writes:

I’M VERY SORRY TO SAY that Brisenia Flores and her father Raul are dead. That’s Brisenia on the left. The Flores familia was sleeping when anti-immigrant crusaders busted down their door and invaded their home, ICE-style, before shooting the father and daughter to death.

And did you hear about little Brisenia?

Me neither, and I am a major newshound.

According to The Arizona Daily Star:

Three people, including the leader of a border watch group and an officer within that group, were arrested in connection with a May 30 home invasion that left a father and his daughter dead and the mother wounded, authorities said.

One of those arrested, Shawna Forde, is the leader of Minutemen American Defense, a group out of Washington state that conducts operations along the U.S.-Mexican border in Arizona. The group is not related to either the Minuteman Civil Defense Corps founded by Chris Simcox, or the Minuteman Project founded by Jim Gilchrist.
Authorities also arrested Jason Eugene Bush, 34, who serves as operations director for the Washington group, and Albert Robert Gaxiola, 42, in connection with the shooting deaths of Raul Flores, 29, and his 9-year-old daughter, Brisenia Flores, said Pima County Sheriff Clarence Dupnik.

The three are charged with two counts of first-degree murder, one count of first degree burglary, and one count of aggravated assault.

Several men and a woman claiming to be police officers forced their way into the home in the middle of the night May 30 and killed the pair. The girl's mother was wounded, and investigators believe she returned fire, injuring Bush, Dupnik said.

Dupnik painted a grim picture of the tragedy during a press conference Friday at the Sheriff's Department headquarters.

Raul Flores was a suspected drug dealer, and the three suspects targeted the house with the intention of stealing money and drugs, he said.

Bush was the suspected shooter, Dupnik said.

They did not plan to leave any survivors, he said. "The plan was to kill everyone. To kill a 9-year-old because she might be a potential witness is one of the most despicable acts I've heard of."

The next time you see Lou Dobbs or one of those talking-head-hacks babbling about the Minutemen "protecting" our borders, just remember this story, okay?

Sure they are.

~*~

Aunt B reports on the exploits of Harass II the wonder dog, who actually had the power to convict people.

From The Agitator:

Incredible story from Orlando, where police and prosecutors were apparently convicting people of violent crimes based almost exclusively on the “testimony” of a police dog whose handler claimed has extraordinary powers.

Last weekend, we looked at the case of Bill Dillon, the Brevard County resident imprisoned for 27 years before DNA tests set him free…

At least two other men suffered the same fate — and another shared link: a dog.

Not just any dog. A wonder dog helped convict all three men: a German shepherd named Harass II, who wowed juries with his amazing ability to place suspects at the scenes of crimes.

Harass could supposedly do things no other dog could: tracking scents months later and even across water, according to his handler, John Preston.

Judges and juries apparently bought this crap for years. It finally came to an end when Judge Gilbert Goshorn ordered the dog to perform a basic tracking test after Preston claimed the dog had alerted to a suspect’s scent at a crime scene six months after the murder. The dog failed.

So far, three people have been cleared after collectively spending more than 50 years in prison, all of whom were convicted primarily due to the dog’s alerts, despite other evidence exculpating them. Florida criminal justice activists say there may be as 60 more people wrongly convicted thanks to Preston and his dog.

Yet Florida officials don’t seem to care, and have no plans to proactively look for other people who may have been wrongly imprisoned.

In a statement, [Florida State's Attorney] Wolfinger’s office said it didn’t have a list of the cases in which Preston testified — nor even the records that would allow the office to compile such a list.

Essentially, Wolfinger contends it’s up to defendants to raise questions about these decades-old cases.

What can you say to a story like this?

I am as speechless as Aunt B.

Me, Mel and the Sedes

Mel Gibson directs James Caviezel in The Passion of the Christ. (2004)





I once belonged to a trad-Catholic email listserv, which took as their patron saint one Hutton Gibson. (Beware thunder-and-lightning sound effects when clicking on the link--as they used to say at the beginning of OUTER LIMITS: "There is nothing wrong with your television set.")... I later realized this was Mel's wacky dad. But at the time, I was just plain astounded and could not stop reading. I felt like I had stumbled into an amazing subculture. Which is true.

I had never met Sedevacantists before, which might be called the Black Helicopter Faction of the Catholic Church; the Area 51 of Trad theology. These people believe there hasn't been a validly elected Pope since... well, predictably, they argue about the details. (One of the "real" popes supposedly resides in Kansas, which might be the funniest damn thing I ever heard.) They are deliberately fuzzy, first attempting to convince you they are correct about papal-invalidity, and then attempting to lobby on behalf of "their" chosen Pope. The most well-known of these sub-groups is the Society of St Pius X (aka SSPX in trad lingo). [NOTE: Many Sedevacantists are splinter groups of SSPX or former fellow-travelers. Other would-be Popes include Lucian Pulvermacher and Manuel Alonso Corral.]

The reasons these folks believe the Chair of Peter is Vacant (Latin derivation of the word SEDEVACANTIST) are in alignment with the Religious Right; the well-worn view that the world is going to hell in a handbasket, with the Catholic Church regarded as just another obvious manifestation of this truth. Modernism, in the sneaky form of Vatican Council II, overtook the Mass and unexpectedly monkeyed with ancient rubrics. In the traditionalists' view, Latin was dissed, priests turned their backs on the tabernacle, people put their dirty fingers all over the Host, dopey hymns invaded where angels feared to tread... and many other hotly-contested changes came with the introduction of the Novus Ordo.

A very good point from the Trads: these transformations of the Mass seemed to demystify a very mystical practice, and detracted from its sanctity... rather as noise in the library detracts from reading; teens giggling in the back rows of dramatic movies ruin your absorption in the narrative. Sudden outbursts of English singing seem very, well... American. Many of the people (such as Evelyn Waugh) who hated the Novus Ordo, hated it because of its zealously-assimilationist tendencies. It seemed very Protestant, complete with a dorky Dr Feelgood homily that often sounded like it came from the pages of Reader's Digest. (Can't we hear what St John of the Cross or some heavy-hitter like that had to say, please?) The Roman Catholic Church has a very rich tradition of mysticism, saints' visions, ideas, theology, folk-piety, litanies and old sermons that one can easily draw upon... and instead, it was not unusual to hear some priest's sentimental story about his dog, or some deacon reading some canned-homily written by Catholic Answers. Those of us hungry for historical liturgy and the old writings (as well as those of us who do not want to assimilate to mass-American culture) ended up net-surfing right into the old AOL Catholic chat rooms, duly named after the Holy Archangels: Michael, Gabriel and Raphael.

For awhile, these three internet chat rooms stayed separate, depending upon whether one was trad, liberal or centrist/undecided... and then, of course, you know what happened. The denizens of all three got all mixed up and finally, the rooms became a free-for-all, with charges of heresy, blasphemy and schism flying right and left. It was at this colorful juncture that the Sedevacantists, well-organized and determined, invaded the rooms as a coordinated group. And it was from this mass invasion that I eventually learned of the listserv, and the Hutton/Mel/Sede connection.

Having their very own movie-star connection was intoxicating for these folks. Mel Gibson took on the characteristics of sainthood, complete with hagiography. He has seven children, they would say, admiringly. He was obviously a right-on kind of guy. The Sedevacantist-adulation of Mel was as intense as the adulation of his schismatic father and their various would-be popes. But at that time, Mel did not publicly "declare himself" as anything but a regular Catholic, to the great irritation of the list-serv members.

When I discovered through the Alcoholics Anonymous grapevine that Mel was "people like us"--I thought, uh oh. If there is one thing alcoholics chronically embrace, it's extremes. Lots of them. I am, for instance, one of the few people who can tell you all about the lefty factions of the 70s and then turn around and tell you all about Hutton Gibson and SSPX. There is a reason for that. I am grateful that I now have the wisdom to know that I am given to this character defect, but it doesn't necessarily prevent me from exercising it. However, it DOES usually prevent me from preening overmuch about my wonderfulness, since I am acutely aware that my wonderfulness could well collapse on a dime, and often has.

I had high hopes for Mel when I learned he was a sponsor of Robert Downey, Jr. I hoped he would back away from the religious extremism of his father and stick to the New Agey-Catholicism one tends to encounter in progressive recovery circles, particularly in a place like Hollywood.

And then I heard that Mel Gibson had built his own church. What? A Catholic?!? Catholics do not build their own churches (although of course, your local Diocese may take all of your money and build one and name a wing after you)... NOOO, Catholics do not build our own churches unless we are...ohhhh no, I thought. No. Not Mel.

A Sede. (slang for Sedevacantist, which also has a very appropriate pod-people sound to it; pronounced SEED.) Mel is a SEDE!

The news traveled through the always-rambunctious Michael, Gabriel and Raphael chat rooms like wildfire. The Sedes themselves were drunk on Mel-Gibson PR and cocky as the devil, you should pardon expression. Not every crackpot breakaway-faction has their own movie-star, after all.

But I wondered. I worried about Mel's wife, Robyn, stuck with the legendary 7 kids while Mel jetsetted all over the world making movies. How genuine is this Sede thing? Is he just trying to impress dad? Or other Catholics? Is this a form of penance for his alcoholism (something I deeply understand and identified with). I wondered how long it would last. As everyone gasped over the graphic violence of The Passion of the Christ, I vividly remember thinking: such extremes... such alcoholic behavior.

And then, Mel famously tied one on, delivering himself of an antisemitic rant in the process... and suddenly, all bets were off.

(I wondered: Is the Church still there? Does he still go?)

~*~

And now, the man who was repeatedly held up to me as First Class Catholic Family Man extraordinaire--is getting a divorce. (I assume you all know that divorce is not sanctioned by Catholic doctrine, even the liberal Vatican II Catholic doctrine that Mel and his father proudly placed themselves above.) His seven children, those objects of affection, envy and admiration in Michael, Gabriel and Raphael, are now the children of divorce... just like so many of the rest of us. They are also, like so many other Catholics (including me), the children of an alcoholic. They have learned the psychology of extremes at their daddy's knee, as Mel learned from his daddy, Sedevacantist Holocaust-denier Hutton Gibson.

What can we learn from this? The Buddhist lesson of the Middle Path; few of us can reside full-time at the feverish extremes throughout our entire lives. Simply put: we will fail. And instead of trying to mend something, we flush it down the toilet and run away. That is the way of extremes, the way of the addict: We will not settle for your banal choices, we will build our own church, we will find our own Pope.

And fall in love with a younger woman, and forget everything we say we believed in. In a moment, in the twinkling of an eye.

What does the lesson of Mel Gibson teach us about religious extremism? I am still trying to figure it out. I am not really surprised.

But then again, of course I am.