“The Rabbi of Chelm” takes Prairie Du Chien by storm!

Critics are raving about the new hit play from the 4H “Nifty Neighbors” Creative Consortium which can be seen in it’s entirety here.

Written by JOB, yes, but more importantly, made a reality because Mrs. JOB courageously assumed the directorial duties – giving the lie to the idea that women only have to be BEHIND men of great deeds – sometimes they’re well out in front doing the most excellent work. “Sweet fragile creatures,” indeed!

And many many hands to help behind the scenes too – thanks to you all!

(With apologies for the poor sound quality, I simultaneously doff a big ten-gallon Stetson to Paul and Liz Bransky for having the wherewithal to record it in the first place (my day job prevented me from attending the one-day opening/closing performance, alas!))

Also, if you actually want to follow along, the complete script can be found here.

Fun with Bacon…

As regards authority I so proceed. Boetius says in the second prologue to his Arithmetic… ‘It is clear that whosoever passes these by, has lost the knowledge of all learning.’ – Roger Bacon

But, however, of saltpetre take six parts, live of young willow (charcoal), and five of sulphur, and so you will make thunder and lightning, and so you will turn the trick…. – Roger Bacon

But there is another alchemy, operative and practical, which teaches how to make the noble metals and colours and many other things better and more abundantly by art than they are made in nature…. For not only can it yield wealth and very many other things for the public welfare, but it also teaches how to discover such things as are capable of prolonging human life for much longer periods than can be accomplished by nature … – Roger Bacon

But concerning vision alone is a separate science formed among philosophers, namely, optics, and not concerning any other sense … It is possible that some other science may be more useful, but no other science has so much sweetness and beauty of utility. – Roger Bacon

“This is a dog, not a chicken. Chicken’s don’t look like dogs. Who told you this was a chicken, son? Nice boy, but doesn’t listen to a thing you say. You got a bum steer, son. I’m a chicken, not a schnook. You’re wrong, son.” – Foghorn Leghorn

Today in Malapropisms?

Third Son:  No, no – Anaconda eggs are brown.

Dad: … oh, Americana.

God and Lions

From msnbc.com: ADDIS ABABA, Ethiopia — A 12-year-old girl who was abducted and beaten by men trying to force her into a marriage was found being guarded by three lions who apparently had chased off her captors, a policeman said Tuesday.

This article from 2005 just came across my radar. It relates some horrible statistics about the practice of marriage by kidnap and rape in Ethiopia and, against the backdrop of those statistics, the amazing tale of a 12-year-old girl who was saved from the cruel practice by some lions in the road. In the combox, of course, is where things get interesting. Were the lions actually just setting a table (so to speak) and preparing to have the girl as the main course when the police arrived and broke up the dinner preparations? Did God send the lions to save the girl? And if so, then why would God perform such an extraordinary act while doing nothing about the continuing horrifying practice and the alarming statistics thereof? The debate rages on.

My favorite comment (although I confess I didn’t make it through them all) came from someone named kohny:

Leave it to someone to twist the fact that GOD sent these Lions to protect this girl.

He shut the mouths of the Lions in the den with Daniel, He did the same here.

Keep this behaviour up in ethiopia and this will be your fate…The LIONS WILL BE SENT TO EAT YOU MEN

Outtake from Publicity Photoshoot for Gerasene 12

We really thought we had a hit with this one, but it didn’t make the final cut because we realized that the explicit use of tabacco products might offend gentle hearts and timid souls…

Second Official Publicity Shot for Gerasene 12


In which several themes are invoked simultaneously…

Guest Post: A Platter of Live Turkey at Dinner!

This guest post comes from my daughter, who turned eight yesterday (she shares the day with old Jack Lewis) and wrote this short story for a 2nd grade writing assignment. Warning: some turkey bodily functions are mentioned, and some violence of a graphic nature is depicted, although no turkeys were actually harmed in the making of this story.

Lucy and Charlie were looking out the window on Thanksgiving. They were waiting for their aunt, uncle, grandma, and grandpa to show up at their house. They were going to have a Thanksgiving dinner together.

When the grandparents got there, they all sat down at the table to prepare the Thanksgiving dinner. When they opened the platter to get the turkey, the turkey was alive!

The turkey ran around the kitchen and pooped in the pudding. Then it sat in the pumpkin pie and while it sat in the pumpkin pie it peed! Then it got up and barfed on the floor! Lucy got up, carefully to avoid the barf, and grabbed a knife and slashed the turkey right in the head! The turkey flopped right over and then its head fell off.

They went to the store and got another turkey, and that turkey didn’t cause any trouble.

Autumn Scrutinies

 

 For Dorian Speed

I
Against the pane, a single bell-clap tolls
A bird’s death-dive - a ringed finger’s
Tap of bone, quick to attend –

To search, to find something out there
Between the spokes of the seasons’ wheel,
Or within the shadow of the wings

Now balled up into a pillowed fist
Where falls confusion, dead leaves
Scattering celebration. At center:

A plush cluster bristles calm –
And the wind gently strokes its grief,
Hushing leaves and combing trash

Across the yard – impedimenta,
Ephemera – newsprint
And husks of imperfect commerce

All put to the discipline of a snow fence,
Plastered there until borne away
By the violence of windy petition.

II
Here bird fell. The greying window fills
With sky’s contrition.
Forgive me. And trees reach up

In shivering profiles.
Forgive me. And reconciled,
The cold wet ground makes a final plea.

Forgive me. Lingering feathers
Flecked with blebs of blood
Dab the sill.

III
The desire to recollect is strong.
It has been so long
What did you find out there?

Nothing but the arointed air
And at your fingertips?
Nothing but autumn months in eclipse

On the tip of your tongue?
The wind and leaves the wind and trash
The barren days the taste of ash

And these are my sins.

“The softened eyes affixed, half-skeptical…”

The Argument

This third to be introduced will play his part
For good or ill – or thirst. Oh, but it pains
This solitary, stalemated at heart,
To hit his marks, and understand his lines!

Hey, Onion!

 

Can you beat this?

 

HT: Justin D.