Archives for September 2006

So, you wanna be a rich children’s author?

You need a series. And your series needs a hook. And here’s your hook, you homeschooling moms: a family of ten children, all homeschooled by their brilliant inventor father whose lab is in the basement and their brilliant creative-type mother (a mashup of Martha Stewart, Emily Dickinson, June Cleaver, and Dorothy Parker). Ten kids, ten books, each focusing on a different child. They are all, of course, impossibly literate and sophisticated (though still very much children), and each with a particular talent/gift. You’ll make a fortune. I’d do it myself, but…I suck.

Today in Porn, Literary Adaptation Edition

The NYT reviews Little Children:

“That Ms. Winslet is so lovable makes the deficit of love in Sarah’s life all the more painful. She is married to an older man named Richard (Gregg Edelman), whose profession is marketing and whose vocation is masturbating to Internet pornography, pursuits that leave him with little time for his family.”

This little detail aside, I’m very much looking forward to this one.


Children of Men gets at the question of what keeps civilization going.


True Confessions: we have a terrible weakness for that run of common terms/Proper Names that Garrison Keillor reels off at the end of his show: Guy Wire, Norman Conquest – does he do Amanda Hugankiss?
Anyway, our Muse, vicious creature that she is, hit us with one tonight: Fay D’Acomply.
Godsbody: rapidly obsolescing…

Artist of the Month

Okay, so we’re five years late on this one, but art is timeless, right? At any rate, Michael Schrauzer is a local, and a fellow I’ve been privileged to meet on a number of occasions. Until he finishes his novel, do spend some time contemplating his more visual stuff. I may not know much about art, but I know what I like

Maud Reads Proverbs

Here, and imagines Woody Allen delivering a few of them.

Walt Kelly, Last Man Standing?

A propos of the previous post, Mrs. Darwin has a bone to pick with the House of Mouse – specifically, with its handling of Pooh & Co.:

“I have a fondness for Pooh (as who does not?) and I loathe almost everything about the Pooh cartoons — the simplification of Ernest Shepard’s charming illustrations, the reduction of the stories from a form that necessitates adult interaction with a child to a smear of bright colors and noise, the dumbing-down of Milne’s delightful prose — but most of all, the voices. Pooh’s querulous hesitancy, Piglet’s effeminate stutter, Eeyore’s moronic drone, Tigger’s hyperactive lisp — no more!”

(She does take a moment to wonder what sort of accent Kanga should have – am I overly obvious to suggest Australian?)

At any rate – take comfort, Mrs. Darwin: they never got Pogo.

Dept. of License Plates


Disney Lens? Someone with a tendency to see life as operating according to the ethos of Disney films?

Things that make you go *hic*

The suspicious way that “bourbon” almost rhymes with “suburban”…


Terry considers time spent dithering as death draws nearer.


The Wife had a rather brilliant suggestion for a short story – a man who carries on an adulterous affair under cover of going to wee hours Eucharistic Adoration…

Stupid Homilies

Back when we entertained thoughts of actually doing something, we considered starting a new Catholic magazine (Hoo!). Something cheeky – our very own version of Spy. One section was to be titled Ipse Dixit, and would consist of choice morsels uttered from the pulpit and sent in by readers. Stupid Homilies has a rather less oblique title, but seems to be getting at the same thing. The site includes a disclaimer:

We are here to attack and expose some of the ridiculous ideas they foist upon us each week when they preach.
This site exists because we love the Church and believe all Catholics are entitled to the full deposit of their faith. Other sites will insult the insipid liturgical music you are fed. Others will attack the boring modernist architecture you must sit in. This site exists simply to expose deviations from orthodoxy and weak thinking. Send us the story of the horrible homily you endured this week. Send the date, the church, the city, the diocese and the name of the priest along with all the insanity preached in the name of Holy Mother Church. No one will listen to our complaints, so the only weapon we have left is to use the very words these ‘shepherds’ are misleading their flocks with.”

To be honest, I’ve gotten a bit weary of this war, but I know the fellow behind the site, and know that while he is feisty, he is not rabid. And I respect the jounalistic character of what he’s attempting. Rather than a bitchfest, the site could be a factual accounting.


Brian Pessaro has a new piece up at Godspy:

“But if you perform corporal mortification for religious reasons, to achieve some spiritual good, you’re an oddball. To borrow an analogy from Boston College professor Peter Kreeft and give it a twist, if I were to announce at a cocktail party that I just got my tongue pierced, I would be surrounded by an eager crowd of spectators. But if I were to announce that each morning before work I take a cold shower as a religious ritual, I would soon be talking to myself.”

Yeah, but do they blog?

Apparently, the Vatican has a website.


I go to Sunday Mass in disturbting proximity to this.

The New Pantagruel, RIP

Dag-nab it, I liked those guys.

“To me, golf is like karaoke: the only thing more pathetic than being bad at it is being good at it.”

Second Son, Sacred Artist

So Second Son found a rock at the beach yesterday (ah, the beach in late September…) with a nice neat hole near one edge. “I’ll make this a necklace!” he proclaimed. Today, he removed the crucifix from an old chaplet, affixed it on a string so that it hung behind the rock, and announced, “It’s Jesus in the tomb.”