Formendacil

Psalm 43

Wed, 05 Aug 2009 04:19:18 GMT

Defend me, O God, and plead my cause

against a godless nation.

From deceitful and cunning men

rescue me, O God.

The cassock is long and black: long to cover all, and black to remind the priest that he is not his own man. Had Father had it his way, he would have started wearing the cassock long before, hard upon the heels of entering seminary, but that was not the way things were done for some decades now, and it was a hard-won privilege of ordination to be able to immerse himself in the all-encompassing garb of the clerical state.

Black was the colour of the Middle Ages that said a priest was not a worldly man, that he was not spending money on the reds and blues and golds of the nobility, and though the third Christian millennium had not retained the association of black with poverty, it did put the presbyteral image into a sombre light.

An appropriate light. As a priest, Father was cut off from the rest of society in several painfully tangible ways. The cassock covered a full body of clothing, it also seemed to cover a multitude of sin. The black of mourning, the black of society-rejecting Goths, the black of the priest matched the unfamiliar cut of his cassock, a dress where men wore trousers, a medieval memory where men were futuristic. In the midst of a deceitful and cunning people, a godless nation, it marked Father out as someone different. It did not defend the priest, as it had his predecessors, from the wrath of the common man, but singled him out as someone different. And yet, despite making him a target, it was a source of strength, a shield in times of battle.

Thirty-three buttons lined some traditional cassocks, and sometimes Father would undo them all, rather than slipping out of the top few, so that he could enjoy the following morning the ritual pleasure of buttoning them back up. One button for every year Christ walked this earth; a sum reminder of the crucifixion. Father was not inclined to be over-dramatic, but as he slowly straightened, button thirteen following button twelve, he thought of himself, alone, singled out, different, as suffering a slow crucifixion of his own.

Since you, O God, are my stronghold

why have you rejected me?

Why do I go mourning

oppressed by the foe.

There had been times, in seminary, when Father had thought it cruel and unusual that the Canadians fathers-that-be did not approve of seminarians in cassocks, as it robbed him of a much-wanted support in times of weakness. There was something about the stiff white collar proud against his throat, and the stately black fascia, hanging like a scabbard at his side that was a reminder of the noble loneliness of his path, a physical discouragement against sin when temptation against chastity struck him.

The devil knew, of course, that his sexuality was a weak spot, as it was all humanity since the Fall. The temptations of the flesh, soft and curving, sweet and swinging, a package of all the delectable, irresistible fruits of humanity’s apparent goodness, were omnipresent in those worldly times. Some days they brushed too close and he fell completely, impaled as it were on his own sword, felt to all his soul as though he had been violently kicked in the crotch. The cassock was no sure-fire defence against the undiscipline of the eyes and mind, but it could still rouse that wayward organ, the brain, to action, the black flag of no quarter flapping with all the might of the seraphic wings against the black sails of Satan.

The cassock fully buttoned, and the broad fascia tightened over his waist—above the beltline, as custom dictated, Father pulled on his alb, the white robe covering the black cassock completely. The alb was the garb of Christ, the tunic of the ancients, and it was the white garment of Baptism. Someday, in paradise, Father hoped it would not be a lie, that he would shine like Moses and Elijah, wrapped in light. For now, however, the alb was a symbol of what he was only in part: a saint graced with Heaven.

Some days this was easier to believe than others. Some days, though the vestments were a stronghold against his own failings and sins, and against the critical gaze of both friend and foe, they were also lies. Oppressed by the devil, Father too easily believed he was rejected by God, justly cast aside for his sins. He was not, as the alb proclaimed, a reborn man. He was not a man of prayer. He was not a man of kindness, meekness, humility, or gentleness. He was a stubborn man, a proud man, a lazy man. Even when the cassock could still some of the physical inclinations to sin, it could not spur him to live holier. The alb, when he reflected on its starched whiteness, could. Ordinary cloth, wool and polyester woven together, it was a humble material, ruder than his mother’s curtains or the most faded of his spring jackets, but its virtue was not in its substance, but in the shape and colour that had been imposed on it from the outside.

O send forth your light and your truth;

let these be my guide.

Let them bring me to your holy mountain

to the place where you dwell.

Some days it was a spiritual battle just to get out of bed, put on a smiling face when he walked into the public domain of the church, and greet Mrs. Swanson who—again—had something for him to bless. Father teetered on the edge of charity at times, knowing that if he drove her away, irate that she was more superstitious than spiritual, he would be lost to her—yet another promising young priest proven to be too liberal and compromising; not like those charming young Legionaries. Simultaneously, there was Ms. Shewticki, a divorcée coming to Communion every Sunday, whom he’d never seen at Confession, and doubted any other priest had. Somewhere between the two of them—neither of whom he particularly liked, as Father admitted, head bowed somewhere between his knees to his Confessor—he had to wear the mantle of leadership in the parish. The stole representing the sacerdotal authority of the priest lay lightly in his hands, four inches broad and tasselled golden, but was a crushing weight on his shoulders as he slept, burdening him down with the spiritual responsibility to see his scattered and ignorant flock through the Pearly Gates before nightfall.

The nape of the stole brushed his lips, held up for a loving kiss and brief, fervent, and instinctual prayer. Head bowed as though to the King of Kings, he raised it over his neck, and then straightened, commissioned for command on the field of battle. It was the dusk of Now and Not-Yet, a time of fuzzy half-light, and Father could sometimes only faintly descry the Way, the Truth, and the Life that would lead him, and those he led, to their final home in Heaven, and on the nights of deepest, existential doubt, he feared not that he was wrong about the road there, but about whether he had the wisdom to guide anyone down the paths of righteousness. What right did he, of all men, have to stand in the Person of Christ? He, who preferred the company of atheists and agnostics that were not his concern to the service of the people entrusted to his care; he, who could not keep his schedule free enough to attend the C.W.L. supper, but could somehow squeeze in a beer with his nihilist college acquaintance—he was no sure guide, he knew. If his flock followed him closely, they might all end up in the mire about either side of the straight and narrow path.

And I will come to the altar of God,

the God of my joy.

My redeemer, I will thank you on the harp.

O God, my God.

Finally, the chasuble was pulled over Father’s head, and straightened before the mirror, followed by a cursory brush of his disturbed hair back to an approximation of where it belonged. Like the poncho it resembled, the chasuble covered all, and it steeled Father’s occasionally doubting spirit. Reserved only for the Eucharistic celebration, the man in the chasuble who paused briefly to pray, then strode out of the sacristy, was not the mere man who had walked in earlier. It was not the self-doubting sinner, who prayed too little for his people, too little for those who asked, and too little for himself. It was not the weak, lazy man who wrote homilies a little too quickly because he spent a little too much time on the Internet. It was not the man who Mrs. Swanson thought said too little in his homilies about the evils of abortion, nor the man Ms. Shewticki resented for bringing it up at all. He was not his own, but led where God and the bishop would take him. Hidden under the chasuble, his skills and his failings subsumed into the role he had been ordained for, he was not Father, he was an alter Christus—another Christ. It was not Father who lived, but Christ who lived in him.

And he went up the aisle to the altar, to praise the God who gave joy to his life, the God whose love made all things worthwhile. For this God, the God praised for four thousand years as the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, was ever worthy of praise, ever supporting him when he fell, ever tugging him higher whenever he would stretch his hands to the sky. For this God all things were possible, and for this God, Father would try all things, even those which seemed impossible. For this God, for this Christ, he would dwell alone, he would serve the poor and the ignorant, he would wake in the middle of the night, and tend the dying as a mother wakes to tend her child. For this God, he would even dare to suffer death, death on a Cross.

Why are you cast down, my soul,

Why groan within me?

Hope in God; I will praise him still,

My saviour and my God.

Abortion, Beatification, Credification

Thu, 23 Jul 2009 01:54:54 GMT

There are some letters in the Archives that make me laugh, because the writers are so serious and their texts so improbably authoritative, the only healthy thing to do is laugh. The excerpt from the following letter would be one:

Your Grace,

The hierarchy is contemptuous of women as is the present pope. He does not have the intellectual capacity for the job but he has tremendous energy, plus some ability as an actor. So he parades himself around the world enjoying the plaudits of the crowd, while playing the part of the Holy Father.

[The Rest of the Letter]

The bishops should decide that since they are men they should stay away from subjects that concern women only.

Yours,

This was in about 1985 by a lady who, apparently, practiced law in Washington state. What I find odd--apart from the no-holds-barred, unprovoked assault on the Pope's intellect--is the fact that the letter was written on cheap yellow lined paper. I've seen a lot of correspondence from lawyers in the archives, and they have nice letterheads, quality stationary, and usually typewriters and secretaries. This lady had none.

Which is really the extent of my story... her diatribe to the Archbishop was concerned with abortion, and I thought she actually had an interesting argument--perhaps even one that worked--for justifying it, in Canada. Wouldn't work in the States, which is odd given her claims to have practiced law in Washington, as it was based on British traditions and, to my mind, would only be workable under the old principles of the unwritten constitution--which in any case was no longer the case in Canada, post-1982, so I think legally it might not have worked here. Of course, she missed the boat completely regarding the fact that the Church never opposed abortion on legal grounds and doesn't now, but on different premises altogether. In any case, it was a highly amusing letter that came in the midst of a rather dull day's read--resource materials and minutes related to the Archdiocesan Council of Women (minutes are boring on a good day), and the preliminary folders of the Social Justice Commission, which has to have the singularly most boring correspondence of all the Archdiocesan commissions. At least until 1979.

Mind you, I've been a bit dozy today generally--possibly related to the heat, and I think a little more water would have helped. Mostly, though, it has to do with the fact that yesterday was a Tuesday, so I was out socialising until late, and thus didn't get home until 11:00 and to bed until 12:00. And then I was up at 6:50--which was pushing it, and I had to sneak Lauds in during the morning coffee break instead of before I headed into work.

Also, biggish news, depending how it all plays out: the Internet rumours--which took some digging, I assure you, but I knew they were there because Fr. Penna mentioned them on Monday--say that Cardinal Newman will be beatified in Birmingham on May 2nd. I inform you all of this because you are 'Downers, and this could mean travel plans. Personally, I would love to make it Cardinal Newman's beatification, and if this occurs on May 2nd, then it's quite plausibly doable, since that's after seminary lets out for the summer. The chief problem, logistically, is that the rumours also say the beatification will take place at the Oratory, and I've no idea how big that is, and consequently if I can expect to have a hope of getting in, because you know this'll be a big event. In any case, it's much too early to get excited. Financially, this is a possibility, since now that I'm entering Theology, I don't have tuition so it's theoretically possible that I'll have funds left at the end of the school year--which probably won't go beyond going to England, but that's a sight better than the deficit I ran this year. In any case, I'm sure I'll update you on further news as it comes up.

Not much else going on... still plugging away at Credo in Dracones, which is, I fear, turning out to be a bit rambly. I keep going off on short, but numerous, tangents of a slightly polemical nature. If, by God's grace, I happen to finish this novel-thingy, and if I still have interest in improving it, the stage known in Fanfic as "beta-ing" will be of significant value, but for now that's rather dimly way away in the future. Despite being 122ish pages in, I wouldn't really put myself into the action of the story, which either says bad things about the loopiness of my handwriting or the procrastination of my storytelling.

Or both. The Catholic option, of course, is always "et, et."

First Impression Thoughts

Tue, 07 Jul 2009 03:57:43 GMT

I have just--and I really do mean JUST--finished American Gods , by Neil Gaiman. Or, to put it in other words, I have just blown about five hours of evening since I got home from work, in and around supper, checking the Internet, and not doing anything useful or creative, on speeding through the latter 3/5 of this modern fantasy work (to give it some sort of a genre... I'm not sure that's a fair label, but it fits). A few months ago, you might recall, I read Coraline, which was my introduction to Gaiman, and I immensely enjoyed it. This time... I'm not so sure...

To be scrupulously fair, one should never evaluate a piece of fiction immediately after finishing it, especially if it was finished in a one fell swoop of a read that not only included the last chapter, but half of the rising action before the climax as well. However, first impressions are telling, even if they don't tell everything.

Certainly, I liked it. After all, I couldn't put it down. I picked it up at Chapters two days ago, and I've already finished it--despite being gone almost all day yesterday and working a full day's shift today. I can't fault Gaiman his ability to suck the reader into the story, to make him follow the characters and the plot religiously (yes, that's a very deliberate pun)... but I can't help feeling... I don't know.... cheated maybe. Or, no: not cheated. Perhaps it's more that I disagree.

Now, given that I am the Catholic seminarian buzzing around the friends' lists, you're undoubtedly going to think, if you've read the book, that obviously Formy is going to have issues with the blatant Paganism and the lack of treatment--or worse, the relative treatment--given to Christianity. However, it was not the blatant paganism that bothered me. I liked that, the setting of the scene and the historical tiebacks, the integration of the convinced faith of the heathens intertwined with the immigrant stories. That I liked, because I can suspect belief and live in a literary world of gods and kobolds. After all, knowing that was the premise and choosing to read, how could I object to that? No, the difficulty for Formy was not that the world had gods, but that it didn't have gods enough.

Behind the gods, at the metaphysical terminus of the story, it was not a metaphysics of legends and gods, but a modern philosophy. Underpinning this world--and, not at all coincidentally, turning "reality" into a mere stage, to be be circumvented by going backstage--is a sort of Eastern, ever-spinning wheel, a reality that does not define things but lets them bleed together. Gaiman, to his credit, does not go too far with this--even when Shadow disappears into "death" and finds his peace in Nirvanic nothingness, this is not made ultimate state of being. The world of American Gods remains, at least nominally, polytheistic not pantheistic, but it comes perilously close at times. I suppose, really, that a framework of some sort is necessary to hold up not only the conflicting problems of a scientific (which, I must drive home, is a Christian-derived worldview) history and supernatural religions, but all the mass tangle of MANY incompatible religions--I suppose, in those circumstances, a framework of some sort is required. Perhaps it merely that, having whetted my appetite on the Norse gods, I wanted more of the relentless march to Ragnarok and less of the unchanging wheel of time spinning.

As I write this, it occurs to me I might not be making sense. After all, aren't Odin and Loki, in their incarnations as the two-man con artists, the ultimate avatars for free will, working against history and the fates, and even their prior European incarnations to yield the desired effect on the American scene? Well... no. The thing is, I felt remarkably let down when Odin and Loki were revealed to be in cahoots. I felt cheated when I didn't get the grand confrontation between the mighty old gods of nature and the paisley gods of post-modernism. It was not that this wasn't consistent with the characters, it was that it was inconsistent with the tenor of my hopes for the story. I had not expected Odin to be a hero, but I had expected the quality of the heroic in him, and when I did not get even much of a villain, I was disappointed. The titanic clash of the implacable gods did not happen, but was allayed instead--a kind of symbolic relativism that says the old gods and the new can get along--that the real enemy is... um... well, at least I must credit Gaiman for not saying, so much, that there is a real enemy. But perhaps no enemy is even worse than a bad one.

Basically, the climax of the story disappointed me. Shadow revives Laura--but the hope of eucatastrophe is not fulfilled, for she has only had time turned back long enough to play her part. Having reconciled myself to Odin and Loki being swindlers, I didn't even get to see them win. Shadow sacrifices himself for... who? Everyone, really. But who does he save? He promises to save Laura, but the most she gets is peace--something he held her back from with his golden coin, so that she can be a plot device to save his life, kill Loki... I dunno, I really didn't find that resolved to my satisfaction, at all. And he dies for Odin... but Odin just... dies. He comes back to life long enough to gloat, but the battle is not fought for him, and he doesn't even die a villain so much as he fades away.

The denouément/Epilogue was much more satisfying. The wrapping up of the Lakeside tale, though remarkably understated, was perfect, plot-wise. Hinzelmann's outing as a trickster is more satisfying than Odin's--even though I saw it coming just as little. Less, even. The car on ice, the stories, the lake-making... that wrap-up fit together beautifully, like magnificent clockwork. The white knight killed the dragon there, and the ending was suitable.

All in all... as the writing of an over-long post will do, I'm winding down a bit energy-wise, and as the rectory cools off a bit towards bedtime, I'm losing that verve of heat and discomfort that tends to accompany reading something too long in one spot, so I'm wondering if I'm being over-harsh... but, regardless, I think it's fair to say that--though I much enjoyed it--American Gods was doomed to leave me a bit dissatisfied, given my Catholic/philosophical predilections, and coming hard on the heels of Chesterton--who, I'll grant, is perhaps too vervently orthodox for some tastes (most of my friends' list, indeed, probably would object to his conclusions, though how they could reject his arguments, I don't know)--but the brilliancy of his arguments, for me, is so much that they proceed from what I would call literary or artistic premises. With that as the immediately prior literary intake--and given my immediate identification with it--Gaiman basically had to either live up to it, or disappoint.

And he didn't disappoint that much, let me restate. I'm motivated to create, which is the mark of a good creator, but the disappointment is there too. We expect the most, after all, from those we think most capable of giving it. I knew Gaiman was excellent--I still do--so I wanted nought but excellence from him.

Chapter 4

Tue, 12 May 2009 03:46:12 GMT

Well, I'm kind of amazed at myself... I'm actually using LiveJournal in order, of all things, to update a story.

The whole chapter contained in this folder, once moderated (so if you're online tonight, you'll not likely be able to see anything other than the deeplink posted above): www.brickshelf.com/cgi-bin/gallery.cgi

Grandfather's Tale

Wed, 06 May 2009 05:21:20 GMT

For lack of a better name, this story has been called "Grandfather's Tale," since the young brats listening call the storyteller "Grandfather." It's mostly just a free-flowing LEGO-related story that may or may not interest you... but if the LEGO is a bit esoteric for my LiveJournal friends' list, the storytelling or epic end may be more up your alley.

Other chapters:
Chapter 1:www.brickshelf.com/cgi-bin/gallery.cgi
Chapter 2:www.brickshelf.com/cgi-bin/gallery.cgi
Chapter 3:www.brickshelf.com/cgi-bin/gallery.cgi

To be updated... basically whenever I feel like it. So irregularly.

Further Updates

Mon, 16 Mar 2009 04:08:21 GMT

So, in case anyone's wondering, the weather has reset itself a week... the picture I posted last post could have been taken today, no problem. It's nice out--generally snow weather is warm weather for winter--but dangerous. All the ice I was talking about yesterday, because of the melting spell, has not gone away, and it's right there under the blanket of snow fluff.

In less climactic news, it seems to be more or less official that this is now my "official blog." I haven't posted to the old "serious" blog in months, whereas I have here, and I haven't used this as an un-Serious blog in that time (aka: no memes that I recall). Of course, in the past few years, over which I've had both, my blogging aims have changed somewhat. Back then, I wasn't so much writing for a defined audience, as having a general idea that I'd be writing "a seminarian's blog." I only added the LiveJournal because anonymous commenting started to get old. And then it became a good way to let out the meme gene. Now, three years later, I write for a very specific audience: Downers. Pretty much just Downers. In fact, although I've never had to, I would probably go as far as to lie about having a blog if someone in real life were to ask. Well... okay, maybe not. But there IS a part of me that thinks this really is just for Downers... it's really just my Downer side showing.

Not sure how true that is... but whatever.

Now... as a note to the Bêthberrys and other anonymous readers: I feel obliged to inform you that while you're hardly missing much that is worthwhile, you are missing MOST of what I'm writing these days, as I've basically made "Friends' Only" my default privacy setting. I'm finding that as I get older, and become more and more a public figure, I'm more and more inclined not to make it possible for people to find me on the internet and infer things wrongly from what really ought to be in a private context.

Just saying... you should get accounts.

Friday, the Third Week of Advent

Fri, 19 Dec 2008 18:48:55 GMT

"If man, without being puffed up or boastful, has a right belief regarding created things and their divine Creator, who having given them being, holds them all in his power, and if man perseveres in God's love, and in obedience and gratitude to him, he will receive greater glory from him. It will be a glory which will grow ever brighter until he takes on the likeness of the one who died for him."

-St. Irenaeus

Most definitely inspired by the tack of Esty's last couple posts, let's reveal some of Michael's cinematic tastes, if we can indeed say that he has them at all... I watch very few movies, and don't generally feel the lack of them. I'm also not a very hardcore movie-goer. I tend to avoid anything artsy, anything gory, anything serious, anything "based on a true story." Indeed, the movies I'm most likely to see are a pretty superficial collection: well-done animated movies (so things like Cars and Finding Nemo), big pop-culture hits (Indiana Jones) or maybe comedy. I'd definitely rather watch a sappy chik-flik than something serious.

All of which, given my literary preference for non-fiction over fiction and predilection for philosophy, is kind of odd... although to be fair, I'm not nearly as well read as some people seem to think. I know a lot of stuff, but that does not mean I've read a lot...

To give a more general idea of how little I go to the movies, let's trace back all the movies I've seen in theatres, going as far back as I can recall.

On Wednesday I went to Four Christmases, because Mom was going, and I was invited and I had nothing better to do on an evening at home. Definitely fits under the general category of "comedy" and definitely not possessed of much long-term value.

Before that, my last movie was Passchendaele, with a couple friends from university. I went chiefly because it meant socialising, but also because it felt like a good thing to do on November 11th. Although a lot of people commented about it that the 40-minute return to Canada love story detour detracted from it, I'm enough of a sap that this didn't bother me at all.

Before that, we have to go back to late July, when I went to The Dark Knight, only a few days after I'd been to see Hellboy II with one of the priests in the rectory.

Going a month earlier, to the tail end of June, I went to Prince Caspian with Brinn while visiting in Idaho.

Before that, the first movie of my year was Juno. A large block of the seminary community went during the weekend when the city struck our water main, and we couldn't shower...

I'm not positive, but I think the last movie before that was The Fantastic Four sequel. I was still on crutches then, and went with the priests I was living with over the summer, so we've gone back in time about a year and a half now.

Although I couldn't enumerate them all the in same manner, I don't think I watch many more movie proportionately on video or DVD than I do in theatres...

Thing is, although I enjoy them, they're low down on the list of ways to spend my much-filled hours.

Fri, 22 Aug 2008 02:44:04 GMT

One day Death came to call on a young priest to tell him his time was up. Because of his youth and his general likeability, however, Death said that he would give him one wish before he died. The priest thought about it for a moment, and then said that he wanted to convert one of the young atheists in his family before he died.

"But... but..." spluttered Death. "That's take a lifetime!"

Good? Bad? Or Just Plain Weird?

Sat, 16 Aug 2008 03:20:04 GMT

Just plain weird gets my vote...

So, the parish I'm living at is in an okay neighbourhood no longer quite on the edge of the city, but certainly not downtown. It doesn't have gangs and dope-peddlars on the corners, but there is graffiti. Not much, but it's there... a lot of the newly redone sidewalk has little red swastikas on them, which I guess is graffiti-ish enough, but the following is just plain strange. I mean, since when does defacing public property count as evangelisation? I blame the Baptist church that sits between the sites I found these. :p

On one of my regular nightly walks I saw the following on the side of a mailbox:

Okay, that's a bit odd, I thought. But it wasn't the only mailbox that had got the Jesus treatment....

Obviously, they used the red spray can here... very original, punks...

On the same walk--and from the same spray can, I think--I found another Jesus, except that this time they hadn't been able to find a mailbox, so they just used a patch of sidewalk.

And just in case someone failed to get the point that Jesus is all cool and trendy with the young and hip crowd, here's a textual Christmas special:

It does occur to me in hindsight that that MIGHT not be Jesus... but it sure looks like him to me, and in any case, the textual graffiti is clear.

Because I'm bored, and I haven't memed in a while...

Sat, 12 Jul 2008 03:57:22 GMT

Who was the last person that called you: My mom.
Who was the last person you slow danced with: Probably the same answer... three years ago.
Who makes you smile: Can I say my mom a third time? If not, then assorted 'Downers.
Who knows you the best: There's a theme to this section...Mom.

Do you like filling these out: I only do them when I'm bored for a reason...
Do you wear contact lenses or glasses?: Glasses only.
Do you like yourself: Mostly always.
Do you get along with your family: Normally...

Are You...

Obsessive? a touch...
Compulsive? No, not really

What are you listening to right now? The buzz of my computer and the pounding of the rain against the house.
What did you do yesterday? Worked, read/played WW
Hated someone in your family: No... though I've ben irked.
Gotten any awards?: *delicate cough* Yes. A number....
What car/truck do you wish to have: Something brand enew and easy on gas.
Good driver? Better than most, though who doesn't think that?
Have a lava lamp: No!!!!
How many remote controls are in your house? At least four, but it should be stated that none are mine.
What do you dream about? French syllables, Cardinal McGuigan, and assorted LEGO.
When you last showered: Lemme think... ooh! That reminds me... I was thinking of having a long bath tonight...might be an improvement over doing memes on an uncooperative website.
Scary or Funny Movies: Funny-scary
Chocolate or Vanilla: Chocolate
Root beer or Dr. Pepper: Meh... neither?
Summer or winter: Each in due season (pun intended)
Silver or Gold: Both... the Tolkienite says silver, though.
Diamond or pearl: diamond
Coffee or tea: Coffee, normally... but that's more a question of laziness and availability most f the time.
Phone or in person: In person if at all possible. I fear the phone.
Indoor or outdoors: I'm a bookish academic and a liturgist... indoors all the way.

Today did you...

1. Talk to someone you liked: I'm an old curmudgeion... and I generally like people... make what you will.
2. Buy something: After this week, I'm quite grateful to be able to say "no"
3. Get sick? NO
8. Talked to an ex: Don't even have any.
9. Miss someone: Just SPM... been rereading old WW...

Last person who....

10. Slept in your bed: The cat.
11. Saw/heard you cry: It's been a while... no idea...
12. Made you cry: Probably... um... not even sure. Me, probably.
13. Went to the movies with: Brinniel
14. You went to the mall with: I go alone... wiht someone it's been a LONG time...
15. Said "I Love You" and meant it: If you mean in a romantic way? Never.
16. Ever been in a fight with your pet? No. I rule too mightily to get in a fight
17. Been to California: Not yet. Not in any hurry.
18. Been to Hawaii: No. Slightly more interested than in California.
19. Been to Canada: Three or four times...
20. Been to Europe: Yes. Going back ASAP

Random.....

21. Do you have a crush on someone right now? Can't say as I do.
22. What book are you reading now: Roverandom
23. Best feeling in the world: Coming out of Confession.
24. Future KIDS names: What future kids?
25. Do you sleep with a stuffed animal: Unless pillows are animals...
26. What's under your bed: Dust bunnies
27. Favorite sports to watch: Hockey, if I have to...
28. Favorite location: Hookbill's
29. Piercing/Tattoos: None.
30. What are you most scared of right now: Dying of thirst.
31. Who do you really hate? No one
32. Do you have a job? : Yes, despite some people's doubts.
33. Have you ever liked someone you didn't have a chance with?: Everyone I liked in that sense falls under this headed, and the lack of chance is from the same source in each case.
36. Are you lonely right now?: I'm alone.
38. Song that's stuck in your head right now?: None... for once.
39. Have you ever played strip poker: No.
40. Have you ever gotten beat up?: No
42. Have you ever been on radio/TV: Yes, apparently the back of my head made it on behind the Archbishop a couple weeks ago.
43. Have you ever been to a party?: No. I'm so unpopular.

It's one of those evenings...

Sun, 08 Jun 2008 04:01:54 GMT

....when I'm sitting around on the internet, following an endless loop of sites, including all the usual suspects, waiting for new action to occur. I really can't wait until I get going to Quebec next week: I clearly have no life right now.

Free!

Wed, 28 May 2008 02:52:06 GMT

It took entirely too long, but nearly a month after all the other seminarians, I am finally moved out for the summer, having wrapped my spring session science course on Friday. I'm now resident at one of the city parishes, with two priests and sleeping with my girlfriend (a sweet ten-ish year old tabby with a winning disposition) again. As a bonus, I even have internet! I haven't figured out how I'm going to work the keyboard arrangement (I'm typing with the keyboard on my lap, and while that works for this short post, I don't think it'll last long once I get to work on my remaining essay).

So I won't be completely AWOL all summer; sorry to disappoint. As a consolation, however, I'm busy from tomorrow until Monday, so you may not hear anything anywhere from me for a week anyway.

And I'm Still Alive

Mon, 21 Apr 2008 22:25:26 GMT

I made it safely back to Edmonton, obviously... but I'm utterly exhausted now. It took close to an hour longer than usual to get here, and the amount of cars in the ditch was astounding. Even had to detour off the freeway (a factor in the longer travel time) because of what looked like a crash between a semi and a bus. Nasty.

Studying tonight may be hard... Meh... I can do it tomorrow morning, right?

Insanity

Mon, 21 Apr 2008 17:45:51 GMT

For all of you who don't know, Alberta is in the middle of a spring blizzard, and the roads are crap. And I, foolishly, came home to Olds JUST before this all hit on Friday. And now I'm going back to Edmonton. I have to, since I have an exam tomorrow, the only exam (as it happens) that I NEED to write to pass the course (I don't even need to write it well, though that's the plan). Now, I COULD wait until tomorrow, but the weather's supposed to get worse again. This is the closest to the calm between the storms that we've got... so I'll just have to take it. My two and a half hour drive, normally, could well become five. Even if I don't end up in the ditch.

Keep me in your prayers!

Grrr!

Tue, 18 Mar 2008 05:09:14 GMT

Okay, I have to rant somewhere. This has been building up in me all day and has now reached critical mass.

TODAY IS NOT ST. PATRICK'S DAY!!!

I don't care if you think it's a random, Irish, secular holiday! March 17th is not St. Patrick's Day because the Irish thought it would be cool to remember he died that day, nor because the Mayor of New York City wanted parades! It is the day on which St. Patrick is remembered because he is a Catholic saint, because the Irish are a Catholic people, and remembering saints on the anniversary of their death is the norm for saints who are privileged to have a feast day.

TODAY IS NOT ST. PATRICK'S FEAST DAY THIS YEAR!!!

This year, Easter comes really early, so March 17th is Monday of Holy Week. Holy Week trumps St. Patrick! Always. So today is NOT St. Patrick's Day. In Ireland, where he is a significant enough saint to warrant a major celebration, the feast was transferred to Saturday, March 15th (I'm told... might have been Friday, since that would then double with St. Joseph, who DOES outrank St. Patrick).

SO ST. PATRICK'S DAY WAS SATURDAY! IT'S OVER! IT'S NOT TODAY! GET OVER IT!

GRRR!

Okay, now I feel a little better. You may return to your regular programming.

Part 1 of... ??

Mon, 21 Jan 2008 05:44:56 GMT

Okay, so I have no idea if this will/should go anywhere as a story, but as an opening I think it's interesting in its own right. I wrote it tonight, when I should have been getting myself ahead of the game in English homework, after too much musing about apocalyptic scenarios, brought on by the early chapters of The Lord of the Rings and various sci-fi on TV. No idea if I'll ever write more of it, but there's enough of a vague idea in my head that it's possible--though not necessarily likely.

When the first heroes left our village, I was one of the few who gave it any attention, but even I thought little of it. So the mighty lords of the realm needed the services of my cousin? It was interesting, but as they did not stay long enough to share any news of why they needed him, there was little to do but speculate, and there were no ill omens at that time to give me or any other reason to ponder why Tomlin might be needed in the south.

It was only later, much later, that I learned he was to take up a mighty artefact against our great enemy: a sword of immense power that he, obscure though his lineage was, was entitled to hold and no other. Together with some of the greatest heroes of our time, he was to sneak into the enemy’s fortress in the deep south, and kill him.

But something failed. I have never heard what, but within six months, rumours had reached even our remote village of a threat marching to war against us, and at about the same time, Prince Killoran returned to our village—one of the few survivors to return from the deep south. He said nothing of my cousin or his fate, but ordered the local militia to rearm, and took Lord Davron, my uncle, and his guard south to the capital to join the gathering muster. This caused talk among the villagers, but we still knew little, only that there were skirmishes along the border and talk of an enemy attack, but though there were the first signs of disquiet in the air, we were more concerned with bringing in the crops than with distant concerns in the far corners of the realm.

Over winter, which was particularly cold and snowy, talk intensified about such things, as slowly more news trickled north. The enemy had sent enormous armies against our people, and we were having little success holding the mountain passes, but though these things concerned us, they were too remote.

Then the spring floods came, and even as we went through the normal rituals of tilling and seeding, word came from the south that the border fortresses had been overrun in a brutal slaughter, and the enemy armies were pouring into the southern provinces. Prince Killoran was again in the north on the King’s behalf, rousing all the fiefs to muster, and now our village felt the full impact of the action, as the militia was ordered to march, and half our men or more were drafted. I was among those left behind.

“You’re the only member of the Brettaga family left,” Prince Killoran told me. “Other than your aunt. The villagers need some stable order.” It was then that I learned that Uncle Davron had been killed when the border fortresses were overrun. Though the prince’s statement was not quite true, for both my aunts still lived, both of them and my father had married into the Brettaga family.

There was true concern in our village now, for no family did not lose a father, brother, son, or cousin—or many such. But though the partings were tearful, we could not spare many thoughts to what had happened, for we had crops to seed, and with so many men gone, there was little enough time for anyone in the village to remain idle. All summer I strove with the rest against the elements to produce enough bounty for the fall harvest, but not even the oldest greybeard in our village could remember such a summer, when even the very elements seemed set against us. There was constant wind and rain, or so it seemed, but there were odd days of bright sunlight, and these were the worst of all, for it felt as the calm before a storm, when all is quiet, and gazing off to the south, we knew, though we could neither see nor hear it, that far away the fate of our kingdom was being decided.

The news that we had from the south was intermittent and rare, but nearly all bad. Village by village, province by province, our armies were facing constant defeat as they were pushed northward, leaving far too many corpses behind them on bloody battlefields. Around midsummer, such news ceased to occupy me for a day or two, as I broke my leg in the fields while trying to bring in the first cutting of hay.

The next two months, however, I had little else to focus on as I recovered in my bed, and the news from the south obsessed me, and I became deeply concerned, particularly when word came near the end of August that the King had been killed and the capital was fallen, and the general of the enemy armies had thrown down the Seat of Skallan. Within a week, a third muster was being ordered in the north, and now everyone spoke all the time of the situation in the south.

This time, Prince Killoran did not come to our village in person, for with the death of the King and the loss of so many members of the royal family, he had become one of the chief figures in the war, and he was away along the front, trying to rally enough stalemates out of our people to force the enemy to halt before winter, hopefully giving us some time to regroup. Alas, however, but he did not have enough men, and so his recruiters were going through every village and farm in the north, drafting every man, able to bear arms, and many women and children also.

Due to my broken leg, I was one of three men left in our village, the others being old Gherry, who was over eighty, and Redka, who was a lame drunk. Nearly half the women, it seemed, were gone from the village, a dire state of affairs that had never afflicted our nation before in all its history. Such of us who were left had not only to care for the young who remained, but attempt a harvest of such crops as we had left. Young women who had never done harsher labour than spinning were the strongest backs we had, and children as young as five were doing nearly an adult’s labour, and we brought in nearly half the crops. I was utterly useless, for labour in the fields, and felt sorely because of it, and would have hobbled to war on my crutch, had it been feasible, but my people needed me more. I did what I could in the kitchen, feeding our weary labourers and keeping an eye on some of the children.

By mid-September, I was starting to walk with a cane, and was dreading the day when I would be fit enough to go to war—but the day never came. Instead, on one grey day as the fields were being felled, the enemy, which had broken through our last defences a week before, without our hearing of it, reached our fields and began burning them, and firing upon the village.

I took to flight immediately, as did everyone with sense, hoping to reach the mountains, and hide there in the caves—until what time, I do not know, but it seemed the only way to avoid a brutal slaughter. Unfortunately, the slaughter happened anyway. Most were cut down in the fields as they worked, but others died in the village as it burned, and even more as they fled northeast towards the mountains. How I survived when so many others did not, I do not know, but here I find myself: cold in this cave, with four other survivors from my village, holed up until either the elements or starvation kill us, or the enemy find us. And if they do, they will have no mercy. They have burned and cut their way across a thousand leagues of our soil and not spared us once, though they have lost armies in the process. The end of our people, of goodness, is come, I am certain. In some sense, I feel I should be privileged to be among the last survivors of our nation, but I can only feel it is a cruel irony that the cousin of the man who was to have been our hero and saviour should be the one freezing in pain in a cave, watching our entire world crash down around me.

Perhaps dawn may shed a more hopeful light on our plight, but it has not done so in a year of dawns, and would seem unlikely to start doing so now.

Meow!

Mon, 17 Dec 2007 00:43:51 GMT

A domestic intellectual. I like that. 'tis, among other things, quite apt.

Your Score: The Cat

You scored 62% domestic, 27% gregarious, 17% trickster, and 70% intellect!

Domestic, Solitary, Serious, Intelectual: you are the Cat!

Cat represents a balance of strength in both physical and spiritual, psychic and sensual powers, merging these two worlds into one. Curious, intelligent, and physically adept, cat people tend to live in a world all their own.

This test categorized you based on four different axes of personality, which were then associated with a different animal. The four axes, as well as all possible results are explained below.

Wild/Domestic: This first axis categorizes you based on how much you are drawn to the outdoors, versus how much you are drawn to civilized situations. Domesticity has many shapes and forms, and varies from the joy of dolphins leaping next to a ship to the steadfast loyalty of a family dog.

Gregarious/Solitary: This axis measures how solitary you are. If you scored high, it means that you enjoy the company of other people, while a low score indicates that you prefer a more solitary lifestyle.

Trickster/Serious: This axis measures how well you line up with conventional trickster archetypes. People who fall into this archetype have a sense of humor and an excitable, highly chaotic streak. Scoring low doesn't mean that you don't have a sense of humor; it just means that you probably don't think dynamite is very funny.

Intellectual/Emotional: This last axis determines whether you are more emotional -- acting based on feelings and instinct, or rational and intelectual -- acting more on thought than on your gut feelings.

Wild	Gregarious	Trickster	Intellectual	The Hyena
Wild	Gregarious	Trickster	Emotional	The Otter
Wild	Gregarious	Serious	Intellectual	The Antelope
Wild	Gregarious	Serious	Emotional	The Wolf
Wild	Solitary	Trickster	Intellectual	The Weasel
Wild	Solitary	Trickster	Emotional	The Coyote
Wild	Solitary	Serious	Intellectual	The Raven
Wild	Solitary	Serious	Emotional	The Frog
Domestic	Gregarious	Trickster	Intellectual	The Fox
Domestic	Gregarious	Trickster	Emotional	The Dolphin
Domestic	Gregarious	Serious	Intellectual	The Horse
Domestic	Gregarious	Serious	Emotional	The Dog
Domestic	Solitary	Trickster	Intellectual	The Rat
Domestic	Solitary	Trickster	Emotional	The Ferret
Domestic	Solitary	Serious	Intellectual	The Cat
Domestic	Solitary	Serious	Emotional	The Squirrel

Link: The Animal Archetype Test written by crumpetsfortea on OkCupid, home of the The Dating Persona Test

Tue, 04 Dec 2007 16:58:00 GMT

Tell Everyone About Yourself

Basic About you:
Name:: Michael
Gender:: Male
Height:: 6' less a 1/4"
Eye color:: hazel
Hair Color:: brown
Age:: 20
Birthday:: Feb. 11th, 1987
Lefty/righty/ambidextrous:: Righty
Piercings:: None
Tatoos:: None
Zodiac Sign:: Umm... whichever my birthday falls under. What? You don't think I know that sort of thing, do you?
Ring Size:: Not sure. Medium male?
Grade:: I'm graduated.

More about you:
Are you named after anyone?: No, although I have my grandfather's first name. Mom liked it before she met Dad, though. I suppose my middle name is named after my uncle.
Do you live in the moment?: Can you live any other time? Seriously, while I reflect a lot on the past and plan too far into the future, I think I'm good at focusing on the here and now.
Do you consider yourself tolerent to others?: Yes. But remember that tolerant means "putting up with".
Do you have any secrets?: That would be telling. ;)
Do you hate yourself?: Nope.
Do you like your handwriting?: Yes. Not as much as some, but it's fun, and people have said it looks attractive.
Do you have any bad habits?: Yes. Most notably chewing on the skin around my nails.
If you were another person, would you be friends with you?: Probably, but not best buddies. I'd get along with me, for sure.
Any regrets?: A few. None worth recalling.
Do you think life has been good so far?: While I would remove a few things, it's been a good trip so far.
Are you confident?: Generally too much.
How long does it take you to shower?: Five minutes, tops.
What color is your room?: At the seminary: sort of a lavender/offwhite. At home I don't have a room anymore.
Where do you want to attend college?: I am attending college.

Do you...?
Smoke?: I've had as many cigars as I can count on my thumbs and forefingers, and I might do more, but not really.
Do drugs?: Insulin.
Drink?: Once in a while. Never to excess.
Go to church?: Every day.
Sleep with stuffed animals?: No. They get in the way of rolling around.
Take walks in the rain?: Only if it's raining.
Talk to people even if you hate them?: I don't that I actually hate anybody. There are people I dislike, or dislike talking to. Those, I avoid.
Drive?: Yes. Every day.
Believe in premarital sex?: Define "believe". Should it happen? No. Is it the end of the world? No. Will I do it? Never.
Want to get married?: Yes.
Want to go to college?: I am in college.
Want to have children?: Not really...
Sing in the shower?: Rarely.
Get along with you parents?: Splendidly.
Get along with your sibling/s?: Most of the time...
Color/highlight your hair?: Never.
Like coffee?: Definitely. Probably too much
Wear makeup everytime you go out?: Never. Really?
Love roller coasters?: I've never been on one... some think I need to rectify this.
Like to cook?: A little. Haven't had much opportunity, and don't really feel the lack.

Have you ever...?
Hurt yourself? : There are people who HAVEN'T??
Been out of the country?: Yes: the US, Germany, Switzerland, Austria, Italy, and the Vatican.
Been in love?: Not romantically.
Done drugs?: Not in the sense you're asking.
Gone skinny dipping?: Only in the bathtub.
Had surgery?: On my leg after I broke it.
Played strip poker?: No. Only Smarties poker.
Been on stage?: Yes.
Pulled an all nighter?: Not for schoolwork...
Gone one day without food?: Yes.
Slept all day?: No.
Kissed a stranger?: Have I even kissed a non-stranger?
Had a dream that came true?: Do we mean sleep-dream or day-dream? If the latter, then yes. If the former, then no.
Broken the law?: Only the speed limit, I think.
Stolen anything?: Not knowingly.
Been on radio/tv?: I think so, but I'm not sure.
Been in a mosh-pit?: No.
Bungee jumped?: Never.
Had a dream that kept coming back?: Not that I remember.
Gone out of state?: I've been out of PROVINCE several times.
Live in other states?: I've only ever lived in Alberta--so no States at all.
Eaten an entire box of oreos?: Not in one sitting from one box.
Had a movie marathon?: Only for LotR
Spun until you were immensely dizzy?: A few times... when I was littler.
Been on a plane?: Yes.
Ran into a wall?: Not that I remember.
Been rejected by a crush?: Never been so foolish as to tell them.
Cried in public?: No.
Cried over a movie?: No.
Pranked called someone?: Never.
Gotten a cavity?: One.
Shopped at Abercrombie and Fitch?: I don't even know where I'd find one.
Broken a bone?: Yes. Two of them. At the same time. In my left leg.
Fallen from a tree?: I don't think so... I was never a climber.
Passed out?: No.
Been to a theme park?: Not that I recall... though I think I did when I was about 4 or 5.
Eaten sushi?: Not that I recall...

This or That
Pepsi or Coke:: Pepsi
McDonalds or BUrger King:: Burger King. I mean... does ANYONE prefer McDonalds?
Chocolate or Vanilla:: Chocolate.
Black or White:: Umm... both? If I have to pick... black.
Burgers or Hot dogs:: Burgers. Hands down. Real ground beef beats mystery processed tube steaks any day.
Boxers or breifs:: What are "breifs"?
Book or magazine:: Book.
TV or radio:: I prefer TV, but rarely watch, whereas the radio is on regularly.
is the glass half empty or half full:: I don't think it's possible to be exactly balanced.
sun or moon:: Moon.
hot or cold:: Hot.
romantic comedy or thriller:: Romantic Comedy.
waffles or pancakes:: Pancakes.
Florida or california:: California... but only because I know more people there. Neither place excites me.
Black and white or color photos:: Black and white. I look much better in them. No splotchy cheeks.
The city, the beach, OR the country:: The city normally. The country to escape to.
Tennis shoes or sandals:: Shoes.
Sweet or sour:: Sour.
Private or publie school:: Public... but I was homeschooled after Grade 2.
Cappuccino or coffee:: Coffee.
English or history:: I like both... but I'd rather do an English paper.
Science or math:: Blegh! Science... marginally.

Do you believe ...?
in miracles?: Yes.
in magic?: No. Alas.
in God?: Yes.
in Satan?: Yes, alas.
in ghosts?: No.
in luck?: No... though if I did it would be in bad, not good, luck.
in love at first sight?: No... despite romantic inclinations otherwise.
in Santa?: I believe St. Nicholas is alive in Heaven... but I don't think that's what you mean.
in the Easter Bunny?: No.
in witches?: I know a Wiccan or two...
that it's possible to remain faithful forever?: Yes.
in wishing on shooting stars?: I believe people do it....
that cussing is a necessity in life?: I don't think I'll ever escape it, but I don't think it's necessary.
yourself?: Do I believe in myself? Is this a trick question? It is impossible to posit the existence of anything if I deny the existence of the think that would posit existence.

Love and all that -
Do you consider love a mistake?: Never.
If someone you had no interest in had interest in dating you how would you: How would I....? Deal with it? Turn them down. No one gets to date me, so it's fair play.
Do you prefer knowing someone before dating them?: I would, but this is a hypothetical question for me.
What is worst about the opposite sex?: There are bad things about the opposite sex?
Who and when was your first crush?: I don't know... I'm not even sure I've ever really had one.
First thing you notice about the opposite sex?: Height.

Right this moment...
What are you wearing?: My new alb... mainly because I haven't got up to take it off.
What are you worried about?: Worried? Not much.
What book are you reading?: I'm in between books...
What time is it?: 9:44 am MST.
Are you bored?: I'm doing a meme, aren't I? Actually... no. I'm just procrastinating.
Are you tired?: No, but it's morning and I've had coffee. I should be, though.
Are you talking to anyone online or on the phone?: No.
Are you lonely or content?: I'm alone and content.
Are you listening to music, if so then what?: Just the drone of my computer.

The Last...
Dream you had:: Don't remember, but I think it took place at school.
Nightmare:: It's a few years ago now... not that I remember.
Time you cried:: That's quite a while. Again, not sure.
Movie you watched:: Um... *thinks* Ratatouille (sp?).
Movie you rented:: Um... this is back to the summer... Pan's Labyrinth.
Book you read:: The Amber Spyglass.
Word you said:: "lucky"--I think.
Time you laughed:: At breakfast. To various things.
Person to call you:: The garage, last week, saying my car was ready.
CD you played:: One of Pablo's classical ones...
Song you listened to:: "The King of Glory Comes", at Lauds.
annoyance:: Having to re-enter stuff in this meme.
IM sent or recieved:: *thinks* A brief, brief, conversation with Chris last night.
Time you yelled:: It's been a long time...
Person you yelled at:: Not sure.
time you were a skirt:: I've never been a skirt.
time you fought with your parents:: I'm not sure I ever have.
Time you wished on a shooting star:: Never.
Thing you ate:: Bacon, as the last succulent course at breakfast.
Time you showered:: Yesterday morning.
Nail polish color worn:: Never.

Your favorite:
Type of gum:: Anything minty.
Restaurant:: Not picky.
Season:: Autumn.
Type of weather:: Stormy. Unless I'm driving.
Emotion:: Umm... there are people who dislike being happy? Or am I supposed to name a specific feeling no one's ever heard of. Snrgl then.
Color:: Green.
Perfume:: Not a fan. Also not a strong sniffer anyway.
Candy:: Mmm... candy!
Pizza topping:: Onions.
Fruit:: Strawberries! Watermelons! Pineapple! Pears! Peaches!
Veggie:: Cauliflower.
Type of cake:: Black Forest.
Magazine:: Umm.... I don't know.
TV Show:: I don't watch any anymore, so I'd feel unjustified in answering.
Day of the week:: Monday! Or Sunday. I hate Fridays, though.
Month:: December. Or September.
Holiday:: Christmas. Or Easter.
Number:: I don't have a favourite number.
Sport to watch:: Umm... hockey... I guess...
Flower:: Um... I'm not exactly botanically skilled.

Take this survey | Find more surveys
Bzoink - The Original Survey Site

I probably shouldn't be allowed near a computer right now...

Wed, 24 Oct 2007 23:35:58 GMT

...but the whole reason that I'm online is that--blowing off steam.

I rarely get really, truly mad, but right now is one of those times. I utterly despise having to drive rush hour traffic, and only one day a week is it a likelihood, and this is probably only the second Wednesday in the whole semester that it's been this bad. Of course, bloody Murphy's Law and all that, this is the first Wednesday--ever--I've had any compelling reason to be back at the Seminary by 5:00. Well, 5:00 would be pushing it under the best of circumstances, and I was ready for that, but I bloody well can't stand rush hour traffic, combined with an obsessively punctual nature, fighting my way back to the seminary, getting there fifteen minutes late, only to discover that going for supper was pushed back to 4:30, and I did it all for naught.

I am definitely not fit company right now, and I'm absolutely furious at no one and nothing in particular, which does absolutely nothing to make me less furious. Right now I wish I had a cellphone so that I could tear a thick, juicy strip off someone's back for not informing me of the change, just that I could blame somebody for something. But I can't. There's nothing to blame but circumstances, and though I should like to, I can't make those suffer at all.

Incidentally... I've discovered that if you really want to see me swear, you should be living under my breath when I'm driving in rush hour traffic. It's doing absolutely nothing to improve my [heavy sarcasm]"good mood"[/heavy sarcasm] to reflect on the guilt I'm feeling over that particular self discovery.

As an aside...

Mon, 15 Oct 2007 04:35:41 GMT

Thank You, God; You totally made my night. And I completely did not deserve that tonight.

In more sensible news, I think I was utterly foolish to feel left out when I had to serve rather than sing earlier last month... after two hours of music practice, learning the bass line for the Eucharistic Congress gathering hymn (to be used at Donor Appreciation Night next month), I'm utterly exhausted, utterly confused, and certain to croak all through music ministry at Mass tomorrow.

Still, it feels great to be back in the "club".

Wed, 26 Sep 2007 03:12:26 GMT

I watched my first X-files episode-and-a-half the other night, and I have to say that while I given serious jibblies... as well as various philosophical problems that I'm blaming on my classes... I was quite impressed with it. I can definitely see why Kath likes/associates herself with Scully--very nice character. Quite possibly my first "this is a character in a fiction" crush in quite some time, if not in fact the first.

Maybe I shouldn't have mentioned that....

Sat, 15 Sep 2007 22:47:45 GMT

Few actions have the same melancholic effect as purposefully walking away from a room with beautiful acoustics in which perfect, live piano is playing, and where there is no bustling, whispering audience to detract from the effect.

Thu, 13 Sep 2007 04:00:14 GMT

Blame my English class on the early Renaissance, but I think I've found the perfect disreputable hobby for me: writing love poetry. I really wish the profs wouldn't challenge us to do stuff in class, since the keener in me so loves to do so.

Sat, 08 Sep 2007 05:31:37 GMT

1. How tall are you?

Just shy of six feet.

2. Have you ever done heroin?

No. Nor have I "done" any heroines. (sorry... I shouldn't try to think when I'm this tired.)

3. Do you own a gun?

None.

4. Do you recycle?

Paper mainly, but as much as I can.

5. Do you ever get nervous before a doctors apt??

No, but I do get cranky, thinking about waiting rooms.

6. What do you think about hot dogs?

I'm not sure I trust what they're made out of, but they taste unjustly good.

7. What's your favorite Christmas song?

I'm not really sure. I like too many.

8. What do you prefer to drink in the morning?

Coffee.

9. Can you do push ups?

Just put-downs. Which are mean, so I try not to.

10. Is your bathroom clean?

It's not immaculate, but it's not filthy either.

11. What's your favorite piece of jewelry?

Umm... I don't know... my tie-clip?

12. Do you like painkillers?

'm really stubborn. I don't like anything that messes with my head.

13. What is your secret weapon to lure in the opposite sex?

I have no secret weapon. Thus far, it's working.

14. Do you want children?

Yes, but I won't have any.

15. Are you afraid of scary movies?

Afraid? Um... not really. But I don't LIKE them, either.

16. Middle Name?

Adriaan. Except with one less "a".

17. Name 3 thoughts at this exact moment?

I am so tired...
My computer is so slow.
Now what does Jamie want?

18. Name the last 3 things you have bought recently:

Textbooks
Textbooks
Textbooks

19. Name 3 drinks you regularly drink

Water
Coffee
Cranberry juice (or so it claims)

20. Who is your hero?

I don't know that I have a hero...

21. Last person you called?

Mom. Last Saturday.

22.Current worry?

That I'm trying to do too much.

23. Current hate?

That I'm lazy enough to think #22.

24. Favorite place to be?

The Basilica. Tis gorgeous, and tis home.

25. How did you bring in the new year?

As memory serves, not doing much.

26. Where would you like to go?

Anywhere I want? Rome, England, more England.

27. Do you own slippers?

Unless I'm in shoes or in bed, I'm never without.

28. What shirt are you wearing?

Dark blue, long-sleaved, collared.

29. Do you burn or tan?

Both, but more of the former.

30. Favorite color(s)?

Blue, violet, black, gold.

32. Are you wearing socks right now?

yup.

33. What songs do you sing in the shower?

If I ever do, 'twould tend to be hymns.

34. What did you fear was going to get you at night as a child?

Nothing, I was a pretty balanced child, that way.

35. What's in your pockets right now?

Rosary, handkerchief, car keys, wallet.

36. Last thing/person that made you laugh?

One of the guys in Family Business.

37. Best bed sheets as a child?

The ones that hadn't been changed. I liked my sheets broken in, not crisp.

38. Worst injury you've ever had?

Broken leg last April.

39. Are you doing anything else right now?

Chatting with Jamie.

40. How many TVs do you have in your house?

None. I don't live in a house.

41. Who is your loudest friend?

I don't know. I'm not sure I can accuse anyone of that.

42. Who is your most silent friend?

No one you'd know.

43. Does someone have a crush on you?

No one that I know.

44. Do you wish on shooting stars?

I'm not superstitious.

45. What is your favorite book?

The Lord of the Rings

46. What is your favorite candy?

I like them all. Almost

47. What song do/did you want played at your wedding?

Aint havin a weddin.

48. What song do you want played at your funeral?

"Ashes" often played at the Ash Wednesday liturgy.

49. What were you doing @ 12 AM last night?

Sleeping.

50. What was the first thing you thought when you woke up?

I don't want to get up.

So my score is 45...

Sat, 11 Aug 2007 02:46:22 GMT

So, I did the most recent meme in Sarah Rose's journal, and my score, according to my best answers, was the following:

41 TO 50 POINTS: Others see you as fresh, lively, charming, amusing, practical, and always interesting; someone who's constantly in the center of attention, but sufficiently well-balanced not to let it go to their head. They also see you as kind, considerate, and understanding; someone who'll always cheer them up and help them out.

Now, it should be pointed out that I was entirely unsure about what to put down for Question 3 (posture during talking). I ended up putting the final answer--that I fidget a little, playing with hair, ears, etc, which is true--but not when I'm talking. I conferred with my Dad (who really didn't get why I was asking), and he said that of the five, that was probably the closest, but none really worked. I had already narrowed it down to that or crossed arms, the two opposite ends of the spectrum for that question, which would have made a three point difference, I believe, and would have given me a score of 42 instead of 45--still in the same range, but closer to the next one down:

31 TO 40 POINTS: Others see you as sensible, cautious, careful & practical They see you as clever, gifted, or talented, but modest. Not a person who makes friends too quickly or easily, but someone who's extremely loyal to friends you do make and who expect the same loyalty in return. Those who really get to know you realize it takes a lot to shake your trust In your friends, but equally that it takes you a long time to get over if that trust is ever broken.

This one, incidentally, in reading over, looks like the one that I would have definitely pegged as me. Indeed, it all fits perfectly. However, I'll grant that since this deals with how others see me, I may not be the best judge...

So, knowing full well that memes are inherently given to potential flaw, I am curious: how do you, who are my friends, see me? Instead of asking the meme how my friends see me, it seems reasonable to go to the motherlode.