Camilla: You, sir, should unmask.
Stranger: Indeed?
Cassilda: Indeed, it's time. We all have laid aside disguise but you.
Stranger: I wear no mask.
Camilla: (Terrified, aside to Cassilda.) No mask? No mask!

The King in Yellow (Act II, Scene ii)

Regnat non regitur qui nihil nisi quod vult facit

I have to blame this on pax_draconis. What could be better than Antarctic space Nazis ?



Happy Friday!

And this, my friends, is why ultimately the Pope commissioned Da Vinci instead.



Happy Friday!

Desperately in need of amusement, and, having found some things that amused (or amazed) me recently, I thought I'd share them in this forum with you, my one reader.

The deeply weird platypus is even weirder than you thought.

Gregorian chanting can reduce blood pressure and stress.

And finally, I recommend to you, my dear reader, this essay: C. S. Lewis and the Star of Bethlehem: Recovering the medieval imagination.

Try to get over the fact that Mr Lewis was a Christian, and this essay by Mr Michael Ward appears in Christianity Today. This essay is Important.

[T]he medieval universe was "tingling with anthropomorphic life, dancing, ceremonial, a festival not a machine".

Somewhere along the line, our western view of the universe changed from Mythopoeic to Mechanical. Fair enough; I like my electric toaster just as much as the next fellow.

But our mode of imagining the universe largely changed in the same way, and something vital and wondrous in our civilization died.

Or perhaps it only slumbers, and raises again its hoary head from time to time and shakes the rime from its beard. Or perhaps the whole idea of the universe as a metaphor for itself in anything but mathematics is irrational.

Frankly, I've sometimes found myth more rational than math, but perhaps that's just the way my imagination works.

Anyhow, read the essay. Then come back here and tell me what you think.

And, if possible, relate it to the platypus. And Gregorian chant.

Edited to add: Mr David Brooks writes an essay about the essay that pegs it.

Please continue to pray for the soul of India Escobar.

Thank you.

So. Tristan came home last night.

I went to work for a two-thirds day while sulky_girl went through the bureaucratic nightmare that is bailing out an accused felon. This is, apparently, an all-day affair.

He spent the night at our house. We talked until deep into the night.

This morning, I made breakfast (perish the thought), and we went down to the barber college to get our hair cut. It was as good a day as could be.

He's back at his mother's now, sleeping in his own bed, and surrounded by India's artwork and presence.

I apologise both for being so disjointed and for not providing more information. I haven't quite processed the emotions yet, and right now I'm fairly exhausted. So many details.

Thank you, everyone, for your support, emotional, spiritual, financial. The support has been truly overwhelming to both me and to Tristan. This is just the start of a long process, but it is made so much easier to face with the outpouring of love that we've received.

Thank you.

Please help us out.

We need to raise $7000 soonest.

$5000 for bail and $2000 for the attorney to start.

Our friend Corey has set up a Paypal link for Tristan's defense fund here:

http://cyclometh.livejournal.com/238488.html

Prayers too.

This is all just a little unreal.

This post should have been about my job. Or the garden. Or maybe the strange trip I had to Westport Connecticut. Or really, anything but this.

Yesterday, Francine and I got back from Mass and had a little breakfast. She was going to leave at about noon to make some photocopies and teach a knitting class. My plan involved laundry and answering some Cruenti Dei questions. Watering the garden.

Francine's daughter Michaela called at 10:59 in a complete panic. "Is Tristan OK?"

Now, for those that don't know, Tristan is my son. You can read a little about him here.

Michaela had heard that Tristan and his girlfriend India had been in a car wreck. No details.

Calls were made. Family gathered. We finally discovered just one confirmed detail: at 2:45 Sunday morning, Tristan was arrested by the Tacoma Police and charged with vehicular homicide.

Francine and I went down to the Pierce County Jail to try and see him. I was told (by a guard rather incredulous that I should even ask) that only his attorney could get in to see him.

Beverly (sulky_girl) and her mother, sister, and robinsnow arrived and we gathered in our dining room. Robin has a more coherent account than I'm likely to give, but since her post is friends-locked I hope she will forgive me for posting chunks of it here.

There were all kinds of rumors, but this seems to be what happened.

Tristan was at a party at some apartments near N. 9th St and Pearl St. The accident took place in the parking lot. He crashed into a tree. He was unconscious and listed as a "John Doe". His girlfriend India (for whom he bought a promise ring and adores) was killed. He was arrested for vehicular homicide and is in the Pierce County jail. There is a record of it on the Tacoma Police Department website and there were no charges of DWI. Bail is $10,000.

He was put into an observation room until this evening for a suicide watch. The counselor there talked with Beverly on the phone and decided that he is not at risk for suicide. She (the counselor) asked him if he wanted to stay in the observation area or go into the general population. Apparently there are a lot of screaming people in the observation area, so he said that he wanted to go into the general area.

His arraignment is (today) at 1:30. According to the mother of one of his friends, during the arraignment, the judge asks if there is anyone there for him, and, if lots of friends and family stand up, the judge knows that he has lots of ties to the community and is probably not a flight risk.

Corey and Beverly are talking about setting up a PayPal account for his defense fund. His parents have contacted a lawyer with experience in this area and who takes his pay in payments.

According to one of his friends (Vince), the oil pan and the windshield from his car are still in the parking lot along with lots and lots of flowers. Tristan's My Space page icon is a picture of him hugging India.

Both Beverly and I finally got to talk with Tristan in the evening. He sounds a wreck.

Please, if you are anywhere near Tacoma, come to my house today at noon or noon-thirty. We intend to descend upon the court en masse.

And please, pray for my son.

And pray for the soul of India Escobar.

Alleluia!

During the past week, numerous folks have posted eulogies to Gary Gygax. Several cartoons have been posted, as have many, many memories.

My favourite tribute is to be found on a mediævalist blog titled the Unlocked Wordhoard. To wit:

Here's to Gary Gygax, the original Dungeon Master, who has missed his final saving throw.

þa ymbe hlæw riodan hildediore,
æþelinga bearn, ealra twelfe,
woldon care cwiðan ond kyning mænan,
wordgyd wrecan ond ymb wer sprecan;
eahtodan eorlscipe ond his ellenweorc
duguðum demdon, -- swa hit gedefe bið,
þæt mon his winedryhten wordum herge,
ferhðum freoge, þonne he forð scile
of lichaman læded weorðan.
Swa begnornodon Geata leode
hlafordes hryre, heorðgeneatas;
cwædon þæt he wære wyruldcyninga
manna mildust ond monðwærust,
leodum liðost ond lofgeornost. (Beowulf 3169-3182)

The scene is from Beowulf's funeral. Look it up; you'll be glad you did.

For all the words of encouragement and well-wishes and most of all the prayers, thank you.

I start Monday.

Full medical/dental/vision/401k. Good pay. Bonus program.

In a room with three other writers. Ground-up company that has enormous financial backing, impatient customers, and enough backed-up work to keep us in kippers through June.

Thank you.

Deo gratias.

Gary Gygax, who co-created the game Dungeons & Dragons and helped start the role-playing phenomenon, died Tuesday morning at his home in Lake Geneva. He was 69. .... Gygax had been in declining health for several years but as recently as January he hosted weekly games of Dungeons & Dragons at their home, Gail Gygax said.

More details.

Lux æterna luceat eis, Domine,
cum sanctis tuis in æternum,
quia pius es.
Requiem æternam dona eis, Domine;
et lux perpetua luceat eis.

May everlasting light shine upon them, O Lord,
with thy saints in eternity,
for thou art merciful.
Grant them eternal rest, O Lord,
and may everlasting light shine upon them.

---

I feel, perhaps, a geeky wake may be in order. Anyone interested?

I encourage all my fellow Washingtonians to vote today for the party and candidate of your choice!


Find your caucus site

Meménto, homo, quia pulvis es, et in púlverem revertéris

Remember, man, that thou art dust, and unto dust thou shalt return.

Francine, Victoria and I attended the Ash Wednesday Mass at St. Rita in Tacoma at 6:50 this morning. Some day, I want to have an actual ashen cross on my forehead, rather than a ginormous smudge. I look like an urchin. Ah well, I guess this is really just a tiny cross (or smudge, rather) to bear.

 
 
 
 
 

"The Wombat is a joy, a triumph, a delight, a madness!"

(Dante Gabriel Rossetti)

From the Tolkien Society:

On the 3^rd January 1892 JRR Tolkien was born in Bloemfontein, South Africa. To celebrate this event, on this day each year Tolkien fans around the world are invited to raise a glass and toast the birthday of this much loved author.

The toast is "The Professor".

For those unfamiliar with British toast-drinking ceremonies:

To make the Birthday Toast, you stand, raise a glass of your choice of drink (not necessarily alcoholic), and say the words ‘The Professor’ before taking a sip (or swig, if that’s more appropriate for your drink). Sit and enjoy the rest of your drink.

Sign up to drink a toast to JRR Tolkien here.

Oh, you knew it was coming.



Lolcraft linky

The LORD bless you and keep you!
The LORD let his face shine upon you, and be gracious to you!
The LORD look upon you kindly and give you peace!

We spent the eve at Tacoma's First Night, wandering around in pirate hats, and were treated to proper fireworks at midnight.

This morning to church for the Solemnity of Mary, Mother of God.

Today, I begin the Big Clean, getting the house ready for guests and the wonders of married life.

(... and therefore I believe the President and Vice President of the United States must be impeached.)

Rather than subect you, my one dear reader, to the suffering that would no doubt be your lot as you struggled through some bone-chillingly boring rumination on my life in this year of 2007 now drawing to a close, I will instead inflict upon you a run-on sentence of such magnitude - or at least of such magnitude as I can manage in one sitting - and one in which I rather suspect I have already lost any pretense at meaning or reflection, that you will have long since stopped reading it before you got to the the point of it, which is of course the very pointilla or period with which it fnord ends.

That and a list of the first sentence of each month's first post concatenated with the last sentence of each month's last post.

Clear?

Then without further ado, and a ending in a small bit of recursion, I give you...

The Year that Mostly Was

January: Please allow me to wish for everyone a happy and prosperous new year. The upshot: "we came away shaking our heads, disappointed. Compared with Mac OS X 10.4, Windows Vista feels clunky and not very intuitive, almost as though it's still based on DOS..."

February: Catholic Schools Week is over for another year. Wow.

March: This story in the New York Times actually made me cackle with glee: Thanks.

April: Also known as Palm Sunday. The US Senate has voted to approve a bill which requires US troops to start withdrawing from Iraq by October.

May: The other day, I was at St. James Cathedral in Seattle for a school function. It couldn't have happened to a nicer person.

June: Just some random things I've discovered in the last week. All will become clear... soon.

July: Best response so far: Sleep now.

August: (Tightly filtered and not for public consumption) Nerds, unite!

September: Attention potential Cruenti Dei players: Back home, and I can't remember a better shower.

October: The followers of Nietzsche and Foucault are passionately persuaded that truth is a mere rhetorical device employed in the service of oppression, and say so at length. (Henry V, William Shakespeare)

November: This Saturday, Freighthouse Square is hosting Tacoma's first annual literary convention: Tacoma Word! Try it; it's fabulous!

December: That's just fabulous. ... and therefore I believe the President and Vice President of the United States must be impeached.

Some things I've learned from compiling this list:

I tend to start posts with sentence fragments.

October was a quote month. November was an exclamation point month. I'm not sure which is worse.

Windows Vista still bites.

And now, my friends, I will prepare myself for Tacoma's First Night by dressing as a pirate. A happy new year to you all!


(... and therefore I believe the President and Vice President of the United States must be impeached.)

Today is the feast of St. Thomas Becket, one of the earliest saints to fascinate me for many reasons, not the least of which is that I share his name.

His is a compelling story of continuing conversion, culminating in martyrdom.

I consider him one of my patrons, along with St. John the Divine, whose feast was the day before yesterday.

In those days a decree went out from Caesar Augustus that the whole world should be enrolled. This was the first enrollment, when Quirinius was governor of Syria. So all went to be enrolled, each to his own town.

And Joseph too went up from Galilee from the town of Nazareth to Judea, to the city of David that is called Bethlehem, because he was of the house and family of David, to be enrolled with Mary, his betrothed, who was with child.

While they were there, the time came for her to have her child, and she gave birth to her firstborn son. She wrapped him in swaddling clothes and laid him in a manger, because there was no room for them in the inn.





Now there were shepherds in that region living in the fields and keeping the night watch over their flock. The angel of the Lord appeared to them and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were struck with great fear. The angel said to them, "Do not be afraid; for behold, I proclaim to you good news of great joy that will be for all the people. For today in the city of David a savior has been born for you who is Messiah and Lord. And this will be a sign for you: you will find an infant wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger."

And suddenly there was a multitude of the heavenly host with the angel, praising God and saying:

"Glory to God in the highest and on earth peace to those on whom his favor rests." When the angels went away from them to heaven, the shepherds said to one another, "Let us go, then, to Bethlehem to see this thing that has taken place, which the Lord has made known to us." So they went in haste and found Mary and Joseph, and the infant lying in the manger. When they saw this, they made known the message that had been told them about this child. All who heard it were amazed by what had been told them by the shepherds.

And Mary kept all these things, reflecting on them in her heart.

(Gospel of St. Luke, 2:1-19)

I would like to wish all my friends the very best of the season.

Have a happy Christmas, and may joy and peace be yours.

My Pagan friends,

May you have a merry Solstice, a happy Yule, a great Dies Natalis Solis Invicti, and a lovely Mid-Saturnalia respite from your revelry!



love, your dutiful Elf,

Your Elf Name Is...

Trixie Sugar Butt

William Butler Yeats

I

That is no country for old men. The young
In one another’s arms, birds in the trees
—Those dying generations—at their song,
The salmon-falls, the mackerel-crowded seas,
Fish, flesh, or fowl, commend all summer long
Whatever is begotten, born, and dies.
Caught in that sensual music all neglect
Monuments of unageing intellect.

II

An aged man is but a paltry thing,
A tattered coat upon a stick, unless
Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing
For every tatter in its mortal dress,
Nor is there singing school but studying
Monuments of its own magnificence;
And therefore I have sailed the seas and come
To the holy city of Byzantium.

III

O sages standing in God’s holy fire
As in the gold mosaic of a wall,
Come from the holy fire, perne in a gyre,
And be the singing-masters of my soul.
Consume my heart away; sick with desire
And fastened to a dying animal
It knows not what it is; and gather me
Into the artifice of eternity.

IV

Once out of nature I shall never take
My bodily form from any natural thing,
But such a form as Grecian goldsmiths make
Of hammered gold and gold enamelling
To keep a drowsy Emperor awake;
Or set upon a golden bough to sing
To lords and ladies of Byzantium
Of what is past, or passing, or to come.