Makes you want to go hmmmm.

   Makes you want to go hmmmm.                                                   

 

Caught reading a letter from Paul.
(apologies to JHF)

You have been wondering since 11th grade: “Who was John Cleland’s prose model?” Observe.

The first letter of Frances Hill:

Madam, I sit down to give you an undeniable proof of my considering your desires as indispensable orders; ungracious then as the task may be, I shall recall to view those scandalous stages of my life, out of which I emerged, at length, to the enjoyment of every blessing in the power of love, health, and fortune to bestow, whilst yet in the flower of youth, and not too late to employ the leisure afforded me by great ease and affluence, to cultivate an understanding, naturally not a despicable one, and which had, even amidst the whirl of loose pleasures I had been tossed in, exerted more observation on the characters and manners of the world than what is common to those of my unhappy profession, who, looking on all thought or reflection as their capital enemy, keep it at as great a distance as they can, or destroy it without mercy.

The first letter to the Thessalonians:

Paul, and Silvanus, and Timotheus, unto the church of the Thessalonians: . . . We give thanks to God always for you all, making mention of you in our prayers; remembering without ceasing your work of faith, and labor of love, and patience of hope in our Lord Jesus Christ, in the sight of God and our Father, knowing, beloved, your election of God; because our gospel came not unto you in word only, but also in power, and in the Holy Ghost, and in much assurance; as ye know what manner of men we were among you for your sake, and ye became followers of us, and of the Lord, having received the word in much affliction, with joy of the Holy Ghost: so that ye were ensamples to all that believe in Macedonia and Achaia, since from you sounded out the word of the Lord not only in Macedonia and Achaia, but also in every place your faith is spread abroad.

quod erat demonstrandum fere.

02.09.16

 

xxv propositions about sport in the U.S. . . . .

. . . in honor of Super Bowl L.

 xxv propositions about sport in the U.S. . . .  

        i. Beginning with this Super Bowl, football games will no longer be
    interrupted by TV timeouts or delayed by commercial breaks.

       ii. College basketball coaching shall be done between games. Games
    themselves  will be played by players only – no coaches within 200
    feet of the floor. (Re floor, see xxi.)

      iii. Fouls in last three minutes of the college game – the player fouled will
    be given the option of shot or possession of the ball.

      iv. Basketball college and professional - Technical fouls can be awarded
                                                  for tattoos at referee’s discretion

   v. The national anthem shall never be sung

  vi. The Super Bowl halftime show shall be turned over to Florida A & M Marching Band in perpetuity. No halftime (or intermission) in any sport can be longer than 15 minutes.

 vii. Locker room prayers (team) will be made a matter of public record.

viii. At the beginning of the 20016-17 season, Tom Brady will be suspended five home games for being a jackass.

  ix. Skyboxes in publicly funded stadiums will be reserved for the public on a first-come, first-served basis.
(See next.)

   x. Tickets to professional events will be available for purchase at the venue on the day of the event only – nontransferable.

  xi. At the Waste Management Phoenix Open, players will be allowed to skip the sixteenth hole with credit for a birdie.

xii. Tennis players shall be equitably compensated: i.e., the men will play two of three set matches as the women do.

xiii. Tickets to professional events (again) – 60 percent in all sections must be sold for no more than local movie ticket price.

xiv. Olympic athletes will compete naked, beginning in Rio (summer and winter).

 xv. All (so-called) sports scored by judges will be eliminated from the Olympics.

xvi. In the United States, professional athletes’ salaries above three million dollars per season shall be contributed to charity according to a formula resembling this – basketball to public education; football to medical research; hockey to dental research; baseball to research in experimental physics.

xvii. In college basketball, football, baseball, lacrosse, and golf, state schools will field only in-state players.

xviii. Professional golfers will be required to play with wooden woods. (Cf. baseball, where major-leaguers must bat with wooden bats.)

xix. Professional golfers (continued) will play with a maximum of seven clubs (the “starter set”) which they themselves will carry.

 xx. For player safety, American footballers players will wear no pads.

xxi. The (basketball) basket will be raised to 4 meters and the court will be expanded proportionally (made 31 percent wider and longer).

 xxii. Instant replay challenges shall be banned from all sports. All games will be refereed where they are played .

xxiii. In consequence, jumbotrons will be banned from all stadiums. Fans will be permitted transistor radios.

xxiv. In the U.S., high school sports be eliminated in favor of club sports. 

xxv. In the U.S., high schools be eliminated in favor of clubs.

02.07.16

The Transprefiguraion

 The Transprefiguration 

. . . of Jesus, a story which in this version (the TRV) begins with an editorial, ends with a footnote, and is something of a mad scramble in between.

02.05.16

 

Muskrat Ramble

 Muskrat Ramble                               

 
Axel Sundstrøm is an odd combination, both socially awkward and very good with people. This is typical:

    
He invited me for “an evening of music” last night. He had a number of recordings of The Dukes of Dixieland and other New Orleans jazz stuff, and he wanted me and another friend to hear one – a woman of about our age, an artist, Belle Manque. I’ve seen her work, small, damp abstracts that give the sense of landscapes lost at sea. She’s a pleasant, brave woman.

     Before she’d arrived, I asked Axel if he’d had time, or inclination, to read that day’s post. (See here.) He said that he had, that he had enjoyed it. “Interesting,” he said, but bullshit, of course. I asked him what he meant. “Bullshit,” he said again, “a self-explanatory category, I’d have thought. Subcategory: theological bullshit.”

At this point, the old doorbell began gargling then choked, more like a switch had been turned than a buzzer pressed. Belle with a small package in hand, a painting about 5 x 8 inches in the grays and browns and mottled greens and cloudy blues she liked to work with, pushing them one into the other into the other. I thought at first, “A gift”; but it wasn’t, rather something Axel had asked her to do for him.

     She had also brought a bottle of wine. She shrugged off her coat and hung it on the clothes tree beside the door; and she and Axel disappeared into the kitchen with the wine. They came back with a tray with glasses and bread and cheese. We sat around a low table: I was on the couch next to the Sunday paper, Axel slouched in a low, uncomfortable looking chair, and Belle quivered on a large cushion from another chair on the floor.  

     He began pouring the wine. “Did you forget the music?” she asked. She took the bottle, resumed pouring. He went to his turntable and put on The Dukes of Dixieland, At the Jazz Band Hall, 1954: “At The Jazz Band Hall”; “Beale Street Blues”; “Muskrat Ramble”; “Blue Prelude”; “That's A-Plenty”; “Original Dixieland One-Step”; “Panama”; “Wolverine Blues”; “Fidgety Feet”; “Tin Roof Blues”; “Tiger Rag”; and “When The Saints Come Marching In.” We listened from one end to the other, sipping our wine, nibbling at the bread and cheese but no conversation.

     When the last Saint had joined the Number, Axel got up and turned the machine off. “That was very nice,” Belle said, jumping up. “I like Dixieland. Thank you.” They shook hands. I stood up. I shook her hand; she took her wine glass into the kitchen. I heard water running. Pulling on her coat without pausing, she waved and went out the door Axel held open for her.

He showed me the painting. I nodded.

     “Do you like it?” he asked.

     “I think so,” I said. “It’s little.”

     “Yes. She makes little things,” he said.

I decided to press him about his verdict on yesterday’s sermon, or on my take of it: What made this particular bullshit smell the way it did?

     “You know, I shouldn’t have said that,” Axel said. “Nobody understands the grace of God, but if you’re preaching, you’ve got to pretend to. I do it, too.”

We decided to listen to “Beale Street Blues” again and “Muskrat Ramble,” then “Tin Roof Blues” and “Tiger Rag” and “The Saints.”

02.01.16