“Is It Not Strange That Sheeps’ Guts Should Hale Souls Out Of Men’s Bodies?”

- Much Ado About Nothing, Act II, Scene 3.

Today is the feast of St. Cecilia, patron of musick in general and Church musick in particular, and, as you can probably imagine, perhaps my very favorite of the entire communion. 

Alas, although I’m sure she is joyful at the closeness to God I so frequently feel when listening to musick, I’m afraid she’s also heard a great deal of blasphemy from me over the years as I’ve feebly stumbled and stuttered my way across the keyboard.  I hope she understands.

Ora pro nobis.

Robbo Is Currently Listening To…..

This afternoon I split up some logs from a tree we had chopped down this past summah into cord wood.  (Regular port-swillers might be surprised to learn that I even know how, given the sort of esoteric blatherings in which I indulge here.  Well, the truth is I learned an awful lot of basic guy skills in my yoot: I am (or used to be) a pretty good wing shot, I can field-dress a deer, I can handle a horse, build a rock wall and clear brush.   And, more to the point, split and stack wood.  Auto mechanics? Well, there you lose me.)

When I was a kid, I used to have to help the Old Gentleman with this task.  I would hold an axe steady while he whacked it with the sledge.   I still remember how much that used to make my hands sting.  Like getting jammed with an inside fastball.

These days, I have found that those split-o-matic wedges work even better than an axe-head, although the sledge is, of course, still of the essence.

Doing The Maple Leaf Rag

These are the trees (photographed during the halcyon days of summah) that line the street in front of the Port-Swiller residence.  The two on the ends are silver maples, while the one in the middle is an oak.  This pic was taken from the driveway.  On the other side of it is another silver maple.  Each of these trees is a good 45 to 50 feet tall.

Robbo and family have occupied their current residence for just over nine years now.  We were very fortunate to be able to buy the house for a number of reasons, none of which are relevant here.  However, another reason very relevant was the fact that we appeared on the scene at exactly the moment a prior sales contract had fallen through.

You see, the previous owners were a nice, easy-going pair of empty-nesters, selling off the old homestead to go live in a condo on a beach somewhere down south.  They had contracted (so the story goes) with a young, childless couple, both lawyers and first-time house purchasers.  I’ll call them Mr. & Ms. Litiganti.

From what the previous owner subsequently told me, the Litigantis were both neurotic, and Ms. Litiganti in particular was quite mad.  She supposedly showed up with a list of demands for this or that alteration or repair, a list that kept growing like the heads of the Hydra as Mr. & Mrs. Previous Owner complied.  What finally broke the camel’s back was her demand that the previous owners cut down all four of these trees (although they’re actually on County property).  Ms. Litiganti’s reasoning was that the trees were an attractive nuisance, that some kid was going to climb one and break his damned neck, and that she would then be saddled with a lawsuit.

At that point, Mr. Prior Resident told Mr. & Ms. Litiganti to go to hell.

And the rest, as they say, is history.

Now.  I’m not saying I agree with Ms. Litiganti’s concerns, and I appreciate greatly that this sylvan quartet can be said to be the reason why we were able to get the house, but I will say that each fall, after spending hours and hours rounding up all the leaves these trees drop and hauling them into the woods out back, that I find myself sympathetic to her desire to do away with them.

Oh, and although I cleaned up all the maple leaves today, I’ll be back out again in another few weeks because the oak, I find, drops its leaves much later than the maple.  Ours still has about 65% of its leaves.  From a botanical standpoint, this is quite interesting, but in terms of yard maintenance, it’s a royal pain in the neck.

Smiles, Everybody! Smiles!

Mink Monica sends along this Onion piece that’s too good not to share:

NEW YORK—Inside the Montessori School of Dentistry, you won’t find any old-fashioned cotton swabs, or so-called periodontal charts, or even any amalgam fillings. That’s because at this alternative-learning institution, students are being encouraged to break away from medical tradition and discover their very own root canal procedures.

“At Montessori, we believe dentistry is more than just the medical practice of treating tooth and gum disorders,” school director Dr. Howard Bundt told reporters Tuesday. “It’s about fostering creativity. It’s about promoting self-expression and individuality. It’s about looking at a decayed and rotten nerve pulp and drawing your own unique conclusions.”

“In fact, here at Montessori, dentistry is whatever our students want it to be,” Bundt continued.

Founded in 1981, and tailored after the teaching methods first developed by Italian-born educator Maria Montessori, the three-year academy offers a fresh and innovative approach to learning seldom found at more conventional schools of dentistry.

Teachers—or “roving dental facilitators,” as they prefer to be called—can be difficult to spot: They often choose to stay out of the way of their inquisitive pupils, and only make gentle suggestions as to how an infected root chamber should be drained.

“When performing a root canal, there’s no such thing as right or wrong,” said Montessori educator Vanessa Perrin, who added that she doesn’t so much teach her students how to treat an inflamed nerve, as lead them to an open mouth and then stand back. “Sure, we could say to our students, ‘The enamel here has completely eroded and needs to be addressed immediately.’ But what’s more satisfying, what’s more dynamic, is to just let them slowly develop an ‘impression’ of why a patient might be screaming.”

Heh.

Regular port-swillers will of course know that Mrs. Robbo’s patron saint is St. Marie of the Blessed Educational Method.  Mrs. Robbo claims that she never drops in here for a glass.  I reckon that between this post and the gratuitous jab at “Twilight” (of which she is, alas, a fan) below, we’re going to test that assertion p.d.q.

“‘Appy BIRTHDAY, Messieurs Camelids….”

Well, today is the sixth birthday of that crazy corner corral of the blogsphere known as the Llama Butchers.

I’d been planning a special surprise party for my fellow bloggers there – Mr. LMC, Gary the Ex-Donk and, of course. Steve-O (aka “El Jeffe Con La Little Debbie“).  Unfortunately, due to a recent tendency of the Moo-Knew homeworld to burst its bandwidth breeches before the end of the month, we’re all closed out of the shop for the moment.

As you can see, the pièce de résistance was to be Melissa Theuriau singing us the traditional birthday salute.  I may as well tell you that this pic is just a still taken from the rehearsal.  What you can’t see from it is that the actual plan is for her to serenade us while bursting out of a large cake wearing a naughty French maid rig.

Pity my comrades will will miss that.  Guess it’s just me and Meliss, then.

Oh, and what do you know? I see it’s actually time for the party to start. 

Well….sorry fellahs.   Gotta go.  Love that cake, y’know.  

I’ll let you know how it turns out.

Oh, and Yip! Yip! Yip!

Veggie Vampire!

I’ve been seething about the whole Twilight New Moon release thing all week.  This spoof, however, almost makes it all worth it:

Oh, ha ha ha!!!!

And The Lord Said Unto Him, “Nyuk! Nyuk! Nyuk!”

This article strikes me as another piece of evidence that God has a droll sense of humor:

The two children chosen to front Richard Dawkins’ latest assault on God could not look more free of the misery with which he associates religious baggage.

With the slogan “Please don’t label me. Let me grow up and choose for myself”, the two children, their hair flying and with broad grins, seem to be the perfect advertisement for the new atheism being promoted by Professor Dawkins and the British Humanist Association.

Except that they are about as far from atheism as it is possible to be. The Times can reveal that Charlotte, 8, and Ollie, 7, are from one of Britain’s most devout Christian families.

Their father, Brad Mason, is something of a celebrity within evangelical circles as the drummer for the popular Christian musician Noel Richards.

//

Mr Mason has been supplementing his income for years by giving photographs to agencies who sell them on to newspapers and advertising campaigns.

Whoops!

The Atheist reponse?  Parents shouldn’t be teaching foisting on their children any value system!

The British Humanist Association said that it did not matter whether the children in the posters were Christians. “That’s one of the points of our campaign,” the association’s education director, Andrew Copson, said.

“People who criticise us for saying that children raised in religious families won’t be happy or that no child should have any contact with religion or learn anything about it should take the time to read the adverts and think about their message rather than rely on their own assumptions.

“The message of the posters is that the labelling of children by their parents’ religion fails to respect the rights of the child and their autonomy. We are saying that religions and philosophies — and ‘Humanist’ is one of the labels we use on our poster — should not be foisted on or assumed of young children and that young people have the right to choose for themselves in line with their developing capacities as they grow.”

Oh, Mr. Copson, Mr. Copson!  When I was a child, I thought as a child.  (Get the quote? Of course you don’t!)  But when I grew up, I gained some sense.   Show me, please, how throwing a  young person out into the big bad world without any anchoring system of values by which to make the choices you claim to care about once they’re old enough to do so demonstrates that you have any.

Silly, nihilistic clap-trap.

And Now For Something Completely Different…..

 Recently on a whim (and what things don’t I do on a whim  these days?) I purchased a copy of Eddie Rickenbacker’s Fighting The Flying Circus, his memoir of his service in WWI.

My copy arrived yesterday and I left it out on the kitchen counter.  This morning, the eldest gel came down stairs, clapped eyes on it, and burst out in indignation, “Hey! He stole that name from Monty Python!”

I patiently explained the origin of the term to the gel, and I’m happy to say that Captain Rickenbacker has now been forgiven.

(BTW, I’ll let you know what I think of the book when I’ve read it.)

“Shut Up,” He Explained

I just love this resolution to make next Wednesday National Quit Yer Bitching Day.

Maybe we could use some of that stimulus money to hand out smiley face buttons?

The Missing Link

I was both delighted and appalled to read this article:

Children as young as five are simulating sex acts at school because they are exposed to pornography on satellite television and the internet, a senior MP has warned.

Barry Sheerman, chairman of the Children, Schools and Families Select Committee, said he had been told recently of the “disgusting” behaviour seen by teachers in primary schools.

The Labour MP for Huddersfield complained that Britain is “awash” with material promoting sexual activity too early in life.

Mr Sheerman called for tougher measures to protect youngsters’ from the “disturbing” amounts of pornography available on satellite television and the internet.

He also launched a withering attack on Rupert Murdoch’s media empire, which he said was the biggest carrier of pornography in the world.

Addressing a Commons debate on the Queen’s Speech, Mr Sheerman told MPs: “We are a country awash with focus on early sexual activity.

“I think it is very serious the access to pornography to children … you go to infant schools now and teachers say to me: ‘Children come here at five and six simulating sexual behaviour that they should know nothing about.’

“That is something pretty disgusting.”

Mr Sheerman said he was angered to read that Mr Murdoch and his son James Murdoch, chief executive of News Corporation in Europe and Asia, wanted to see BSkyB become more trusted than the BBC.

He added: “I had only read two days previously that not only is the Murdoch empire the biggest carrier of pornography in the world but have now bought a major supplier, maker of pornography in the US.

“I don’t know what trusted and loved is but a company that puts that sort of filth, makes it available to children, does not impress me.

“Our children should be protected from that sort of pornography whether it is on BSkyB or whether it is on the internet. I believe that childhood ought to be protected.”

“Great Heavens, Robbo!” you are no doubt saying to yourself, “Why would you be delighted by such an article?”

Well, the simple reason is that it’s one for the Home Team: In the year between my graduation from college and my entry into law school in the late 80’s, I worked for Sheerman as a research assistant.  Yup, spent the year living in a  house in Wandsworth (shared with an American crackpot and a French babe), commuting into Westminster and occassionally getting up to Yorkshire for some constituent work.  (And I will tell you that there is nothing scarier than a hall full of socialist Brit union shop stewards.  ”Keep your mouth shut and try not to look American,” was Barry’s advice as we went in.) 

As for the appalling part? Well, I heartily agree that children should be protected, but what word is missing from this article? Begins with a “P”.  Anyone? Anyone? Bueller? How about……..PARENTS!!!!

Nice going, Barry, but if you leave Rupert in loco parentis, don’t be so shocked and surprized at what you get.