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Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

Ol’ Robbo won’t bore you with his usual Sunday religious rants.  In his homily today, my pastor came about as close to accusing Papa Frankie of idolatry over this whole pachamama  thing as he could without actually crossing the line.  Afterward, I finished George Wiegel’s latest, The Irony of Modern Catholic History: How The Church Rediscovered Itself & Challenged The Modern World To Reform.  Depressing as hell.  His history of the past 150 years of HMC’s relationship to modernism is quite informative, but if he seriously thinks the current postmodern “culture” has any interest whatever in being evangelized, he’s fooling himself.  No, the whole thing has to collapse good and hard, and it’ll be a few isolated Christians who pick up the pieces and start over.

Instead, I’ll take advantage of the extra hour to plug a movie I re-watched the other evening but which doesn’t seem to get much notice these days:  “The Train” (1964).  With the Allies closing in on Paris in 1944, Nazi Paul Scofield attempts to smuggle a train-load of masterpiece paintings to Germany.  Burt Lancaster’s Parisian station master, together with the remnants of his Resistance band, seek to thwart the attempt.  Lots of suspense, action sequences, intrigue, subterfuge, and railway technicalities, it’s a very exciting and entertaining movie.  Lancaster seems to me a rougher and more Byron-esque version of Charlton Heston, and is particularly gripping here.  Highly recommended, and available in DVD from Netflix.  (Unless I’ve got the only copy – I haven’t mailed it back yet.)

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