Why We do It Better (Rerun: 07 Jan. 06)

It's time for all good little boys and girls to be grateful and reflect on the next few weeks of holiday fun and cheer. Here it is... my top 5 reasons to celebrate Christmas in the States (or the 'U.S.' for those opposed to 'the States.' You know who you are.):

#5... Better Christmas carols, we've got enough holly, jolly tunes to keep the whole family singing from noon until night fall. Hey, who took frosty's nose???

#4... Let's face it, where else is it legal, let alone cute and adorable, to actually steal Christmas? Wow, those children's authors just get better and better each and every year, eh? You know it's times like these when I'm glad that they're required to have doctorates to publish. And those rhymes. 'Who-hash!' haha, get's me every time... 'Who-hash.'

#3... A kinder, gentler Santa: in the rustic Latin-American rendition of the story, ol' Saint Nick has a helper who eats naughty children. Yikes, flesh-hungry elves make a stocking full of coal look like a family bar-b-que at grandma's.

#2... Real Christmas trees, none of this putting up the same thing every year dribble. My family and myself visited Rockafeller Center in NYC where they had a sizable live tree from the raging forests of Oregon. A true wilderness adventurer chopped that tree down. Paul Bunyan methinks, whose sturdy ox, oh I don't know, let's call him "abe," braved the harsh terrain carrying said evergreen hundreds of miles through the snow, and what did I see when fixing mine eyes upon the festivities of St. Peter's, the greatest of all shrines built in our Lord's name?...arbor fabricated by human hands... Ya, plastic! These silly European Catholics have no clue...

.... AND THE NUMBER ONE REASON TO SPEND CHRISTMAS IN THE STATES IS ....

#1... Duh, cooler presents. Can anyone say iPod and endless accessories? Hello?? After all, what would I do without my music-pumping, picture-porting, video-viewing, bread-toasting, custom circumcision-performing, gator-training, justice-serving, dash-administering device swinging anew from in and around my hip? All-in-one might I add. I don't know about you, but, uh, I am that vain.

Eggs Benedikt

The St. Sicilia church choir planned a trip to Rome with the Papal audience. Fischer Johann, a second tenor, comes to the hairdresser.

"Can we keep it somewhat shorter today than usual?"
"Ok, why though?"
"I am traveling in the coming week to Rome."
"What do you have ahead of you then in your time with the Italians?"
"Details said, our choir has an audience with the Pope."
"Come on, listen to me about this Vatican business. The Pope, the Vatican, Italy and nearly all involved, everything nowadays is going to shit."

Three weeks later Fischer Johann appears again with his hairdresser.

"Well, were you in the Vatican?"
"Well clearly."
"Did you see the Pope also?"
"Ya, that's why we went there."
"Well...and? Do tell. He, for instance, what did he say to you personally?"
"He said this much for sure. I knelt before him. He placed his hand on my head and said: My son,... wow you should consult a new hairdresser. I know a guy up the road, he'll treat you right. Here's his card."

Thanks to German site: http://w.grocceni.com/pfarrer.html

On the Way Home

As I sit here in great anticipation awaiting the advent of my school's new on-line exam reservation system, I thought we might share in a moment of reflection if you will. Many of you I'm sure know that I live here in the Eternal City of Rome and have for over a year by now. Yesterday, what with it being Sunday and all, I found myself in a church pew as Christians are like to every now and again. My body was tired, and I did not feel much like attending a service in a cold and distant marble prison, where no one speaks to one another except when they are told, no one in this world sings the hymns but the priest and his little helpers because no one knows the hymns that we sing, and where its a free-for-all when we attempt to recite the creed which in the end proves to be somewhat of a race to the final word. Amen. Let it be. The only problem is that when we've gotten there, we forget what we are 'letting be' because we've zipped by so quickly. Sunday is, however, the Lord's day and it is to be celebrated, even if the company isn't the sunniest. So, what did I encounter on the way home? A church! (Indeed, it would be a feat for all humanity in and of itself if one could go a single day without passing by a church ediface in this town.) It was not just any church though - it was the Basilica of Saint John Lateran. You know, the official Basilica of Rome...the site of Papal residence until the time of the Avignon Papacy in the 14th century...glorious works of art and architecture built to the praise of the Lord's name. Any of this ring a bell?

So, I entered the church not expecting much but 45 minutes of pure frustration culminating in the eurcharistic celebration (quite likely the only part I enjoy) and took my place among the middle rows of the nave, or central area, which faces directly the principle altar. Flannery O'Conner once said, "The only thing that makes the world bearable is the Church, and the only thing that makes the Church bearable is the eucharist." With that thought floating around in my mind as the service began, I started to believe it. You'll never guess what took place at the entrance song. We began with a hymn that no one was aqcuainted with but the priest and his happy helperton. Joyful days are here to stay. I must say though, a fierce chord struck deep within me as the scripture readings came into play. The Pauline letter was from Phillipians 1:3-11.

I was taken back by Paul's words. His expression is so rich with passion and love for his fellow Christians. Are the members of his community perfect, angelic beings? No. They are all human beings involved in things of a human nature. Nothing extraordinary. Paul's affection for them in the love and charity of Christ drove him and urged him on to impress in many the same dream. He was so impressive to the extent that he was imprisoned for it and eventually sentanced to death by beheading. He writes this letter, Phillipians, from prison if I'm not mistaken. There he sits, trapped in a cage, veiled by metal bars. For many, all of life would be eclipsed by the thought of dying a captive. For Paul it was not so. His heart continued to make the journey to his companions by prayer and parchment. Engrossed in thought, I glanced up as the homily trudged on in our mass and suddenly made sense of the principle altar itself and its design. The cupola overarching the altar displays two golden statues, Peter and Paul, encaged in a series of golden bars. I thought very simply, that is what it takes to make a saint. A saint is someone who is able to see beyond the moment and the mechanics of life to God's greater glory and his ultimate victory in the love of Christ. As the Germans say, Wir leben in der Hoffnung. We live in hope. What other reason do we have to hope but Christ?

Good Pope, Bad Pope

Papal calibre fun by way of cartoon imagry.

Panorama of Rome

The wonders of the human mind are something to be explored more profoundly. When we die, they say that we have used only an average 10% of our mental capacity. This man is an autistic, and yet you can watch as he designs a 16-foot wide (faithful!!!) panorama of Rome after making one round of the city in a helicopter. Behold.

An Ode to Rome

I'm feeling a bit cantancorous today. Let me just say that. There comes a point in every person's journey when he or she notices along the way a break between the real and the ideal, unless he or she is living in the clouds and has yet to take that fall. (Sadly, they always fall the hardest) Nevertheless, should the gap at first be side-walk-sized, it soon begins to substantiate and often widens without control. So, what am I saying you ask? It was not too long after my arrival in Rome that I happened upon the phrase bella figura, or in a sense 'nice impression' in English. It is used in situations in which one displays sunny appearances just to hide the rough, mundane reality. If you wish, as a little example, take the post box here in Rome. The face of said box reads "External mail" and "Mail within the city" with a slot above corresponding to each label respectively. Sad we are to find that when the runners come to gather their mail from the various mail points throughout the city, they unlock the bottoms and the letters and packages fall into a single bag. Bella figura. If one was forced to describe Italian life, especially Roman life, this would do quite well. This in mind, when I, a tired, disgruntled, frustrated American stumbelled upon this poem by W.H. Auden earlier this evening, I thought to myself, I said "self, what better opportunity to share in a moment of Roman disillusionment than with a few moving lines of poetry." His piece here is meant to parrallel post-World War II America and the toppeling Western Roman Empire. Not much has changed here.

'The Fall of Rome'

The piers are pummelled by the waves;
In a lonely field the rain
Lashes an abandoned train;
Outlaws fill the mountain caves.

Fantastic grow the evening gowns;
Agents of the Fisc pursue
Absconding tax-defaulters through
The sewers of provincial towns.

Private rites of magic send
The temple prostitutes to sleep;
All the literati keep
An imaginary friend.

Cerebrotonic Cato may
Extol the Ancient Disciplines,
But the muscle-bound Marines
Mutiny for food and pay.

Caesar's double-bed is warm
As an unimportant clerk
Writes I DO NOT LIKE MY WORK
On a pink official form.

Unendowed with wealth or pity,
Little birds with scarlet legs,
Sitting on their speckled eggs,
Eye each flu-infected city.

Altogether elsewhere, vast
Herds of reindeer move across
Miles and miles of golden moss,
Silently and very fast.

The Pope's Challenge (Rerun: 30 Aug '05)

The Pope and Queen Elizabeth were standing on a balcony beaming at thousands of people in the forecourt below. The Queen says to the Pope out of the corner of her mouth, "I bet you a tenner that I can make every English person in the crowd go wild with just a wave of my hand." The Pope says, "No way. You can't do that." The Queen says, "Watch this." So the Queen waves her hand and every English person in the crowd goes crazy, waving their little plastic Union Jacks on sticks and cheering, basically going ballistic.

So the Pope is standing there thinking, "Uh oh, what am I going to do? I never thought she'd be able to do it." So he thinks to himself for a minute and then he turns to her and says, "I bet you I can make every Irish person in the crowd go wild, not just now, but for the rest of the week, with just one nod of my head." The Queen goes, "No way, it can't be done." So the Pope headbutts her.

Thanks to absolutelyjokes.com and to every grudge-bearing Irishman that exists. Perhaps that is a redundancy.