Stephen Colbert On The Anglican Communion

The Colbert Report
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Other bloggers, Klady, Fran, and Elizabeth have posted or linked to this video, but I could not resist. Stephen solves all the problems in the Anglican Communion over at Comedy Central. Why isn't he at Lambeth to share his wisdom with the bishops?

UPDATE: Malcolm+ says that Canadians can view the video here.

John The Baptist At The Nelson-Atkins Museum

Michelangelo Merisi, called Caravaggio, Italian, 1571-1610
"Saint John the Baptist in the Wilderness", 1604-1605

This painting at the NA Museum in Kansas City caused me to gasp as soon as I walked into the gallery and spotted it. I made a beeline to it to get a closer look and read the details. I did not instantly recognize it as a Caravaggio, but I should have. I know that Professor Counterlight would have. What a beauty!

The contrast of the light and shadow is superb, with the eyes and the background shaded and the torso, the arms, and one leg in the light. Then, there's the striking dark slash across the torso from the shadow of the arm and the contrast of the luscious red of the cloak. This is a pensive, cleaned up John the Baptist, groomed with a colorful and elegant cloak, if not much else. Even looking at the reproduction causes me to catch my breath. For me, seeing the painting was an encounter with the living God.

Below is a Rembrandt at the NA. I thank Rembrandt for my spiritual awakening to art. When I was in my early 30s, I visited the Metropolitan Museum in New York. When I walked into one of the galleries which is hung almost entirely with Rembrandt paintings, I was stunned breathless. I walked around the gallery in a trance, bewitched by the power of the paintings. I have viewed art differently since that day. Seeing art that I love is intense for me. It feeds my spirit.

With Rembrandt, it's the play of light and shadow that captivates me, with the intense focus of light on the faces of the subjects of the paintings, with perhaps part of the clothing or another object or two highlighted and the rest of the painting in shadow of various dark colors to black. Rembrandt is gifted in his ability to capture character in the expression on the faces of his subjects.

Oh, my! I'm reliving my visit to the museum and getting excited all over again. Just look at the John the Baptist!


Rembrandt Harmensz. van Rijn, Dutch, 1606-1669, b. Leiden, Netherlands
"Portrait of a Young Man", 1666

Images from the Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art.

Dissed By Richard Cohen!

To make sense of this post, it's best to read my earlier post, My Crazy Thursday.

From Richard Cohen at the Washington Post:

Tattoos are the emblems of our age. They bristle from the biceps of men in summer shirts, from the lower backs of women as they ascend stairs, from the shoulders of basketball players as they drive toward the basket, and from every inch of certain celebrities. The tattoo is the battle flag of today in its war with tomorrow. It is carried by sure losers.

About 40 percent of younger Americans (26 to 40) have tattoos. About 100 percent of these have clothes they once loved but now hate. How can anyone who knows how fickle fashion is, how times change, how their own tastes have "improved," decorate their body in a way that's nearly permanent? I don't get it.

How did he find out about me? What percentage of 70-something grannies get their first tattoo in their eighth decade? How much fickling can I do in the time I have left?

But the tattoos of today are not minor affairs or miniatures placed on the body where only an intimate or an internist would see them. Today's are gargantuan, inevitably tacky, gauche and ugly. They bear little relationship to the skin that they're on. They don't represent an indelible experience or membership in some sort of group but an assertion that today's whim will be tomorrow's joy. After all, a tattoo cannot be easily removed. It takes a laser -- and some cash.

Mine is an emblem of the city that I love. Will the fleur-de-lis stop being the emblem of New Orleans? Even if it does, it will always be a symbol of New Orleans to me. Will I ever cease to be a native-born New Orleanian? I think not.

If you read the entire column, you'll see that the tattoos are really about the economy and how we tattooed folks are dragging the country to its economic knees. Who knew? Perhaps I would have given the idea more thought had I known the gravity of the effect on the economy of the whole country.

How many years ago did Cohen stop being relevant? Many, I'd say. Too many. Time to hang it up, Richard. Who's the loser here?

Thanks to Oyster for the lovely compliment and for the link to Cohen's column. It's gold, pure gold.

Note: I edited this post to link to my earlier post on getting my tattoo.

A Word From Themethatisme

In the comments to his blog, Conscientisation,

Blogger themethatisme said...

Still here, but losing it badly at the moment. Thanks for the prayers and thoughts.

I was relieved to hear from TheMe, but I'm sorry he is not well. Please continue to pray for him and perhaps give him an encouraging word at his blog.

Thanks for leaving a word for those of us who care about you, TheMe. My prayers for you continue.

Obama As Our Savior

MadPriest beat me to this one, but it's possible that I just may have one or two readers who don't read his blog. From the Times Online:

And it came to pass, in the eighth year of the reign of the evil Bush the Younger (The Ignorant), when the whole land from the Arabian desert to the shores of the Great Lakes had been laid barren, that a Child appeared in the wilderness.

The Child was blessed in looks and intellect. Scion of a simple family, offspring of a miraculous union, grandson of a typical white person and an African peasant. And yea, as he grew, the Child walked in the path of righteousness, with only the occasional detour into the odd weed and a little blow.

When he was twelve years old, they found him in the temple in the City of Chicago, arguing the finer points of community organisation with the Prophet Jeremiah and the Elders. And the Elders were astonished at what they heard and said among themselves: “Verily, who is this Child that he opens our hearts and minds to the audacity of hope?”

It's wonderfully written satire on Obama as our savior. Actually, it's not far from the image of Obama as certain folks paint him. As for me, I'm an old cynic. No politician will save us. We must save ourselves, politically speaking. No politician will lead us into the Promised Land, and if we expect that, then we shall be disappointed and proved wrong. But surely, we can do better than the Bush maladministration or a possible John McWorse maladministration.

The Europeans love Obama. Would that we could import a few million to come here and cast a vote for president. It would be a change to have a president that we could take a little pride in, one who could string two sentences together without making a malapropism, one who shows evidence of thoughtfulness and an adult-functioning brain. Just think. A president beyond one you would want to have a beer with. Absolutely revolutionary! I never wanted to have a beer with him anyway.

"Three Men On A Hike"

Three men were hiking through a forest when they came upon a large raging, Violent river. Needing to get to the other side, the first man prayed: "God, please give me the strength to cross the river."

Poof! ... God gave him big arms and strong legs and he was able to swim across in about 2 hours, having almost drowned twice.

After witnessing that, the second man prayed: "God, please give me strength And the tools to cross the river."

Poof! ... God gave him a rowboat and strong arms and strong legs and he was able to row across in about an hour after almost capsizing once.

Seeing what happened to the first two men, the third man prayed: "God, please give me the strength, the tools and the intelligence to cross The river."

Poof! ... He was turned into a woman. She checked the map, hiked one hundred yards up stream and walked across the bridge.

Yes! See guys, that's how it's done.

From my usual supplier. I get tired of typing Doug.

My Crazy Thursday

For a long time I've wanted one, maybe ten or twelve years, but I didn't know exactly what I wanted, and it's permanent, so I never got one. Then, on Wednesday, my nephew and his wife each came home with a fleur-de-lis, and I knew immediately that I wanted one like theirs. Everything came together that day. His was on his upper arm, and my neice-in-law's on the top of her foot. My nephew got his first one 15 years ago and had never had trouble, so I figured the tattoo artist was safe and clean, so I did it. I now have a fleur-de-lis tattoo on the side of my leg right above my ankle. I chose a light gold for the fill color, not realizing at the time that I was labeling myself as a die-hard Saints football fan, which I am not. The fleur-de-lis is all over New Orleans since Katrina and the federal flood, and now I've joined the throng by decorating myself. Perfect, no?

The tattoo is a little larger than I wanted, but the artist said that it was the smallest he could do and still make it recognizable as a fleur-de-lis. It measures approximately two inches high by two inches wide. The procedure took about half an hour and hurt like needles stuck in my leg, but it wasn't really that bad. My nephew said, "Do you think Gayle (his mother and my sister, now deceased) is here? What is she thinking?" I was visiting in Kansas City when he showed his mother his first tattoo. She was not amused. I said that she was likely thinking I had gone completely over the edge.

So there. I came back from Kansas City a changed woman. We shall see. I'm not calling attention to the tattoo around here. I'll let folks notice on their and see what the reactions are.

UPDATE: My niece called the motel Thursday evening, and said, "Is this my idol?" I said, "You must have the wrong number." She said, "This is your niece. You are my idol! You got the tattoo!" She thought it was the coolest thing. She had just turned 50 the day before, which was a bit of a blow to her, and she was still feeling a little blue the day after, so I hope that I cheered her up. My brother-in-law had taken a picture and emailed it to her, so she had seen the finished product.

UPDATE 2: Here is THE TATTOO, still a little bloodied. Eew! My brother-in-law took this same-day picture. I'll post a better picture later, once it is healed.

 

UPDATE 3: Too good to stay hidden in the comments:

The Wayward Episcopalian said...

If the body is a temple, are tatoos the stained glass windows?

"The Family"

 

That's all of us, except my brother-in-law, who had stepped out for a smoke, and me, the photographer. You can't see Miss Molly, either, only her hair. We ate at Wabash BBQ in Excelsior Springs that night. I'm no great lover of BBQ, but the ribs were the best that I've had in my life. That was the first but not the last time we ate BBQ while we were there. My son loves it. We ate so much meat that it was almost enough to turn me vegetarian. When we're home, we don't eat nearly that much.

The blond is my niece, and I am now her idol, or so she says. I'll tell you why tomorrow.

The picture below is of an old sugar sack from Labadieville, Louisiana, which is right up the bayou from us. Fancy seeing that hanging on a wall in a restaurant way up in Kansas City.

 

The Dog Died And....

Muldoon lived alone in the Irish countryside with only a pet dog for company. One day, the dog died, and Muldoon went to the parish priest and said, "Father, my dog is dead. Could ya' be sayin' a mass for the poor creature?"

Father Patrick replied, "I'm afraid not. We cannot have services for an animal in the church. But there is a new denomination down the lane, and there's no tellin' what they believe. Maybe they'll do something for the creature."

Muldoon said, "I'll go right away Father. Do ya' think $5,000 is enough to donate for the service?"

Father Patrick exclaimed, "Sweet Mary, Mother of Jesus! Why didn't ya' tell me the dog was Catholic?"

My welcome home from Doug. Thank you, Doug.

Back Home, But Busy, Busy, Busy

 

We're home! It's good to go, but it's good to be home, too. Much to attend to besides catching up online. The comments are now open again.

To entertain you dog lovers while I catch up is the picture above, of Murphy, the black dog, who is part Lab and part Newfoundland, and Bentley, who is a Golden Retriever along with Miss Molly on the left and her mama with her head cut off. Below is the royal Zoey, a Corgi (just like the Queen's!). Murphy and Bentley are sweet tempered dogs who let Miss Molly do with them as she pleases, including riding them. Bentley is affectionate to a fault, always wanting to play and retrieve what you throw and lie on top of you. He and Murphy are large, very large. Zoey is getting old and she pretty much keeps to herself, except to greet us with a few barks when we return to the house. They helped entertain us along with their human guardians.

The humans were super great hosts. I'll tell you more about them later and all about our activities while we were in Kansas City.