Deadlines and other necessities of life

Today is music lesson day. Not much time for blogging. 

So true. It was true in university; it was true for freelancing, columns and speech-writing. It will likely remain true for future projects (evidently).
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Why Identity Politics / Social Justice Warriorism is driving me mad

Genius? Dunces? Him? CONFEDERACY???

Mainly because it's killing satire. What would Jonathan Swift have said to all the craziness going on in North American society these days? Possibly, nothing: he'd have been hauled before some human rights or social justice tribunal for writing Gulliver's Travels (alternately, he'd have been given an award by Planned Parenthood for his essay "A Modest Proposal" wherein he --satirically-- suggests that society solve the "overpopulation" and poverty problems in one go by eating their children.) It is satire. He wasn't serious. You have to explain that these days.

When satire is dead, comedy is dead. Also drama, poetry, song, fiction and film. I avoid Hollywood movies for the most part, because  they are no longer interested in telling entertaining and exciting stories. Most of them contain lame preaching on trendy topics, and thus have become the equivalent of medieval morality plays  (in fact, they're probably far worse, becuase at least back then, people knew how to write).  It's the same reason why some Christian ghetto novels and films are so bad. The story must come first; the moral or lesson must be incidental, not central to the purpose of the artwork. But I digress.

I enjoyed this essay/article by Lionel Shriver. I must admit I had not been interested in her work until I saw her interviewed by Mark Steyn, back when he had a TV show on CRTV. Those videos are also worth checking out.

It doesn’t take much parsing to conclude that protecting all and sundry from the terrible experience of having your feelings hurt is the end of free speech altogether. Since nowadays “you can’t argue with what people feel,” umbrage is freed from rational justification. Given that the better part of the human race is crazy, stupid, or both, there’s nary a thought in the world whose airing won’t offend somebody. Doesn’t Darwin offend creationists? Furthermore, in granting so much power to woundedness, we incentivise hypersensitivity. If we reward umbrage, we will get more of it. We do reward umbrage, and we’re buried in it by the truckload.

If you feed me, I will grow.

Trigger warnings/Microaggressions

More from Ms Shriver:

Yet these days, straight white fiction writers whose characters’ ethnicity, race, disability, sexual identity, religion or class differs from their own can expect their work to be subjected to forensic examination—and not only on social media. Publishers of young adult fiction and children’s literature hire “sensitivity readers” to comb through manuscripts for perceived slights to any group with the protected status once reserved for distinguished architecture.

Good heavens, what hope do aspiring writers have, unless the culture regains its sanity?
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The fitness files: husband-wife Christmas presents

My hubby and I bought snowshoes for each other for Christmas. We did this for a few reasons: 

• both of us (and I in particular) need to be in better physical condition
• we wanted to spend more couple-time together (and how better to get a man committed than make him invest some money in the scheme? Mind you, we bought the kits at Costco)
• we wanted an incentive to get out and do some winter exercise and enjoy all that sunshine and crisp fresh air
• snowshoeing seems safer than most other winter sports, and it's something we can continue into our retirement years. A few years back, I fell and dislocated my thumb by (wait for it) cross-country skiing--the Nordic kind!  So I need something fairly fool- and klutz-proof.

I envisioned that we'd be doing this come December 26: 

The fantasy

And yet, here we are January 17:

The reality

The snowshoe kits have not moved more than four feet from the Christmas tree. Maybe the latter part of January will be kinder to us--and I mean that literally. No one can have "fun" with outdoor winter sports when the wind chill is -37 C.

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It is necessary to introduce a new category at DOH

Random internet photo: NOT the author's parking abilities.

The acronym for this category is YJAS. It stands for "Yer Jist As Stoopid" and of course, there is a story behind it.

Poor January gets such a bad rap

Rightly or wrongly? Most people I know hate January--at least the ones who live in the Northern Hemisphere. It's cold, dark, and post-Christmas depressive. I don't know about you, but come January, I usually find myself 10 pounds heavier, lots of dollars poorer, still tired from the holidays (moms don't usually "rest" much over Christmas, even though we do enjoy it, so don't feel guilty, kids!), still wondering where the previous 12 months (or 45 years) went, and feeling just a bit overwhelmed about starting a new year (it's depressing when you get depressed over having no Resolutions, because ultimately you know that they'll end up where the Resolutions from the last 50+ years went).

But you know what? The sun is rising earlier; life is pretty much what you make it, and God is watching over all of it, and willing to hold our hands if we let him. Just don't forget that he's there. One good thing about time going quickly is that January is 32.258064516% over. That's about one-third. The inspirational quotation below seems to be for Jan. 1, but really, you can use it any day of the year. Because, Behold, God makes all things new.

PS,  you are less likely to have a good year if you spend January like this, so make a different plan:

Lord, Denny...

"Fetch me a glass of wine..."

...and if you know the line of dialogue that follows, then you'll know what I'm about to lament. And it started before the Christmas feasting. Last spring and summer, I lost 22 lb, but since fall, I've gained 11 of it back. Time to get back on the Healthy Lifestyle wagon. 

And yet, one must always maintain perspective: health is good, but obsession with body image and weight loss is not. Just for fun, here is one of my old columns written for the Australian Catholic newspaper The Report (the link below is the original title, and leads to the archived column on The Report's website.)

Whom the gods wish to destroy, they first make slim

Were I a cartoonist, I might have attempted an action-hero comic strip this week. Alas, we must await another day (or decade) for my rendition of ‘St Paul vs the Abdomeniser.’

Once a pejorative term, ‘navel gazing’ is now a vocation, and one that’s practised on numerous levels. Philippians 3:18-19 speaks of many “whose god is their belly; and whose glory is in their shame…”. Other sources translate ‘belly’ as ‘stomach’ but the word may also represent certain organs several centimetres south of that.

Biblical exegetes interpret this passage to mean indulging (and revelling) in one’s physical appetites and lusts, whether these be gluttonous, inebriating or sexual in nature.

Though we may serve our bellies, most of us hate them. North Americans employ various epithets for that midsection flab (doubtless Aussies could add a few colourful ones): pooch, chub, spare tyre, jelly rolls, love handles, muffin top, beer belly, baby belly, Buddha gut – to name just a few.

I know few terms for toned abdominal muscles—‘washboard stomach’ and ‘six pack’ come to mind—but most of us want them. The bodybuilding, weight loss and fitness industries demonstrate that the desire to eliminate one’s belly can also become a false god. If only I had a dollar (or lost a centimetre off my waist) for every time I’ve seen this ad teaser pop up online: “Reduce belly fat with this one weird old tip”.

I confess I’ve clicked more than once: the weird old tip invariably involves buying a weight loss program; it may require eating products I can’t pronounce; sometimes I don’t know what it involves other than a droning pseudo-doctor narrating an interminable video that I don’t have time to watch.

The first three definitions of “weird” are (in order): “odd”, “supernatural”, “of fate”. Many weight loss strategies surely fall into the “odd” category. Few are really fateful, in that no-one’s life is changed forever (though tragically, some people suffer permanent physical damage or even death because of zany diet-related drugs and stunts).

Ideally, fitness should contain a supernatural element, because most of us can’t achieve it (or anything, really) without God’s help. It’s that whole John 15:5 thing.

But man will never stop trusting in his own devices, and some of them are hilarious indeed. Just Google “Ab Machines” and prepare yourself for a belly laugh. My teen daughters and I sometimes watch late-night infomercials, and have seen these things in action (Lord help us, we are easily amused and don’t get out much):

“This machine helped me meet my wife!” (He doesn’t get out much either.)

“Stores under your bed!” (And that’s where it will stay, gathering dust, till the next garage sale.)

“The belt creates heat and sweats off the inches! That’s why people in tropical countries are so slim!” (No, many people in tropical countries are ‘slim’ because they are hungry, the tragi-irony of which is lost on hucksters and gluttons alike.)

Even the names are silly: ‘Abdomeniser’ (sounds as though it might have been invented by Vlad the Impaler), ‘Ab Crunch Bench’ (makes me crave sugary cereal), ‘Ab Rocket Trainer’, ‘Ab Circle Pro’ (funny to watch, once you get beyond the initial horror), AB Doer Twist (makes me crave big, soft pretzels), “Total Core 2” Ab Machine (version 1 must have been only Partial Core, hence the design upgrade), Ab Wheel (which need never be re-invented, for obvious reasons), Hula Chair (or as I like to call it: Malfunctioning Office Chair Possessed by Satan), Ab Flyer, Ab Glider, Ab Roller, Ab Coaster (heaven help us if those last two companies merge) , Yogima Massage Abdominal Exerciser, which is (wait for it) a hula hoop—with special sports-grade knobs on it, Only $70, Ab Flex Belt (“stimulates” your muscles with electrical impulses). This could also be called the Unicorn Fairy Pixie-dust Ab Belt, because it operates on the same principle.

You cannot get fit with batteries, Velcro, and wishful thinking. I even discovered an “Aussie Abs” exercise machine, which begs the question: how are Aussie abs different from Canadian abs?

Are the muscle groups in reverse order, due to their relative position to the equator?

The Aussie Abs ad reads: “This exercise equipment works very much like a pogo stick, except you are sitting down when using it.” I don’t know about you, but I can’t even imagine that. Not even after three cups of coffee.

You want a weird old tip? Try this on for size: regular prayer, proper nutrition, self-restraint, an active lifestyle, charity toward the needy, and not obsessing about your belly.

Old, yes; weird, not so much, except that so few people try it these days.

St Paul ostensibly approved of athletics, since he uses them as a positive metaphor for the spiritual life. Being healthy and strong is an objective good.

It only becomes disordered when we remove an “o”, so to speak, and turn a “good” into a “god”.

So crunch away (on your abs and your celery), but remember your life’s true goal and Whom it is you serve. 

Copyright 2013 Mariette Ulrich and The Report

I have Transphoniaphobia

      

This is my idea of a phone.

This isn't.

I'm transitioning from an old cell phone that's not working so great anymore (Google Nexus) to a newer phone (Samsung Galaxy S7) that I hope will work better, but you know what? I am old. I'm still learning how to use the Nexus (I've only had it for I dunno, 8 years, which is brand-new in normal-people years, but excruciatingly ancient and obsolete according to the younger techie-folk). We are also switching providers from Virgin Mobile to Koodo, which is complicating the process even more.  

And I'm suffering. I like learning new things if it has to to with music, art, literature (even grammar), philosophy, theology, psychology, ballroom dance, sewing, or even cooking. I do not like learning anything that has to do banking, mechanics, math or any form of technology. As I said, I still don't know how to use all the features on my old phone, and now I have to abandon it, and that leaves me with a feeling of having left something undone (and you'd think I'd be used to that feeling by now, but it still niggles). 

And yet I can't abandon my old phone, because that's still how I'm using the Messenger app (I can't start using that app on my new phone until I can find where I wrote down my Facebook passwords, which I've forgotten), and I'm still using my old phone to read my Kindle books, and browse the internet and watch YouTube videos and check email. I can phone people on my new phone, but I can't access my voice mails, because when I try, a new voice (the no-nonsense schoolmarm Koodo voice, not the saucy Aussie Virgin Mobile voice) tells me that my call cannot be completed as dialed. My hubby printed out 5 pages of instructions for how to rectify this. (As if I'm going to read them without being forced.)

I'm also still using the camera on my old phone, because when I tried to take a picture with my new phone, it started asking me a bunch of questions, and I thought: Really? I have to answer a questionnaire before I can take a picture of this giant teddy bear at Costco? And so I walked away without taking the picture. You'll have to take my word for it that Costco is selling a nine-foot tall teddy bear--and how do you get that thing into your car? And how big would your toyroom have to be to store it? Prediction: there will be half a dozen giant teddy bears donated to Value Village within six months. But I digress. 

The moral of the story is that my life is even more complicated, now that I have to haul TWO phones all over the house with me. (We have no land line, which is another story altogether.) And if you phone me, don't bother leaving a message. I'll just call you back. 

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An interview so remarkable

That I was tempted to change the name of our blog to "Sane Women Doing Sane Things." Seriously, I can't believe there are living, breathing North American university professors who openly say such things (and I mean that in a GOOD way). Strange times, indeed.  Professor Paglia sees the death of Western Civ looming (don't we all), but I'd like to hope that if a few more of us have the courage to speak up and denounce the lunacy of post-modernism, there is still a chance to keep barbarism and totalitarianism at bay. Thank you, Dr Peterson, for all you continue to do. It has been life-changing for so many of us.

This video (like all his others) is worth every minute*, I assure you.



*Some may ask: "Where do you find the time to watch a video that long?" You may as well ask how a football fan finds time to watch a game, or how a chick finds time to watch a chick-flick, or how an epicure finds time to enjoy a dinner at his favourite restaurant.

PS Apologies for the sporadic blogging. I'd really meant to do better, but September decided to be a rather insane month.
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Something Else Writers Love

Irony.

As in, on January 7, you have the effrontery to call yourself a "writer" AND THEN YOU DONT WRITE ANYTHING FOR THE NEXT EIGHT MONTHS.

Well, that's not entirely true; I have been writing in my journals, but I'm not sure that counts, since they are never likely to be published (especially if I burn them before I die, or ask Mrs Beazly to do so aferwards, providing she outlives me).

I took a hiatus from all my column writing jobs in mid 2014, and co-authored a book in 2015, which was supposed to be published in 2016, but that didn't happen for reasons too numerous to list here. And now, here we are in the latter half of 2017. How does this happen? Is life going this fast for everyone else?

Anyhow, did you ever see the movie Amadeus? At one point, someone asks Mozart how he is prorgressing on a composition he'd commissioned. Mozart has nothing to show on paper, but assures the client that it's entirely written... in his head. I'm not remotely like Mozart in any way, but I can still relate to that sentiment. That's where I've been blogging (and column and novel and non-fiction writing) for the last 7.8 months: in my head. I did not intend to take all this time off. It just kind of happened. I thought of lots of blog posts, but somehow they were never written. Maybe they still will be (though the one from the fourth Sunday of Lent, "Better Laetare Than Never," might be a bit outdated by now).

 But as the new school year rolls around, maybe it's time for a fresh start. Lots has been happening in my life; perhaps it's time to share with the five or six DOH readers who aren't related to us by blood or marriage. Please stay tuned.

Like that guy said in that Monty Python movie, "I'm not dead yet."
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Let me fix that subtext for you...

So now Walmart is charging for bags. Because you know, it's not enough that they have TAKEN OVER THE EARTH (at least, all the parts where commerce and trade happen); now they want to save it too! Rah, rah, sis boom bah. 

Fixed: "Together we can reduce continue to use plastic bags waste to keep but YOU'LL have to pay for them; we really couldn't care less about our planet healthier!"
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Want to understand the Middle East?

Graph representing historical alliances, wars and grudges in  Middle East.

Good luck. A friend recently told me that it is nearly impossible for most westerners to comprehend what's going on "over there." And after reading these two pieces (by Ben Shapiro and David Warren), I believe him. God help us. Going to pray for Our Lady's intercession with my olive-wood rosary from Bethlehem, and then make some chocolate chip cookies. 

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It's funny because it's true.

But the part that isn't funny is what the meme doesn't say: it doesn't say that if you don't exercise and don't eat right, you will gain weight, retain water, lack energy, not sleep well, gain weight, be chronically constipated, gain weight, get bloated and gassy, look awful, and Feel. Like. Crap. 99% of the time. Welcome to my world, from December 2014 until November 2015.

This is a long-running saga (as any of my girlfriends from high school can tell you). Like all too many girls and women who've lived through the modern and post-modern eras, I've spent a lifetime obsessing over those false standards of beauty and body image. Well who am I kidding? This sort of thing probably began with the invention of the corset (which probably happened 14 hours after Adam and Eve got booted from the Garden after the Fall, and only because it probably took Eve 13 hours to gather and weave together the twigs).

I am quite happy to say that since Nov. 2, I've turned over a new leaf with my eating and exercise habits, and am already feeling 90% better. (The other 10% has to do with annoying and ongoing medical issues, but c'est la vie--Doctrine of the Cross, and all that). It certainly is worth it to take decent care of your health--not that that's a revelation or anything. But Happy Friday anyway.
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"Now we have 'airheads'"

Lib-lefty politician: Vote for me and you will get lots of free stuff!
Electorate: Yay! 

I feel so vindicated (and affirmed) when I discover I've been thinking the same thoughts as a smart person. Of course, it's a tragic thing to feel affirmed when cultural and civilizational collaspe is in the offing. I really hadn't planned to post about the election, because it's too depressing. (Like Mrs. Beazly, I'm planning not to watch the news for the next decade or so.)

However, if you need our new Prime Minister (T-who-cannot-be-named) summed up, look no further: David Warren's "The Triumph of Drivel." The money quotes are just too numerous, so you should read the whole thing.

Much as I despised his Liberal predecessors, they also knew what a budget was, and could discern differences between large and small numbers. [...]

In addition to snowboarding, his experience includes nightclub bouncer, and teaching high school in Vancouver. To many (me for instance), his father was a devil in human flesh, his mother demonstrably insane, yet the lad was not really exposed to politics until it came into his head, or into the heads of Liberal Party organizers, that thanks to his family connexion, he could probably get elected to Parliament, in Montreal. This happened in 2007; he now has approximately eight years of bewilderment under his belt. [...]

His sincerity shines when it comes to a small range of policy enthusiasms, such as the legalization of marijuana and brothels, and he is visibly convinced that peace is much nicer than war. [...]

So how did this happen? Mr. Warren explains:

As I’ve mentioned before, the overwhelming majority of the general, voting population have been morally and intellectually debilitated — “idiotized” is my preferred term — by post-modern media and education, and by spiritual neglect within 

Amen, brother. 

Hands-down, Theo Caldwell wins the prize for the most engaging epithet: "ridiculous ballerina," but when he's not being funny, he too is struggling to wrap his head around how the majority of Canadians can be so utterly clueless as to elect someone even more shallow and incompetent than Barack Obama (audio for this vid not great, unfortunately).

At this point, I really am unsure whether to go gently into that horrific night, or to rage rage against the dying of the light. The latter is so exhausting. Perhaps there is a third way. If I wish to retain my sanity and my hope, I must continue to believe it. 

Laura Rosen Cohen's advice (snippet below) is remarkably similar to that of Bl. Mother Teresa: "Deal with what is at your feet." 

Thus, my post-election advice:
In my view, the important thing in times like these is to focus on the micro. Let the Liberals expend their hot air (and your money of course) on the Big Picture Save the Planet stuff and let them really knock themselves out. Focus on the small stuff because the small stuff is really the big stuff. 
Keep raising your children well. Speak up for what you believe in. Take on the battles that you can, (not what you can't). Live well, tell jokes. Tell your family and your friends you love them. Sing. Dance. Paint. Pray. Give thanks. Give hugs.
It's always darkest before the dawn

Amen, sister. 

Time to shower and get ready to take the kids to music lessons. Jesus is our saviour, but Chopin, Bach, Mozart and Beethoven certainly help.

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The Gospel According to...

Lovely vintage wedding photos here.

Ashley Madison: "Life is Short; Have an Affair."

God: "Eternal Damnation is Long: Maybe Don't."

Oh, those poor Ashley Madison customers!! They signed up in good faith, assuming their secrets would be faithfully protected; that the adultery website would be a safe, secure, place. That their secrets would stay that way...forever (or at least till Death did them part!). Their hope and faith in Ashley has been BETRAYED! Those poor... oh wait.

Like that brilliant Matt Walsh guy says, Cheating on Your Spouse is not a Mistake.

"stupid enough to register their names in a database of adulterers compiled by a company whose very business is dishonesty..."

May God have mercy on Western Civ. 
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It's almost as if they KNEW

...at the T-shirt factory that the Riders were going to have a 0-6 (wins/losses) start to the season. Keeping calm is just about all we fans have left.

"The one thing we have to do, we have to correct our negatives," said head coach Corey Chamblin. Well, Corey, thank goodness football isn't ruled by the laws of mathematics/integers. You can't actually go below zero.
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I was on the Albert Einstein Diet but I've switched to a new one.

Is anyone else on this diet? I suspect many of us are. I guess you could also call it the Insanity Diet. This post is pursuant to this one, in which I (happily) announced that I AM NO LONGER OVERWEIGHT. Well, one comment on that post (Mrs. Sockey, I'm looking at you) hit the nail on the head: Christmas is a tough time to 'maintain'. She wasn't whistling Dixie.

Do not fold or bend

Cuz someone might wanna frame* that Royal Conservatory certificate, for which they paid over $100 for the exam, and thousands upon thousands for years and years of piano and vocal lessons.

Thanks, Canada Post! 

*just kidding. The kids never frame their music certificates, be they exam, festival, or scholarship.  [HUMBLEBRAG ALERT] I wouldn't have the wall space.

2015 Music Festival haul.

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Would you like to post a comment on DOH?

Good luck with that! I'm so frustrated by the way this blog server "functions" (not). I can't tell you how often people have told me (either by phone, email, or in person) that they have tried to leave comments on the blog and not been able to. And being computer-illiterate, I have no idea what to do about it.

I mean, what part of "Anyone" does Blogger.com NOT understand? Mrs. Beazly, maybe it's time to find another server/host/thingy.

Who can comment?

Anyone - includes Anonymous Users   Registered User - includes OpenID   User with Google Accounts   Only members of this blog

I put this to the young gentlemen of my acquaintance who may be considering priesthood

Recently hired Diocesan Minister

 for Coordination and Facilitation

  

For example, would a sight of two priests twirling a-tippytoe like big-bellied ballerinas at an Easter Vigil service, along with a troop of girls waving scarves and sashes, for six minutes and more,to Aaron Copland’s arrangement of The Lord of the Dance, have any natural appeal whatsoever to the overwhelming majority of boys and young men who know to what sex they belong?

Bwahaha! Anthony Esolen again. 

At one point, he muses: "I sometimes wonder whether we Catholics actually want vocations to the priesthood." 

Oh Buddy, I don't "wonder"--I've heard it from the horse's mouth. In this case a priest (now deceased, God rest his soul) who said, "The Vocations Crisis is GOD'S WILL, so that the laity gets more involved in the Church." 

Do Catholics want priests? First you have to assume "Catholics" denotes a homogeneous group, which it does not. Some of us want priests, and some of us want the Church to be a Big Comfy Couch...with Communion. 

Clown Minister, dialoguing/collaborating with 

Puppet of St. Therese, to whom the women at the Healing Workshop are encouraged to "speak their pain."

Oh yes, there is pain.

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George Orwell, call the head office of your Hymnody Division

Yo, God, I did you a favour and came to church; 

you're welcome.

Anthony Esolen. Oy, but this guy is brilliant. And funny (to wit: "Muddlesome broke out in hives at leadeth and feedeth.") He had me laughing out loud at, "Fetch the smelling salts, Nellie..."

"Rescuing Hymnody from Stupidity":

To Muddlesome, “the vernacular” meant the colloquial: an office memo ending with an amen. That’s all. He’s no linguist; just as the people who vandalized our churches were not painters or sculptors. He can’t imagine that a mother tongue might “contain multitudes,” including the register of the sacred. He’s a subtractor. If peasants want to be courtly in their oral poetry and folk hymns, too bad for them. Drag them into Future Church for their own good.

 So he had to eliminate those pronouns...

Thus openeth the first Can of Worms.

And my, how far those worms can travel. I actually heard an ordained personage (who has been through like, a hundred years of university and everything) say (out loud) from the ambo: "God calls us to Godself." (Not "himself". Godself.) So allergic was he to masculine pronouns, even referring to GOD THE FATHER (is Jesus' testimony in that regard not enough? Gee, I don't think the chain of authority for Christianity goes any higher than that, but whatever), that instead of uttering a grammatically correct statement, he was willing to sound as though he was having a stroke. But I digress. That was a homily, not a hymn. But church "music" has fared no differently. Read Mr Esolen's article if you share my frustration that we began the century* with hymns like this:

 To Jesus Christ, our Sov'reign King,
Who is the world's salvation,
All praise and homage do we bring,
And thanks and adoration.

Refrain:
Christ Jesus Victor, Christ Jesus Ruler!
Christ Jesus, Lord and Redeemer!

2. Thy reign extend, O King benign,
To ev'ry land and nation,
For in Thy kingdom, Lord divine,
Alone we find salvation.
(Refrain)

3. To Thee and to Thy Church, great King,
We pledge our hearts' oblation,
Until before Thy throne we sing,
In endless jubilation.

--by Msgr Martin Hellreigel

ex-pat German priest, *1941, so... a comment on Fascism

And ended the century with campfire songs like this:

Thank you, God, for giving us us.
Thank you, God, for giving us us.
Thank you, God, for giving us us.
Riiiiiiiiiiiiii-ght where we are!
--ex-Rev. Carey Landry

Peace out.


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