Fiction, The Press

Straight from the shoulder

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Over at the mighty Powerline blog, Scott Johnson publishes an exclusive statement from the great Stephen Hunter. Hunter writes about his latest Bob Lee Swagger novel, I, Sniper, and about what it was like to be a conservative journalist at liberal newspapers. Well worth reading.



I know you follow my health with passionate interest, so I’ll mention that I saw the doctor again yesterday. She told me that (contrary to my own views) I’m recovering from my bronchitis. It’s just taking a while.

I also asked her about the sore shoulder I’ve been enduring for some months, in the Norwegian manner—“No point spending money on medical advice. It’ll probably get better by itself. If it actually starts to turn blue and the fingernails fall out, then I’ll have it looked at.” I figured it was probably bursitis.

To my delight, she informed me it’s not bursitis, but tendonitis. This was gratifying, because in my mind bursitis is something old people get, while tendonitis is something that happens to young athletes. It appears I’m not doomed to feel like this for the rest of my life, but will be permitted to continue to delude myself that my gray hair is premature.

Uncategorized

Oddities from 2009

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I’m not back to full speed on my blogging–whatever that means–but I want to direct your attention today to news and items which are probably not worth your attention, but they will make for some darn interesting conversation with the certain people, maybe those people you’d like to avoid.

First, The Very Short List points out Abebooks’ Wierd Titles, a collection of books you may have seen at the used bookstore and wonder how the fruit something like that got published. Pratical titles like Help! A Bear Is Eating Me! and impractical ones like The Teach Your Chicken to Fly Training Manual. Of course, there are several of unsavory titles, and I don’t mean Critter Cuisine, the guide to dishes made from your backyard. Be forewarned.

Second, Obit Magazine has a feature story on bizarre deaths from this year. For example, “in Vienna, Austria, Gunter Link, a devout Catholic, grabbed a pillar at church as he gave thanks for being rescued from a stuck elevator.” Somehow the pillar supported a 860lb. stone monument and was unstable enough to topple and crush him. Worshippers attending Mass the next day discovered the body.

Uncategorized

“The Post-Ironic Age”

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The Monty Python Gang

I think I ensured my immortality today, and I want to publicize it here, just to make sure I get full credit.

“Trzupr” over at Threedonia, posted this interesting piece today, about the irony of Disney building a “Tree of Life” in its Animal Kingdom, to teach the sacred value of natural things, and actually building the object out of man-made materials, on the frame of an oil rig.

I pointed out in comments that this was similar to using the most technology-heavy movie in history to preach the evils of technology. And then I wrote, “We have reached the Post-Ironic Age.”

The more I think about it, the more I like that phrase. Continue reading “The Post-Ironic Age” →

Music, Poetry, Religion

A couple Christmas carols

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I have another Sissel clip for you tonight! Amazing! What are the odds?

I used to do this one myself, as a solo, back when I sang. It always meant a lot to me.

I think I saw Sissel in this dress the first time I heard her live in Minot. So this is probably the same year. And the hair looks right.



As is my wont, I’ll give you a Christmas poem by G. K. Chesterton. (It’s odd, but I’ve never found any poet, no matter how great, who did Christmas better than he.)

A Christmas Carol

The Christ-child lay on Mary’s lap,

His hair was like a light.

(O weary, weary were the world,

But here is all aright.)

The Christ-child lay on Mary’s breast,

His hair was like a star.

(O stern and cunning are the kings,

But here the true hearts are.)

The Christ-child lay on Mary’s heart,

His hair was like a fire.

(O weary, weary is the world,

But here the world’s desire.)

The Christ-child stood at Mary’s knee,

His hair was like a crown,

And all the flowers looked up at Him,

And all the stars looked down.

A blessed Christmas to you and yours.

Creative Writing

Christmas Eve Ghost Story

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Clock face is blinking. All is not calm, despite acceptable profits, contract bonuses—some unavoidable layoffs. Year end in the black as starless night, silent night, without bells or winds. On Christmas Eve, only sleepless, blinking red numbers.

But who’s on the lawn below? Hollow-eyed, ashen children are kicking cans, and are they singing? I throw up the sash. “Born to raise the sons of earth . . .” they rattle.

I start to yell, but a rag-wrapped child grabs my hand. “I would have been seven this Christmas.”

I jerk back, and they’re gone, leaving my hand chilled.

— — —

I wrote this in response to Loren Eaton’s group solicitation for 100-word advent ghost stories. Read more such stories by way of his blog, I Saw Lightning Fall.

Goofing, Music

“Silent Night” from Sissel, plus some nonsense

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First of all, to set you up for the insult, I’ve got this clip (I think from the same concert as last night’s song), where the Divine Sissel, along with a guy named Odd Nordstoga (I’m guessing he’s Swedish, but can’t say for sure; no relation to Dean Koontz’ Odd Thomas) do the Norwegian version of “Silent Night.” For some reason, instead of mentioning the silence of the night, as the German and English versions do, the Norwegian translation just says, “Glade jul, hellige jul,” which means, “Merry Christmas, holy Christmas.” In any case, I think it’s a very nice arrangement. The country-sounding fiddle the guy in back is playing is actually the famous, double-strung Hardanger fiddle.

Continue reading “Silent Night” from Sissel, plus some nonsense →

Music

“Hark, the Herald Angels Sing”

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As we near the Christmas holiday, the weather forecast calls for increasing snow up to Christmas day, when we expect a blizzard.

Just about a classic Minnesota December.

Somewhere, I suspect there’s a climatologist desperately drafting a news release that will say, “The unsettling normality of this winter’s weather is a sure sign of catastrophic climate change.”

As a treat, because you’ve been good (except for Roy Jacobsen), I’ll share this video, only about a month old, of the Divine Sissel, singing “Hark, the Herald Angels Sing” in a concert in Oslo.

Religion

Garrison Keillor’s secret celebration

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One of our readers, Pastor Karl Anderson, alerted me to this recent column by Garrison Keillor, of whom I imagine you’ve heard.

It’s a very odd column, from someone who (I’m told) is a very odd man. The most interesting part is here:

Unitarians listen to the Inner Voice and so they have no creed that they all stand up and recite in unison, and that’s their perfect right, but it is wrong, wrong, wrong to rewrite “Silent Night.” If you don’t believe Jesus was God, OK, go write your own d*mn “Silent Night” and leave ours alone. This is spiritual piracy and cultural elitism and we Christians have stood for it long enough. And all those lousy holiday songs by Jewish guys that trash up the malls every year, Rudolph and the chestnuts and the rest of that dreck. Did one of our guys write “Grab your loafers, come along if you wanna, and we’ll blow that shofar for Rosh Hashanah”? No, we didn’t.

This remarkable passage is notable for being at once gratifying and infuriating. It does my heart good to know that Mr. Keillor cares about the truths of Christianity, the uniqueness of Christ, the importance of the Incarnation, all that culturally inconvenient stuff that makes the difference between true belief and mere sentiment. Good on him for that.

But then he goes on to insult Jewish songwriters (like Johnny Marks, whom Mark Steyn has been eulogizing this season) who write perfectly pleasant, seasonal songs loved by millions, as if propagating some kind of low dose Blood Libel. It’s the sort of out-of-left-field change of argument one expects from a stubborn spouse (or so I’ve heard) who’s in a bad mood and just wants a fight.

I have a theory on what Keillor’s really thinking here. Like most theories (most especially mine) it’s probably wrong, but I’ll wheel it out and let you tell me what you think. Bear in mind that I can claim some insight into Keillor’s mind because, like him, I’m a) a small town Minnesotan by upbringing, b) pathologically shy (though I’ve never figured out how somebody as diffident as he claims to be has managed to be married so many times. Wish I knew where to shop for that kind of shyness), and c) closely associated with Lutheranism. Continue reading Garrison Keillor’s secret celebration →

Goofing

“Walkin’ in my Vinter Undervear”

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Here’s a winter’s blast from my childhood. This original clip comes from a retrospective (done some years ago now) about the old “Lunch with Casey” kids’ show, which ran on Channel 11 here in the Twin Cities. The late Roger Awsumb (the name’s right; not sure of the spelling) played Casey Jones the railroad engineer. But for this spot, he donned a union suit and lip-synched a song from one of our indigenous Scandinavian-dialect parodists. I’m pretty sure it was either Yogi Yorgeson or Stan Boreson.

You may be surprised (or not) to learn that there was some controversy about this very popular bit. A number of older people complained that underwear humor was unsuited to children’s entertainment.

It was a more innocent time…

Wish YouTube had a clip of the fractured “A Night Before Christmas” from the “Axel and His Dog” show. I may post the text here this week, anyway.

Fiction, Religion

Gifts for the Christ Child

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Health Food Junk Food

I read a Christmas story the other night to my oldest daughter and finished it misty eyed. It was “The Christmas Apple” by Ruth Sawyer, first published in the book This Way to Christmas in 1944. A poor, very skilled clockmaker labors for years over a beautiful, nativity-themed clock in order to present it to the Holy Mother and Child during the annual church procession of gifts. The entire village attends the procession to worship the Lord on Christmas Eve, and many believe that the statue of the Christ Child will reach out to receive an especially prized gift, should one ever be offered. No one still living had ever seen this miracle.

When Christmas Eve arrives, a long-time friend of his tells him with tears that her father has fallen sick and all of their Christmas money was spent on the hospital bill. The clockmaker tells her not to worry, that he would sell a clock, and give them the money for their tree, treats, and decorations. He goes door to door, trying to sell his best clock, but he cannot sell it to anyone. He finally goes to the richest man in the village, and that man says he will buy a clock, but not the one being offering. The rich man wants to buy the fabulous nativity-themed clock which has been in the clockmaker’s shop window. Of course, the clockmaker does not want to sell it, but in the end, he does, taking less than one percent of the offered price.

Once again without anything to give during the Christmas procession, the clockmaker starts to go to church, Continue reading Gifts for the Christ Child →