So THAT's why he's been harping on "Hallelujah."

And even though it all went wrong
I'll stand before the Lord of Song
With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah...

The Minor Fall, The Major Lift said it best, way back in 2004:

***

Dear Internet,

On Wednesday afternoon, shortly before we were to commence our traditional Rosh Hashanah activities (pelting Hasidim with Hostess SnoBalls) we received a message from a woman of our acquaintance who, in spite of her intimidating formidability, seems to have our best interests at heart. She asked us to meet for a drink; a request which we never deny, no matter who makes it. Over a few Wild Turkeys up (ours; she wound up drinking water, which may make our trust in her seem rather suspect) she gently informed us that we should quit blogging, since our heart seemed no longer to be in it and it was "painful to watch."

Stunned, and not a little hurt, we staggered back to the drop forging factory where we earn our living to ponder her suggestion. Was she right? Had we really fallen off that badly? Was it time for us to hang it up? Why did we decide to have that third drink when we knew we'd soon be operating heavy machinery?

After we came to and all our wounds had been cauterized, we had to admit to ourselves that our friend had something of a point: This blog has sucked lately, and our heart hasn't been in it. (We've been too busy writing slash fiction about that guy in the red pants from The Apprentice.) As our friend herself admitted, we've had a good run. We are deeply appreciative of all the people we've come into contact with as a result of this blog, even that guy who always posts comments like, "Not funny" or "Don't get it." (Us either, pal.) But we hate to continually disappoint so many of you with substandard service, so we are seriously considering hanging it up. We are, at the very least, taking a looooong hiatus, in hopes that this time our frequent attempts at retirement are somewhat more successful.

We'll leave the links up (from what we understand, that's what most of you come here for in the first place), and if something really fascinating occurs (read: Alessandra Stanley/Virginia Heffernan cage match) we'll pop back up, but in all likelihood, this is goodbye. It's been a pleasure, kids. Do a shot for us.

We're going to turn the comments off, since we're a little tired of being your one-stop clearinghouse for Viagra prescriptions and online gambling...Stay safe. Also, we love you and want to have a million of your babies. We're sorry it took us so long to tell you that. Okay, that'll do.

Best, etc.,

TMFTML

***

Of course, he came back, and then went on to become editor of Gawker. So take it for what it's worth. Anyway, this by way of saying that Godsbody is shutting down, at least for Lent. After that, we'll see. Besides the charge of general lameness, I'm realizing that I pretty much need to axe the Internet if I'm ever going to get some writing done on a number of projects dear to my heart. It's been a delightful run, mostly because of the excellent people I've encountered through the comments. You folks are the best. Thanks for stopping by. Have a happy Lent, and an excellent Mardi Gras. Cheers!

Barrier-Method Contraception...

...sometimes, it's just a baby between you in the bed.

Aphorism of the Day

Less camps, more movements.

(What am I, a CL'er?)

Because my children are cooler than I am...

...more photos at the other blog.

The family thing.

Not only did Aunt Cheryl manage to get one of her works selected for a juried art show, but her piece was also chosen to adorn the Arts Columbia website.

Saletan on Santorum

Rick Santorum became something of a punching bag for a certain segment of the population after he argued, "If the Supreme Court says that you have the right to consensual sex within your home, then you have the right to bigamy, you have the right to polygamy, you have the right to incest, you have the right to adultery." The comparison to incest in particular seemed to ruffle some feathers.

Enter William Saletan, a fellow who seems to be able to get away with asking all sorts of questions that might get someone else branded or dismissed. Thanks to Smokee, we have this piece in Slate, in which Saletan asks exactly what is wrong with Santorum's argument, at least as far as it applies to incest:

"Like Smith, a defender of brother-sister incest could accuse Santorum of 'disparaging an entire group of Americans' and 'advocating that a certain segment of American society be disavowed from constitutional protection.' In its brief to the Supreme Court in the sodomy case, HRC maintains that 'criminalizing the conduct that defines the class serves no legitimate state purpose,' since gays 'are not less productive—or more dangerous—members of the community by mere dint of their sexual orientation.' They sustain 'committed relationships' and 'serve their country in the military and in the government.' Fair enough. But couldn't the same be said of sibling couples? Don't laugh. Cousin couples are already making this argument."

Elsewhere

Some new photos up at the other blog.

Hallelujah, Round Two

Thanks for Petellius for the suggestion:

John Cale vs. Allison Crowe.

Because it's for, you know, emergencies.

Sigh.

Where's Darwin Catholic when you need him?

I mean, if I'm gonna give him (and the fabulous Mrs. D) my vote for Smartest Catholic Blog, I expect him to help out with things like this.

Exchange

First Son: Dad, do you have any ideas on how to tie a piece of fabric around your head so that nothing is showing but your eyes, like a ninja?

Dad: Well, no, but I would think that ninja skills would be what you'd want to learn before ninja appearance.

First Son: Not for me, Dad. It's fashion first, skills after.

Sigh.

Movie Chat

Robin: You risked your life for that riffraff in the bar?

Batman: They may be drinkers, Robin, but they're also...human beings."

- Batman

Thank you, Dark Knight.

Sunday's Readings

First, this is one of the reasons to love the Psalms:

Thus says the LORD:
Cursed is the one who trusts in human beings,
who seeks his strength in flesh,
whose heart turns away from the LORD.
He is like a barren bush in the desert
that enjoys no change of season,
but stands in a lava waste,
a salt and empty earth.

I have no idea if this is the best translation going, but I love the language: "a salt and empty earth."

Second, I'm sure everybody remembers this:

Blessed are you when people hate you,
and when they exclude and insult you,
and denounce your name as evil
on account of the Son of Man.
Rejoice and leap for joy on that day!
Behold, your reward will be great in heaven.
For their ancestors treated the prophets in the same way.
But woe to you who are rich,
for you have received your consolation.
Woe to you who are filled now,
for you will be hungry.
Woe to you who laugh now,
for you will grieve and weep.
Woe to you when all speak well of you,
for their ancestors treated the false
prophets in this way.”

I always sit up a little straighter when warnings get handed out to the comfortable. But more than that: why is it a given that the faithful will be hated, insulted, excluded, etc.?

Well, partly because we've got that whole charism to evangelize, i.e. spread the Good News, which doesn't always sound so very good to all who hear it.

Part of it, if the Scripture is to be believed, is the resistance of the Adversary.

But isn't part of it - and I think I can say this without offending any doctrines of grace - that the life of a disciple is a life of constant (and constantly renewed) effort? An endless struggle, not just against sin, but against the weight of the flesh, the everyday, the ordinary, the material world that looms so much larger in our vision than the spiritual. (I say this without any animosity towards the world - I loves me some world.)

Love is, after all, an act of the will, and if you are not progressing towards God, it seems to me that you are (I am) almost certainly sliding away from Him. At least, in the way I experience such things. The effort is wearying, and who wants additional sources of weariness? And at least for a spiritual neophyte - I count myself among such - even obtaining sustenance for the struggle (i.e., prayer) can be a struggle. Christianity is such a beautiful vision to me, a glorious way of understaning myself and the world. But that doesn't mean it isn't a slog through the muck as well.

I'll stop now.

Today in Porn, NOW He Tells Me Edition

Reader Not-Ted sent this along, easily one of the most perfect Godsbody stories ever:

"Women have grown their own breast implants through pioneering stem cell treatment, it emerged yesterday. Scientists harvested the stem cells from the women's own fat and encouraged them to form breast tissue."

So - bigger breasts, Naturally! Catholics are all about what's natural - if I'd had this post just a week earlier, maybe I could have gotten nominated!

And they aren't even embryonic stem cells - another felicitious Catholic touch! Sigh.

[Drinks]

(Bracketed signoff in honor of fallen blogger Seldom Sober.)

I Voted...

You might do the same.

Now if they had categories like "Laziest blog" or "Porniest blog" or even "Brownest blog," I migh have had a shot...

Caged

Nicolas Cage was a revelation for me - the first actor to win me over (Raising Arizona, Red Rock West), then earn my respect (Leaving Las Vegas), then turn his Oscar into cash! cash! cash!, reeling off The Rock, Con Air, Face/Off, and City of Angels. By the time Captain Corelli's Mandolin flopped into theaters, I had trouble believing this was the same man who once battled The Lone Biker of the Apocalypse. I saw Adaptation in spite of Cage, not because of him. Anyway this guy is much funnier about all this than I am.

By the by, I'm collecting suggetions for a Catholic's movie canon. The usual suspects are fine, but I'm curious what oddball entries you folks might suggest.

Lickona Family Blog - Because This Place is Dead, Anyway.

I have long been frustrated by the fact that, somewhere in the incorporation of Blogger into Godsbody, I lost the ability to post photos - particularly, photos of stuff going on here at Casa Godsbody. Gardens, crafts, artistic creations, that sort of thing. So today I started a new blog to remedy that: Lickona Family Blog.

Irish Candy

Ingredients:

Whiskey
Butter
Bread, preferably warm, crusty, and homemade by The Wife

Butter bread. Sip whiskey. Eat bread. The bitterness in the whiskey brings out the sweetness in both bread and butter.

And yes, this is what Godsbody has been reduced to. YouTube, celebrities, and creative drinking.

Fascinating

No, not that Anna Nicole Smith is dead - rather, the comments by people who are reading about it at the NYT website. Portrait of a readership, anyone?

William Wilson, Guitarist Extraordinaire...

...got a review in the local weekly. Do go read, and then buy the CD! "Catholic AND talented? Pinch me!"

Hallelujah

Jeff Buckley vs. Rufus Wainwright

I know Buckley kind of owns this one, but it's an interesting comparison, I think.

I Got Nothin'

But YBNBY has trebuchets.

Today in Porn, Mass Transit Edition

Bored while waiting for your ride home? The Lawyer reports that help may be on the way:

"Soft porn films are being shown on giant video screens at a bus station in Bulgaria. The plasma TVs at the terminus in the capital Sofia show bus times during the day but switch to porn at night. A station spokesman said: 'We wanted to give the passengers something to take their minds off the cold and to pass the time while waiting for a bus.' However, some people are outraged by the move and claim station security guards now spend their time watching the screens rather than patrolling for troublemakers."

It's actually sort of perfect. Travel lends itself to abstraction. But oh, the trouble you get when you miss the bus home because you couldn't tear your eyes away...

Dept. of Questionable Taste

Now in these dread later days of Godsbody, when fellow bloggers are falling silent, when the sun hangs redly and not a little listlessly in the evening sky, we can be forgiven our more foolish moments, like when we toss out this rather questionable paragraph from Book Two. The autopsy continues...

"I was alone in the house on a Sunday – a rarity when you have five children under eight – and painting the laundry room. Oatmeal over Alligator Green on the walls, Maplebuff over Ghostly Yellow on the trim and cabinets. After The Passion came out, I found myself wondering about some soulless marketer pitching a line of house paints with 'colors inspired by The Passion of the Christ. Combining America’s passion for Jesus with its passion for home improvement! Choose from the dramatic Darkened Sky, the dusty Via Dolorosa, the deeper Rusty Nail, or the paler Shroud! Accent with Purple Cloak, Bruised Reed, or the brilliant Blood of the Lamb!' A body could go on and on: Potter’s Field? Temple Veil? Crown of Thorns?"

"In the middle of the earth, in a land called the Shire, lives a brave little hobbit whom we all admire..."

It occurs to us that there may be some of you out there, even some of you out there who loves you some Tolkein, who have, somehow, managed to live as long as you have without seeing this. Bilbo!

Bookmark

"There is something about four people, two couples, that like each other and get along; that have a swell time; that grow in intimacy and understanding. One's life is made up of twos, and of fours. The Graysons understood the nice little arrangements of living, the twos and fours. Two is company, four is a party, three is a crowd. One is a wanderer.

No, not the Graysons. Somebody would be there on Sunday night, some couple, some two; somebody he knew, somebody they had known. That is the way life is arranged. One arranges one's life - no, two arrange their life - in terms of twos, and fours, and sixes. Marriage does not make two people one, it makes two people two. It's sweeter that way, and simpler. All this, he thought, summoning the waiter, is probably very silly and sentimental. I must look out that I don't get to that state of tipsiness where all silly and lugubrious things seem brilliant divinations of mine, sound and original ideas and theories. What I must remember is that such things are sentimental and tiresome and grow out of not working enough and out of too much brandy. That is what I must remember. It is no good remembering that it takes four to make a party, two to make a house.

People living alone, afer all, have made a great many things. Let's see, what have people living alone made? Not love, of course, but a great many other things: money, for example, and black marks on white paper. 'Make this one a double brandy,' he told the waiter."

- from "One is A Wanderer," by James Thurber

Poetry Corner, Anonymous Forbears Edition

A lovely melancholy to this one, and a good poem when musing on mortality, which seems to be the going concern here at Godsbody...

Forefathers, by Edmund Blunden

Here they went with smock and crook,
Toiled in the sun, lolled in the shade,
Here they mudded out the brook
And here their hatchet cleared the glade:
Harvest-supper woke their wit,
Huntsmen's moon their wooings lit.

From this church they led their brides,
From this church themselves were led
Shoulder-high; on these waysides
Sat to take their beer and bread.
Names are gone - what men they were
These their cottages declare.

Names are vanished, save the few
In the old brown Bible scrawled;
These were men of pith and thew,
Whom the city never called;
Scarce could read or hold a quill,
Built the barn, the forge, the mill.

On the green they watched their sons
Playing till too dark to see,
As their fathers watched them once,
As my father once watched me;
While the bat and beetle flew
On the warm air webbed with dew.

Unrecorded, unrenowned,
Men from whom my ways begin,
Here I know you by your ground
But I know you not within -
There is silence, there survives
Not a moment of your lives.

Like the bee that now is blown
Honey-heavy on my hand,
From his toppling tansy-throne
In the green tempestuous land -
I'm in clover now, nor know
Who made honey long ago.

Dept. of Questionable Taste

I'm sure it's just me, but Rival Sperm just sounds like the name of a punk band...

"A past study had revealed that in one rodent species, the European woodmouse Apodemus sylvaticus, sperm could hook up into trains of up to 100. These swim faster than solitary sperm competitors. Normally sperm cells in each male are rivals, with millions racing each other to reach the finish line first. Their struggles hopefully ensure that only healthy sperm end up fertilizing eggs."

On the urging of a friend, I saw Talledega Nights. All I could think of while reading this article was how Ricky Bobby needed Cal Naughton, Jr. to hook up with him for the slingshot manuever to beat Jean Girard.

And remember...

...Google is watching.

Andalusia

As usual, Amy got there first, but just in case you didn't follow her link, do go read the NYT piece on a visit to Flannery O'Connor's farm. Fascinating to see the hold she's kept on the popular imagination.

Speaking of Amy, she's been there a couple of times, and written about it.

Your Humble Servant...

...is a rather poor excuse for a blogger. So, a question:

Has anybody out there had their thinking about human sexuality dramatically changed through what they've learned about the Theology of the Body? If so, how?

(It might be fun to post this question on a number of blogs simultaneously - use it as a proper info-gathering tool. Of course, the sample will not be generic - the blogosphere is definitely its own slice of Catholicism - but it might be interesting, nonetheless.)

Confession

Amy got to this before me (Yesterday's News Today!):

"The Vatican newspaper denounced an Italian journalist who posed as a penitent and confessed fake sins in order to write an expose on the sacrament of reconciliation.

'Fake confessions in search of a shameful scoop,' the newspaper, L'Osservatore Romano, headlined a commentary condemning the cover story of L'Espresso magazine, one of the country's leading weeklies...The reporter made his false confessions to 24 different priests in five Italian cities, including Rome. The magazine said the idea was to see how priests handle difficult pastoral situations and whether they followed the strict norms laid out by church teaching...The reporter, for example, told two priests he was HIV-positive and wondered whether he should use a condom when having sexual relations with his girlfriend. One told him no, and the other said it was a question of conscience, the magazine reported.

More than once, the magazine said, priests gave quite different advice on his supposed 'sins,' which included matters relating to homosexuality, divorce, stem-cell research, euthanasia and prostitution.

One issue that found unanimous condemnation by confessors was abortion, the magazine said."

Okay, that's pretty skeevy on the reporter's part, but it's a fascinating topic, isn't it? What goes on in that box? And the Internet so delciously anonymous...

So. Feel free to leave accounts of outrageous/fascinating/humorous/brilliant things you've heard in confession in the comments. Could be most illuminating...

UPDATE: A commentor has claimed that the seal of the confessional applies to both confessor and penitent. I don't think this is the case. Here's what I found from St. Thomas Aquinas:

"A priest alone is the minister of this sacrament. But the seal of confession is connected with this sacrament. Therefore the priest alone is bound by the seal of confession. Further, the reason why a man is bound to keep secret what he hears in confession, is because he knows them, not as man but as God knows them. But the priest alone is God's minister. Therefore he alone is bound to secrecy."

And here's what I could find in Canon Law:

Can. 983 §1 The sacramental seal is inviolable. Accordingly, it is absolutely wrong for a confessor in any way to betray the penitent, for any reason whatsoever, whether by word or in any other fashion.
§2 An interpreter, if there is one, is also obliged to observe this secret, as are all others who in any way whatever have come to a knowledge of sins from a confession.

Can. 984 §1 The confessor is wholly forbidden to use knowledge acquired in confession to the detriment of the penitent, even when all danger of disclosure is excluded.
§2 A person who is in authority may not in any way, for the purpose of external governance, use knowledge about sins which has at any time come to him from the hearing of confession.

Can. 985 The director and assistant director of novices, and the rector a seminary or of any other institute of education, are not to hear the sacramental confessions of their students resident in the same house, unless in individual instances the students of their own accord request it.

Can. 986 §1 All to whom by virtue of office the care of souls is committed, are bound to provide for the hearing of the confessions of the faithful entrusted to them, who reasonably request confession, and they are to provide these faithful with an opportunity to make individual confession on days and at times arranged to suit them.
§2 In an urgent necessity, every confessor is bound to hear the confessions of Christ's faithful, and in danger of death every priest is so obliged.

Chapter III

THE PENITENT

Can. 987 In order that the faithful may receive the saving remedy of the sacrament of penance, they must be so disposed that, repudiating the sins they have committed and having the purpose of amending their lives, they turn back to God.

Can. 988 §1 The faithful are bound to confess, in kind and in number, all grave sins committed after baptism, of which after careful examination of conscience they are aware, which have nor yet been directly pardoned by the keys of the Church, and which have not been confessed in an individual confession.
§2 The faithful are recommended to confess also venial sins.

Can. 989 All the faithful who have reached the age of discretion are bound faithfully to confess their grave sins at least once a year.

Can. 990 No one is forbidden to confess through an interpreter, provided however that abuse and scandal are avoided, and without prejudice to the provision of can. 983 §2.

Can. 991 All Christ's faithful are free to confess their sins to lawfully approved confessors of their own choice, even to one of another rite.

Today in Porn, Breakfast Edition

Reader Smokee sent this one in...

"An event billed as 'Porn and Pancakes' is being hosted by a church in rural upstate New York...A billboard advertisement near the church shows the words "Porn and Pancakes" written in syrup on a stack of flapjacks.

Organizers said the Feb. 10 event will be an honest discussion about pornography and its impact on society. The discussion will be led by XXX Church, a group of youth ministers who travel the country talking about porn and the porn industry."

Bonus points for the Upstate NY reference!

Things you can do when you're pope.

Sell millions of copies of a text that's available free online.

(Via Amy.)

Four Weeks

Hell - if Cubeland Mystic can do it...

Way back when I was just a wee young alt-weekly hack (as opposed to the seasoned hack I have become), my editor, herself twice published, twice an NEA recipient, and at least once a Guggenheim fellow, suggested I apply for the NEA grant myself. "You have to get the NEA before they'll even consider you for the Guggenheim," she said, stoking the twin fires of both ego and ambition.

So, with all the sweet hope of youth, I applied. I submitted a piece I wrote for the Reader about spending a day with a butcher - the kind who will visit your farm, shoot your cow between the eyes, dress and quarter it on the spot with a chainsaw (after draining the blood), haul it back to his place, finish cutting it into chunks, hang it in his cooler, and eventually, carve it up with a bandsaw. It was a fun piece. It didn't win, of course - but the rejection letter did include a handwritten addendum at the bottom: "I'm very sorry. Please apply again." Huzzah!

So I applied again - this time, with a collection of the columns that eventually formed the backbone for the little book. Another rejection. No note this time. Ah, well.

But it's a pretty sweet grant if you can get it, so try, try again. Deadline is March 1. Thinking of trying to work a section from the unpublished Book Two into something worth submitting. Here goes. Vaultless ambition; bottomless sloth!