tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-94537762012-01-10T09:18:08.062-05:00Waiting On ThereafterRemaindermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07548688809361354833noreply@blogger.comBlogger1431100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1115394452658871292005-05-06T11:45:00.000-04:002005-05-06T11:47:32.663-04:00

Gentle, old visitors, we're still gone away at http://mightyinditers.typepad.com/. Come see us.(Not to be confused with the real Gone Away.)

Remaindermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07548688809361354833noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1115348701743320982005-05-05T22:53:00.000-04:002005-05-05T23:05:02.106-04:00

Well, we've almost all moved on. Signed into that typepad thing, and it just wouldn't let me in--and that was after I registered! Plus it asks too, too many questions. (That sounded so--blog. Didn't it?) So I return to our old Hereunder haunts to see if anyone remembers me. After all, it's been a cybereternity since I last posted. What loyalties can one expect to truly build in the denatured

Blue Clinkershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13093561986029568740noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1114989913021445642005-05-01T19:19:00.000-04:002005-05-01T19:25:13.023-04:00

Yes -- we have grown; we have moved on. But, no, gentle visitors, we have not forgotten you. Instead, we have been busily engaged in preparing a new place for you.Come see us at http://mightyinditers.typepad.com/hereunder/. Let us know what you think.

Remaindermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07548688809361354833noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1114524211962697582005-04-26T09:40:00.000-04:002005-04-27T08:40:58.840-04:00

Gentle visitors, from where your humble Contributor now sits, he can see, in the distance, the lapping waters of the Ebb and Flow Stream, less than a league from where she empties herself into the Great Shellfish Waters, herself being the drowned valley of the River of Long Reach, which, in turn, finds her source at the Glimmer Glass Lake (in the Land of the Last Mohican) -- where the Diamond

Remaindermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07548688809361354833noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1114318199024136922005-04-24T00:45:00.000-04:002005-04-24T00:49:59.026-04:00

Miss Marcy went to say something:She opened her mouth...But nothing came out.Not nothing—something likeA gibber, a grunt—But nothing she meant to say.She could see the words all right,The ones she meant to say:The rises, the falls, the curlycues,The stoutness of the vowels,The steadiness at the bottom—The way the words would soundWhen spoken.But, nothing came out.Damn it all, she thought.And,

Remaindermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07548688809361354833noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1114046156029423832005-04-20T21:05:00.000-04:002005-04-20T22:20:18.620-04:00

Gentle visitors, no-one can claim that any of the regular of you lacks a keen sense of graciousness and decorum (lacks a basic common sense for returning to these pages? -- that's another matter entirely). Nonetheless, one of the alert poor relations from the sub-tundral regions has discovered a book entitled, "Etiquette for the Average Joe". Having not read this book, we can in no way endorse it

Remaindermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07548688809361354833noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1113827253505673592005-04-18T10:03:00.000-04:002005-04-18T10:12:47.950-04:00

My, my, gentle visitors, it's been too busy for words. Your humble contributor called away, last week, to Rome -- The Eternal City, Where All Roads Lead, Where The Buffalo, etc.Thankfully, the air fares and hotel rates had receded slightly; though, we found the maid still cleaning up the room overlooking the Piazza di Spagna. "Scusa, scusa, Signore," she said, making the bed. "No problem, hon,

Remaindermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07548688809361354833noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1113502176188966662005-04-14T13:55:00.000-04:002005-04-14T15:59:15.596-04:00

So I caved in. Still skeptical as to the import of this "event," I nonetheless grabbed my instamatic camera to record history. I bounded down the steps with the brotherhood--Danny, David, and Ed--and we ran to join the crowds already lining up at, I guess 17th St., near the Old Executive Office.Motorcades, even in a town famous for them, always are thrilling to watch even to the jaded. Everyone

Blue Clinkershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13093561986029568740noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1113399714742444332005-04-13T08:32:00.000-04:002005-04-13T12:29:50.323-04:00

Gentle visitors, we have heard recent expressions of alarm about our apparent gaps in posting. You have asked (and, believe me, we have asked ourselves): are we slacking? are we uninspired? are we psuedonymously posing? These questions, we believe, fairly answer themselves.Even so, we are grateful for your concern: it tells us that someone cares -- like the alert neighbor who notices that our

Remaindermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07548688809361354833noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1113187149305803882005-04-10T21:39:00.000-04:002005-04-10T22:41:54.393-04:00

Gentle visitors, some foreigners who frequent these pages have implored us for a simple explanation of baseball. (These folks were raised on such sports as cricket, croquet, and curling. Nothing wrong with these athletical distractions -- not at all. We have treated curling in passing; croquet -- to be sure -- in some future meditation; and, cricket -- yes -- once we get the point of it.) At the

Remaindermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07548688809361354833noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1113059218817237392005-04-09T10:00:00.000-04:002005-04-11T06:47:43.716-04:00

Gentle visitor, your humble Contributor rising voluntarily before 6 a.m. is a terrestrial event of such rarity that the annals of such things contains scant mention of it. He is of the most reasonable opinion that, having retired after the sun sets, one should not rise before the sun also rises -- or, at least, not before it suggests itself on the eastern horizon. To do otherwise would be an

Remaindermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07548688809361354833noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1112891299389124052005-04-07T12:06:00.000-04:002005-04-08T10:36:29.056-04:00

In the days since the death of the late Pope John Paul II, I like many others have been reflecting of the impact of this man on the world, and for many of us, on our own lives. I can't resist telling my story of my own first "encounter" (non-encounter?) with the Pope.I was coming home from a drudge weekend job at The Liberal-Rag-That-Must-Not-Be-Named. I worked part-time in the circulation

Blue Clinkershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13093561986029568740noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1112668841339272542005-04-05T22:31:00.000-04:002005-04-05T21:10:57.853-04:00

Pray to the god of verdure,To the Ancient Greener of Seed;Lay down your lime, spread your peat, andSpray your weed and feed.Sow in the arms of summer,To the humunous womb of the Earth;Grow your rye, your fescue, blue, andMow when the blades give birth.Cry to the West for moisture,To the East for heat and light;Dry your eyes, bide your time, andPly 'til the foil is bright.Say to the god of winter,

Remaindermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07548688809361354833noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1112674732185021882005-04-04T22:41:00.000-04:002005-04-13T12:48:05.433-04:00

Gentle visitors, would that any of us would have a hundred thousand well-wishers standing vigil outside our window, as we lay dying.Your humble Contributors expects something close to that number when his time comes -- only, said crowd would be peopled with angry creditors, disgruntled clients, former friends and neighbors seeking to reclaim books and various garden implements, and, of course,

Remaindermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07548688809361354833noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1112415554130732172005-04-01T22:31:00.000-05:002005-04-01T23:19:14.133-05:00

As a youngster, your humble Contributor was a huge fan of the Washington Senators. Students of baseball history would quickly note that the young Contributor had no reason for his devotion. Not since the days of Walter "Big Train" Johnson had the Senators been real contenders. In fact, the Senators your young Contributor worshipped were the second incarnation of the team -- the earlier having hit

Remaindermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07548688809361354833noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1112315646780025772005-03-31T18:54:00.000-05:002005-04-01T16:53:03.153-05:00

Michael Schiavo hired Ronald Cranford, M.D., a neurologist, to examine his estranged wife Terri a few years back, and he kept him on as one of Terri's physicians. Dr. Cranford's testimony led to the judgment that Terri was in a "persistent vegetative state." It is now widely reported that Dr. Cranford has been a long-time "right-to-die" activist, associated with the Hemlock Society (peopled by

Remaindermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07548688809361354833noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1112240632074676632005-03-30T21:48:00.000-05:002005-03-30T22:48:28.496-05:00

"Truth is a power, however, only when one requires of it no immediate effect, but has patience and figures on a long wait. Still better, when one does not in general think about its effects but wants to present truth for its own sake, for its holy, divine greatness. . . . As already said, one must have patience. Here months may mean nothing and also years. And one must have no specific aims.

palinurusnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1112110014640134512005-03-29T10:24:00.000-05:002005-03-29T11:14:15.630-05:00

Your humble Contributor far afield these days in his traditional post-Easter trip. He has now found an ether suitable for posting in a sunny bistro, empty but for his own enigmatic person. Sunny, yes -- but, it has not been so until lately. Let's listen in.Wendy: Oh, bother! I can't keep my hair in order.Gail: Do tell! A kerchief is positively useless!Reighne: Now ladies -- these are just two of

Remaindermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07548688809361354833noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1112067167878402172005-03-28T22:26:00.000-05:002005-03-28T22:39:46.010-05:00

File this under "Has Been A Nun."

palinurusnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1111904369221473892005-03-27T01:08:00.000-05:002005-03-27T18:52:20.640-05:00

"God paid a ransom to save us from the impossible road to heaven which our fathers tried to take, and the ransom he paid was not mere gold or silver. He paid for us with the precious lifeblood of Christ, the sinless, spotless Lamb of God." -- Peter 1:18-19“They took the body down from the cross and one of the few rich men among the first Christians obtained permission to bury it in a rock tomb in

palinurusnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1107917392077414582005-03-26T01:00:00.000-05:002005-03-26T00:55:35.473-05:00

The days of metal long since passed,And level dashes rounded outTo sloping vinyl frontages,And cushioned for the crash.To where the Lord cannot abide,But there, below and in between,Beside the coins and polished knobsAnd tray collecting ash.And, there, he hangs in tarnished pain,The useless magnet at his feet,Until the driver takes a turnAnd spins him to his wreck.On plastic lays the Savior's

Remaindermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07548688809361354833noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1111761187433159702005-03-25T09:35:00.000-05:002005-03-25T10:51:24.076-05:00

GREER: Pontius! Good to see you.WHITTEMORE: Caiaphas. How are you doing?GREER: I'm allright. Whew! Wall to wall. Plus, I've had my normal docket. We had to cancel the cruise, and, boy were things frosty at home. But, I think I can we can finally get away for a little bit.WHITTEMORE: Great. Not around here I hope.GREER: No. God, no. I have a friend with a villa on St. Croix. The season's slowing

Remaindermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07548688809361354833noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1111639806688061212005-03-23T23:46:00.000-05:002005-03-24T13:46:47.103-05:00

Take the cup.Pull it down between your fingers.Fill it up.Draw until it’s spilling over.Lift it to your parted lips.Knock it back.Tip until the rim is swollen.Crush it flat.Let it pass into the woven basket.Know the hour of sleep has come.And not thy will but mine be done.Stop the tap.Stare into the spotted mirror.Turn the knob.Peer into the darkened hallway.See the whorls of knotted oak.Hit the

Remaindermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07548688809361354833noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1111547529318354922005-03-22T22:45:00.000-05:002005-03-23T09:54:37.023-05:00

Strange to note that the climax of the long saga of Terri Schiavo seems to be tracking Holy Week -- the days beginning Palm Sunday, through Holy (or Maundy) Thursday, Good Friday, to Easter, which most Christians churches observe (though, the Orthodox church, often, at a different time, because of the way they calculate Easter -- a moveable feast -- on the calendar.)The "Schiavo Bill", passed by

Remaindermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07548688809361354833noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1111504258998986252005-03-22T10:09:00.000-05:002005-03-22T15:09:31.016-05:00

An old priest once told me this story.One day, a man came across a young boy carrying a banged up birdcage. Inside the cage were two small birds.“Where’d you get the birds?” the man asked.“I caught ‘em,” the boy said.“Really? What are you going to do with them?”“I don’t know,” said the boy. “Play with 'em, I guess. Shake the cage, dangle a string through the bars, tease ‘em, feed ‘em worms, I don

palinurusnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1111422346389019642005-03-21T14:50:00.000-05:002005-03-22T11:23:26.623-05:00

Hereunder has acquired a copy of the spring exam administered to the Mystic University School of Miracle Work graduate students, just before they left for Easter Break. Let's hope they studied for it. Please address one of the following three situations. 1. A small, insignificant tribe of people known as the Israelites were, until recently, enslaved in Egypt. As a class project, you have visited

Remaindermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07548688809361354833noreply@blogger.com97tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1111430683908028362005-03-21T13:41:00.000-05:002005-03-21T13:44:43.910-05:00

Check out the ending in last comment . . .

Blue Clinkershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13093561986029568740noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1111346279722998912005-03-20T14:20:00.000-05:002005-03-20T14:17:59.726-05:00

As spring breaks o’er the horizon,our minds are stirred from their winter slumberto thoughts of re-creation,In keeping with the gentler clime of this verdant season.We are called, as it were, by the lengthening of daysto pursue sports of the earth reborn:Whither the pristine greens and tees of the links,filled with idle banter, manners, and birdies,Or the dust and grit of the ballfield,sparked by

Remaindermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07548688809361354833noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1111262938252674952005-03-19T15:35:00.000-05:002005-03-19T15:40:38.960-05:00

Hard to think of a better name for a guy than Joe.Think about it. A Joe is a regular guy: nothing fancy, nothing spectacular (apparently). Just a decent, down-to-earth guy. There when you need a hand or a friend. Steady. Welcome. Regular. A Joe's very presence is often healing; his bearing, strong; his skill, athletic; his sense, down-home literary.Not all Joe's are saints: true, a few have gone

Remaindermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07548688809361354833noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1111186606793720872005-03-18T17:44:00.000-05:002005-03-18T17:56:46.793-05:00

Admittedly, this will be a self-serving sort of post that is counting on the goodwill and the expertise of Hereunder fans (you know who your are!). I'm venturing into the shadowy underworld of buying a car--a minivan. The Dodge Caravan we've had, alas, has been tempermental from the outset--time to trade her in! No regrets.I'm thinking about going to carmax.com, one of those no-haggle places. (

Blue Clinkershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13093561986029568740noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1111108230948322572005-03-17T21:35:00.000-05:002005-03-17T22:54:32.193-05:00

Girl, are ye online?I am.Well, now, I couldn't tell -- I saw somethin' like a shamrock pop up, like.Sure, that's me icon for the day. I put it up there for the Poor Relations in America.Is that the way?'Tis. Y'see, they taught it would be great fun to chat, like, on St. Paddy's day. And, sure, they tink Ireland's filled with nothin' but shamrocks.Do they?They do. And, a course, the Poor Relations

Remaindermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07548688809361354833noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1111010368176840192005-03-16T16:51:00.000-05:002005-03-18T15:02:11.783-05:00

Terri Schiavo is a 41-year old woman who is brain damaged and who some doctors say is "in a persistent vegetative state." For this reason, her husband has decided to remove the tube that gives her food and water.Terri's parents went to court to try to stop her husband. Florida's legislature has passed laws to stop her being starved and dehydrated to death. At each turn, the state courts in

palinurusnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1110948456960660812005-03-15T23:36:00.000-05:002005-03-16T07:38:37.643-05:00

This is a season of sacrifice, and your humble Contributor has joined, with his usual fervor, in this penitential period.From his Spartan practices in years past, many expect he has been surviving these last five weeks on little more than a few crumbs of stale bread and a few sips of lukewarm water each day -- all with a seemingly happy demeanor. It is true that a fast of this severity would be

Remaindermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07548688809361354833noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1110950147631624432005-03-14T23:57:00.000-05:002005-03-16T00:20:50.216-05:00

This nearly empty space stands in place of a post one of our esteemed other Contributors might have made, had he made one.Their very silence is a testament. For, words could not express the words they might have employed. And, oh!, what they might have said! Each syllable would have dripped liked honey -- though, actually, that simile wouldn't apply here, since they would not have been speaking,

Remaindermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07548688809361354833noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1110739761734607962005-03-13T21:30:00.000-05:002005-03-14T10:01:09.273-05:00

Party at the poor relations last night.Is that so?Sha. Sure, they're in a sad, awful set of circumstances now. Come down a few notches from their days in the capital. They've settled in a state named for the Blessed Mother herself; but, sure, the land is more desparate barren and tyrannical, like, than ever.Creatures!'Tis true. God forgive me, but I says, Not much good the Blessed Mother's name

Remaindermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07548688809361354833noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1110683736316478682005-03-12T22:00:00.000-05:002005-03-15T20:42:58.526-05:00

Lyrical ideas have dominated my thoughts for a long time.Or perhaps I should say that ideas about lyrics have dominated my thoughts for a long time.Popular music is a compelling expression of many things, among them, emotion, culture, and wit. The best music marries the music itself with lyrics of beauty, strength, cleverness, or humor. I hope to look at these types of lyrics in the future.But

palinurusnoreply@blogger.com27tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1110590190940952012005-03-11T21:05:00.000-05:002005-03-11T23:39:52.670-05:00

Today is the anniversary of Danny's birthday. He would have been standing in front of the candled cake, seventeen years old. Instead, his buddies came by the house to see his parents and his brother and sisters -- a wonderful family. Nothing better than friends who won't forget you. Your humble Contributor hasn't forgotten Danny -- we watched our nephew grow from birth to the brink of manhood. We

Remaindermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07548688809361354833noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1110496667569957652005-03-10T17:52:00.000-05:002005-03-10T18:17:47.570-05:00

In need of some quick reading the other day, I picked up a book off a nearby shelf entitled "The Intellectual Life," by A.D. Sertillanges. Feeling the intrepid reader despite its formidable title (fools rush in . . . ), I opened it toward the back to a rather compelling discourse about the necessity of stopping one's research--the endless gathering of just one more piece of information-- in

Blue Clinkershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13093561986029568740noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1110339128917270602005-03-08T22:30:00.000-05:002005-03-08T22:32:08.920-05:00

A shrunken, shriveled man stands below the daisWith the few and frail survivors,The tufts of his crown tossed in the wind.His right arm is markedWith the sign of David.(Remember, O most gracious virgin)(Never was it known)Someone is saying, "We must never forget...We must remember forever...,"The words whisked and flipped in the air.His mottled ears recallThe sound of wailing.(Mother of the word)

Remaindermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07548688809361354833noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1110249935912954052005-03-07T22:30:00.000-05:002005-03-07T22:36:50.203-05:00

Don Castagnari lit his cigar, puffed several times, then took it from his mouth and looked at the glowing end. Before him sat Luigi "The Lip" Pigini."Lip, I asked you to come in because -- go ahead, have a cigar -- because I need you to do a piece of work for me."The Lip took a cigar and sniffed the length of it. "Of course, boss ," he said, patting his pockets for a lighter, "Uh..., may I ask

Remaindermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07548688809361354833noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1110134741445468962005-03-06T16:25:00.000-05:002005-03-06T16:46:04.456-05:00

Last night, your humble and hep Contributor, not averse to lifting a few and shaking to some good sounds, found himself on cloud 9 in the middle of a crazy bash. True -- it is like what you call a penitential season -- but, hey, we had like a dispensation cause it was for charity, daddy-o.The tunes came from the "Hubcaps" -- and what a classy chassis they were -- hopped-up, chrome-plated hot-rods

Remaindermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07548688809361354833noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1110059250256277792005-03-05T18:00:00.000-05:002005-03-05T18:01:53.630-05:00

Many visitors complained about our apparent glorification of the doughnut and other unhealthful habits. Thus chastened, we have dusted off this daily regimen that served us so well as recently as the last century.6:30 Rise & Wash Up6:40 Morning exercise (Low-impact, mild aerobic)7:00 Breakfast:Nonfat, plain yogurt w/ wheat germWhole wheat muffinPrunes (unsweetened)Cup of hot water8:30 Watch PBS

Remaindermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07548688809361354833noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1109908078411034562005-03-04T19:30:00.000-05:002005-03-06T12:41:03.726-05:00

Some years ago, Gary Larson, the creator of "Far Side", drew a wonderful cartoon in two panels: in the top panel, a happy deceased appears at the pearly gates, where an angel hands him an instrument, saying, "Welcome to Heaven. Here's your harp;" in the bottom panel, an unhappy deceased enters the unquenchable fires, where a devil hands him an instrument, saying, "Welcome to Hell. Here's your

Remaindermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07548688809361354833noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1109912182499591382005-03-03T23:45:00.000-05:002005-03-04T11:16:46.606-05:00

In the 11th hour, feeling rather desperate (and the cyberpressure of Hereunder clan loyalty through the ether) we reach into the hat and offer . . .“Grady here!”The nightside city editor barked his greeting into the phone. As he listened, his bushy eyebrows knit together like two woolly bear caterpillars in a clinch.“Oh, for the love of Pete!” he said, now arching his eyebrows so they peeked over

Blue Clinkershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13093561986029568740noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1109822060059293212005-03-02T22:40:00.000-05:002005-03-02T23:00:34.083-05:00

There he is –The man who cleans the threshold,Working the brass footplate.I should cry, but I cannot.There.He is a brown, broad-facedMustachioed man,Wearing a light blue shirt(His name—Salvador—sewn on)On his knees this morning,His rough hands polishing.He wraps a soft clothAround a thin trowelTo reach the inverted edgeOf the tarnished tread.He is an obstacle to entrants,An oddity to those

Remaindermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07548688809361354833noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1109684992257734412005-03-01T08:45:00.000-05:002005-03-01T22:38:22.530-05:00

February was gone before your humble Contributor fully realized that it was here. Then, he recalled that this forsaken and foreshortened month was named for Februus, the Roman god of death. This may explain some of your humble Contributor's more moribund posts, hereunder.But, then again, Februus was also god of purification. Of course, this is yet another indication of the early Popish moving

Remaindermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07548688809361354833noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1109651228617073992005-02-28T23:40:00.000-05:002005-02-28T23:42:59.196-05:00

"I can see right through you."Oh, yeah?"Yeah."You're so blind. "That so?"You need me. Listen: if it wasn't for me you'd be totally lost; stumbling around; fallen in some ditch."I think I would've found my way."Yeah, right."Well... I guess it's 20/20 hindsight."Try 20/200."Well... I don't know. I had some good contacts."Oh, yeah -- they didn't last too long."Well... it didn't work out."And, you

Remaindermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07548688809361354833noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1109553421856030292005-02-27T20:08:00.000-05:002005-02-27T22:05:23.186-05:00

Drove by the skating rink yesterday. A shudder coursed through your humble driver's frame.Twenty years ago, the rink was less elegant. No wrought iron fence, or postmodern sculpture, or ornate clubhouse. Fewer encircling trees and shrubs. Then, it was just a small, shallow, frozen pond with temporary, wooden walls marking out the bounds and a booth renting skates and selling hot chocolate.

Remaindermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07548688809361354833noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1109466346615848592005-02-26T19:58:00.000-05:002005-02-26T20:13:40.853-05:00

Gentle visitors, something of a brain-teaser this one. (Note: the title is important.)"Could this really be the end?" As she watched him walking slowly into the setting sun Marilyn thought, "Could he really be leaving? ""Au revoir, my love. You will see; all will be well.""Philippe! Philippe!" she cried.He backed away from her. "If you truly love me, then you must trust me, and let me go. I must

Remaindermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07548688809361354833noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1107797069647609982005-02-25T17:00:00.000-05:002005-02-25T16:58:34.053-05:00

On the metro, a nice-looking womanIn a red kerchiefReads a pop weekly,Intently (her mouth agape):Seems a troubled performerFinally got it together,Found god in himself—Looks as pale as ever.On her lap, a vegetable platter:Carrot and cucumber,Broccoli, radish,Ring a dill dressing.The cover’s etched in lines,And angles and stars,Polygons, pentagrams—Geomancy of food.What's it for— a social occasion

Remaindermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07548688809361354833noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1109289004856904602005-02-24T17:58:00.000-05:002005-02-24T19:40:33.313-05:00

After the delights of reading yesterday's most moving rhymes, I turned for further inspiration to the smiling face on a clipping I have on my bulletin board. It's a news story of Edward P. Jones, who won the Pulitzer Prize last year for his novel The Known World, a story about life under slavery in the ante-bellum U.S. The news article reported that he (and others) had each just won $500,000

Blue Clinkershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13093561986029568740noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1109165260314458932005-02-23T08:20:00.000-05:002005-02-23T08:27:40.316-05:00

Gentle visitors, our dear Palinurus is now engaged in a very moving task. Thus, we offer a brief packing verse, below, and invite any of our gentle visitors, so inclined, to contribute their own poetic or prosaic ruminations (preferably dark or cautionary) on moving.A pox upon this empty box,Which thrice have I rebuffed;"Oh, fill me with thy vital stocks!""Oh, yeah?" says I, "Get stuffed!"

Remaindermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07548688809361354833noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1109079085973330832005-02-22T07:28:00.000-05:002005-02-22T08:31:25.976-05:00

Unusual duties found your humble Contributor up and out the door too early for decent folk this morning. Arising in darkness, long before the promise of anything like the day.It might have been worth it to see rose-fingered Dawn, stretching and throwing open the shutters; but, she slept or, at least, dozed in her bathrobe and fuzzy slippers, sending, in her stead, her first cousin Pall. Gloom

Remaindermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07548688809361354833noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1109036249294384612005-02-21T20:35:00.000-05:002005-02-21T20:37:29.296-05:00

Easy to think this is dated; but, it offers sound advice to a young nation.

Remaindermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07548688809361354833noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1108952865583154482005-02-20T20:26:00.000-05:002005-02-20T21:31:59.276-05:00

[continued from Part 1]NO. 1: You know, doc, I'm just not sure. I mean... my kids love it. We have a set in the back yard, and they'll play for hours. But, for a project like this, it's just... goofy.WELBY: To the uninitiated, perhaps. It's virtues are well documented; it's history is storied. We've just taken it one step further.NO. 1: Well, I guess a lot of other techniques have failed at far

Remaindermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07548688809361354833noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1108844478956895882005-02-19T18:18:00.000-05:002005-02-23T16:39:13.250-05:00

Gentle visitors, our investigative team has been busy pouring over recently declassified documents at the National Archives, searching for the kind of cryptic history that you can only find hereunder. We offer the following gem, which we discovered.DECLASSIFIED PER OID-DO 04-1926512/14/04************************************PROJECT CODE NAMED "ARC"CLASS: TS**********MEETING TRANSCRIPTLANGLEY -

Remaindermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07548688809361354833noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1108786634124627542005-02-18T23:16:00.000-05:002005-03-06T12:42:36.016-05:00

Sure, Himself is down with the influenza.Is that the way?'Tis. He's been laying in bed half the week, sick as you like.Ah, the creature!Oh, now, don't be taking his part now, girl. Likely as not, it's mostly put on.Oh, no.See, now, he's got the whole lot of ya bamboozled. Sure, he's a great one for puttin it on, you know. There's the dishes waitin to be washed, and next thing he's got his feet up

Remaindermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07548688809361354833noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1108701866584827062005-02-17T23:16:00.000-05:002005-02-17T23:59:56.890-05:00

If a thing is worth doing, it is worth doing badly." -- G.K. ChestertonI read with great appreciation last Friday's post, written by my good friend and skillful mainstay of this blog. I also noted with interest the perceptive posts of our thoughtful guests. It put me in mind of the following lines, written by Chesterton, almost presciently, in the years before the First World War, as though he

palinurusnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1106684430397780452005-02-16T22:30:00.000-05:002005-06-14T13:19:09.743-04:00

“You can’t make up anything anymore. The world itself is a satire. All you’re doing is recording it.” -- Art BuchwaldTomorrow is the birthday of hotel heiress Paris Hilton.Recently, Miss Hilton was arrested for suspicion of petty theft in West Hollywood, California. “There was an incident, and she is alleged to have taken something,” sheriff's Deputy Steve Suzuki said immediately following the

palinurusnoreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1108501667787209592005-02-15T15:59:00.000-05:002005-02-15T16:55:00.866-05:00

Your humble Contributor's current condition of health puts him in mind of that unusual philosopher Soren Kierkegaard, when he described the "sickness unto death".To be sick unto death is, not to be able to die--yet not as though there were hope of life; no, the hopelessness in this case is that even the last hope, death, is not available. How well he described the current condition: the mucus

Remaindermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07548688809361354833noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1108396674653181912005-02-14T09:16:00.000-05:002005-02-14T15:10:23.356-05:00

Gentle visitors, it would appear that your humble Contributor has been bitten by some love bug, such that he is now posting from his sick bed, pining and wasting as the fabled lovers of old, and also sneezing, coughing, etc.Nonetheless, ever mindful of the mournful undernourishment of the poetical glands in the general public, your humble Contributor offers, hereunder, suitable nutrition (even in

Remaindermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07548688809361354833noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1108319262599813282005-02-13T15:58:00.000-05:002005-02-14T14:45:34.896-05:00

"Tris?"Tris looked up from his desk. "Yes, dear."Isolde appeared at the door, leaning against the jamb, her legs partly crossed, a lock of hair partly veiling her eye, looking as lovely as ever. She saw the basket filled with crumpled paper, and Tris with chestnut pen in hand, a few lines jotted on a fresh sheet. "Tris, what on earth are you up to?""Oh, I tell you, Iz," he said. "I'm trying to

Remaindermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07548688809361354833noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1108159337779089142005-02-12T14:30:00.000-05:002005-02-12T15:07:38.033-05:00

Good morning, class. I am Mistress Lysias. Welcome to Rhetoric 101.I trust all of you had a good summer, visiting the Isles, splashing in the Aegean, or touring our beautiful city-states. Now, I also trust, you are ready to return to your studies.I like to begin each new semester by getting to know a little about each student. So, starting here, from the front row, please tell us your name and a

Remaindermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07548688809361354833noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1108150334627334522005-02-11T15:01:00.000-05:002005-02-11T21:54:13.350-05:00

Gentle visitors, we are embarrassed to report that the Differentiated Prose Generator (DPG) is temporarily down. Our technicians are working diligently on this glitch, and we expect to have it up and running again soon, certainly by tomorrow. We apologize for this inconvenience.In the mean time, we have been able to retrieve the post, below, from the dark corners of the archives of the Poetical

Remaindermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07548688809361354833noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1108147153488268052005-02-11T15:00:00.000-05:002005-02-11T14:58:31.333-05:00

Do not be alarmed.This is only a test.Repeat.Only a test.Placed before you... If this had been a real emergency,You would have been instructedWho you might have called,What you might have done,Where you might have soughtShelter in a worldOf decaying, half-lives.A blessing... a curse... You would have tunedInto your station,And watched your lifeFlicker before you;The picture going fuzzyIn the

Remaindermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07548688809361354833noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1108052585036743292005-02-10T10:48:00.000-05:002005-02-10T11:45:43.580-05:00

A most amazing film was re-released in its entirety after being lost (or left unwittingly) for 75 years in the closet of a Danish psychiatric hospital. "The Passion of Joan of Arc," directed by Denmark's Carl Theodor Dreyer and first released in 1927, was the big-budget French film of its time. I've forgotten exactly why the original version was lost, but some edited variations were still shown

Blue Clinkershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13093561986029568740noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1107978665224779722005-02-09T14:44:00.000-05:002005-02-09T14:51:05.223-05:00

"Remember, man, thou art dust." The place is a mess. Shifting the encircling chairs From the dining table To the corners of the room, And attacking the hard wood With a dust mop. The particles fly.... Wielding the gathered feathers, And scourging the oak, the cherry, The hackberry. The particles disperse Through a shaft of light. Seizing the upright by the throat And chasing down the motes.

Remaindermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07548688809361354833noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1107885103363727332005-02-08T13:20:00.000-05:002005-02-08T15:20:58.950-05:00

An', I s'pose you'll be beatin' up some pancakes. Ah, well, a' course. A great stack of pancakes. I've asked Himself to put a hole in the roof t'accommodate 'em. Is that the way? 'Tis. An' a great mass of rashers. Sure, more 'n the herd of two tousand swine the good Lord drove into the sea. Boy! An' will you be havin' anyone over? Well, I s'pose a few of the Poor Relations -- though some of

Remaindermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07548688809361354833noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1107823209250831582005-02-07T18:05:00.000-05:002005-02-07T21:22:39.643-05:00

Young Chan sat listening to the honorable grasshopper chirping in some unseen corner of his office. His desk was clear, and his fingers were busy tapping on the smooth luan. No telling when something would happen; but, he would be ready. Just then, the beautiful Madame Wu burst through the door. "Young Chan, come quick! Grandfather has lost his balance!" Young Chan leapt to his feet, bowing to

Remaindermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07548688809361354833noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1107699364219041142005-02-06T09:37:00.000-05:002005-02-06T11:36:09.636-05:00

Another in our series of model texts, this one actually might be used as an aid to avoid inappropriate verbal patter during the big game, for those whose sports career and interest ended at 11 years old after a terrible loss at badminton. "Hooray! Did someone score?" {No. The game hasn't started. That is just the pre-game show. }"My goodness, the game must be half over by now." {Actually, it

Remaindermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07548688809361354833noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1107647850196255242005-02-05T15:42:00.000-05:002005-02-06T14:12:11.200-05:00

Increased traffic means something else altogether sitting on the highway, barely stirring, on a Friday evening. The saddest thing lies not in the fact of it, but in the fact that we get used to it. Waiting for the brake lights to dim briefly to move forward. So, this morning, back on the highway. After ten miles, the last full stream of traffic veers off, and we continue another thirty miles

Remaindermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07548688809361354833noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1107537848839107312005-02-04T11:04:00.000-05:002005-02-04T14:27:21.573-05:00

We have had many inquiries of late concerning our commentators: Who are they? Where do they live? What do they look like? What are their backgrounds? What are their habits and predispositions? True, almost all of these inquiries came from law enforcement authorities. But, our other gentle visitors should not hastily conclude that these commentators are denizens of some seedy and seamy virtual

Remaindermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07548688809361354833noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1107454711558657612005-02-03T13:10:00.000-05:002005-02-08T13:27:34.470-05:00

Full disclosure: With some guilt, I admit that I am not a dog lover. So the following has left me both musing and wary: The president of our local civic association recently pointed out that the 2000 census had revealed that our neighborhood had the highest population of dogs in the county. This bit of information has emboldened dog owners to organize doggie gatherings via e-mail in the local

Blue Clinkershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13093561986029568740noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1107403692776910372005-02-02T23:08:00.000-05:002005-02-04T22:25:01.770-05:00

Your humble Contributor, ever mindful of the safety and edification of our gentle visitors, has these brief thoughts to pass along. Now, we are all familiar enough with doors. These days, more and more will simply open for one who approaches, provided that the generally attentive imp perched in his smokey, little glass case is alert and one's gait speed is within his range of tolerance. Then,

Remaindermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07548688809361354833noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1107316669347516242005-02-01T22:35:00.000-05:002005-02-01T23:21:41.026-05:00

What torts there lie in the tortured scrib'lings Of scriv'ners, scratching at their desks, Who answer Law's attornal calling By twisting terms to fine grotesques. The humble layman pleads at reading Th'unholy scribes pernicious scrawl: "May God preserve this writ so witless, As witness to creation's Fall." Against the quills that ink infernal, And laser lamps that, unquenched, burn, Comes now

Remaindermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07548688809361354833noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1107228341362450712005-01-31T21:39:00.000-05:002005-01-31T22:35:53.416-05:00

Dinner at the poor relations last night. Is that so? 'Tis. They have a grand place now. And, meself, in little more than a cottage. Go on with ya! Sure, 'tis true. A great, grand house like the old manor use to be. With servants, like, an' all. Sure, you could fit ten of our little lean-to's into one of them. And, look at himself, now, as proud as peacock keeping us in little more than a shed

Remaindermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07548688809361354833noreply@blogger.com45tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1107141452845187862005-01-30T20:36:00.000-05:002005-01-30T22:22:01.673-05:00

Most of our gentle visitors believe that these pages are little noted and visited -- something like a wonderful little field they find themselves looking upon, having taken the wrong exit off the interstate and driven miles down a lonely state route and broken down, and now awaiting the tow truck. We have wanted to keep it that way: for their returns visits are a classic sign of instability, and

Remaindermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07548688809361354833noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1107034215858238832005-01-29T17:16:00.000-05:002005-02-23T15:13:31.693-05:00

We suppose our gentle visitors have seen every variety of doughnut-maker resume, but this one -- another in our series of model textual communications --- may take the cake. EducationB.S. Culinary Institute of Toledo. 1990.M.S. Cleveland School of Fatty Foods. 1992.Ph.D. Instititute for Advanced Tubular Studies, Akron, Oh. 1995.ProfessionalCurator, National Doughnut Museum, Columbus, Oh. 2001 -

Remaindermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07548688809361354833noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1106946766409650412005-01-28T16:10:00.000-05:002005-01-28T19:28:05.230-05:00

Medieval philosopher/theologian/saint on the possibility of ET. We ask you: where else can you find such otherworldly portals but hereunder?

Remaindermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07548688809361354833noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1106835134619053502005-01-28T11:42:00.000-05:002005-01-28T17:23:05.036-05:00

Contributor's note: The following taken from a recently discovered text, believed to one the lost parts of the Summa Theologica of St. Thomas Aquinas. For a good example of his distinctive discourse, see here. (For the link-averse, this one might be helpful in deciphering what follows.) QUESTION 232 WHETHER IT IS MORAL TO TRAVEL TO ST. THOMAS IN WINTERObjection 1: It would seem that it is

Remaindermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07548688809361354833noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1106852443546647412005-01-27T13:28:00.000-05:002005-01-31T15:18:41.873-05:00

The headline is nothing if not hopeful. I was trying it on, as it were, on the cusp of or at the nadir of anything hopeful in that troubled land. During petitionary prayers at church, I've noticed that we pray for the military personnel in Iraq(who desperately need it for obvious reasons) for our civil leaders (ditto!) and for soldiers who have recently been killed there. But I'm suggesting that

Blue Clinkershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13093561986029568740noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1106802153453658372005-01-26T23:42:00.000-05:002005-01-27T00:36:04.656-05:00

Bertrand stood slighty hunched, his sleeves half-rolled, his mind half-there -- a man obsessed. I can't take it, he thought. Everything's going down the drain -- sinking -- and there's nothing I can do to stop it. I'm ready to throw in the towel. Each night, the same dread exchange: Him, pushing back the chair and standing up: "Tonight?" Her, looking cruelly amused: "I think you know the

Remaindermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07548688809361354833noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1106708701781301662005-01-25T22:50:00.000-05:002005-01-26T15:44:44.543-05:00

Gentle visitors, what a patient lot you are. Your humble Contributor is just back from a meeting of those poets, philosophers, seers, savants, sycophants, dilettantes, and ex-cons whose singular and largely astigmatic vision led to the creation of the pages hereunder. No doubt, at some time hence, historians and, probably, prosecutors, will sift through the unshredded documentary precursors to

Remaindermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07548688809361354833noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1106581978842689942005-01-24T10:09:00.000-05:002005-01-25T09:52:24.076-05:00

Your humble Contributor corresponding slopeside today. Gone are the halcyon days at Innsbruck and St. Anton, between assignments in Eastern Europe. Carving coded messages on the face of the mountain for the unseen eyes in the sky. Lounging fireside with the lovely but deadly snow vixens in their furry accoutrements. Prying a plank from a decrepit wood shed, and introducing the curious Austrians

Remaindermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07548688809361354833noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1106431478982428332005-01-23T13:01:00.000-05:002005-01-23T13:02:52.683-05:00

Gentle visitors, did I not warn you of the brooding presence of tetherball deniers? They're out there. Your humble Contributor was recently reminded of this by a foreboding message from an old nemesis. Dear Remainderman, Well, well, well. So, we meet again. You did not think you could hide from me forever, surely? Our resources are not what they were, but we have been methodically scanning

Remaindermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07548688809361354833noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1106442103856110642005-01-22T20:03:00.000-05:002005-01-22T20:01:43.856-05:00

Suppose that Like the curd in your coffee cup– The white, encurling speck Arising from an unexpected Turn of half-and-half, And swelling on a brew of dark and rich And flowing, And with an ebbing flick of wrist You toss him out. Or. Like the lint on your blouse's cuff– The grey, enfibered jot Emerging from a microscopic Shift of weave and thread, And clinging to a fold of dense and vast And

Remaindermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07548688809361354833noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1106349685715044062005-01-21T17:07:00.000-05:002005-01-21T18:25:21.933-05:00

Gentle visitors, so much has happened since our last report, it's hard to know where to begin (though, having already begun, [see above, "Gentle visitors, so much has happened..."] -- a kind of, I want to say, conundrum; but, that's not really it: more of a 'paradox'; yet, that might be overstating it -- we continue). [;)] The editorial offices, hereunder, were all a buzz a week ago about the

Remaindermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07548688809361354833noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1106269089693645812005-01-20T19:56:00.000-05:002005-01-21T09:31:07.796-05:00

Contributor's note: It is now apparent that our gentle visitors are too clever for these dubious mysteries.... But, here's another losing entry -- your humble Contributor still bummed over the loss of grapefruit and missed trip to Tallahassee. The enigma: what did the Japanese do? (Ethnic references are not intended as derogatory, but simply in keeping with the gritty prose of this combat piece.)

Remaindermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07548688809361354833noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1106160484160026362005-01-20T07:46:00.000-05:002005-01-20T07:48:16.013-05:00

Hard to improve on this one.

Remaindermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07548688809361354833noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1106104175735936902005-01-19T14:00:00.000-05:002005-01-19T14:38:15.796-05:00

[Contributor's Note: More craziness -- meds ran out on Sunday -- your humble Contributor cannot be held responsible.] I must say, faithful companion, I am continually amazed how much the ceiling in the rec room resembles the surface of Mars: sharp peaks, serrated ridges, disturbed plains, abrupt valleys shadowed by local incandescence. Something like inverted and roughly synchronized waves and

Remaindermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07548688809361354833noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1105238760682142542005-01-18T14:24:00.000-05:002005-01-18T15:15:39.016-05:00

Your humble contributor knew that he should not have taken the simulated mashed potatoes from Kentucky Fried, but the free prize was too tempting. (It helped that the prize was probably made in Chongqing, where Kentucky Fried is now fried.) Anyhow -- it led to a largely sleepless night. At 3:16 a.m., your restless Remainderman awoke to see a small creature standing at the foot of the bed. In the

Remaindermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07548688809361354833noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1105987032014610222005-01-17T13:10:00.000-05:002005-01-17T21:07:06.020-05:00

“I have earnestly opposed violent tension, but there is a type of constructive, nonviolent tension which is necessary for growth. Just as Socrates felt that it was necessary to create a tension in the mind so that individuals could rise from the bondage of myths and half-truths to the unfettered realm of creative analysis and objective appraisal, we must we see the need for nonviolent gadflies to

palinurusnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1105757505432416802005-01-16T11:25:00.000-05:002005-01-16T12:11:28.130-05:00

Contributor's Note: Since some of our gentle visitors imagine themselves amateur, if anonymous, sleuths, we offer the following knock-off, re-tread, dead-beat mystery. There is one twist: we will allow our gentle visitorship to offer the last few words, which will solve the real mystery. If you have it figured, please post a comment. For extra credit, please tell us what all of the characters

Remaindermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07548688809361354833noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1105814124261539512005-01-15T11:16:00.000-05:002005-01-16T11:42:57.383-05:00

Contributor's note: What with the complexity of contemporary society, many visitors (who shall remain Anonymous) have implored us for some models or templates of written discourse that might aid them in various social situations -- whether at home, at work, in the marketplace, or in the larger world. We are happy to oblige with this, the first in a planned series of models. (Your further

Remaindermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07548688809361354833noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1105758789852595242005-01-14T21:38:00.000-05:002005-01-15T00:12:07.113-05:00

Honor isn't about making the right choices. It's about dealing with the consequences. -- Midori Koto Well, here I go again. It was recently revealed that conservative columnist and television show host Armstrong Williams took a $240,000 fee from the Department of Education to run an ad on his program supporting President Bush’s “No Child Left Behind” program and to write a syndicated column

palinurusnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1105550075682492642005-01-13T19:00:00.001-05:002005-01-14T10:45:51.103-05:00

Yes, you heard me right -- a St. -- don't try to tell me otherwise. Hilary (and, for that matter, Monica) a saint, fervent in faith and heroic in virtue. The latter day saint, with the extra 'l' and without the 'y' chromosome, has been every bit as fervent. I'm not too young (unlikely) or too old (more likely) to remember way back in 1993 and the "politics of virtue" -- the notion that only

Remaindermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07548688809361354833noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1105483870484110052005-01-12T09:45:00.000-05:002005-01-12T10:15:43.280-05:00

Young Chan paced back and forth pondering the mystery that confounded him. His sharp senses, normally his forte, had gone flat. Was it the beauty of Madame Wu that befuddled him? Was she playing him for a fool? She seemed like a most upright woman. "Young Chan," she said, gripping her fan tightly, "You must take action!" Then, Young Chan heard the tiny voice in his head again: Questions are

Remaindermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07548688809361354833noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1105481486646547782005-01-11T16:39:00.000-05:002005-01-11T18:54:02.810-05:00

After reading this space last Friday, CBS Chief Leslie Moonves today broke silence and “took responsibility” for CBS’ discredited story on President Bush’s national guard service by firing three CBS news executives and the story’s producer. Those directly responsible for the airing of the piece -- CBS anchorman Dan Rather, CBS News President Andrew Heyward, and Moonves himself -- all remain in

palinurusnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1105369548189067412005-01-10T09:36:00.000-05:002005-01-10T13:35:12.036-05:00

During a trip to the beach this summer, I picked up Simon Winchester's book Krakatoa--a fascinating read about the 1883 volcanic eruption that destroyed the island of Krakatoa in Indonesia, created tsunamis that killed more than 40,000 coastal residents, and, incidentally, spewed enough ash into the earth's atmosphere to give Victorian artists and the rest of the world some startling sunsets in

Blue Clinkershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13093561986029568740noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9453776.post-1105299785269068792005-01-09T22:50:00.000-05:002005-01-09T22:52:15.806-05:00

Young Chan sat listening to the staccato of rain striking the thin roof. His desk was clear, and his fingers were busy tapping on the smooth luan. No telling when something would happen: another Shanghaied princess, another marauding Guygang, another Peping Tom -- no Fuling. He would be ready. Just then, the beautiful Madame Wu burst through the door. "Young Chan, come quick! Someone has stolen

Remaindermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07548688809361354833noreply@blogger.com1