Home

  • The Ten Weeks: Week Ten (14-20 February): When God Touches Your Life, You Are Never the Same

    The setting of the novel The Ten Weeks was exactly forty years ago. This is the last of a series of excerpts from the novel, one for each week (except for Weeks Two and Three, which were combined).

    Click here for more information on the book, including the new e-book version.

    “There are many unpleasant thoughts here,” James replied. “So let’s talk about the miracles.”

    “You don’t believe in them,” Madeleine replied, defensively. “Carla’s church has already told her that they don’t. Is yours the same?”

    “Absolutely not. We believe in miracles. I have seen them myself, prayed for them as well. We believe that you have done these things. What we don’t understand is how you did them.”

    “You have not heard. . .I invoke the Trinity, pray in the name of Jesus Christ, usually put my aloe vera on them to anoint them when I can touch them. Don’t you?”

    “Yes, but beyond that it is entirely different. Listen, we believe that the Holy Ghost is working the same way he did in the Book of Acts. It includes healings, casting out demons, all kinds of miracles. But we pray, we fast, we have altar services. Then we have many rules for our people for holiness: we do not drink, smoke, our women don’t wear jewellery or make-up of any kind, and we generally don’t go to the beach. You, you drink your wine, you go to Mass, your father smokes his pipe, you wear rings for your ears and fingers plus the bracelets, and you come to the beach in your shorts, like you did the day you came to Beran to watch tennis.”

    “This was obviously important to you.”

    “Important? It was the talk of my church and the Beran church for weeks. But that’s the problem: why is it that you, living as you do, can do the things that many of our saints do not?”

    “Perhaps the problem is that your God and the God of your ‘saints’ is too small,” Madeleine came back, desperate enough to quote an Anglican.

    “Perhaps the real problem here is that your idea of what God can do in your life is what is far too small here,” James replied deliberately and slowly.

    Madeleine stared into James’ black eyes in shock. She and Carla had been in a state of retreat since this whole adventure began, and even before that. Now she was staring in the face of someone who was putting in front of her the proposition that forward movement was possible, and that robbed her of a comeback, something she was almost never without.

    “God has picked you out for something special,” James resumed, realising he had the floor to himself. “It is obvious. And there is no limit to what he can do in your life. You could become a great healing evangelist, travelling to all parts of the world seeing more blind eyes opened and more people rise from their sick bed than you can imagine. God has given you an anointing that many people in my church only dream of. Or, you could pass on this great heritage to your children.” He stopped and saw that she winced at the thought. “Children. Of course! Nobody around here talks about them. They smoke their pot, they shoot their drugs, they make love, they take love, they talk about the university they will attend, but no one talks about the children they could have. No one! Perhaps it is better, as mean as they are. But what Pentecostal kid wouldn’t give their eye teeth to say, ‘My mother healed the blind when she was in secondary school and stood up to the government in the process.’ Or you could do both of these things, or more. And of course there is no telling who you might marry. He might be black like me, in which case those beautiful children would be the colour of your coffee.” She looked down at her cup to catch the meaning of his illustration.

    “Do you have a special someone in your life, James?” she asked, breathless from the discourse.

    “I am happy you asked,” he said, grinning. With that he took out his wallet and handed her the picture of someone she recognised immediately. She gasped.

    “It’s Elisabeth Cassidy!” she said. She looked at James wide-eyed, unable to say anything.

    “We know what you did that day,” James replied. “We know you prayed for Terry Marlowe to win and Elisabeth to lose. It was very hard on us. Elisabeth was the first person in our church to be so prominent in girls’ sports in Aloxa. She was the national champion last year and will probably do it again this year. If Denise keeps getting herself in trouble, she just might win the Collina Invitational. All of our church—all Aloxan Pentecostals, really—are very proud of her, although some in our church don’t like the clothes she has to wear to play. Before the match, some of us actually went on a fast so she could win. So we were shocked when she lost to Terry. We thought God had abandoned us. We had seen you and Terry’s grandmother praying for her. But she was the first to understand that it was God’s plan to undermine Denise. Then we knew what it meant. Besides, it wasn’t so bad because she was beaten by someone who is, I hate to say this, who is not. . .”

    “Really white,” Madeleine said.

    “Exactly. Her father is well liked in Aloxa. I think that it is terrible the way people here treat her about her race. Do you realise that you are the first girl from PC I have sat down with for dinner? I always get some kind of lame brain excuse every time I ask one. If I had known, I would have asked earlier! But it was God’s will that I court Elisabeth, we have a lot in common and she is very sweet.”

    “How long have you been seeing each other?”

    “We have grown up together. But it has been difficult since Leslie became King. He is not a Christian, and his wife Arlene—Elisabeth’s sister—is, shall we say, on the fence. Many people in her family are Christians, but we must be careful because of Arlene. We would have been engaged by now but we have decided to wait until we get to the U.S., where we can marry away from everyone. We are going to college together—at a Pentecostal school, on Royal scholarships.

    “Look, I know you are going to Europe to university. I don’t know what kind of church you need to be in to fulfil God’s plan for your life. But he has a great one for you. And, as far as this place is concerned, someday God will punish this place. When he does, you and Carla and everyone else who has been persecuted for Jesus’ sake will rise up and speak judgement against this country. When you do, I want to be there to cheer you on.”

    “So what happens if I become a specialist in education?” Madeleine asked him.

    “Then you can come back and be our Minister of Education, and I will bow to you and refer to you as ‘Your Excellency.’ We have never had a Christian Minister of Education.”

    Madeleine giggled at the idea. “You are simply too charming. What will happen when Elisabeth finds out you saw me like this?”

    “She already knows,” James replied, “and she wants me to be an encouragement to you. Besides, she wants to issue a challenge to you: she wants you and Carla to come to Beran again and play doubles with Elisabeth and Alice Fitzwilliam. Since you have been ejected from the teams, you two can only represent God. We will have a large crowd there. And, we will all pray before the match starts, not like here.”

    Madeleine thought for a minute. “She is very brave, playing people who only represent God.”

    “Like Jacob,” James replied. “But, you know, like Jacob, when God touches your life, you are never the same.”

  • The CIA Has Been Clueless for a Long Time, or "Is this stupidity, or is this treason?" Part II

    After yesterday’s boffo performance by James Clapper and Leon Panetta, conservatives are justifiably upset at our intelligence community.

    But there’s nothing new about this, as this wrap on the CIA’s (in particular) uninspiring performance in the Cold War, from Derek Leebaert’s The Fifty Year Wound: The True Price of America’s Cold War Victory should remind us:

    In a complex world, we will always be taken by surprise. What occurred during the Cold War, however, and what carries on today, is the absence of an institutional cushion – such as a top intelligence capability – to prevent the country from often stumbling badly. And from laying itself open to assault.

    In adding up the price of Cold War victory, the cost of the Central Intelligence Agency is unique. No other single government body has blundered so often in so many ways integral to its designated purpose. Yet another comprehensive review of U.S. intelligence capabilities, ordered by President Bush early in 2001, was already under way when America was attacked. Led by the director of Central Intelligence, and calling upon other establishment experts, it was focusing on ways to end bureaucratic rivalries, to cut waste, and to improve the clandestine service. Even at that time, no attention was paid to prospects for radical change – let alone going as far as Patrick Moynihan, long a member of the Senate’s Intelligence Committee, had urged: disband the Agency and give its vital analytical and intelligence gathering functions to the Pentagon (which already handles 85 percent of the intelligence community budget) and the State Department, which could then finally fund a larger, even more accomplished corps of Foreign Service Officers. Since the Agency needs to continue in some form, given that its key function is to steal secrets, it has to be smarter, which does not at all mean bigger.

    Ever since the 1970’s, conservatives have felt duty-bound to defend the CIA.  But it’s time to face reality.  Although Moynihan’s proposal isn’t the cure-all, it’s a start, and our new Congress could do worse than make major changes in the way we gather intelligence.

    And the performance of the Obama Administration in its handling of the Egyptian crisis brings this (from a 2007 post) back to memory:

    This kind of scenario invites conspiracy theorists.  And I’m sure there are people out there (such as George Soros) who are pleased with this weakening.  It’s the same question that Pavel Miliukov asked the Russian Duma in 1916 over a litany of Tsar Nicholas II’s mistakes (one of which actually buoyed the stock market:) “Is this stupidity, or is this treason?”  In the case of Imperial Russia, it was mostly the former, and I suspect that it is also the case here.  But, as Miliukov went on to say, “Choose either one, the consequences are the same.”

    And those consequences aren’t pleasant to contemplate.

  • Clarifying the French Rejection of Same Sex Civil Marriage

    Bill Muehlenberg is absolutely beside himself at the French Court of Cassation’s (their plus ou moins equivalent of our SCOTUS) rejection of same sex civil marriage:

    But the real story here is about all those places which have not legalised it, and/or have fought against it. The media tends not to play up these stories. But there have been a number of defeats for the homosexual lobby on this issue. For example just recently in France the Constitutional Council has ruled that there is no conflict between the current law banning homosexual marriage and the rights enshrined in the nation’s constitution.

    Here is how the story has been reported: “France’s Constitutional Council, its highest court for constitution issues, ruled on Friday that the country’s definition of marriage as between one man and one woman is valid under French constitution.

    “The definition was challenged by two lesbians who conceived children by artificial insemination and wanted to legally call their relationship a ‘marriage.’ They battled for rights reserved for married couples, including inheritance rights and joint custody. The case was passed to the Council by the French Court of Cassation in November and the court decision was issued on Friday.

    “The Council ruled that the ‘difference in situations of same-sex couples and couples made up of a man and a woman … can justify a difference in treatment concerning family rights.’ The panel’s decision was supported by two articles in France’s civil code ‘in conformity with the constitution’ that define marriage as the union of a man and a woman, reported the Globe and Mail.”

    The trout in the milk here is the existence of civil unions in France.

    France has had civil unions since 1999.  What’s different from what we have here, however, is that they are available to both same sex and opposite sex couples.   Since their institution civil unions have become de rigeur amongst opposite sex couples who wish legal recognition of their relationship.  This is because a) entry and exit is much simpler and b) the secular French consider marriage a religious institution, which drives them away from marriage and towards civil unions.  (Re the latter, they’re right, it is a religious institution.)

    Today 95% of civil unions are between opposite sex couples and, if present trends continue, it won’t be long before civil unions outnumber marriages.  There may be a few maudlin sentimentalists in the French LGBT community about marriage, but they’re trampled in the rush by the rest of society which is moving towards civil unions.  This may be one explanation of the French Court’s blasé attitude towards same sex civil marriage.

    It’s also worth noting that, in France, ministers of the Gospel are not allowed to be agents of the state in civil marriage.  This is why people of faith there “get married twice,” once by the state and again by the church (unless you’re King Leopold III of Belgium, in which case you reverse the order.)   Although there may well be a French law or regulation prohibiting the ecclesiastical solemnisation of a civil union, I don’t see a Biblical reason why a Christian couple can’t be united under a civil union before the state and in marriage before God.

    Personally I would prefer the state to stay out of the relationship recognition business altogether, but the French idea of civil unions for everyone is the best “Plan B” I’ve seen.   It sure beats the idiotic situation we have here in the US.

    Mr. Muehlenberg, like many advocates of “traditional marriage,” needs to do a little deeper digging before he blows the trumpet of victory.

  • The Downside to David Cameron's Attack on Multiculturism

    The right is very pleased with British PM David Cameron’s attack on multiculturalism:

    ‘Multiculturalism has failed,” said British Prime Minister David Cameron last weekend in Munich. If anybody thought they had read those words before, it is because they have. Many times. Last October German Chancellor Angela Merkel (sitting onstage with Mr. Cameron when he gave his speech on Saturday) said the same. Finally, Europe’s mainstream party leaders seem to be realizing what others have long noticed: Multiculturalism has been the most pernicious and divisive policy pursued by Western governments since World War II.

    The pleasure is shared by many conservative Christians, too, but before we pop the cork on whatever beveridge we’re celebrating with, we need to stop and think about what could happen if the bureaucracy actually heeds Cameron’s (and Merkel’s) call.

    We need to first understand that the reason why we’ve gotten to this point is that European Islam has awakened to the reality of their own religion: that public and private morality in Islam is one in the same, and that religion and politics–or the exercise of power–are intimately intertwined, more so than Christian Europe ever managed to make them one.  Muslims in Europe have thus managed to transform a religious importation into a power challenge, and a critical mass of Europe’s denizens, many of whom instinctively understood this, have finally connected the dots to the existential threat.

    But scrapping multiculturalism leads to the next question: which culture will we impose on the masses?  It’s unlikely at this stage that Europe will revert en masse to its Christian roots.  That leaves secularism, and if you read what many secularists write, you will realise that their idea of the unity of the public and private is little different than their Islamic counterparts.

    Although Europe needs to realise whatever culture it has is on the line here, depending upon how Europe solves its problem, we as Christians may end up sharing jail cells with jihadis.

  • Sister Juliana Garza: Mixed Expressions and Communion Muse

    Today a great deal of Roman Catholic “folk” music used in parishes tends towards the bland and trite. Much of the blame for this can be laid at OCP’s feet, and that fact has been an impetus towards the restoration of more “traditional” music in Masses, an impetus that has come from the Holy See itself.

    But during the 1960’s and 1970’s, when much of the music had its genesis, the possibilities for real creativity were more easily exploited. Although composers and performers of that era were just as capable of mediocrity as their current counterparts, there were some really outstanding ones, many whose work has been forgotten. One of the best examples–in every sense of the word–is Sister Juliana Garza.

    Sister Juliana was originally from North Hollywood, California.  She made a profession with the Sisters of Charity of Providence in Seattle, Washington, but not before she was learning and making music.  From here:

    She was raised in an atmosphere conducive to the development of her talent. Her father, who has taught Spanish classical guitar, interested his daughter at an early age in the instrument she now uses to accompany her songs. By the time she was twelve she and her father had spent many recreative hours playing the guitar together. During her late teens Juliana began singing professionally, with folk and popular music her main interest.

    Mixed Expressions (Audio Recording ARL-1223, 1967)

    That background is very much in evidence with this, her first recording.  Although her vocal range sometimes doesn’t quite get to the edge of the envelope she pushes it to, Juliana Garza is a skilled classical guitarist, a very deft composer and lyricist (something that is desperately missing from so much music today,) and her vocals are authentic and clear. Some of her folk approaches a British folk ballad style. The result is an album that, at times, blows one away. An example of this is “The Love of Our God,” featured in this YouTube video:

    As she described when the album came out:

    “The songs I write have already been written,” says Sister Juliana. “They have been written in the wind, the sky, the trees, in all that pass me by. I have just paused to listen and write them down. The artist rearranges what he sees and thereby creates a new expression of life. This is what I have tried to do. I have gathered what I have learned and what I have seen and thought about and unified it in song. To all who listen let expression be individual so that the thoughts grow, for only then will these songs find meaning.”

    The songs:

    • The Time Is Now
    • Forest Of Plenty
    • Days Of September
    • Comes Winter
    • Virgin’s Lullaby
    • The Sun Is Now Shining
    • Sparkle and Shine
    • The Love of Our God
    • The Wind Will Blow
    • Mary Immaculate
    • Heart Of Christ
    • The Sky’s A Dying
    • The Loved One
    • Someone’s Not For Crying
    • Bring Him All Of Your Troubles
    • All The Days

    In addition to Sister Juliana’s vocals and guitar, she was assisted in the recording by Sisters Mary Margaret Lang, Mary Ann Costello and Ann Mary Dussault.

    Communion Muse (NALR 31608/8, 1973)

    Artists sometimes get into a formula rut where that formula either stays the same or deteriorates. But that’s not the case here; after a six year hiatus, some of which was back in her native California, Garza is back with a band. The result is an avant-garde masterpiece that deserves to take its place with the best of them. One difficulty that may have hampered her acceptance in “mainstream” Catholic music is the fact that both this and the previous album are more at home in a coffeehouse (or, in the case of pieces like “Uncertain Tide,” in a club) than at Mass, but “We Come To Your Table” is a masterpiece that made many a communion special.

    At the time the album was made, she was teaching at Immaculate High School in Seattle.  She had this to say here about her music:

    “Composing songs is a form of prayer for me,” commented Sister Juliana Garza as she waits for “Communion Muse,” her second record, to be released at the end of February.

    “Music springs out of life situations,” according to Sister Juliana. Four of her songs on “Communion Muse” are social comment. The “Migrant” resulted from Sister’s working with the migrants in the Yakima Valley two years ago. And “Winter” is about the hippies; their quest for living life now and not wanting to be crushed by society.

    “An artist is a person who expresses outwardly what people feel inwardly and I am an artist,” said Sister Juliana. “The songs I write express my feelings about God; they come from who I am, and that has to be shared. One of the reasons I sing is that there are people who will listen.”

    The songs individually:

    • Celebrate
    • Communion Muse
    • Migrant
    • When It’s Time
    • Pardon Me
    • Uncertain Tide
    • It’s All Right
    • We Come To Your Table
    • Psalm 83
    • Winter
    • Peace Be To You
    • Our Father

    At the time the album was made, she had a contract with NALR for three albums, but to my knowledge the other two were never made.  Catholic music took another direction, one more predictable and easier for parishes to digest (if not necessarily the parishioners) but without the artistic flair of which Sister Juliana Garza was a master.

    Click here for all of our music offerings

    , ,

  • The Ten Weeks: Week Nine (7-13 February): A Little Corporal Punishment for the Road

    The setting of the novel The Ten Weeks was exactly forty years ago. This is one of a series of excerpts from the novel, one for each week (except for Weeks Two and Three, which were combined).

    Click here for more information on the book, including the new e-book version.

    Coleman reviewed the police file that Bancroft had assembled and handed it to his deputy. He turned and faced the two boys, his girth blocking their view of the deputy taking notes.

    “Where were you about 2100 last night?” Coleman asked.

    “Uh. . .I think that was when I got to the tavern, the Flying Dutchman.”

    “Alone?”

    “Why does the church care about that?” Jack asked.

    “You better answer him,” Rick said. “He’s figured it out.”

    “Your friend is wise again,” Coleman said. “Just to educate you on our system here, the Ecclesiastical Constable has jurisdiction over all matters relating to the Church—internal discipline, unlawful religious activity, truancy and other serious matters in school, and of course theft and abuse of church property. Every now and then the King’s officers will deputise us to handle matters that we have some interest in. This is what has happened here. You would probably be sitting in their room rather than mine if you hadn’t exercised the poor judgement of using the sexton’s truck of the Church of St. Mark’s to go ‘bar hopping,’ as you Verecundans like to say, with Miss Denise Kendall. But now the entire matter— including her admission of unlawful conjugal activity—is in my purview.”

    “I didn’t do anything! She never said that!” Jack exclaimed.

    “I’m afraid she did,” Coleman said. He handed Jack a copy of her confession. The two boys read it in shock.

    “She’s lying!” Jack said. “It’s her word against mine. She hates me, that’s why she did this.”

    “I have no doubt that Miss Kendall hates you, and for good reason,” Coleman agreed. “But we have several other witnesses that have informed us that you did not leave the Flying Dutchman until after midnight, that you rented and paid for the room she came out of unclothed two hours later, and that you left your seed on the bedsheets for good measure.” He showed Jack the Polaroid photograph of the last piece of evidence.

    “She did it with somebody else! I just rented the room because she was drunk and almost passed out.”

    “So why didn’t you just take her back to the guest house, like the knight in shining armour you claim to me?” the deputy asked. Jack had no comeback to that last question.

    “I want to speak with my ambassador! And why did you guys release her anyway? It takes two.”

    “Miss Kendall carries a diplomatic passport,” Coleman reminded Jack. “Your ambassador came round last night to handle that crisis. As a practical matter, although I am no expert on Verecundan politics, I would think that your attempts to get either assistance or sympathy from your government would fall on deaf ears, if you know what I’m talking about.” Jack knew exactly what he was talking about when he said that.

    “Now, as I see it, we have two choices. You can be formally arrested and charged with unlawful conjugal relations and your unauthorised use of Church property.” He turned to Rick. “And you can be charged as his accomplice, since you allowed his use of the truck. Both of you can find yourself fighting these charges in a system that does not have habeas corpus and which is subject to royal decree should His Majesty, in consultation with our dear Bishop, decide that he is tired of dealing with barnacles like you two. Or, you can admit your guilt, allow me to administer a little corporal punishment, and be on your way. In your case,” he looked at Jack, “that will be straight to your boat in Drago and out of our country for good.”

    Jack thought for a minute. “I was kinda hoping to be Reverend Langley’s acolyte at early Communion tomorrow before heading back. For old times sake.”

    Coleman thought about it. “All right, if both of you will take your beating, we’ll do it. The Drago constabulary will be watching you like a hawk and, of course, you’ll be in the church close, so you’ll still be under my jurisdiction. And, of course, by that time the burden of your sins will be intolerable, I can assure you.”

    Jack and Rick looked at each other and nodded in assent. “It’s a deal,” Rick said. Coleman’s deputy got up and left the room with the paperwork, and returned with Coleman’s razor strap. Both Jack and Rick’s eyes widened when they beheld this, the favourite instrument of punishment of the Ecclesiastical Constabulary for younger offenders.

    “Take your clothes off,” he said. They both stripped down to their underwear. “All of them!” he barked.

    “Huh?” Jack breathed.

    “It’s the way they do it up here,” Rick explained. “That’s the way Athena’s mom beats her.” They complied with this.

    “Mr. Arnold, you’re first. Bend over on the chair,” Coleman said. Jack knelt on the floor and bent over with his elbows on the chair. Both Rick and the deputy stood back as Coleman assumed his position, doubled over the razor strap, drew back, and lashed the strap across Jack’s hind quarters.

    Jack had felt his father’s belt from time to time, but the pain he felt from Coleman’s first blow was far more excruciating than he had ever felt before in his life for any reason. He tried to count the strokes, but somewhere in the process he lost consciousness and fell onto the floor. The deputy simply pulled his body out of the way and Coleman proceeded to administer Rick the same punishment, albeit with fewer strokes because his offence was less.

    Coleman finished Rick’s beating and admired his handiwork. “Get dressed,” he ordered Rick. “And get his clothes on, too,” he said, pointing at Jack. Both Coleman and the deputy left the room, closed and locked the door behind them. Rick got dressed while trying to hold his composure, but when he got a good look at the damage Coleman had wrought on Jack, he began to cry, a sobbing that became more intense as he horsed Jack’s clothes on him. When Rick finished that task, he dried his eyes the best he could to conceal his sorrow, then he beat on the door.

    “We’re ready. Get us out of here!” he shouted. The deputy opened the door and, seeing that Rick was having trouble manhandling Jack, helped him carry Jack to the St. Mark’s truck. They spread out a blanket and put him face down in the bed. He showed a little life but not much.

    “The deputy will follow you back to Drago,” Coleman said. “You’re paperwork is clear. Don’t you ever let this kind of thing happen with church property again.”

    “No, sir,” Rick promised. Rick got into the truck, which was painful for him to sit in, started it up, and pulled out into the road that led him back home, the deputy following him all the way through Fort Albert and back to the parish close at St. Mark’s.

  • Hymn for the Fifth Sunday in Epiphany

    The Epistle for the Fifth Sunday in Epiphany (which we don’t always get to, but this year Easter is very late) is as follows:

    Therefore, as God’s People, consecrated and dear to him, clothe yourselves with tenderness of heart, kindliness, humility, gentleness, forbearance; Bearing with one another, and, when there is any ground for complaint, forgiving one another freely. As the Master freely forgave you, so you must forgive one another. Over all these virtues put on love; for that is the girdle which makes all complete. Let the Peace that the Christ gives decide all doubts within your hearts; for you also were called to the enjoyment of peace as members of one Body. And show yourselves thankful. Let the Message of the Christ dwell in your minds in all its wealth, bringing all wisdom with it. Teach and admonish one another with psalms, and hymns, and sacred songs, full of the loving-kindness of God, lifting your hearts in song to him. And, whatever you say or do, do everything in the Name of the Lord Jesus; and through him offer thanksgiving to God the father. (Colossians 3:12-17, Positive Infinity New Testament.)

    A very nice musical rendition of this is the “Hymn from Colossians,” from the School Sisters of Notre Dame’s album Choose Life.  You can hear it with the YouTube link below.

    , ,

  • Michelle Obama: "Great Barbecue" is a Relative Term

    Michelle Obama is catching heat for referring to Charlotte, NC’s, great barbecue:

    In listing Charlotte’s many virtues, Obama named southern charm, hospitality, diversity — “And of course, great barbecue.”

    That was news to residents, who know that North Carolina’s best barbecue lies farther afield. “We appreciate the compliments, and they’re all spot-on until that last one,” the editorial board of the Charlotte Observer newspaper wrote in a blog post titled, “Charlotte = great barbecue? Who knew?“

    I’m not a fan of either Obama, but we should cut her some slack here.

    Barbecue is this country’s gourmet cuisine in many ways and, like many gourmet cuisines, it varies from place to place, both in the way it’s prepared and its quality.  For example, here in Tennessee Memphis style barbecue is predominant, but in the Carolinas it’s entirely different (as I found out the first time visiting my wife’s relatives in Union, SC.)  Even the meat is different: both Memphis and Carolina barbecues tend to be pork, but the Texans pretty much stick with beef (which they learned to barbecue in the days when beef was range fed, range run and otherwise tougher than old boot.)

    But let’s face it: for someone who grew up in a region whose cuisine’s blandness is legendary and where “barbecue” is anything thrown on a grill, Charlotte (or any other city in the Old Confederacy) has great barbecue.  (Now that she lives in the town which combines Northern charm with Southern efficiency, that’s even more the case.)  Residents of the Queen City may think that they have to drive to Lexington to hit the spot with barbecue, but those who have in the past lived a few hundred kilometres north won’t complain about what they get in Charlotte.

    Eat up, Michelle.  It’s good for you.

  • Schumer and His Three Branches of Government

    Liberals didn’t like the idea of reading the Constitution in the House.  What they didn’t realise is that the wrong “branch of government” did the reading:

    No wonder people don’t like civics classes…if our legislators don’t understand how this system works, why should they?

  • The Ten Weeks: Week Eight (31 January-6 February): Before Texting, We Actually Had to Talk on the Phone

    The setting of the novel The Ten Weeks was exactly forty years ago. This is one of a series of excerpts from the novel, one for each week (except for Weeks Two and Three, which were combined).

    Click here for more information on the book, including the new e-book version.

    Alemara Academy was a little less than halfway between Alemara town and Driscoll, which meant that it was out by itself. Although it was only about three hundred metres from the sound, it was beyond the best of the long, broad beach that made the town famous. They pulled up through the school’s front entrance.

    “That school in Aloxa has a lot better set-up than this dump,” Jack remarked, recalling Beran-Williamstown’s better physical plant.

    Pete looked at his watch. “The girls should be around there somewhere about now. I wouldn’t take their trip for anything, even with these landlubbers we’re stuck with.”

    The tennis courts were on par with everything else at the school. The fences, windbreakers, bleachers and asphalt courts themselves had seen better days. Their team was there and practising. Point Collina’s team had to take the entire day off from school for this match, and although the Academy team was home this year, the 1100 start time dug into their own academic schedule. The home team cleared the courts long enough for the visitors to practice while the coaches and captains met to figure things out.

    The two teams came out, shook hands, and the matches began. The Academy was competitive in a few slots but Point Collina’s team depth worked against them. One of the Academy’s less proficient players was Raymond des Cieux, who unlike Carla had not taken lessons from his sister. Raymond was at the bottom of the singles ladder and Jack was at third, so while others were playing Jack came over and motioned to Raymond to pull away from the bench and talk with him.

    “You still glad you’re not on the Point this year?” Jack asked Raymond.

    “It’s all right up here,” Raymond replied. “But it’s better than the Point.”

    “I gotta kinda hard question for you?”

    “Hard question? For me?”

    “Yeah.” Jack hesitated. “How is the best way to ask your sister out?”

    “You could try telephoning her,” Raymond calmly answered him.

    “Nobody likes a. . .I know that. What I mean is, how do I do it so she won’t say no?”

    “You’ve had a lot of girl friends. One of them must have said no. I haven’t had too many, but some of them have said no to me. So what’s the big deal for you?”

    “Well, man, from what I hear, when she says no, it hurts. Besides. . .I don’t know how to say this, but I’ve never asked a girl quite like her out before.”

    “She is unique,” Raymond agreed.

    “So, what does she like? And don’t like?”

    “She likes fine food, like we eat at home. So you should consider a nice place, like the Resort, where she can order something reasonably good and perhaps have a little wine without too many questions.”

    “Does she drink a lot?”

    “Not much. And only with meals. It is the way we were brought up. She is not the kind to go out and get drunk like the last girlfriend you had.”

    “You would bring that up.”

    “You might also try going to Mass with her—she likes that in a boyfriend.”

    “That’s going to be hard.”

    “Why?”

    “Because my old man hates the Catholic Church. It’s cool with me. My sister Cat’s already in trouble for going there with her friend Terry Marlowe.”

    “C’est tres triste. . .you are passing some very sweet women by when you miss Mass. Take your sister’s friend—now that’s a girl I’m afraid to ask out.”

    “How come?”

    “Because she comes from such a great family, and she is so tall and beautiful—Papa says she reminds him of the women he used to see in Indochina.”

    “Vietnam?”

    “Yes, my family lived there when Madeleine was born.”

    “She was born in Vietnam?”

    “She was. We’ve lived in many places.”

    “Cool. So you’re chicken, too.”

    Raymond looked at the ground. “I guess so.”

    “Just give me her phone number,” Jack finally said. Raymond went and borrowed a pencil, wrote it on a piece of scrap paper, and handed it to Jack. “Thanks,” Jack said.

Design a site like this with WordPress.com
Get started