28 October 2011: Feast of St. Ferrutius.
Showing posts with label Church. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Church. Show all posts
"Now conveniently in rear rows!"
Our lives are filled these days with modern conveniences.* One more and I'm headed straight back to the 12th century. Anymore, etiquette is dictated by these boons of technology.
As an example, upon arrival at church, one should turn off the cell phone. Taking calls in the Confessional is generally frowned upon--even if you are the priest.
Another point of churchly etiquette was brought up in a bulletin from Florida I recently perused. It asks that late arrivals during Mass take seats in the back rather than create a disturbance and distraction by walking down toward the front via the main aisle. Unfortunately, every Sunday Mass (and not a few daily) I've attended, the last four rows are packed with early arrivals. The only spaces left are from the front back.
Apparently, if one sits way in the back, Father can't use his priest-vision to see the dark deeds of one's heart. Also, a lot of this last row thing, I think, started with Jesus' story of the Pharisee and the publican. The Pharisees, now being wise to how things work, sit in the farthest rows to remind all that they are holy by being humble enough to sit in the last rows.
So with the folks attempting to avoid priest powers, those reminding others of their final destinations, the young parents with squalling babies trying to escape other young parents with squalling babies in the"cry room," the ushers playing poker and talking baseball while waiting to take up the collection, and, of course, old poots like me who need the shortest limp to the restrooms, those last rows would give a sardine claustrophobia.
* Convenience: (old middle Wendish) noun. 1. A source of exasperation. 2. A blot on the face of technology. 3. an excuse to pay 100-150% more for an item.
11 October 2010: Feast of St. Peter Tuy. Day did not exist in Italy, Portugal, Poland, or Spain because of implementation of Gregorian calendar 1582, sack of Wexford by Cromwell 1649, Battle of Valcour Island in Lake Champlain 1776, J.E.B. Stuart loots Chambersburg, Pennsylvania 1862, Vatican II begins 1962.
As an example, upon arrival at church, one should turn off the cell phone. Taking calls in the Confessional is generally frowned upon--even if you are the priest.
Another point of churchly etiquette was brought up in a bulletin from Florida I recently perused. It asks that late arrivals during Mass take seats in the back rather than create a disturbance and distraction by walking down toward the front via the main aisle. Unfortunately, every Sunday Mass (and not a few daily) I've attended, the last four rows are packed with early arrivals. The only spaces left are from the front back.
Apparently, if one sits way in the back, Father can't use his priest-vision to see the dark deeds of one's heart. Also, a lot of this last row thing, I think, started with Jesus' story of the Pharisee and the publican. The Pharisees, now being wise to how things work, sit in the farthest rows to remind all that they are holy by being humble enough to sit in the last rows.
So with the folks attempting to avoid priest powers, those reminding others of their final destinations, the young parents with squalling babies trying to escape other young parents with squalling babies in the"cry room," the ushers playing poker and talking baseball while waiting to take up the collection, and, of course, old poots like me who need the shortest limp to the restrooms, those last rows would give a sardine claustrophobia.
* Convenience: (old middle Wendish) noun. 1. A source of exasperation. 2. A blot on the face of technology. 3. an excuse to pay 100-150% more for an item.
11 October 2010: Feast of St. Peter Tuy. Day did not exist in Italy, Portugal, Poland, or Spain because of implementation of Gregorian calendar 1582, sack of Wexford by Cromwell 1649, Battle of Valcour Island in Lake Champlain 1776, J.E.B. Stuart loots Chambersburg, Pennsylvania 1862, Vatican II begins 1962.
Irreconcilable Differences: Catholics and Euterpe
(I'm putting this post up a bit early as I'm going into drydock Tuesday for repairs and modifications to my port side aural sensor and may not feel like fooling with it Wednesday.)
Why don't Catholics sing in church? This is a question that has pestered those who worry about such things since St. Peter first ran through his prayers while vesting. The propensity to break into song at the proper places during the Mass is the thing that gives away onetime Protestant converts and the odd misdirected Low Church Anglicans who stumble in Sunday mornings.
There are a number of possible explanations that have been mooted. Some of my favorites are:
1. They are harking back to the early Church when to be heard tended to result in court action before a scowling Roman judge followed by the attentions of a non-scowling lion or six?
2. The have trouble remembering how to correctly pronounce unfamiliar Latin words such as "Holy Spirit," "Virgin Mother of God," "Heavenly host," etc.?
3. Speaking of hosts--or rather the Host, they're afraid they'll be caught with one in their mouth in the middle of a hymn with the end result of being either quite rude or worse, being guilty of violating some stricture of Canon Law?
4. They're afraid the lector gave the wrong hymn number and the ones posted are actually left over from the last funeral, wedding, Bar Mitzvah (hey, collections are down and that new roof ain't going to pay for itself!)?
5. They're confused about where in the two hymn books (one paperback, one hardback), worship guide, hymnal, missal, and three handouts to find the right song?
6. They've given up singing anything not by (Saints?) Peter, Paul, & Mary or the Iron Butterfly for Lent?
7. The tunes stink? (This one is a non-starter--we stole all the good ones...okay, borrowed lovingly in a blatant act of galloping ecumenism all the good ones from the Protestants.)
Needless to say (but I'll say it anyway just for kicks), none of this is a problem for yours truly. I sing. When one reaches my advanced age, one is so sour, twisted, and bloody-minded that it fails to bother one in the least that fellow worshipers around him have bleeding ears.
Speaking of music, catch the Huron Carol on Heather Dale's album, "This Endris Night." It's available for download from iTunes and Amazon.com. (Bought it myself, oh minions of the FTC.) I ran across this courtesy of the water-loving Cat up in the wilds of Canada. Here's the link: Click here non -techies.
8 September 2010: Feast of Bl. Dominic of Nagasaki. Titus sacks Jerusalem 70 AD, Knights of Malta defeat Turkish siege 1565, French and Indian War Battle of Lake George 1755, Second Battle of Sabine Pass 1863, first V2 hits London 1944, "Star Trek" premiers on NBC 1966.
Why don't Catholics sing in church? This is a question that has pestered those who worry about such things since St. Peter first ran through his prayers while vesting. The propensity to break into song at the proper places during the Mass is the thing that gives away onetime Protestant converts and the odd misdirected Low Church Anglicans who stumble in Sunday mornings.
There are a number of possible explanations that have been mooted. Some of my favorites are:
1. They are harking back to the early Church when to be heard tended to result in court action before a scowling Roman judge followed by the attentions of a non-scowling lion or six?
2. The have trouble remembering how to correctly pronounce unfamiliar Latin words such as "Holy Spirit," "Virgin Mother of God," "Heavenly host," etc.?
3. Speaking of hosts--or rather the Host, they're afraid they'll be caught with one in their mouth in the middle of a hymn with the end result of being either quite rude or worse, being guilty of violating some stricture of Canon Law?
4. They're afraid the lector gave the wrong hymn number and the ones posted are actually left over from the last funeral, wedding, Bar Mitzvah (hey, collections are down and that new roof ain't going to pay for itself!)?
5. They're confused about where in the two hymn books (one paperback, one hardback), worship guide, hymnal, missal, and three handouts to find the right song?
6. They've given up singing anything not by (Saints?) Peter, Paul, & Mary or the Iron Butterfly for Lent?
7. The tunes stink? (This one is a non-starter--we stole all the good ones...okay, borrowed lovingly in a blatant act of galloping ecumenism all the good ones from the Protestants.)
Needless to say (but I'll say it anyway just for kicks), none of this is a problem for yours truly. I sing. When one reaches my advanced age, one is so sour, twisted, and bloody-minded that it fails to bother one in the least that fellow worshipers around him have bleeding ears.
Speaking of music, catch the Huron Carol on Heather Dale's album, "This Endris Night." It's available for download from iTunes and Amazon.com. (Bought it myself, oh minions of the FTC.) I ran across this courtesy of the water-loving Cat up in the wilds of Canada. Here's the link: Click here non -techies.
8 September 2010: Feast of Bl. Dominic of Nagasaki. Titus sacks Jerusalem 70 AD, Knights of Malta defeat Turkish siege 1565, French and Indian War Battle of Lake George 1755, Second Battle of Sabine Pass 1863, first V2 hits London 1944, "Star Trek" premiers on NBC 1966.
Karina Fabian strikes!
Being the normally lazy sort I am, I tend not to put myself out blogging. Fortunately (or unfortunately), Karina Fabian, our lady of dragons, sent me a work of the musical kind sparked by my blog entry of yesterday (scroll down). My assumption is that this is suggested as incidental music for funerary celebrations in the Diocese of Pittsburgh. At the bottom is the various places online where Karina can be found (this is provided as a service to the hard working gentlemen of the Holy Office of the Inquisition in order that they go after her first, rather than me).
Oh! Holy Gas
Oh! Holy gas
We know you come from Grandma.
She's in the grave. Ash to ash, dust to dust
Oil's from dinosaurs
But gas now comes from Grandma.
We turn on lights, and we say a prayer for her.
Pittsburgh says, the graveyard's safe for drilling
The money's good, pays their utilities
O! Please don't smoke
At funerals or you'll blow up!
O! Na-a-tural gas
O fuel! Oh gas!
O gas from Grandma's tomb.
Karina L.Fabian, 19 August 2010
Fabianspace
Dragon Eye, P.I.
Facebook
Kickstart Marketing
20 August 2010: Feast of St. Philibert. Battle of Yarmouk 636, St. Stephen founds Hungarian state - National Day 1000, Battle of Fallen Timbers 1794, President Andrew Johnson declares end of War Between the States 1866, Leon Trosky fatally wounded in Mexico City 1940, Soviets invade Czechoslovakia 1968.
Oh! Holy Gas
Oh! Holy gas
We know you come from Grandma.
She's in the grave. Ash to ash, dust to dust
Oil's from dinosaurs
But gas now comes from Grandma.
We turn on lights, and we say a prayer for her.
Pittsburgh says, the graveyard's safe for drilling
The money's good, pays their utilities
O! Please don't smoke
At funerals or you'll blow up!
O! Na-a-tural gas
O fuel! Oh gas!
O gas from Grandma's tomb.
Karina L.Fabian, 19 August 2010
Fabianspace
Dragon Eye, P.I.
Kickstart Marketing
20 August 2010: Feast of St. Philibert. Battle of Yarmouk 636, St. Stephen founds Hungarian state - National Day 1000, Battle of Fallen Timbers 1794, President Andrew Johnson declares end of War Between the States 1866, Leon Trosky fatally wounded in Mexico City 1940, Soviets invade Czechoslovakia 1968.
Catholic Athletics and the Mass.
Pentecostals may speak in tongues but Catholics have track meets each Sunday.
One of the sacramentals of the Catholic Church (at least in the U.S.) is the race to beat Father down the aisle after Communion, otherwise known as "The Running for the Doors." Apparently, the point of this part of the liturgy is to allow the parishioner to run out the door as early as possible thus demonstrating that with the consumption of the Bread of Life, one is ready to immediately pitch back into the battle with the world as one winds one's way to Heaven.
The race begins with the "hand-off" when the host is placed either in the communicant's hand or on their tongue. The athlete then consumes it and makes the sign of the cross, signifying the race has begun, and starts for the back of the church avoiding returning to the pew he or she had occupied during the countdown before Communion. The idea is to beat Father to the back of the church after he finishes the Mass. The starting gun as it were for Father is the utterance of the phrase, "The Mass is ended, go in peace," either by a deacon or Father himself.
According to those who know (or at least say they do), this ritual has taken place as long as anyone living can remember. An earlier version involved the celebrant leaving by a door toward the front of the church, but this was changed after Vatican II in order to heighten the athletic drama. Watching the race each Sunday, I've come to the opinion that it is an uneven competition. One of the things I think our Church should stand for in all things is fairness. While I am a neo in matters of theology and liturgy, I have a couple of suggestions that might even things up between celebrant and communicant.
First, I believe Father's vestments should be modified. The chasuble and alb should be shortened and Father should be encouraged to wear running shorts and shoes, the colors of which should match the season.
Second, the ushers should be tasked with blocking and tackling the communicants.
Third, every competing communicant should be required to wear a scapula bearing a number (these may be roman numerals to reflect the return of the Latin Mass), so that the charging ushers may discriminate between competitors and old poots like myself just heading for the bathrooms.
Fourth and finally, the races should be scored and documented so they may be communicated to the sports editor at the diocesan newspaper for inclusion each week. This could also be used to set up pools as a source of income for those jaded with bingo, raffles, and casino nights.
All in all, I see no reason why the Church should not profit by an apparently eternal fact of life.
29 April 2010: The Feast of St. Hugh the Great. Moors land at Gibraltar 711, Joan of Arc raises siege of Orleans 1429, New Orleans captured by Federals 1862, Dachau liberated 1945.
One of the sacramentals of the Catholic Church (at least in the U.S.) is the race to beat Father down the aisle after Communion, otherwise known as "The Running for the Doors." Apparently, the point of this part of the liturgy is to allow the parishioner to run out the door as early as possible thus demonstrating that with the consumption of the Bread of Life, one is ready to immediately pitch back into the battle with the world as one winds one's way to Heaven.
The race begins with the "hand-off" when the host is placed either in the communicant's hand or on their tongue. The athlete then consumes it and makes the sign of the cross, signifying the race has begun, and starts for the back of the church avoiding returning to the pew he or she had occupied during the countdown before Communion. The idea is to beat Father to the back of the church after he finishes the Mass. The starting gun as it were for Father is the utterance of the phrase, "The Mass is ended, go in peace," either by a deacon or Father himself.
According to those who know (or at least say they do), this ritual has taken place as long as anyone living can remember. An earlier version involved the celebrant leaving by a door toward the front of the church, but this was changed after Vatican II in order to heighten the athletic drama. Watching the race each Sunday, I've come to the opinion that it is an uneven competition. One of the things I think our Church should stand for in all things is fairness. While I am a neo in matters of theology and liturgy, I have a couple of suggestions that might even things up between celebrant and communicant.
First, I believe Father's vestments should be modified. The chasuble and alb should be shortened and Father should be encouraged to wear running shorts and shoes, the colors of which should match the season.
Second, the ushers should be tasked with blocking and tackling the communicants.
Third, every competing communicant should be required to wear a scapula bearing a number (these may be roman numerals to reflect the return of the Latin Mass), so that the charging ushers may discriminate between competitors and old poots like myself just heading for the bathrooms.
Fourth and finally, the races should be scored and documented so they may be communicated to the sports editor at the diocesan newspaper for inclusion each week. This could also be used to set up pools as a source of income for those jaded with bingo, raffles, and casino nights.
All in all, I see no reason why the Church should not profit by an apparently eternal fact of life.
29 April 2010: The Feast of St. Hugh the Great. Moors land at Gibraltar 711, Joan of Arc raises siege of Orleans 1429, New Orleans captured by Federals 1862, Dachau liberated 1945.
Lighting up for Easter.
I've often thought Easter is best described as a party preceded by a forty-day hangover.
For my own part, the lead up to the most important day of the year tends to make me walk small. I am by nature a silent grumbler. Aside from "teaching moment" explosions, I generally keep my mouth shut. The downside is I'm often doing a slow burn (the upside is I don't bother saying, "I told you so," which drives people nuts waiting for it). I come into church totally bummed out by the weight of my problems and flop in the pew. I look up at the Crucifix and Jesus looks back at me and says, "You think you got problems?" Looking at what He puts up with from us, yeah, mine are pretty small potatoes.
Things get really dark by Holy Saturday. And, then, just after nightfall, a light appears--a single candle that spreads throughout the world.
We used to go to the Saturday evening Mass up at a retreat house run by some Franciscans. Just outside the chapel, there would be a little brazier for a small fire from which to light the first candle. One year, we had an enthusiastic new young priest celebrating. The old priest, Father Manny, was up to his hip pockets getting several new families from the Philippines squared away so he let Father Buzz arrange everything for the Mass. When we showed up at the retreat house, things looked a bit different. Rather than the usual brazier, there was a tub about the right size for burning a Viking long ship. Piled in the tub was enough wood to build said ship if it were required for a Norse funeral. At the proper hour, several Filipina mothers and grandmothers got the fire going. Considering most of these ladies had up until a few months earlier been cooking over such fires, it had all the muss and drama of flipping a light switch. It fell to Father Buzz to provide the drama. As the flames leaped up, frightening fire watchers in towers in three surrounding states, Father became carried away with the blessing and leaned farther and farther over the fire. Just before he set himself alight and reenacted our very own auto-de-fey (yeah, I know we didn't actually burn people during the auto-de-fey itself, but work with me here), two of the grandmothers shoved the tub away from him while three of the mothers laid hands on the hem of his chasuble and yanked. Father Buzz never missed a beat as he and the flaming tub broke formation and parted company at a high rate of speed. Let's see the Pentecostals top that.
7 April 2010: Feast of St. Finnian (or Finan) of Kinitty. St. Francis Xavier departs Lisbon for East Indies 1541, Metric System adopted by France 1795, Japanese battleship Yamato sunk by U.S. carrier planes 1945, Internet born with publication of RFC1 1969.
For my own part, the lead up to the most important day of the year tends to make me walk small. I am by nature a silent grumbler. Aside from "teaching moment" explosions, I generally keep my mouth shut. The downside is I'm often doing a slow burn (the upside is I don't bother saying, "I told you so," which drives people nuts waiting for it). I come into church totally bummed out by the weight of my problems and flop in the pew. I look up at the Crucifix and Jesus looks back at me and says, "You think you got problems?" Looking at what He puts up with from us, yeah, mine are pretty small potatoes.
Things get really dark by Holy Saturday. And, then, just after nightfall, a light appears--a single candle that spreads throughout the world.
We used to go to the Saturday evening Mass up at a retreat house run by some Franciscans. Just outside the chapel, there would be a little brazier for a small fire from which to light the first candle. One year, we had an enthusiastic new young priest celebrating. The old priest, Father Manny, was up to his hip pockets getting several new families from the Philippines squared away so he let Father Buzz arrange everything for the Mass. When we showed up at the retreat house, things looked a bit different. Rather than the usual brazier, there was a tub about the right size for burning a Viking long ship. Piled in the tub was enough wood to build said ship if it were required for a Norse funeral. At the proper hour, several Filipina mothers and grandmothers got the fire going. Considering most of these ladies had up until a few months earlier been cooking over such fires, it had all the muss and drama of flipping a light switch. It fell to Father Buzz to provide the drama. As the flames leaped up, frightening fire watchers in towers in three surrounding states, Father became carried away with the blessing and leaned farther and farther over the fire. Just before he set himself alight and reenacted our very own auto-de-fey (yeah, I know we didn't actually burn people during the auto-de-fey itself, but work with me here), two of the grandmothers shoved the tub away from him while three of the mothers laid hands on the hem of his chasuble and yanked. Father Buzz never missed a beat as he and the flaming tub broke formation and parted company at a high rate of speed. Let's see the Pentecostals top that.
7 April 2010: Feast of St. Finnian (or Finan) of Kinitty. St. Francis Xavier departs Lisbon for East Indies 1541, Metric System adopted by France 1795, Japanese battleship Yamato sunk by U.S. carrier planes 1945, Internet born with publication of RFC1 1969.
A Touch of This and a Taste of That...
This is going to be a short post (SFX: sound of general celebration). Basically, I'm kind of beat from working on the "Obviously God has a sense of humor. - Humor in Writing" workshop over at the Catholic Writers' Conference Online (you may have heard me mention it once or twice in passing). Looking at it, the participants are doing a good job.
Baseball:
Ran across something nice for baseball fans. The iTunes store offers video of complete major league baseball games that can be downloaded to an iPod. I tried it with a 2007 game between the Orioles and Rangers. It works very well on my iPod Classic. The game cost me $1.99. Collections of 2007 and 2009 seasons are available while individual games maybe purchased from 2007, 2008, and 2009 (the 2007 collection is short and goes for about $40. The 2009 collection has a lot more games, but comes at a wallet-busting $125). As a note, my download ate around 1 GB of memory. I'm expecting to move the download over to my external drive after sending it to the iPod, to make space for the next on my poor little 160 GB laptop drive (the fact that the memory is partitioned into a pair of 80s isn't one of my favorites). The games can be found at the iTunes store by searching "MLB.Com."
Good Writing:
I made a pleasant discovery while researching for the workshop. Three of the writers I assigned as reading are available at Google Books and Read Books Online. Here are the links:
Hilaire Belloc's The Path to Rome
Rudyard Kipling's "The Village Who Voted the World Flat"
G.K. Chesterton's The Man Who Was Thursday
Okay, I'll be back when I get some sleep. Have fun.
28 February 2010: Feast of St. Hedwig of Poland. Han Dynasty begins with coronation of Liu Bang (Emperor Gaozu of Han) 202 BC, Fourth Council of Constantinople ends 870, Republican Party organized 1854, USS Houston (CA 30) and HMAS Perth (D 29) sunk in Battle of Sunda Strait 1942.
Baseball:
Ran across something nice for baseball fans. The iTunes store offers video of complete major league baseball games that can be downloaded to an iPod. I tried it with a 2007 game between the Orioles and Rangers. It works very well on my iPod Classic. The game cost me $1.99. Collections of 2007 and 2009 seasons are available while individual games maybe purchased from 2007, 2008, and 2009 (the 2007 collection is short and goes for about $40. The 2009 collection has a lot more games, but comes at a wallet-busting $125). As a note, my download ate around 1 GB of memory. I'm expecting to move the download over to my external drive after sending it to the iPod, to make space for the next on my poor little 160 GB laptop drive (the fact that the memory is partitioned into a pair of 80s isn't one of my favorites). The games can be found at the iTunes store by searching "MLB.Com."
Good Writing:
I made a pleasant discovery while researching for the workshop. Three of the writers I assigned as reading are available at Google Books and Read Books Online. Here are the links:
Hilaire Belloc's The Path to Rome
Rudyard Kipling's "The Village Who Voted the World Flat"
G.K. Chesterton's The Man Who Was Thursday
Okay, I'll be back when I get some sleep. Have fun.
28 February 2010: Feast of St. Hedwig of Poland. Han Dynasty begins with coronation of Liu Bang (Emperor Gaozu of Han) 202 BC, Fourth Council of Constantinople ends 870, Republican Party organized 1854, USS Houston (CA 30) and HMAS Perth (D 29) sunk in Battle of Sunda Strait 1942.
Christmas y'all!
It's Christmas Day--not Winter Holiday Day, or Sparkle Season Day, or even Big Bunches Sales Day. No, this is Christmas Day. And I expect folks to wish me a Merry Christmas as I wish others a Happy Chanukah, Happy Solstice, or a Happy Tet on their proper days.
For those of us who profess to follow the Prince of Peace, aka: Jesus, the Son of God, this day commemorates His birth in Bethlehem in the Roman province of Judea somewhere around 4 BC. Doing the counting from the dates given in the New Testament, I get His birthday as falling around March/April. My reaction to this? So what? My math may be off, possibly (but pretty unlikely) a scribe dropped a VII somewhere along the way--decimals being a little uncommon in the Roman Empire except when punishing legionaries--but what the hey? The main point is He got born. That the Church picked the same day as the Saturnalia to celebrate probably drove the Roman officials straight up the wall, leads to the charitable thought: "Couldn't happen to a nicer bunch."
So here we are. We're Christians. we're in your face, and our hands are raised to bless you on this, the birthday of our CO!
Now, Mass is over, the tree is lit, the presents have been exchanged ("Oh, yeah, Honey. An electric earwax melter is just what I was hoping for...just out of curiosity, is the receipt still laying around here somewhere?"), and George C. Scott is scaring the bejabbers out of Bob Cratchit. It's Dr. Pepper time! Oh, alright. Please pass the eggnog, then.
And remember, there are those out there who are cold, hungry, and lonely. If you're really a Christian, do something to make it better.
Signal to Task Force: Formation Foxtrot 4--Engage!
25 December 2009: Christmas Day for Western Church, and I'm not going to get into the stupidities that humans have committed on this day through history. After all, it's Christmas y'all.
For those of us who profess to follow the Prince of Peace, aka: Jesus, the Son of God, this day commemorates His birth in Bethlehem in the Roman province of Judea somewhere around 4 BC. Doing the counting from the dates given in the New Testament, I get His birthday as falling around March/April. My reaction to this? So what? My math may be off, possibly (but pretty unlikely) a scribe dropped a VII somewhere along the way--decimals being a little uncommon in the Roman Empire except when punishing legionaries--but what the hey? The main point is He got born. That the Church picked the same day as the Saturnalia to celebrate probably drove the Roman officials straight up the wall, leads to the charitable thought: "Couldn't happen to a nicer bunch."
So here we are. We're Christians. we're in your face, and our hands are raised to bless you on this, the birthday of our CO!
Now, Mass is over, the tree is lit, the presents have been exchanged ("Oh, yeah, Honey. An electric earwax melter is just what I was hoping for...just out of curiosity, is the receipt still laying around here somewhere?"), and George C. Scott is scaring the bejabbers out of Bob Cratchit. It's Dr. Pepper time! Oh, alright. Please pass the eggnog, then.
And remember, there are those out there who are cold, hungry, and lonely. If you're really a Christian, do something to make it better.
Signal to Task Force: Formation Foxtrot 4--Engage!
25 December 2009: Christmas Day for Western Church, and I'm not going to get into the stupidities that humans have committed on this day through history. After all, it's Christmas y'all.
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