quizzes of the day

(borrowed from my brother the sonnet)

A cywydd llosgyrnog; I'm one. "A what?" Well, quite. There'd be no fun In being understood; I Thrive upon obliquity. Don't comprehend or follow me, For mystery's my ally. What Poetry Form Are You?

Oh, and I'm still on my favorite sci-fi ship . . . .

You scored as Serenity (Firefly). You like to live your own way and don’t enjoy when anyone but a friend tries to tell you should do different. Now if only the Reavers would quit trying to skin you. Serenity (Firefly) 81% Babylon 5 (Babylon 5) 75% Galactica (Battlestar: Galactica) 69% SG-1 (Stargate) 63% Deep Space Nine (Star Trek) 50% Millennium Falcon (Star Wars) 50% Nebuchadnezzar (The Matrix) 50% Moya (Farscape) 50% Andromeda Ascendant (Andromeda) 38% Enterprise D (Star Trek) 38% Bebop (Cowboy Bebop) 38% FBI's X-Files Division (The X-Files) 25% Your Ultimate Sci-Fi Profile II: which sci-fi crew would you best fit in? (pics) created with QuizFarm.com

Thoughts of Others

Why not Thoughts of Me, you ask? Because Me doesn't feel very thoughtful at the moment. Also because Me should be eating lunch and practicing. But if you want to read something thoughtful, check out Custardly's reflections on the virtue of tolerance and the Retired Superhero's perspective on suffering in stories.

And just for good measure . . . take a look at "Modern Culture and Christian Renewal", an essay by a Dominican priest republished in the most recent issue of Image. Written about 40 years ago, it sounds as thought it could have been written yesterday, and I'm tempted to quote about half the essay. I'll limit myself to 2--no, make that 3--of my favorite paragraphs.

Among other things, Father Vann offers insights into how the creation of art is an essential part of man's nature and of his role in caring for creation:

To [man's] ontological status as midpoint between the worlds of matter and of spirit there corresponds a mediating function: to incarnate—to give material expression to—spiritual reality and to spiritualize or humanize material reality. It is not only animals, it is nature as a whole that has to be domesticated. Ars perfecit naturam.

Working these transformations requires reflection, stillness, receptivity. The world today is shadowed by political fears and troubles and by economic anxieties and stresses that tend to blind us to the deeper psychological crises through which mankind is passing. And perhaps the greatest of those crises can be expressed by saying that generally speaking the human psyche is forgetting to contemplate. Man must be contemplative before he can hope with success to be active; he must receive and assimilate reality before attempting to give it out again. The artists, of course, know this, the poets and painters and sculptors and musicians: the beauty they create is a beauty they have first received.

Later, he gives a clear and cogent explanation of the deep theological problems with the way many Christians approach art. (Now that I think of it, some of this probably ties in with the Superhero's thoughts. But I'll leave the connection-making to y'all, since it's almost time for my next class.)

Again and again a great book or film or painting will be denounced as immoral while the mawkish, the moronic, the aesthetically meretricious will be extolled because its message is regarded as edifying or at least safe. In the end those who are docile to this sort of guidance acquire an affinity not with what is good and real but what is bad and false, not with genuineness and integrity but with the debased and ignoble. And the element of falsity in particular needs to be stressed . . . the sentimentalized picture of religion in general is a distortion and falsification of the very stuff of religion. Grace builds on and in nature; it is no service to religion, and no part of prudence, to turn potentially mature human beings into morons, and we cannot claim to serve and worship truth if we acquiesce in or encourage the distortion or falsification of truth.

Go to bed, goblin, do

This is me being studious.


Sort of.








And this is Oswald, who wanted a picture by himself. He's holding my most recent art project, which he likes because it has Scholarly Quotes on it. (No, it wasn't for a class.) Rupert's hiding in the background, being grumpy. He doesn't like staying up late. Neither do I, really, so we are all going to bed now. Goodnight!

Alas, poor Yorick . . .

Sorry, not a happy post. More of a Serious post.

See, when I say "Yorick," I mean Joss. And the fans. And a certain Amazonian-princess-girl, who I'm guessing is now doomed to a stupid movie. (Female superheros and the big screen? Never ends well.)

Here's the story, from Mr. Whedon himself:

"You (hopefully) heard it here first: I'm no longer slated to make Wonder Woman. What? But how? My chest... so tight! Okay, stay calm and I'll explain as best I can. It's pretty complicated, so bear with me. I had a take on the film that, well, nobody liked. Hey, not that complicated.

"Let me stress first that everybody at the studio and Silver Pictures were cool and professional. We just saw different movies, and at the price range this kind of movie hangs in, that's never gonna work. Non-sympatico. It happens all the time. I don't think any of us expected it to this time, but it did."

So there you have it. (For more details, see Whedonesque.com. I'd link, but for some reason that remains mysterious to my non-technological soul, blogger links & Safari don't seem compatible.)

(Oh, and just for the record . . . when I say "Serious," I mean Stubby Boardman. Yeah, he was going to play Wonder Woman.)

life, the spatio-temporal realm, and macgamut

life is stressful, mainly because there is too much space and not enough time in the universe (as opposed to the world, parts of which are both non-spatial and non-temporal, and thus very confusing to ponder). too much space results in a 45-minute commute (one way) to the building that devours all of my time--which wouldn't be a problem if there was more time to begin with. but there isn't.

and then there's macgamut, a fiendish computer program which makes me wish that computers had never been invented. why is it fiendish? because it expects me to be able to hear two chords played rapidly on a computerish sound that supposedly resembles a piano, and tell it:
- what notes it just played, in the soprano and bass voices, IN THE CORRECT OCTAVES,
- and what chords said notes represent
moreover, it expects me to do this 8 out of 10 times within the next 4 hours in order to get a passing grade in a certain class.

thus far i have been unable to get more than 1/10 correct. why, you ask? because what it wants me to do is pretty much impossible. i'd have trouble hearing that (with that degree of accuracy) on a real live instrument. now, if it would just let me give it roman numerals, i might survive. but as it is . . . . ugh.

and the worst part? yeah, we're back to time. if it weren't for this pernicious little program, i could be using this time to practice organ (which is supposedly why i'm here in the first place)--or to practice sight-singing, which would actually help me learn what this class is supposed to be teaching me. but do i have time to practice sight-singing? of course not. because i'm going to spend my entire afternoon on macgamut, and still probably fail the blasted level.

sorry, that wasn't supposed to come out quite so rant-ish. i'll try to post more cheerful postings later. at the moment, however, i am going to seek lunch.

and lunch today includes chocolate--so at least one thing in the universe as it should be.