Or SUBTLY SATIRICAL COMMENT UPON AMERICAN CULINARY VALUES?
You decide.
For those interested, this was sung at the summer program I went to.
The Sucrose Inquisition is inquiring into the identity of the singer, the squash, and the cheeseburger. This video somehow awakened their latent suspicion.
So now you'll know what to do.
On a related note, here are some important quotations from my summer trip:
"Can I have your earring again?"
"Can a dog be happy?"
"I know that I do not know that I know that I don't know."
(Two of these originated with your good author. Guess which one didn't.)
Of course, this reminds me of military historian John Keegan's observation that war is primarily a male activity.
For the uninitiated, Jeeves is the prototype of English butlers in literature. The main character of many P.G. Wodehouse novels, Jeeves serves Bertie Wooster, a featherbrained young squire whose life is filled by periodic social meddling.
The stories are good. Try them.
I say this because the quote in the Roman Sacristan's post sounds very Jeeves-like.
Awesome!
I especially liked the sentence that came right after his remark that some Opus Dei members practice the ancient penance of flagellation.
By the way, my aunt (who has very good taste in wines) says that the Mondavi wines mentioned are gosh-awful. In case you were wondering.
H/T Mark Shea.
Up Front
Bill Mauldin
Mauldin, an infantry sergeant with the 45th Division of the Army, drew the "Willie and Joe" cartoons for the U.S. Army's official paper, the Stars and Stripes, and Up Front is primarily a collection of these cartoons. However, along with the cartoons is his description of the warfront (primarily Italy) and the context of the cartoons, which are based on his own experiences. He writes well and describes the war vividly.
I had read in a newspaper article that many American soldiers in Iraq are able to play video games in their spare time. At first, I thought this was "soft." I had no right to think so, but I did.
However, Mauldin's lines on drinking in the Army changed my mind. He mentions that soldiers (including himself) tended to drink when they were "homesick or bored," since "other recreational facilities are crowded or unavailable." This was made worse by the lack of a limited liquor ration, which impelled American soldiers to buy lots of low-quality local alcohol. It goes to show a)you shouldn't judge something you don't know well, and b)things do improve over time.
So that's one thing I gained from Up Front.
From the movie The Deadly Mantis. Mystery Science Theater 3000 commented on this scene: "Gentlemen, this looks delicious."
One thing the Sucrose Inquisition isn't getting, sure as God made little green apples! Actually....that's a drum aerator, and used for moral purposes - namely putting holes in the ground.
For no reason AT ALL...I am popping this poem at y'all.
The Cremation of Sam McGee
- Robert W. Service
There are strange things done 'neath the midnight sun by the men who moil for gold,
The arctic trails have their secret tales that would make your blood run cold.
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights, but the queerest they ever did see,
Was that night on the marge of Lake LeBarge I cremated Sam McGee.
Now Sam McGee was from Tennessee, where the cotton blooms and blows,
Why he left his home in the South to roam 'round the Pole, God only knows.
He was always cold, but the land of gold seemed to hold him like a spell,
Though he'd often say, in his homely way, that "he'd sooner live in hell."
On a Christmas Day we were mushing our way over the Dawson trail.
Talk of your cold! through the parka's fold it stabbed like a driven nail.
If our eyes we'd close, then the lashes froze 'til sometimes we couldn't see,
It wasn't much fun, but the only one to whimper was Sam McGee.
And that very night, as we laid packed tight in our robes beneath the snow,
And the dogs were fed, and the stars o'erhead were dancing heel and toe,
He turned to me, and "Cap," said he, "I'll cash in this trip, I guess,
And if I do, I'm asking that you won't refuse my last request."
Well, he seemed so low that I couldn't say no, then he says with a kind of moan,
"It's that cursed cold, and it's gotten hold, 'til I'm chilled clean through to the bone.
Yet 'tain't being dead, it's my awful dread of the icy grave that pains,
So I want you to swear, that foul or fair, you'll cremate my last remains."
Now a pal's last need is a thing to heed, so I swore I would not fail,
And we started on at the streak of dawn, but Ah! he looked ghastly pale.
He crouched on the sleigh, and he raved all day of his home in Tennessee,
And before nightfall, a corpse was all that was left of Sam McGee.
There wasn't a breath in that land of death, and I hurried, horror-driven,
With a corpse half-hid, that I couldn't get rid, because of a promise given,
It was lashed to the sleigh, and it seemed to say, "You may tax your brawn and brains,
But you promised true, and it's up to you to cremate my last remains."
Now a promise made is a debt unpaid, and the trail has its own stern code.
In the days to come, though my lips were dumb, in my heart how I cursed that load.
In the long, long, night, by the lone firelight, while the huskies, round in a ring,
Howled out their woes to the homeless snows - oh man! how I loathed that thing.
And every day that quiet clay seemed to heavy and heavier grow,
And on I went, though the dogs were spent and the grub was getting low,
The trail was bad, and I felt half-mad, but I swore I would not give in,
And I'd often sing to the hateful thing, and it hearkened with a grin.
Then I came to the marge of Lake LeBarge, and a derelict there lay,
It was jammed in the ice, but I saw in a trice it was called the Alice May,
And I looked at it, and I thought a bit, and I looked at my frozen chum,
Then "Here," said I, with a sudden cry, "is my cre-ma-tor-e-um."
Some planks I tore from the cabin floor, and I lit the boiler fire,
Some coal I found that was lying around, and I heaped the fuel higher,
The flames just soared, and the furnace roared - such a blaze you seldom see,
And I burrowed a hole in the glowing coal, and I stuffed in Sam McGee.
Then I made a hike, for I didn't like to hear him sizzle so,
And the heavens scowled, and the huskies howled, and the wind began to blow.
It was icy cold, but the hot sweat rolled down my cheeks, and I don't know why,
And the greasy smoke in an inky cloak went streaking down the sky.
I do not know how long in the snow I wrestled with grisly fear,
But the stars came out and they danced about ere again I ventured near,
I was sick with dread, but I bravely said, "I'll just take a peep inside,
I guess he's cooked and it's time I looked..." then the door I opened wide.
And there sat Sam, looking cool and calm, in the heat of the furnace roar,
And he wore a smile you could see a mile, and he said, "Please close that door!
It's fine in here, but I greatly fear you'll let in the cold and storm -
Since I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee, it's the first time I've been warm."
There are strange things done 'neath the midnight sun by the men who moil for gold,
The arctic trails have their secret tales that would make your blood run cold.
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights, but the queerest they ever did see,
Was that night on the marge of Lake LeBarge I cremated Sam McGee.
