Because I am not insane, I assumed the Jussie Smollett caper was a hoax as soon as it made the news. It ticked all the boxes of a hoax. The alleged victim was a black Jewish homosexual, who makes a living as a drama queen. The alleged incident happened in Chicago, where the last racist redneck was last seen in the 19th century. The incident happened in a part of town that caters to deviants like Smollett, not MAGA hat wearing Trump supporters. Again, only a nut would accept the story at face value.
Similarly, once the hoax was made plain, I knew the believers on the Left, by which I mean everyone on the Left, would go through the usual phases that they always pass through when confronting disconfirmation. Read More »
BY TODAY’S STANDARDS, my husband’s early childhood was intensely boring. When he was growing up in the industrial town of Chester, Pennsylvania — now a shadow of its former self — he did not have many of the opportunities very young children have today. He hardly had any toys, no gym classes for toddlers, no music lessons or early sports. He didn’t go to reading hours at the local library or children’s museums. There was no children’s TV. He didn’t even have play dates.
From the ages of three to six, his three older brothers and sister were out of the house and at St. Michael’s School. So he was mostly alone at home with his mother. He spent the day following her around as she did her chores. She had plenty to do, with a husband, five children, two boarders, a dog, a large, ramshackle house and a coal furnace that needed to be fed.
She began her main chores after everyone had left for the day, but first she had a cup of coffee and a cigarette. He remembers her staring straight ahead and blowing steam off the coffee. These were usually her only moments of leisure and peace. She would quickly read yesterday’s newspaper. She preferred yesterday’s paper because viewings of the local deceased were usually publicized a day ahead. These evening gatherings were a significant part of her social life.
The coffee break did not last long. She would move about the house — cleaning the one bathroom shared by nine people, straightening the bedrooms, doing dishes, preparing food, hauling coal, etc. My husband would stay by her side as she did all this. He was more a spectator than a helper. Read More »
IN a health food supermarket the other day, I noticed in front of me in the check-out line a woman with a huge assortment of of organic vegetables and fruits. There were turnips and sweet potatoes and apples and avocados, to mention a few, each one picked out separately. Everything was blameless. There was not a single transgression against healthy eating. The woman was very thin and spent more than $170. She looked to be in her late fifties, so it was unlikely she was feeding a whole family. And yet there was one jar of baby food — mashed, organic carrots. Perhaps that was for some vegetarian elixir, a magical potion that when mixed with other virtuously-produced vegetables and fruits could extend life indefinitely.
Two days later, I had breakfast in a diner — one of those highway restaurants where each plate of food would be enough to feed four people in bygone years. The chicken and waffles came with a mountain of sizzling, fried drumsticks. Most of the items on the menu would supply half the recommended daily calories for a grown adult. One adorable boy sat before his huge platter of eggs and potatoes. He was about eight and he looked happy, very happy. He was also seriously over-weight. A couple who had eaten got up to leave as we were waiting for our food. They were wearing tent-like T-shirts and sweatpants. What else could they wear? They were each close to 300 pounds and they struggled to walk. They looked like slow-moving human trucks.
The health-conscious and the health-unconscious. For one, the body is a temple to fitness. For the other, it’s a kind of trash heap.
I’ll take the fat couple over the ascetic. The waddlers are probably secretly ashamed. I doubt it has ever occurred to the consumer of edible jewels that she might be a glutton too.
PERSONS who keep themselves low in their own estimation and love to be considered of little account and despised by others please God in the highest degree; and, therefore, He willingly lowers Himself to them, pours upon them the treasures of His graces, reveals to them His secrets, invites and draws them sweetly to Himself. Thus, the more one lowers and abuses himself before men, the more he rises and becomes great in the sight of God, and the more clearly he will, one day, behold the Divine Essence.
THE interesting Victorian advice book, Home Whispers to Husbands and Wives (The American Female Guardian Society, New York; 1859) by “Melva” contains some wise words on the important subject of the “fretful wife.” Victorian writing is flowery and effusive compared to modern style, but it often expresses passion and common sense. How many fretful women have given homemaking a bad image — and indirectly encouraged the feminist revolt? We will never know. Surely many. The only appropriate response to this essay for fretful women is — to fret about being fretful.
FRET, fret—scold, scold, from morning to night, in haste or leisure, when it rained or the sun shone; Mrs. More always found something to find fault about, something to dislike.
She began it when she was a child; her mother fretted and she learned the art. She practised her lessons well as she grew up. She carried the habit with her into the home of her married life, and scarcely kept it out of sight during the honey-moon. After she became a mother, she found occasion to fret every day and almost every hour of her life, till she came to be the most accomplished fretter that we knew.
She was handsome—at least she might have been, but fair and regular features will look ugly, when the scowl of peevishness mars them. She was smart, and efficient in the management of her domestic afi’airs. Her house was a model of order, and the Ways of her household were well looked after, but I have seen more comfort, where there was less system. She was intelligent and when the demon, that enthralled her, slumbered for a little, and her fine features were irradiated with the smile and glow of social cheerfulness, she would seem to be a most engaging woman. She was self-sacrificing. Her ease and preferences she would yield to the good of others, but the most precious offerings she laid on the altar of love, she would baptize with the unholy waters of fretfulness and complaint, till the valueof the benefaction was wholly lost, or greatly marred to the recipient. Read More »
JUDGING from the universal, ecstatic acclaim his death at the age of 85 has prompted in seemingly every organ of the major media, his highly cultivated image as a black-clad high priest, the hyper-extravaganzas he made of fashion shows, his Babylonian worship of his cat, his disordered sexuality, his political comments, his entourage of “Karl’s boys,” including a child — his “godson;” his closeness with the trashiest of celebrity idols, his disdain for “curvy” and “fat” women, his celebration of androgyny, his movies portraying repressive Europe giving birth to multiculturalism, material excess and orgies; his famous secrecy and his success in creating a global empire which throttled competitors, the fashion designer Karl Lagerfeld was an insider like few people are. He was certainly at the very apex of the sordid powers behind, and in front of, the scenes.
Did he make some beautiful and even feminine clothes in his lengthy career? Yes, he did.
Was he talented? Undeniably.
But Lagerfeld, who designed for Chanel and Fendi and made fashion lines for retailers such as Macy’s and H&M, also spread a true disdain for femininity and played a major part in creating the ugly, occult trampy-ness that is everywhere:
So enamored was he with the physique of the skinny, adolescent male, it is entirely plausible that many of Lagerfeld’s models in recent years weren’t women at all. In any event, some of them certainly looked like men or boys in make up and dresses. The facial bone structure and body of Kristen McMenamy (strange name), to take one example, are highly masculine:
Only in sleep I see their faces,
Children I played with when I was a child,
Louise comes back with her brown hair braided,
Annie with ringlets warm and wild.
Only in sleep Time is forgotten—
What may have come to them, who can know?
Yet we played last night as long ago,
And the doll-house stood at the turn of the stair.
The years had not sharpened their smooth round faces,
I met their eyes and found them mild—
Do they, too, dream of me, I wonder,
And for them am I too a child?
Hear this poem by Sara Teasdale set to music in a choral composition by Latvian composer Ēriks Ešenvalds here:
HUMILITY, which Christ recommended to us both by word and example, ought to include three conditions. First, we are to consider ourselves, in all sincerity, worthy of the contempt of men; secondly, to be glad that others should see what is imperfect in us and what might cause them to despise us; thirdly, when the Lord works any good in us or by our means, to conceal it, if possible, at the sight of our baseness, and if this cannot be done, to ascribe it to the Divine Mercy, and to the merits of others. Whoever shall attain to this humility, happy is he! And to him who shall not attain it, griefs will never be wanting.
MONIKA SCHAEFER is back in her home town of Jasper, Canada after having spent ten months last year in a German prison. She was convicted on several counts of “incitement to hatred” for making this video. In the video, she apologizes to her deceased German mother for blaming her as a child for the events of World War II. She says Germans have been taught to despise their heritage. Schaefer was arrested while visiting Germany in December, 2017. With good humor and no real bitterness, she describes her arrest, trial and imprisonment here. German trials are not up to our legal standards in America. For one, there are no court stenographers or recording devices. Spoken testimony is not put on the record. Also, if a defendant says something politically objectionable in the course of defending himself, he may be charged with more crimes.
Schaefer is a violinist and a former Green Party candidate for local office. That this unimportant woman of no political consequence or wealth has managed to irritate some of the most powerful people on earth should be a consolation to us. For it demonstrates at the very least that ideas matter. She has said several times that she is glad for her experience in prison. It will be interesting to see if she is allowed to remain free in Canada. After all, we know the concept of forgiveness does not exist when it comes to modern thought criminals. There is nothing they can say, nothing they can do, short of complete and total retraction, to expunge their crimes. NOTE: I do not endorse everything the Schaefer siblings say. They sometimes slip into biological determinism. They do not have a comprehensive view because they do not grasp the divine plan for society.
DR. E. MICHAEL JONES discusses social engineering in America and Europe. Dr. Jones’s interpretation of the heretical Vatican II Council is deeply flawed, but otherwise this is an outstanding interview.
One day more than forty years ago, a friend and I were seated in a restaurant, working hard on pie, coffee, and conversation. The Muzak was on, but it was not so loud as to be annoying. At one moment a particular melody caught my ear. It was a recording by Andre Kostelanetz, if I recall correctly, and it imparted a wonderful feeling of uplift. I had heard it before but could not remember its name at that moment. So I asked my friend, who was twelve years older. He knew it immediately. It was Victor Young’s composition “Stella by Starlight” from the 1944 motion picture “The Uninvited”. He knew it partly because it is a beautiful melody and partly because ghosts were an element in that motion picture. It was one of those moments that live in memory.
It was one of many such conversations in which we talked about ideas, philosophy, science, language, and matters on the borderland of science, like telepathy, ghosts, and haunted houses. Our discussions ranged from hoaxes to J.B. Rhine’s work on ESP to C.E.M. Hansel’s critical assessment of that work to Borley Rectory, which was said to be the most haunted house in England.
The restaurant was demolished years ago and my friend died three years ago. I had occasion to remember him and that moment in that restaurant when I watched “The Uninvited” several months ago.
I have searched in stores for old motion pictures the way other collectors look for old books. It is a delight to find such gems on shelves filled with the motion picture rubbish of recent years: Islands of decency in a vast ocean of effluvia. Read More »
In 1938, the Sacred Congregation of Seminaries and Universities found the National Socialist doctrine untenable and erroneous that held men exist solely for the state and possess only such rights as the state grants to them. There is not a little irony in the fact that those who in our time fancy themselves implacable opponents of “fascism” devote all of their resources (bicycle locks on chains, Soros funding, media support) to reestablish that very doctrine.
Your idolatry point highlights the enthusiasm men have for ideas and things. One Femi Oyebode (who?) observed:
A frequent manifestation of … paranoid personality is the presence of an overvalued idea … a fixed idea (idée fixe) … which might seem reasonable both to the patient and to other people. However, it comes to dominate completely the person’s thinking and life. … It is quite distinct phenomenologically from both delusion and obsessional idea.
The idée fixe is characteristic of Western man for some 300 years though I am not flogging the “paranoid personality” part of the quote above and I don’t know how to parse delusion and obsession here. Simply put, otherwise seemingly-normal people can get a bee in their bonnet or a burr under their saddle, one, and it’s off we go to some amazing but hitherto-purposely-overlooked quick fix (fixe vite?) for every ill on the planet. Pol Pot, while he was a student in France, wanted to return to Cambodia and create a perfect democracy. As defined by him, of course, and what a definition it was as it turned out. Read More »
UBI CARITAS et amor, Deus ibi est. Ubi Caritas et amor, Deus ibi est. Congregavit nos in unum Christi amor. Exsultemus, et in ipso jucundemur. Timeamus, et amemus Deum vivum. Et ex corde diligamus nos sincero.
‘HISTORICAL revisionists” who have researched the events of World War II have a very disturbing tendency to overreact to some of the serious exaggerations and distortions they find and to fall into glorifying National Socialism and the beliefs of Adolf Hitler. You see this in many places on the Internet. I can’t fully explore how seriously wrong and disturbing this phenomenon is in this post. I hope to write more about it in the future, but I would like simply to quote one of the documents issued by the Catholic Church against National Socialism because it sums up what was indefensible in a movement which deified German blood and the German nation. A healthy love of one’s race and nation, subordinate to the love of their Creator, is not the same thing as this idolatry.**
On April 13, 1938, the Sacred Congregation of Seminaries and Universities, writing amidst persecutions of Catholics in Germany, wrote to Rectors of Seminaries and Catholic Universities urging Catholic institutions to do everything possible to combat the racialist mystique of National Socialism. It condemned the errors in National Socialist writings:
“Last year, on Christmas Eve, our august Pontiff and gloriously reigning Pope, in his allocution to the Cardinals and Prelates of the Roman Curia, referred in grave and sorrowful terms to the grievous persecution of the Catholic Church in Germany. It was a cause of the greatest pain to the heart of the Holy Father that, in order to excuse such flagrant injustice, bare-faced calumnies were invented, and most pernicious doctrines, falsely alleged to be scientific, were spread far and wide, with the intention of creating dire confusion in minds and uprooting the true religion. In view of this state of things, the Sacred Congregation of Studies urges Catholic universities and faculties to direct all their resources and efforts to the defence of truth against the inroads of these errors. Accordingly, those who are teaching in these centres of higher studies must mobilise all the means at their command in biology, history, philosophy, apologetics, legal and moral science, and thus forge the weapons with which to refute decisively and expertly the following absolutely untenable and erroneous doctrines: Read More »
A list of Shakespearean terms of endearment in case you want to impress someone and a piano version of the American love song, “When I Fall in Love,” performed here by Beegie Adair:
When I fall in love It will be forever Or I’ll never fall in love In a restless world like this is Love is ended before it’s begun And too many moonlight kisses Seem to cool in the warmth of the sun
When I give my heart It will be completely Or I’ll never give my heart And the moment I can feel that you feel that way too Is when I fall in love with you
And the moment I can feel that you feel that way too Is when I’ll fall in love with you
Here is a pretty love song by King Henry VIII. Yes, the Henry VIII. It’s a reminder that romantic love can be so beautiful and intense. It’s also a reminder that romantic love is not always true. Two of Henry’s wives lost their heads despite all his romantic feelings. Ouch! Sometimes “love” hurts!
Saint Valentine, for whom this day is named, was also beheaded about 270 A.D. — for supernatural love, not romantic feelings. The Romans were very ticked off at him:
Calphurnius immediately cast him into a dungeon, and gave orders to Judge Asterius to accuse him as an enemy of the gods, according to law. Asterius wished first to make an attempt to win over the Priest, who was so universally loved, from the Christian faith, but to the good fortune of the judge, the contrary took place. Valentine restored the sight of the daughter of Asterius, who had been blind for many years, and, in consequence, the judge and his whole family forsook their idolatry and were baptized. When this was reported to the Emperor, he admired the power of the God whom Valentine adored, and endeavored to set the Saint free, but again frightened by Calphurnius with an insurrection, he at length gave orders to behead him. Saint Valentine received his death sentence with great joy, and ended his life by a glorious martyrdom.
More history about this little-known saint and the pagan origins of a day devoted to love can be found here:
Of St. Valentine few particulars are known. He was a holy priest of Rome, put to death about the year 270. One of the great Roman gates was built in his honor and called after him. It is now known as “del Popolo.”
But the name of St. Valentine has come down to us associated with the remnant of a pagan custom, that of choosing for a year some person to whom honor should be paid. The casting of lots was held on the 15th of February, and with it began the Roman festival of Lupercalia, in honor of the god Pan and the goddess Juno. To put down so dangerous a feast-making, the Church, according to Alban Butler, instituted the custom of drawing saints to be venerated for a year on the feast of St. Valentine, the day preceding that of the pagan lot-drawing, thus substituting heavenly for earthly love.
O holy Martyr, St. Valentine, pray for us.
Here is King Henry’s song:
“Whereto should I express”
By King Henry VIII
Whereto should I express
My inward heaviness?
No mirth can make me fain
Till that we meet again.
Do ‘way, dear heart, not so!
Let no thought you dismay ;
Though ye now part me fro,
We shall meet when we may. Read More »
