The Long Haul

Whilst driving about for a living, I check out books on CD from the library. Mostly great books I’ve always meant to read but never had the captivated, on-the-clock-but-with-one-sense-free time: On The Road, The Sound and the Fury (an Oprah Book Club selection!) and now Ulysses. The Naxos recording by Irish Actor Jim Norton runs to 22 discs. I’d hoped to get it before Bloomsday but only received it last week. (There are a lot of holds for some of these books.) Still, thanks to some extra road time I’m already up to disc 15. At this rate I’ll not need to renew. Ulysses in less than a month. ‘Tis quite a pseudo-intellectual accomplishment. (Hearing’s not reading.) Lucky I didn’t get the Capital Records version read by Mel Tillis; that set’s 23.

One surprise: a minor character named Bannon. So it really is an Irish name.

Joyce’s follow up was titled Finnegans Wake. As an Irish-American I’d have gone with S. Grant. I hear Julia Dent Grant was quite sensual. "I put my arms around U.S. yes and drew him down to me so he could feel my breasts all perfume yes and his heart was going like mad and yes I said yes U.S. I will Yes."

Une histoire d'amour illustrée.

Avec Leonard.

(Video length 4:51)

Anarchy on 17th St. (NW)

Seeing the Atlantic Station logo reminded me of the fire there last summer.

The FBI believe it was set by an anarchist who later committed suicide when facing arrest for a bank robbery.

Maybe the sign confused him.

The man's Neo Millenium Liberation Army was "a one-person anarchist organisation...." I know anarchists aren't much for bylaws, but can one person be called an organisation? Can one-man orgies be next? Finally, I'm a swinger. Now to get a lot of indoor wicker.

Wholesale Armageddon

Left Behind authors Tim LaHaye and Jerry B. Jenkins did a book signing at the Dunwoody Costco last Thursday. Some clever protestors met them with their own 4 horsemen.

But why are devout fans of The Rapture buying in bulk anyway?

"The Glory of The Woman"

In Suehyla El-Attar’s sincere and entertaining The Perfect Prayer—thoughtfully reviewed here—an Egyptian-American woman remains uncovered but for one moment: a belated, mournful prayer.

Raised Catholic and intrigued by history, I once went to a church in Mableton that still says the Mass in Latin. Wouldn't it be neat to hear the words of the Church’s fathers in the language of their Roman oppressors? (Except, of course, for the Kyrie--that’s Greek.)

No.

There’s beauty in tradition, to know I can freely speak the Pater Noster in the same manner Galileo was forced to. But I didn’t like it. Most of it is spoken almost in secret by a priest with his back to the audience. It was the embodiment of Protestant critiques of Catholicism: a remote, hierarchical figure goes about some exclusive, archaic ritual.

Near the church's entrance sat a box of ugly, black, lunch lady hairnets and a note instructing all women to “Veil Yourselves.”

“Covering her hair is a gesture the woman makes spiritually to ‘show’ God she recognises (sic) her beauty is less than His and His Glory is far above hers.”

So God’s prettier?

Meanwhile the male congregants in prideful comb-overs stood, sat and knelt in unrepressed, hatless hedonism.

What's so offensive about a woman’s hair? It's exceeding sensuality? The graceful visual lines of strands and curls, the feminine smell, the silken, tactile feel? Perhaps the elegant, supple sounds it inspires?

It's like an incense-filled Eastern rite mass, stimulating all 5 senses.

And more.

Ease on Down the Road

I missed tonight's screening of The Wiz since I couldn't think of a movie-inspired menu until now:

• Varsity Hot Dogs

--in memory of former car hop and Atlanta native Nipsey Russell.

• Cheese Whiz straight from the jar

--no crackers in this movie.

• Cranberry Juice.

The Most Contrived, Half-Assed Southern Accent Since Momma's Family

Bush Addresses Border Agents


By contrast, here's his "sincere" voice:

Put 'er There

There Are No Korean Restaurants in Cabbagetown?

If I were looking for Bok Choi it’d be the first place I’d look.

But there is a Cabbagetown Amphitheatre where the young Twinhead Theatre is producing Arden of Faversham. Why that play? I guess for the historical novelty. Supposedly it’s “the first comedy-thriller.” But I still insist that there are laughs to be found in the Benedictbeurn Passion—it’s the way you tell ‘em.

Still, they kept the archane text moving with masks, slapstick and some effective citronella lighting. And what a cool place for a show. Can’t wait to see them do something else there.

An outdoor rock opera? In Cabbagetown?! That’d be neat.