the perennial problem of solo beach activities:

How do you put sunscreen on your OWN back?

I was checking out some classics from the local library the other day. The librarian paused over Faulkner's "As I Lay Dying" and said: "You know, I tried to read Faulkner last year...and I had the hardest time liking it. And I finally figured out what the problem was...*pause*...I just didn't ENJOY it very much."

This scintillating literary critique is brought to you by: the letter "G," and the number "Hot damn, we're in trouble if even our librarians are retarded." Geez. Libraries are supposed to be the last stronghold of the life worth living; even if most schools, and, indeed, most institutes of higher learning feed their students on pablum and dissimulation, any eighteen year old can still walk to the library and check out Plato's "Republic." If the keepers of the tomes, the forgotten heroes wit' da horn rimmed glasses, in other words, your friendly local librarians, are starting to recommend that they read "Chicken Soup for the College Student's Soul" instead, we are truly screwed.

You will occasionally hear people use the term "Catholic guilt." Usually, what is implied when speaking of "Catholic guilt" is that some/all Catholics wander about in a permanent state of ineffectual misery about petty misdeeds. The term connotes a propensity for self-beration, and, at the same time, an inability or disinclination to change. If I were to drink eight beers at a go (and proceed to slump against the wall slurring about how I can't stand people who take Ayn Rand seriously), wake up the next morning filled with self loathing, kick myself for the rest of the day, then do the very same thing the next night? That would be a classic case of "Catholic guilt," I think.

Pondering this, it occured to me...Catholics, properly catechized ones anyway, do feel guilty. We know that there is such a thing as sin. We are told to examine our conscience every night, and to go to confession often in order to divulge our shortcomings. We are taught that we are capable, through willful and knowing disobedience to God about a serious matter (e.g. murder, adultery, wearing socks with sandals), of losing our state of grace, and, without God's aid, all hope of the beatific vision. We also know that, without continually struggling against sin, making use of the sacraments, and imploring God's help at all times, we are more or less DOOMED. Yes, doomed. As in, eternal separation from God, fast lane on the highway to hell, and all that. So we struggle against temptation, we fear to fall, and when we do, in any major way, we feel rotten. Tainted, even. GUILTY.

"Since then we have a great high priest who has passed through the heavens, Jesus, the Son of God, let us hold fast our confession. For we have not a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sinning. Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need." - Hebrews 4:14-16

However, as well as knowing what sin is, we also know what sanctity is. We know the dignity of our calling. We are called to be brothers of Christ. We are called to be sons of the light, of the day. We are called to be perfect as our heavenly Father is perfect. We are called to love our neighbor as ourself, and to love God with our whole heart, soul, and mind. We are called to be wise as serpents and innocent as doves. We are called to be joyful, bearing testimony in everything we do to the goodness of God. We are called to be eternally united with God in heaven. And, we are given examples of multitudes of men and women who have lived up to their calling---the saints---and told that those who are able to be the worst sinners, are also able to be the greatest saints. Through willing cooperation with God's grace, through the sacraments, through prayer, through sacrifice, we can strive to be what we were created to be.

"Be sober, be watchful. Your adversary the devil prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking some one to devour." - 1 Peter 5:8

"But according to his promise we wait for new heavens and a new earth in which righteousness dwells. Therefore, beloved, since you wait for these, be zealous to be found by him without spot or blemish, and at peace." - 2 Peter 3:13-14

So, I would venture that the guilt which Catholics experience does not end in the despair of Judas, but rather the penitence of Peter. God can heal us---God wants to heal us---God wants us all to follow the call to eternal union with Him. Before He can heal us, though, we have to wish to be healed (the first step is admitting that you have a problem, right?). Feeling guilty for wrong doing prompts us to seek God's forgiveness, which in turn gives us the grace to do better.

If we fall off the horse, we try to get right back up again...because it's where the horse is going that's important, not the fact that we fell off. And yes, I have just ripped of St. Augustine's "path to God" analogy, and, for maximum obfuscation, introduced a horse. I don't feel too guilty, though.

The nights here have been so warm and idyllic of late. I knew that Southern California was good for something. Right now, I covet a portable hammock. Also, a blender. And some more ice cube trays, a fifth of rum, and a flat of strawberries. If you can guess how all of these items are related, you get a cookie.

If God wanted us sober,
He'd knock the glass over!

Unless I'm mistaken, my next door neighbors a few doors down are out in their backyard, drinking and loudly debating the merits of Black Sabbath.

i never get invited to the cool parties...

I was stuck in an LA traffic jam for about an hour yesterday. To avoid wasting time, I prayed the rosary. Just as I got to the third glorious mystery (which, for you non-initiates, is when we meditate on the descent of the Holy Spirit upon the apostles), a white dove flew in front of me, over the gridlocked line of cars.

"AWESOME!!!", I thought.

The traffic jam still lasted for another forty minutes, though. I guess divine signs are in no way indicative of traffic relief.

Meet Betsy. She's a '91 Honda Civic, and smells very much like dog. In fact, she's covered with white dog hair, and smells like an albino moose died in the back. But she runs all right, and as long as I don't try zipping through yellow lights or passing people at ninety miles an hour (like you could with the Cadillac...sniffle) she should do fine.

the further boring adventures of car buying:

I'm about to go look at a car which is being sold by a legally blind recent widow. She needs to sell the car, because her husband is no longer alive to drive it, and she can't see well enough to drive. If I don't buy this Civic, I'm probably going to hell. It's official.

update:

I got the car. My entrance to heaven is guaranteed. Also, my dad rocks in his car price negotiation/buying efficiency. He could be a used car dealer (except for the fact that both he and I can't tell anything about a car engine other than "hmm...yeah, that's an engine all right!").

Time for a new* car!

What kind should I get? Am I more a Honda Civic person, or a Toyota Camry person? Be honest...

* by "new" I mean "different than the car I had," or possibly "new to me," not "brand new without cat urine smells or funny rattling noises of any kind."

Right now I'm in Santa Cruz. All is sunny, laid back, chilled out. Except for the car mechanics who are looking at my car. Right now they are saying "Cracked head gasket, blah blah blah, $1800, blah blah blah, water out of the exhaust pipe, etc."

I say, I'm selling my car and buying a horse. Possibly a palamino. I've always wanted a pony. Plus, I sort of understand the workings of a horse. Food goes in, poop goes out. There you have it.

Enh. I'm sort of screwed, aren't I...

After the grueling trek to NorCal, I had about half an hour of good cheer and familial conviviality before the Illness set in. I often get sick when I stay at the ancestral home; perhaps my immune system, lulled by the warm, welcoming atmosphere, relaxes to the point of non-functioning. Or perhaps it's that my younger siblings carry enough narsty germs on their grubby paws to kill a continent's worth of unexposed indigenous peoples. Anyway. In accordance with the adage that every cloud has a silver lining, or was it that every dog has it's day?, here are some good things about being miserably ill:

• stunning weight loss technique! of course, the water bloating from the "drink lots of liquids" routine sort of offsets that.


• you begin to appreciate the small things in life a whole lot more. such as the ability to sit around and exist without hurting.


• high fever introduces swimmy surreality into one's daydreams! cheaper than opium.


• lots of time to sit back and reflect on your life. unfortunately, a lack of clearheadedness during these reflections will inevitably lead you to depressing conclusions, such as "i'm a loser. sob."


• gives one a break from caffeine and alcohol. might be a fine opportunity to give them up altogether! or not.

All right. I'm (sort of) better now, though, and mobility and relative freedom from pain have never seemed so sweet. Is pleasure the absence of pain? I can't remember whether or not Socrates debunked that. Ha. I've forgotten more than most people ever knew! However, this isn't something to be proud of, since I've basically forgotten everything I've ever known. So, actually, I know less than most people.

I hope y'all are having a fantastic July. If not, why don't you write a cunning internet parody of Right Said Fred's classic "I'm Too Sexy." That'll cheer you right up. Here, I'll give you the first line..."I'm, too sexy for this blog, too sexy for this blog..."

In order to beat LA and Bay Area traffic, I drove all night. This turned out to be a terrible idea. See, without someone else in the car to keep me awake and focused, I had to resort to strategies such as rolling down the windows and turning up the radio, and allowing the chill night air and mariachi music to PIERCE my SOUL! Also, I drank enough rot-gut gas station coffee to mess up my internal organs for good. BLEH. I even turned off at a trucker rest stop (at around 4 am) to nap fitfully for an hour; counter to the testimony of several comedic movies, I did not observe any trucker orgies going on in the bushes (for the kids in the audience, by orgies, I mean gluttonous tea drinking parties).

When I pray, I am wont to turn my eyes towards heaven; I've found that, as a consequence, I'm beginning to attach a religious significance to my apartment's ceiling fan. Maybe I should add some iconography to the fan blades. I'm sure my landlord would love that.

My car has been inspected, and pronounced whacked out (the mechanics got a bit excited trying to list all of the electrical problems...if they were doctors, I'm sure my Caddy would be a case study) but driveable. The odometer does not work, the speedometer works rarely, the air conditioning is a hollow joke, fans start and stop at random, my high beams are non-existent, the warning lights apparently have no bearing whatever on the actual condition of the engine, but what of it? The brakes are good, the tires fair. All I ask is a Cadillac and a star to steer her by...

In case this next attempt at traversing California proves fatal, I leave to you, dear readers, my collection of humorous hats.

she's a crazy kid, but i love her.

I had planned to make the nine hour trek northwards to return to the land of my ancestors (i.e. NorCal). The bags were packed, coffee was consumed, mix cds prepared. I only got a few miles northward when the Caddy started overheating. Propitiating it with more coolant did not solve the problem. SHINY SHITBALLS ON TOAST DAGNABBIT!

Oh well. It seems I'm stuck till Tuesday, which is when D Mac's Automotive (we're great buddies, D Mac's and I) reopens. Anyone want to celebrate the Fourth in a suitably festive manner by helping me incinerate my automobile? We can paint it with magnesium first so as it'll burn purty.

The Pillar of the Cloud

Lead, Kindly Light, amid the encircling gloom,
Lead Thou me on!
The night is dark, and I am far from home!
Lead thou me on.
Keep Thou my feet; I do not ask to see
The distant scene---one step enough for me.

I was not ever thus, nor prayed that Thou
Shouldst lead me on.
I loved to choose and see my path, but now
Lead Thou me on!
I loved the garish day, and, spite of fears,
Pride ruled my will: remember not past years.

So long Thy power hath blest me, sure it still
Will lead me on,
O'er moor and fen, o'er crag and torrent till
The night is gone,
And with the morn those angel faces smile
Which I have loved long since, and lost awhile.

- Cardinal John Henry Newman