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July 24, 2005

On Children's Literature and Pope Benedict XVI

The post that follows should probably be at least two different posts, but it is what it is. Someday perhaps I'll tease apart these two strands of thoughts that have converged here, but until then--this post. I'm much, much too busy repeating my vacation in my head as I walk around the neighborhood to be bothered with such things as making any sense.

Much cyberink has been spilled over the Holy Father's supposed statements about Harry Potter, and it has given me pause to reflect.

I am exceedingly grateful that the Holy Spirit saw fit to fill the vacancy left by the death of John Paul the Magnificent so rapidly. However, unlike much of St. Blogs, I haven't been overwhelmed with the person who was chosen. I'm sure those who are pleased have good cause to be, but as hard as I have tried, Cardinal Ratzinger's works simply haven't spoken to me the way JPII did. This is a difference of style and certainly not a fault of either the Holy Father or me--one person's style simply means more to me from the get-go than another's. That is a fact of human nature. However, I've never been a rah-rah fan of Benedict XVI. Nevertheless, he is now the Holy Father and due submission of will and intellect when pronouncing infallibly on matters of faith and morals, and due reasonable leeway in considering pronouncements not made infallibly.

However, when the Holy Father speaks outside his realm of expertise, he is due no more deference than any other critic. On the matter of Harry Potter, it is fairly clear to me that the Holy Father made a completely unremarkable statement that could be made apropos of any popular work of literature--to wit--"There are things in popular literature that subtly (and not so subtly) misconstrue and misrepresent things we know in faith to be true. These things can mislead, and the danger of their misleading ability is more severe with those more innocent of things in the world." This is an appropriate evaluation and correct not only for Harry Potter, but for John Grisham, Michael Crichton, Stephen King, and any number of popular writers.

However, I do maintain that I am not required to submit either intellect or taste to the opinions of Benedict XVI in literature. Had he said that Claude Simon was the most sublime author ever to have walked the face of the Earth, with the wisdom of the ages and the intellect to match, I would find Claude Simon no more readable to me than before the pronouncement. I might be inclined to seek him out and see what the Holy Father liked in the work--but I would neither be required to nor feel particularly obligated to. If the Holy Father were to say the Fractal Mathematics were somehow contradictory to the faith, I would not be inclined to take such a comment seriously until he had demonstrated an extensive and incontrovertible understanding of Fractal Math.

Thus, the Holy Father's pronouncements now or before, in the matter of literature are of vanishingly little concern to me. If I agree already, I would likely nod my head, if not, I wouldn't give the matter second thought. If the Holy Father does or does not like Harry Potter, it is of little moment. If he definitively states that reading these books is contrary to doctrine and faith, then I would be required to pay attention. As that has not happened, and I have yet to read anything that informs me of the Holy Father's understanding of the mechanics of literature and in particular children's literature, I find nothing of moment in his cautionary statement. I suspect that he comments on the books only from what he has heard of them, not on first hand knowledge.

That leads me to another little matter, which is the problem of Michael O'Brien. A passably good author in his own right, his opinions and understandings of children's literature are highly suspect. I've read his book and found that most of his points strike me as highly inflammatory and somewhat paranoid. He does a great disservice denouncing nearly everything in children's literature because it leaves undifferentiated things as disparate as A Wrinkle in Time, Harry Potter and the Prison of Azkaban, and The Golden Compass. To my mind, this does not help prepare the parent already frightened enough of the world of children's literature, but rather puts obstacles in the way of the legitimate enjoyment of what is not truly harmful. He is, of course, entitled to his opinions, but I find them fractious, unsupported, and uneven. Moreover, I have no confidence in his judgment of literature as the list of works that he would approve include things even more problematic than those that he would dismiss. For example, his endorsement of Gene Stratton Porter's A Girl of the Limberlost with its overt and very ugly racism (although despite these elements it is a fine book) leaves one wondering if the only evil in literature is the introduction of any part of the element of magic. So, too, with his listing of Earl Biggers Derr and its stereotypical portrayal of Chinese and the truly deplorable "Unpleasantness at the Bellona Club" with its very ugly racist overtones. I'm getting too close to being polemical here, and I need to back off. But when I see O'Brien sited as a source for anything, my instinct is to immediately ask what his credentials are for making any pronouncements about the good or harm that is done by the working of fantasy in literature. When Peter Pan is approved with its implicit message of the goodness of not maturing and L. Frank Baum is disapproved (one assumes because of the presence of witches and enchantment) one is left to scratch one's head in bemusement. The list of suggested children's literature is so wildly uneven and idiosyncratic that the only unifying factor seems to be an implicit bias against anything that might mention magic, witchcraft, or enchantment.

But enough of that matter. I have said, and will continue to say, that children exposed to literature with appropriate adult intervention will likely come to no harm because of it. How many of us went on to blow up cars or leave horse's heads in beds because of reading The Godfather at an early age? Children should be protected against a great many things, but I'm not certain that Mr. O'Brien always chooses the best things to ward off. I'd far rather Samuel read Harry Potter and learn about working for the oppressed than read the racial slurs present in many books of the past. I'd far rather he read Mark Twain's Huckleberry Finn than other similar literature.

I guess my point is that we need not be so afraid of these things in literature. Objecting to Harry Potter on the basis of magic is less good than objecting to it on the basis of it being substandard writing and literature. And given what most adults read, this is hardly a valid objection at all, because nearly every adult author is worse than Ms. Rowling in any number of ways. The harm in Harry Potter comes from the fear of the things it discusses. Samuel knows at his age that he does not live in the world of Harry Potter and no number of spells or charms will do anything at all. But the thought engages his imagination and makes him think about things beyond human capacity--it directs his attention to the supernatural--to the realm of God and the Angels and it helps him to engage those concepts as well. He may not see God and the Angels in this world, but they are, in some way, real, just as Harry Potter is, in some way real. God is more real and there is greater evidence for Him, but Harry Potter can be an introduction to belief and understanding of things one cannot see or hold.

An attentive, engaged adult is a child's best protection against any possible harm in children's literature. It is the prerogative of any parent to choose what a child will be allowed to read while that adult is paying attention. But the reality is that when your head is turned, your children will be exposed to these things, and it were better that they were well prepared for it. For example, I see greater potential harm in the movie Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban with its apparent implicit endorsement of "alternative lifestyles" (note the end conversation with Lupin) than with the book. But it is entirely possible that one's child might encounter this at a friend's house during a slumber party or just a day out. Give your child the weapons for understanding and interpreting--because attempting to shield him or her will most probably not be completely effective and you want him or her to be able to give good reason for what he or she believes. It is important that a child understand where Harry is convergent with faith and where what it says and teaches is divergent from our values. (Although honestly most Catholic Children I've encountered who have read the work already know this quite clearly.) Every film they encounter, every television show, every work of popular culture will be to some degree at variance with the teachings of the faith. It is our job to use those things that engage them most to teach them how to recognize these subversive threads. We disarm the harm when we teach the children what we value--I think we extend the harm when we do not teach them how to deal with these things they will encounter. I think about a statement made by a friend of a friend, "The problem with Orthodox Judaism is that they value education just enough to teach the children to doubt the faith." Good education teaches a child to engage ideas in a way that allows them to consider the points and retain the truth. This must be done at the appropriate time, but shielding will often fail--if not in the home or at any early age, possibly later, with entirely more devastating effects.

Posted by Steven Riddle at 6:36 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack

Digital Cameras

Are a blessing or a curse. Personally, I find them a tremendous blessing. I'm able to take pictures of hundreds of different things without worrying about developing them or how they will come out. As a result, I take far more pictures--not necessarily better pictures, though I'm working on that as well.

Posted by Steven Riddle at 8:15 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

Ordinary Miracles

Who needs speaking, bleeding, or crying statues when you have these kinds of things around you every day? (To protect bandwidth, they are in the extended entry.)

Sandhill cranes mate for life. Beautiful and statuesque, these birds are often seen strutting down the middle of Florida roads. I'm not sure whether that amounts to bravery or stupidity.

Sunday_24_July_2005 068.jpg

In some parts of the world, wood storks are endangered. You wouldn't know it from living around here. Nearly as common as beach rats (sea gulls) these birds can be seen in the nearby fields and open spaces.

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I didn't even see the little resident of this plant until I looked at the shots I had taken. With and without flash, the world is quite a different place for the lens.

Sunday_24_July_2005 050.jpg

Miracles are around us every day. Everything we see is sustained by God's breath, held together by God's grace, promoted by God's love, continued in God's mercy. We only need to learn to see. (Or more properly, I only need to learn to see.)

Note to Steven: 400 x 300 pixels.

Posted by Steven Riddle at 8:19 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack

July 26, 2005

She's Up!!

One of the great things about the place I work in Orlando is that it is one of the taller buildings in the area. As a result we all go up to the seventh or eighth floor and watch every launching. Usually they are sparsely attended, but today the bulding had a distinct list to the east as everyone crowded the windows to hope, pray, and wish Discovery on her way. Four, five-hundred people all watching the ascent. No, it's not the view from Canaveral, but it is very, very nice indeed, and very nice to see so many interested and so many praying for a safe journey.

I stood and peered anxiously out the window looking for the little flame and the plume of smoke that would mark her ascent. And there it was to the left of a crane of the horizon, arcing up into the clouds, flame strong, plume of smoke thick but quickly swept away so that the trace of her path was quickly removed. And with her my heart also ascended knowing that we were once again on our way. Here in Florida, this has been the constant subject of discussion for the last two weeks or more, and today we were able to witness its execution. Pray for a safe and fulfilling journey, for safety for the present crew and for those who return and for a return of information that will benefit all of humankind.

Oh, how wonderful it is to be able to see this continued movement into the next frontier.

Posted by Steven Riddle at 11:45 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

July 27, 2005

Kant and the Catgorical Imperative (Not Really)

I don't know quite how to class this entry. It's something I off-handedly promised in an earlier post, but it isn't really about the title because frankly, I've mostly forgotten what the title means because it isn't a meaningful part of my existence.

I think what I wanted to point out is that there is a wonderful series of modern College courses available on CD. On the long drive down to Naples and then back up again, I finally had sufficient time to listen to a course by Peter Kreeft on Ethics. I didn't absorb everything upon listening, but I did learn some things and I was provoked to investigate a few philosophical works. Likewise, I was listening to the first lecture in a series called Masterpieces of Western Musice. The title of the lecture was "The Red Priest and His All-Girl Orchestra" and it featured a nice mid-level discussion of Vivaldi's The Four Seasons. I recommend the series.

Now to Kant. I found Kreeft's observations on Kant and Sartre to be exceedingly helpful in sorting out some important differences and feelings. I find Sartrean existentialism utterly repugnant and, more to the point, just plain wrong-headed. Honestly, I'm not all that keen on any form of existentialism--I think the Medieval and Ancient Philosophers were closer to the truth with their essentialism.

My prejudices now defined, let's move on to the "discovery" I made in dealing with Sartre and his existentialism. This discovery was that in essntials Sartre was more honest at facing the consequences of his philosophy than was Kant. Kant basically tells us that he cannot prove and does not know for certain about the existence of God and the Afterlife, but even if we do not know, or even if we believe that they do not exist we should behave as though they do. In other words, we live a lie. This is deplorable, reprehensible philosophy. It does not seek a truth but posits a substitute truth. Sartre on the other hand simply says, "Cowboy up. There is no God, no purpose, no meaning, no essence, no value to life at all. Even suicide isn't worth it because it no more causes or defines meaning than any other action of the mass of the human population. The human being is absurd in his meaninglessness." Wrong, of course, from the get go and repugnant beyond the ability of words to express. Nevertheless, brutally honest and true to the nature of the proposed philosophy. There is something to be said for living the truth rather than pretending that existence is otherwise and living so.

Personally, Aquinas, despite his propensity for splitting hairs and remaining true to a construct to the point of absurdity, (see the discussion of "the vice opposed to drunkeness" over at Disputations--excessive sobriety as a vice?) presents a far more livable philosophy and ethics. Problem is--you must believe in order to accept it. Or perhaps in accepting it you can be led to belief--however it may happen the two go together. There is an appealing simplicity in the congruity of this notion. Man has meaning and that meaning is defined by a creator from whom we receive the understanding to pursue the good and the right.

Oh well, enough very amateur philosophizing. The point of this was to encourage everyone to take up some of this Modern College Courses. They're generally available from your library. There's one of the writings of C.S. Lewis. There's one by Joseph Ellis on Revolutionary American History. There's one on the Bible as the source of Western literature. And there's even one by Alexander McCall Smith.

Go, seek and enjoy!

Posted by Steven Riddle at 9:29 AM | Comments (3) | TrackBack

July 28, 2005

Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince

Obviously can't say much about the book itself other than that it is thoroughly predictable even as to the identity of the mysterious half-blood prince, and yet thoroughly enjoyable. Hopefully in what follows there are no spoilers.

What we learn:

(1) And the greatest of these is love
(2) Do not do what you do not know
(3) Evil always overreaches itself because it believes itself more powerful than good
(4) Make no promise that you are not willing to keep

All pretty good lessons for young people. I am hoping though that part of the overall message of the series does not turn out to be "The end justifies the means." A friend of mine suggested that the introduction of non-verbal spells may provide a way out of that dilemma. We have yet to see.

Rowling is not a great prose stylist--there are any number of problems with her writing, sometimes more glaringly obvious than others. What Rowling does do is weave a good, lengthy, complex story--by that I refer to the entire series rather than to the single book.

Another failing is that while Rowling often allows us to see action, her writing sometimes becomes muddled in the heat of action. And finally, she isn't really good at emotion. Harry angry is much the same as Harry sad. Dorothy Parker's quote regarding Katherine Hepburn applies.

Nevertheless, the books are interesting, fun, fast reading. They undoubtedly teach some very important lessons--although to that point there are other books that do it as well or better. However, these other books fail to engage young readers in the same way as this series. Yes, magic is used, as it is in innumberable works of children's literature throughout time. That's because the best children's writers have not forgotten that all around childhood there is a sense or a touch of magic. Those writers engage a child's sense of otherness. Hence, I believe the popularity of these books.

No, my prime objection to a child reading these books is simply that they might learn less-than-adequate prose style. Hardly a debilitating or incapacitating problem.

Those inclined to read it, get it and do so, I'd love to be able to discuss it. Those no so inclined--you're missing a little magic, but then you probably find it elsewhere--no great loss for you.

One last note--while this is shorter than Order of the Phoenix what she has served up for the last book promises a work four times as large. Given her at times torpid pace, I cannot begin to imagine how she will cover the necessary ground. But I can't wait to see it done.

Posted by Steven Riddle at 9:25 AM | Comments (2) | TrackBack

For all the Texas Mommies

Samuel called me last night nearly breathless with excitement, "Guess what, Dad?"

"What, Samuel?"

"My dream has at last come true! I can be a cowboy."

"Oh, how did that happen?"

"Grandma bought me a cowboy hat and cowboy boots and a cowboy belt."

"Oh, really?"

"And they're all black. And when I wear mommy's sunglasses I look really cool."


"Oh yes. And we took lots and lots of pictures."

"Well, I think your grandma bought those clothes for me."

"Don't be silly Dad, they're only in my size. But we'll look really hard for something similar."

Sam's grandma decided that Sam should have his cowboy outfit. (Not that there was ever any question of him getting it, because if he didn't get it from Grandma, we'd have gotten him some next time I went to buy a hat.) Sam was beside himself. Mom reports that he wanted to sleep in everything but the boots and he had a hard time getting to sleep last night. When I go up to visit next week, I'll take pictures and hopefully get around to posting them shortly.

Anyway, I figured the Texas mommies would particularly appreciate this budding surfer/cowboy who plays classical music and has been spending the summer learning Italian. Now, that's what I call a Catholic boy!

Posted by Steven Riddle at 9:35 AM | Comments (3) | TrackBack

Via Siris

a Ravenclaw!

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Another Shocking Revelation of My Inadequacy

First, this is not by way of criticism or slight to anyone who may differ from this opinion. Indeed, I find it one of my great burdens. But let's just say I don't get the idea of a "beach book."

I don't quite understand the concept of going to a beach book in hand. And when I come back from a beach after ten or twelve hours of walking the entire strand, dodging sharks, and collecting whatever might be collectable, I'm in no state whatsoever to read a book. In the entire time I spent on vacation, I brought about twelve books to read--I ended up reading perhaps a couple of chapters of one of them.

I am, in fact, exceedingly pleased by an observation made by my host with regard to my approach to the beach. He said (and I paraphrase most of it), "I've noticed there are different styles of going to the beach. Some go and sit and sun. Some savor the beach, letting it come to them. You devour the beach."

Now there is truth here. The day we went to the beach when it wasn't stormy and the beach was our only destination, I walked from Delmore-Wiggins pass (a turtle beach) to the North Side of Downtown Naples and back. I don't know how far that is, but my guess is about eight-to-ten miles. My goal would be to walk from Naples to Venice. However, as that would entail swimming several rather large, probably bull-shark infested rivers, I rather think I'll keep it down to between large tidal rivers.

But back to the point. I love the beach. I go with the intent of sitting and absorbing and just being there, but the beach calls to me. Like Prufrock, "I hear the mermaids singing each to each," unlike Prufrock I do not care that they do not sing to me--it is sufficient to be privileged to overhear the conversation meant only for them.

But then we must keep in mind that Steven has, among his friends, a reputation for being robo-tourist. I just read MamaT's description of her first few days of vacation and thought back to my time in San Francisco. And I had written a long description here of it; however, it would seem to detract from that wonderful entry i cited above. Suffice to say that I am known for my ability to take in the sites in a given location. Thus, it should come as no surprise that my recreation at a beach is to walk as far as I possibly can in either direction from where I start. The idea of sitting with a book seems somehow contrary to my notion of a beach--and that, I admit, is my failing. I guess when I take a vacation, I take a vacation from me and my driving impulses as well as from a location. I was amazed at how very little I read (only the directions to and descriptions of the places we were going or just had been.)

Posted by Steven Riddle at 10:30 AM | Comments (5) | TrackBack

Pope Benedict XVI

Can anyone out there recommend a truly compelling work by Cardinal Ratzinger? (I know that he has not yet had an opportunity to produce great work as a Pope.) I ask because I have now tried three different books and find that my eyes snap shut almost before I am out of the introduction. When I make my way into the body of the work, I find that I can't seem to follow the thread of thought, chain or reason, or logic of the piece. I drift in and out and end up wondering why I'm reading. I've had better success with the larger of the two interview books, the name of which escapes me. But Introduction to Christianity lulled me quickly into a pseudo-reading stupor so too with the book of essays about communion and ecumenism.

I'd like to see what everyone else sees to rave about, but honestly, at the present time I don't. Could be my choice of works, or could be that that door simply will not open for me. In that case tant pis. I know there are those who did not see the attraction of John Paul the Magnificent's poetry and prose and I would be hard pressed to explain it to them. But I'm thinking that I've just started with the wrong works and once I get a good leg up these books, forming part of a greater oeuvre will fall into their proper places.

So, any suggestions as to where to start?

Posted by Steven Riddle at 10:57 AM | Comments (6) | TrackBack

A Quiz Found in My Travels

I think I found this at Zadok's Place, but I don't remember and I wasn't able to get back to the site after taking the quiz. Please accept my apologies for lack of reference.

You scored as Mystical Communion Model. Your model of the church is Mystical Communion, which includes both People of God and Body of Christ. The church is essentially people in union with Christ and the Father through the Holy Spirit. Both lay people and clergy are drawn together in a family of faith. This model can exalt the church beyond what is appropriate, but can be supplemented with other models.

Mystical Communion Model


Sacrament model


Servant Model


Herald Model


Institutional Model


What is your model of the church? [Dulles]
created with QuizFarm.com

Posted by Steven Riddle at 12:41 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

Erik's Friday Five From Last Week

These questions interested me:

1. What is your favorite way to beat the heat?

Heat? What heat? Who needs to beat it? Join it. Luxuriate in it, be one with it. Savor it.

2. What is your favorite hot weather dish? Whatever anyone puts in front of me to eat.

3. What is your ideal hot weather music? Vivaldi--it makes me want to dance.

4. What smells do you associate with hot weather? Rain, cut grass, confederate jasmine and honeysuckle.

5. OK. Enough is enough. If time and money were no object, where would you go to escape this infernal heat. (a) How hot is infernal? (b) Go someplace even warmer--Everglades to Tucson.

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July 29, 2005

Why Is It So Hard to Love?

Why is it so difficult for us to love unreservedly? Why do we constantly find ourselves embroiled in controversies that divide us and give us the "right" to judge another?

I pick so many ways to judge. Often I am scandalized, stunned, shocked, and secretly gratified that I have found a way to be more pious, more Godly, and more Christian than my neighbors. In the non-relgious realm I do the same, but the qualities that I am improving in myself are somewhat different. It is good that I am more refined, more intelligent, more cultivated, more honest, more loving, more whatever.

It is a problem I find myself constantly combatting. My rush to judgment is nearly always (although often unconsciously) about feeling good about ourselves. I am piqued or provoked than an opinion on some matter differs from our own.

I read a number of so-called "progressive" blogs. One of the reasons I read them is that they challenge me, sometimes strenuously, to enlarge my view of what the Catholic Church is and of the diversity of opinion within the Church. I almost never find my views of the doctrine changing as a result of reading these blogs--but what I often do find are faithful, strong Catholics, who while holding a divergent viewpoint, still want to belong to, and from their point of view, improve the Church. On the more traditional side, I read a number of blogs that wish to do the same things in the other direction. And what I find here is a difference of opinion--sometimes a difference in which one party or another can be demonstrated to be wrong according to all reasonable explications of tradition and Church Doctrine. But still, there is seldom, if ever, any malice in this wrongness.

This is one of the reasons I'm so apposed to "cleansing the temple" of those who disagree. Heaven knows I would ultimately be one of the ones cleansed because so many of my opinions are pressed right against the border of Orthodoxy and I hold on only by will. For example, you all have heard time and again how I feel about "just war." And honestly every fiber of my being repudiates such an oxymoron. Nevertheless, the Church holds and definitively teaches that such is a possibility--therefore, while all that I am rails against it, I stand with the Church. I guess this puts me in a good stead to sympathize with those whose views differ.

Nevertheless, I find judgment creeping into my thoughts. I find that I use myself as the measure of all things and what a poor measure it is! But woe be unto you if I perceive you do not reach my exalted heights and standards. (Not really, but I am sometimes shocked by my own propensity for judgment.) And so I attribute this to many of us. In some cases, people are more willing to articulate and make a point of their judgments. In my case, I pray that I can learn to stop making those judgments. And as with all such prayers, I have ample opportunity to practice the skill.

But learning to love isn't merely about learning not to pass judgment, but it is learning to accept grace and look out of oneself toward the Other. I must look first to God who is the source and image of all love. If I strive to love without grounding in God, I do so in vain because of myself I can do so little. But with His grace I can do all things. With His love I can learn to love. Paradoxically, seeking His love demands that I look beyond myself and my judgments. Seeking His love requires total abandonment to it. I've said before and will say continually, God's love is "All or Nothing at All." One cannot serve God and Mammon or God and _____. One cannot serve two masters because the one less visible will always be the secondary. As money, sex, fame, and food are all overtly present before us at all times, God will always take the back seat to them if we try to serve both.

An answer to my question then--it is so hard to love because I am so bound up in myself and my own concerns. It is so hard to love because original sin has alienated me from love. To learn to love, I must reach out to the Cross and come to an understanding of what love is by embracing Jesus as He offered Himself--not as I would like Him to offer Himself. I must accept the sacrifice of the Son of God as my own and not seek to alter, change, or transfigure it. That is part of taking up my cross. And it is only in taking up my cross that I can begin to learn love.

(P.S., I know this is a lot of I, I, I, but I also discover that the third person plural is not nearly so convicting as is the first person. That "we" do something hides me in a mass of humanity and in some way excuses what I do. But strip it down to what I do, and I need to acknowledge and answer it. And as one of my theories of blogging is that I do it largely for an audience of one who needs to hear over and over again the truths of the faith--well, please forgive me for burdening you with it.)

Posted by Steven Riddle at 9:31 AM | Comments (4) | TrackBack

Via Julie at Happy Catholic

I am:
Hal Clement (Harry C. Stubbs)
A quiet and underrated master of "hard science" fiction who, among other things, foresaw integrated circuits back in the 1940s.

Which science fiction writer are you?

At the bottom of the same page, you can find out which composer you are and I'm pleased to announce that

You are:

Johann Sebastian Bach
Only a hundred years after his death was he recognized as possibly the profoundest musical genius of all time.

I would only be happier to be Vivaldi, or anyone who composes extensively for mandolin.

Posted by Steven Riddle at 12:53 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack

July 30, 2005

Euplectella Aspergillum

There must be some people out there desperate for pictures of sponge skeletons because, believe it or not after Flos Carmeli, this is the top search that leads people to my site. Frankly, I don't even recall posting anything about this truly beautiful animal; however, I'll look at my search engine and see what it was that I did that would lead people here.

Just to make certain we have things straight--it should be Euplectella aspergillum

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