Whilst our Webmaster performs his evangelistic thang in Noth Ca'lina- the true football fan's holyday of obligation happens this coming Saturday. NFL Draft Day 1. A most solemn and important ritual wherein our young gladiators will be selected for future Sunday and Monday night exploits. Grand projections about their futures. Such bosh. Remembering well the 1999 version. Many of my Iggles fans beseeched then new coach Andy Reid-give us Ricky Williams- then fresh out of Texas. Instead chorus of boos when Donovan McNabb was selected instead. Much water under the bridges but at least Donovan the catalyst for 1 Super Bowl and 4 NFC Champeen appearances by Iggles. Ricky given year-long suspension this week by league because his love of controlled substances exceeds that for sport. Why the fans are just fans.
Obligatory Comment About Beans. And Noses.
For your consideration (until our host returns): Cinema as truer Eucharist
"Without responding directly to your post, I thought that the four paragraphs below, taken from four other posts (without adaptation) may prove useful in an assesment of the nature and interests of David Lynch and his Film-art.
Sometimes I think that Lynch's real artistic objectives go beyond the relationship of the viewer to the film. What occurs on this board would be an example of what I mean. His real quest is that something begins to take on a life of it's own in the people (individually and in chorus, even though disharmonious). I can't quite find the analogy I'm looking for, I suppose because what I'm referring to is metaphysical in character, yet positively real. It's almost like he has created this film that launches a virus in anyone who views it. In some it thrives and then is fostered when the hosts communicate with each other. He wants to affect the way people think about life, and themselves, not just this film or films in general. He challenges your grip on reality by making you think and rethink not just about the film, but how is it that you as a viewer make your evaluations. This then in effect is forcing you to become better acquainted with who you are. There is no moral to the film per se beyond what would be involved in aerobic exercise, except that in this case it's not your body that he's working on. He's making us work on our own self.
It seems to me that Lynch takes his work in film to a higher octave. That is to say, he expects the creative work, there where "it" is really understood, to take place in the living interaction among participants who cultivate a concerted understanding. Our first role is as spectator, and of course, the more sound (healthy) and fertile the soil of the consciousness, the greater the ability to initially experience what is offered. But then, the work begins. After several recastings of your outlook as a result of the positive sharing of ideas and subsequent growth there begins an understanding of what could only be foreshadowed as archetype. This type of understanding is unknowable on first viewing (even by the film-maker). Lynch's genius is his ability to introduce the dynamic interplay of archetypes that serve to stimulate the process (not unlike a gardener, who sows and cultivates but can never really cause the plant to grow and fruit).
David Lynch and MD set a comprehensive picture which (as much as I didn't want to believe it early on) appears to be complete with one exception; that would be you. Every day in your life is also complete in itself, except for one thing. What is incomplete is the part that you experienced and didn't think about. You and only you are responsible to deliver the completeness to the day that you lived. Mulholland Drive is no different. Like the meal that you consume, it is not for the purpose simply of satisfying your palette, eyes, smell and thoughts about it, but goes on to become your body. This film needs on-going work before it has lived up to its purpose. It is not for the lazy or cowardly, and will offer rewards in a way similar to life. You get out what you put in. This aspect makes this work head and shoulders above many fast food films made of paper-mache, they look like food, but they are only for the eye and tongue with no underlying nutritional value.
There is an implied "promise", which up until recently it seems, that a film is supposed to end at "The End". When you check and see that the duration is 96 minutes, you really expect that after 96 minutes you can "put it back on the shelf", and move on. Mulholland Drive violates this "promise" and it seems that this is what you are irked about. David Lynch, it would appear does not like being confined (in his film making art) to the unwritten rule of "The End", in the manner just described. I, for one, find his reach (out, beyond the 96 minute range) to be part of his genius, and noteworthy. If you don't like this element, well, then you don't like it." - simplypm2004 ~ from IMDb MD forum
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J...om%20to%
20dream
Toodles..???
Is this a 'CODE'?
Perhaps, unbeknown to the peons of the modern era, there lies a dark mysterious secret behind the utterance 'Toodles', and the more customary phrase denoting, "hang about buddies,don't do what I wouldn't" that is so commopnly seen in this situation - "Hear now, don't go puttin' no beans up yer noses"- or - " Beans, noses, you know the drill".
What is the relationship between nose, bean, and ....Toodles.-GASP.
Can it be, that if we take the 'Too' portion of the word, what can we make of this? Take out one of the 'o's and presume that it belongs in N'o'SE. The we have 'tod' - a typical english slang which means 'alone'.
If we reverse the 'd', it becomes a 'b'. Having already taken out the 'Too', can we see the word 'bles(s)?
Then, taking again the first syllable of the word 'toodles' - whic is 'Tood', this actually makes no sence, until we realise that the 'd' is misplaced. 'Sacre bleu' - it really means 'TO-DO' - an english sland , again, which means a commotion, even a party - a celebration.
Ah, to plumb the depths of the Sheavian Machiavellian mind.
In Welsh, the 'Ll' is pronounced 'CL'.
Perhaps, in earlier times, the 'd' was pronounced as 'th'.
So the Sheavian admonition 'Toodles' must mean 'Toothles(s)'
How right he is.
Bugger!! I need a new denture. 
"The secret of art lies in the fact that one seeks not, but finds." - Pablo Picasso
The Perfect Work of Art as Ultimate Eucharist. Passive sanctification. What do you think?
Cinema as 'Rapture':
"it's so gratifying to see people on here defending the beauty and the enlightened grace of this movie as i have defended at my school. i feel so welcome here!
"at my school, a student wrote an article about how its just another one of those exaggerated pocahontas movies where shes 21 and john smith get married. she argued all of the facts against this movie, like john smith actually going away, rolfe actually getting married to her and going to england, and her actually being around 13 or 14. ALL OF THE THINGS SHE ARGUED happened in the movie. it was just so sad to read her article, her editorial of a movie, when she had not even seen it. it was so so sad.
"this movie is like experiencing sound cancelling/isolating headphones for the very first time. you are in awe that such things are possible, that its actually possible to experience purification of... hearing! its intense and it just makes you stand back in awe at just how perfect this thing is, these things on your head...
"this movie is like what i think being raptured is like
you cant speak because it is so perfect, you cant even look away because your very soul wont let you.
"i want to live where they shot this."
- paxtonbt ~ from the thread "Absolutely Satisfying" IMDb "The New World" forum
waaaah, this North Carolinian always misses all the good stuff. In truth, I knew about the conference, but life (husband & kids) and work (insane job, insane deadlines) prevented my attending. Mark, I hope you come back for the Eucharistic Congress in October. I'm gonna go to that one if I hafta hitchhike from Winston-Salem!
This thought seems vaguely related to the overall theme of the blog, so here goes.
I've seen a number of times on this blog and on a variety of others the comment, "swimming the Tiber" to indicate coming into full communion with the Catholic Church. I've also read fears expressed over what family and friends will think if the plunge is taken.
Msgr. Robert Hugh Benson recalls in his "Confessions of a Convert" that, with two rare exceptions, he met with nothing but understanding and kindness from his family and friends who remained Anglican after his conversion. As a son of the Anglican Archbishop of Canterbury, Benson's conversion was seen both as a personal act and, inevitably, a political one as well, so it was an especially sensitive situation.
Oddly, I find the best source of "cheerleading" for this decision comes in a poem by T. B. Macauley, "Horatius at the Bridge," which (while obviously not intended as such, TBM being something of an anti-Catholic) can be taken as an allegory for those contemplating taking the step:
Alone stood brave Horatius, but constant still in mind;
Thrice thirty thousand foes before, and the broad flood behind.
‘Down with him!’ cried false Sextus, with a smile on his pale face.
‘Now yield thee’, cried Lars Porsena, ‘Now yield thee to our grace.’
Round turned he, as not deigning those craven ranks to see;
Nought spake he to Lars Porsena, to Sextus nought spake he;
But he saw on Palatinus the white porch of his home;
And he spake to the noble river that rolls by the towers of Rome.
‘Oh Tiber! father Tiber! To whom the Romans pray,
A Roman’s life, a Roman’s arms, take thou in charge this day!’
So he spake and, speaking, sheathed the good sword by his side,
And, with his harness on his back, plunged headlong in the tide.
No sound of joy or sorrow was heard from either bank;
But friends and foes in dumb surprise, with parted lips and straining eyes,
Stood gazing where he sank;
And when above the surges they saw his crest appear,
All Rome sent forth a rapturous cry, and even the ranks of Tuscany
Could scarce forbear to cheer.
But fiercely ran the current, swollen high by months of rain:
And fast his blood was flowing; and he was sore in pain,
And heavy with his armour, and spent with changing blows:
And oft they thought him sinking, but still again he rose.
Never, I ween, did swimmer, in such an evil case,
Struggle through such a raging flood safe to the landing place:
But his limbs were borne up bravely by the brave heart within,
And our good father Tiber bare bravely up his chin.
‘Curse on him!’ quoth false Sextus; ‘Will not the villain drown?
But for this stay, ere close of day, we would have sacked the town!’
‘Heaven help him!’ quoth Lars Porsena, ‘And bring him safe to shore;
For such a gallant feat of arms was never seen before.’
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