A minor

I followed a comment link from B.J.'s blog (interesting musings on election, by the way) to Father J. Gordon Anderson's blog, where I found many wonderful sights to behold:

First, his office. (Yeah, I'm a geek, but I appreciate the niceness and minimalism of his space.)
Second, his church's building - browse through the whole site to see more photos, and see more interior photos here.
Third, his art. I especially like "Elegy to Baltimore 2."
Fourth, his post archives. His priesthood reflections - here, here & here - are particularly encouraging.

While I'm personally less inclined toward certain aspects of Father Anderson's traditionalist continuing Anglicanism, I still found his posts very rich. And, of course, his art and his church's architecture speak for themselves.

"Prowl" by James B. Ginsberg

I've been encouraged to blog the first few lines of this poem I found by James B. Ginsberg. The whole thing is called "Prowl" and is remarkably similar to Allen Ginsberg's "Howl," almost to a fault - it's as though Jim just took "Howl" and switched out some words. At any rate, here are the opening lines:

I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by
       madness, satisfied hysterical collarless,
dragging themselves through the Memphis streets at dawn
       looking for an angry fix,
angelheaded preachers burning for the ancient heavenly
       connection to the starry Wesminster in the blindness
       of night,
who decreetally justified and adopted and being sanctified sat
       up blogging in the supernatural darkness of
       cold-water hotel rooms floating across the tops of
       cities contemplating Blue Like Jazz,
who bared their brains to Hell under the El and
       saw Federal Vision angels staggering on
       church roofs illuminated,
who passed through seminaries with radiant cool eyes
       hallucinating St Louis-iana and North-light tragedy
       among the scholars of war,
who were hired by the academies for crazy &
       publishing god-awful theology on the windows of the
       skull,
who cowered in clean-shaven rooms in tighty-whities, burn-
       ing their Bibles in wastebaskets and cheering
       for Sproul on the big screen,...

Maybe I'll post more later.

Saltwater Fishing

Last weekend, Reuben, Jonathan, Bart and I went saltwater fishing in the gulf with Reuben & Hollie's grandfather. He put us up at his camp in Chauvin, about ten miles north of Cocodrie, where we set out from CoCo Marina.

We didn't have the best of luck - didn't catch anywhere near our limit the first day, boat wouldn't start the next day, and I had food poisoning - but we still had a good time.

Here are some pictures for now, but I hope to update with more.

Bart

Jonathan

Reuben

the family

the guys