Picky, Picky: October 2004 Archives

Happy Lame-o-ween


In a fit of dementia, I bought about 5 pounds of candy this morning. Teresa had mentioned something about having fun dressing up and handing out candy in the past, and I was at the grocery store and saw Kit-kats, Milky Ways, 3 Musketeers, M&Ms and Snickers on sale. Remembering that the "fun size" was always a big hit when I was a kid, I bought one bag of each.

I got home and informed my wife of the purchase. She frowned and said, "No one comes here. We should be in the basement watching a movie instead of waiting for the kids to show up. But now we have to because if we don't hand out the candy then you will eat it." I assured her I wouldn't eat it but she said didn't really believe me, sort of like Marion Barry telling the cops that the crack had been left in his car by the previous owner.

So around 4pm we started the setup: Candles in the windows (the kind that can light cats on fire), terra cotta pumpkins with candles inside in the walk, and a basket full of candy.

We had the following folks show up:
2 astronauts my wife tried to make small talk with: "Where's your space ship?" "We're just kids in costumes! We don't have a space ship!" (Stupid adults!)
1 tiger
3 teen agers dressed up as disgruntled youths.
1 sort of sailor looking person
A handful of witches.
A girl who described herself as "a gothic person." Even me, in my lame understanding of modern culture, know they are called "Goths" and they just need to be in all black, black hair and maybe an extra-white face. This girl had a black shirt, a little cross and some jeans on.

So Teresa and I started talking about Halloweens of ages past. "How many times did you go dressed as a Hobo" I asked. "At least seven or eight... I bet you can't dress like a Hobo these days... wouldn't be proper..."

I told her my mom used to make our costumes. I was Death one year. I was a hobo on several ocassions, but mom thought the hobo costume needed bells sewn on for some reason... I'll have to ask her about that.

Teresa said her best costume was that she wore her dad's sailor uniform from WWII, and a girlfriend dressed like the Sweetheart he meets dockside when the ship comes back to home port. And when they rang the doorbell, her friend would leap into her arms so that Teresa was holding her up. Now that's an interesting costume.

We've been getting grunts and half-done costumes, and it's not even the time
the high school kids show up.

Before I start sounding like that old dude from 60 minutes, I leave you with this.

I did get to spend some nice time with my wife talking about Halloween's past and I've gotten about 5,000 calories out of the house. Not a bad way to spend the evening, even if I have to answer the door for a "Gothic Person."

Faith of Our Parents


Normally, I think music directors stop singing most hymns after two verses out of laziness and haste, but let's go along this time, and sing just two verses of Fr. Faber:

Faith of our fathers, living still,
In spite of dungeon, fire and sword;
O how our hearts beat high with joy
Whene'er we hear that glorious Word!
Faith of our fathers, holy faith!
We will be true to thee till death.

Our fathers, chained in prisons dark,
Were still in heart and conscience free:
And truly blest would be our fate,
If we, like them, should die for thee!
Faith of our fathers, holy faith!
We will be true to thee till death.

At my parish we have a very good reason to stop there. The third verse in the Seasonal Missalette runs as follows:
Our mothers, too, oppressed and wronged,
still lived their faith in dignity;
Their brave example gives us strength
To work for justice ceaselessly....
As you probably know, that was not written by Fr. Faber, and it doesn't take a da Vinci to decrypt it as a bunch of feminist code-speak. Just count how many of those 23 words come loaded with whiny left-wing resonances, and you'll get the point.

Ideology was obviously the primary concern in producing that text, because nobody interested in beauty would have written it: just try to wrap your mouth around that word "wronged" and sing it attractively. You can't.

"Welcome to Saint Humbert's Parish. The entrance hymn is number three-hundred-and-one, 'Faith of Our Fathers'. We will sing verses one, two, and four, because verse three is some crock o's--- they put in there to please the feminazis. Please rise and greet our celebrant."

What? Who?

On life and living in communion with the Catholic Church.

Richard Chonak

John Schultz

You write, we post
unless you state otherwise.


About this Archive

This page is an archive of entries in the Picky, Picky category from October 2004.

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