Weblog 53
February 11, 2007~ 12:00am
TOO MUCH SHOUTING.
I couldn't have been more impressed with the way Ms. Harris was able to carry off the daunting task of a one-woman show- no other actors on stage- and a veritable marathon monologue with no discernable prompts or cue cards. It was an impressive performance in that alone, but I must say I found her constant bellowing of Emily Dickinson's lines more than a bit unnerving, and after a while, out and out annoying. First of all, the theater was small; it was not a huge arena where one would have to throw one's voice up to mile high tiers of spectators, yet she insisted on doing just that, and in particular, when slipping into one of Emily's poems-- which are quiet, dense things-- and entirely unsuited to being LIONIZED by great wind-sucking lungs. And with Julie Harris-- always, always-- as she is wont to do, with the mild tremor of near-hysteria about to break through at any moment.
I ask you: whatever happened to microphones? In an intimate theater of that size, would it not have been more in keeping with the subject matter to have had amplification of a softer, gentler-toned Emily? Does the portrait of the 17 year old Emily above look like a bellower to you?
Ah well......for some things in life we wait and wait, only to find a slightly less than 'full bushel' for all our expectations. I wanted so to have the urge to stand up in my living room and cheer at the end of the performance but alas, all I could do is shake my head, and wish that volume control was a magic appliance of thought. I would've toned down that scenery chewing performance to an acceptable level, but it still would have done nothing for the 'shout look' on the face, the frequent tears, the anything but restrained, subdued, very much in control young soul depicted above, even at that tender age. I'm afraid I much prefer my own thick book of the collected poems of Dickinson, read in the whisper in my head that I've come to know as her voice after all these years.
On a stranger note, this evening I had a 'nut' come up to me in Giant Eagle as I was pushing my cart down the dairy aisle, and ask me if I was Nancy Sinatra. LOL! I had on boots- and so naturally he told me I "must be"- because "those boots are made for walkin'" -and then- "oh, sorry, sorry. Have a good evening." Takes all kinds. Some....are more brightly colored than others, and some fly even when indoors. We have to know when to duck is all, and when to simply smile and pass on by.
February 11, 2007~ 8:00pm
The quiet of these cold, February Sunday evenings are really very peaceful. I don't know why I dread Sundays when these evenings truly are as hushed as they are. Lots of people in the grocery store today, stocking up for Tuesday's snowstorm, supposed to start tomorrow later in the day, and I hope it misses the rush hour. God, that's ghastly! Haven't had one of those yet this year, that getting caught just as it's coming down. That mean's hours on the road. Filled up my tank, just in case.
I feel mellow. That's the only word for it, and a bit nostalgic, a wee bit sad perhaps, from studying my mother in the store today-- the curving of her spine, the way she relies on the shopping cart to steady her, but how it picks up speed, from the way she's forced to bend over when she walks- and watching her going a bit too fast- her eyes with that wide-eyed terror old folks have, and it's really sad for me.
My mother was the giant in my childhood. Her touch was loving, but rough. Dad was the creme puff dreamer- she was the poured foundation holding everything. Stood nearly six feet tall in her stocking feet, and all through childhood I remember her telling me to "stand up straight! Keep your shoulders back- don't slouch!"- and now she can do nothing but.
It's sad to watch her changing, but she was born in 1920, so life's in its final approach, I think. Life is sad, and most of the changes after 50 aren't good ones, that I can tell you....lol...grandchildren being the exception- and the salvation, I suppose. Then right back to sad when you think of them going older, going through all this themselves-- what a precious, torturous, wondrous, living-cycle we are. See, Sundays do this to me. The end of two days relative leisure leaves the mind to wending where it ordinarily doesn't go- at least not for more than a visit- in and out. Sundays say, "Hey. Pull up a chair. We're gonna sit and have a talk about endings- oh, I know you hate it, but they're there. Let's get you prepared, kid..."
Sundays suck. But at least they're quiet for the most part. Trouble is I'm not a television person, I don't turn the knob as soon as I walk in and let the mindwarp overtake me-- no, I sit and type and think. Enjoy the silence, but into which intrudes all manner of anxieties as well. That is the price we pay for loving silence-- knowing that it isn't really- it's just space we've made......
February 13, 2007~ 4:00pm
This is what I am avoiding today. Today our area is in the midst of a "winter storm alert"- 4 to 8 inches of snow mixed with periods of freezing rain. I made the cautious move and put in for a personal day, due to weather. Trouble is, this front and the alert is to continue through this time tomorrow. I'll have to wait until tomorrow morning to make that call, but the older I get, the more skittish and frightened about my long commute on bad highways with jack-knifing tractor trailer trucks, crazy-assed drivers who think they are starring in a Ford commercial for their SUV and 4-wheel drive death-mobiles, and simply my own fears magnified tenfold behind the wheel.
At least some of it is so pretty. Look at this little girlfriend
....
.... She's calmly sitting there in the freezing air and looking gorgeous. That picture was snapped by a Pittsburgher somewhere around here, and what a shot, too! Then there's the quiet, serene beauty of an aerial view of Heinz Chapel in Oakland, with the Greek Parthenon of Carnegie Mellon across the street, next to the formidable looking mausoleum of of Masonic Hall, large WONDERFUL oaken doors like something you'd see on a castle....
The size of the door hinges themselves have always fascinated me. They must be 3-ft across, the whole arched double-door about 20 feet high and studded with HUGE iron nails. I've always loved those doors....
I pass this spot every day on my drive home from work. We're pretty here.......even when we're dangerous to venture out into....I love being inside during a snowstorm. Nothing cozier in the world. I hope wherever you are, you're safe and snug and sipping a steamy hot cup of something- cocoa or a toddy, watching all of this on the News- and not from behind your windshield.
February 14, 2007~ 6:00pm
See that above there? That ice covering is what Pittsburgh is encased in, and needless to say, I called off work like a sane person today. This 2 day winter storm has been a doosey! First the 'wintery mix' all day yesterday (and I stayed home, as the changeable conditions on the road made this 55 year old heart skip a few beats)- and then, last night the ice storm came on TOP of the snow, glazing everything in at least a half inch to an INCH of solid ice. This after noon, the second, heaviest snowfall began, which resulted in another 4 inches of powder on top of the ice. Quite a parfait!
Lovely, no? And deadly as well, when behind the wheel. I braved the cold this afternoon, and while the sun shone in 19 degree weather, donned 2 pair of slacks, 2 pair of socks, 2 sweatshirts, 2 pair of gloves, boots, a winter coat with a hooded muffler around my neck and went outside and started hacking through it. Made a pathway to the car, cleared off the mound of snow to find the 1/2 inch coating of ice hermetically sealing all doors and windows. So what did I do?
I went back into the house and got a hammer. (That's right....a hammer)- and when my neighbor hailed me from to the porch to ask me what I was gonna do with it, I told her, "Hammer the ice off around the door!" "Oh, no no no no....you can't do that!" "Sure I can. I've done it before. You just have to know how to hit it......"
And I was right. Small, careful taps, holding the hammer down near the end of the handle, and voila! I'd chipped the driver's door free, engine started right up, full tank of gas, and I went to town on the rest of it, chipping away like a crazed Thor. Took an hour, but my car is now ice-free, path dug out to the road, and ready to go tomorrow morning for work.
Of course, it started to flurry when I was out there......lol.....and the temperatures are dipping into the sub-zero range tonight, but I feel confident I'll be able to get into the workplace tomorrow. Barring another freakish storm (which they are NOT predicting at this time.) I even rescued a completely sodden Valentine from my mailbox; dried out the lovely, limp thing and have it proudly sitting up right pretty on my dining room table. (Thank you, sweetie. Thank you, Wayne) and even the movie sent by Blockbuster survived the frozen mailbox. (Idiots always leave the door UP!- A-HOLES!!) So Saturday evening, with good weather and passable roads, that 'valentine' and I will be watching "Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The Beginning" Unrated Version. LOL!!! (enough 'class' already. Let's have some screams for a change...)
February 15, 2007~ 6:00pm
Right above here, that is the beauty I was surrounded with today. I can't recall a more glorious sight than every branch, every bush....every twig gleaming in the sunlight like that. It took my breath away. It was difficult to keep my eyes on the road driving home (a 2 hour commute tonight, by the way)- and I was even happy to slow to a crawl on Rt. 28 because of of ring of road flares up ahead, and a broken down waste disposal truck tying up traffic. It gave me a chance to savor the decorated hillside, and even the brambles growing right beside the metal median rail of the divided highway-- magnificent!
That did nothing to beautify the brown slush of the South Side streets, however, nor neutralize the acid in my stomach as I watched the traffic going in the opposite direction driving along on completely cleared and black, snappy looking pavement. What morons decided to make the normal inbound route the one to clear FIRST for the outgoing traffic? Don't tell me the road crews aren't all inbred cretins, sitting around watching re-runs of Hee Haw and playing Hearts-- I know they are! What colossal stupidity.....
Anyway, got home safe and sound, and quickly found myself lost in an internet search for just he right kind of sparkling image above. Tried looking for a shot of that wonderful opening sequence from the 1967 movie musical "Camelot"- as Vanessa Redgrave is pulled through a sparkling Forest Savage on her way to meet Arthur for the first time and everything is glittery white and gorgeous. I never found it-- but that led to other links to Ms. Redgrave and finally to a very interesting site I've never visited before on the films of Ken Russell (because of her portrayal as a twisted nun in "The Devils")- and I know I've always been struck by his imagery, and even own a copy of "The Lair of the White Worm", but I quickly became engrossed in everything there.
Yep, I got caught in that as surely as barbed wire, and found myself reading in rapt fascination. I'd seen many of his films- (now wanting to watch them again)- but in particular, see the ones I haven't seen- or even knew about. I read the commentaries, the themes, the psychology behind his images, and I now know one thing-- if anyone cares to peer into the archetypes of my own murky sexuality, visit this site- Ken Russell Savage Messiah. That filmmaker and I have a lot of Freudian hallmarks in common...lol....I'm absolutely serious! See? You start out looking for one thing in this maze that is the internet, and find yourself falling down a completely different rabbit hole! I know one thing, those films are going right to the top of my Blockbuster queue. I have to study them some more.........how strange. How very strange the world is. And horribly- dangerously beautiful.
February 16, 2007~ 8:00am
OMG! This picture was on the first page of the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette. Old St. Michael's Church, nestled into the hillside of the South Side slopes. That was the most beautiful Catholic Church. It sits at the end of Pius Street, where I went four years to Catholic high school at St. Michael's. The diocese closed it down 17 years ago. It's a shell now, made into condos (!)-- but at one time was filled with more statues, bric-a-brac, oaken carvings and confessionals, lovely ornate marble altar, lovely stations of the cross- 'the works'. I do wonder where GOD went when they foreclosed on his pretty house?
That is the church I remember. The first picture in black and white, looking down the aisle at the main altar, and the second, a color view of the magnificent woodwork, statuary and wrap-around gothic pulpit. I listened to many a sermon given from that impressive aerie....
St. Michael's parish has its own feast day- a day of holy obligation for all parishioners. During the cholera plague of 1849, which killed 5,000 of the 45,000 Pittsburgh residents of that time, the parishioners took a vow to keep one extra holy day per year if- after 75 parishoners died- there would be no more fatalities. No one else succumbed, and they kept their promise. (I had to look all this up, because I originally thought the August holy day was kept due to a deliverance from the 1918 plague, but this predates that by three quarters of a century!)
Now look at it... standing there like an old studio lot. Abandoned? No.........of course not. the money-grubbers got their hands on it. To quote The Washington Post in a past article on the 'revitalization' of the South Side, I quote: "The former St. Michael the Archangel Church is now a condo building called the Angel's Arms, and its 1861 tower again has a working clock." Condos go for 125,000 to 350,000- with a 200.00 monthly maintenance fee.
*(This may have gone up.) I just found all this info from doing an internet search. There's even an option to lease 'a part of the church's basement as a wine cellar'...good God Almighty!
And here's the old girl now, all gussied up and gentrified. (How do you 'desanctify' holy ground?? Does the diocese come in with a big truck and an accordian pleated pipe and SUCK it out, like the Roto-Rooter guys?) Astonishing. Maddening. But there it sits, still clinging to the hill, still shining in the midst of all the crystallized world around it. How sad the past is. Especially when it's stolen.
Here's the whore now. Take a look around in that site. Look first at the tacky, garish "logo". When I see those vaulted ceilings, I remember- and when I think of materialistic yuppies living there in what they consider primo real estate- I could just weep. Hey! Maybe there's a curse that goes with living out your decadence by owning and living in a church- by making its cellar a place to stow your chardonnay... Hmmmmmmmm....I'll have to look into that. There probably is. I feel better now. :) but oh, I'm still hearing Mama Cass singing, "Look what they've done to my song, Ma, look what they've done to my song...."
***
(Return To Weekly Archives)
I couldn't have been more impressed with the way Ms. Harris was able to carry off the daunting task of a one-woman show- no other actors on stage- and a veritable marathon monologue with no discernable prompts or cue cards. It was an impressive performance in that alone, but I must say I found her constant bellowing of Emily Dickinson's lines more than a bit unnerving, and after a while, out and out annoying. First of all, the theater was small; it was not a huge arena where one would have to throw one's voice up to mile high tiers of spectators, yet she insisted on doing just that, and in particular, when slipping into one of Emily's poems-- which are quiet, dense things-- and entirely unsuited to being LIONIZED by great wind-sucking lungs. And with Julie Harris-- always, always-- as she is wont to do, with the mild tremor of near-hysteria about to break through at any moment.
I ask you: whatever happened to microphones? In an intimate theater of that size, would it not have been more in keeping with the subject matter to have had amplification of a softer, gentler-toned Emily? Does the portrait of the 17 year old Emily above look like a bellower to you?
Ah well......for some things in life we wait and wait, only to find a slightly less than 'full bushel' for all our expectations. I wanted so to have the urge to stand up in my living room and cheer at the end of the performance but alas, all I could do is shake my head, and wish that volume control was a magic appliance of thought. I would've toned down that scenery chewing performance to an acceptable level, but it still would have done nothing for the 'shout look' on the face, the frequent tears, the anything but restrained, subdued, very much in control young soul depicted above, even at that tender age. I'm afraid I much prefer my own thick book of the collected poems of Dickinson, read in the whisper in my head that I've come to know as her voice after all these years.
On a stranger note, this evening I had a 'nut' come up to me in Giant Eagle as I was pushing my cart down the dairy aisle, and ask me if I was Nancy Sinatra. LOL! I had on boots- and so naturally he told me I "must be"- because "those boots are made for walkin'" -and then- "oh, sorry, sorry. Have a good evening." Takes all kinds. Some....are more brightly colored than others, and some fly even when indoors. We have to know when to duck is all, and when to simply smile and pass on by.
February 11, 2007~ 8:00pm
The quiet of these cold, February Sunday evenings are really very peaceful. I don't know why I dread Sundays when these evenings truly are as hushed as they are. Lots of people in the grocery store today, stocking up for Tuesday's snowstorm, supposed to start tomorrow later in the day, and I hope it misses the rush hour. God, that's ghastly! Haven't had one of those yet this year, that getting caught just as it's coming down. That mean's hours on the road. Filled up my tank, just in case.
I feel mellow. That's the only word for it, and a bit nostalgic, a wee bit sad perhaps, from studying my mother in the store today-- the curving of her spine, the way she relies on the shopping cart to steady her, but how it picks up speed, from the way she's forced to bend over when she walks- and watching her going a bit too fast- her eyes with that wide-eyed terror old folks have, and it's really sad for me.
My mother was the giant in my childhood. Her touch was loving, but rough. Dad was the creme puff dreamer- she was the poured foundation holding everything. Stood nearly six feet tall in her stocking feet, and all through childhood I remember her telling me to "stand up straight! Keep your shoulders back- don't slouch!"- and now she can do nothing but.
It's sad to watch her changing, but she was born in 1920, so life's in its final approach, I think. Life is sad, and most of the changes after 50 aren't good ones, that I can tell you....lol...grandchildren being the exception- and the salvation, I suppose. Then right back to sad when you think of them going older, going through all this themselves-- what a precious, torturous, wondrous, living-cycle we are. See, Sundays do this to me. The end of two days relative leisure leaves the mind to wending where it ordinarily doesn't go- at least not for more than a visit- in and out. Sundays say, "Hey. Pull up a chair. We're gonna sit and have a talk about endings- oh, I know you hate it, but they're there. Let's get you prepared, kid..."
Sundays suck. But at least they're quiet for the most part. Trouble is I'm not a television person, I don't turn the knob as soon as I walk in and let the mindwarp overtake me-- no, I sit and type and think. Enjoy the silence, but into which intrudes all manner of anxieties as well. That is the price we pay for loving silence-- knowing that it isn't really- it's just space we've made......
February 13, 2007~ 4:00pm
This is what I am avoiding today. Today our area is in the midst of a "winter storm alert"- 4 to 8 inches of snow mixed with periods of freezing rain. I made the cautious move and put in for a personal day, due to weather. Trouble is, this front and the alert is to continue through this time tomorrow. I'll have to wait until tomorrow morning to make that call, but the older I get, the more skittish and frightened about my long commute on bad highways with jack-knifing tractor trailer trucks, crazy-assed drivers who think they are starring in a Ford commercial for their SUV and 4-wheel drive death-mobiles, and simply my own fears magnified tenfold behind the wheel.
At least some of it is so pretty. Look at this little girlfriend
....
.... She's calmly sitting there in the freezing air and looking gorgeous. That picture was snapped by a Pittsburgher somewhere around here, and what a shot, too! Then there's the quiet, serene beauty of an aerial view of Heinz Chapel in Oakland, with the Greek Parthenon of Carnegie Mellon across the street, next to the formidable looking mausoleum of of Masonic Hall, large WONDERFUL oaken doors like something you'd see on a castle....The size of the door hinges themselves have always fascinated me. They must be 3-ft across, the whole arched double-door about 20 feet high and studded with HUGE iron nails. I've always loved those doors....
I pass this spot every day on my drive home from work. We're pretty here.......even when we're dangerous to venture out into....I love being inside during a snowstorm. Nothing cozier in the world. I hope wherever you are, you're safe and snug and sipping a steamy hot cup of something- cocoa or a toddy, watching all of this on the News- and not from behind your windshield.
February 14, 2007~ 6:00pm
See that above there? That ice covering is what Pittsburgh is encased in, and needless to say, I called off work like a sane person today. This 2 day winter storm has been a doosey! First the 'wintery mix' all day yesterday (and I stayed home, as the changeable conditions on the road made this 55 year old heart skip a few beats)- and then, last night the ice storm came on TOP of the snow, glazing everything in at least a half inch to an INCH of solid ice. This after noon, the second, heaviest snowfall began, which resulted in another 4 inches of powder on top of the ice. Quite a parfait!
Lovely, no? And deadly as well, when behind the wheel. I braved the cold this afternoon, and while the sun shone in 19 degree weather, donned 2 pair of slacks, 2 pair of socks, 2 sweatshirts, 2 pair of gloves, boots, a winter coat with a hooded muffler around my neck and went outside and started hacking through it. Made a pathway to the car, cleared off the mound of snow to find the 1/2 inch coating of ice hermetically sealing all doors and windows. So what did I do?
I went back into the house and got a hammer. (That's right....a hammer)- and when my neighbor hailed me from to the porch to ask me what I was gonna do with it, I told her, "Hammer the ice off around the door!" "Oh, no no no no....you can't do that!" "Sure I can. I've done it before. You just have to know how to hit it......"
And I was right. Small, careful taps, holding the hammer down near the end of the handle, and voila! I'd chipped the driver's door free, engine started right up, full tank of gas, and I went to town on the rest of it, chipping away like a crazed Thor. Took an hour, but my car is now ice-free, path dug out to the road, and ready to go tomorrow morning for work.
Of course, it started to flurry when I was out there......lol.....and the temperatures are dipping into the sub-zero range tonight, but I feel confident I'll be able to get into the workplace tomorrow. Barring another freakish storm (which they are NOT predicting at this time.) I even rescued a completely sodden Valentine from my mailbox; dried out the lovely, limp thing and have it proudly sitting up right pretty on my dining room table. (Thank you, sweetie. Thank you, Wayne) and even the movie sent by Blockbuster survived the frozen mailbox. (Idiots always leave the door UP!- A-HOLES!!) So Saturday evening, with good weather and passable roads, that 'valentine' and I will be watching "Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The Beginning" Unrated Version. LOL!!! (enough 'class' already. Let's have some screams for a change...)
February 15, 2007~ 6:00pm
Right above here, that is the beauty I was surrounded with today. I can't recall a more glorious sight than every branch, every bush....every twig gleaming in the sunlight like that. It took my breath away. It was difficult to keep my eyes on the road driving home (a 2 hour commute tonight, by the way)- and I was even happy to slow to a crawl on Rt. 28 because of of ring of road flares up ahead, and a broken down waste disposal truck tying up traffic. It gave me a chance to savor the decorated hillside, and even the brambles growing right beside the metal median rail of the divided highway-- magnificent!
That did nothing to beautify the brown slush of the South Side streets, however, nor neutralize the acid in my stomach as I watched the traffic going in the opposite direction driving along on completely cleared and black, snappy looking pavement. What morons decided to make the normal inbound route the one to clear FIRST for the outgoing traffic? Don't tell me the road crews aren't all inbred cretins, sitting around watching re-runs of Hee Haw and playing Hearts-- I know they are! What colossal stupidity.....
Anyway, got home safe and sound, and quickly found myself lost in an internet search for just he right kind of sparkling image above. Tried looking for a shot of that wonderful opening sequence from the 1967 movie musical "Camelot"- as Vanessa Redgrave is pulled through a sparkling Forest Savage on her way to meet Arthur for the first time and everything is glittery white and gorgeous. I never found it-- but that led to other links to Ms. Redgrave and finally to a very interesting site I've never visited before on the films of Ken Russell (because of her portrayal as a twisted nun in "The Devils")- and I know I've always been struck by his imagery, and even own a copy of "The Lair of the White Worm", but I quickly became engrossed in everything there.
Yep, I got caught in that as surely as barbed wire, and found myself reading in rapt fascination. I'd seen many of his films- (now wanting to watch them again)- but in particular, see the ones I haven't seen- or even knew about. I read the commentaries, the themes, the psychology behind his images, and I now know one thing-- if anyone cares to peer into the archetypes of my own murky sexuality, visit this site- Ken Russell Savage Messiah. That filmmaker and I have a lot of Freudian hallmarks in common...lol....I'm absolutely serious! See? You start out looking for one thing in this maze that is the internet, and find yourself falling down a completely different rabbit hole! I know one thing, those films are going right to the top of my Blockbuster queue. I have to study them some more.........how strange. How very strange the world is. And horribly- dangerously beautiful.
February 16, 2007~ 8:00am
OMG! This picture was on the first page of the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette. Old St. Michael's Church, nestled into the hillside of the South Side slopes. That was the most beautiful Catholic Church. It sits at the end of Pius Street, where I went four years to Catholic high school at St. Michael's. The diocese closed it down 17 years ago. It's a shell now, made into condos (!)-- but at one time was filled with more statues, bric-a-brac, oaken carvings and confessionals, lovely ornate marble altar, lovely stations of the cross- 'the works'. I do wonder where GOD went when they foreclosed on his pretty house?
That is the church I remember. The first picture in black and white, looking down the aisle at the main altar, and the second, a color view of the magnificent woodwork, statuary and wrap-around gothic pulpit. I listened to many a sermon given from that impressive aerie....
St. Michael's parish has its own feast day- a day of holy obligation for all parishioners. During the cholera plague of 1849, which killed 5,000 of the 45,000 Pittsburgh residents of that time, the parishioners took a vow to keep one extra holy day per year if- after 75 parishoners died- there would be no more fatalities. No one else succumbed, and they kept their promise. (I had to look all this up, because I originally thought the August holy day was kept due to a deliverance from the 1918 plague, but this predates that by three quarters of a century!)
Now look at it... standing there like an old studio lot. Abandoned? No.........of course not. the money-grubbers got their hands on it. To quote The Washington Post in a past article on the 'revitalization' of the South Side, I quote: "The former St. Michael the Archangel Church is now a condo building called the Angel's Arms, and its 1861 tower again has a working clock." Condos go for 125,000 to 350,000- with a 200.00 monthly maintenance fee.
*(This may have gone up.) I just found all this info from doing an internet search. There's even an option to lease 'a part of the church's basement as a wine cellar'...good God Almighty!
And here's the old girl now, all gussied up and gentrified. (How do you 'desanctify' holy ground?? Does the diocese come in with a big truck and an accordian pleated pipe and SUCK it out, like the Roto-Rooter guys?) Astonishing. Maddening. But there it sits, still clinging to the hill, still shining in the midst of all the crystallized world around it. How sad the past is. Especially when it's stolen.
Here's the whore now. Take a look around in that site. Look first at the tacky, garish "logo". When I see those vaulted ceilings, I remember- and when I think of materialistic yuppies living there in what they consider primo real estate- I could just weep. Hey! Maybe there's a curse that goes with living out your decadence by owning and living in a church- by making its cellar a place to stow your chardonnay... Hmmmmmmmm....I'll have to look into that. There probably is. I feel better now. :) but oh, I'm still hearing Mama Cass singing, "Look what they've done to my song, Ma, look what they've done to my song...."
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