A Good Voice

The great, or near-great, voice of a choir boy can only last a year at most. I had one, but you don’t have to, to know that. Oh, it’s okay to fall in love with one, as I did with a Vatican one (They don’t give a hoot about the choirboys, not in the Vatican choir, where any boys are off-topic, not just women!) but it’ll never last, not like Elizabeth Caballero’s. Enjoy it for all it’s worth; it’s dreadfully ephemeral.

Girls’ voices don’t get much respect, regardless. That stinks!

It stinks, too, that they never (or very, very rarely) get ranges of four or five octaves, much less more, like me.

I like girls a lot. A whole lot.

Who are the real lovers of choral singing, if not girls? Boys? Boys’ mothers? Fathers? Of course it’s girls! Ask one, if you dare.

Quirinius was governor of Syria when Christ was born (not conceived), they say. Who doesn’t know that? Everybody’s heard it over and over again, once per Christmas, at least, but you just ask ordinary people you meet on the street, even around Christmas. They aren’t paying attention to Bible lessons, and Quirinius had an easy name. They’re fed up with the Gospels, all whatever-it-is, four?, of them. Who’s even read Luke past the beginning, which wasn’t his name (you know, the suspected Greek poetaster or medicaster, not medi-caster, though he might have done that a bit, and indeed may have, probably did, casting meds), by the way? (Probably, even, scrip-casting. No prob. No, probly. In pen and ink, or abrasions or markings, on real paper or not.)

Who knows bees have no egos? Do they even have analysts? Not me, now. Why even speculate or enquire?  A word Firefox wants spelt “inquire”. It doesn’t even recognize any old “spelt”.  “Spelled” and “smelt” are fine, probably another past tense of “smell”, even, whatever you like, passes, and real smelt, but not “spelt”, not even for the creativityful of creative writers’ writings. Don’t ask or “go there”, quoting many. Many people, they are, (or “that is”) not else. Has spelt ever smelt? Smelt smelt, but I doubt it ever, or never, spelt like I do, at least most allst.

Bill Swink, a Bible-reading Catholic, of all things, doesn’t even think I’m right about John having been written first, who does?, not to mention Who the Great wrote it, or even in His lifetime, or that “Son of Man” mayn’t mean “God”!  Whoever heard of a Catholic reading the Bible, much less considering Barbara Thiering’s theoretical musings? At least Firefox gets “mayn’t”; mightn’t, too, a good, but inexpressing, possibility. Guess about “inexpressing”. You know the diff. And diff, even it gets.

Know what “theoretical musings” means? It’s not musings that aren’t real, or musings that are “theoretical” somehow — but yes, it IS the latter, because it’s musings on the subject of one or more theories, or incipient ones, which is rather important, quite so.

Jesus wrote that book to be read, and correctly, not so much the wrong way!

Did you think He’d die before writing a single book for posterity?

After a Crucifixion, Descent into Hades, Resurrection, showing off his stigmata, eating fish, the “among us” apostles and other folk, and all that?!

Why would He leave!, leaving nothing behind but cryptic impressions and rumors of something incomprehensibly “special” about Him, and with those utterly incredible “miracle” stories, to boot, only to make flames on folks heads, and glossolalia in their mouths some time later?

And after telling everybody, not just followers, but everybody, including you and I, that there was some thing hidden in all those parables (and travel stories, miracles, etc.).

And that we’d never get it, not in a million years, not without thinking quite a lot about it, which nobody ever got around to till just recently.  We Americans never bother to learn the Greek alphabet, not to mention pick up His Book. Search your “Bible stores” for a Greek original version. It’s not as if there’s been a letter altered from the original, or we can’t find it anywhere.

(I chanced upon mine in the trash somewhere, along with a dictionary for it, Liddell & Scott 26th Ed., 8th printing in 1927, but abridged, darn it. Try to avoid this abridged one, with it’s “scholarly” Latin and English; you need the unabridged, and a Biblical, not modern, Greek grammar book, to get anywhere, but any old modern Greek language learning book for Anglophones will help, I’ve found. Even Barnes & Noble, Borders, and others, has those, at least, so there’s no excuse for not studying a Greek Bible, what it actually says there, as “God” wrote it Himself, letter for letter, in plain Greek, not an unfamiliar language, right?)

Some people still think the miracles happened, and that there were “mysteries” involved in such things as His conception, not to mention his birth. They forget he was supposed to have been conceived, not by that “Father” (“God”, the Real God, acc. most people’s way of thinking, but including the others, including Himself–can’t forget about that), but by that Paraclete! Just the “Person” often considered most feminine of all, as if God needed testicles, but not a vagina or breasts!, for some unknown reason, to create “us” males in his image!

Think about it, ladies, and speak up. Truth needs you now.

Sure, but I won’t touch upon that. Maybe another day, but not likely.

Some people think he just took off (upwards) for heaven (or Hell) again, without saying anything worth mentioning. They call themselves “Christians”.

Even I have been that ignorant and thoughtless myself. Yeah, been there, done that. The church show-off, all piety and Godly. It’s just how I felt. Godly, that is, if less than perfectly pious, but I tried to be that, too. Godly was easy; it’s the perfection-in-every-way-in-everyday-life bit that’ll kill you, if not drive you to a seminary, to be surrounded by guys (but now gals, too) who are similarly lost, and know it, but don’t talk much to their teachers about it, except when contemplating suicide, or celibacy, and all that.

Mustn’t we dwell upon this?

“Put it out of your mind”, says a very smart Jesuit person, soon.

And when that kid sings, pay attention carefully, critically; he might be quite good, you know, which you’d never know listening as you listen to ordinary TV or radio musicians, who can never hold a candle to good singers. You think they care about pitch? He does.

He’s proud of it, and he can hear it a whole lot better than anybody over 18 or so.

A good choirboy could probably do a fair job tuning a piano by ear, just by attending to the pitches, without a clue what he’s doing. So don’t listen uncritically as you usually do, just “appreciating” some music.

Appreciate what he’s actually doing, live, in front of you.

Darn! Had to hit the mute just then, when some non-good choirboy opened his mouth on TV! He sang “Happy birthday, Jesus”, and was a little youngish, but he couldn’t hit a single note or breathe, nor did he try, and whichever sounds were coming out, they wavered like crazy.  On PBS, just now, at 11:50 Christmas Eve.

It’s a crime against the nation, its culture, and art.  They destroy the ears of all of us, and make us think excellence doesn’t really matter all that much — not to succeed before our good old American public, that is. We can have fun “listening” to crap. It’s only another spoiled, misleading Christmas for one nation. Who cares if our youth’s hearing or we ourselves are spoiled when nobody respects us anyway?

Has anything good come out of the USA recently? No, not even the currency or the “high” technology. I listen to music running VLC, from French amateur programmers who are very ignorant and careless, and don’t think very well, just better than our highly paid American professionals, who are barely (but just barely), literate. Sure, they could get through a magazine, if it were something up their alley, and so on, but they couldn’t make much of a contribution to it. They think they understand “Wired”, for instance, most of the time, and trade zines, and pop stuff. They subscribe to “Scientific American” and think they “get” it, even “High Technology” and games zines, which they don’t in the least, pouring through them as if the words they don’t get are meaningless, and only the most notorious trademarks and acronyms really matter.

They speak ANSI C, at least, and the difference between a track and a channel. Audio is “songs”, right? A buck apiece. It’s all “categorizable” rightly or wrongly, another word Firefox has never heard of, whereas “stridden” is.

There’ll never be a Bell Telephone Hour again in my lifetime, nor anybody to perform on one.  Nor will our cultural ambassadors get any respect, nor, to say the most, not any valid.

Your children, at least, have ears, which could be used and trained well. They could appreciate music some day, if only you cared about them. But you don’t, I accuse. My parents didn’t much, but they sent me to school for that, and somebody cared a lot about my ears.

And the brief excellence of my singing, too, for a year. Even several years, though most disappointed them and me, but I excelled, at least, even then. I could hear! Can’t you imagine hearing, really hearing? Is it any wonder I could never stand the piano?

I heard it too much, and it was never decent; it never got close, not even after a “fine” tuning.

And they expected me to practice on that, and enjoy myself doing it?!

I couldn’t even fix that rather respectable, but intolerable tuning, hard as I tried.

Thank Goodness, I tried, and learned to like, tuning a piano. Think of the many lives I’ve enhappied over the years.

[Shut UP, you Fire-foxy so-called “spell-checker”. I’ll heed you as often as I displease, got it? So just stet unenhappied. “Enhappied” has its applications; include it even.]

I know, too many “even’s”; I can’t even write that right, “evens”, as in the “even Stephens” ones, perhaps.  At least I went where I was going this time.  Too many “at leasts”, too?  What about “toos” and “Ies”?  Don’t tell me “usses” is better, or do I mean are better?  No, I meant the usage of “usses”, dubious as they are, and I of them, and of their usage, for that matter.

I’m new to this writing business; gimme a chance.

I’ve only blown it before, getting, not earning, As in school. I never got any good, like a writer, even a hack. Better a hack, then creativityless.

Firefox! Down, boy. I like it, like it or not. Do I have to be adequately thrilled with it to put it in the dictionary?

Please direct your inquiries to me, “I”, the editor hereof. I’m even the author; I like and approve of it; it’s MY style, and not even for sale, much less profit. Did you think I asked you to read it?

Why, I’d authorize Emily Dickenson, if she wanted!  I’d rip off her bodice and do her portrait stark naked, she’s that good. I might even attempt a sonnet, but my mind’s fancies must be Italian or Shakespearean for that; I’m no Milton yet, not by a long shot. You could write the king’s laws in Latin and get them all legalistic(al)ly more perfect than anybody else in the realm?

Okay, Mr Milton, slap ’em right here on the virtual desktop in front of me, and I’ll peruse them, but that’s all I can promise, when I get around to them. It might be different if your agent were pretty and made me home-made cookies, and my secretary. And she sneaked them to the next-to-top of the stack, like Cannell’s. If a lawyer can give me a cookie, and the VA a lollipop, please don’t hold out on me, I need a pat.

I put them piano keys right down, con brio. It’s what I do best. A pat? One measly pat?

Firefox said “measly” doesn’t need any more es anymore. If it’s right, I’m right now, so don’t blame it on me. I know “measley” might be left out accidentally, but “measly’s” fine with me, even with apostrophe-s within quotation marks, along with the rest of it. But it’s a measle, not a beagle, isn’t it? Nobody taught me beagly in elementary school, but it’s probably right, notwithstandingly.

Yeah, Firefox caught that. Again.

I just love this “blogging” capability, and I don’t care who reads it!

Did you realize Jacques Pepin can make bread in a pot, on a stove or off, with a handle or not?  I bet he knows what nabemakiudon is, and nabe, maki, and udon. Just had some yesterday. Polished the pot off at home, or half its contents. Yummy. I brought my own napkin, but no spoon, and forgot my hashi were in my bag, what a waste!  I just used their disposable chopsticks, improperly splitting them, and declining to polish them by rubbing them together. Down the counter, a guy used a rubber band and rolled up piece of paper placemat to fix his little daughters fat hashi ends together. Clever. I’m even taking an anonymous tip I observed the day before yesterday and carrying a pen in my sock. Funny and clever. No stick-up artist is looking for a disposable pen, anyway. Or rubber band, which Georgie Price wore around his wrist, or rolled-up piece of placemat, for that matter. Firefox balks at placemat, because there’s “place mat” for that of course me dummy. Even a lot of Japanese decline rubbing disposable hashi together, even those who don’t (the bastids) decline to use them. Just because there’s a paper napkin there doesn’t mean it’s not a crime to “just” take it. It’s wasteful, as long as you’ve brung (Guess what!) your own anyway, who doesn’t have a hanky, (Guess what again!) a cotton one, in your pocket, whatever pocket, though the left hip pocket is the conventional. Japs are very nice people, just queasy about “Jap”, for no apparent reason. Get the gist? Why? WWII? No, Hollywood’s version of WWII, and they rightwell oughta be, but over it soon. Veritas? (Vrai, nicht wahr?) Be bold, avant garde, my Jap friends. Jap’ll see the light of day; it’s better than Yug for Yugos, isn’t it? And it’s snappy, with verve, a hard-to-translate American English concept. It’s like vim that way or vimmish. (By now, don’t even guess; you got the Firefox spellcheck thing. It even balks at spellchecking, verb, noun or adjective. Not to mention spellcheckingest, which is plain English for what it is, or could be, if they thought ahead and planned for you and me. If you didn’t approve of spellcheckingest, you’d have left years ago.)

Never wind up ending on a right parenthetical marker-thing, or -thing (with a space there). What do you think it is, a parenthesis, or curved “bracket” of some sort? A parenthesis only ends there. Parentheses only go within the parentheses, and all brackets are square ones. Curly ones are braces. Anglish ones are “greater than” or “less than”, Unicode notwithstandingly opposed against such réalités, if that’s le mot juste at all. What I meant is stylized “realities”, the Francophile way, but I know réalités is– how the heck do I get out of these Italics, anyway? I tried, and tried bolding, too, and clicking and reclicking the slanted i button, but nothing everything fails now, and even “Path” stays “em”, and “em” plus “em”, gosh.
I had to go into the HTML to fixit, with two “</em>s”! And guess what my {Home} key’s doing now. Jumping back to the beginning of the second réalités, that’s what, which is surrounded by a pair of identical <em>s, and nary an </em>, but works okay, at least for me. I’ll be darned if I can figure out any of this WordPress stuff. (Yeah, Firefox balks at “WordPress”, unless I teach it not to. While “word-press”, it has no problem with; forget “word-pressingly”, etc. No, “word-pressingly” it considers perfectly all right, but not wordpressingly, despite teaching it WordPress myself. I’ll just stick, for the nonce, with “word-pressingly” expressingly saying wrong what I mean. Yeah, it doesn’t like expressingly; I simply must say “expressively”, of course.) They let you highlight a word before pressing the Italics button, but if you’re done, it don’t know, no matter how much you try and strike it down, or must I say “to” now. No. It didn’t even try to try and stop me. It’s no grammar-checkinglike thing. And again, surely, or not so, you mustn’t ask about that, or even the logic. Dare I say “thereof”? Well, I did it, didn’t I? Moreover-ishingly, there’s nothing wrong, but sometimes, there is. I mean -ishsomely, if anything at all, and even that’s not quite acceptable, and I didn’t mean “quite”, I just typed it in there, never giving it a (second) thought, and so stet it. Or leave it stet. Or leave it anyoldway, and so, [stet], with which it’s satisfied. It’s even taking anyoldway, now, at least the former one, not the latter. Any(old)way, too.


I’m just the composer, or is it composition-worker. I don’t actually work at it, as readers must.

I’m just demonstrating I can get away with it, and from, so, Bye! Be of good cheer, now, early Christmas Day morn.

It’s beddy-bye for me.


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