Fine wine, rich coffee
It’s always nice to have your lifestyle validated. Maybe the study shows correlation rather than cause and effect, but why take a chance?
Explosive Fruit
Checking my blog visitor log the other day, I saw that someone had used Google’s translation service to read it in French. The phrase “originally published in The Pomegranate” had been translated as “? l’origine ?dit?es dans la grenade.”
“La grenade” . . . of course! The Engish word “pomegranate” comes from the Old French pom grenate. That connection trickled into my consciousness after a moment’s thought. (Hence “grenadine,” the syrup made from pomegranates or currants.)
But I still enjoyed the metaphorical possibilities: our journal–which is now at the printer–as a grenade tossed into seminar room of religious studies. It sounds like a poetic image by one of the more violent Futurists of the 1930s.
In early 20th-century American slang, small bombs thrown by hand or launched by a rifle have been called “pineapples” (cast iron fragmentation-style) or “lemons” (sheet metal fragmentation-style) — but not, so far as I know, “pomegranates.”
Explosive Fruit
Checking my blog visitor log the other day, I saw that someone had used Google’s translation service to read it in French. The phrase “originally published in The Pomegranate” had been translated as “? l’origine ?dit?es dans la grenade.”
“La grenade” . . . of course! The Engish word “pomegranate” comes from the Old French pom grenate. That connection trickled into my consciousness after a moment’s thought. (Hence “grenadine,” the syrup made from pomegranates or currants.)
But I still enjoyed the metaphorical possibilities: our journal–which is now at the printer–as a grenade tossed into seminar room of religious studies. It sounds like a poetic image by one of the more violent Futurists of the 1930s.
In early 20th-century American slang, small bombs thrown by hand or launched by a rifle have been called “pineapples” (cast iron fragmentation-style) or “lemons” (sheet metal fragmentation-style) — but not, so far as I know, “pomegranates.”
Explosive Fruit
Checking my blog visitor log the other day, I saw that someone had used Google’s translation service to read it in French. The phrase “originally published in The Pomegranate” had been translated as “? l’origine ?dit?es dans la grenade.”
“La grenade” . . . of course! The Engish word “pomegranate” comes from the Old French pom grenate. That connection trickled into my consciousness after a moment’s thought. (Hence “grenadine,” the syrup made from pomegranates or currants.)
But I still enjoyed the metaphorical possibilities: our journal–which is now at the printer–as a grenade tossed into seminar room of religious studies. It sounds like a poetic image by one of the more violent Futurists of the 1930s.
In early 20th-century American slang, small bombs thrown by hand or launched by a rifle have been called “pineapples” (cast iron fragmentation-style) or “lemons” (sheet metal fragmentation-style) — but not, so far as I know, “pomegranates.”
Explosive Fruit
Checking my blog visitor log the other day, I saw that someone had used Google’s translation service to read it in French. The phrase “originally published in The Pomegranate” had been translated as “? l’origine ?dit?es dans la grenade.”
“La grenade” . . . of course! The Engish word “pomegranate” comes from the Old French pom grenate. That connection trickled into my consciousness after a moment’s thought. (Hence “grenadine,” the syrup made from pomegranates or currants.)
But I still enjoyed the metaphorical possibilities: our journal–which is now at the printer–as a grenade tossed into seminar room of religious studies. It sounds like a poetic image by one of the more violent Futurists of the 1930s.
In early 20th-century American slang, small bombs thrown by hand or launched by a rifle have been called “pineapples” (cast iron fragmentation-style) or “lemons” (sheet metal fragmentation-style) — but not, so far as I know, “pomegranates.”
Why are you reading this?
The revolution will not be blogged, says Mother Jones writer Geoge Packer.
“The constellation of opinion called the blogosphere consists, like the stars themselves, partly of gases. This is what makes blogs addictive ? that is, both pleasurable and destructive: They’re so easy to consume, and so endlessly available. Their second-by-second proliferation means that far more is written than needs to be said about any one thing. ”
Well, that’s it. I’ll stop. I’m off to the low-rent coffeehouse in the Masonic temple building, a small town coffeehouse with no wireless Internet access and hence no one generating “little spasms of assertion.” And I will stop at the hardware store, the realm of the tangible.
Why are you reading this?
The revolution will not be blogged, says Mother Jones writer Geoge Packer.
“The constellation of opinion called the blogosphere consists, like the stars themselves, partly of gases. This is what makes blogs addictive ? that is, both pleasurable and destructive: They’re so easy to consume, and so endlessly available. Their second-by-second proliferation means that far more is written than needs to be said about any one thing. ”
Well, that’s it. I’ll stop. I’m off to the low-rent coffeehouse in the Masonic temple building, a small town coffeehouse with no wireless Internet access and hence no one generating “little spasms of assertion.” And I will stop at the hardware store, the realm of the tangible.
Why are you reading this?
The revolution will not be blogged, says Mother Jones writer Geoge Packer.
“The constellation of opinion called the blogosphere consists, like the stars themselves, partly of gases. This is what makes blogs addictive ? that is, both pleasurable and destructive: They’re so easy to consume, and so endlessly available. Their second-by-second proliferation means that far more is written than needs to be said about any one thing. ”
Well, that’s it. I’ll stop. I’m off to the low-rent coffeehouse in the Masonic temple building, a small town coffeehouse with no wireless Internet access and hence no one generating “little spasms of assertion.” And I will stop at the hardware store, the realm of the tangible.
Why are you reading this?
The revolution will not be blogged, says Mother Jones writer Geoge Packer.
“The constellation of opinion called the blogosphere consists, like the stars themselves, partly of gases. This is what makes blogs addictive ? that is, both pleasurable and destructive: They’re so easy to consume, and so endlessly available. Their second-by-second proliferation means that far more is written than needs to be said about any one thing. ”
Well, that’s it. I’ll stop. I’m off to the low-rent coffeehouse in the Masonic temple building, a small town coffeehouse with no wireless Internet access and hence no one generating “little spasms of assertion.” And I will stop at the hardware store, the realm of the tangible.
Counter-attack on The Da Vinci Code
Cronaca and Bookslut (27 April entry) both have entries on the flood of new books out to counter the spurious history, not to mention the “feminism, anticlericalism and pagan forms of worship” of The Da Vinci Code.
From the New York Times: “The Rev. James L. Garlow, co-author with Prof. Peter Jones of Cracking Da Vinci’s Code and pastor of Skyline Wesleyan Church in San Diego, said: ‘I don’t think it’s just an innocent novel with a fascinating plot. I think it’s out there to win people over to an incorrect and historically inaccurate view, and it’s succeeding. People are buying into the notion that Jesus is not divine, he is not the son of God.'”
Author Dan Brown welcomes the controversy.