So About Harry Styles…

Food Truck Pastor

Shades of “Nothing Compares 2 U” by Prince and, to my ear, “Still The Same” by Bob Seeger.

I don’t care that it’s derivative. I don’t care that he flies. I just care that it’s awesome.

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Considering Jonah and Noah in Light of Harvey and Irma

Food Truck Pastor

I said earlier that  I’d been re-reading the flood narrative in Genesis.

The devastation from Harvey, and, soon, Irma, compels me to say something about what God isn’t doing.

God is not sending these storms as a punishment on America.

God is not sending these storms as a punishment on the world.

God is not sending these storms, period.

Remember the story of Jonah?

God (Yahweh in the text) calls Jonah to cry against the city of Nineveh, “for their wickedness has come up before me.”  Jonah wants nothing to do with mission, and embarks for Tarshish instead.  He doesn’t get far.  Trapped in the belly of a great fish, Jonah offers an incredible prayer:

“I called to the Lord, out of my distress,
    and he answered me;
out of the belly of Sheol I cried,
    and thou didst hear my voice.
For thou didst cast me…

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The Columbus Day Thing

Food Truck Pastor


In a pivotal scene in The Godfather Part II, Kay Corleone (nee Adams, because what could possibly be more WASPy than Kay Adams, Dartmouth co-ed?), confronts Michael with the truth about the surreptitious abortion of their child, “an unholy, evil” act she likens to their marriage and to what she calls “this Sicilian thing.”  Left unexamined, of course, is Kay’s own role in denying, enabling, and benefiting from the Cosa Nostra.

For over a century, Italian Americans have lived with the idea that WASP America may love our music, our food, our poetry, and our art, but doesn’t really respect, like, or trust us. The WASP owners of most of the means of production since the days of Carnegie and Morgan have benefited from our cheap, white labor, buffering themselves from us with buffoonish caricatures, with immigration and naturalization policies meant to keep Southern Europeans distinct from “real”…

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In Honor of Brautigan, In Spite of Ferlinghetti

Food Truck Pastor

I love Ferlinghetti’s “The Old Italians Dying.”

I hate his needlessly cruel and personal critique of Brautigan:

“As an editor, I always kept waiting for Richard to grow up as a writer,” he says now. “I never could stand cute writing. He could never be an important writer — like Hemingway — with that childish voice of his. Essentially he had a naif style, a style based on a childlike perception of the world. The hippie cult was itself a childlike movement. I guess Richard was all the novelist the hippies needed. It was a nonliterate age.”

Cute writing is the worst. But if I were to speculate on why Ferlinghetti felt the need to go the extra personal mile and call the people moved by Brautigan’s writing “nonliterate,” I suppose I’d be engaging in the kind of critique I find so pointless and distasteful.

I love this by Brautigan:

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