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With all the conflicting research we've been doing into our existing meds the past few days, it was distracting as all get-out to hear this ad today for yet another new wonder drug.
( Read more... )
( Read more... )
That line has been one of the most enduring, and most obscure, taglines of my entire marriage. It derives from a comedy album dating to the early first term of the Nixon administration, by then-famed Dick impersonator David Frye, which I got a hold of in fifth or sixth grade, promptly memorized, and have managed to retain little bits of for the rest of my life.
One of those little bits still burned into my brain, all these years later, begins with the line in the header. It's from the third cut on the first of Frye's Nixon albums, titled I Am The President, where he voiced both the title character and the equally impersonate-able Nelson Rockefeller, then Guv of mine own home state. In the bit, based on an apparently actual incident from 1969, Nixon asks his vanquished GOP rival to recount the results of his "goodwill" visit to various South American nations. History confirms that Rocky didn't do any better than Nixon's own ill-fated 1958 visit south of the border, but the album makes all kinds of fun of their respective visits to Points South, beginning with that very tag line of "put down your crutches and tell me all about it."
Over the years, we've tossed off that line to refer to any situation where an employer, a client, a co-worker or (quite often these days) a daughter has been particularly brutal to one or both of us. It came up earlier today when our new health insurer was messing with us, by (seemingly) requiring us to obtain all of our monthly-maintenance meds through a mail-order service rather than our friendly Wegmans or Wally-World prescription counters. I never expected to use the "crutches" reference literally, where an actual Fucking Pair Of Crutches was propped up within two feet of my poor wife's knee.
I had pain of my own this morning, listening to Eleanor going through an entirely one-way audio conversation with the Medco drug-by-mail voice recognition voicemail tree, asking about each of our meds by name, dosage, quantity and age of user. All of their generic options turned out to cost substantially more than their $4 fills at Chez Sam. Eleanor's brand-name-only brand would be way more than her own store charges; mine, a little less; Em's, about the same. All of this, though, reeks of micromanagement and bullying of a patient population that has just been beaten into submission by our Best Health Care System In The World™.
----
I did find a way to ease some of that pain, though.
Although I've occasionally checked library catalogs to see if they had CD copies of my old-favorite comedy albums from the 60s and 70s, I'd never checked Google for this particular performer, and lo and behold, for $17.99USD, I was able to score a complete .mp3 set of both of the David Frye Nixon albums I'd had, and loved, as a kid: the aforementioned I Am the President, and the sequel, a fanciful imagining of what a Nixon-operated radio station would sound like; the call sign was WNIX and the album title was Radio Free Nixon.
Five minutes later, both albums were on CD and my .mp3 player. My 2:30 clients, 3:30 coworkers, 4:15 fellow gym rats and anyone who called me all afternoon could have seen my shit-eating grin even if they had closed eyes or were far far away. I was hearing classic schtick from 40 years ago, most of which I still remembered. and hearing Nixon getting skewered all these years later was just as satisfying as hearing the Wait Wait crowd continuing to skewer Bush and Palin even as they refused to let even a single barb touch the thin skin of the new Occupant at 1600 PA Ave.
I'd have enjoyed a clip of Barry and Michele showing up at the place at 4 a.m., telling Dubya they were "the President-elect.... and Mrs.-elect." Until the gloves (or blue dresses) come off, though, at least I have my fifth-grade memories to tide me over.
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active_apathy had a busy morning with fake blood and chocolate cereal, to which I could not possibly add any more justice, great or otherwise.She did, however, end her tale with the mere toss-off of this news story:
2,000 Teddy Bears Burn in Australian Warehouse Fire
Now that's something I can work with.
[Poll #909082]
When Animals Attack!
Jan. 10th, 2007 02:19 pmIt's been a bad couple of weeks for the animal kingdom around Western New York.
WEST SENECA- Police arrest a woman and charge her with attempting to poison a neighbor's dog by mixing rat poison into meatballs and leaving them by the property line. The dog's recovering after only sampling one of the purloined snacks, and animal lovers are urging our D.A. to throw the cookbook at the heartless moron who did it.
NIAGARA COUNTY- Animal rescuers (led, I'm proud to say, by a client of mine) report a horse farm owner in Middleport for emaciating an entire stable of thoroughbreds after the owners filed bankruptcy and were told the horses would be put up for sale. Sadly, my client's valiant effort to save a colt from the effects of this torture ended with Black Jack's death over the weekend:(
ROCHESTER- Called to investigate a late-night act of vandalism, police in suburban Greece shoot first, and ask questions later, when the complainant's black lab refused the lawful order of a police officer (presumably, "sit!") and continued barking at the cop. The dog's doing okay, but only after a $4,000 visit to an emergency vet clinic, which the Greece Police refuse to reimburse.
So you can understand, can't you, that our little furry friends might be bent on a lit-tle revenge, yes?
( Probably the height of tastelessness, definitely NSFW, but you know you're gonna click it anyway )
WEST SENECA- Police arrest a woman and charge her with attempting to poison a neighbor's dog by mixing rat poison into meatballs and leaving them by the property line. The dog's recovering after only sampling one of the purloined snacks, and animal lovers are urging our D.A. to throw the cookbook at the heartless moron who did it.
NIAGARA COUNTY- Animal rescuers (led, I'm proud to say, by a client of mine) report a horse farm owner in Middleport for emaciating an entire stable of thoroughbreds after the owners filed bankruptcy and were told the horses would be put up for sale. Sadly, my client's valiant effort to save a colt from the effects of this torture ended with Black Jack's death over the weekend:(
ROCHESTER- Called to investigate a late-night act of vandalism, police in suburban Greece shoot first, and ask questions later, when the complainant's black lab refused the lawful order of a police officer (presumably, "sit!") and continued barking at the cop. The dog's doing okay, but only after a $4,000 visit to an emergency vet clinic, which the Greece Police refuse to reimburse.
So you can understand, can't you, that our little furry friends might be bent on a lit-tle revenge, yes?
( Probably the height of tastelessness, definitely NSFW, but you know you're gonna click it anyway )
My day so far.
Dec. 3rd, 2006 11:16 am
Friended someone new off a good metaquotes reference, probably a student at my alma mater.----
Learned, through a rather complicated set of thoughts and links, that my long-ago major advisor from the English department at said alma mater, a really great guy, died of a massive stroke this past March. As his obit said, though, "He died in the midst of doing his life's work," so I guess that qualifies for at least a slight .----
Went out to car to head for church and production of Muppet video. Found left front tire to be flat. Now I know what the crazy lady on Main Street was pointing to while genuflecting wildly at me on my way home yesterday.----
Went to tell Eleanor why I was taking other car, learning she's come down with the flu and will be home sick all day.----
Ran Muppets at early service. DVD player worked without a hitch. Did need some very fast hands-on learning about how to turn projector back on, though.----
Heard a reference to this story on Wait Wait just now:W library in record book
$500M center would be priciest for a Prez
BY THOMAS M. DeFRANK
DAILY NEWS WASHINGTON BUREAU CHIEF
WASHINGTON - He may be a certified lame duck now, but President Bush and his truest believers are about to launch their final campaign - an eye-popping, half-billion-dollar drive for the Bush presidential library. Eager to begin refurbishing his tattered legacy, the President hopes to raise $500 million to build his library and a think tank at Southern Methodist University in Dallas. Bush lived in Dallas until he was elected governor of Texas in 1995.
When the host got to the part of the story about the "think tank" component, Mo Rocca burst out in uncontrollable laughter for at least a minute. Someone else got there first, though, with the punch line about the cost of the project: "Who knew coloring books were so expensive?"
----
Also heard Amy Sedaris on the show. So can you, if you go here and click the link.
----
Not even noon yet, and the smileys are winning
$500M center would be priciest for a Prez
BY THOMAS M. DeFRANK
DAILY NEWS WASHINGTON BUREAU CHIEF
WASHINGTON - He may be a certified lame duck now, but President Bush and his truest believers are about to launch their final campaign - an eye-popping, half-billion-dollar drive for the Bush presidential library. Eager to begin refurbishing his tattered legacy, the President hopes to raise $500 million to build his library and a think tank at Southern Methodist University in Dallas. Bush lived in Dallas until he was elected governor of Texas in 1995.
When the host got to the part of the story about the "think tank" component, Mo Rocca burst out in uncontrollable laughter for at least a minute. Someone else got there first, though, with the punch line about the cost of the project: "Who knew coloring books were so expensive?"
----
Also heard Amy Sedaris on the show. So can you, if you go here and click the link.----
Not even noon yet, and the smileys are winning
Gather ye rosebuds while ye may and arrr arrr arrr. Some combination of friends and family will be making the not-quite-annual pilgrimage to the Sterling Renaissance Faire, a bit northeast of Rochester and not far from Oswego's fair shores. And it's their first-ever Pirate Weekend! What this means, quite, remains to be seen, although I'd be hesitant to carry off any of the plunder from the wench auction. Ye never know what kind of curse might be on't.
We'll be aiming to get out there by parade time, which is 1, 12 central and 6 Greenwich mean time, so if anyone else is making similar sylvan plans, holler before the coaches depart here midmorning.
----
I just finished one of (doubtless) many shameless knockoffs of DaVinci Code treading on Templar territory. The legend has always appealed to me long before Dan Brown got his proverbial adverbials into it. The interest goes back to my original tours of the Inns of Court from my summer spent "clarking" in London, and also from our actually taking the Inns tour on our honeymoon given by the author of, and which was among the four tours used in, the 1981 walking-tour book entitled Londonwalks. The Inns walk ends with a detailed explanation of the Templar legend, including detailed descriptions of the Friday the 13th massacre, and also of the nasty repercussions to those who took the Templars out. These would include, most notably, English King Edward II, whose idea of "celebrity poker" is a little different than yours or mine.
But I digress. The particular spin-of-yarn I just finished added a new aspect to the story. Suppose the Knights weren't guarding a grail (whatever THAT might mean), or vast buried treasure, or even WMDs, but an actual handwritten journal containing the words and thoughts of Christ Himself. The novel concludes either that (a) there was such a secret diary, which (1) proves or (2) disproves Christ's divinity; or (b) there was no such diary; or (c) there was one but it was a fake; or (d) Taft.
What it definitely does not reveal is the time period covered by any such journal. Since most of the accepted gospels are totally silent on what would have been the Emo Phase of Our Lord, perhaps such a journal would shed some heavenly light on these missing years.
I have a few excerpts here:
The Secret Diary of Yeshua Son of Yosef
Tamuz 9, 3764
OMFOMFOMF Mary Magdalene was at the dance tonight! I so wanted to ask her out but Thomas said she was acting like an attention horah.
I've got to be more careful with those jugs. "Dad" found some drunken cockroaches in the bottom of one of the water casks and was asking everyone where that wine came from. I made a face and said, "But I don't even like Manischewitz!"
Elul 3, 3764
Got my final class schedule from the new shul. Hebrew first period again. I hate having to translate in my head at that hour. Lyre and cymbal ensemble right before lunch, and then a double period shop class every other day. Weird thing is, Mom said when the schedule first came, it had some stuff on it I didn't sign up for. "Changing stones into bread?" Dude, guys don't take Home Ec. And what was that "throwing yourself off the Temple" thing? I've already GOT gym, LOL! I'd like to know who this Mr. Mestophiles is, anyway. He must be new this year.
Kislev 5, 3765
Huh?j00das_1s_scary defriended me. And after school he was paying for everybody else's Nerds.
Just what I needed after a bad day. Some Pharisee assyarmulkes tried shoving me into my locker after math class for showing them up. I told them, "go right ahead, I'll get out."
Av 22, 3765
Sorry I haven't been posting much. Too much on my mind. Romans mad at me for correcting their grammar. Talmud Alley's been brutal on the fics I've written. Still not Savior.
----
Maybe going out tomorrow in a bunch of open fields under trees isn't the best of ideas.
We'll be aiming to get out there by parade time, which is 1, 12 central and 6 Greenwich mean time, so if anyone else is making similar sylvan plans, holler before the coaches depart here midmorning.
----
I just finished one of (doubtless) many shameless knockoffs of DaVinci Code treading on Templar territory. The legend has always appealed to me long before Dan Brown got his proverbial adverbials into it. The interest goes back to my original tours of the Inns of Court from my summer spent "clarking" in London, and also from our actually taking the Inns tour on our honeymoon given by the author of, and which was among the four tours used in, the 1981 walking-tour book entitled Londonwalks. The Inns walk ends with a detailed explanation of the Templar legend, including detailed descriptions of the Friday the 13th massacre, and also of the nasty repercussions to those who took the Templars out. These would include, most notably, English King Edward II, whose idea of "celebrity poker" is a little different than yours or mine.
But I digress. The particular spin-of-yarn I just finished added a new aspect to the story. Suppose the Knights weren't guarding a grail (whatever THAT might mean), or vast buried treasure, or even WMDs, but an actual handwritten journal containing the words and thoughts of Christ Himself. The novel concludes either that (a) there was such a secret diary, which (1) proves or (2) disproves Christ's divinity; or (b) there was no such diary; or (c) there was one but it was a fake; or (d) Taft.
What it definitely does not reveal is the time period covered by any such journal. Since most of the accepted gospels are totally silent on what would have been the Emo Phase of Our Lord, perhaps such a journal would shed some heavenly light on these missing years.
I have a few excerpts here:
The Secret Diary of Yeshua Son of Yosef
Tamuz 9, 3764
OMFOMFOMF Mary Magdalene was at the dance tonight! I so wanted to ask her out but Thomas said she was acting like an attention horah.
I've got to be more careful with those jugs. "Dad" found some drunken cockroaches in the bottom of one of the water casks and was asking everyone where that wine came from. I made a face and said, "But I don't even like Manischewitz!"
Elul 3, 3764
Got my final class schedule from the new shul. Hebrew first period again. I hate having to translate in my head at that hour. Lyre and cymbal ensemble right before lunch, and then a double period shop class every other day. Weird thing is, Mom said when the schedule first came, it had some stuff on it I didn't sign up for. "Changing stones into bread?" Dude, guys don't take Home Ec. And what was that "throwing yourself off the Temple" thing? I've already GOT gym, LOL! I'd like to know who this Mr. Mestophiles is, anyway. He must be new this year.
Kislev 5, 3765
Huh?
j00das_1s_scary defriended me. And after school he was paying for everybody else's Nerds.Just what I needed after a bad day. Some Pharisee assyarmulkes tried shoving me into my locker after math class for showing them up. I told them, "go right ahead, I'll get out."
Av 22, 3765
Sorry I haven't been posting much. Too much on my mind. Romans mad at me for correcting their grammar. Talmud Alley's been brutal on the fics I've written. Still not Savior.
----
Maybe going out tomorrow in a bunch of open fields under trees isn't the best of ideas.
Further Proof Pot Makes You Stupid
Jul. 7th, 2006 06:25 amBefore I get to our top story this morning, I've got to pass this one on. From the ever-growing files of dumb criminals, we present this one. According to the morning paper, he
was a hair's breadth away from receiving a package plea deal that would have imprisoned him for nine years on unrelated charges that he robbed a pharmacy and fled after killing a pedestrian with his car.
But the deal went up in smoke Thursday after he told Monroe County Court Judge Richard A. Keenan that he used marijuana before being brought over from his cell in County Jail.
The man's last name? Blunt.
I keep telling you. You can't make this stuff up.
As You Like It
Dec. 26th, 2005 07:58 amDramatis personae
The HuMon-tagues
ELEANOR, Queen of Household
RAY, Sleeping Husband to ELEANOR
The Cat-ulets and their presumed helpers the Dogs
BIGGSY, Duke of Earl
EBONY, Baroness of Munchausen
MICHELLE, Essence of Myrrh
TASHA, Milk of Magnesia
TAZZER, Quarter of Ten
Scene: A KITCHEN.
ACT ONE
BIGGSY walks upon the parapet, spots the PI-TIMES-144 SQUARE INCH PLATE OF CHRISTMAS COOKIES which had been left in his path.
BIGGSY
What ho, fellow mooches!
COOKIES
::crash to earth with amazing speed, yet even more amazingly, the entire package upends itself in midair, every cookie but one landing safely in the top portion::
BIGGSY
Mine!
ELEANOR
::scolds offending animal, repositions cookies in far safer location. Or so 'tis thought::
ACT TWO
::the curtain remains drawn, the lights do not come up::
KITCHEN
Crash!
BIGGSY
(muted voice)
Mine!
EBONY, MICHELLE, TASHA, TAZZER
Mine! Mine! Mine! Mine!
ALL
MINEMINEMINEMINEMINEMINEurrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrp
ELEANOR (sleepily)
Huh, whawaszat?
RAY
ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ
ACT THREE
RAY returns to KITCHEN after the feeding of the Lords and Ladies, sees the PI-TIMES-144 SQUARE INCH PLATE OF CHRISTMAS COOKIES, now empty, in a corner of the floor of KITCHEN
BIGGSY
::comes up next to RAY, seemingly uninterested in the CAT FOOD left for him::
RAY
Nah, couldn'st be.
ACT FOUR
ELEANOR enters KITCHEN after getting ready for work.
RAY
How now, didst thou packest away the PI-TIMES-144 SQUARE INCHES OF CHRISTMAS COOKIES, less that which approximateth perhaps TWO SQUARE INCHES THEREOF which I and thee and Emilee ateth last night?
BIGGSY
And the one I scarfeth, don't forget that.
ELEANOR
Nay, sweet husband, didst I just to resecure the cookies in a far more secure undisclosed location within their....
::sees the PI-TIMES-144-SQUARE INCH EMPTY PLATE amidst the rubble of presents::
Oh. My. God.
::author's note: be-eth that a direct quote. Repeated many times by all the humans in the text of the play's source, Hollandaise's Chronicles::
RAY
Oh. My. God.
BIGGSY
::burps::
ACT FIVE
::played out in catboxes and back yards over the next several days::
COOKIES
Exeunt
The HuMon-tagues
ELEANOR, Queen of Household
RAY, Sleeping Husband to ELEANOR
The Cat-ulets and their presumed helpers the Dogs
BIGGSY, Duke of Earl
EBONY, Baroness of Munchausen
MICHELLE, Essence of Myrrh
TASHA, Milk of Magnesia
TAZZER, Quarter of Ten
Scene: A KITCHEN.
ACT ONE
BIGGSY walks upon the parapet, spots the PI-TIMES-144 SQUARE INCH PLATE OF CHRISTMAS COOKIES which had been left in his path.
BIGGSY
What ho, fellow mooches!
COOKIES
::crash to earth with amazing speed, yet even more amazingly, the entire package upends itself in midair, every cookie but one landing safely in the top portion::
BIGGSY
Mine!
ELEANOR
::scolds offending animal, repositions cookies in far safer location. Or so 'tis thought::
ACT TWO
::the curtain remains drawn, the lights do not come up::
KITCHEN
Crash!
BIGGSY
(muted voice)
Mine!
EBONY, MICHELLE, TASHA, TAZZER
Mine! Mine! Mine! Mine!
ALL
MINEMINEMINEMINEMINEMINEurrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrp
ELEANOR (sleepily)
Huh, whawaszat?
RAY
ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ
ACT THREE
RAY returns to KITCHEN after the feeding of the Lords and Ladies, sees the PI-TIMES-144 SQUARE INCH PLATE OF CHRISTMAS COOKIES, now empty, in a corner of the floor of KITCHEN
BIGGSY
::comes up next to RAY, seemingly uninterested in the CAT FOOD left for him::
RAY
Nah, couldn'st be.
ACT FOUR
ELEANOR enters KITCHEN after getting ready for work.
RAY
How now, didst thou packest away the PI-TIMES-144 SQUARE INCHES OF CHRISTMAS COOKIES, less that which approximateth perhaps TWO SQUARE INCHES THEREOF which I and thee and Emilee ateth last night?
BIGGSY
And the one I scarfeth, don't forget that.
ELEANOR
Nay, sweet husband, didst I just to resecure the cookies in a far more secure undisclosed location within their....
::sees the PI-TIMES-144-SQUARE INCH EMPTY PLATE amidst the rubble of presents::
Oh. My. God.
::author's note: be-eth that a direct quote. Repeated many times by all the humans in the text of the play's source, Hollandaise's Chronicles::
RAY
Oh. My. God.
BIGGSY
::burps::
ACT FIVE
::played out in catboxes and back yards over the next several days::
COOKIES
Exeunt
Hmmph. Never did like deadlines.
Jun. 29th, 2004 08:58 amAs usual, Robert Langdon awoke from a dream in the middle of the night. Usually it was chases up Egyptian pyramids, or Yin chasing Yang around the Maypole. But Langdon was in England, where the last thing anyone dreams of is sex. So it was a 1972 speech by Edward Heath which was being interrupted by the pounding on his door.
His seemingly incognito door. When lecturing on the European circuit as he often did, Langdon was usually offered the finest of accommodations. But in London, he preferred the four stars and quiet of Bloomsbury's Russell Hotel to the Ritzier digs usually proposed by his handlers.
The Russell had all the advantages a professor-lecturer-international man of mystery could want. Historic- actually mentioned in the works of Eliot and well known to Virginia Wolff and that whole Bloomsbury crowd. The hotel even named its bright and tasteful public restaurant for Virginia. Convenient- steps away from the tube but more importantly from the British Museum, situs of Langdon's current research. And most importantly, considering all the powerful enemies he'd acquired in recent years, hidden- well away from the bright lights of better known hotels on more traveled carriageways.
Not hidden enough, Langdon grunted to himself, as the pounding continued.
Through the peephole he spotted an unknown man in clerical garb.
Oh no, not again, he thought.
* * *
"Good evening, Mr. Langdon," the cleric began. "I am Cardinal LaRussa."
Evening was hardly the word to use. It was 3 a.m. local time, 10 the previous night to Langdon's still jetlagged rhythms, and a mere three hours after he had begun his first full night of sleep in two days.
But Langdon was more focused on the name. He recognized the man now, who usually traveled in the more elaborate robes of a Cardinal of the Church. What brought him in this semi-disguise? And how did he know how to find Langdon?
"I apologize for the intrusion," the Cardinal said in perfect if accented English. "His Holiness considers this a matter of the highest importance, and was so appreciative of your work for the Church in Rome that he has forgiven that whole Paris episode and will again allow you to help."
Gee, thanks, Langdon thought. The Pope's gonna LET me be dragged through another adventure which, when published, will cause yet another aircraft to crash from the unaccounted weight of 800 hardcover copies of the book about it onboard. He had never forgiven himself for that happening near Philadelphia the year before, when the skies over Consohocken were littered with tattered pages of a 454-page book mixed in with coffee-table-size presentations of The Complete Works of Leonardo DaVinci.
Since this was, after all, one of the highest authorities of the Church, Langdon held his tongue. Mostly. "I promise nothing, Your Eminence. I am really getting tired of these late night encounters over antiquities. My students come to see me during office hours and I wish you people would, too."
"I beg forgiveness and forgive your impetuousness, my son," LaRussa replied. "The evidence before us is fresh and cannot wait until morning. There is a killer on the loose, impugning the good name and offices of the Holy Mother Church. We must act."
"Fine," Langdon grumbled. "I assume there's a photo or a fax you want me to see."
LaRussa showed him.
Langdon looked more amused and annoyed than shocked.
"Very funny. A man crushed under a chair and another man in a red robe and aviator glasses holding a rope. If this is about my assistance for the Vatican Halloween party, I'm afraid I'm busy that night."
"This is no joke," LaRussa said levelly. "I know of the popular misconceptions- I'm not the only one who does- but I assure you, a man is dead."
"And I suppose he was killed by agents of the Spanish Inquisition," Langdon replied, struggling to keep his eyes from rolling.
"Quite the contrary," LaRussa said. "The man you see here, known to the world as Professor Bernardo Leonardo, was the London agent of our Inquisition."
[to be continued, naturally]
His seemingly incognito door. When lecturing on the European circuit as he often did, Langdon was usually offered the finest of accommodations. But in London, he preferred the four stars and quiet of Bloomsbury's Russell Hotel to the Ritzier digs usually proposed by his handlers.
The Russell had all the advantages a professor-lecturer-international man of mystery could want. Historic- actually mentioned in the works of Eliot and well known to Virginia Wolff and that whole Bloomsbury crowd. The hotel even named its bright and tasteful public restaurant for Virginia. Convenient- steps away from the tube but more importantly from the British Museum, situs of Langdon's current research. And most importantly, considering all the powerful enemies he'd acquired in recent years, hidden- well away from the bright lights of better known hotels on more traveled carriageways.
Not hidden enough, Langdon grunted to himself, as the pounding continued.
Through the peephole he spotted an unknown man in clerical garb.
Oh no, not again, he thought.
* * *
"Good evening, Mr. Langdon," the cleric began. "I am Cardinal LaRussa."
Evening was hardly the word to use. It was 3 a.m. local time, 10 the previous night to Langdon's still jetlagged rhythms, and a mere three hours after he had begun his first full night of sleep in two days.
But Langdon was more focused on the name. He recognized the man now, who usually traveled in the more elaborate robes of a Cardinal of the Church. What brought him in this semi-disguise? And how did he know how to find Langdon?
"I apologize for the intrusion," the Cardinal said in perfect if accented English. "His Holiness considers this a matter of the highest importance, and was so appreciative of your work for the Church in Rome that he has forgiven that whole Paris episode and will again allow you to help."
Gee, thanks, Langdon thought. The Pope's gonna LET me be dragged through another adventure which, when published, will cause yet another aircraft to crash from the unaccounted weight of 800 hardcover copies of the book about it onboard. He had never forgiven himself for that happening near Philadelphia the year before, when the skies over Consohocken were littered with tattered pages of a 454-page book mixed in with coffee-table-size presentations of The Complete Works of Leonardo DaVinci.
Since this was, after all, one of the highest authorities of the Church, Langdon held his tongue. Mostly. "I promise nothing, Your Eminence. I am really getting tired of these late night encounters over antiquities. My students come to see me during office hours and I wish you people would, too."
"I beg forgiveness and forgive your impetuousness, my son," LaRussa replied. "The evidence before us is fresh and cannot wait until morning. There is a killer on the loose, impugning the good name and offices of the Holy Mother Church. We must act."
"Fine," Langdon grumbled. "I assume there's a photo or a fax you want me to see."
LaRussa showed him.
Langdon looked more amused and annoyed than shocked.
"Very funny. A man crushed under a chair and another man in a red robe and aviator glasses holding a rope. If this is about my assistance for the Vatican Halloween party, I'm afraid I'm busy that night."
"This is no joke," LaRussa said levelly. "I know of the popular misconceptions- I'm not the only one who does- but I assure you, a man is dead."
"And I suppose he was killed by agents of the Spanish Inquisition," Langdon replied, struggling to keep his eyes from rolling.
"Quite the contrary," LaRussa said. "The man you see here, known to the world as Professor Bernardo Leonardo, was the London agent of our Inquisition."
[to be continued, naturally]
You sure weren't expecting THIS.
Jun. 19th, 2004 07:31 pmI changed directions a little. Well, just read...
----------
Fifi Canneloni rose. She tied her raven tresses back into her usual scientist bun, replaced her horn-rimmed glasses. Next the lab coat again covered her perfect breasts. Time to go back from pendulous to ponderous. Langdon needed her help now as much as she needed, well, his help a few moments earlier.
"Try looking at this again from a fresh perspective," he said. "We've been turning over clue after clue about the enemies of the Church and the Inquisition, and nobody's taking us seriously. Why?"
Fifi mulled it over. "Because every time we mention it, we get stupid grins and jokes about nobody expecting the Spanish Inquisition and all that stupid Python stuff."
"Exactly," Langdon grinned. The pieces had fallen into place.
"Explain," she said.
"What better way to conceal your hatred for and purpose against an organization than by making obvious fun of it? Look at how universal public perception of the Inquisition is. Everyone thinks they were a bunch of bloodthirsty wackoes. All because three actors dressed up in funny suits and made jokes with cushions and comfy chairs."
"But, ... but... that could just be coincidence!" cried Fifi. She'd been a fan of the comedy almost since in utero. Langdon was expecting quite a stretch from her.
"Oh, there's more," he said. "What has been the biggest scourge of the Church in the electronic age? The thing that's brought down the most priests and bishops?"
Fifi thought a moment. "Child abuse. Much of it..." she paused, as the hint of a hideous thought crossed her well-developed threshold...." much of it online porn."
"My very thought," Langdon agreed. "And what do we call the online dissemination of unwanted obscenity and other material?"
Fifi recoiled in horror. "Spam!"
"Named, a decade or so ago, not for the meatlike product, but for a so-called comedy sketch from 1970 about a couple being forced to order something they really didn't like. Guess what year ARPANET- the direct predecessor of the Internet- was founded in the US?"
Fifi's face fell. "Nineteen seventy," she said. She knew.
Langdon's brow furrowed. "That's only the beginning. Each of their original screenplay movies was a direct attack on the teachings of the Church. Holy Grail, a mockery of what we now know to be its most profound secret. Life of Brian, a devestation of the story of the Savior. Even Meaning of Life, which had to lighten up after the protests of the previous one- what's the song everyone remembers from that one?"
Langdon began to hum the familiar tune already in Fifi's head. "Every sperm is sacred," she half-said, half-sang.
"An absurd humiliation of the Church's position on contraception," Langdon ventured. "How many believers fell from the wayside when presented with this depiction of the holy message?"
Fifi stepped back from the dangerous direction of this theory. So much of what she believed in, and held true and funny, was disappearing before her.
"This could be cause and effect," she speculated. "Perhaps their hatred of church authority flowed from its negative reaction to them."
"I considered that," Langdon admitted. "So let's test that hypothesis by going back to the beginning- before any knowledge of their motives could impurify the sample. Didn't the name of the show and the group always seem a little weird to you?"
"I always thought it was just something silly," Fifi said.
"I don't believe in coincidences," Langdon insisted. " Let's take it one part at a time. Four words- each seemingly innocent and unrelated. What do you think the first word's a corruption of?"
Fifi pondered. "Montgomery, I'd assume."
"Good guess, but no," Langdon said. "Try Mountbatten. The family name of the Protestant English royal patriarchy and a sworn enemy of the Catholics in Ireland. One of them was even murdered in 1979- during the heyday of the group's cinematic run!"
"Impossible," Fifi said.
"Not only possible but consistent with the rest," Langdon countered. "See any religious symbolism in the second word? Start in Genesis if you need a clue."
Fifi's head began to spin. "The serpent. A symbol of original sin. The central premise of Catholic theology." She paused. "And I suppose you'll say the third word- "Flying"- is a reference to angels."
Langdon grinned. "You're one halo ahead of me."
"But how do you fit in the last word? What is more innocent and secular than dancing bears and high wire trapeze artists at a circus? Surely you don't want to stretch THEM into being angels, too."
Langdon's glance was almost one of pity. "You're using the modern genesis of the word, Fifi. In ancient times, "circus" meant any gathering place. In Rome, it meant something- somePLACE- very specific. Here."
The sound of clickety-clacks filled the room as the professor googled a phrase. Satisfied with the results, he let Fifi look at the screen- and looked at her as her eyes widened in amazement:
The first instance of Roman persecution of Christians is during the reign of Nero after a fire at the Circus Maximus.
"Now do you believe?", he asked.
"I'm sorry," she muttered. "It's so much to fathom. Six talented comedians at the heart of an anti-Catholic plot?"
Langdon looked up victoriously. "Six!" he exclaimed! "Precisely!"
Fifi looked confused.
"Think of all the great performing groups of our time. Performers came and went. But THIS group never expanded beyond its original six members. One died after their canon was complete, but never more, never less, while their beliefs were being perpetuated."
Langdon's mind raced to a point he hadn't even considered. "And it gets worse. How many seasons of episodes are there?"
Fifi knew at once and also frowned. "Four. Some reference to the gospels, maybe?"
"Another misconception," he replied triumphantly. "There were four seasons, but the fourth is considered almost apochryphal by many fans. One of the original six left the group and was never seen in those shows. Some consider him a leader of the entire organization."
"So, you're saying..." Fifi began.
Landgon intoned the end. "THREE seasons. SIX performers. Six-six-six."
Even Fifi had to believe now.
Langdon was rolling. "And that sixth member- the one who left after three seasons but returned for the films. What is he best known for by the children of today?"
Fifi pictured him. She felt physically ill to think it.
"A ghost in the Harry Potter films," she admitted.
"Another translation of sacred to profane," Langdon said. "Find him, and I believe we'll find the reason for this renewal of hate against the Inquisition."
On their map of Rome, they saw a familiar reference to "Il Passetto"- the passage that had meant so much to Langdon's original adventure. He looked at it from a new angle. Passetto could mean passage, he knew. But he also construed it to mean,... could it?
A walkway.
A walk.
A SILLY walk.
"We're going to the Vatican," Langdon ordered. "I know where the enemy of the Inquisiton is."
----------
Fifi Canneloni rose. She tied her raven tresses back into her usual scientist bun, replaced her horn-rimmed glasses. Next the lab coat again covered her perfect breasts. Time to go back from pendulous to ponderous. Langdon needed her help now as much as she needed, well, his help a few moments earlier.
"Try looking at this again from a fresh perspective," he said. "We've been turning over clue after clue about the enemies of the Church and the Inquisition, and nobody's taking us seriously. Why?"
Fifi mulled it over. "Because every time we mention it, we get stupid grins and jokes about nobody expecting the Spanish Inquisition and all that stupid Python stuff."
"Exactly," Langdon grinned. The pieces had fallen into place.
"Explain," she said.
"What better way to conceal your hatred for and purpose against an organization than by making obvious fun of it? Look at how universal public perception of the Inquisition is. Everyone thinks they were a bunch of bloodthirsty wackoes. All because three actors dressed up in funny suits and made jokes with cushions and comfy chairs."
"But, ... but... that could just be coincidence!" cried Fifi. She'd been a fan of the comedy almost since in utero. Langdon was expecting quite a stretch from her.
"Oh, there's more," he said. "What has been the biggest scourge of the Church in the electronic age? The thing that's brought down the most priests and bishops?"
Fifi thought a moment. "Child abuse. Much of it..." she paused, as the hint of a hideous thought crossed her well-developed threshold...." much of it online porn."
"My very thought," Langdon agreed. "And what do we call the online dissemination of unwanted obscenity and other material?"
Fifi recoiled in horror. "Spam!"
"Named, a decade or so ago, not for the meatlike product, but for a so-called comedy sketch from 1970 about a couple being forced to order something they really didn't like. Guess what year ARPANET- the direct predecessor of the Internet- was founded in the US?"
Fifi's face fell. "Nineteen seventy," she said. She knew.
Langdon's brow furrowed. "That's only the beginning. Each of their original screenplay movies was a direct attack on the teachings of the Church. Holy Grail, a mockery of what we now know to be its most profound secret. Life of Brian, a devestation of the story of the Savior. Even Meaning of Life, which had to lighten up after the protests of the previous one- what's the song everyone remembers from that one?"
Langdon began to hum the familiar tune already in Fifi's head. "Every sperm is sacred," she half-said, half-sang.
"An absurd humiliation of the Church's position on contraception," Langdon ventured. "How many believers fell from the wayside when presented with this depiction of the holy message?"
Fifi stepped back from the dangerous direction of this theory. So much of what she believed in, and held true and funny, was disappearing before her.
"This could be cause and effect," she speculated. "Perhaps their hatred of church authority flowed from its negative reaction to them."
"I considered that," Langdon admitted. "So let's test that hypothesis by going back to the beginning- before any knowledge of their motives could impurify the sample. Didn't the name of the show and the group always seem a little weird to you?"
"I always thought it was just something silly," Fifi said.
"I don't believe in coincidences," Langdon insisted. " Let's take it one part at a time. Four words- each seemingly innocent and unrelated. What do you think the first word's a corruption of?"
Fifi pondered. "Montgomery, I'd assume."
"Good guess, but no," Langdon said. "Try Mountbatten. The family name of the Protestant English royal patriarchy and a sworn enemy of the Catholics in Ireland. One of them was even murdered in 1979- during the heyday of the group's cinematic run!"
"Impossible," Fifi said.
"Not only possible but consistent with the rest," Langdon countered. "See any religious symbolism in the second word? Start in Genesis if you need a clue."
Fifi's head began to spin. "The serpent. A symbol of original sin. The central premise of Catholic theology." She paused. "And I suppose you'll say the third word- "Flying"- is a reference to angels."
Langdon grinned. "You're one halo ahead of me."
"But how do you fit in the last word? What is more innocent and secular than dancing bears and high wire trapeze artists at a circus? Surely you don't want to stretch THEM into being angels, too."
Langdon's glance was almost one of pity. "You're using the modern genesis of the word, Fifi. In ancient times, "circus" meant any gathering place. In Rome, it meant something- somePLACE- very specific. Here."
The sound of clickety-clacks filled the room as the professor googled a phrase. Satisfied with the results, he let Fifi look at the screen- and looked at her as her eyes widened in amazement:
The first instance of Roman persecution of Christians is during the reign of Nero after a fire at the Circus Maximus.
"Now do you believe?", he asked.
"I'm sorry," she muttered. "It's so much to fathom. Six talented comedians at the heart of an anti-Catholic plot?"
Langdon looked up victoriously. "Six!" he exclaimed! "Precisely!"
Fifi looked confused.
"Think of all the great performing groups of our time. Performers came and went. But THIS group never expanded beyond its original six members. One died after their canon was complete, but never more, never less, while their beliefs were being perpetuated."
Langdon's mind raced to a point he hadn't even considered. "And it gets worse. How many seasons of episodes are there?"
Fifi knew at once and also frowned. "Four. Some reference to the gospels, maybe?"
"Another misconception," he replied triumphantly. "There were four seasons, but the fourth is considered almost apochryphal by many fans. One of the original six left the group and was never seen in those shows. Some consider him a leader of the entire organization."
"So, you're saying..." Fifi began.
Landgon intoned the end. "THREE seasons. SIX performers. Six-six-six."
Even Fifi had to believe now.
Langdon was rolling. "And that sixth member- the one who left after three seasons but returned for the films. What is he best known for by the children of today?"
Fifi pictured him. She felt physically ill to think it.
"A ghost in the Harry Potter films," she admitted.
"Another translation of sacred to profane," Langdon said. "Find him, and I believe we'll find the reason for this renewal of hate against the Inquisition."
On their map of Rome, they saw a familiar reference to "Il Passetto"- the passage that had meant so much to Langdon's original adventure. He looked at it from a new angle. Passetto could mean passage, he knew. But he also construed it to mean,... could it?
A walkway.
A walk.
A SILLY walk.
"We're going to the Vatican," Langdon ordered. "I know where the enemy of the Inquisiton is."
