A Bolivian Odyssey, Part II

Now with photos. Read Part I here.



The courtyard at Urubicha, the first mission at which we stayed. Usually filled with little kids playing soccer.



The Corpus Christi procession at Urubicha.



Hic est domus Dei et porta coeli. The church at San Javier...



... and the bell tower.



The fountain at the hotel in Concepcion.



The six-fingered man in an unflattering pose.



"I want to see mountains again, Gandalf, mountains!" (apologies to Marc)



"Whence are thy beams, O sun?"

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Chicken on the Bottom

It's Chicken of the Sea meets Fruit on the Bottom and it's the new revolution in protein drinks! Are you tired of big-name companies bottling tap water, lacing it with minerals ("for a pure, fresh taste") and selling it to you at exorbitant prices? Maybe nothing says "pure and untainted" like a bounty of minerals, but you can get water like that from your kitchen sink. We wanted something more. When we created Chicken on the Bottom bottled water, we used only clear, sparkling water from the mountain springs which gush down from the hills above our bottling facilities. When we talk about our "Chicken Preserve" we're not referring to a new kind of jam, but the spacious wildlife refuge where our chickens roam free in their natural state, just as their prehistoric ancestors did before chickens were domesticated and left to languish in cruel, heartless chicken farms. So what are you waiting for? Grab a bottle of Chicken on the Bottom bottled water and "shake it on up" to taste the chicken-enhanced flavor. Now available in Kentucky Fried and BBQ flavors. Coming soon: Buffalo Wings and Cornish Game Hen on the Bottom, and for the vegetarian, Soy Nuggets on the Bottom.

Check out our new line of books, such as the inspirational Chicken on the Bottom for the Soul and the children's bestsellers Harry Poulterer and the Giblet of Fire and Harry Poulterer and the Half-Brood Prince.

from the makers of
Froot Spread: 100% artificial - Unnaturally tasty!
Sugar Boogers: You hope they're raisins!
and Dagobah Organic Chocolate

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Summer Readers

Harrius Potter et Philosophi Lapis by J.K. Rowling, translated by Peter Needham

Dominus et Domina Dursley, qui vivebant in aedibus Gestationis Ligustrorum numero quattuor signatis... This Latin translation of the first Harry Potter book is better than the original- if you're a nerd!This book kept me awake on the plane rides to and from Bolivia- when I wasn't sleeping, reading something else, or looking out the window- and also made a great conversation piece. Latin translations of popular children's books have become something of a novelty item lately-Dr. Seuss books, The Little Prince, Winnie Ille Pu- but I was surprised to see something like Harrius Potter on the shelves, mentally constructing a Venn diagram of Harry Potter fans and people with enough Latin savvy to tackle a 250-page novel, and wondering who decided that the overlap was big enough to justify translating even so popular a book as Harry Potter into a dead language. Still, if one does fall within the overlap, it's hard to resist. Much of the fun lies in seeing how modern terms are translated; Lee Jordan's dreadlocks, for instance, are "Rastafarian hair" and Hagrid's borrowed motorcycle is a birotula automataria (compare birota ignifero latice incita). Beyond that, well, you know what they say- quidquid latine dictum sit, altum viditur.

The Man Who Was Thursday by G.K. Chesterton

When I wasn't reading Harrius Potter, I was borrowing back my copy of The Man Who Was Thursday from Emily. I first read this book in high school; it was my introduction to Chesterton's fiction, as Orthodoxy was my introduction to his nonfiction. I don't remember getting much out of either at the time, but subsequent rereads have established them- and Chesterton- as indispensables. Like all of his writings, The Man Who Was Thursday is at once witty and profound. Orson Welles called it "shamelessly beautiful prose" and remarked in the preface to his radio dramatization: "Roughly speaking, it's about anarchists... and roughly speaking, it's a mystery story. It can be guaranteed that you will never guess the solution until you get to the end- it is even feared that you may not get it then." I think I finally got the ending this time. At least, it makes sense to me now, whereas I had always had a little trouble understanding quite how it fit in with the rest of the book- it's easy to get caught up in the story and miss everything happening underneath, but rereading never fails to bring out some new insight or understanding.

Dandelion Wine by Ray Bradbury

Rereading this book has become something of a summer ritual. Bradbury waxes unabashedly nostalgic in a series of vignettes about the summer of 1928 as seen through the eyes of a twelve year old boy in Green Town, Illinois. I need to get me a pair of those Royal Crown Cream-Sponge Para Litefoot Tennis Shoes.

Biffen's Millions by P.G. Wodehouse

One of my favorite Wodehouse books. Edmund Biffen Christopher is about to inherit millions from his eccentric godfather- on the condition that he not be arrested before his 30th birthday. How can his friends make sure he doesn't forfeit the money by getting drunk and running afoul of the police? Sneak into his apartment while he's asleep and steal his pants.

At Swim-Two-Birds by Flann O'Brien (Brian O'Nolan)

"This is just the book to give your sister – if she's a loud, dirty, boozy girl" said Dylan Thomas of At Swim-Two-Birds. My sister, needless to say, was not flattered. Having just read O'Brien's The Third Policeman, and still reeling from the implications of the atomic theory of bicycles, I was browsing one of the dorm libraries for something to read on one of the summer school movie trips and came across a battered copy (now in an advanced state of disintegration) of At Swim-Two-Birds. First of all, gotta love the bizarre 70's cover, the kind that normally seems to have no discernable connection to the contents of the book, although in this case I'll give it the benefit of the doubt. Truth be told, I frequently lost track of what was going on in this book, and although I would normally attribute this to my short attention span, I think in this case credit must be given to (or blame shared by) the bizarre and convoluted plot structure. It is a book about a book about a book, in which three openings (first, second, and third) and three conclusions (antepenultimate, penultimate, and ultimate) frame narratives ranging from the aestho-autogamous creations of the eccentric author Dermot Trellis to the exploits of the legendary Finn MacCool- the latter, in its phrasing and imagery, a spot-on parody of Irish myth. I subsequently read, and enjoyed, O'Brien's The Dalkey Archive and a collection of his newspaper columns, published under the pseudonym Myles na gCopaleen.

The Three Musketeers by Alexander Dumas

My copy is a WalMart paperback, the cover emblazoned with a bright "2 for $1" sticker and the proclamation "Superheroes of the sword, they fought for honor, for glory- and for girls!" (Well, I suppose that's as good a description as any.) But once you get past the cheesy cover and the 6-page defense of literary "classics" (A lot of people think 'classic' means old or boring. As a result, they miss out on some of the most interesting, engaging stories ever told!) it's down to complete and unabridged business. Good stuff, to which my movie adaptation (Quid Agis, 2001) didn't quite live up although we had a lot of fun filming the fight scenes between the Musketeers and the Cardinal's guards before we started going off on tangents involving chem labs and used car salesmen.

And now back to my latest book purchase, a Greek grammar. I'm such a nerd.

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Harry Potter VII

With the publication of the sixth and penultimate Harry Potter installment, speculation has never been rifer- nor security tighter- regarding the eagerly anticipated conclusion to the series. It is therefore with justifiable pride that I present to you the following information, which- though still in the realm of guesswork- represents my latest and most controversial research into the dark secrets of J.K. Rowling's plans for the seventh and final book. On the cost by which I have obtained this knowledge, I will not dwell. Suffice it to say that you, my readers, have no doubt noted the recent dearth of blog updates, just as my family has puzzled over my unannounced absences, cryptic remarks, and withered right hand. At this time I would like to warn spoiler-conscious readers to read no further.

Continue...

Harry Potter and the Revenge of the Slyth
co-written by George Lucas

The wizarding world is crumbling under attacks by the ruthless Deatheaters and their sinister master, Lord Voldemort. In a stunning move, the traitor Severus Snape sweeps into the Ministry of Magic headquarters and kidnaps the Minister, Rufus Scrimgeour. Harry and Ron fight their way through an army of Inferi to reach Scrimgeour, who is being guarded by Draco Malfoy. A duel ensues in which Harry defeats Malfoy, and at Scrimgeour's urging kills him. Harry and Ron evade Snape and return Scrimgeour to the Ministry. In apparent gratitude, Scrimgeour appoints Harry as his personal representative at Hogwarts, where Harry is to begin his seventh year. Headmistress McGonagall reluctantly accepts Harry as a member of the staff, but refuses to grant him the title of Professor, although the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher is still vacant. Harry is torn between his personal dislike of Scrimgeour and the Ministry and his resentment of what he perceives as McGonagall's mistrust, which he suspects stems from his refusal to confide in her the secrets entrusted to him by Dumbledore. When Harry questions her about Horcruxes, still without revealing his true purposes, she concludes that he is seeking the knowledge for his own purposes, perhaps to insure himself against the inevitable showdown with Voldemort, and grows even more mistrustful.

Meanwhile, despite the warnings of his conscience, Harry cannot bring himself to break off his secret romance with Ginny Weasley, who tells him that she is pregnant. Harry begins to be troubled by disturbing presentiments of her death in childbirth. Scrimgeour, displaying an uncanny ability to read Harry's mind, is sympathetic, hinting that there are ways to save people from death that cannot be learned at Hogwarts. "It's not something Dumbledore would have told you." Harry remembers the many times that Dumbledore withheld information from him, but is loath to confide in the Minister- until Scrimgeour casually drops the H-bomb, and he is suddenly all ears. "You know about Horcruxes, sir?"

"Harry, if one is to understand magic, one must study all its aspects, not just the dogmatic, narrow view of your Hogwarts professors. Be careful, Harry. They fear you. In time they will destroy you. Let me train you."

"I won't be a pawn of the Ministry. Hogwarts is my home."

"Only through me can you achieve a power than any other wizard. Master the Dark Arts, and you will be able to save Ginny Weasley from certain death."

"What did you say?"

"Use my knowledge, I beg you..."

"You're Lord Voldemort!"

Harry suddenly realizes the truth. He whips out his wand and points it at Voldemort, but after a tense moment lowers it. "I'm going to turn you in," he says. Voldemort makes no move to stop Harry as the latter rushes off, returning not long after with Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, and Slughorn, who attempt to put him under arrest. "The Ministry will decide your fate," announces McGonagall grimly.

"I am the Ministry!"

Voldemort's wand suddenly appears in his hand, and Flitwick and Slughorn are on the floor, dead.

Harry is paralyzed as McGonagall and Voldemort duel. Bolts of lightning shoot from Voldemort's wand, but McGonagall parries them with her own. Voldemort appears to weaken and appeals to Harry for help. "You can't kill him, Professor," Harry pleads. "He must stand trial."

"He has too much control of the Ministry and the Wizengamot. He is too dangerous to be kept alive."

Harry makes his decision. "Expelliarmus!" he shouts, disarming not Voldemort but McGonagall, who is blasted out of the window by Voldemort's lightning bolts. "Power! Unlimited power!" cackles Voldemort.

"What have I done?"

"You are fulfilling your destiny, Harry. Become my apprentice. Learn to use the Dark Arts."

"I will do whatever you ask."

"Good."

"Just help me save Ginny's life. I can't live without her. I won't let her die. I want the power to stop death."

"To cheat death is a power only I have achieved, but if you will become my apprentice, I will share it with you."

"I pledge myself to your teachings. To the ways of the Slyth."

Voldemort waves his wand and Harry's name appears in the air. Another wave of his wand, and the letters rearrange themselves.

"A powerful Slyth you will become. Henceforth, you shall be known as HARPY ROTTER."

"Thank you, my Master."

"We must move quickly. I want you to go to Hogwarts. We will catch them off balance. Do what must be done, Harpy Rotter. Do not hesitate. Show no mercy. Only then will you be strong enough in the Dark Arts to save Ginny."

Harry arrives at Hogwarts at the head of an army of Inferi. He finds a group of first-years hiding in the Gryffindor common room, where they have fled to escape the Inferi.

"Harry, there are too many of them. What are we going to do?"

"Avada-"

Harry intends to leave Hogwarts in flames, but on his way out is confronted by his old friend Ron. They duel as the castle burns around them. Part of the ceiling caves in, pinning Harry to the ground, and Ron disarms him.

"You were the Chosen One! It was said that you would destroy the heir of Slytherin, not join him!"

Ron picks up Harry's wand and begins to walk away. He stops and looks back. Harry screams as his robes burst into flame.

"I hate you!"

"You were my best mate, Harry. I loved you."

Ron leaves Harry for dead and escapes Hogwarts with Ginny only moments before Voldemort arrives to recover his apprentice. Ginny dies not long afterward, but not before giving birth to twins, one of whom is placed in the care of Hagrid, the other given to Bill Weasley and Fleur Delacour to raise as their own. Meanwhile, Voldemort fits his apprentice with a new body of gleaming silver and tells him that Ginny was killed in the destruction of Hogwarts. The stage is set for the second septology, in which Harry's children, grown to adulthood, redeem their father and finally bring to an end the evil rule of Lord Voldemort.

TO BE CONTINUED

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While I Was Out

AUGUST 16th

I AM not prepared to admit that there is, or can be, properly speaking, in the world anything that is too sacred to be known. That spiritual beauty and spiritual truth are in their nature communicable and that they should be communicated, is a principle which lies at the root of every conceivable religion. Christ was crucified upon a hill, and not in a cavern, and the word Gospel itself involves the same idea as the ordinary name of a daily paper. Whenever, therefore, a poet or any similar type of man can, or conceives that he can, make all men partakers in some splendid secret of his own heart, I can imagine nothing saner and nothing manlier than his course in doing so.

'Robert Browning.'

AUGUST 17th

ONCE men sang together round a table in chorus; now one man sings alone, for the absurd reason that he can sing better. If scientific civilization goes on (which is most improbable) only one man will laugh, because he can laugh better than the rest.

'Heretics.'

AUGUST 19th

IN a hollow of the grey-green hills of rainy Ireland lived an old, old woman, whose uncle was always Cambridge at the Boat Race. But in her grey-green hollows, she knew nothing of this; she didn't know that there was a Boat Race. Also she did not know that she had an uncle. She had heard of nobody at all, except of George the First, of whom she had heard (I know not why), and in whose historical memory she put her simple trust. And by and by, in God's good time, it was discovered that this uncle of hers was really not her uncle, and they came and told her so. She smiled through her tears, and said only, 'Virtue is its own reward.'

'The Napoleon of Notting Hill.'

Chesterton Day by Day

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Chesterton Quote of the Day

Even among liars there are two classes, one immeasurably better than another. The honest liar is the man who tells the truth about his old lies; who says on Wednesday, 'I told a magnificent lie on Monday.' He keeps the truth in circulation; no one version of things stagnates in him and becomes an evil secret. He does not have to live with old lies; a horrible domesticity.

Introduction to 'The Old Curiosity Shop' via Chesterton Day by Day

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The Legend of the Blue Potato

Of all the vegetables known to mankind, few if any capture the imagination as does the elusive blue potato. Once considered mythical, it has figured in the tales and folklore of many cultures. Indeed, the mystery surrounding this vegetable seems far out of proportion with its humble identity. Yet this cannot account for the widespread occurrences of the blue potato in varied and unlikely times and places. It is not known whether there is an actual “Blue Potato” that in effect embodies the essence of this vegetable, or if the prevalent occurrence of the name is merely a persistent but coincidental phenomenon. The vegetable figures particularly in the lore of the Gorfuans, especially in the southern province of Bleauburghy, which was believed to be the location of the primeval potato patch in Gorfuan mythology. The tales of the Freddegar, the little-known dwellers of the Tolmaar steppes, often mentioned a “Blue Potato” that would arrive to aid the people in their time of need, and the name of the Blue Potato was often invoked in that people’s struggle against the tyrannical Fidlumbrian Empire. At the battle of Garyfells the Freddegars fought under the banner of a blue potato on a silver field, which was supposedly stained with the blood of their commander when he was killed by the third and final Fidlumbrian charge. The flag was preserved and now is in the possession of the Imperial Museum in Tyronryff.

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