Welcome back! It’s been far too long so we have to hit the ground running with a drink that is not only tasty, but packs a little punch. Fewer steps than the Shiny, but with more ingredients and a far higher alcohol level, this drink is quick to mix but slow to sip. Perfect to pair with tiny sandwiches, even if the trick in this case is not wood alcohol, but moonshine. 


And so, in honor of Christie's move to the UK, here is Badger’s drink, the “Very Fine Hat”.

" 'Course, you couldn't buy an invite with a diamond the size of a testicle. But I got my hands on a  couple."

 -Badger

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

VERY FINE HAT

1 1/2 oz moonshine (a good vodka will work too. It just lacks that lawless nature)

3/4 oz black tea, cooled (I recommend lichee congou as it makes a naturally sweet cup, but Earl Grey or English Breakfast are fine)

Splash of simple syrup

Apple twist, for garish

Brew the tea before hand and set aside to cool. Sweeten it if it’s too bitter, or you just like it that way. Once cooled, shake together the tea, moonshine, and simple syrup with ice, and strain into a teacup (yes, that’s necessary for the drink).

  

 Garnish with a long green apple peel and drink with a smug, self-satisfied air. It’s perfectly okay to indulge in a fake English accent at this point. The more Very Fine Hats you have, the better it will probably get. No, really. Trust me. And then recite River’s whole “sad li’l king of a sad li’l hill” line and you’ve taken one more very substantial step down Firefly fandom.

"Do Młodego Przyjaciela" - A Guest Poem from Nanynka

We are exploring various loves for the moment, and my dear friend, Nanynka offers her poem for consideration. Love, friendship, longing, and reflection.

Thank you, Nanynka for sharing your lovely, heartfelt poem: Do Młodego Przyjaciela (to a young friend). Your loving comments, gentle critiques, and responses are appreciated!

  

* * * *   * * * * 

I like you

as I liked my little sister

those few days when she was vunerable;

when I saw in her someone who mirrored me -

unexpectedly-

and was beautiful.

I yearn over you

as I yearn over a different life I might have lived

had I been braver, more aware

a life in which my parents made me stick with my sonatinas

when I was too shy and childish to make myself.

A life in which I traded top bunks:

my own for a distant college dorm's.

A life in which I married young - 

young enough to become a mother

with my own sons and daughters to yearn over.

I dream of you

as I dream of a girl I wish I knew

though I am afraid to approach

because the crowd around her 

neither asks to be remembered,

nor expects to be carried onward.

She owns so many of my dreams

but so many more belong to you.

I love you

with some share of the love I have for the boy you remind me of

and I love him

with some share of the love I have for you.

And I don't know how you are all of these things to me

when all I know of you

is a little music;

an hour at your side; talk of snow

and small towns;

also, countless times I've watched a light come suddenly into your face

and attempted to understand why.

It's a little shameless of me, that watching,

but it's hard to miss the chance to know you better.

We have you for so little time.

I pray for you

as I prayed for my hedonist, who sang Handel -

two hours of fervent music, two hours of wild prayer -

and I pray for you

as I pray for my long-ago student, who mocked fear

and laughed at God

but shared his earphones

and hugged me to his trenchcoat;

and I pray for you

as I pray for the ones who are mine by blood

though not my own -

upheld in empty arms and heart spilling over, as you are -

when I see in them "the pure, the bright, the beautiful"

and intercede without words,

terrified at what could happen to their hearts

and their minds,

 their bodies

and their souls

in this rapacious world.

I pray for you because

there's almost nothing else I can do for you

so I do it with all my might.

 

Aesthetics versus Athletics (or Don’t Hate on the Pretty Boys): A guest post from Seth

My husband was willing to write a guest post on men and beauty..it's something we've talked about often. I hope you appreciate his perspective as much as I do!

There’s a mens conference coming up this month in Portland. I seriously debated going but not only is it a bit out of my price range, the discussion about “true masculinity” or “authentic manhood” or “men coming together as men” (an actual quote from the radio spot touting said conference) is beginning to bore me. It’s not that I don’t think it’s a worthwhile topic (depending on how you phrase it) but its gotten to the point where the same things are said over and over again. Blogs, radio shows, books, articles - all of them seem to have the same theory about men; we need to be challenged, we need adventure, we need permission to be real men. Sports and business-oriented analogies abound, exhortations are given to call each other on and fight the dragon and fellowship (yes, as a verb), and after a few self-gender-deprecating jokes about not being able to multi-task (like women) or fix things around the house (for women) or being a practice round for God’s masterpiece (women) we are sent off, refreshed and ready to face the world of man-haters. And I find myself appalled at the complete lack of substance. Because there’s one thing I’ve never heard mentioned in all the talks on masculinity or read about in any of the articles on manhood; and that thing is Beauty. Sure, there’s the whole “a beauty worth fighting for” concept where apparently my whole worth as a person is reduced to how well I defend someone else (not to mention what this says about her), and I seem to recall being told over and over again how lucky I should feel that such a dazzling and beautiful creature as woman should ever deign to look at the clod-hopping, troglodytic, dunce that is me. But never once have I heard someone mention the presence and importance of beauty in a man’s life apart from woman; as an aspect of his life that is not dependent on someone else but rather exists within and around him, and calls him up into itself to find God.

 

The whole concept that a man might not only respond to beauty and wish to create beauty but actually be beautiful is apparently uncomfortable for the average American Catholic male. Or at least the ones in a position to talk about such things from a public platform. But why should that be? How is it such a leap from saying that God created a the heavens as beautiful, created the world as beautiful, created the plants and animals as beautiful, and created woman as beautiful to saying that man must also (as a part of that creation) be beautiful? It would seem the height of egoism to state that he was created outside of all this beauty, to be the only thing in God’s mind that is both good but ugly and that everything beautiful was made so that he could enjoy it without being a part of it. God Himself is beautiful, how can man, made in His image and likeness, not be? Yes, it is true that God is also a warrior, a priest, a lion, a thief in the night (we’re going to leave the mother hen image aside for right now but trust me, I’m aware of it). But one thing He is not is compartmentalized. So while men are called to be brave, holy, fierce, and cunning we are also called to be icons, windows of His grace and beauty to the world.

 

And speaking of icons - how is it that the only masculine activities I hear mentioned by the experts are “active” in every sense of the word: football (soccer apparently being too cordial, rugby too European), hunting, fishing, hiking, and the ultimate, whitewater rafting. But never music, dance, art, literature, drama, or any of the more “refined” subjects. Mechanics are manly, painters are not. We’re reminded how much Blessed Pope John Paul II enjoyed skiing and celebrating Mass on mountaintops, not so advertised is his philosophy of acting or his letter to artists (which, contrary to popular man-opinion, is not the same as Mulieris dignitatum). We appreciate the magnificence and majesty of Church architecture and art but never look to the artists themselves - Bernini, Michaelangelo, Raphael, El Greco, Andrei Rublev, and hosts of other men have contributed untold riches to the world of aesthetics, it is difficult to comprehend how they could all be somehow inferior to a kick-boxing champion or NBA player just because they dedicated their lives to art instead of sports. Mozart, Shakespeare, Tolkien, Haydn, Bach, Evelyn Waugh (yes,a guy), Francis Thompson, St. Luke, St. Augustine, Giotto, Claude McKay, Baryshnikov, … it’s not that every man on this list is somehow the perfect epitome of masculinity (or virtue) but that they were all men giving their lives to the pursuit of beauty. And I think one would be hard-pressed to say that any failings in their lives were somehow linked to their endeavors and that if only they had become CEOs or wildlife rangers all would have been well.

King David sang, played the lyre, danced for God, and was described as a ruddy and handsome youth. He also slew Goliath and ruled a nation. He wrote the psalms. He massacred the Philistines. He fell and repented and prayed and was forgiven. He clearly had a sensitivity to beauty and it’s importance to our existence. And from his line came the Christ, the Savior, God-made-Man. Truly, in the words of Fyodor Dostoevsky, “beauty will save the world.”

guest post: Neglected Husband

A Plea for the Mundane 

or

What are you doing in my subconscious, Harry Potter, and when do you intend to leave?  

   Alright, I figured now would be a good time to express my reasons for why the Harry Potter Book Club must end. Now. It’s a monster that must be tamed. Even Hagrid couldn’t handle this. It’s one big SPOILERisk that’s SPOILERing my life with it’s big, mesmerizing, SPOILERS. And yes, all these reasons concern ME; my ego is at stake and since the internet just sorted me into Gryffindor I feel I have a certain reputation to uphold…

1) I had a dream where I was, well, um… okay, so I was Harry Potter. But only briefly, then I was someone else in the same setting so don’t hold it against me. BTW, (and this is totally cool) I could perform the accio spell with no wand; see Ron and Hermione were trying to hide my wand from me and I wasn’t in the mood for games so I just said it and my wand came whizzing out from their hiding place and Hermione looked really annoyed like I had no sense of fun but I think Ron was pretty impressed and… um, anyway, yeah.

2) I drew Dumbledore on a place-mat while waiting for my food to be brought. Seriously. In child’s crayon. IN PUBLIC. What have you done to me?

3) My co-workers (masons for those of you who might not know. Some might even consider them manly) have taken to saying “wingardium leviosa” when sending anything to various levels of the staging on our hauling rope. And yes, someone (actually no, not me) usually responds “it’s ‘wingardium levi-OH-sa’, not ‘wingardium levio-SAH’”. This is all the truth. The sad, sad truth.

4) I can’t help but picture a tired, battle-weary Harry singing whenever the Christian pop song “Worn” (by Tenth Avenue North)comes on the radio. “I’m tired, I’m WORN…”. Okay this started pre-discussion, but not much pre, just a little pre so I’m lumping it in.

5) I don’t say “Hi honey, I’m home. How was your day? I love you so much it hurts…” anymore when I get home. Instead “Anything else in the discussion?” comes tumbling out of my mouth and I sulk when the answer is ‘no’.

That’s all I’ve got for now but isn’t it enough?

-The Neglected (Red-And-Gold-Wearing) Husband