As a Catholic, it takes a lot to keep me in good cheer after the bad news from Malta. Indeed, as one wise Maltese minister said, Our Lady is sorrowful too. We all (that is, we all who follow foreign politics) knew this was coming. The campaign, though, served to remind those of us who wanted to think of Malta as Europe's Catholic bastion that Malta is not that different from the rest of the world. While, as an English-speaking reader, I was (and have long been) impressed with the writing characteristic of the Times of Malta, the Malta Independent and Malta Today are in tone no superior to most of the papers of Europe, America, and everywhere else in the world. If Malta was actually 97% Catholic, as the common figure has it, such a media would never have survived.

I spare you the univocal blather from the liberals, whose medley of bishop-bashing, scare references to better ages in the past, insistences that discussion of the impact of divorce on the family and children is mean-spirited, that the families are already broken and need divorce, that families are strong and need not fear divorce, that Malta needs to join Europe in its failed policies and be compassionate to vow-breakers, that Catholics can vote for the referendum, that nuns and church ladies voting No are so-called Catholics, and that Jesus and the Holy Spirit want the separation of Church and State are no news to loyal sons and daughters of the Church. Alright, I will observe with amusement that the Yes campaigners frequently claimed 30% of Maltese marriages fail; in a country where that figure is 50%, it is a wonder who is emulating who. Previous complements maintained, the only really good Maltese article I saw for the No side was a post-vote reflection by one Roamer, which heartbroken readers can explore here.

Yes, this side of Heaven, the conservative instinct is the hardest sentence God can give a man. To see natural goods like marriage contemptuously squandered by liberal Twitterers: that is high tragedy. At times, the Yes camp begs the Christian compassion bone, but in their more instinctual moments the ridicule the old Malta as mired in the Dark Ages. This, of course, is just their sly way of saying the institution of marriage is mired in the Dark Ages. You can argue against liberals with every observable warning of American or European-style social decay, but to them it is all equally Medieval, because we would insist that a spouse's vows, made before witnesses no less, ought to have force, and the irrevocable force befitting a man's (or woman's) word. The Yessers might have just advocated government-endorsed, shifting partnerships of free love, but that would be demanding honesty from those who desire to sanctify lying. Aye, and when we reprimand them for choosing the side of evil in this clean-and-easy question (to complain of "undue spiritual pressure" hampering your vote admits as much), they snidely say, in post-pubescent defiance, they are waiting for the earthquake. Such were the commbox remarks from many of the Yes atheists. Translation: I don't mind being evil unless I'm punished for it. Thomas Hobbes may have applauded this petit audacity, but I see it as the ultimate failure of government. This attitude naturally goes with liberal democracy and the rights regime (both I which I so hate), and serves to affirm human degeneracy and vice over kindness, humility, flourishing, and virtue. For those liberals who cannot conjure, upon reading v-i-c-e, anything less archaic than a tipsy Irishman being berated by a 19th Century prohibitionist (you know who you are), look at how these liberal human beings decayed into a pack of thoughtless animals in their Facebook campaign groups, and salivated over the latest slogan reformulations and lauds for democracy on Twitter (those with resolute minds and a tolerance for painful stupidity see here). Criticism of the M-15 morons must wait for another day.

For those who care about the truth, justice, and the good, the worst part (admit it) is that the Yessers get away with impunity. On the anime front, my dismay calls to mind the ferocious, fire-spewing monsters from Miyazaki's 1984 film Nausicäa of the Valley of the Wind, appropriately called "god-warriors" (see one in action about a minute in here!) One of those things could've whipped the immoral electorate into shape had it visited Malta (with the exception of still-Christian Gozo) yesterday. Sadly, even in the anime movie, the god-warrior disintegrates before it can clean up the bestial encroachers upon civilization.

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[The younger Paul Dombey and his dear sister Florence. The news has me feeling little better than unfortunate little Dombey.]
I mentioned that it takes a lot to keep me in good cheer these days. Some of this duty is taken up by Dombey and Son, my fourth Dickens novel, but this is less so since the sad happening before the first third of the volume is through. Quicker, if quirkier, to the task was Campin' in Chicago by Catholic mother of ten Hilary McRee Flanery, who blogs poems here, and whose volume of poetry, written under the pseudonym Long-Skirts, I reviewed here. Actually, Campin' in Chicago is the earlier book, published in 2004 and a Breath of Home in 2008, but since it was out-of-print already, I took my time in acquiring it; eventually I resigned myself to buying an exorbitantly expensive copy on Amazon (it was, however, a nice, autographed copy; I think someone named "Fran" will have some 'splaining to do about why she hawked her personalized copy). In the first few pages, I was turned off by Mrs. Flanery's "mom humor", but after twenty and thirty pages, I became impressed by how well she long she holds together a single, ten kids hectic narrative! And that's only Chapter One! While her poems could be dainty, her novel is rowdy, even dirty (for an traditional Catholic mother). My my, for someone whose standards for humor include Ann Coulter and John Kennedy Toole (Yes?/No? Circle one), this is hilarious. To use the book's own language, Campin' in Chicago is the macomic bomb. This post has gone on rather awhile, so I'll save some fun quotes for a few days from now, but all I can say is, I really hope someone decides to print a second edition! Or for that matter, a movie! A live-action, zany Catholic vacation film, based on this ultimate duel between fertile and sterile, would put big, faithful families on the map, and make them seem ordinary and, all else being equal, normal.

If you were wondering why I haven't written for this blog in over a month, as these pictures indicate, I was beset by the worries of a final finals season, through which I just barely managed to complete my three majors, and still graduate summa cum laude, as indicated by the yellow cord, and the certificate for completing the overblown Honors Program. Not as cute, perhaps, as the identical twin girls with matching blue magna cords (forgive me; my brother, who kindly took these pictures, was elsewhere when I saw that sight to see after the reception), but satisfying nonetheless. Graduation was Saturday morning; I had hoped to post right after, but was intent on finishing a book instead. Nor would Atobe write. Though he is a year below me, and hence shall return in the Fall, he could not be bothered. By the time I called to see if he would attend commencement, he was already back in the Kanto! Anyway, some of the pictures are quite dazzling, so do enjoy.

Hey, isn't that that hobo from Elm Park? Here I stand by my advisor and favorite professor, the University of Chicago-educated, somewhat Straussian [much to my joy, the valedictorian quoted the great mind in her address], quirkily Rousseauist Dr. Sorenson. Sadly, he is retiring this year. A Protestant heretic, hints of disparagement toward each other's religion were not unknown.

Rival Thnkers. Lauren Trapasso, former president of Phi Sigma Tau and the Philosophy Club. As you can guess, Philosophy Club was very often me vs. everybody else.



If you ever wondered if the Campus Ministry girls I hyped so much were really all that, repent and believe in the Gospel! This little cherub is Kelley McNutt, or as I have entitled her, Chibi Kelley. For a comparative anime chibi, see here.

Me (perhaps in my best light) and another Campus Ministry girl, Rachel Dalo, whom I have aptly called Curls Rachel. However, only half the charm is in the looks; she has a lovely voice, which I will not hear again until our 5-year reunion, when I shall be 27.

Jill Foley and I, going through our second graduation together. Throughout all four years she was the only other graduate of Northampton High School to choose Assumption. We have never had much in common--she excels at swimming--but have always been dear friends, and whenever the SGA tackled sports affairs, she was on it. Pictures from that other graduation can be seen here; even given the better picture quality, I thankfully find I look rather better now, don't I?

I even bothered getting pics with a few guys. This is Mike Swanson, former VP for Financial Affairs. Given his overall air of cluelessness, I often call him Gilligan. He's a great gentleman, and a regular entertainer, the type that can send an entire room into laughter just by walking on stage.

The Les and the Pres. Former SGA President Carleigh Baldwin. Briefly "rivals" during a fun and friendly campaign (see here, here and here), she and I, New Yorker and Bay Stater, often had fun hanging around the SGA office over lunch or Dunkin' Donuts. A woman of impeccable music taste and a broad smile (though, aye, another heretic), she is much missed. As you can tell here, she was already quite teary.

Blogger and blogger. I stand with the precious, Hannah Katy, Class of 2010 grad and author of the popular Girl Power blog As Simple As That. She even mentioned me once a few weeks ago, after a visit to Assumption, so I return the favor here, though she hardly needs my assistance to expand her readership. Known for her run-on titles I, who as she notes adore her freckulous forearms, suggested she name a post "Friends are like freckles. They aren't always there, but they always come back for the summer," with a tanned photo of a cousin pencilling freckles on her smiling face when they were little.

Me beside the freshly-ordained Fr. Dinh. An immigrant from Vietnam, he recommended that this Poltical Science major do something to alleviate his homeland of communism. A good idea, but first I have to get around to graduate school, and before that the GRE.

Just before we drove off campus for good, I had my brother take this shot of me atop Adrian's Wall. A stone barrier between the world and the Catholic college, I have so named it for Hadrian's Wall, meant to keep barbarians from crossing the frontiers of the Empire. My, I hope it holds in my absence! Even if Pres Ces, an inactive Matt Brennan and a stardom-distracted Atobe remain, I have a feeling things will get worse without John Guinan or I. When I left NHS, the Republican Club dissolved in mere weeks, though I heard I was replaced by another who took up the mantle of Christian Kid...

Like the high school graduation post, this would feel incomplete without a brief reflection on some contemporary songs, though no poems this time. In the time of the SGA President before Miss Baldwin, the decadent Jay-Z cover of the excellent "Forever Young" (technically, "Young Forever") came out, and the then Pres, who could be a real Christian gentleman, was wholly infatuated with the tune, booming it back-to-back from his office cubicle. I too grew to like it. As much as I don't approve of "smoke some weed," and I never even "drink some wine," the rapper, intentionally or not, seriously considered the Eternal in his anthem to the Now.

Let’s dance in style,
Let’s dance for a while,
Heaven can wait we’re only watching the skies
Hoping for the best but expecting the worst...

As he disclaims before his lyrics about good times in the 'hood, all good things come to an end, and for that matter the Future looks pretty bad! He doesn't discount Heaven, but merely asks it to wait on a few worthy temporal revelries.

Reminisce talk some ... forever young is in your mind
Leave a mark that can’t erase neither space nor time
So when the director yells cut,
I’ll be fine,
I’m forever young...

While not leaving out the urban ladies, Jay-Z does not ignore the joy of remembering. And he evidently has at least a foggy sense of responsibility for what he does when he's "forever young." Though this is how I found the lyrics, I'm pretty sure it should be spelled Director. Four Last Things, baby. Though Z apparently has much to figure out about the One God. Indeed, however playerly the song is, its thesis-chorus, courtesy of Alphaville, asks:

Forever young I wanna be
Forever young
Do you really want to live forever?
Forever, forever

After affirming the goodness of endless, pleasurable life on earth, he calls the goodness of that same life into question, inviting the listener to think on whether this life, and its allures, are really everything. Call my speculations idle, but that is undeniable.

May the best of your todays be the worst of your tomorrows

This is perhaps the best blessing I have ever heard (did he steal it?) In any case, I will the same for all my fellow alumni, and hope the next time they hear "Forever Young," they think on it.

But that's not all. I leave it to another rapper to say my current sentiments as I relax, back in my native (albeit, unlike Harlem, suburban) Northampton for good and all, until, God willing, I ascend still higher in the realm of liberal studies.

I'm coming home... I'm back where I belong, I never felt so strong.