Why do so many of my nightmares take place in summer-institutions-for-smart-kids-type places? Personally I always had such a fine time at those summer things for smart kids.
:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:This Sunday I am serving as lector at Mass. I am going to read this:
Come now, you rich, weep and howl for the miseries that are coming upon you. Your riches have rotted and your garments are moth-eaten. Your gold and silver have rusted, and their rust will be evidence against you and will eat your flesh like fire. You have laid up treasure for the last days. Behold, the wages of the labourers who mowed your fields, which you kept back by fraud, cry out; and the cries of the harvesters have reached the ears of the Lord of hosts. You have lived on the earth in luxury and in pleasure; you have fattened your hearts in a day of slaughter. You have condemned, you have killed the righteous man; he does not resist you.
I love the Epistle of Saint James. I want to carry xeroxed copies of it to hand out to people who snidely ask me why I am a Catholic.
:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:Also, I here recant any mean-spirited statements I may have made regarding Poet Laureate Billy Collins. From now on, Poet Laureate Billy Collins, you are sort-of okay. I've come around.
