March 3: Conclave, Cardinals, and New Cartoon

I've seen it happen three times in my life.  Twice in the 1970s and once in 2005.  When I was a young child, Paul VI was pope.  He died in 1978.  Then John Paul I was elected.  He died after one month.  Still in 1978, John Paul II was elected to the papacy.  He served for nearly 30 years.  In 2005, John Paul II died, and Benedict XVI became pope.  Well, as you are probably aware, Benedict decided to retire a little while ago.  He left Rome on February 28.  At the moment, there is no pope.

I love this time.  The whole world is watching as the cardinals descend on Rome.  On Monday, the general congregations of the cardinals begin.  That's when they meet and discuss what kind of leader the Church needs.  They'll also set the date for the beginning of the official conclave, where the voting actually takes place.  There's a possibility that, by the end of this week, a new Bishop of Rome will be chosen.

Of course, the cardinals all say it's a spiritual process, having nothing to do with politics.  That's a load of crap, I think.  I'm sure, over the next few days, a lot of deals are going to be made over plates of linguini.  Of course, there's all kinds of speculation in the media.  Right now, there's African cardinals and Italian cardinals and South American cardinals in the spotlight.  There's even a Canadian cardinal being talked about, eh.  Some websites are taking bets on the name of the next pope.  "Peter" is winning at the moment.

Here's my prediction:  the next pope's probably not even in Rome yet.  He's from Guam or someplace small, flying to Italy on a cheap, turboprop airplane.  He's going to choose a name like "Celestine" or "Boniface" or "Martin."  (Hey, it could happen.)  And when his name is announced, the entire world is going to gasp and say, "Who?"

Saint Marty's favorite thing today:  Pope Martin from American Samoa.

Confessions of Saint Marty

March 2: Morrow's Mother, Spiritual, "The Book of Genesis Illustrated," New Cartoon

I have her a good look.  She didn't look like any dope to me.  She looked like she might have a pretty damn good idea what a bastard she was the mother of.  But you can't always tell--with somebody's mother, I mean.  Mothers are all slightly insane.  The thing is, though, I liked old Morrow's mother.  She was all right.  "Would you care for a cigarette?" I asked her.

Holden comes on to practically every woman he meets in Catcher, young and old.  Mrs. Morrow is the mother of one of his Pencey classmates.  I read an interesting article online about Holden.  The authors claim that Holden is on a spiritual quest.  Despite all his claims to "sexiness," the article says, Holden really is looking for the true Mother and Father (the Blessed Virgin and God).  It's an interesting take on Salinger's book, and Holden does spend a good deal of time talking about church and religion in its pages.  I'm not completely sold on Mrs. Morrow being a stand-in for Christ's mother, but it certainly transforms Holden's crisis.

However, spiritual texts sometimes come from the most unexpected sources.  Holden is an atheist, yet he seems to be drawn to Catholicism.  R. Crumb, the underground comic illustrator from the 1960s, was drawn to the Bible.  He spent five years of his life researching and illustrating the Book of Genesis.  The result, The Book of Genesis Illustrated, is astounding.  Crumb writes in his introduction,

Every other comic book version of the Bible that I've seen contains passages of completely made-up narrative and dialogue, in an attempt to streamline and "modernize" the old Scriptures, and still, these various comic book Bibles all claim to adhere to the belief that the Bible is "the word of God," or "inspired by God," whereas I, ironically, do not believe the Bible is "the word of God."  I believe it is the words of men.  It is, nonetheless, a powerful text with layers of meaning that reach deep into our collective consciousness, our historical consciousness, if you will.

Yet, in reading Crumb's visual interpretation of Genesis, he is able to bring these words of God (or man, if you agree with the artist) to life in ways that few other versions of the Bible have done.  The illustrations are not pretty.  Crumb does not shy away from the seedier elements.  He is at his best showing all the human failings in Genesis, violent and sexual and heartbreaking.  Perhaps, in a way, Crumb is on a spiritual quest with The Book of Genesis Illustrated, looking for the divine in the depravity of humankind.  The illustration of God entrusting Adam and Eve with the Garden of Eden captures both the innocence and sensuality of the moment:

 

God looks benevolent and frightening.  Adam and Eve look child-like and sexual.  The world is full of life and wonder, but there is a  mountain in the distance, perhaps hinting at some distant hardship.  If the words Crumb illustrates are divinely written or inspired, these illustrations are windows into that writing and inspiration.

Like Salinger, R. Crumb may have, unintentionally, created something spiritual or sacred.

Saint Marty wishes he'd had Crumb's book as a kid.  He might have paid more attention in his religion classes.

Confessions of Saint Marty

March 1: A Poem, Sharon Olds, "41, Alone, No Gerbil"

Tonight, I'm giving you a poem from my favorite poet, Sharon Olds.  I was going to post her poem, "The Pope's Penis," in honor of the upcoming papal conclave.  My wife told me not to.  Instead, I give you another of my favorites from Olds.

Saint Marty wishes you a happy P.O.E.T.S. Day.

41, Alone, No Gerbil

In the strange quiet, I realize
there's no one else in the house. No bucktooth
mouth pulls at a stainless-steel teat, no
hairy mammal runs on a treadmill--
Charlie is dead, the last of our children's half-children.
When our daughter found him lying in the shavings, trans-
mogrified backwards from a living body
into a bolt of rodent bread
she turned her back on early motherhood
and went on single, with nothing. Crackers,
Fluffy, Pretzel, Biscuit, Charlie,
buried on the old farm we bought
where she could know nature. Well, now she knows it
and it sucks. Creatures she loved, mobile and
needy, have gone down stiff and indifferent,
she will not adopt again thought she cannot
have children yet, her body is like
a blueprint for a woman's body,
so now everything stops, for a while,
now I must wait many years
to hear in this house again the faint
powerful call of a young animal.

The pope, and all his body parts, leaves

March 1: Sleep Tight, Ya Morons!

...I put my red hunting hat on, and turned the peak around to the back, the way I liked it, and then I yelled at the top of my goddam voice, "Sleep tight, ya morons!"...

That's Holden's famous parting line when he leaves Pencey Prep at the beginning of The Catcher in the Rye.  I really have no idea why I started this post with that particular passage.  It called to me this morning as I was flipping through my copy of the book.  Holden doesn't care for anyone at Pencey, so his exit is intended to wake up his classmates, let them all know what phonies they are.  Of course, at the end of the novel, when Holden is in the hospital, he starts missing people, even the "morons" from Pencey.

I think that's pretty common for most people.  Even if you're working at a crap job, completely miserable, there are people who make your life a little bit easier or happier.  For instance, I desperately want a full-time teaching job at the university, but I know that I would miss my coworkers in the medical office if I got that position.  Through the stress and heartache of the last twelve or so years, they have helped my, held me, listened to me.  They are good people, some of my best friends.

No, I'm not hinting that I have been offered a full-time professorship at the university (I wish!).  I'm simply saying that I take my friends for granted, and I shouldn't.  One of my best friends with whom I work just applied for another job.  It's a good job, one she would be really good at.  I support her in her decision.  Heck, I even wrote her resume and cover letter.  However, there's a tiny side of me that doesn't want her to get the job.  A tiny, very ugly side of me.  A jealous side.

Since I'm confessing things, I might as well admit something else.  Another of my coworkers is thinking about selling her current home and buying a new one.  This coworker currently has a gorgeous three-bedroom house with two bathrooms.  The house in which she's interested has five bedrooms and four bathrooms.  I can't imagine having that much space to live in.  I can't even bend over in my kitchen to tie my shoes without bumping my ass against a wall or a counter.  Yes, it's that small.  My ugly secret is not that my kitchen is small.  My ugly secret is that I don't want my coworker to get that new house.

I don't mind looking petty, small, and jealous.  Everyone who knows me also knows this side of my personality.  I joke about it.  I make fun of it.  But it's always present.  I spend a good deal of my life regretting the things I don't have instead of being thankful for all of my blessings.  That's reality for me.

Maybe that's Holden's reality, too.  He's never happy with his school or friends or mother or father.  He's never happy.  Period.

On this P.O.E.T.S., I'm going to be happy.  It's the weekend.  Spring break next week.  Life is good.

Sleep tight, ya moron, Saint Marty.

This guy doesn't want my coworker to get that house, either