Monthly Archives: January 2008

The Animated Exploits of Arsene Lupin

Once upon a time in Canada, there aired a very cute and stylish little example of French animation. Night Hood, aka Les Exploits de Arsene Lupin, introduced Nineties kids to Arsene Lupin, that most cunning Robin Hood of retired thieves and most unlikely of detectives, in an alternate version of the 1920’s. He is constantly flying back and forth from Paris to New York, developing absurdly advanced devices and vehicles, and showing up in ever more strange disguises.

The animation itself is very uneven, sometimes flowing beautifully and sometimes very static. (The first bit of the opening credit sequence is too gorgeous entirely.) The execution of character designs is uneven, too. But overall, the drawings are really beautiful; you’re ready to move in, and you definitely want to shop for clothes and cars in these cities. The music is also very winning. There’s a lot of use of silhouettes, which apparently harks back to the credits of the 1970’s live action Lupin series, also set in the 1920’s and 30’s.

Lupin’s book nemeses, the French Surete detectives Ganimard (a grizzled veteran) and Folenfant (here a babyfaced sergeant) chase Lupin as much as they can. But Lupin’s true concern is the brilliant industrialist and criminal mastermind, Howard Randolph Karst. (Who, for the benefit of the kiddies, both looks and sounds exactly like Hearst/Citizen Kane, with a helping of Howard Hughes for likeability and tech.) Karst and Lupin are fairly good matches, but Karst generally is too busy with his masterplan of world domination to step out of the office. So Lupin usually faces his underlings: his psychotic crime liaison Steel, thugs Guilla and Diesel (who’s a big Chinese guy who doesn’t wear stereotypical Eastern clothing), and Countess May Hem.

Lupin’s faithful accomplice and wheelman is Grognard, a solid and clever engineer type with a good sense of humor. He’s portrayed very sympathetically in this series and looks quite handsome, which is unusual for a sidekick. Lupin also flirts and acts as a source for transatlantic-traipsing American reporter Kelly Rose Kincaid. Her newspaper, the New York Inquirer, is actually owned by Karst, but it’s fairly obvious she feels no loyalty to him — and not much concern about aiding and abetting! (But hey, she breaks into places herself all the time in pursuit of stories, so maybe this isn’t so strange.) Kincaid has her own Jimmy Olson-type sidekick, a boy named Max Leblanc. (Named after Lupin’s chronicler, Maurice Leblanc, of course!)

What can I say? Lupin is a man of action with a scarf, a monocle, an opera cloak, and a swordstick — not to mention a habit of strewing roses about! I also particularly enjoyed (as a Wimsey fan) seeing a theft occur as a diva sang the Jewel Song from Faust! We also visit the Orient Express, an evil Doc Savage’s Empire State Building, a dirigible, and the Titanic. It is a Golden Age mystery or pulp-lover’s dream.

I apparently missed the height of Night Hood fandom, but here’s a nice little fansite which has survived the years, and another tinier one. Also, a fanfic over on

I’ve really enjoyed watching bits of this series, which is not on DVD, alas. Search around for it; it’s worth it.


Filed under Cartoons/Animation/Video

The Book Meme

Julie D. and Kevin P. Edgecomb both have tagged me (and so has Don), so I must respond!

Here are the rules:

Pick up the nearest book of 123 pages or more. (No cheating!)
Find Page 123.
Find the first 5 sentences.
Post the next 3 sentences.
Tag 5 people.

Bridge of Birds, by Barry Hughart:

“He slid half of the heel aside and came up with a couple of lockpicks, and then the swearing soldiers jerked him back to his feet. Li Kao managed to slip one of the tiny picks into my hands. ‘Ox, we can’t possibly escape from here,’ he whispered.”

I actually had a great deal of difficulty figuring out which book is closest to me at the moment. There were several almost equidistant from me.

I tag Joy, Enbrethiliel, Tim Jones, Dawn Eden (whose surgery is done — yay!), and Mike Aquilina.


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Los Seises of Seville: Liturgical Dance for Traditionalists

In the 1912 volume of The Century magazine, I happened to come across an article on “Some Spanish Dances” by Arthur Stanley Riggs, F.R.G.S., and his lucky artist compadre who got to draw pictures of it all instead of photographing it. On page 393 of this article, we learn about the seises, a liturgical dance and song done by a special endowed corps of choirboys on Easter and Corpus Christi before the tabernacle of Seville’s Cathedral. It appears that this dance is part of Vespers, not Mass? Anyway, castanets are involved. Here’s an old postcard in color of them.

They have been dancing before the Ark of the Lord since the Reconquest. That traditional enough for ya?

Here are los Seises today, in procession outside. Here’s an article in Spanish about them. Originally they were sixteen (“seize”), then six, then ten, then…. Here they are lined up in front of the high altar, apparently for the Feast of the Immaculate Conception. Here they are dancing (in a solemn march-y sort of way). Here’s two of the six sitting and waiting. Here’s more in Spanish about them, as they march in procession in red outfits in the parade for the Feast of Corpus Christi. (I don’t see anything about them dancing at Easter these days.)

But nowadays we also have video with audio! Corpus Christi on Yahoo, YouTube 1, YouTube 2. Immaculate Conception 1. Immaculate Conception 2. And castanets are still involved! (Rhapsody claims to let you listen to one of their songs, but I didn’t download their software and so don’t know for sure.)

Don’t try this at your church unless it’s part of your cultural patrimony and you have anti-lameness powers…. But it does show that Europeans can do liturgical dance in a fitting, non-lame way.


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Stalking Parrot, Hidden Florist

I went over to the florist today to get some nice cards for people. For the McMullans, mainly, because I thought that at least I could give them that. (I don’t know why it is, but Greg’s death has hit me very hard. I guess because it’s so sudden and unexpected, and because so many of my friends did know him so well.) Anyway, just when I was feeling very sad, I saw… the parrot!

The local florist is owned by a birdlover,  and there’s a cage full of singing birds back in the nice warm florist construction area. But the big blue parrot is king of the place, older than the rest, and well housetrained. He does not suffer the indignity of a cage. Generally, he inspects what the junior members of staff are doing, or keeps watch from a high side window. Thence, he alerts the passersby that they are under the eye of the king with a loud peremptory comment. Often I receive such notice, since I walk that way in the evening.

But today, the great blue kingbird was on the prowl, stalking through the open doorway of the construction area and into the middle display room.  I thought he might have smelled lunch on me, but no. He stalked past me as if I had not been there. Shivering a little, he braved the draft and went all the way into the outermost display area — where his owner had been conversing with a customer a little too long for his tastes. She handed him up onto her shoulder, and all was right with his world.

I’m not usually much for birds, but I like this parrot. Just seeing him makes my day.


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Some Good News

Erick Wujcik, famous gamemaster and RPG developer from Detroit, was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer right before the holidays. His aggressive chemo seems to be working.

Thank you, St. Ezekiel, patron saint of gamers!

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Urgent Prayer Request

Greg McMullan, filker, MIT guy, Presbyterian, and athlete, died last night in a housefire. He was home alone and taking a nap. He called 911, but didn’t make it out himself. The cats of the household were also killed. The townhouse was a total loss; the top floors collapsed.

Please pray for Greg, and for his friends and family — especially his wife Maya McMullan, who is in the hospital from the fire’s aftereffects, his stepdaughter Faeryn, his stepson, and his mother and brother (since on top of this, they just lost Greg and Scott’s dad and grandfather earlier this year and have had all sorts of other troubles the last few years). Maya and Faeryn have basic necessities, a place to stay, and help from relatives, but obviously, this is hard stuff. Scott McMullan, his brother, is updating folks.

I didn’t know him very well, though I remember running into him at OVFF and having short chats. He was one of those nice guys I always thought I’d have more time to talk with. But here’s a picture of him laughing, from just a few weeks ago. No doubt he’ll be laughing and singing still, when we see him again.

May the angels lead you into Paradise.
May the martyrs greet you at your arrival, and lead you into the Holy City, Jerusalem.
May the choir of angels greet you.
And like Lazarus, who once was poor, may you have eternal rest.

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A Free Chinese Novel to Read, Featuring Judge Bao!

Ping Yao Zhuan, a Ming Dynasty fantasy novel by Feng Menglong (1574-1645). Translated by Nathan Sturman. It’s a story of Taoist conjurors, the ghost of Empress Wu, reincarnated lovers, foxwomen, fairyfolk, designing eunuchs, about half the gods, and the fall of the Song Dynasty. Also, Judge Bao, which is sorta like dropping Sherlock Holmes and Mr. Gladstone into the middle of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.

Which, of course, we do.

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One of the Lost Jews of Kaifeng Finds Love!

Awhile back, I mentioned the Jews of Kaifeng in connection with Judge Bao, real life historical figure (who had Jewish symbols all through his house) who is famous on stage and screen (and worshipped as a Chinese god of justice — what a fate for a nice Jewish boy!).

Now, via Instapundit, a nice Kaifeng Jewish girl has just married a nice Floridian Jewish boy, after meeting on a kibbutz in Israel while studying Hebrew! Aw, they look so sweet together…. Everybody sing “Simen tov v mazel tov”! 🙂

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I Was Proactive!

People tend to think that I am a fast thinker, but I’m really not. I’m very fast at data retrieval (but only if you ask the right question), I talk very fast (but only if I get excited first), and I can see implications very quickly (though only certain kinds). I can write and compose quickly, too. I must be quickwitted, right?

However, I am not a very fast thinker if you present me with a situation that is outside my expectations, or too large to answer in a precise way, or at a low energy moment. So I tend to get caught wrongfooted a lot, and only figure out what I should have done or said when it’s too late.

Thus my extreme pleasure in today’s proactive moment, though really it wasn’t anything big.

Usually, the choir I’m in is led by our music director. He took off today, so one of our other parish musicians led us and played the music. So there I was, flipping through the hymnal and checking my pagemarkers, when all of a sudden I was informed that I’d be playing tambourine on the recessional hymn because it was Celtic.

This is the sort of moment which crashes my brain. If I was reading it on a page, I’d think logically: “But I don’t particularly want to play tambourine in church. I’m not particularly good at it, anyway. And tambourines aren’t Celtic. Unless you’re in Galicia, and that’s not the same kind of tambourine.”* But for some reason, when presented to my face, all my brain can think for the first five or ten minutes is, “Whah?”

So I didn’t say anything during the rest of choir practice, and I didn’t say anything when I went up to the loft, but all the time these thoughts were fighting their way out of the “Whah?!” stage. It took until it was almost time for Mass for me to think, “But bones, bodhrans and small drums are Celtic.** And we have small drums.”

So abandoning the tambourine, I ran downstairs, outside church, and back to our practice space (the music classroom). I grabbed a smallish skin-headed drum that could sound like a bodhran, and I even found one of those two-headed bodhran cipins (though everybody except the Irish dictionary really calls them “beater”) which was in the drumstick box for some odd reason. Then I tore back up to the choir loft, and I told my plan to today’s director. (Very important. Musicians and directors don’t like being surprised. Probably because it makes them have a “Whah?” moment.) All was approved, and all went off without any particular hitch.

So I’m still a lousy percussion player, but because I was proactive, I punctuated the Irish recessional tune with an instrument that doesn’t give anyone stylistic cognitive dissonance or seventies flashbacks.

Still, life would be a lot easier if people would submit all questions and directives to me in writing. 🙂

* You may have heard a ceili band at some point that had a tambourine. If so, they were tragically misguided, and it was probably in the seventies.

** Wooden bones and their equally clattery metal variant, the spoons, are probably not recommended for liturgical use. Big huge loud kettledrum-sized drums are also Celtic, but if they sound too much like a lambeg you’ll give people Orange Ulster nightmares. So… probably not a great plan in certain parishes. Various sorts of bells, including the musical “branch” of chimes, are also ancient of use; but mostly seem to have been used as a summons to church or an announcement that one should listen up because a poet was coming, not as percussion or a lead instrument.

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Hymn Note for Turtledove Fans

A lot of people realize that, in Harry Turtledove’s alternate Byzantium, the god “Phos” (Light) is both an alternate Ahura Mazda, as well as a way to comment on Byzantine Christianity without commenting. But he’s also referring to the famous Christian hymn “Phos Hilaron”. Like “Inventor Rutili”, it’s a lamplighting hymn. IIRC, Turtledove even quotes the thing in his trilogies, but I don’t know how many people catch it.

Here’s the hymn in Greek, sung to the “ancient” melody (“melos archaion”) by the late Fr. Dositheos, a blind monk from Mount Athos, with a drone backup (Kevin tells me below that the sound’s called an “ison”) from the monastery choir. From’s very interesting Byzantine music resource pages.

For those of us who don’t read Greek letters, here’s the transliterated lyrics so you can sing along:

Phos hilaron aghias dóxis, athanátou Patrós, ouraníou aghiou mákaros, Iisoú Hristé, elthontes epí tin ilíou dysin, idóntes phos esperinón, hymnoumen Patéra, Yión, kai ághion Pnevma, Theón, Axion se en pási kairoís hymneisthai, phonés aisíais, Yié Theoú, zoín o didoús, dió o kósmos se doxázei.

The interesting bit is that, although you hear its great solemnity when sung here as a church hymn (and rightly so), after a while the underlying bounciness starts to come through.

Here’s three totally different settings (in English translation) dug up by Chantblog. I don’t know if any of the music is the same as the tune above. Oremus has “O gladsome light” TTTO “Le Cantique de Simeon” by Louis Bourgeois.


Filed under Church, fandom, History

Secular Canonesses

Interesting stuff here in the back issues of Musica Sacra. I didn’t know about the secular canonesses, a group of Early Christian active contemplative women developed out of the consecrated virgins and widows of the earliest days. “Secular Canonesses and Chant” gives background on them as well as their musical activities. Originally they were a sort of supplemental deaconess, and usually had deaconesses heading their organization. They were bound only by rules, not by an oath; usually lived at home; and they could easily leave to be married, if need be.

Medieval canonesses didn’t get out and about as much. But they were educated women who ran schools teaching girls reading, literature, music, writing, and often the seven liberal arts. They also ran hospitals/hospices. They had to make their own clothing; and since they had no habit, they could express themselves somewhat. But their true duty was to sing the divine office.

Some medieval canonesses lived in households within the household, so to speak. The aristocratic older canonesses were called “lady aunts”, and could nominate a certain number of girls as candidates to join the canonesses. While in training, these girls (the “lady nieces”) would live with their lady aunts and their lay servants.

(I dunno about you, but these setups scream fantasy novel to me.)

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This is the kind of guy who could be a really great artist, if he decided to believe something.

He can draw and paint well and beautifully, he’s got an eye for meaningful design, and his sense of humor and grotesquerie is interesting… honestly, it just breaks the heart that he won’t commit. So close, and instead he messes around in the shallows. Sigh.

His sculpture and swords I can’t judge as well, but there’s a lot of solidity to them (yes, I know, but figuratively, too) that the paintings lack.

Anyway, it’s all well worth looking at. Just not as good as it could be.


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More on the Pants Thing

Jeri, the old school Doctor Who fan who runs a support group for victims of abuse from (mostly Protestant) church pastors, has a post on the history of women wearing pants. (She also has one on Huckabee making a morally dubious visit, which I haven’t heard about from anyone else.)

We get a lot of people on the “traditional” side of Catholicism who blithely throw around shoulds and musts in connection to dresses and pants. It’s silly, but it’s also dangerous. Jeri deals with people who’ve seen what happens when should and must become a stick to beat people. It is no part of the tradition of the Church to be oppressive.

If you want to know about the context of New Testament pronouncements on clothes, I’ve been reading a very good book. Roman Wives, Roman Widows: The Appearance of New Women and the Pauline Communities (by Bruce Winter. Eerdsmans, 2003.) explains the social context in which our little Christian fishies swam.

So if you long to blindly imitate the mores of that very moment… all married women should wear a fairly substantial marriage veil (palla) at all times when they are outside their own house. This “veil” is really more of a cloak; they were to draw the folds over their heads for modesty. The Emperor Augustus added the additional legal obligation for all respectable women to wear a bulky overdress (stola). Un-respectable women were legally forced to wear different clothing than the stola and palla. (Here are some pictures of respectable female Roman clothing — relatively respectable except for the colors — and some unrespectable clothes here.)

As a respectable and industrious woman instead of a layabout, all your respectable clothing should not only be made by you and the free women of your household, but woven by you, too. Naturally, you should spend every spare moment spinning and weaving; otherwise you will have far too much time on your hands!

No respectable woman should wear a dress with any color to it (or any tailoring to it, for that matter), but especially not orange (scarlet), red (purple), or flower designs. No respectable woman should wear gold or (horrors!) pearls. In fact, wearing colors and gold is the legal and literary sign that you’re a prostitute! (In a married woman, it makes people assume that you’re being given gifts by your adulterous partner, and that your husband is either a wimp or a pimp.) Anything transparent or gauzy or small, like a tiny little lace veil, would be interpreted by an ancient Roman man as a blatant advertisement.

Big hair, braids, curls — all hairstyles of any complication whatsoever are signs that you are some kind of flaunting party woman. Shame on you for wearing pigtails.

Women weren’t supposed to speak out in the Christian assembly because women weren’t supposed to speak out in the public assembly. Only the “new women” who slept around with everyone would do that. There is a connotation in the language, apparently, that said women speaking out were rudely arguing with their husbands or the leaders under the guise of prophecy, and that the kind of unveiling they did in the assembly was a very nasty comment in itself.

There is so much interesting material in this book that I haven’t finished it yet. (There’s a huge section on women patrons and benefactors, for example, that ties into the whole deaconess question, and some very interesting stuff about widows and their financial and social status — which explains why some widows were expected to remarry and others not.)

But it’s fairly clear that a good amount of Paul’s advice needs to be followed with good sense, not blindly and ignorantly. If you can’t tell which parts are which, you should look to the Church and the bishops. But you are not a Roman woman, and you aren’t expected to share her closet.

UPDATE: Corrected the name of the book above. Sorry. I keep trying to remember that I should only post while awake.


Filed under Church, History

On Reviewing TV, Sight Unseen

Nobody would be surprised, I think, if I passed judgment on an apple based on its outward appearance. If I saw a wormhole or a large rotten spot, nobody would say, “How dare you judge that apple without eating every bit?” Nobody would say, “How dare you accuse that stinky fish with the clouded eyes and dull scales of being a bad fish? Who are you to be so cruel!”

Yet there’s this strange idea going around — that’s it’s forbidden to tell anyone that a piece of art strikes you as bad, and that you don’t intend to waste time or money on it. As a rational consumer, I am here to tell you that this is not true.

Works of art are not people with souls. I can judge them however I like.

Let me clear up a few other matters:

This is my blog. Its purpose is to express my thoughts, feelings, and opinions.

No commenter, no TV producer, and no anime voice actress is paying for my cable or employing me to stay home and watch everything. I will continue to watch only what appeals to me. If the idea doesn’t appeal to me enough to turn it on, that is the TV producer’s problem and not mine.

If a TV producer does not offer anything appealing to me, I am obviously not his target audience.

I have every right in the world to advise others, even at the top of my voice. I do not have the right to expect them to become my adoring clone worshippers — and neither does anybody else have the right to expect that of me.

I have a friend who loves The Shield. I, however, do not love The Shield, nor any of its works and pomps. And why should I? It is not my kind of show. Equally, I do not expect my friend to have a road to Damascus moment and decide that he will devote the next two years of his life to The Tale of Genji or the study of Gregorian chant. My friend and I know each others’ opinion on these subjects; and if he does not expect me to change my opinion on a show so dear to his heart, why on earth would a comment box stranger expect me to rewrite all my likes and dislikes?

I have an open mind; but it is a mind, not a blank slate. I am a full-grown woman, not a baby bird gaping to be fed whatever regurgitations that writers deign to provide.

So there are some things I would not watch were I paid to do so. Even less will I perform such spiritual drudgery while being charged for it, in the form of commercials. But don’t worry. If Vince Gilligan wants my business, I’m sure he can write a premise more to my taste. (Given the fragmented nature of the market, he doesn’t have to.)


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