Occasional Writings

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Occasional Writings

Benedict XVI: No Grand Inquisitor
“. . . The honeymoon was over before it began for the new Pope. . . .Minutes after the conclave curtain lifted, the airwaves and internet were clogged with the new conventional wisdom . . . ”

Dion: New Masters
“. . . Among the parade of great talent from the dawn of the rock era, Dion alone has remained a creative force, a street poet giving voice to all that makes our hearts light and sets our spirits free.”

The shock of the not-so-new
“. . .While the New York art world and the civil-liberties crowd is all atwitter over Mayor Rudolph Giuliani’s threats to cut off state funding for the Brooklyn Museum, Saatchi is laughing all the way to the bank . . . ”

Death be not so chic
“. . . Benneton’s $20–million ‘We, on Death Row’ advertising campaign is the kind of help we don’t need. With its edgy photos depicting killers on death row as noble savages who got a raw deal, the campaign will only harden ‘get tough on crime’ sentiments. . .”

Zach and his dangerous book
“. . . Instead, a classroom full of children were sent the message by a trusted adult, an authority figure, that the Bible is something to be afraid of, something infectious, to be guarded against. And a young boy was humiliated . . . . ”

A ‘Howl’ for Allen Ginsberg
“. . . Some editorial poesy, with apologies to the American poet Allen Ginsberg, who died on April 5, at the age of 70: We see the best minds of our generation destroyed / by the madness of living in a society without moral guardrails./Starving for the food that will last but not knowing it. . . ”

A storyteller with the eyes of a child
“. . . Her letters stopped coming last Christmas, when, for the first time, she was forced to send a form letter to all her friends and loved ones. ‘I still try to use the computer but my fingers tremble and fly off the keys and this is bad,’ she informed us. . . . ”

Remembering a ‘great life’
“. . . Truth is, I never knew him as well as I wanted to. I was always intimidated and a bit tongue-tied around him. I shouldn’t have been. He was gentle and funny, with a sharp mind and a sharp wit, and a serious sweet tooth. At his funeral, two of his ‘honorary grandchildren’ could be overheard debating whether he would be the patron saint of licorice or chocolate. . . . ”