It’s Christmas! Imagine “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing” played on an uptempo French horn and a crackling fire. That’s how I imagine Christmas morning—like a 1970s Christmas variety show.
In all seriousness, it’s truly the most wonderful time of the year. Christ is born! It’s a day for celebrating His Birth with family and friends. Just like the Wise Men of yore, we exchange presents to celebrate (and to stimulate the economy).
It’s hard to believe it, but Christmas is nearly here! As a child, the anticipation seemed too much to bear, and the calendar from Halloween to Christmas seemed to stretch into endless, soggy days.
Christmas Eve is always the most magical, mystical part of Christmas time. Popular depictions of Jesus’ Birth take place, presumably, on Christmas Eve—the angels bursting into the black, silent night above Bethlehem. The whole event is supernatural—the Virgin Birth, the Star guiding the way to the manger, the angels appearing to the shepherds and singing. Tradition has it that even the animals in the manger talked at the moment of Christ’s birth (at exactly midnight, of course). If the rocks can cry out, singing praises to Him, why not some donkeys?
It’s Christmas Week! And what a glorious week it is. It’s been raining persistently in South Carolina since Sunday morning, but I’m enjoying the coziness of the hygge—warm coffee and lazy reading.
PragerU had a little video up this morning from historian Andrew Roberts about Napoleon. It’s an interesting take on the not-so-short French emperor—an apologia, really (for those that prefer reading—as I often do—to watching videos, here is a PDF transcript).
Roberts argues that Napoleon was not the necessary precursor to Hitler, et. al.; rather, Napoloen was “sui generis“—a man unto himself. While I believe the ideas of the French Revolution did unleash the totalitarian forces of Hitlerism, Stalinism, Maoism, and all the rest—a murderous, bloody Pandora’s Box—I’ve never considered Napoleon among their ranks.
‘Tis the season for excessive consumption, dear readers. For a blog with a synonym for “fat” in the title, I’ve yet to feature a Lazy Sunday about food.
Well, that’s about to change. Here are four succulent pieces about food—and my favorite vice, gluttony:
That’s it! I’m looking forward to stuffing my face with gleeful abandon over the next few days (you know, to celebrate the Birth of Jesus). Then I’ve got to reverse course; my jeans are ever-snugger, and my double-chin has slowly made a comeback. Yikes!
Happy Eating—and Merry Christmas!
—TPP
Other Lazy Sunday Installments:
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This coming January, two theatrical events will occur: I’m playing the role of “Brett,” the father of a drug-addicted son, in a play one of my former students wrote called Catching Icarus (the hook: both acts take place in a Waffle House in South Carolina); and the Senate trial against President Trump will (allegedly) begin.
From the rehearsals I’ve been to so far, I can say that acting is difficult—and I get to spend most of the first act in a booth drinking coffee. It takes a special kind of conviction (or delusion) to invest in a role, to become another person.
For congressional Democrats, they sure seem right at home on the political stage. They are masters of the kabuki theatre of outrage.
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The long national nightmare is over. No, not the impeachment farce; it’s the end of the semester! Grades are in the books, work is done, and teachers and students are heading out for two weeks of glorious Christmas Break.
It’s been an eventful week. As the House was fulminating about Trump’s alleged “crimes,” I was playing a gig with our community jazz band. I play second alto sax with the group, but I asked to sing a song on this concert.
It’s long been a dream of mine to sing with a full jazz swing band behind me, and that dream came true Wednesday evening. I sang Andy Williams’s “It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year,” and was a nervous wreck (if you’ve seen the lyrics to that tune, you’ll understand why—what a mouthful!). But I got through it admirably enough, even with a low-grade sinus infection.
The gig was during the dinner hour at a large church in town. The first alto player indicated how hungry he was, and wondered if he could get a plate. I told him (unhelpfully) that I’d eaten a bologna sandwich in my car before coming in (which sounds like a joke and/or the most mundane, pathetic detail in the world, but it was true). All the old guys in the band—it’s a swing band, so there are a lot of them—expressed their enthusiasm for bologna sandwiches, and asked how it was prepared: did I use mustard? “Nope, Duke’s mayonnaise, with cheese.” Murmurs of approval followed.
It’s been a cheery, musical mood here at The Portly Politico. I’ve been tearing through popular Christmas carols, offering up some histories of these beloved tunes, as well as a little musical analysis. Thanks to Milo sharing my piece “Milo on Romantic Music,” I enjoyed a large surge in traffic that has now settled into a nice daily trickle (nothing huge, but it’s helped).
University of Chicago medievalist Rachel Fulton Brown also linked to the post in a piece on her blog, Fencing Bear at Prayer. The success of that piece, plus the beauty of Christmas music and the general cheeriness of the season, has inspired me to write more about music.
This week, then, I’ve cast back to this summer, when I wrote a little piece about a whimsical piece of modern classical music, “The Bull on the Roof.” As I recall, I wrote the piece on my phone—never ideal—while playing with my little niece. I’d heard the tune on public radio on the drive to my parents’ house, and was so taken with its charm—and lacking any other suitable topic, or the proper conditions to write about them—I jotted out this short piece.
“The Bull on the Roof” is a marvelous example of modern classical music. And for all I rail against cosmopolitanism, it’s a fine example of the ideal of cosmopolitanism: a French composer celebrating the vibrant, lively traditions of Brazilian folk music. That’s the “salt in the stew,” as John Derbyshire calls it—the pinch of cultural diversity that makes the broth more delicious.
Yesterday was spent teaching History of Conservative Thought, painting a classroom floor, and rushing around the Pee Dee region teaching four music lessons, before finally heading out of town for a few days. Needless to say, there wasn’t any time to get a post ready for this morning.
The news has also been light. The first round of Democratic presidential primary debates is tonight, but who cares other than the candidates?
There was a bit of a diplomatic imbroglio with Iran last week, but did anyone really think war was going to break out? Trump handled it Trumpishly; that is effectively, letting the mullahs sweat it out a bit before giving them an out (and signalling to Iranians that he cares more about their lives than the Ayatollah).
That’s why I’ve been sticking to the history and culture posts lately. There just hasn’t been much to say on politics, because there’s so much good happening. Illegal immigration is still a major problem, but otherwise the only “bad” news is that the economy is still growing, just not as quickly as a year ago.
So, brace yourself for another self-indulgent post (this publication is a blog, after all). While driving last night, I hit a classic rock and talk radio dead zone, so I resorted to public radio. I was pleasantly surprised.
The program featured a concert recording of the Greenville (SC) Symphony performing French composer Darius Milhaud’s delightful “Le Bœf sur le toit,” or “The Bull on the Roof.”
Fans of Civilization VI who have played as Brazil will hear some similar themes and styles, as the composition quotes dozens of Brazilian folk songs. The tune is full of Latin-inspired motifs, and it is a charming, fun piece.
Milhaud wrote the piece in 1920 for a silent Charlie Chaplin film that was never made, though the ballet has apparently been staged. I particularly enjoy these kinds of jaunty, popular modern classical pieces (I adore Gustav Holsts’s The Planets because they are pleasing and interesting, but never pretentious). If I’m going to listen to something for nearly twenty minutes, don’t make it a Philip Glassian nightmare experiment in purposeful atonality.
If you have twenty minutes, I highly recommend listening to this piece. It will be a more enjoyable use of your time than watching the Democratic debates.
Somewhere—I think it was in one of the Civilization games, but I can’t seem to find the exact quotation—I heard a pithy saying, something along the lines of “Genius is a combination of pressure and time.” It’s one of those expressions that instantly rings true.
Years ago, a coffee shop in a nearby town (it’s now become a hip, upscale dining spot—and it axed the live music) used to host a quirky songwriting competition. The premise was simple—every month, participants would pay $5 entry fee into a pot, and a “secret judge” would pick a winner, who would win that evening’s pot. Sometimes there would be a small “second round” of the top three contenders for that evening (I won once, back in January 2014, when I believe I debuted “Greek Fair“; I was surprised, but also thankful that I wouldn’t spend $5 a month for the rest of the year).
The political scene still strikes me as incredibly boring—a sad testament to how jaded our politics have become, that we don’t get more riled up about impeachment proceedings. It’s also a testament to the perfidy and disingenuous of congressional Democrats: everyone knows the articles of impeachment are a politically-motivated farce and, to use GEOTUS’s preferred name, a “witch hunt.”
It’s sad that President Trump will be impeached, and I’m nervous that squishy neocons and RINOs in the Senate will betray him. That would be the ultimate kick in the teeth—the elites backhanding their own citizens for daring to challenge their aloof rule. I shudder to contemplate the fall out should conviction and removal in the Senate occur.
Until then, it’s all a distracting media circus, with the Democrats and press engaged in a frenzied dance around the cannibal’s pot. Even then, it manages to be incredibly dull. At least actual cannibals have some conviction.
All that said, let’s look at more Christmas carols! Next up: “Away in a Manger.”
My Saturday morning ritual involves “sleeping in” until about 8:30 AM, brewing some coffee, and listening to Radio Derb, John Derbyshire’s weekly podcast for VDare.com. Derb goes back for years—he used to write for National Review, before they kicked him out for writing “The Talk: Nonblack Version” for Taki’s Magazine.
I first found out about him and his controversial essay from NR, back when I was a devout print subscriber, amid the heady days when campus protests were novel enough to be terrifying. NR ran a little blurb about Williams College cancelling a scheduled talk from Derb, and I’ve been listening to his podcast—an entertaining mix of news, science, political and cultural commentary, and updates on the president of Turkmenistan—ever since.
The Portly Politico 