England, I love you. You know this. I love you like the older, quirky half brother I might actually have (ah, the joys of being adopted). Your history, culture, patterns of speech, comedic turns, good times and bad amuse me greatly. You know that, push come to shove, I'd help John Adams drop kick Thomas Jefferson in the face if I could for saying France was better than you. And I know you're a nanny state, and your royal family is silly, and you're neck in neck with America for the title of "White Trashiest Country in the World", but your flaws...well, they've always been part of your charms.

But Good God, England, this is going too far.

England, you need another Chesterton and a good smack upside the head. Now, I know I could never hope to fill the intellectual shoes of that man, but don't make me come over there with a couple of friends and A Flying Inn.

I mean, my brother and I had HIGH HOPES--mainly involving you, us, a whirlwind run around Cornwall and a pub crawl throughout your land. My brother and I HAD A TOUCHING, BROTHER/SISTER BONDING MOMENT over this. DON'T DO THIS TO ME, ENGLAND.
I mean to say, GOOD LORD!!!

The 1938 radio play broadcast of Chesterton's The Man Who Was Thursday is available ONLINE. FOR FREE.


I LOVE this book. I mean, I love all that Chesterton's work, and while The Ball and the Cross is my favoritest favorite story of his (a devout but naive Scotch Catholic meets a passionate but naive Scotch atheist and they decide that the only way to prove the other wrong is to fight a duel to the death. Allegory ensues.), there is a very special place in my heart for Thursday, the little place in my heart that endeavors to one day do the Justice necessary to the original work to adapt it properly for the stage or the screen.

But Good Lord!! RADIO BROADCAST!!!
Once again, PETA has missed the point.

Usually, the antics of PETA barely make a blip on the Nella Radar of worldly-going-ons. But as my brother has recently become a vegetarian, I've been getting snarky in regards to the bean and leafy greens set.

I am one of nature's omnivores in the broadest of senses--I'll eat ANYTHING, be it shit junk food or uber healthy vegan feed, because holy cow, I just love to eat. Meat? Boom baby! Tofu? Hell Yes. Vegetables? Load them on the plate. Fruits, nuts, and grains? Why hello there, delicious! Various fats and sugars that no man should put in their body? I'll regret it in the morning, and probably while I'm putting it in my mouth, but it's, er...part of the adventure?

Ok, so I've been trying to nix that last part out of my life--unsuccessfully--but the point is I would have been the crazy ass hunter gatherer who would have been looking at unidentified plant #637 and been thinking "Well, I saw a bird eat it once, and it didn't fall out of the sky right away."

But to the point. My brother has given up meat. And if he wasn't being so high and mighty obnoxious about it, I'd probably be happy for him. But as is my brother's want, he's gone and taking a perfectly reasonable lifestyle and make me want to bash him over the head with a frozen leg of lamb a la that Roald Dahl short story "Innocence of the Lamb" for it (GO READ IT NOW!! ONE DAY I WILL WRITE A STAGE ADAPTATION OF IT, AND IT WILL BE BETTER THAN HITCHCOCK'S!!!).

First off, he insists on repeating, over and over again, to us his family members that have to sit through this EVERY MEAL, that he finds meat "repulsive" and that he can't understand how anyone could stomach eating something that was "alive". And then he proceeds to complain about how he's tired of "Beans" and that my mother doesn't cook anything for him.

Ok, the repulsive I'll give him. I've move a rotten pig caress out of a blown up car in the dead heat of summer, meat IS repulsive, especially once the flies come. I get it. It turns your stomach. To each man his own, and mine is meaty, preferably fresh and grilled. However, since we've changed OUR diets to accommodate you--since you don't, you know, COOK FOR YOURSELF--how about you stop hating on the cooks, eh? We hear you every night. It gets old. Fast.

if you don't like mom's absolutely fabulous zucchini soup, how about YOU bust open a cook book and try to make something yourself? Christ, she's the one trying to at least make sure you're getting a balanced vegetarian diet, but you're the dumb ass who insists you don't need protein every day, and who still refuses to eat most of the vegetables she prepares. This woman has be jumping hoops for you since they brought you home, and as an 18 year old, you don't like what's cooking, MAN UP. Remember that story mom liked to tell, about how as a kid she hated lentil soup and refused to eat it, and grandma took her plate, dumped it over her head and sent her to bed without dinner? WHY we never did that to you while you were a child is beyond me. Who knows, as your older sister I may have to pick up the slack, do the world a favor and dump soup on your picky little head.

And in regards refusing to eat things that were "alive"--I've never seen my brother get more defensive and angry when I started pointing out (more like bullshitted, cause I don't think when I speak I just open my mouth and words come out) that that broccoli was once alive, growing to its full potential when it was cruelly plucked for our consumption, and that lemon, my GOD that LEMON had the potential to become a lemon TREE, but we denied it it's proper fate by using it to flavor our food, and that TOMATO, that tomato was the pride and joy of some--

At this point my brother punched me in the arm. And yes, I know comparing the harvesting of animals and plants is like comparing apples and oranges (OH WON'T SOMEBODY THINK OF THE ORANGES!) but that's the problem with my brother. Every crusade he joins, every decision he makes he then uses to try and prove how better he is than my parents and myself. Like the time he decided all organized religion was inherently evil (we're catholic), or the time he was an anarchist (By God did I have fun ripping that apart!) I can respect honest belief and convictions. I can't abide holy-than-thou idiocy for the sake of holier-than-thou idiocy. And by God, if I wasn't put on this earth to knock my brother's ego down a few pegs, then there's just nothing left for me on this sweet green earth. At this point I'd post some pithy and appropriate Chesterton quote about vegetarians, but I'm at my public library, and all I can remember is a verse from one of his poems:

"You will find me drinking rum,
like a sailor in a slum,
you will find me drinking beer like a Baravian.
You will find me drinking gin
in the lowest sort of inn,
because I am at heart a vegetarian."

And to his wondering about how ANYONE could POSSIBLY eat meat--
Step One: Take the Meat. Step Two: place the meat in your mouth. Step Three: Chew completely. Step Four: Swallow. Step Five: Repeat.

Oddily enough, they are the same steps used in eating, well, anything! Fancy that.
Well, this is a post a long time in coming! I've been meaning to post for the last few weeks about how I had lost my cell phone on the Long Island Railroad...and now I'm posting to tell you the prodigal phone has returned to me!!

The entire tale of its' journey is a long one indeed, epic in many ways, but suffice to say I have a habit of falling into a comatose state while on my 1 hour 45 minute train ride home, and when I awoke to find the train doors were opening at MY stop, I ran off the train, still fuzzy in the brain and sans cell phone (which had fallen out of my pocket) and green scarf (which I had taken off). I only realized this when I got home and some chap called my brother's cell with my phone. This fellow (of whom odes and ballads should be composed and sung but alas, his identity is unknown to me!) wanted to know who to send the phone and scarf too, so I gave him the address for my dad's office and hoped for the best.

Time dragged on, and I feared the worst, that I indeed would never see my cell phone (with all my numbers!) and my green scarf (my very favorite scarf!) ever again. I wondered if the man never sent it...as [livejournal.com profile] singealiene and I mused, perhaps he was a diabolically figure that had no intention of mailing my things, maybe he only wished to raise my hopes so that they might be dashed upon the rocks while he casually tossed my phone about in the comfort of his home and laughed evilly. Or, perhaps my things were lost forever in the Limbo of the US Postal System known as the Dead Letter Room...maybe my things were in Atlanta, Georgia, locked away like the Ark of the Covenant and would be sold off at their yearly auction...

But No. Well, I mean, based on the date of the postage my things DID have quite a journey through the US Postal System, but they have finally arrived, safe and sound after about 3 weeks of phonelessness.


Nella's Back!!

In other news, I've finally read Chesterton's Father Brown series...and I've finally realized who I was drawing when I drew him recently. It's pretty much a less chubby Father John, the priest who was our NYU chaplain when I was a wee little college freshman and the Newman Club (a.k.a. the Catholic Club) was the most glorious time of my college existence.
April is National Poetry Month, so when you see this, post a poem you like on your LJ.

yoinked from [livejournal.com profile] twirlynoodle, and I'm sort of tempted to continue doing this throughout April...

YOU will find me drinking rum,
Like a sailor in a slum,
You will find me drinking beer like a Bavarian.
You will find me drinking gin
In the lowest kind of inn,
Because I am a rigid Vegetarian.

So I cleared the inn of wine,
And I tried to climb the sign,
And I tried to hail the constable as “Marion.”
But he said I couldn’t speak,
And he bowled me to the Beak
Because I was a Happy Vegetarian.

Oh, I knew a Doctor Gluck,
And his nose it had a hook,
And his attitudes were anything but Aryan;
So I gave him all the pork
That I had, upon a fork;
Because I am myself a Vegetarian.

I am silent in the Club,
I am silent in the pub,
I am silent on a bally peak in Darien;
For I stuff away for life
Shoving peas in with a knife,
Because I am at heart a Vegetarian.

No more the milk of cows
Shall pollute my private house
Than the milk of the wild mares of the Barbarian;
I will stick to port and sherry,
For they are so very, very
So very, very, very Vegetarian.

~G. K. Chesterton

December 2010

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