Democrats!

I have been taking a break from more pressing matters by reading some rather dull carping between Republicrats and Demicans on various Catholic blogs.

Now, I am not in any way, shape or form a Republican. I do not see Reagan as an ideal, and find neocons to be general pains in the rear.

However, I can't completely say that I don't have a horse in that race, like I do in the American Colonial Revolt, because my general distaste for Republicans doesn't come close to the dread and loathing I have for the Democratic Party.

My natural reaction to these Donkeys is somewhat akin to my reaction to finding larvae in my polenta.

But here is my secret: I have absolutely no attachment to the Democrats of yore, either. I find nostalgic bleating about FDR or that gasbag Truman (and let's face it, his daughter really was untalented) or the hero worship of Jack Kennedy to be about as horrifying as thinking about Ted Kennedy, drunk and naked, chasing campaign volunteers around a hotel room.

I will be voting in November, but I am not happy about it. I never am. You go into the booth and are confronted with an array of ninnies who all do their job so poorly that we are also confronted with a slate of Propositions, the dumbest of which will inevitably pass.

So, here is my solution: make the day AFTER election day a holiday. Give official endorsement to the notion of going out after voting and getting absolutely stinko. Let the hangover reign on Election Wednesday. It would be a good symbolic act to what happens when the idiot candidates and insane laws all go into effect. Vote. Feel Sick. Vote. Taste the consequences of allowing the unwashed hordes access to voting machines. The electorate is one group of monkeys that will absolutely NEVER type up Hamlet.

Just remember that the deep feeling of rot and emptiness that lingers for months and years after each election is not just the recovery from too much cheap gin, but the legacy of your own choices in that voting booth.

Cheer! Bottoms up!

And do vote, by the way. I will need some company at the bar.

Stoopid time utilization decisions

Today the Lepanto League had an anticipatory party for Michaelmas. We roasted two geese outdoors (one in a Weber, one in a Green Egg), which is more of a headache than using an oven, but a lot of fun.

Tonight I am making stock with the carcasses (no room in the icebox for the carcasses themselves), and I figured, "well, I might as well render the cavity fat, too." Dumb decision. Now I am exhausted, yet I have to wait for the fat to finish rendering. I can't raise the temperature, because that could make it turn, so I sit and wait and try to stay awake (falling asleep would ensure that the fat goes over the edge beyond the smoking point).

Is it worth it? Yes. Goose fat is the hands-down best cooking fat known to man. I recommend cooking a goose at least once a year, just to have a good supply of this stuff on hand. I also reserve the fat from the roasting pan (provided it doesn't overheat, which one of the pans did - had to throw out a lot of fat), which carries the flavorings of the stuffing. It is ideal for roasting potatoes, for risotto, or anything where hints of fennel, rosemary and garlic would go well. I also use it for my duck confit (another great reason to have goose fat on hand).

For those who think that goose is too fatty, just make a lot of incisions in the skin and that fat will drain out. I make a battutino with pancetta, fennel, garlic, rosemary and the sauteed livers and kidneys of the geese. This battutino goes into the incisions as a subcutaneous stuffing. Not only are the browned bits of this excellent, but it flavors the whole goose quite well.

Generally my favorite snack after rendering goose fat is salted and seasoned cracklings. Since I will be a walking zombie when this stuff is done it will have to wait until breakfast. Shucks.

Someday I want to take the cracklings and simmer them in a salsa verde, the way chicharrones are served in Mexico. I think the goose cracklings would have an even better flavor than the pork (hard to believe, though).

Anyway, I sit and wait and read more of Kevin Starr's latest book.

Gustine Bullfight Review

Since Jeff reminded me, I figured I better type this up before it all fades away in my memory.

Not that it should, as the first three bulls were outstanding, and one of the cavaleirhos, Jose Manuel Duarte, was in top form.

Toiro 1 - a good charger, tenacious, strong, and straight. Kept to the task at hand throughout his time in the ring. Cav. Paolo Caetano worked very close to the bull, keeping it under his command. His style was straight-forward with little adorno, but mostly textbook excellence. He placed the sticks well. The forcados (Grupo Forcados Amadores de Chamusca from Portugal) made a great grab. For those who were at this bullfight and are new to the art, this bull was a good example of how it should be done on a bull that was worthy of the ring. Nothing fancy, but everything done correctly.

Toiro 2 - another good bull taken by Jose Manuel Duarte. I didn't really understand why Duarte has made so many appearances in California this summer. He has a fairly big name, and can do some beautiful work with the bulls. However, as the summer went on, I realized what it was that is hurting him: he is trying very hard to match Pablo Hermoso de Mendoza's style in placing the sticks, and he fails too often. When he connects, it is poetry in motion, but it often takes a couple of false starts. He did well with the spears, but failed his first baderilla. He quickly came back with a good straight ahead placement, and then followed by another good one and then one of those breathtaking moments that make me keep coming back for more. The bull was a fast charger and well-built, but was slightly reluctant. However, Duarte controlled and corrected the bull's reluctance with his skillfull horse work. The Turlock forcados narrowly averted disaster (two of their guys were slammed between the horns and the wall), but were able to pull the bull off the barrier and ended up with a decent grab.

Toiro 3 - OK. Ana Maria Batista is very pretty. We can all agree on that. Equestrian bullfighting has always been an acceptable venue for women to participate in, unlike toreo a pie, which just doesn't work. Ana Maria Batista has a good command of the horses and a keen understanding of the bulls. Agreed. However, the peones have the habit of stepping in to pull the bull off of her horse, thus thwarting her attempts at doing much with the bull. Unlike Patricia Pellen who had to dress down one of my least favorite capes a couple of years ago, Batista simply does what she does. It makes me wonder: as much as no one wants to see a performer, especially a lovely torera, lose her temper in the ring, Pellen was able to get that loathesome cape out of the way for the rest of the corrida. Does Batista really need the extra assistance? Anyway, the bulll came out strong, but said loathesome cape winded it with a completely innappropriate series of punishing passes. It got so out of hand that the crowd had to whistle him out of the ring. Honestly, I think that he is a frustrated matador. Unfortunately he is about as artless as they come, so watching him attempt lances with his cape is about as far from art as anything I can think of in the ring. He looks like Mr. Toad in a suit of lights, and his inept attempts at showboating highten the effect. Anyway, Batista did what she could and the Portuguese forcados made a great grab.

Toiro 4 - Well, it is important to remember that bulls are not trained, nor have they ever been in a ring before. You just don't know how they will do until they are in the ring with the performer. This was a weak bull, but Caetano mastered it and was able to coax some art out of the performance. Unfortunately the bull had not run enough, so it posed a pretty nasty challenge to the forcados (six from the Portuguese group, with Steve and Joe from Turlock). It took three attempts, but the last grab was a good one.

Toiro 5 - A decent bull, but easily distracted, and far too interested in the peones. Overall it was a mixed bag from Duarte, who made a couple of spectacular placements among a bunch of botched attempts at fancy stuff, that would have worked if he had placed the horse closer to the bull. It seems that his timing was a bit off with this bull, partly because the bull was so easily distracted, and partly because he seemed to be trying to extend his technique. This was my "ah-hah!" moment. Jose Manuel Duarte is using this season in California to rehearse and refine his technique, so that he is not doing it on the sand in front of the critics and aficionados in Portugal and Spain. If he can get his technique down on this stuff in strange remote rings full of drunken Azoran farmers in California, with borrowed horses and unbloodied bulls, when he is on his own turf with his own horses and cuadrilla and barbs on his sticks, he should be able to shine. Let's hope at least. I get the feeling that Cesar Castaneda of Tijuana does the same thing up here (unlike Oscar San Roman, who is a scoundrel who just comes up here to receive his fee and does no art at all. Come to think of it, he fights that way in Mexico, too. I wonder why his name has not shown up on any cartel for a couple of years?), as well as a couple of Spanish matadores who actually seem to appreciate the opportunity to work on the California livestock. It took Turlock four tries to finally land a good grab.

Toiro 6 - A complete manso fit only for stew meat. The bull bluffed more than he charged (a lot of pawing at the ground and head throwing), and showed little interest in the horse. On Batista's part it was a mixed bag. She botched what would have been a fantastic al quiebro placement, but had a notably good banderilla. She gradually brought the bull out of his querencia, and kept him fairly well under control. The Portuguese forcados made a great grab.

The band, from the Azores, was fantastic. They had a good repertoire, sound musicianship, and good direction (although the conductor did get a little hasty in playing for what turned out to be missed sticks).

More on writing

Tonight I have been busy with writing advertising copy. It is a different type of writing than newspaper work, and I like it. Not enough to want to do it day in and day out, but it is a refreshing change, especially when the client is easy to work with. The one thing that always strikes me about it is the need for economy, which is, of course, part of newspaper writing. The more I do this sort of thing, the more I realize why writers like Hemingway wrote the way they did. Then I start to think about what our newspapers would be like if wordy writers like Pasternak filled their pages. Not a pretty thing to imagine.

Features writing, though, has become a strange subgenre of newspaper writing. It took me a long time to get over much of what I learned about writing to be able to please my editors. Breeziness, the dreaded second person singular, all of those horrid things have become the norm for most features writing. I think I know where the blame should go, but I am not sure. The editors I know watch too much television. Their concept of language is overly informed by the sitcom quip. Restaurant reviews that make me cringe are often the ones that get praised by my editors. I read them back and they feel like they belong on The West Wing. Ick.

Anyway, speaking of newspaper writing, if you want the full (breaking) printed story of what happened to Campion College, be sure to get your hands on the current issue of SF Faith. My story is on the front page, so you can't miss it.

For better news on the Bay Area Catholic higher education front, be sure to read the next issue, where I will have a story about the St. Anthony of Padua Institute. Not wanting to scoop myself, I will refrain from posting much on this blog until the article comes out in print. All I will say now is Great Books based, liberal arts education designed to be amazingly affordable. Getting back to the roots of Catholic education. Stay tuned. Details at 11.

Football Rules

I have two rules for college football: always root for the team that is playing against USC and always root for the team playing against BYU.

Tonight I was at a place that had on the BYU-USC game. What to do? What to do?

I finally went with USC. Mainly because they are in California. I have no idea who won, because a game of this nature really doesn't hold my interest.

Frankly, College football tends to disgust me more than I can get enjoyment from the game. I remember getting coveted good seats for the Cal-Stanford game, and we left at half time, because the game was so boring. Yawn. Stick to the academics, kids.

I hear that Cal has a good team this year. I might have to actually watch a game. Then again, maybe not.

Another one of those "are we talking about the same person" moments

Several years ago I saw Jonatha Brooke perform at a record convention. She was an up and coming young singer and her distributor had paid dearly to showcase its artists at the big awards banquet. I remember slipping off to drink gin with one of the Billboard critics (well, in case he reads this and protests, let the record state that said critic did not join me for gin, but only to talk about music). Neither of us were that impressed. She was good, but not great, and certainly had a long way to go.

So, imagine my surprise when I read this from Terry Teachout. My first thought was "Jonatha Brooke?!? Really?" Then my second thought was "hmmm. Perhaps it was one of the other singers that night that I am thinking about," followed by, "no, it was definitely Jonatha Brooke."

She did seem to have that diamond in the rough (very rough - so rough that were I the executive producer, I probably would have passed on her, figuring that the diamond would turn out to just be some shiny coal) character. Since I find that while I disagree with Teachout on many points of classical music, I tend to see eye to eye with him on jazz and popular music, I need to check out this record. It would be great to hear that she has evolved into a singer who made such an impression on Terry Teachout.

UPDATE: I followed the link on the link I gave and found this line:

"Don't bother if you don't care for female singer-songwriters of the Joni Mitchell/Aimee Mann/Allison Moorer/Ani DiFranco variety, but if you do, check her out."

Ah-hah! I think I see where we might part in our tastes. I run hot and cold with female singer-songwriters. I like Joni Mitchell, but the rest tend to bore me, with Ani DiFranco driving me up the walls, and not just for her college-counterkulchur-chic-cat-poo-in-knots hair, nor for her political tendencies, but for her songs and her voice. I do admire her business acumen, however. She is one sharp girl when it comes to taking charge of her own career (and I also admire her leveraging her considerable market clout in solidarity with other labels who share her distributor, but that is another story, and not one I want to get into here). But the Brooke thing might just be a lukewarmness on my part to wanting to hear women strum guitars while singing about their feelings (although I am even more annoyed by men who strum guitars while singing about their feelings - one street singer who has been driving me crazy in North Beach comes to mind (and he also has that college-counterkulchur-chic-cat-poo-in-knots hair)).

Bach and Musical Heresy

I am going to admit something that will undoubtedly unleash the wrath of my classical music fan readers.

I can't stand Mstislav Rostropovich's recordings of the Bach Cello Suites.

The first time I heard them I thought they were fine.

The second time I heard them, I found them irritating, full of 19th century bluff and bluster, demonstrating that Rostropovich had only a superficial understanding of Bach. I chalked it up to a partiuclarly foul mood and figured I should give him another chance.

Last week in Sacramento, KXPR played them. I listened carefully and realized that I was right. Rostropovich's approach is too bombastic, poorly ornamented, and is basically the cello equivalent to playing Bach on the piano with a minimum of ornament and an excess of post-Brahmsian angst. As a late 20th century interpretation of a 19th century conception of the baroque, fine, but I really can't see a need for that.

These pieces deserve a much lighter touch. The melodies should dance, with ample ornament to give sparkle and lustre to the whole thing. Has Rostropovich never been in a baroque church? The whole thing sounded like a Russian funeral dirge. Even his tempi seemed daft. I am beginning to think that Rostropovich has no ear for music, that he is simply a good technician who only has chops for bombast.

Bach deserves better than this. How these recordings became the new standard for these pieces is a sign of trouble in classical music audiences.

On Painting and Writing

Last night I was having a discussion with a painter on getting out of the doldrums. Painters will know exactly what I am talking about: those days (weeks, months, etc.) where you know or think that you know that your present direction in art has run its course.

Let's say you made a painting of how late summer light hits a silo. It is a really good painting. In fact, after that painting is done, you realize that there is a lot more to explore in the light and shadows in the corn field against the silo. You paint a series. Your friends like them, you think they are good, you even sell a few.

Then you go into the studio and realize, "Wow! I can crank out another series, but it will really just be formula. I think I have observed all that I can right now on this, and cannot really dig deeper into it." So you decide to do something else, but nothing really strikes you as that interesting or worth painting about either.

So, I told this painter friend that the best way to get out of the doldrums is to work towards quantity rather than quality: just crank out some paintings. Set up a still life, even with the most hackneyed elements, and paint. Paint it with photorealist precision. Paint it in the style of Cezanne. Paint it in the style of Thiebaud. Adjust the subject if you have to (a sign that something is clicking), but just keep painting the things.

Alternately, pick a subject that you don't know a lot about, for instance, the different species of trees, and draw and paint them until you really know how to render a Modesto ash or an elm.

The idea is that we are surrounded by interesting visual things, but we start investing our symbolism with too many ideas and neglect to look. Or we fool ourselves into thinking that what we have been doing for the last few years is the only way we can do anything.

As of last night this painter friend decided that the best way to do something was to scrape down and brutalize paintings that never really worked. I think that is a good idea, too, as it allows us to kill sacred cows to make some good t-bones.

So, that brings us to writing.

Last night I promised an entry a day. I was about to flake on that promise and go to bed. Then I realized that even if I had nothing to say, I should at least come here to report that I have nothing to say. Of course I have plenty to say, but it is stuff that is too complicated for me to think about right now, so what I really lacked was a good amount of small things to say.

Then I realized that I needed to apply the same discipline I was advising my friend to do. And, voila! A topic for a blog entry that was better than "well, nothing much to say here, come back tomorrow!"

Quantity! Quantity! Quantity! Measure the paintings by the inch. Measure the verbiage by the characters!

Now, this of course makes me think of my own painting. I think I have to go set up a still life right now....

I've been a bad blogger

Between restaurant reviews, bullfights, baseball games (stayed clear of flying chairs), family reunions, etc., I have been bad about updating the blog. I am sorry. I will give you a review of the excellent bullfight in Gustine shortly. I took copious notes and need to sort them out. I will also probably discuss some painting stuff, as I have been having some good conversations with Jared about painting and have been thinking about it a lot. Not doing it, unfortunately, but at least thinking about it. So, in short, I will shoot for an entry a day at the minimum for the next week. Thanks for continuing to stop by!

On the music front, I have been mostly in folk land recently, listening to a lot of norteno conjuntos from the 1950's and 1960's. It must be the hot weather we are having.

Pizza Spam

I had to think for a moment. Comments box spam that is promoting pizza. What do I do? I am opposed to spam, but I am very pro-pizza. In fact I consider pizza and espresso the very model of a perfect breakfast.

However, I figured that anyone who is resorting to spamming probably makes horrible pizza, so they had to do. Thank you MT Blacklist!

I know why they call it Labor Day!

I started yesterday by editing a white paper. Then, after cooking breakfast and inventing a new beef wet rub, I prepped and painted the bathroom. Then I made ratatouille and grilled the beef with the wet rub. I finally got a break around 10pm and had coffee with a friend in the City. Was up until 2am doing more writing and editing.

I have always thought that the best way to celebrate labor is by working, and I am pleased to report that yesterday was a great celebration of labor. It was actually great fun, as painting is one of those things you can do while drinking ice cold Budweiser, and the bathroom looks good.

I never could see a point to celebrating labor by being idle, like a bunch of hippies on grass.

Spielberg and Almodovar

There are two directors I avoid like the plague: Steven Spielberg and Pedro Almodovar.

For Spielberg, I liked the Indiana Jones films and the Animaniacs, but beyond that, Spielberg has proved himself not much more than a perveyor of trite sentiment. When he thinks that he needs to make some grand and bold statement is when he gets into trouble. Schindler's List was such a pile of doo doo that I did not even bother with Saving Private Ryan. I can say with nearly 99% confidence that it, too, was a big pile of doo doo (technical term) that does nothing but serve to the sentiments of boomers. Yawn. Better things to do with my time.

As for Almodovar, I remember really wanting to see Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown. The preview made it look great, with a lot of sight gags and so on. Unfortunately all the sight gags were in the preview, and were set up as surprises, so by the time you got to the film, it was ruined.

Almodovar made a film that featured a bullfighter. Sorry, Pedro, but the world of toros y toreros is one that you are not predisposed to understand. I do not care to see the camp version of torear. I hate camp. Disco deserves to die, too, but that is another story.

Certainly I have huge moral qualms about Almodovar and his world view, but I can overlook those if there is genuine art there. Truth is truth, beauty is beauty, even if the artist is handicapped in seeing it all himself.

The moment that I really turned against Almodovar, by which I mean not just as a matter of "oh, he's just a schlocky director who titilates liberals with his silly campy crap" but as a matter of "I must avoid this man, because I don't think that I could be civil to him" was when I read an interview of him. He was talking about how much he liked the world of women and how he was bored by the men who "sat around drinking wine, smoking and talking about politics."

Pedro! This is the supreme joy of Mediterranean life. And frankly, if you are not going to talk about politics, quit whining that you are suppressed. You ought to be suppressed, you whiny mama's boy! At least the films. Yuck.

Anyway, what got this started was the email that the NY Times sends me every day with the headlines. In the magazine section there is a piece on Almodovar. Here is the teaser:

Pedro Almodóvar has sanctified society's transgressors, rescued Spanish surrealism and liberated international cinema. This feature includes a slide show of actresses who have appeared in Almodóvar's films.

Sorry, but sanctifying transgressors is bad. He did not "rescue" Spanish surrealism (maybe the ghost of Bunuel needs to beat him up, something that the ghost of Bunuel would definitely do), and, pray tell, what did he "liberate" international cinema from? Intelligence? Art?

If anything Almodovar has shackled Spanish cinema to the same quaint liberalism and pointless hedonism that threatened to destroy French and Italian cinema a few years back.

Let me tell you this: in a hundred years, the films of this turkey will be completely forgotten, but they will still be watching Fellini.

Summertime!

In the Bay Area summer begins in late August at the earliest (oh, there are a few bluffing days, where we get a four day heat wave, but it always ends in chilly fog). We are now in our second week of summer, but there is a touch of autumn in the air as well. The leaves are starting to turn in Berkeley, which is always lovely.

Curiously, cooking at this time is both very easy (all those ripe figs, the rainbow of capsicum varieties, super fragrant late stone fruit, the best eggplant and tomatoes, etc.) and tricky. Part of me wants to jump into hearty autumnal food: duck confit with grilled figs, bean soups, etc., but the weather does not cooperate. It's too hot to eat that heavy stuff. So we stick to grilled wild salmon with tomato/basil vinaigrette (Chez Panisse Cafe Cookbook), and the figs go into my late summer barbecue sauce.

Oh? No? I have not posted the recipe for that sauce? Ah-hah-hah! Of course. You see, I am generally rather free with my own recipes, but there is this bug in the back of my head that is saying "bottle it!" Who knows, perhaps in a more generous mood I have already posted the recipe. Anyway, it is a lot of work, and if I ever do market it, it will be a lot easier just to buy mine. If I do or already have posted the recipe, just promise me that you will, at least once, try it on slow cooked pork loin. You may use it on chicken, beef, lamb, tvp, whatever, but at least once, slow cook your pork loin over smoking wood chips, basting it every ten minutes with apple cider vinegar, then, AFTER it is cooked, shred it and add the sauce. Eat it on Kaiser rolls.

Barbecue calls for slaw, but here is the problem: slaw disgusts me. So, my task for the season is to reinvent slaw. There is one at a restaurant in Sacramento (place called Banderas or something like that, it's on the other side of the river) that makes an Asian-influenced slaw that is quite tasty. Perhaps that is the direction I will go. I am probably going to shy away from mayo, but we will see. Maybe a homemade aioli instead.

Also, one should eat melon with barbecue, so let me recommend Persian melons. They are particularly good with a piece of jamon serrano or prosciutto di parma wrapped around them.

But the main thing about this time of year is the weather, which is beyond outstanding. It is perfect. The sky is blue. There is almost always a gentle, warm breeze. It stays pretty warm at night.

Amalia is right now armed with a bag of chalk and is demanding a piece of pavement to decorate. We need to go into the city for a bit, so I think that she might get to practice her work at Golden Gate Park. I love this weather.

OH YEAH: If you are one of my Bay Area readers, holler and I will be happy to show you how to make said sauce. There are benefits to living near me. Of course, to learn how to make said sauce, you must allocate quite a good part of your day. There is a lot to do to it.

Say, sir, do you know Etaoin Shrdlu?

The other day ETAOIN SHRDLU came up in conversation. Unless you are from a long line of printers or newspapermen, you probably never knew old Etaoin. Some say he was a mistake, but he was certainly an inspirational one. Do this experiment: get a few old typesetters together (be sure to check their union cards), get them well oiled with a few rounds of whatever it is they'll be having, and casually mention Etaoin Shrdlu. I am sure you will get some good stories, stories of compositors sneaking out the window for a quick drink in the middle of their shift, stories of how the guys who worked around the big pots of molten lead lived longer than any other of the folks in the printing business, etc.

If you are still confused about who this fellow is, go here.

The Faith in Europe

You hear it over and over, repeated with either a shaking of the head or a sickening Americanist Schadenfreude: The Catholic Faith is dead in EUROPE.

Certainly, the faith is ailing in PARTS of Europe, as it is in PARTS of America. I would figure that there is not much of a pulse in the faith of the Danes, or the Dutch or the Irish, once Catholicism ceased to be the cause du jour of anti-Englischism. France, well, they have been the root and cause of the Liberalism that is the enemy of faith, but there are some tenacious Frenchmen out there who remember that France is the "Eldest Daughter of the Faith."

What amazes me with these reports is that they are repeated often, yet just as often shown to be not that true. For instance, Barbara Nicolosi has returned from Spain and reports that there is an active faith there. Not in the Libertarian Tax Dodge Principality of Andorra, nor in what she observed in France, but in Spain.

This certainly runs contrary to what I have heard from people who love to point out that the Faith is dead over there.

Two years ago we went back to Italy after an extended absence. I was warned that the churches were empty, that Italians had finally gotten with the program and become Americans, etc. Well, I was pleased to see a number of McDonald's gone, and found Sunday masses to be standing-room-only (except in one small town in Tuscany where, it turned out, everyone had gone to mass in the neighboring town where there was a festa).

The miracle of it is how generally lousy the preaching was. Italy needs some of the great firebrands of the past to revive the old art of preaching, but listening to Don Monotoni does not seem to keep the people away from mass. We went to towns where churches three or four blocks from each other were full at the same time.

Does Italy have some problems in following the faith? Yes, and she always has. Italians have followed the Liberal Tide and seemed intent on aborting and contracepting themselves into oblivion, but the thing that I noticed was that it was a discussed issue. There are a whole lot of elderly Italians who are seeing their chances of becoming Nonne getting slim, and they are hopping mad. There are a lot of younger Italians who see the writing on the wall in regards to their own retirement.

Furthermore, it is about time for a Guelph wave. Sure there is resentment that the Holy Father is not Italian, but there is a lot of love for him as well (including a lot of folks who love the Holy Father, but gripe about all the Poles who come on pilgrimages now and clog the restaurants with no real appreciation of what they are eating, no understanding of Italian manners, etc.).