Sage Advice

Confucius say:

Before you criticize someone, walk a mile in their shoes.
Then, when you do criticize them, you're a mile away and have their shoes.

Confessions of a poet for hire

“If you promise to keep it, I’ll tell you a secret:

There are poets of all kinds, Adelaide,

Bards with colorful verses and broken lines

Poets who yell and holler.

Heralds of the new poetry

Which is not Góngora’s by half.

It’s a poetry rich in form but poor in materials

And slave to public opinion in our plastic age.

Give me fame and applause

I’m not looking for Apollo’s laurels.

I won’t get involved in that.

I want cash, not truth.

Whores, not love.

Tit for tat,

A poem for a fortune

Oh, muses let me stew in my orgies

Because my measly verses are enough for me.

I am a word-whore for hire

I sell what the masses want.

An exchange for so many bucks

I don’t care what I’m missing

Because I’ll always come out winning.”

That’s what you say

as the Court of the Final Judgment piss their pants with laughter.

Confesión de un poeta puto

Si me lo guardas te diré un secreto:

poetas hay para todos, Adelaide,

vates de verso pintado y pie quebrado,

poetas que aúllan y gritan;

heraldos de la nueva poesía

que no es la de Góngora ni mucho menos

Es arte rico en forma mas pobre en materia,

esclava de la común opinión de esta edad de plástico.

Dame fama y aplausos

no busco el laurel de Parnaso.

De esta fuente no beberé.

Pasta quiero y no verdades.

putillas anhelo y no amor

-Tal para cual un poemita por un dineral -

¡Ay musas!, dejadme podrir en mis orgías

porque me bastan mis versos viles.

Palabrero puto soy y lo que traguen las masas

yo se lo vendo.

Un trueque por tantos duros

no me importa lo que pierdo

porque saldré siempre ganando>>

Eso dices tú, y el tribunal del Juicio Final se mea de la risa.

Ash Wednesday- Miércoles de ceniza- Rabu abu

Así comienza la batalla entre Don Carnal y Doña Cuaresma-

And so begins the battle between Sir Meat and Madam Lent

That damn religion again

Narrator from Brideshead Revisted (Evelyn Waugh circa 1945):

Sebastian's faith was an enigma to me at that time, but not one which I
felt  particularly concerned to  solve.  I had  no religion. I was  taken to
church  weekly  as a  child,  and at school attended  chapel daily,  but, as
though in  compensation,  from  the time  I went to  my public school I  was
excused church in the holidays. The view implicit in my education  was  that
the  basic narrative of Christianity had long  been exposed as a  myth,  and
that opinion was now  divided as  to whether its  ethical  teaching  was  of
present value, a division in which the main weight went against it; religion
was a hobby which some people professed and others; did not;  at the best it
was slightly ornamental, at the worst it was the province of "complexes" and
"inhibitions"  --  catchwords I  of  the  decade -- and of  the intolerance,
hypocrisy, and sheer stupidity attributed to it for centuries. No one had
ever  suggested  to me that these  quaint  observances  expressed a coherent
philosophic system and intransigent historical  claims; nor, had they  done
so, would I have been much interested.


Commentary:

Of course, only everyone and his bleeding brother believes that. And this was
written in the 40's, oy! The new popularizing atheist really ought to invest in
some new arguments. (Julian the Apostate had all the good arguments in
his Against the Galileans. Like an old Kraut Professor of Comparative Religion.)
Something like the argument clinic from Python, only this time
instead of arguments or discussions new rational arguments would be sold
for profit. New grist for the mill as it were to ecrasez l'infame.
Maybe something a bit more more cheeky like Atheist's Idol. That's it.
It would play bloody brilliant in the UK. That way that bloke Dawkins can
be a real prick for a reason. We'll have him judge who best disproves the Flying
Spaghetti Monster on the sole ground of the unexamined propositions of scientific
materialism.
of course to make some real quid you'd have to sell it to America
and it would be a real cop there. Yeah,they're mad.  It's not like the
History of the Church of England and all non-conformist sects
could have any baring on the Yanks. Not like having a State Church set the stage
for rampant secularism in the UK or anything, so we could take it all for granted.
So now the Catholics Churches are the half-empty ones as opposed to the
C of E's which are empty as tombs.
I mean, what did the Church and Christianity ever do for us?
They gave us monasteries and libraries and books?
Kept the classics and all that. Started hospitals. Yeah but I mean something
useful. Definitely not that soddin' humanitarian lot.



Publish

Your way right away

Somehow this is both sad and hilarious.

Charles Giteau

I found some records on the trial of the assassin of President James Garfield. The assassin's name was Charles Giteau and his lawyers tried to get him off on the insanity defense but to no avail. This was the 1880's and poor hygiene is what probably killed Garfield in the end after months of being bed ridden. But I must tell you this Giteau character was off his nut. He actually thought God made him kill Garfield. He was "in the employ of Jesus Christ and Co" as he put it, as "the agent of the Deity". He was part of a millenial sect The Oneida Community which believed that Jesus had returned in the year 70 AD with the destruction of the temple in Jerusalem. Therefore, sin was abolished and men could be morally perfect. Thereby all ties such as marriage were disavowed and the community had "Complex marriage" as it were. However, Giteau was a petty lawyer and scam artist who couldn't fit in with the community and was denied any "favors" from the women. He went on to ask for a consulship from the newly elected cabinet. And when his letters were unanswered he suddenly got "inspired" to remove the president. And he was all ready to go on a lecture tour and then run for president himself when the verdict was handed out. Death by hanging, doh!


Here are the last words of Charles Giteau the assassin of James Garfield from the scaffold:
I am now going to read some verses which are intended to indicate my feelings at the moment of leaving this world. If set to music they may be rendered very effective. The idea is that of a child babbling to his mamma and his papa. I wrote it this morning at about ten o'clock:

I am going to the Lordy, I am so glad,
I am going to the Lordy, I am so glad,
I am going to the Lordy,
Glory hallelujah! Glory hallelujah!
I am going to the Lordy.
I love the Lordy with all my soul,
Glory hallelujah!
And that is the reason I am going to the Lord,
Glory hallelujah! Glory hallelujah!
I am going to the Lord.
I saved my party and my land.
Glory hallelujah!
But they have murdered me for it,
And that is the reason I am going to the Lordy,
Glory hallelujah! Glory hallelujah!
I am going to the Lordy!
I wonder what I will do when I get to the Lordy,
I guess that I will weep no more
When I get to the Lordy!
Glory hallelujah!
I wonder what I will see when I get to the Lordy,
I expect to see most glorious things,
Beyond all earthly conception,
When I am with the Lordy!
Glory hallelujah! Glory hallelujah!
I am with the Lord.

Article by Philosopher Roger Scruton on the Gay Adoption Issue

Of course the powers that be didn't listen but this article is a very cogent defense of the traditional position. And in time it makes one think that the short-sightedness of the present political climate will have to be corrected for the good of society later on down the road. I mean if actually we want human society to survive and all that. In the end, political correctness isn't everything. And a policy and politics solely based on it will never work.

The Sunday Telegraph, 28 January 2007

Western societies have, in recent decades, undergone a radical change in their attitudes to homosexuality. What was once regarded as an intolerable vice is now regarded as an "orientation", no different in kind, though different in direction, from the inclinations that lead men to unite with women, and children to be born. This radical change began with the decriminalisation of homosexual conduct, and with a growing readiness not just to tolerate homosexuality in private, but to talk about it in public. We saw the emergence of the "public homosexual", the flamboyant propagandist for that "other" way of life who, like Quentin Crisp, tried to persuade us that "gay" is after all the right description. There followed the movement for "gay pride" and the "coming out" of public figures —to the point where it is no longer very interesting to know whether someone is or is not of the other persuasion.


For the most part, the people of this country have gone along with the changes. They may not be comfortable with its more demonstrative expressions, but they are prepared to tolerate the homosexual way of life, provided it keeps within the bounds of decency, and does no violence to fundamental norms. However, this attitude does not satisfy the activists. For to tolerate is to disapprove. It is only when conduct offends you that you need to exercise your toleration, and the activists want people to treat homosexuality as normal. Through the slippery notions of discrimination and human rights, they have used the law to advance their agenda. Homosexuality is now treated by the law as a tendency comparable in almost every way to heterosexuality, so that any attempt to distinguish between people on grounds of their "orientation" — whether as applicants for a job, or as recipients of a privilege — is regarded as unjust "discrimination", comparable in its moral heinousness to discrimination on grounds of race or sex.

On the whole we have accepted that laws against discrimination might be needed, in order to protect those who have suffered in the past from hostile prejudice. Every now and then, however, we wake up to the fact that, although homosexuality has been normalised, it is not normal. Our acceptance of the homosexual lifestyle, of same-sex couples, and of the gay scene has not eliminated our sense that these are alternatives to something, and that it is the other thing that is normal. This other thing is not heterosexual desire, conceived as an "orientation". It is heterosexual union: the joining of man and woman, in an act which leads in the natural course of things not just to mutual commitment but to the bearing of children, the raising of a family and the self-sacrificing habits on which, when all is said and done, the future of society depends. The propaganda that has tried to rewrite heterosexuality as an "orientation" is really an attempt to persuade us to overlook the real truth about sexual union, which is that it is, in its normal form, the way in which one generation gives way to the next.

This truth is recognised by all the great religions, and is endorsed in the Christian view of marriage as a union created by God. This explains, to a great extent, the reluctance of religious people to endorse gay marriage, which they see as an attempt to rewrite in merely human terms the eternal contract of society. To put it in another way, they see gay marriage as the desecration of a sacrament. Hence the growing conflict between the gay agenda and traditional religion, of which the current dispute over "adoption rights" is the latest sign. According to the Christian perspective — and it is one that is shared, I believe, by Muslims and Jews – adoption means receiving a child as a member of the family, as one to whom you are committed in the way that a father and mother are committed to children of their own. It is an act of sacrifice, performed for the benefit of the child, and with a view to providing that child with the normal comforts of home. Its purpose is not to gratify the parents, but to foster the child, by making him part of a family. For religious people that means providing the child with a father and a mother. Anything else would be an injustice to the child and an abuse of his innocence. Hence there are no such things as "adoption rights". Adoption is the assumption of a duty, and the only rights involved are the rights of the child.

Against that argument the appeal to "anti-discrimination" laws is surely irrelevant. The purpose of adoption is not to gratify the foster parents but to help the child. And since, on the religious view, the only help that can be offered is the provision of a real family, it is no more an act of discrimination to exclude gay couples than it is to exclude incestuous liaisons or communes of promiscuous "swingers". Indeed, the implication that adoption is entirely a matter of the "rights" of the prospective parents shows the moral inversion that is infecting modern society. Instead of regarding the family as the present generation's way of sacrificing itself for the next, we are being asked to create families in which the next generation is sacrificed for the pleasure of the present one. We are being asked to overlook all that we know about the fragility of homosexual partnerships, about the psychological needs of children, and about the norms that still prevail in our schools and communities, for the sake of an ideological fantasy.

To oppose homosexual adoption is not to believe that homosexuals should have no dealings with children. From Plato to Britten, homosexuals have distinguished themselves as teachers, often sublimating their erotic feelings as those two great men did, through nurturing the minds and souls of the young. But it was Plato who, in The Laws, pointed out that homosexuals, like heterosexuals, must learn the way of sacrifice, that it is not present desires that should govern them, but the long-term interests of the community. And it is surely not implausible to think that those long-term interests are more likely to be protected by religion than by the political ideologies that govern the Labour Party.

Rambler #134

June 29, 1751 Samuel Johnson

Quix scit, an adjiciant hodiernae crastina summae
Tempora Di superi!
HORACE

Who knows if Heaven, with ever bounteous power,
Shall add to-morrow to the present hour?
FRANCIS

---

I sat yesterday morning employed in deliberating on which, among the various subjects that occurred to my imagination, I should bestow the paper of today. After a short effort of meditation by which nothing was determined, I grew every moment more irresolute, my ideas wandered from the first intention, and I rather wished to think, than thought upon any settled subject; till at last I was awakened from this dream of study by a summons from the press: the time was come for which I had been thus negligently purposing to provide, and, however dubious or sluggish, I was now necessitated to write.

Though to a writer whose design is so comprehensive and miscellaneous that he may accommodate himself with a topic from every scene of life, or view of nature, it is no great aggravation of his task to be obliged to a sudden composition; yet I could not forbear to reproach myself for having so long neglected what was unavoidably to be done, and of which every moment's idleness increased the difficulty. There was however some pleasure in reflecting that I, who had only trifled till diligence was necessary, might still congratulate myself upon my superiority to multitudes who have trifled till diligence is vain; who can by no degree of activity or resolution recover the opportunities which have slipped away; and who are condemned by their own carelessness to hopeless calamity and barren sorrow.

The folly of allowing ourselves to delay what we know cannot be finally escaped is one of the general weaknesses which, in spite of the instruction of moralists, and the remonstrances of reason, prevail to a greater or lesser degree in every mind; even they who most steadily withstand it find it, if not the most violent, the most pertinacious of their passions, always renewing its attacks, and, though often vanquished, never destroyed.

It is indeed natural to have particular regard to the time present, and to be most solicitous for that which is by its nearness enabled to make the strongest impressions. When therefore any sharp pain is to be suffered, or any formidable danger to be incurred, we can scarcely exempt ourselves wholly from the seducements of imagination; we readily believe that another day will bring some support or advantage which we now want; and are easily persuaded, that the moment of necessity, which we desire never to arrive, is at a great distance from us.

Thus life is languished away in the gloom of anxiety, and consumed in collecting resolution which the next morning dissipates; in forming purposes which we scarcely hope to keep, and reconciling ourselves to our own cowardice by excuses which, while we admit them, we know to be absurd. Our firmness is by the continual contemplation of misery hourly impaired; every submission to our fear enlarges its dominion; we not only waste that time in which the evil we dread might have been suffered and surmounted, but even where procrastination produces no absolute increase of our difficulties, make them less superable to ourselves by habitual terrors. When evils cannot be avoided, it is wise to contract the interval of expectation; to meet the mischiefs which will overtake us if we fly; and suffer only their real malignity without the conflicts of doubt and anguish of anticipation.

To act is far easier than to suffer; yet we every day see the progress of life retarded by the vis inertiae, the mere repugnance to motion, and find multitudes repining at the want of that which nothing but idleness hinders them from enjoying. The case of Tantalus, in the region of poetic punishment, was somewhat to be pitied, because the fruits that hung about him retired from his hand; but what tenderness can be claimed by those who, though perhaps they suffer the pains of Tantalus, will never lift their hands for their own relief?

There is nothing more common among this torpid generation than murmurs and complaints; murmurs at uneasiness which only vacancy and suspicion expose them to feel, and complaints of distresses which it is in their own power to remove. Laziness is commonly associated with timidity. Either fear originally prohibits endeavours by infusing despair of success; or the frequent failure of irresolute struggles, and the constant desire of avoiding labour, impress by degrees false terror on the mind. But fear, whether natural or acquired, when once it has full possession of the fancy, never fails to employ it upon visions of calamity, such as, if they are not dissipated by useful employment, will soon overcast it with horrors, and imbitter life not only with those miseries by which all earthly beings are really more or less tormented, but with those which do not yet exist, and which can only be discerned by the perspicacity of cowardice.

Among all who sacrifice future advantage to present inclination, scarcely any gain so little as those that suffer themselves to freeze in idleness. Others are corrupted by some enjoyment of more or less power to gratify the passions; but to neglect our duties merely to avoid the labour of performing them, a labour which is always punctually rewarded, is surely to sink under weak temptations. Idleness never can secure tranquillity; the call of reason and of conscience will pierce the closest pavilion of the sluggard, and, though it may not have force to drive him from his down, will be loud enough to hinder him from sleep. Those moments which he cannot resolve to make useful, by devoting them to the great business of his being, will still be usurped by powers that will not leave them to his disposal; remorse and vexation will seize upon them, and forbid him to enjoy what he is so desirous to appropriate.

There are other causes of inactivity incident to more active faculties and more acute discernment. He to whom many objects of pursuit arise at the same time, will frequently hesitate between different desires till a rival has precluded him, or change his course as new attractions prevail, and harass himself without advancing. He who sees different ways to the same end, will, unless he watches carefully over his own conduct, lay out too much of his attention upon the comparison of probabilities and the adjustment of expedients, and pause in the choice of his road, till some accident intercepts his journey. He whose penetration extends to remote consequences, and who, whenever he applies his attention to any design, discovers new prospects of advantage and possibilities of improvement, will not easily be persuaded that his project is ripe for execution; but will superadd one contrivance to another, endeavour to unite various purposes in one operation, multiply complications, and refine niceties, till he is entangled in his own scheme, and bewildered in the perplexity of various intentions. He that resolves to unite all the beauties of situation in a new purchase must waste his life in roving to no purpose from province to province. He that hopes in the same house to obtain every convenience may draw plans and study Palladio, but will never lay a stone. He will attempt a treatise on some important subject, and amass materials, consult authors, and study all the dependent and collateral parts of learning, but never conclude himself qualified to write. He that has abilities to conceive perfection will not easily be content without it; and, since perfection cannot be reached, will lose the opportunity of doing well in the vain hope of unattainable excellence.

The certainty that life cannot be long, and the probability that it will be much shorter than nature allows, ought to awaken every man to the active prosecution of whatever he is desirous to perform. It is true, that no diligence can ascertain success; death may intercept the swiftest career; but he who is cut off in the execution of an honest undertaking has at least the honour of falling in his rank, and has fought the battle, though he missed the victory.

Leaves of Grass Redux

Leaves of Grass 1892 Do I contradict myself? Very well then ... I contradict myself, I am large ... I contain multitudes.
"Song of Myself", Strophe 51, Z. 1321- 1323 Updated version for 2007 Do I contradict myself? Very well then . . . I contradict myself, my whores are large . . . they contain multitudes

of whores ad infinitum.

Whores = disordered desires.

Money and whores are akin to Light which is both a particle and a wave. But this whole edifice is founded on whores which are disordered desires. And said desires are set in a spiral, one wound around the other. Leading to the center of the void. These disordered desires objectify and erase our person-hood and humanity. Ay, there's the rub. It's an excuse to treat people like crap for our own ends. Since without something greater than us which transcends us there are no more ends but only means. And without the Ultimate End which is the Good, then everything, even people are only tools for a twisted will. Thus we are slaves who think we are free. Look within yes but also look without. See that things are not good or evil merely because thinking makes them so. By no means! Now rediscover the law. And thus the end of man and his dignity. Ite, missa est! Go, you are sent.

El pajarillo

Here is a short parable from The Names of Christ (1583) by Fray Luis de León applicable to the fate of the Church at large as well as the Christian believer in the world. To whit, the book in question is in dialogue form between three scholars Marcelo, Sabino and Juliano who discuss the importance of the names given to Christ in Scripture. This genre was popular in the Renaissance in this particular case shows a remarkable fusion of Platonic, Ciceronian, Erasmian, and contemporary Italian Renaissance dialogues. One thing to keep in mind is that Jesus, the Greek form of Joshua, Yeshua, means salvation or “one who saves”.

On the opposite riverbank from where Marcelo and his friends were standing there was a small bird of a most striking size and plumage perched on a tree. Almost the whole time that Juliano was talking, as if overhearing him, it would at times answer him with its calls and this with such soothing tones and harmony that Marcelo and the rest couldn’t help but take noticed of it. Right after Juliano had finished talking and Marcelo had responded with what I have just reported, Sabino wanted to say something in reply when they heard a ruckus near that same area. Upon turning around they saw that two big crows were the ones making the racket, flying and circling around the little bird trying to wound it with their beaks and talons. At first the bird defended itself with the tree’s branches hiding among the thickest ones. But as the stand-off progressed they pressed in more and more no matter where the bird went and it was forced to fall into the water calling out as if asking for help. The crows also went towards the water and flying over the surface of the river they chased the bird until it became completely submerged in the water without leaving a single trace. At this point Sabino spoke up and said with a cry:

`“Oh the poor thing has drowned on us!”

His companions who also believed this to be the case felt saddened because of it. Then the avian enemies went away cheerful as if victorious. After a good space of time had passed and Juliano had consoled Sabino with a little laughter, who cursed the crows and couldn’t help but feel sorry for his little birdie, as he called it. All of a sudden right where Marcelo was standing and almost next his feet, they saw the little bird stick its head out of the water and get out of the stream onto the riverbank all tired and soaking wet. Upon emerging it perched on a low branch that was right nearby where it stretched out its wings and shook the water off. Then beating them in a timely manner it began to lift itself up into the air singing with a renewed sweetness. As if responding to its call many other birds of the same feather came from different parts of the clearing. They approached as a sign of congratulations and flew around the little bird. Then in a show of triumph, they all made three or four circles in the air with agile turns going up higher and higher until they were lost from sight.

Sabino reacted to this latest development with great rejoicing and happiness. But Marcelo told me that at this moment while Sabino was looking at him he saw a change in Sabino’s face as if disturbed and deep in thought, which surprised him a great deal and wishing to ask Sabino how he was feeling he saw his friend, fixing his gaze on the sky, who said between his teeth with a suppressed sigh:

“In the end Jesus is Jesus.” (which means salvation is salvation.)

Mad Men

In a recent article Basque writer Jon Jauristi described Spain as a country of mad men:

In his History of Insanity in the Classical Era Foucault recounts how during the Renaissance Flemish cities got rid of the mentally insane by loading them onto rafts, leaving these to the current of the canals. And if the natural healing virtues of water didn’t restore their reason before they reached the North Sea they’d drowned there without realizing their fate after spending a jolly old time in company with other mad men. Offering a spectacle not lacking in a certain moral greatness to those on shore. The more learned referred to this antipsychotic craft as Stultifera Navis while the common people called it Narrenschiff, the Ship of Fools. This image appears in the beautiful lithographs by Holbein with Lady Madness. For Holbein and his friend the poet Sebastian Brant, the Ship of Fools, was an apt symbol of the human condition. However this didn’t prevent the mad men of the region from continuing to drown like lemmings while serious Renaissance men, starting with Erasmus, went about consumed with making allegories.

Cuenta Foucault en su Historia de la locura en la época clásica que las ciudades flamencas del Renacimiento se quitaban de encima a sus pirados metiéndolos en pinazas y encomendando éstas al albur de los canales. Si las virtudes curativas del agua, siempre lustral ella, no les devolvían la razón antes de llegar al mar del Norte, naufragaban allí sin enterarse de su suerte, después de pasar un rato divertido en compañía de otros majaras y ofreciendo a quienes los observaban desde la costa un espectáculo no exento de cierta grandeza moral. Stultifera Navis llamaban los más gramáticos a aquel tipo de embarcación antipsiquiátrica que el pueblo llano conocía por Narrenschiff, esquife de los necios, y que aparece en las hermosas xilografías de Holbein capitaneado por la Dama Locura. Para Holbein y su amigo, el poeta Sebastián Brant, la Nave de los Locos constituía un símbolo ajustado de la condición humana, lo que no impidió que los orates de la región siguieran ahogándose como lemmings mientras los renacentistas serios, empezando por Erasmo, andaban dale que te pego con las alegorías.

(Jon Juaristi Locos en: ABC Domingo, el 4 de febrero 2007)

Religion in the U.K. (part 2)

This video is brilliant as they would say:    

Not Religious Just Spiritual

Religion in the U.K. (part 1)

(Hat Tip to www.exlaodicea.blogspot.com)

Barack Obama couldn't be overhyped now could he now?

Amazingly, this was published in a newspaper a few days ago. Note the oozing irony:

The Obama Messiah Watch:
Introducing a periodic feature considering evidence that Obama is the son of God.

By Timothy Noah
Posted Monday, Jan. 29, 2007, at 6:23 PM ET

Is Barack Obama — junior U.S. senator from Illinois, best-selling author, Harvard Law Review editor, Men’s Vogue cover model, and “exploratory” presidential candidate — the second coming of our Savior and our Redeemer, Prince of Peace and King of Kings, Jesus Christ? His press coverage suggests we can’t dismiss this possibility out of hand. I therefore inaugurate the Obama Messiah Watch, which will periodically highlight gratuitously adoring biographical details that appear in newspaper, television, and magazine profiles of this otherworldly presence in our midst.

Today’s item, from a Los Angeles Times profile by Larry Gordon about Obama’s two years at Occidental College (before he transferred to Columbia):

In [political science professor Roger] Boesche’s European politics class, [classmate Ken] Sulzer said he was impressed at how few notes [italics mine] Obama took. “Where I had five pages, Barry had probably a paragraph of the pithiest, tightest prose you’d ever see. . . . It was very short, very sweet. Obviously somebody almost Clintonesque in being able to sum a whole lot of concepts and place them into a succinct written style.”

Readers are invited to submit similar details — Obama walking on water, Obama sating the hunger of 5,000 with five loaves and two fishes — from other Obama profiles. And also, of course, to repent, just in case the hour approacheth nigh.

P.S.
This is kind of like the time a few years ago when everyone thought that Beckam was the Metrosexual Messiah. Sigh.