A wave in the water. The word opens, shape for knowing at edges, darker fields, trouble: a wave in the water. The word waits long to shatter on silence, prove, prove that falling is a wave. In the water, the word opens, shape for knowing.
The band R.E.M. is easy to love—and hate. In the 1980s the group from Athens, Georgia, defined college and indie rock. It grafted locomotive Rickenbacker guitar and bass onto the no-nonsense beats of Bill Berry and the barely audible but alluring vocals of Michael Stipe.
Like The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe (2005), the first nonanimated big-screen feature film based on C. S. Lewis’s Chronicles of Narnia books, Prince Caspian is visually spectacular, emotionally stirring and dramatically potent.
The biblical archaeologist at my seminary once donned Indiana Jones–inspired attire to publicize one of his discoveries. He claimed not to enjoy this publicity stunt. If so, he’s about the only movie-watching male who didn’t want to play at being Indy, the brainy, hip, unflappable professor of archaeology who could fight off Nazis with little more than a fedora and a bullwhip.
For nearly 75 years, travelers on the Pennsylvania Turnpike could pull off the highway and walk up the steps to St. John the Baptist Catholic Church to pray or attend mass. The church features rich wood and hand-carved accents, a beautiful staircase to a loft, and 14 Tiffany stained-glass windows. But the days of the “Church of the Turnpike,” 90 miles east of Pittsburgh, could be numbered. A highway widening project is under way that will permanently remove the legendary steps in two or three years (RNS).