Ghent has been one pleasant surprise after another. Yesterday, after taking in an impressive number of sites, I grabbed a quick nap at the hotel (something I never do back in my "normal" life), and then headed off to find a place to eat. This city is absolutely lovely at dusk --people wander the streets and sit outside the cafes, the canals bestowing an air of tranquility and laid-back coolness you just don't seem to find many places. This is not a city that tries to seduce you. It just shows you what is has to offer and lets you decide if you want to take the relationship further.

Instead of finding a place to eat, I ended up wandering into a canalside pub that I remembered was highly recommended by Lonely Planet. I struck up a random conversation with an ex-pat Canadian guy who wqs soon joined by some colleagues from work: a Belgian and an American. We chatted away for hours, sampling the variety of incredible brews --including one called Delirium Tremens, which has a pink elephant on the bottle (a warning?). Before I knew it, I was stumbling into a frites shop for that long-deferred dinner before stumbling the rest of the way back to the convent. I slept a nice long boozy sleep.

Today, I have hit a few more can-t miss sites, including a twelfth century castle in the heart of the city knozn as Gravensteen... and the day ain't over yet!

Tomorrow, I head to Paris to meet up with my main squeeze. Hope it lives up to the hype....

Today, I arrived in Ghent, a beautiful historic city in Western Belgium. It is very close to Bruges, which I had originally intended to visit, but I'm not so sure I will anymore.... I like it too much here!

I am staying in a fantastic guest house, Monasterium Poortackere, that used to be a convent and I am only a hop skip and jump away from the centre of this town, which in the middle ages, was the biggest city north of the alps after Paris... Just my kind of place... crammed full of history!

I arrived here today from Brussels, after spending the day wandering the Capital of Europe and visiting various sites like the Centre Belge de la Bande Dessinee-- which prompted fond recollections of reading Tintin, Alix, and Asterix as a kid. After 2 days in Brussels (not including my side-trip to Waterloo, I was more than happy to leave. Don't get me wrong, I like the place fine, but somehow, it felt a bit too close to Ottawa for me, with all the Eurocrats running around;

One thing I will always remember with great pleasure is the beer --my God, the BEER! After tasting beer in this country, I dread returning home and drinking the stuff we have in Canada, which no longer qualifies as beer to me. I have sampled Lambics that tasted as though the angels themselves had crafted them, Trappist brews with a kick strong enough to knock you on your ass, golden brews; chocolaty rich ale delicacies... and my God, I want MORE!

I have a feeling I will be spending alot of the summer working off the beer-belly that will be the inevitable result of my new hobby....

WATERLOO (not the ABBA song/not the town in Ontario)

was a truly mindblowing experience. I am sure that most people go there, see a bunch of rolling fields and placid Belgian countryside, a couple of monuments, and a big pyramid with a lion on top, shrug, and move on....

But I saw The Guards poking muskets out of loopholes in the Hougoumont chateau, firing blindly as canister rattled against the stone walls and the Prince Jerome's troops screamed forward with eagles held aloft through the orchard. I saw Sir Thomas Picton crash to the ground with a bullet in his brain as his highlanders tore into a French column. I saw the union brigade, swords held high, stream over the ridge south of Mont Saint Jean and savage the French infantry columns just below the crest. I saw red-haired marshall Ney, the bravest of the brave, leading the flower of the French Cavalry in a mad charge around a dutch-belgian batallion formed into square. I watched men groan and die under the hail of musketry and the flail of grapeshot as the King's German Legion abandoned La Haye Saint to the victorious French and I heard the Imperial guard chanting "VIVE L'EMPEREUR!" as the climax of the battle grew close. Suddenly, Wellington shouts "Now's your time!" and redcoats sprout like dragon's teeth on a ridge turned into a nightmare of carnage and pour volley fire into the Emperor's pampered favourites! LA GARDE RECULE! Then a wave of the hook-nosed Duke's cocked hat and the line flows forward! The Prussians are sweeping in from the West! Blucher has arrived. The guard dies, the guard does not surrender... and so it does, as Buonaparte is borne away in defeat. Many on the field do not stir to follow the battle south. Many will never stir again. I hear mournful pipes play and watch the smoke waft across a field were tens of thousands lay dead or dying....
well, I could have sworn for a minute there anyway....

bloody Belgiqµn Keyboards!!!

If ever you have the misfortune of having to type something on a computer in belgium.... know that i feel your pain. I have encountered foreign keyboards before, but nothing like this é"&àççà!!!!!

Anyway, just got to brussels... lovely city but terrible weather right now. No matter, a good beer and soome moule frites will raise my spirits! I have a room in the coolest part of town and a few euros to my name... life is good!

Seen 24?

Amazing show! Just got hooked this year (Season Four). I Also watched Season 2 on DVD --in three days-- just before leaving on my trip. One weird thing about 24... it happens in realtime, and yet nobody is ever shown eating, drinking water, or going to the washroom. Are CTU agents trained to fast and "hold in" in a crisis situation? While looking for trains and flights, I took an "internet detour" (I goofed off for a couple of minutes). It seems that next season, producers will address fans' nitpicks about lack of normal bodily functions in series:

Upcoming '24' Focuses on Jack Bauer Eating a Sandwich

My favourite line: "Listen to me,I need you to take the pickles off now. There's no time to explain – you're going to have to trust me."

OK, so flying the red-eye rules.

I had a great flight over, and the plane was alot nicer than I expected, for a charter. I got on board, buckled in, and nestled my head against the window... next thing I remember, I was waking up as they served breakfast and the pilot announced our imminent arrival.

Once on the ground I bought a train ticket at Gatwick --and a pack of Marlboroughs-- and jumped on the train to East Croydon. From there, I caught the bus to Bromley, but I actually hopped off halfway to grab a bite to eat at a pub in West Wickham around 3:30 before getting back on. London being as HUGE as it is, Bromley (which is considered part of London) is over an hour away from the airport... Eventually, I made it to Bromley, and was met by Sara's fiance.

It is really great to be with my cousin Sara again... she is alot of fun to be around, as is Danilo. We are all getting excited for their wedding, which will be the first time I meet alot of family as an adult (last time I saw some of these people I was 15... or even 12.) Sara and Danilo are insisting I stay at least until Saturday, and right now, being in a nice place that is very far from the craziness of work, I am in no particular hurry to leave.

OK.... I'm outta here! My four-week escape begins now. Next stop: LONDON

A few hours from now, I will be getting off the plane in Gatwick, hopefully with a few hours of shut-eye under my belt.

I'll keep you posted

Pat, Raha, George, James and Nesrine in downtown T.O. 

Visiting George in Toronto 

7 days and a wake-up, I'm off to Europe. With all the craziness around planning a four-week vacation and putting my affairs in order at work, I needed a serious break. On Friday, I went to the cinema at noon to see Revenge of the Sith with some friends who, like myself, happen to be unreformed Star Wars fans.

You may recall, if you have been reading for a while, that I tried to speculate on how this final movie would be viewed. Well, it is too early for a final verdict, but early indications are that there is unlikely to be a Phantom Menace-style backlash, where people were initially blown away, but once the hype died down, the disappointment set in. It has broken 4-day box-office records and is being received by the fan community and critics alike with enthusiasm and a positive response not seen since 1980's The Empire Strikes Back. I consider myself neither a hater nor a Lucas apologist (as far as labels go), and I gotta say... I really really liked this movie.

Aside from a couple of brief groan-inducing moments (all the movies have those: "Tochi station power converters" anyone?), I found the whole thing very satisfying. There have been countless reviews of ROTS, but I haven't seen any that pointed out how long this movie acutally is. I think it has a running time of about 2:20, but I could have sworn it went on even longer. This thing is DENSE. Lucas himself admits that he packed in about 60% of the overall prequel story he wanted to tell into this one film --something that would explain the pacing issues and filler found in the two previous entries in the prequel trilogy.

In spite of the dark tone, it is a cround pleaser, and in my book, ranks in the top three of the series. The FX are basically better than anything seen in any other movie ever (how is that for a superlative?)I find this movie superior to Jedi, and if pressed, I might say it is on par with A New Hope in terms of overall quality. The plot would seem to make sense --to a nerd like me, at least, the sense of fun is back, and more importantly, characters recognizable from the original series (the Emperor, Yoda, and Obi-Wan, in particular) emerge as the strongest performances and come to the forefront in a way they hadn't in the previous outings.

Of the three aforementioned characters, Palpatine, most of all, steals the show, using that same slow, staccatto delivery I remember from Jedi ("Quite OP-ER-A-TION-AL!")once he is revealed as a Sith Lord. As Chancellor-turned-Emperor, Ian McDiarmid is over-the-top, terifying and hilarious all at once. Kenobi and Yoda finally show us what true kick-ass Jedi can do in a series of freewheeling fights and duels with their adversaries. Both even get in a couple of quips and inside jokes that will have Original Trilogy fans chuckling.

Problems? Performances of course. Hayden, although less wooden and much improved, still doesn't quite get to where he should be in terms of performance-- I mean, this is Darth Vader we are talking about. Sam Jackson still looks to be sleepwalking in Episode III, that is, until he <> bites it in a key scene --His promise to "not go out like a punk" has been kept. Portman: Pretty to look at, but still hasn't gotten the hang of acting in Star Wars flicks. Whatever... nobody goes to Star Wars for Oscar-worthy performances. We go because it is fun, and each new Star Wars reminds us of our childhood, and the days when we could marvel at what was on screen and think of the possibility that all of this really happened a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away.

In discussing the movie "Finding Neverland", the film in which Johnny Depp plays J.M. Barrie, the creator of "Peter Pan", Dustin Hoffman spoke about the importance of never growing up: "By all means, be an adult, but never grow up". He was talking about the importance of maintaining our ability to dream, and to use our imagination.

Now that Star Wars is all over, just what is a thirty-year old kid like me gonna do to ensure that he never grows up?

THE FORCE IS STRONG WITH THIS ONE

REVENGE OF THE SITH has been hovering around the 80% fresh mark for the past few days over at rottentomatoes.com (In contrast, the first two movies in the prequel trilogy ended up around 60-65%)

A. O. Scott, the New York Times Critic says "This is by far the best film in the more recent trilogy, and also the best of the four episodes Mr. Lucas has directed. That's right (and my inner 11-year-old shudders as I type this): it's better than "Star Wars."

My own inner 11-year-old is starting to get seriously amped about this last movie. Here's hoping George pulled it off.

Fault lines shifting

Are we heading for a major re-alignment in the political landscape? Like the Federalist/Sovereignist divide in Quebec, the issues of the role of the Federal power and how power is shared among the different orders of government cuts a swath across the political spectrum, bringing quasi-commies and borderline libertarians under the same ideological umbrella:

What is your vision of this Canada

Big Federal Government in a strong Federation: NDP-Liberals

Small Federal Government in a loose Federation: Conservatives-Bloc

Big Federal Government in a loose Federation: Liberals-Bloc

Small Federal Government in a strong Federation: Conservatives-Liberals

Throw each party's attitude toward the U.S. into the equation and well....

it's enough to make your head spin!

This just in:

PM no longer cool

UPDATE:

PAUL WELLS is stealing my brainwaves!

A laboured analogy

Paul Martin reminds me of a guy I went to high school with in Thunder Bay. He was a couple of years ahead of me and several steps above me in the social echelon. He was the younger brother of a student who had been very popular, and had,with little effort, inherited his sibling's mantle. Above average athlete, clever enough to get by, winning personality, but his most noteworthy attribute, as far as I could tell, was his incredible ability to ingratiate himself with the teachers. He was a permanent fixture on student council and sailed to the presidency in his final year, which meant that he spent a ton of time out of class. I doubt that this guy did half the schoolwork of a normal student. He always seemed to be organizing this, or spearheading that. Too busy for silly stuff like homework, you see. I'm pretty sure he was on a first name basis with most of the teachers, both of the VPs and our weird Principal, who wore white socks with every suit he owned, no matter the color. If ever there was a chosen one, this guy was him.

I remember hearing teachers saying that this guy was destined for big things. I was perplexed. I found it remarkable that a guy who apparently spent so little time in pursuit of academic excellence managed to pull off straight As, but as some students noted sourly, teachers are a forgiving bunch, if you make the right noises, and you know which buttons to push. Needless to say, on paper, the guy was a scholastic superstar, a real leader who had been heavily involved in running the school from nearly the first moment he arrived in Grade nine as a snot-nosed greaseball in a Club Monaco sweatshirt and Zubaz pants. Universal admiration gave way to adulation when the faculty and student body heard the news that our man had made it into one of the best schools in the nation. A promising young man justifies the faith of his legion of supporters. And yet.... there were whispers of skepticism. Some questioned if this guy, who had coasted on charisma, could cut it as a small fish in the much bigger university pond. Could he meet the impossibly high expectations that had been set?

Fast forward one year later: Total wash out. Having had it easy, having had everything handed to him on a silver platter for five years, he was completely unprepared to take it to the next level when push came to shove. Maybe the doubt began to set in the first time he spoke up in a lecture. Instead of obsequious head-bobbing from cronies and a benevolent smile from the teacher, his words were greeted with the hostile stares of his fellow freshmen and a dismissive chortle from a prof thoroughly unimpressed with his intelect.

Maybe he found himself dismayed to discover that his quips, which played so well in the cafeteria, bombed in the pub, surrounded as he was, by wittier and cleverer guys.
Was he shocked to see the kind of guys he had dismissed as dull nonentities back in high school become the stars of their new fraternities, puking their guts up after shotgunning a couple of wobbly-pops behind the bleachers at the game? How about those weird hippy guys who were so terribly tiresome in high school, with their social activism and their hemp clothing... what were they doing chatting with the brainy co-eds in the student centre? When did they get so cool? Maybe he tried to join some clubs, but it wasn't the same. He was deprived of his ready-made high school social network and someone else, some other alpha-male, had usurped his spot as "the man".

I'm sure he tried to work those relationships with the faculty. But an overworked prof is too busy meeting with grad students and lecturing dozens and dozens of students to pay much attention to an anonymous freshman. Didn't do your assignment? Tough. Failure compounded failure, and the golden boy eventually found himself on academic probation. Eventually, our hero dropped out of school, and returned to his hometown, defeated and chastened.

"What happened?" incredulous observers asked. I think that ultimately, he was crushed by the weight of expectations, and reaching the dizzying heights to which he had aspired, a position that by rights, he was told, BELONGED to him, he found that he simply wasn't cut out for the gig.

Oh, to have been tested and be found wanting.

The Rock Under John Paul II

Father Ray DeSouza in the National Post speculates on the name choice of the new guy, whom has already been pilloried in the media for his rigour and orthodoxy -- as if those were flaws in a Pope:

...what then did the new pope wish to say to us? Vocabor Benedictum. "I will be called Benedict."

Commentators immediately looked to Benedict XV, the last pope of that name, who, assuming the papacy in 1914, tried to stop a Europe on the brink of the First World War from committing suicide. With Europe today in an advanced state of cultural decline and demographic suicide, the comparison is apt.

Yet it was likely that the newest Benedict had in mind none of his predecessors on the Throne of Peter, but St. Benedict himself, the father of Western monasticism and patron saint of Europe. Benedict (ca. 480-547) studied in Rome as a young man, but was soon disgusted with the decadence and degeneration he discovered amid the detritus of the Roman empire. He fled the city, and so attracted to himself the monks who would found the monasteries that would preserve the cultural patrimony of the West during the Dark Ages.

There will be no fleeing from Rome for Pope Benedict XVI. He must now attend to what he indicated on Monday was the pressing need of preserving the Christian patrimony of faith and culture in the third millennium.

Easily the funniest thing I have read on the Internet in months:

I may be mistaken...but I think John Ratzenberger from "Cheers" and "The Empire Strikes Back" has just been elected the new pope. Now that's unexpected.

I nearly peed myself.

It's all about ME

I think that essentially modern post-Christian Europe, and Canada, and large
parts of the United States, too, have replaced the traditional impulses of
civilization, which is to breed, and to prosper, and to expand and survive with
a culture of narcissism. You know, I'd like to have, if you put it to me in
those terms, I'd like to have meaningless, promiscuous sex, and just think about
myself all day long, and all week long, and all year long. But in the end, when
you prioritize that, you actually destroy the culture that enables it. It's a
completely absurd culture and brazen. And that's what we've done.

Mark Steyn on Hugh Hewitt show.

In contrast:

It's all about YOU

"TOTUS TUUS"

All the more profoundly I feel myself totally in the Hands of God — and I remain continually at the disposition of my Lord, entrusting myself to Him and to His Immaculate Mother (Totus Tuus).

the preceeding is text found in the last will and testament of a recently-departed fellow, who lived in opulent surroundings, and walked with kings, yet was buried in a simple wooden box and, except for a few personal articles left no property behind him.

FATBODIES

HARTMAN Are you allowed to eat jelly doughnuts, Private Pyle?

PYLE Sir,no, sir!

HARTMAN And why not, Private Pyle?

PYLE Sir, because I'm too heavy, sir!

HARTMAN Because you are a disgusting fatbody, Private Pyle!

PYLE Sir, yes, sir!

Full Metal Jacket

I've been accused of having a weight obsession. I like to think of it as more of a fat obsession. I don't care if someone is stout or thick-limbed, because stout people can be "built solid" (hard-fat, some call it), but I despise excess fat, particularly on myself. Maybe it stems from my youth --I was a porky kid growing up, in spite of the fact that I was quite active and played alot of different sports. Slow metabolism, maybe? My parents were delighted when I got a paper route at age 12. Besides the valuable lessons to be gained in managing one's own business and learning responsibility, they also imagined that the daily physical activity would help me get rid of my baby fat. Unfortuntately, they did not forsee my eventual transformation into a newspaper delivery tycoon and the inevitable delegation of legwork that followed.

At my peak, I was managing the deliver of 200 newspapers a day on 4 different routes. I say "managing" because I wasn't really delivering the newspapers myself. I devised an ingenious business model which involved recruiting a couple of lucky neighbourhood kids every day to accompany me on my deliveries (they tended to hang out near my house in hopes of getting "the word" --think the longshoremen in On The Waterfront. Carrying two bulky newspaper bags over each shoulder, like bandoliers slung on a bandito's chest, I shuffled up and down the streets of my town, handing papers out to my "runners". The runners were the two or three snot-nosed urchins whose job was to sprint up each driveway and drop off a paper. My job was simply to hand each of them a fresh paper as they returned. It was a fantastic system with very low operating costs --payment for the kids consisted of one chocolate bar at the end of the route (worth about 50 cents in those days). I myself could clear eight or nine bucks a day. As my wealth grew, so did my waistline. I was walking less and less, and eating more and more chips and chocolate bars as a result of my newfound prosperity.

Eventually, I overextended myself when I tried to take on an extra route and adapt my clever system to bicycles in order to make my deliveries on time. Newspaper bags are heavy, and they bump your knees when you try to pedal. A few scraped knees and hands convinced me of the folly of my ambitions, and I eventually scaled back my volume of business as new kids (potential paperboys who did not want to work for me) arrived in the neighbourhood to threaten my racket. I was under pressure. The circulation manager had menaced me with the loss of one-or-more of my routes if I didn't finish deliveries sooner. Luckily, I was saved from this ignominy by a timely career change courtesy of my dad: I was forced to quit the route when we moved to a new town.

In spite of my continued participation in a number of team sports; soccer, hockey, football, I remained chubby throughout my early adolescence. It was only when I became a lifeguard and took up running, cycling and weightlifting that the chub began melting away. Sure, I could get in great shape if I put my mind to it, but I distinctly recall that the minute I stopped working out, lovehandles would appear as if by magic, a symbol of my egregious slackery. I gritted my teeth through high school as I watched beanpole classmates down triple-decker cheeseburgers and tubs of coca cola in the cafeteria. I suppose I wasn't blessed with their metabolisms--which, incidentally, seem to have slowed down significantly in the intervening years, so that formerly svelt boys have now become lard-bellied men (much to my delight). Not so for this boy. My slow metabolism turned into a blessing in disguise. I figure that as I approach the start of my fourth decade on this earth, I still have to maintain approximately the same level of activity as I did when I was in high school in order to stay trim. How many other guys my age can say that?

My neurosis, if you want to call it that, truly coalesced when I joined the military. In the military, thin is ALWAYS in, and FAT equals LAZY plus undisciplined, which is a bad thing, if you are part of an organization that sees discipline as an absolute imperative. It stands to reason that lardasses are treated with contempt in the army. On basic training, I distinctly recall one of my fellow recruits, a tubby fellow, tortured by sergeants as he attempted to do pushups: Private, you look like a dog humping a football! You look like a f*cking beached whale, you fat piece of sh*t and so on... There was little sympathy for the guy. After all, if you are going to join the military as an infantryman, one of the most physically demanding jobs around, it stands to reason that you will get in shape before showing up for training. In this, as in most instances, the transgressor is not the one punished, the group is, as a whole. Everyone does pushups FOR the guy who can't do them himself. It was left to his fellow recruits to "motivate" the private and show him the error of his ways. I think a blanket-party (see Full-metal jacket)ensued, and possibly an RTU (return to unit, for discharge or re-training at a later date), but I don't remember.

I suppose in our infantilized culture, it is conceivable that someone would say to themselves "ah, I won't worry about taking responsibility for my own health and fitness... I'm joining the army! The army will take care of that for me"(Mark Steyn would say this is an inevitable result of the growth of the Nanny-State). Some recruits show up out of shape because it hasn't occurred to them that they bear a share of the responsiblity for ensuring their own well-well being and preparing themselves for their new career-- and that there are consequences if they don't. Nowadays, it seems individuals have abdicated all responsibility for their own personal fitness and health.

Maybe that's why some seem to be drawing the wrong conclusions from Morgan Spurlock's acclaimed film Supersize Me: the "Corporations" (traditional scapegoats and boogeymen of the left)are conditioning young people to eat shitty food, and therefore are to blame for the obesity epidemic in North America. Excuse me? What about the fact that people are simply too bloody lazy to make the necessary lifestyle adjustments that their questionable dietary choices demand? Normally, I wouldn't have any regard for an opinion on this subject from Colby Cosh, a very sharp journalist-turned-Blog superstar who happens to be an overweight chain-smoker (from what I gather), but he makes a fairly good point in bringing up the seldom heard-of idea "personal responsibility" and Les Sayer's clever little experiment, where he actually managed to LOSE weight eating a McDonalds-only diet. HOW you ask? Short answer: Unlike Spurlock, he worked his ass off. Says Les:

Seeing my fat and sugar intake be 200% of "normal values" while eating McDonald's food for a month, caused me to really value the importance of regular exercise. If I can lose weight, lower my cholesterol and triglycerides, and have blood work that reveals a healthy liver and kidneys, and all the while eat at McDonald's, it proves to me two things: firstly McDonald's food isn't laden with the "poisons" some people believe it to be. This makes me smile because the same people who earnestly warned that my liver would "collapse" or "explode" within a couple of weeks of the diet, are now insisting that 30 days wasn't long enough. Some people really believe this stuff. And secondly, diet is important for a healthy lifestyle, but not essential. Exercise, however is essential.

Ultimately, I'm more on Les's side than on Morgan's. I don't think that MacDonalds is trying to con me and everyone else. I don't think that they need to change their menus or their marketing practices (but bully for them if they do it, even as just a PR thing) While I find their food mostly distasteful, I recognize that it is marketed cleverly and I can appreciate the appeal it must have for youth. Nevertheless, as far as I'm concerned, McD's should keep doing what it does --unapologetically selling fatty food of questionable nutritional value to folks. I sure don't think that it's their fault that everyone is getting fatter and fatter because we are eating too much, and letting our kids eat too much, of their crap, or that we are not getting enough exercise, and that we are not forcing junior to get off the frigging couch and go split his XXL trackpants doing a few laps around the track. That's where the personal responsibility part comes in. It isn't a corporation's responsibility to fix things. It's up to you and I.

When I start to put on weight (which happens every once in a while), I know I basically have three options:

A) Eat healthier (How do you know you are on the right track? A good clue is when you stop putting on weight)

B) Exercise more (how much? As much as it takes to stop putting on weight)

C) A combination of A&B

Failure to follow one of these three options will result in me becoming a fatbody -with all the attendant health implications that has (body acceptance my ass-- being fat is unhealthy. Period).

YES, it is that simple. I'm responsible.

Action Comics Presents... POPEMAN!

Please excuse my irreverent take on this subject, but it just occured to me that John Paul II was the nearest thing the 20th century ever had to a real life superhero.

Popeman's origin issue introduces a young Polish man and his intrepid band of seminarians boldly pursuing their studies in wartime Cracow under the very nose of Uncle Adolph and his nefarious Nazi no-goodniks. Right from Panel one, you know that this story will have major fan appeal: a dark street in the Polish city, circa 1943: Spoltlights scour the rooftops as sinister SS men run through the streets. "Mein Gott!" says Hauptmann Heinrich "That Jew-loving priestling has escaped me again!" -- "Better luck next time, herr Heinrich" Young Karol shouts from the roof of the cathedral, before leaping down into the alley and running off to live another day.

No one can forget that successful multi-issue run in the seventies, when the Crimson Cardinal (that's Popeman before he got his new identity in the Action Comics 1978 Super Special Rendez-vous Rome issue) battled the Poland's red menace "the Communist Establishment" with the help of the Social Justice League and a squad of crucifix-wielding nuns; the first of what would be many memorable team-ups and cross-overs.

One of my personal faves was Issue 453 (still have mine mint condition in mylar), where Popeman took three bullets from a would-be assassin and came back to lay some serious doctrinal ass-whuppin' on would be reformers a few pages later. At this point in the his run, the globetrotting caped-and-capped crusader presented the very picture of the man in charge.

No one stepped out of line with this successor of Saint Peter. He was a muscular man of the cloth, an ascetic avenger, a power-packed pontiff. Our hero ran a tight ship. Woe to the hapless political figure who challenged his authority--You best believe that he would set the fool straight with a well-placed encyclical to the proboscis.... and of course, he would be back battling human rights abusers a few pages later-backed up by his priests and bishops. Foes trembled in fear of the Papal ban, but Popeman also had a softer side, and every issue issue featured a friendly encounter with one of the members of his legions of adoring faithful, who were always there to cheer their hero on no matter where he went.

Following his defeat of most of his commie arch-nemeses (and their nefarious Atheist Acolytes) at the end of the eighties, some observers thought that the character had run his course and should be put out to pasture, but Popeman emerged revitalized at the beginning of the nineties, thanks largely to the introduction of the Young Catholics, who had always been background characters, but who now began to take on a greater role in Popeman's struggle against secularism and agnositicism.

After a run of several decades, which has seen Popeman confront every major evil of our time and emerge triumphant, the series now comes to a close. It is fitting that in the final issue of his title, Popeman leaves the world with a message of hope, arms his followers with his greatest superpowers --faith and love-- and urges us onward in our battle with the forces of darkness.

Don't toss out any of the back-issues folks. They are all collectors editions.