I finally figured out why I keep returning to Amy’s blog, where the subject matter (Catholicism) is not all that important to me, but the pleasures are both sublime (Amy’s writing) and guilty (her commenters). It took a boring Friday night spent with an old Mary Gordon paperback before it hit me: Her commenters are characters in a Mary Gordon novel, probably “The Company of Women,” but also “Final Payments.”

I was particularly entranced with the reactions to an offhand post she made about the Pope’s choice of footwear for his first official papal Mass. He wore red shoes, which set off a blizzard of chatter that made me wonder if I’d accidentally rung up the Style network: I would especially hope that Pope Benedict wears the red tabarro and papal velvet hat with the gold strings that the late Holy Father used to be seen in regularly at the start of his pontificate. … The other item I would very much like to see return is the velvet mozzetta trimmed in ermine, which was worn in winter.

Granted, my catechism years weren’t my best as a student, but I had no idea what this guy was talking about. A little Googling can bring you up to speed fast, though — the mozzetta is what the rest of us would call a capelet, the swingy thing that covers papal shoulders and ends at the elbow. Wander down this alley, though, and you’ll be lost for great gobs of time. Did you know there’s such a thing as a papal tiara? Really — not a demure Miss America demi-crown but a big honkin’ thing that looks like a beehive. Shunned by Juan Pablo Uno and Dos, the tiara nevertheless is in a closet somewhere at the Vatican, awaiting its next closeup.

I had no idea even the papal wardrobe had such fans. As a Yank, I’m uncomfortable with most outward signs of royalty, including crowns and ermine-trimmed robes (although I still own the King of Sports’ million-pound scepter). But I liked the red shoes.

I suppose this was inevitable, though.

Correction of the day, from the Freep: An article about an employee at the Farmington Hills Golf Club killing a bird incorrectly called it a Canadian goose. It was a Canada goose. Glad we cleared that up.

Elsewhere, in the same paper: Love him or hate him, credit uber-aggressive TV reporter Steve Wilson with performing a minor miracle:

Of Wilson.

Not a bad lede, but what’s the “uber” doing in there? I’m no Deustch-speaker, but doesn’t “uber” mean “over?” Not in the sense of “over-aggressive,” but as in “above, elevated over?” “Deustchland Uber Alles,” Niezstche’s ubermensch, etc? You’d think editors who can split hairs over Canada geese would have flagged that one.

Don’t let that stop you from enjoying the story, though. It’s pretty funny. You have to appreciate how much Detroit and Warren hate one another to fully appreciate it, but there’s a media-hating angle in that for everyone.

My whining about the weather yesterday evaporated by the time I hit save. It touched 60 yesterday and is downright semi-balmy today, so I’m going out for a bike ride before the April showers come down. Later.