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December 31, 2002

i resolve to make every day bitchslap ted rall day

You all remember bitchslap Ted Rall day, don't you? That was a mighty fine time we had there. We need to do that more often.


Voting has slowed down as everyone strolls off to their debauchery and revelry.

Me, I'll be making the trek across the street to my parents house to ring in the new year with my family. This doesn't mean I don't drink; it means I drink twice as hard. You would, too if you had to spend the night listening to my father's jokes and my brother-in-law making blow job innuendos.

I've made some new year's resolutions. It's been my practice to make only resolutions I know I'll be able to keep. Therefore I resolve to:

Call Ted Rall a seething, rippling meatball of hatred and jealousy, among other things, at least once a day.

Make a new enemy every week.

Piss someone off, intentionally or not, every day of 2003.

Never listen to Creed on purpose.

Continue my shredding of the fine folks at Indymedia.

Question the existence of France on a daily basis.

Spend most of my hard earned money on comic books and action figures.

Bitch and moan about things I have no control over.

Fill my posts with gratuitous sex and violence.

Continue to have gratuitous sex tinged with violence.

Eat lots of dead animals and drive my SUV like I own the road.

Pretend to be in the process of quitting smoking.

Stalk Jim Treacher, Kevin Parrot and COOP.

Finish up the screenplay for Night of the Loving Dead and the as yet unamed graphic novel collaboration with my husband.

That's just for starters.

I'll start early tomorrow morning by purchasing an after-Christmas present for my husband, to go in tandem with this book. In the words on Coop's site: "If Coop shat a brick, this would be what came out!"

Maybe if I stalk him enough I could get him to sign it without shelling out the 200 bucks for the signed copy. Which leads me to my next resolution: more boob shots!

Wait, that was your resolution for me, wasn't it?

Anyhow, have a safe night. Take a lesson from Juan Gato and stay home in the dark instead of venturing out on the roads. And watch out for people groping your crotch and stealing your wallet while you wait in the freezing cold for a midnight terrorist attack.

Keep voting.

let's go to the polls

update 3 Ok. I've disabled the ability to vote numerous times in a row. I wanted it to be fun, not disturbing. Charles, have you ever considered using your power over people in other ways? Not evil, but not....good. Drop me a line, maybe you can join me on the dark side.

Trust your feelings.

Yes, it's here!

The Most Intriguing Bloggers of 2002 Poll: The final ten roundup.

Everyone single blog that was nominated is entirely worthy. However, it has been narrowed down the the ten most often nominated blogs. Head over here, cast your vote and let the democratic voting process* begin.

Please note: If you are going to link to the poll, please link to this page. Your readers will be directed there from here. Thank you.

*no recounts, no lawsuits, no pregnant chads, but you can vote as many times as you want. Electioneering is encouraged. Payoffs are accepted. Bribes are par for the course. Cheerleading is also encouraged. I never said this would be pretty.*

speaking of ted...

Tim Blair's predictions for 2003:

January 5th: Another American drone is shot down over Iraq. It is Ted Rall, on his way to Baghdad to act as a human shield.

June 19th: The music video for Christina Aguilera's latest release is banned after parents' groups complain about its "inappropriate language" and "vulgar images". Despite the ban, Cum Drunk Fuck Slut is the year's best-selling single.

You know the drill; read the rest.

ted rall: rippling meatball of hatred

For those of you who hold up Ted Rall as a spokesperson for the left, please run through some of these threads at TCJ to confirm my stance that Rall is nothing but a (to quote the delightful COOP) "seething, rippling meatball of hatred and jealousy, marbled with rich veins of inadequacy." Not to mention juvenile, unfunny and void of original thought. I mean, how is it that a guy who thinks calling someone a retard is a defense gets a syndicated column? His popularity mystifies me. Who the hell is his audience, anyhow? Are there that many 10 year old liberals?

thank you to Kevin for once again making me read another TCJ thread that left me minus five IQ points.

so sue me, i slept in

Yes, the much awaited poll is forthcoming. It's too early to count higher than ten, so you'll have to wait until at least a pot of coffee has made its way to my brain.

Today is my dad's birthday (everyone - happy birthday, dad!). I forgot to say happy birthday to my mom on Christmas Eve so (everyone) happy birthday, mom! Thanks.

I had a dream last night that as the ball dropped in Times Square at midnight, it cracked open when it reached the bottom and a group of gun-toting, explosive-wearing terrorists jumped out of the rubble and started screaming "jihad! jihad!" Unfortunately, the neighbor's dog woke me up at that point so I have no idea what happened after that.

I've lived in New York my entire life and never once have I gone into the city for the New Year's Eve celebration in Times Square. Why anyone would want to stand out in the freezing cold with half a million people, most of them trying to feel you up or steal your wallet as they brush up against you, is beyond me.

I can have just as much fun getting drunk at home and letting my husband feel me up. And he won't try to steal my wallet.

Yea, poll coming.

December 30, 2002

say good night, babs

I have to go to bed before I turn into a pumpkin. But I shall leave you with two three things:

This, which I made for Rachel Lucas in response to her posting Bab's annual holiday ornament

And a gentle reminder to get your nominations in before I get up tomorrow. Which is about 5am EST.

3. How to Rant: Learn by example.

best of 2002: the web

Expect lots of updates tonight while I ignore my kids who are probably going to fight to the death at some point this evening. I'll videotape if you want to.

I'll especially be updating this post tonight, which is meant to bring you my favorite new websites (non-blogs) of 2002. If you have any to mention, feel free.

I think I'm giving you guys way too much freedom with my blog. I'm sure I'll pay in the end.

Anyhow.

Best new website of 2002: Gawker

It is a live review of city news, and by news we mean, among other things, urban dating rituals, no-ropes social climbing, Condé Nastiness, downwardly-mobile i-bankers, real estate porn -- the serious stuff.

It reminds me of all the things I take for granted living so close to NYC. I need to get on the LIRR more often.

But what exactly is real estate porn?

poll update

Acidman is gunning for Most Intriguing Blogger. He called out his big guns. Meanwhile, Laurence is begging people not to vote for him. I think he just doesn't want to be on the cover of the special issue of Blogger People magazine.

As it stands now, Laurence is in the lead with a pack of wild blogs trailing him.

I am discounting all the votes for myself. Although I appreciate them, I don't think it's fair that I be in my own poll. Y'all are just trying to butter me up, anyhow.

If you haven't put in your nominations yet, now is the time. Tomorrow I will cull from the list the top nominees and put up a poll to determine the final standings.
Of course, there is no prize except for bragging rights. And that cover page.

update: Watch out, Acidman - Denbeste is making a run for your spot.

more required reading

Another required reading of 2002 that I found just in time, thanks to Meryl.

An Israeli blogger responds to a detractor:

I truly believed we could live side by side in peace and equality, sharing and growing together. I still hope (more than anything) that the Palestinians will put down their arms and cease their violence, and then we can once again renew our difficult but not impossible historical attempt at working out our differences peacefully.

Until that time, we are at war.

musical moments of 2002: in a word -bleh

2002 was the year I almost stopped caring about new music. It was the year I dragged out every cd I already owned and vowed to stop buying music until everyone agreed that The White Stripes would not save rock and roll and New Found Glory's minimal success was not a new punk uprising.

I used to live at Mr. Cheapo's record store. Everyone knew my name. I would walk in on a Tuesday and there would be a stack of new cds for me to browse through, with some put aside because Mr. Cheapo knew what I liked. Tuesdays were a thrill.

I'm just not feeling it anymore.

I bought very few cds this year, opting instead to drag out the music I had neglected for a while. I rediscovered some old (or relatively old) favorite - Drain STH, Type O Negative, Skinlab, Sepultura and a whole bunch of 80's new wave.

As for the music I did plunk down money for, here are my favorites from the bunch:

Meshuggah - Nothing
Queens of the Stone Age - Songs For the Deaf
And You Will Know Us By the Trail of Dead - Source Tags & Codes
Nappy Roots - Watermelon, Chicken and Gritz
Beck - Sea Change
The Soundtrack of our Lives - Behind the Music
Neko Case – Blacklisted
Taproot - Welcome

Song I didn't want to like but I sang it anyhow: Nelly - It's Getting Hot in Here

Most annoying music related things in 2002

Creed
American Idol
Any Whitestripeshivesvinesyeahyeahs sounding music
Pop Punk
Andrew W.K.

Best music moment of 2002:

Nick Cave is a god among men. I have been to over 300 concerts in my lifetime, from crappy local bands in venues that looked like a barn to huge extravaganzas of U2 proportions, and this show was far and away the best I have ever seen.

Cave seizured his way around the stage, bumping and grinding and looking at times like a man in the throes of an convulsive nightmare. Every song was a story, every note a masterpiece, every word full of passion. He went through a great mix of slow and fast, ballads and crazed stories woven together in an incredible tapestry of talent. The words "stage presence" do not do justice to the ego this man brings onto the stage with him. He commands your attention and mesmerizes you into believing you are living the song with him. If you ever have the opportunity to see Nick Cave live, do not hesitate. Go.





Remember, you have until midnight tonight (actually til early tomorrow morning, being that I'm rarely still awake at midnight) to get your votes in for
Most Intriguing Blogger.

once again, a notice

The next person that leaves a ten mile long URL in my comments gets their ass kicked and their IP blocked.

If you do not know how to leave a URL using html, then don't. Email me instead.

I've only repeated this about a bazillion times.

I am not kidding. Do not incur my wrath today.

required reading 2002, my choices

Another installment in my required reading of 2002:

This piece from Rossi (everyone should be reading Rossi) on being a Jew

Now Passover has a sibling; “The Sabbath Massacre.”

So I say to these villains in the name of holy-ness.

What exactly can you find in these acts that is holy?

How can you call yourself victims?

How can you call yourselves martyrs?

How can you call any of these acts heroic?

I'm pretty sure if you look up "heroic" in the dictionary it will not say, "One who attacks innocent people while they are returning from prayer.

Read the rest.

new toy

Blame Fred for these new html toys:



don't forget to send your COV entries to Solonor




yea, i'm bored. why do you ask?


BEFORE ANYONE DID ANYTHING,
I
DID EVERYTHING

CONSPIRACY THEORIES

for

Dummies

santa and snoop, together at last

Ladies and gentlemen, Santa has left the building.

By the way, nominations for Ten Most Intriguing Bloggers of 2002 will be accepted through midnight tonight.

Submissions for Required Reading 2002 will be accepted through Thursday. Please note that this particular year end review is by no means a poll or a contest. Every blog link or article sent will be posted in the roundup, regardless of content, lack of taste, ideology or questionable research.

Thanks for playing. Drive through.

Loving you is like loving the undead

Justin (my husband) and I have been collaborating on a graphic novel type story. He is illustrating, I am writing. He is a gifted artist, as you will see when the domain I bought him for Christmas (to exhibit his artwork) is up and running.

So last night, during our wee hours brainstorming session, he had an idea for a movie.

Night of the Loving Dead.

Goth kids v. Emo kids in a zombie free-for-all.

Think of the soundtrack. Julianna Theory v. Sisters of Mercy. The possibilities are endless. The cross-over factor will ensure a huge audience.

Well, it was a good idea when we thought of it at 3am.

think of the children

Rangel calls for mandatory military service

Hmm..Does Rep. Charles Rangel (D-New York) think we need to shore up our defense to prepare for future wars?

No.

Does he think mandatory military service will instill some sense of patriotism, pride and duty in the youth of America?

No.

Is he worried about declining enlistment in the armed forces?

No.

So why does Rep. Rangel want to institute mandatory service? Because, Rangel states:

such legislation could make members of Congress more reluctant to authorize military action.

I see. Let's make everyone over the age of 18 serve some time in the armed forces in order to make Congress say no to military action. Let's put our sons and daughters out there in the hopes that some congressmen will say "not with my child" and vote against any future invasions/wars.

Pardon me for use of hyperbole, but I think that's tantamount to using a child as a shield in a gunfight.

What does Rep. Rangel intend to say if his idea is instituted, a draft is enacted, a vote to go to war comes to the floor and Congress votes to fight? Will he say "oops, bad idea" and go back to the drawing board?

I'm not going to get into the issue here of whether or not a draft is needed or if it is a good/bad idea. The issue is that Rangel has obviously failed to think his flight of fancy through.

"When you talk about a war, you're talking about ground troops, you're talking about enlisted people, and they don't come from the kids and members of Congress," he said.

"I think, if we went home and found out that there were families concerned about their kids going off to war, there would be more cautiousness and a more willingness to work with the international community than to say, 'Our way or the highway.' "

Basically what he is saying is that his fellow congressmen and women care only about their families and not about the families of their constituents. I think every member of Congress should be outraged by Rangel's assertions.

Rangel did not provide specifics of his proposal.

Well, he did in a way. The specifics would be to for Rangel to use the military-age children of the members of Congress as hostages in his kidnapping of the attempt to oust Saddam from power.

The outcome of this would be rather interesting. I can't imagine that any member of Congress who voted in favor of military use of power would suddenly change their minds if a draft was enacted. And if they did it would certainly say a lot about their convictions.

As for Rangel, I think he is way off base and out of line with this idea. The motive and intentions are all wrong.

an extremist by any other name

A suspected Islamic extremist shot dead three U.S. humanitarian workers and wounded a fourth at a missionary hospital in southern Yemen, according to a hospital spokeswoman

Well, at least it's good to know that CNN doesn't hedge on using the word terrorist only when writing about Israelis being killed.


"One of the eyewitnesses there said that he came in the office as if he had a child beneath his jacket [but] it turned out to be ... a semi-automatic rifle that he used against them," [Walid Al-Saqqaf, editor-in-chief of the Yemen Times] said.

Al-Saqqaf reported that the gunman tracked down one of the victims in a separate room and shot him. "It seemed somewhat a pre-planned attack," he said.

Somewhat? A guy hides a weapon under his jacket so it appears to be a child, hunts down his victim and shoots him and several other people - all Americans - well, it doesn't take an investigative reporter to figure out it was pre-planned.

Yemen, the ancestral homeland of al Qaeda leader Osama bin Laden, is a hotbed for extremist Islamic militant groups, finding refuge in the country's mountainous, tribal strongholds.

Extremist Islamic militant groups is such an cumbersome phrase. Let's try, for editorial reasons, to cut it down to one word. Say....terrorists. Yea, that's the ticket.

December 29, 2002

my own MVP (most valuable post) of 2002

I was talking to Juan Gato (well, emailing) and for some reason, I started thinking about my childhood. Which leads me to my own post of the year.

The post was written in February, 2002 and it led to a gradual emotional breakdown that culiminated in my finally getting on some anxiety medication in March.

In many ways, the post that made me face my past and all its scars made me face the future. It healed me. Don't let anyone every tell you that having a blog is a silly hobby. This space has been worth a million therapy sessions for me.

Once I wrote those words and found the nerve to post them, I went into a tailspin. Of course, it is always darkest before the dawn and I came out of that tailspin with a dark part of myself purged and thrown away. That is why the following post - one of very personal, very intense memories - was my favorite, most important piece of writing I had to offer in 2002.

I was walking across the street from my mother's house last night when I saw him. He was standing in front of his father's house, diagonally across from where I was, taking something out of his trunk. It had been several years since I saw him last, and many more since I looked him in the eye. I would not look at him this time, either. I put my head down and picked up my pace, trying to get out of his line of sight before he picked his head up and saw me. He would want to say hello, like the last time. He would want to make small talk about kids and school and old friends, as if nothing bad ever happened. As if all that went on didn't matter anymore.

He's not the only one I see. A few of them stayed in the neighborhood, got married, had kids, got divorced. I see them up at the school sometimes, picking up their kids. I see them in the grocery store or at Little League games and it's always the same. They talk. I nod. I avoid their eyes. I go home and cry.

I can't let those years go. I was small when it started, probably in kindergarten. If anyone ever tells you that little rhyme "sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me," well tell them they are full of shit. Obviously they never had words thrown at them like weapons.

If it wasn't the words, it was the objects. Literally sticks and stones. Back in those days kids walked home from school by themselves. Even at 5. They weren't yet teaching about stranger danger. And they certainly weren't teaching about classmates being evil little bastards. The offenders would hide in the bushes, behind fences, wherever they could crouch unseen. When I walked past, they would jump out, not to scare me, but to throw things at me. And then the names would start.

This went on for many years. I learned how to spot them. I learned how to walk on the other side of the street. I learned how to convince my mother to pick me up from school. But I never learned how to use my voice. How to tell them to stop. It wasn't just the walk home from school. It was walking to to the store. Being in front of my own house. Trying to play outside. They harassed me daily, at first just two of them and then a whole crowd.

It crossed over into school eventually, and I became one of those kids. The kind with no friends and no social life except for what her mother arranged for her. Even then, those play dates were awkward and distressing. Frankly, I didn't want friends. I didn't need friends. I was happy to just go home and sit in my room and read. All I ever needed was a book. At least that's what I told myself.

As we got older, past the point where you could chalk off the behavior to kids being kids, the teasing and name calling persisted. But I was partly to blame at this point. I let it happen. I took it. I actually hung out with them after school and stood there while the belittled me and I convinced myself that I was part of the gang and this is how they all treated each other.

Sometimes, out of desparation to be included or to be liked or to feel wanted, you do things that you probably shouldn't. And those things are taken advantage of. You try to prove your worth, to prove you belong, and you do it in ways that only serve to cheapen yourself. But you don't realize it at the time.

These things went on for years, until I finally left the school system and moved on to private school and turned my back on those people and that life.

And now, all these years later, I wonder. I see these people around town and I wonder. Do they remember all of this? Do they know what they did to me? Do they have any idea of the effect that their words and actions had on me then and how they would effect me for the rest of my life?

I mean, here it is, almost 25 years from the last time I hung out with them, and I still can't get over it. I still can't look at them. What do they see when they look at me and try to make that small talk? Do they see the same person they heaped abuse on when we were little? Do they think at all about those days? I doubt it. I doubt that if I ever brought it up with any one of them that they gave it any thought in the past 25 years. Because it didn't effect them. They went on with their lives and they forgot about me and those days and the rocks and the names and the things that went on in Jimmy's backyard.

I want to tell them. I want them to know that even today, their words are with me. That everything they did back then is still with me, in my fears and my self-esteem issues and the way I view men, and myself on a whole. I bet they don't know that. Because they think they were just being kids. They didn't know they were setting the course for my entire life.

I'll continue to see them around town and I'll continue to avoid them in my day to day life, even though they continue to be part of my nightmares and part of my psyche. There's really no escaping your past. I'd like to say I'm over the things that happened so long ago. But I'm not and I never will be and I don't know if it would make me feel any better to know that they have some guilt over what they did or that they do think about it and feel badly about it and that it stayed with them as much as it stayed with me. It probably would only make me feel worse.

So this is me trying to purge myself of all of this. It's the first time I've written about it, even if the words are very vague and scattered. I'm trying to let it go. Maybe this is the beginning of doing that.


February 20, 2002 06:30 AM

ahem

Please remember what I said about nominating bloggers for the Most Intriguing Blogger Awards.

So the most intrgiuing bloggers would not be the ones who are the most popular, or the most prolific or the most recognizable. They would be the bloggers who are, obviously, disturblingly provacative, arouse your interest or curiosity or, in general bring you back to their site again and again because you are always wondering what they will say or do next. They make you think and make you want to leave comments or email them. They present issues that interest you or at least make you have an interest in something you previously did not. They make you want to know more about them, what makes them tick, what lies behind the words and the keyboard, even if you don't agree with them, even if you hate them.

I'd like to see someone step up and nominate someone they can't stand or don't agree with, yet read their site daily. For instance, one of my nominees would be Oliver Willis, although we disagree on everything from politics to football. I'm not saying you have to love your enemies, just admit they intrigue you.

Also, when leaving links in comments, please use html or just email me the link if you don't know how to use html. Mess up my sidebar again and you will get a 2x4 upside your head. Thank you.

shall we play a game?

I've been watching the Packers get crushed by the Jets and now I need to be amused. First person to make a snarky comment about the game and/or The Packers in general gets their IP banned. I am dictator here. Thank you.

We are playing What Would Homer Do? Want to play? Here's the first card.

askhomer1.jpg

Oh the hell with this. I'm going to take my frustrations out the only way I know how. I'll be back after I troll the news sites looking for something that makes me mad enough to say a whole bunch of curses.

Ten Most Intriguing Bloggers of 2002

In the comments on my post about People's most intriguing people of 2002, Sunidesus suggested having a 25 most intriguing bloggers poll. How...intriguing.

25 is probably too many, so let's go with ten.

Now, let's remember - unlike People Magazine - the meaning of intriguing:

intriguing

adj 1: disturbingly provocative; "an intriguing smile" [syn: challenging] 2: capable of arousing interest or curiosity

So the most intrgiuing bloggers would not be the ones who are the most popular, or the most prolific or the most recognizable. They would be the bloggers who are, obviously, disturblingly provacative, arouse your interest or curiosity or, in general bring you back to their site again and again because you are always wondering what they will say or do next. They make you think and make you want to leave comments or email them. They present issues that interest you or at least make you have an interest in something you previously did not. They make you want to know more about them, what makes them tick, what lies behind the words and the keyboard, even if you don't agree with them, even if you hate them.

Yes, they are intriguing right down to the specific definition of the word.

Nominate as many as you want and in a day or so, I'll gather up those with the most nominations and install a poll to come up with The Ten Most Intriguing Bloggers of 2002.

Make this worth my while or it won't go. I need several nominations by tonight or I'm going to blow the idea off, as I'm still working on the Required Reading 2002 list and that's been a bit of work.

Oh, try to give a reason with your nomination. I don't want twenty comments with people leaving links to their best friend's blogs, just because.

lies, damn lies and conspiracy theories

It's been a while since I trolled my bloglist of lefty conspiracy sites, so I took a stroll over to VOXnyc today.

Since we last visited Mr. Voxfux, it seems that some evil government type people swooped in on his headquarters, raided his house and stole all his computers and files.

Mr. V. lives on Long Island and I thought this odd that I never heard anything about on the local news, so I called up a friend who "knows about these things" to find out a bit more. My friend in the know had heard nothing about this startling news. I'm so surprised.

Anyhow, that's not my issue with Mr. V. today. The latest claptrap from his keyboard is his waging all out war on the Vast Right Wing Conspiracy:

This thread is for voxnyc's warriors to share your strategies and tactics and victories on how to disrupt, divert, and cause dissent among their ranks. Think big. Go after the largest mediums possible - CNN, Fox, New York Times, but don't forget about two-bit crackpots like Rush Limbaugh and the other talk radio nutcases. And of course don't forget to attack some of the big conservative Internet forums that hide under the cover of names that they've hijacked and perverted - names like patriot, liberty, heritage, family. Of which these scoundrels have nothing to do with. You know the ones. The bigger the better. Infiltrate, pose as one of them and attack. I financed the disruption of Roudolph Guiliani’s weekly radio program for years - the screeners there kept trying to filter out my associate but he would expertly disguise his voice, acting like a suitable sycophantic fan of Guiliani, and get right past the screener only to blast the lying fraud Guiliani every week.

Lets make it a democratic tradition to take these bastards to task, have fun and excitement - but make it smart and clever - remember, the goal is to expose this lying filth for what they are and awaken the sleeping masses to what’s really going on. So don't alienate your intended audience - the American people. NO ANTI AMERICANISM - JUST ANTI LYING FILTH.

Now, here's my favorite part: Be intelligent so that you emerge as a hero and not the enemy. Do it with style. Remember, crashing some blowhard like Rush Limbaugh's radio program and pegging him for the blowhard that he is, is 100% legal.

News flash, Voxie: People who call radio shows just to clash with the host of the show or call him names are generally not seen as intelligent, nor do they come off as heroes unless, of course, your kind of hero is the type of person who thinks he wins points by name calling.

These New World Order retards are histories' single biggest group of fuck up's ever.

Oh, retards! I love your fifth grade vocabulary, Vox. And by the way, it would be fuck ups, not fuck up's. Intelligence, dear Voxie. Try it. Also, if the Republicans the Right are the single biggest group of fuck ups ever, what does the November elections say about the far left and the Democrats they wanted to elect? What do you call someone who falls below fuck up?

(Remember the old man Bush Sr. - He's so pumped full of psychoactive pharmacuedicals - Has been since his days as VP - that all he can do is screw up. I suspect the son is a big pharmaceudical user as well. (Although I cannot be sure))

That's pharmacueticals. Also, I hate double parentheses. Next time try using brackets for parenthetical material inside of other parenthetical material. Or maybe next time, try not to make statements you can't back up with nothing more than "I cannot be sure."

Now for the comments on Vox's call to arms:

how do you think most americans will do this though? The best most can do is watch donahue, a left-leaning program

Ha. Hahahha. Excuse me while I choke on my coffee. Do people still watch Donahue? Hasn't he been cancelled?

If you suggest for example that Sept 11th was carried out by the Government you are usually viewed as a conspiracy nut but hold fast to your beliefs and give it to the dumb fucks anyway you can.Most of the UK media channels have forums where you can spread the word of what really happened on Sept11th and the true direction that the NWO is leading us.

Pray tell, what really happened on September 11? Are there people who really believe this crap? Even I, who was still a (small l)iberal at that point, dismissed any theories that 9/11 was carried out by our own government.

Maybe you could contact the NATION OF ISLAM and ask them to post some of your articles on their website www.finalcall.com.I'm not a member of the Nation I'm a big supporter and a big fan of Minister Lewis Farrakhan.

No comment necessary.

I stopped reading the comments at that point because most of them were incomprehensible. As I looked at the post below the one linked above, my eyes gazed upon a picture of New York City backed by a mushroom cloud. Intrigued, I decided to -against my better judgment - read the article.

Secret US Based Forces plan to ignite Nuclear Bomb in New York
as pretext for global power grab
by voxfux

The analysis is clear - The sheer volume of the psychological info-warfare now being released into the media and principally targeted at the American people contains within it key indicators that point to an eminent inside attack.

After a large section of New York has been destroyed and contaminated, Americans in the midwest and south will rally in outpourings of emotion and support for the mass exodus of New Yorkers to different parts of the country. Americans will be glued to CNN as it delivers the gripping images of a valient George Bush fearlessly entering the radiation perimeter in full radiation gear, (the best available) live. Then after a commercial break (And terror warnings for Homeland "Security" and the TIPS "snitch on your neighbor program") we will focus on the compassionate George Bush visiting a hospital where a young girl, suffering from radiation sickness, is being treated. We can see the American people in a rage of anger. Fraudulent polls will show 97% of Americans want to use nuclear weapons on some country - any country. And we can see the rousing images of Bush and his running mate, probably Rudolf Guilianni, during the next election as they sweep across the South and Midwest locking up state after state sailing to an easy victory.

This is almost certainly how it’s going to play out.

Then it goes on and on and on, and endless litany of things that even most democrats I know would shake their heads at.

George Bush, Sr. planned the assasination attempt on Ronald Reagan.

All the news is fake, handed to reporters directly from the CIA.

If Bush's popularity goes down, he will have his operatives plant a "dirty bomb" in the U.S. in order to get his approval rating up again.

Bush will have dirty bombs planted in the Northeast in order to get people to migrate south into Texas, thus making the local Texas economy boom.

When the article started using words like "gatekeeper" and "doppleganger," I gave up.

My question is this: What kind of people follow someone like Vox? I view him as a cultish figure; mysterious, benevolent to those who follow him, yet ruthless to those who don't. He has given no definitve proof for any of his beliefs and most of his rantings are nothing more than far left propaganda. So why would anyone take his word at truth? Is the distrust in American government so ingrained in the readers of that site that they would believe anything Vox put out before them?

Do you believe any of it?

bring out your dead

I've been perusing the entries for Laurence's ATS Dead Pool contest. I have to say, I'm amused by some of the choices.

When it comes to contests and competition, I do not fool around. Just ask Bill Quick. My choices, made after careful research and using a mathematical formula, are all people who have a seriously good chance of kicking the bucket in 2003. For the record, those people are:

Ali, Muhammed; Auerbach, Red; Berra, Yogi; John Paul II; Koop, C. Everett; Mandela, Nelson; Reagan, Ronald; Salinger, J.D.; Strawberry, Daryl

Had I, like other people, gone with wishful thinking, the list would have been quite different. And had there not been that caveat to the rule that you couldn't actually kill one of your choices yourself, Ted Rall might have been on my list. But Jane Finch did pick Mr. Rall and I don't think there is anything in the rules that says I can't help her out.

(all links to players and their picks can be found on the ATSDP page)

Chuck Simmons made a wise choice with Courtney Love. The path to self-destruction is a swift one. Courtney's time is nigh. The days are also numbered for Whitney Houston in that respect, and a few people made the wise decision to include her.

Seven people chose Eminem. I have news for those seven - people like that do not die. They stick around to annoy you on purpose.

Nine people chose Keith Richards and I think that pick should be disqualified because the walking dead shouldn't count.

Jimbo had some odd choices with Cokie Roberts and Shakira. Do I sense a bit of disdain there? Cokie Roberts, that wouldn't shake my world. But Shakira - as a woman who appreciates the female form in all it's beauty, I would be saddened to not have Shakira's shaking ass to look at anymore.

Alex Knapp chose another, yet skankier, ass-shaker, Christina Aguilera. Good pick, she will obviously die from pnuemonia if she doesn't put some clothes on. Alex also picked Ben Affleck. He may be on to something. I think Ben is suffering from some kind of disease that makes his forehead grow lareger every day. It's the size of a small country now.

Stacy all chose Ben Affleck for her list. She had some rather interesting picks to go along with Ben, including Anna Nicole Smith who, once she gets off whatever medication she's on might die of embarassment when she sobers up and realizes what she has become, and Liam Gallagher, who very well might be killed by his own brother some day. That should be worth double points.

Kim Du Toit, not suprisingly, chose Sarah Brady and I won't even get into the ironic way in which I am assuming Kim envisions Mrs. Brady's demise. He also picked Helen Thomas. Some day I will be watching C-Span and Helen will keel over right there on tv and a few reporters, also in dead pools, will stand up and pump their fists in the air. And then Ari Fliescher will somehow be blamed for her death.

Jack, what's with Cedric the Entertainer? You have something up your sleeve?

Bret went with J.Lo, who just may die from exhaustion while running away from yet another marriage. Don Knotts is still alive?

Other strange picks included Montel Williams, Wynona Rider, Britney Spears, Perry Farrell (note to Mari, I think the drugs keep Perry in a constant state of limbo - he is neither dead nor alive), Macauley Culkin, Phil Donahue, Donald Trump, Oprah Winfrey, Maureen Dowd and Andrew Sullivan. I think the Sullivan pick was rather mean spirited and I will refrain from comment on that.

Note to Saren: Ann Coulter will not die. She sold her soul a long time ago and will thus live forever, tormenting liberals and conservatives alike with her special brand of vitriol.

disclaimer: For the more virtuous among us, I do not wish these people dead (for the most part) nor do I wish that horrible, deadly things will fall upon them. I do not condone the killing of celebrities/politicians for financial gain, nor do I condone assasinations of any sort in order to win a contest. However, I am all about having fun at the expense of others and laughing death in the face. Death is inevitable, folks, and with most of these people it will happen sooner rather than later. Personally, I think Daryl Strawberry should be a man and take one for the team. He was a selfish ballplayer his whole life. Now would be the time for him to prove that he can step up to the plate and win one for the Gipper. Me being the Gipper, of course.

You may commence with the hate mail/comments now.

i wonder what brad pitt had for dinner

People Magazine's 25 Most Intriguing People of 2002

intriguing

adj 1: disturbingly provocative; "an intriguing smile" [syn: challenging] 2: capable of arousing interest or curiosity

What do Jennifer Aniston, Jennifer Lopez, Julia Roberts and Sarah Jessica Parker all have in common?

Why yes, they are intriguing. According to People Magazine, at least.

Perhaps it is just me, but the above mentioned people arouse no curiosity or interest from me. Of all the people in the world, why would someone find Jennifer Aniston the most intriguing person of 2002? In order to be curious about someone, wouldn't there have to be some sort of mystery about them, something left to wonder about them?

When someone is on the cover of every magazine, the subject of every entertainment show at some point and has been covered in a plethora of "undercover" biographies, what is left to imagine? What is left to intrigue?

Perhaps it is because I am not a fan of Friends that I find the inclusion of Aniston silly at best. Maybe it's because I was never a big fan of Julia Robert's flashy smile or Sarah Jessica Parker (except in Square Pegs) and I despise Sex in the City, or that I know J.Lo is a serial fiance with a string of crappy movie choices behind her that I question the integrity of this list.

Are we, as a nation, so obsessed with Hollywood and its stars, so completely smitten with celebrity and beauty that we choose entertainment personalities over anyone else when looking back at the newsmakers and interesting personalities of the year?

And what is Britney Spears still doing on a list like this? Hasn't she been declared a has-been yet? Isn't she one crappy single away from porn stardom?

Rosie O'Donnell stopped being intriguing from the first words she spoke on her talk show.

Chelsea Clinton? Don't know what she's up to and don't care.

Jimmy Carter? The only thing that intrigues me about him is my visions of stuffing his mouth so full of peanuts he will never be able to speak in public again.

Saddam? Nothing intriguing about him because it's all out in the open. I don't spend my nights wondering what makes the man tick, because it's obvious what does: power. Now, if you were to include his viscious, blood-hungry son Uday on the list, I would be more inclined to agree with the choice. But this is People magazine, and we wouldn't want to scare the readers away with thoughts of torture.

Charles Moose? Most people stopped caring about him the minute CNN stopped scrolling constant sniper updates on the tv screen.

The Osbournes? Ozzy was intriguing to me when I was 13 and was fascinated by this bat-biting prince of darkness. Now, I just look at him and see my youth in the guise of an old man.

I find Dr. Phil intriguing if only for the fact that I can't figure out why people worship every word that he utters. He is a condescending show-man who has probably harmed more relationships than he cured. Why do people hang on his every word when I think he's just making the shit up as he goes along sometimes, often making his guest feel worse than they did to start out?

I suppose, as one who has never take to reading The Star or The Enquirer, that I am just failing to understand America's fascination with celebrities, at least not to the depth that anyone should care what Brad Pitt had for lunch or what style bra - if any - Drew Barrymore wore to the Oscars.

I just think there has to be more intriguing people than most of those that made the list.

December 28, 2002

best of is a subjective term

In reference to my collecting the best of the blogs and related stories for 2002, someone asked if I had my own personal favorite post from this year - something I wrote.

I don't know. I never thought about it and I didn't intend to put one of my own posts onto the list.

Do you have a favorite, something I wrote that made you think or laugh or want to drop an anvil on my head?

talk dirty to me

It's good to be on AIM again, especially talking to Melly.

Especially when, after not speaking to her in months on AIM, our conversations picks right back up where they left off:

melandthebean: the pickle goes in me bum
comixho: ohhhh pickled butt plugs!

Thanks, I'll be on AIM all night. Talk dirty to me.

destroy capitalism, but wait until you drop a few bucks at my bar

So, a guy walks into a bar.

Say, it's called The DNA Lounge in San Francisco.

Now, say this DNA Lounge has an ATM machine.

Guy walks up to the ATM machine so he can get some money to spend on drinks at this establishment. As he inserts his card, a message -one of several different messages - appears on the screen.

Suprise suprise:
The government lies
.

He takes his card out and tries again, wondering if he saw right. Another message flashes:

Destroy capitalism: Smash the state.

The guy looks around, waiting for a punchline. And then he realized, there is no punchline.

The owner of the DNA Lounge has programmed the ATM machine to cycle through four different messages. The top of the screen always reads: SUBMIT - CONFORM - OBEY-MARRY AND REPRODUCE-NEVER QUESTION. The receipt the machine gives you after your transaction has a header that reads: SHOPPING IS NOT CREATING YOU ARE NOT WHAT YOU OWN.

Now, the owner's opinion is his own and, as he has a contract to rent the ATM machine and he owns the space in which the machine resides, he has a right to state that opinion in whatever way he wishes. Even if it means shoving it in the faces of ever person who uses the ATM.

So, one would surmise that the owner of the DNA Lounge, by virtue of his messages in the ATM, would wish to destroy capitalism and he believes that spending your money on shopping is, how shall we say...evil. Or something to that effect.

Interesting concept for a man who owns a business which depends on people spending money.

$25 to get in the door if you would like to see their sex show which is -my word! sponsored by people who sell things. Presumably these items are sold for cash. Capitalism at work.

And what's this? The DNA Lounge website has a merchandise page!

DNA Lounge t-shirts have been authorized for mass consumption. Scientific tests prove that wearing Official DNA Lounge Merchandise makes you stronger, healthier, and more desirable. These fine products are available at coat-check every night we're open, or you can order them online, below.

Oh, yes. Very tongue in cheek. Very wry humor. But merchandise nonetheless. $15 a pop for these t-shirts that must be the very hippest in attire for San Fran anti-capitalists.

SHOPPING IS NOT CREATING YOU ARE NOT WHAT YOU OWN.
DESTROY CAPITALISM. SMASH THE STATE.
SURPRISE SUPRISE, THE GOVERNMENT LIES
(but don't worry if you're buying DNA Lounge wear or spending money on drinks at our state-of-the-art bar because we only mean destroy capitalism as long and shopping sucks when it doesn't apply to the DNA Lounge making a buck off of you and the state may lie but we are still nice little people who conform to all state code laws because when we mean smash the state we only mean for you to do it, making you conform to our way of thinking, even if we don't follow it ourselves, because, after all, we may come off as free-thinking, far left, peace, love and classless society lovers, but we really are just money-loving capitalist pigs ourselves. But hey, that won't bring in the Bay area liberals now, would it?)

Well, that's what it should say.

my year in comics, part one: Preacher

preacher_8_ger.gif
My all time favorite comic is the Preacher series. I've read it from the beginning, but starting after the first collected came out, I began to wait for the collected volumes - still collecting the single series - and read those instead. Waiting sometimes seemed like torture, but I prefer to read comics in chunks instead of single issues.

For some reason, I never bought the collected #8 or #9, the last two in the series, even though I bought the singles. So, for the longest time, the Preacher story was left hanging in my mind.

For Christmas, Justin bought me 8 and 9. Since Christmas night, I have been reading the entire collected series, from start to finish. Like a good book.

Actually, this has been better than most books I read this year. Great character development by Garth Ennis; good writing and a twisting, turning story line. Steve Dillon's artwork and Glenn Fabry's covers do the story justice, setting the mood for each story line and bringing the cast of characters to life in such detail that they seem real, not drawn.

Preacher is not for the faint of heart. It is violent, sexually graphic and deviant and contains healthy doses of religion, war and mysticism, often invoking a stark sense of the old west or great war movies. Oh, vampires and Bill Hicks, too. There are some characters in this series that would give even the most stoic person nightmares.

As with any decent story, I became attached to the characters. When one of them turned out to be something/someone I did not imagine him to be, I felt as if I had been stabbed in the back (even though he listened to The Clash). That's good writing.

Comic books and graphic novels are often looked upon as not "real" literature or books, but I dare anyone to glance through the Preacher series and tell me that it's not better than half the crap on the New York Times bestseller list.

I had heard rumors of a movie version of Preacher and, while I would like to see it get the recognition it deserves, I can only imagine that the story would be mangled beyond recognition in film. Selfishly, I hope it never gets made.

While Preacher was not exactly a 2002 creation, I finished it (barely) in 2002, so it goes on my list of top comic book moments of this year. And I've got a Texas-sized crush on Jesse Custer.

cluck!

I finally got a Golden Chicken Award!!

My day is complete.

get your tin foil hats here!

Jack Cluth posted about a site that tells you how to prevent alien abductions.

Now, you may think that alien abduction is a funny subject, but not everyone does.

Just about a year ago, I wrote about my sleep problems, which include hypnagogic dreams and sleep paralysis as well as vivid, detailed dreams/nightmares which leave me exhausted upon waking.

Several people wrote to me to say that my problems weren't related to sleep, but that I was being abducted by aliens during the night and used for experimentation. They were even kind enough to include links to studies on the subject.

Of course, I thought it was pure bullshit. I had a conversation with my mother about it.

Me: So, people have been saying that I don't sleep well because aliens kidnap me at night.
Mom: Oh, they aren't kidnapping you. They are trying to return you to your real parents.

Thanks, mom.

Anyhow, of the 58 signs that you have been abducted by aliens, I can say yes to most of them, but with other explanations.

However, I've never had a missing fetus (#15), and "Have a fear that you must be very vigilant or you will be taken away by "someone.'"(#52) can be directly attributed to the Department of Homeland Security. As for #25 - Have had, at any time, blood or strangl stain on sheet or pillow, with no explanation of how it got there, if can say yes to that and #34 -Have awoken with soreness in your genitals which can not be explained - then my husband needs to stop watching porn before he goes to bed.

Perhaps I'll invest in one of Michael Menkin's Thought Screen Helmets just to play it safe. I mean, how can you argue with a testimonial like this:

“Since trying Michael Menkin’s Helmet, I have not been bothered by alien mind control. Now my thoughts are my own. I have achieved meaningful work and am contributing to society. My life is better than ever before. Thank you Michael for the work you are doing to save all humanity.”- Jon Locke, alien abductee

Well, John Locke, I think that by letting the aliens take you away to their super-secret planet and staying there would be a great contribution to society.

Shit, I'm out of tin foil.

(bonus mp3 and lyrics included in the MORE section!)

Radiohead "Subterranean Homesick Alien": listen

The breath of the morning
I keep forgetting
The smell of the warm summer air

I live in a town
Where you can't smell a thing
You watch your feet
For cracks in the pavement

Up above
Aliens hover
Making home movies
For the folks back home

Of all these weird creatures
Who lock up their spirits
Drill holes in themselves
And live for their secrets

They're all uptight
Uptight.. (x7)

I wish that they'd swoop down in a country lane
Late at night when I'm driving
Take me on board their beautiful ship
Show me the world as I'd love to see it

I'd tell all my friends
But they'd never believe
They'd think that I'd finally lost it completely

I'd show them the stars
And the meaning of life
They'd shut me away
But I'd be all right
All right..

I'm just uptight
Uptight..

they're always polite to their neighbors

Bronx Boy, 13, Shot Dead; killed in elevator after dispute

The first part of the story explains what happened - two young cousins ended up in an elevator with a man who thought the 13 year old was challenging him (which he was not) - the man shot the 13 year old in the head in front of his ten year old cousin, killing him.

The second half of the story reads like this:

Those who know [alleged murderer]James said the slaying doesn't make sense.

A friend of James who asked not to be identified asked why such a big man would "need a gun for a 13-year-old.”

"He's not that kind of person,” the friend continued, adding that James regularly helps tenants, especially older ones, with tasks such as carrying their grocery bags into the building. The friend recalled that James' Chevrolet Tahoe sport utility vehicle recently had been broken into and the radio was stolen. But instead of getting angry, James "was like, ‘What the hell, I'll save up and get another one,'” his friend said.

Norma Ferrer, 65, a retired hospital worker who lives in the building, also was puzzled.

"I can't say anything bad about Demetrius (James),” said Ferrer, who is friends with James' mother and says she has known him all his life. "He's always been nice to me. It's unbelievable.”

A woman who lived next door to Marcus' grandmother on the 12th floor clutched her chest, leaned against the wall and cried, "Oh, God,” when told James had been arrested in the boy's slaying.

"He was always rather respectful,” said the woman, who asked not to be identified.

When questioned by reporters, James' mother turned her head, her eyes welling with tears, and said, "I have no comment. Leave me alone.”

I sat here for a few moments after reading this, trying to figure out why it bothered me so much.

Ah, I know. It's the way that the media - print media inparticular - tend to write stories with glowing accolades of the (alleged) perpetrator of a crime.

Didn't anyone say what a nice boy the dead 13 year old was?

Didn't anyone clutch their chest and cry in agony when they found out Brandon Marcus was dead?

Didn't anyone else seem puzzled why a 13 year old was shot in the head in an elevator by a 26 year old man?

Let's ignore the victim and paint a nice profile of the thug instead. Next, the writers will be looking for the root causes as to why James had violent tendencies and such a short fuse.

No thanks. I'd rather know a little something about the victim than try, even for a second, to care that a cold blooded killer was polite to his neighbors.

notice

Next person who leaves a freaking snowball in my comments gets their IP banned.

On the subject of comments, calling each other names is really so fifth grade. Can we try to engage in some discourse or debate instead? Thanks.

December 27, 2002

action figure theater

It's Friday night. The kids are at their dad's and Justin and I have some much needed alone time. So what are we doing? No, not that.

We are dressing our action figures up in Natalie's American Girl doll clothes.

click for supersize

The Cave Troll shows off his "get in the kitchen and make me some pie" ensemble while Rob Zombie models the latest in patriotic footwear

"You come back here right this minute with that ring or I'll give you such a beating!"

We really need better hobbies.

come again?

The Fat Guy pointed me to this post at Anil Dash's place (Anil also made a rather bah-humbug appearance here while Laurence was at the helm. I'm wondering if Anil has made it his mission to seek out every non-PC post in certain parts of the blogosphere and reply to them). The post was regarding the celebration of Christmas in mostly non-Christian countries.

Anyhow, it's not so much Anil's post I have the problem with, but a comment from one of his readers:

In a post 9/11 world celebrating Christmas is aligning yourself with the Western modernity.

A dollar to the first person who can fully explain the thinking behind that sentence. Thank you.

Bill Cimino and his express ticket to hell

Bill Cimino is going to hell. Again. Man, no one is going to burn in eternal flames like Bill.

Do not click if you are a)offended by the thought of the apostles giving each other handjobs or b) if you are drinking or eating. Swallow first. I'm sure Peter did.

i love it when you call me barney!

Children uncover pornographic photo in music book

BERGENFIELD, N.J. -- Two young children who wanted to sing along with Barney the Dinosaur instead uncovered a surprise when they opened their music book _ a photograph of a man and woman in a naked embrace...Along with the English-language "Wilder Sex," she said the page included other adult movie reviews _ written in German _ that were rated with pairs of lips instead of the more common stars.

Once, when Natalie was the tender age of four and Barney was all the rage, I thought about putting scary pictures into her Barney books and videos, thinking that maybe she would be so horrified and traumatized I would never have to see that purple dinosaur again.

I just thought about it. I didn't do it.

The picture these kids found was hardly pornographic. But if you think about it, children their age are very impressionable. Some day, when one of those tykes is older and in the clutches of his very first naked embrace, an image of Barney will pop into his head and he'll be in therapy the very next day.

Publications International Ltd., the book's Illinois-based publisher, has had similar problems in the past and claims the China-based company that produces books is to blame for the errors.

See, it's all part of the Chinese government's subversive attempts to get Americans to stop being so obsessed with sex. Get them while they are young, and today's future sex addicts are tomorrow's impotent shock-therapy patients. Who can get it up when "I love you, you love me" plays in their head everytime they get close to a naked person?

While Publications International officials were not immediately available for comment, they noted in a letter to the family that the picture was not especially shocking.

"The material is no more graphic than what's seen on magazines, billboards and TV every day," the letter said.

Well, yea. But Mr. Rogers or Big Bird isn't happily humming in the background of Abercrombie and Fitch ads.

Yet.

some people think it's funny...

I don't know about you, but I hope that when I make the front page of CNN some day, it's not in a story that refers to a bout with violent vomiting and diarrhea. Even if I am mayor.

Who needed to know that? Is anyone else picturing Mayor Daley and his wife laying on their living room floor surrounded by runny shit?

No? Ok, it's just me, then.

today's (and 2002's) required reading

So this is what I'm going to do. Required Reading of 2002. Culled from the blogosphere and online news articles, and hopefully from a list sent in by all of you, I'll start posting the definitive list of required reading for the past year. No matter what your ideology, politic or point of view, if you felt something - a blog post, a news article - was especially important, profound or maybe just hysterically funny, please send it to me and I'll start compiling a year-end round up of what made us tick in 2002. You can either email me or leave a link here in the comments. I appreciate also if you leave a short note as to why this post/article was important to you or what it meant to you.


One of my favorite readers, Alistair McKay, sent me a list of articles that had an impact on him in the past year. So far, this one is my favorite and it is today's required reading, even if you read it already:

Goodbye, All That: How Left Idiocies Drove Me to Flee
by Ron Rosenbaum
(originally published 10/14/02 in the N.Y. Observer)

Goodbye to a culture of blindness that tolerates, as part of "peace marches," women wearing suicide-bomber belts as bikinis. (See the accompanying photo of the "peace" march in Madrid. "Peace" somehow doesn’t exclude blowing up Jewish children.)

Rosenabaum's personal farewell to the left certainly ranks among the best I've read this year; mostly because I came to have the same epiphany of sorts that he did.

If you have an article or blog post (yours or someone else's) that you feel should be among the year's required reading, please leave a link in the comments or email me.

(please note that html is allowed in comments. Do not leave long urls as it messes up the sidebar. If you don't know how to leave a URL in html, please email me instead)

at raising hell

"I know you wanted the $100 Nike sneakers, but I didn't want to support child labor and sweatshops. Payless shoes are made in America, kids! Wear them with pride!"

My helpful post-Christmas tips at Raising Hell.

Attack of the clones

CNN is reporting that an announcement from Clonaid regarding the birth of a human clone is forthcoming, while an Australian news site is reporting that the birth has already taken place.

A BABY has been born through cloning, French scientist and member of the Raelian sect Brigitte Boisselier has claimed.

The baby, a girl, was born on Thursday by caesarean section. The birth "went very well," said Boisselier, president of the human cloning society Clonaid, on the telephone.

First, I should state that I don't even believe the claims to be true.

The most telling facts about Clonaid come from this statement:

Clonaid, which calls itself the "first human cloning company," was founded by a religious group called the Raelians in 1997. Boisselier is a bishop in the Raelian movement, which professes that life on Earth was created through genetic engineering by extraterrestrials.

The Raelians believe their spiritual leader Rael is a direct descendant of these aliens. Rael told CNN in July 2001 that the long-term goal for human cloning is to live forever. Rael says cloning a baby is only the first step: Eventually the group wants to learn how to clone an adult, then "transfer the brain to the clone."

I don't mean to offend any of you extraterrestrials out there, but how the hell does this kind of technology get into the hands of a freak cult wihtout being regulated? Can any scientist with an agenda form a little club and start cloning babies to fit their needs?

Suppose a white power group hooks up with a fellow aryan nation lover who just happens to be a scientist with an extensive knowledge of cloning technology? This kind of power and science in the hands of the wrong people is an evil thing with the potential for disaster.

I don't know how much credence I put into the claims of a cult that believes they are aliens, but the thought is frightening.

Legally, there's very little to stop scientists from cloning. In January, the National Academy of Sciences recommended a ban on human cloning, but only four states -- California, Michigan, Louisiana and Rhode Island -- ban any type of cloning research.

The FDA claims it has jurisdiction over human cloning based on the Public Health Service and Food, Drug and Cosmetic Act. It says it would regulate the cloning process like a drug.

The myriad of things that can go wrong with human cloning reads like a litany of sci-fi movie plot devices. No one knows what can happen to a perfectly normal-seeming baby clone once the infant starts to grow. Sheep, cows and mice - among other animals - have been cloned before and while they appeared normal at birth, developed problems later on.

Cloning humans while the technology is still new and unproven is akin to experimenting on babies. I am all for cloning research, as the benefits of cloning animals may lead to important scientific findings in the field of health and medicine, but as far as cloning humans, why create a life that may end up being one of sickness, deformities or even very short lived? Why take the risk with a human when you don't know what the consequences are yet?

Boisselier says the immediate purpose for cloning is to help infertile couples, but I can't imagine any couple so desperate to have a child that they would take all the risks that come with an unproven science to conceive a baby. And while Boisselier may try to pretend the motives of her group are altruistic, I repeat these words from above: Rael told CNN in July 2001 that the long-term goal for human cloning is to live forever. Rael says cloning a baby is only the first step: Eventually the group wants to learn how to clone an adult, then "transfer the brain to the clone.

Living forever in and of itself is one of the worst ideas known to man. The brain transfer theory seems like an attempt to create their own race or cult of like-minded, same-looking people. Put together, the possibilities are frightening.

The future is here, and I'm not liking it.

December 26, 2002

The 2002 SmallVictoriestm: awards you may not want to win

I'm just getting warmed up. I'll probably be doing posts like this intermittenly for the next week or so. Feel free to add your own two, three or five cents.

I'm also going to put up a poll for the Blogosphere story of the year. Basically, which news story was the most widely discussed on blogs, or most important to bringing blogging out of the dusty corners of the web and into the mainstream. If you have nominations for that, let me know.

Now, some movie awards:

Worst remake of the year:

Rollerball. If you blinked, you missed it in the movie theaters. If you are a sadist, you rented/bought the DVD. If you saw the original with James Caan in the movie theater in 1975, you - like myself - didn't even bother to see the 2002 version. Yet, you know it was unspeakably bad.

Blasphemy of the Year:
Slap Shot 2. The greatest sports movie of all time did not need a sequel, especially one starring a Baldwin brother. Old time hockey! Eddie Shore! Eh, nevermind. You wouldn't get it.

Movie that nobody saw that I really liked:

The Salton Sea

Movie that everyone liked that I hated:

Mr. Deeds. Then again, I hate Adam Sandler with a passion usually reserved for my loathing of Ted Rall.

Movie that just did not live up to it's potential:
Death to Smoochy. What should have a been a dark, funny, sinister farce was vapid, boring and disappointing.

Movie that I watched in 2002 although it didn't come out in 2002 and should win some kind of award:
Battle Royale:

Japan at the dawn of a new millennium. The country is in a state of chaos, violence by rebellious teenagers in schools is completely out of control. The government hits back with a new law: Battle Royale. Every year a school class picked at random will be cast away on an abandoned island to fight it out amongst themselves. It lasts three days, everyone gets food, water and a weapon, ONLY ONE MAY SURVIVE.

This, folks, is must see theater.

mr. heat meiser

I'm calling a moratorium on snowballs. Next person that leaves a snowball image in my comments will find a flaming bag of dog shit on their front steps tomorrow morning.

Then again, if it wasn't for a comment snowball fight today, I would have had like three comments all day.

Still. Flaming bag of dog shit. You hear?

something something of the year

It's taking me a while to get back in the mood for blogging about war and terrorism and politics in general. Plus, these cretins keep throwing snowballs at me in my comments, but I took care of them good. I hid a nice sized rock in each snowball I threw back at them. That'll teach 'em.

I'm thinking of a year end wrap up. I usuall do a best-of music review at the end of the year but music sort of sucked donkey balls in 2002. I suppose I could do the best movies I saw - or the worst. Maybe the best comics I read this year or the worst tv shows I saw or just a review of the year in general or the year in blogging review.

Any suggestions?

In a few hours I'm going to put to use the margarita set that Justin bought me. Maybe even the shotglasses that my sister bought for us or the beer mugs that my parents gave us....I wonder if my family thinks I drink a lot? Anyhow, I'll get back to newsblogging later tonight. Meanwhile, if you can make suggestions as to what kind of year-end review you would like to see me do (and I do think that either the year in blogging or maybe a contest for blogging moment of the year or biggest blog story or....) well, leave any ideas or suggestions or pleas to not bother with it in the comments.

Right now, I've got new toys that need to be paid attention to.

Christmas photo essay: the beauty of snow, the wisdom of homer

This post has been moved to the photoblog

deck the hall with tons of boxes?

Happy Boxing Day!

We may not officially celebrate Boxing Day but, from what I understand, December 26 (in Britain, Australia, New Zealand, and Canada) is a day to spend time with your family and play games. Basically, that is what we do here, in addition to throwing out a hundred boxes, so I guess this is our own version of Boxing Day.

Of course, my son thought it was the day he should wake his sister up by punching her in the head. And then maybe gather around the tv while we watch Rocky 1-4. Maybe make fun of Mike Tyson for a little bit, which is always a fun family game.

Anyhow, Christmas was great and I intend to post a gazillion pictures of our presents and the snow and the kids engaging in a rumble at my aunt's house on Christmas Eve.

It's odd how going just one day without posting can make you feel so out of practice. And now I have to try to be as entertaining as Laurence in order to keep the readers he sent over here. I do not have cats, people! That's what seperates me from Lair. Well, that and the whole anatomy thing.

Yea. I'm off to troll the news sites and upload some pictures.

It's good to be back.

one last quote...

"Thank you, thank you very much. I'm here 'til Thursday. Try the veal."

(BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!)

December 25, 2002

and all through the house

Christmas was wonderful and very white.

I'd like to thank Laurence for filling in and keeping everyone who came around during the holiday amused. Maybe I'll return the favor and blog for him on Yom Kippur.

I'm on vacation until next Thursday. Normal blogging will resume with a vengeance tomorrow.

For now, all the creatures are done stirring and I'm going to go to sleep while visions of Christmas bills dance in my head.

Worth all the smiles, though. Hope yours was as merry as ours.

As the curtain falls...

(Posted by Laurence Simon as part of the Amish Tech Support Occupation of A Small Victory during the holidays))

Let's check the scorecard for this goofball 1-800-JEW-BLOG idea , shall we?

Amish Tech Support, Amish Tech Support Dead Pool, A Small Victory, Overtaken By Events, Liquid Courage, and a token test post at Peoples Republic of Seabrook.

Okay, so I blew off Ho Ho Holy Shit and IsraPundit for the time being, but hey... it's not like I'm the only Jewblogger out there who can take up the slack for our celebrating Goy friends, nu?

So, how did I do? I've been keeping an eye on the blogrolling.com reciprolls for Michele of A Small Victory just to see if my posts there are causing the audience to flee in horror and disgust. It turns out she's gaining readership from this little 1-800-JEW-BLOG experiment. Binkley just tacked her on his list of reads.

Isn't this place great, Bink? Just wait until she has a few in her and really gets a head of steam up. That's when the fun begins!

Of course, I just lost a reader from my blogrolling reciproll list. Thanks for stopping by, Unnamed Individual! Glad to have been the least wholesome part of a nutritious breakfast!

Next year, more. Lots more. The concept is proven, a precedent has been established, and a demand is being met. In fact, I'm almost inspired to try a campaign of A Blog A Day, where I, the Wandering Jew, go from blog to blog until I have been on 365 different blogs, one for each day of the year.

A man can dream, can't he?

Now for all you African-American bloggers out there looking for someone to take the reins while you go off and do whatever Kwanzaa thing you go, have I got a deal for you. I mean, let's face it: you were slaves, we were slaves. Neither of us can get elected President.

Drop me a line, I've got the time.

the uss new york

(Posted by Laurence Simon as part of the Amish Tech Support Occupation of A Small Victory during the holidays)

Michele's a New Yawker, so I figured quite a few of you folks are, too. Here's a little something for all you New Yawkers out there looking for a little Christmas cheer... scrap from the World Trade Center will be used to help build the USS New Yawk:

Sorry. I meant to say USS New York. My bad.

Steel salvaged from the wreckage of the World Trade Center will be used to build the Navy's USS New York, a warship named in honor of those who perished in New York on Sept. 11, 2001.

The scrap steel will be extricated from the Fresh Kills landfill on Staten Island on Friday and trucked south to a Northrop Grumman shipyard in Pascagoula, Miss. Northrop Grumman will start building the USS New York in Pascagoula in the middle of next year.

The USS New York will be the fifth of 12 amphibious assault ships in the San Antonio class, which the Navy calls one of its most technologically innovative. The 684-foot vessel will carry a Navy crew of 402 and up to 800 Marines.

I heard a rumor that they were could to use Al Sharpton's hair to weave into the mooring ropes, too.

Now, normally state names are reserved for submarines, but an exception has been made in this case to allow the USS New York label to be used on an assault vehicle instead of an undersea "Melt their sand pit into molten glass and singed camel dung" retaliatory vessel. Other states and cities are getting into the act now, begging to have their names placed on vehicles other than submarines:

USS New Jersey: Garbage scow for the USS New York.
USS Maryland: Army sniper transport.
USS New Orleans: A USO-run submarine that only sinks two inches a year.
USS Detroit: Floating mosque, hospital ship for enemy casualties.
USS Florida: Troop transport that can carry 5,000 Marines and 5,000 Army troops. Or was that 5,500 Marines and 4,500 Army Troops? We need a recount!
USS California: Designed as a nuclear-powered submarine, the pile's been shut down and it's forced to borrow power from the USS Texas

(Posted by Laurence Simon as

(Posted by Laurence Simon as part of the Amish Tech Support Occupation of A Small Victory during the holidays)

Despite an overwhelming number of requests, I am not going to put a boob-shot of myself up here. I will not be girding my chest or loins with Christmas wrapping, candy-canes hanging from my nipples or other appendages, or encasing body parts with wax from menorah candles.

Sure, I'm flattered, but you'll just have to wait for Michele to come back and beg her, okay?

(If you're really nice to me, however, I might just do a little something with strategically-placed Matzoh for Passover.)

A Little Pope-A-Dope For Your Amusement

(Posted by Laurence Simon as part of the Amish Tech Support Occupation of A Small Victory during the holidays)

I really don't envy those of you out there who are Catholics. I mean, here's an example of a Catholic who needs to get in touch with a good Jewish lawyer: Pope makes plea for peace.

You might have missed it, considering that these days there's 500 channels out there for you to watch instead of the 4 or 5 broadcast channels all covering the same scratchy video out of Rome. Here's a few mumbled highlights the BBC felt necessary to pollute the web with:

Delivering his Christmas Midnight Mass homily at the Vatican, the Pope said the Nativity signified "God's merciful love" for the poor and oppressed, for sinners, for those who felt lonely and abandoned.

Christ's message remained valid for "those suffering from conflicts of every kind", the head of the Roman Catholic Church said.

"The centuries and the millennia pass, but the sign remains, and it remains valid for us too - the men and women of the third millennium.

"It is a sign of hope for the whole human family; a sign of peace for those suffering from conflicts of every kind; a sign of freedom for the poor and oppressed; a sign of mercy for those caught up in the vicious circle of sin; a sign of love and consolation for those who feel lonely and abandoned.

"A small and fragile sign, a humble and quiet sign, but one filled with the power of God who out of love became man."

At this point, with his empire reduced to a few city blocks in Rome and even starving nations of the world spitting the atom and spinning the products down into warheads, any good attorney would convince him to plea war but negotiate for a reduced sentence.

Let's face it: this Pope's done his job. Poland's a free country now, every slope has been skied, and ignorance about women's reproductive rights has been maintained for yet another generation. Now that he's asleep at the tiller, the hired help's getting their grubby hands on the merchandise and getting slapped time and time again by the press, so to speak.

He's just been working off fumes, and the incense is burning low. It's time this guy got his eternal nap and a few days lying in state so that another guy can free his country.

Maybe some good can come out of a little change. Who's the Archbishop of Zimbabwe these days? Do they have a Lech Walesa in a dashiki down there for Pope Unga Bunga the First to act as PR Guy to, or has Bobby Mugabe already slit his throat?

Waking up...

(Posted by Laurence Simon as part of the Amish Tech Support Occupation of A Small Victory during the holidays)

Most people wake up on Christmas Day to stacks of presents and the occasional corpse of a pet that ate just a little too much tinsel.

Me, I wake up to the furniture having been moved around while I slept.

A few pictures are off the walls, a few others are back on the walls, and an end table has moved from the entryway to a spot next to the couch. Also, the kitchen now has a few hanging green glass lanterns that will shatter over the cat food stations when the hooks end up falling out like they always do.

The cats are spooked by the changes, rubbing their cheeks against anything that's out of place and wandering around to get a good idea of how to navigate the furniture should they decide to chase each other like crazed rabbits.

The aspirin and shotglass of Goldschlager are still there. I figure that if the fat son-of-a-bitch ends up coming here, then he's tired enough to need a belt and some pain relief.

Just as well he didn't come... even though Nardo, Piper, and Edloe would have bolted, Frisky would have smothered him to death and we left a firelog going, too.

Carnival of the vanities #14

(Posted by Laurence Simon as part of the Amish Tech Support Occupation of A Small Victory during the holidays)

Instead of going nuts reading every other instance of me spread across some blogs here as part of the 1-800-JEW-BLOG Project, why not go back and read what people thought was their best and brightest, collected up in the Carnival of the Vanities? Sure, it's usually at Bigwig at Silflay Hraka but this time it's on tour and Ravenwood's Universe has got the nod.

If you're crazy enough to be on the web during the anniversary of your saviour's birth, go read the stuff and have a Merry Christmas anyway.

December 24, 2002

Merry Christmas, Movie House!

(Posted by Laurence Simon as part of the Amish Tech Support Occupation of A Small Victory during the holidays)

My wife is watching every single holiday special, Christmas classic movie, and remake of the Christmas Carol that the Idiot Box has to offer.

Yuck. This is why I'm in here, blogging for everybody else with my 1-800-JEW-BLOG concept.

Anyway, I may have mentioned before that I like to play a little game with these holiday classics where I cut off the movie near the ending and see how the tone of the movie completely changes. Heck, I play this game with every classic movie, really, but it's Christmas and we can pretend it's a Christmas tradition.

"It's A Wonderful Life" is so much more interesting if Harry Bailey jumps in the river to rescue Clarence, but you cut off the movie and you assume they both drown. Truly a German gestalt waiting to happen.

"A Christmas Carol" brightens my day when Ebenezer Scrooge is weeping, hanging on his own headstone as the grim Ghost of Christmas Future, and then I just assume that he wakes up the next morning and brushes off the haunting as a bit of bad sausage. He lives a long, evil life torturing his assistant Bob and Tiny Tim dies.

"The Grinch Who Stole Christmas" Just when the Grinch has the sleigh full of all the stuff he stole from The Whos cresting the mountain, he ends up ditching it into the valley below. That whiny and disloyal Max the Dog is crushed along with the goods as they tumble down the slope and smash to flinders.

Any moment now, I can expect my wife to weep with joy as George Bailey stumbles across the fake snowbanks, shouting "Merry Christmas, Movie House!" If the movie house wants to make my Christmas merrier, they can lose all the third reels and get a little more realistic.

I was going to write a happy ending to this piece, but... you get the idea.

Give your grocery store the finger.

(Posted by Laurence Simon as part of the Amish Tech Support Occupation of A Small Victory during the holidays)

Here's something that everyone can agree with during the holiday season as we stand in long lines and wait for that jerk with the full shopping cart at the shelf-check to get done: giving your grocery store the finger:

Kroger Co., the largest U.S. supermarket chain, is offering some customers just that opportunity, testing finger imaging as a method of payment in three of its Texas stores.

A machine scans the index finger, matching the customer's unique fingerprint with the individual's account.

The company avoids the term "fingerprinting" because of its law enforcement connotation -- the same reason the technology is applied to the index finger, rather than the thumb.

Customers can register for the voluntary program by presenting a drivers license, an index finger and a method of payment -- either credit card, debit card or electronic check.

"Early indications are that it's being well received by the customer, the new technology is performing well, and it is saving both time and money," said Gary Huddleston, manager of consumer affairs for Kroger's Southwest division.

The company has been testing finger imaging in the Texas towns of Bryan and College Station for about nine months. About 10,000 customers are currently participating.

If I'm not mistaken, either some Aggies or a Rice professor demonstrated how to defeat their fingerprint security with a simple gelatin-based fingerprint overlay or prosthesis finger. It was completely surreptitious, and only needed a good fingerprint to generate.

Sure, it's still easier to clone a credit card number or credit rating identity, and the security and relative difficulty of faking a biometric is inherently more secure. However, biometrics have a huge hurdle to get over with Big Brother-like fears. Heck, that's inflated by the horribly science-ignorant press, just like ignorance over how truly difficult it is to work up a fake finger or any other method of "hacking" a biometric.

It's sort of like airline security, really. People assume credit cards are safe, the appearances of security make people feel better, and the truth is that all the credit card companies do is make up bogus commercials with red-line safes and walls and bear traps around their easily-poached numbers. Where airline security failures resulted in thousands of deaths last year, credit security failures mess with millions of futures.

Instead of preventing the crimes, the credit card companies "aggressively" pursue cased after the fact only when they're a bit curious, but usually when it's after the fact and the damage has been done. Then there's the hassle of discovering and disputing and disproving each charge to the credit card company, and then the ever-muleheaded credit reporting agencies.

Better to prevent such misuse entirely, and to find a method to prove that you is really you.

weren't you supposed to be christmasing or something like that?

(Posted by Laurence Simon as part of the Amish Tech Support Occupation of A Small Victory during the holidays)

Jesus, is that cumbersome or what?

At first I was going to say "Well shouldn't you have your name or some credit variable in your template, you holiday-crazy bitch?" but then I realized that I don't have a credit variable within the template on my own site.

That's when it hit me. I'm not so crazy as to open up my own site to outsiders. You must be really fried from all this Christmas crap you Goyim freak out over. I offer to bust my fingers and keyboard to keep the homepagefires burning, and you come back here for the nitpicky bitchslap.

Fine. Just be ready to hand the reins over to me for a few months when they haul you off in your brand-new straightjacket for being such a site addict.

RELAX, WOMAN! ENJOY YOUR FREAKING HOLIDAYS! I'VE GOT A HANDLE ON THINGS! IF YOUR READERS ARE SO DUMB AS TO CONFUSE ME FOR YOU, THEN... Then...

I'm breaking that cardinal rule of insulting the readership again, aren't I?

Oops. Just chalk that up to a "Bad Ash" moment, okay?

As for the feedback via e-mail, I'm getting cc: copies of all the comments that are being posted up here. If you feel like sending something to me in private regarding what's up here, trust me, it's not worth saying. If you're going to try to take me down or make me flinch, you're going to need large numbers of very large people and private e-mails won't make that dog bark.

just one second here...

Michele speaking..


May I interject here for a moment?

Please remember that LAURENCE made those posts below and LAURENCE should, at the top of his posts put POSTED BY LAURENCE so he gets the hate mail and not me.

You can reach LAURENCE at file13@ev1.net. Thank you.

P.S. You're doing a great job, Lair. But don't overdo it or all my readers will move over to your blog when I come back and never return to ASV.

Mcbullshit!

(Posted by Laurence Simon as part of the Amish Tech Support Occupation of A Small Victory during the holidays)

What do the executives at McDonalds wish for Christmas? To be as reviled and hated as the executives at Coca-Cola who came out with the bilge known as "New Coke."

Say hello to New Meat:

McDonald's Corp. is tinkering with its primary product -- the hamburger -- in its effort to stimulate sales.

Beef patties will get a reformulated seasoning mix "to improve the flavor of our meat," and new sandwich buns will be rolled out next spring, a memorandum sent to franchisees disclosed. A copy of the document was obtained by Dow Jones Newswires.

All that remains is Jell-o to screw with their flavoring, and the Axis of Cosby will have destroyed the world!

It's as plain as the nose on your face...

(Posted by Laurence Simon as part of the Amish Tech Support Occupation of A Small Victory during the holidays)

What is it with people shooting beverages out of their noses as a result of reading my stuff? Day after day, I get e-mails and feedbacks saying that people have blown various beverages on their monitors and keyboards.

How can I tell it's the holidays?

Kevin Parrott: Good stuff. I shot eggnog out of my nose.

That's right. Eggnog.Wow. I hope he was drinking eggnog at the time. Otherwise, someone might try to call this a fucking Christmas miracle or something.

By the way, here's a brain-teaser for the holidays: if Jesus drank water and laughed, would wine come out of his nose?

Carnival #14 is Coming

(Posted by Laurence Simon as part of the Amish Tech Support Occupation of A Small Victory during the holidays)

Just a reminder... Carnival of the Vanities #14 is going to Ravenwood's Universe for the Christmas Holiday. Be sure to submit your best posts needing just a little more link love.

I may just decide to tweak off Michele by submitting my introduction post on A Small Victory for her site. I just wouldn't be me if I weren't a bad guest at least once, you know.

Holiday Meal Recipes For Cats?

(The brutal occupation of A Small Victory by the Insane Defense Forces of Amish Tech Support continues. Jane Fonda just called Michele and asked if there was anything she could do to help.)

Yeah, cat owners love their cats to the point of annoyance around the holiday season. We get them their own stockings, their own little costumes, their own little spice rubs and marinades...

Wait. Read that back to me again?

REUTERS: Boys Eat Cat That Stole Christmas Dinner

Three Kenyan schoolboys were arrested for eating a cat they suspected of stealing chickens set aside for their Christmas feast, newspapers reported on Tuesday.

The three boys aged 12-14 killed, skinned and roasted the cat for lunch last Thursday, the state-owned Kenya News Agency (KNA) reported. They were arrested after complaints from residents in Mororo village in eastern Kenya.

The complaints must have been that they didn't share.

Testing... 1 2 3

Hello? Is this thing on?

Great.

As Michele said, I'm Laurence Simon of Amish Tech Support. We're trying out my concept of 1-800-JEW-BLOG where a Jewish Blogger lets a Goy blogger take a break for the holidays, just like the Goy Cops and Goy Nurses and Goy Jail Guards head off to be with their families and let Jews and Muslims cover for them. We Jews keep things running smoothly while y'all make drunk asses of yourselves and bitch about the pile the coats on the bed because that means you'll just have to do your cousin in the linen closet.

Sure, she didn't have to go 1-800-JEW-BLOG. She could have gone to the other side of the fence and called upon a practitioner of The Religion of Peace™. Look, just relax for a moment, folks. There is no freaking way that I'd let a Muslim cover for her. I mean, come on... if not for the radical change in tone, but that little sneak would probably rip down all the tit-shots as blasphemy and change the font to some shitscribble Arabic. Nobody's commanding my friend's bazooms be blanketed by a burkah without getting their block knocked off.

So, please, sit back and relax as I take the keyboard for a day or so, let Michele focus on holiday preparations and get her head back on straight (or attend to other body parts needing realignment and adjustment... by the way, where's that JPG you promised me?), and I entertain you with material that is no way an example of the Vast Jewish Conspiracy spreading its tentacles and claws into every site, institution, and organization on the planet.

Speaking of which, if any other folks want to take a break for the holidays, feel free to join up with the 1-800-JEW-BLOG movement and hand over the keys to a Jewish Blogger while you make merry under the mistletoe.

"Reynolds? Kaus? Quick? Bear? Lileks? Bueller? Bueller?"

Don't worry, we'll hand the keys back once the hangover passes and you breathe a sigh of relief when the stick you peed on stays blue. We'll be out of Bethlehe- I mean off your blog when the time comes for you to resume blogging.

Honest. (Heh heh heh)

turning things over to laurence

And now, I take a very short blogging vacation. I'll be back either very late Christmas night or early Thursday morning.

Far be it from me to leave this place empty for a day or two. Instead, I put you in the very able hands of Laurence from Amish Tech Support, who answered the phone when I called 1-800-Dialajew for blogging hiatus assistance.

There's no telling what Laurence may or may not say, or if he will put up silly little icons or offend one or all of you. That's the beauty of Laurence.

I apologize in advance. See you soon.

A Small Victory Christmas Address 2002

Join me for a holiday fireside chat.

yule.gif
Christmas is here, and whether or not you celebrate the holiday, it is still a time of year to bring warmth and love to others. It is also at this point in the year that I ask forgiveness from those I have hurt and, conversely, to forgive those who have done harm to me, as well as thank those who have been gracious and kind to me.

I made a vow sometime in mid-year to spend less time on the computer at night and more time with my family. I think those of you with blogs know how easy it is to sit down to just read a few sites on your link list and maybe make one post, and before you know it, three hours have gone by. I do most of my posting from work now, even writing a few posts ahead of time to upload at night. One of the things that had to go was my time spent on AIM, as it sucked up my whole evening. Unfortunately, that is where I engaged in conversations with some very good friends and thus, our friendships sort of tapered off when my AIM time disappeared. I also became a bit slack at returning email and my friendships have suffered for it.

For those of you this applies to you, and you know who you are, I am sorry. If I follow through with my New Year’s resolution to manage my time better, perhaps we can pick up where we left off.

On the other hand, I lost some friends, one in particular, over this weblog and the politics I engage in here. I am not going to apologize for my opinions and I am very sorry you felt it reflected poorly on you to remain friends with me. I wish you well in the coming year. I harbor no bad feelings, just a bit of sadness.

As some people abandoned me, many others embraced me and welcomed me into their fold. This weblog, and the people that are involved in it, whether through reading, commenting or linking to me, has become somewhat of a little community to me; a very warm, welcoming, supportive community and I am proud to be a part of it.

I did make some wonderful friends this year. Too many bloggers to list here, but I’ve tried to let each and every one of you know the difference you have made in my life. I wish you all nothing but the best in 2003, and a continued friendship with you.

To all my readers, I can’t thank you enough. Since I was twelve years old, all I ever wanted was to be a writer. And while this may not qualify as being a writer, per se, it still amazes me that people stop here every day to read my words and comment on them. Even to those who consistently disagree with and bait me, I appreciate your comments and thoughts because you keep me thinking.

I hope that his holiday season brings you joy, inner peace and tranquility. I wish you and your families the best and I hope you will all continue to be a part of my life in the coming year.

Happy holidays to all.

give me back my upper haaaaaaaand!

Christmas Eve already?

As usual, I am behind in everything I need to accomplish before tonight. I'll be posting a bit from work today, but once I leave work I am doing the unthinkable and handing my blog over to someone else until late Christmas night.

It's a surprise. I'll tell you who it is later.

Meanwhile, from Newsday:

Washington - The Bush administration pressed North Korea diplomatically yesterday to refrain from restarting a dormant nuclear reactor, even as Defense Secretary Donald Rumsfeld warned that the U.S. military could simultaneously take on both Iraq and the communist Pyongyang regime.

"We are capable of fighting two major regional conflicts," Rumsfeld told reporters at the Pentagon. "We're capable of winning decisively in one and swiftly defeating in the case of the other, and let there be no doubt about it."

Oh, this should get the far left in a nice little Christmas snit. Rumsfeld is nothing if not confident. And arrogant.

In many ways, Rummy reminds me of Ash from Evil Dead II, but without the sense of humor.

rummy3.jpgdeadhand2.jpg

Give me back my hand! Give me back my haaaaaaaaaaand!

Stay tuned for my Christmas Eve Address to the Blogging Nation.

December 23, 2002

one more clash story: somebody got murdered

Can you stand one more Clash post? Please?

Back in the early 80's, we used to do dangerous things, as young people are prone to do. Looking back at it now, I can say we were pure idiots and I wonder how we made it through our youth unscathed.

There was this road, Sweet Hollow Road. It was a one lane of dirt that beat a winding path through a town where the houses had bathrooms bigger than most people's entire homes. Sweet Hollow Road ran past these houses, but you never saw the estates, as they were called, because the driveways to their houses ran for a mile into the woods and up to the four car garages.

We drove Sweet Hollow Road for sport. There were no lights and deep woods on both sides. Armed with only cheap beer, a nickel bag of pot and our young bravado, we would enter the road, turn off the headlights and drive like a ghost was chasing us.

I usually sat in the back, fear making the beer in my belly want to come right back up. The fear was more intoxicating than the beer and pot.

Have you ever been in complete, utter darkness? The kind of dark that makes you wonder if anything outside of you exists at all? That was Sweet Hollow Road with the headlights off. Doing 60 on a road that called for ten, stoned out of our minds and shrieking like we were about to die.

It all came with a soundtrack and that one time that we almost went off the road, the soundtrack was The Clash. Sandista was the cassette and the song was "Somebody Got Murdered."

Someone lights a cigarette
While riding in a car
Some ol' guy takes a swig
And passes back the jar
But where they were last night
No-one can remember
Somebody got murdered
Goodbye, for keeps, forever

We hit a rock or a boulder or, as the story grew to unbelievable proportions days later - a wall of stone. The rock flew up from underneath the tire and hit the windshield. We screamed. One person thought we hit a body, another thought a UFO had come down to get us. And the driver, I believe his name was Mickey, thought he saw a man crawl down from the hood of the car and smash the window with a rock. This is how urban legends begin.

Either way, the sudden suprise of the crack! on the windshield caused Mickey to swerve and we went off into the woods, control lost, panic ensuing. Mickey managed to slam the brakes before we hit one of the huge trees in the woods and the car fishtailed to a stop. We sat in silence for a few minutes, nobody uttering a word. Nobody but Joe Strummer, singing Somebody got murdered, his name cannot be found. A small stain on the pavement, they'll scrub it off the ground.

We started the car, took off - with the headlights on - and never traveled Sweet Hollow Road in the dark again.

interrupting all programs

Wrapping presents, listening to The Clash and feeling oh so mournful.


Interrupting all programmes

Joe3.jpgThis is Radio Clash from pirate satellite
Orbiting your living room, cashing in the Bill of Rights
Cuban army surplus or refusing all third lights
This is Radio Clash on pirate satellite
This sound does not subscribe to the international plan
In the psycho shadow of the white right hand
Them that see ghetology as an urban Viet Nam
Giving deadly exhibitions of murder by napalm

This is Radio Clash - tearing up the seven veils
This is Radio Clash - please save us, not the whales
This is Radio Clash - underneath a mushroom cloud
This is Radio Clash - you don't need that funeral shroud

Forces have been looting
My humanity
Curfews have been curbing
The end of liberty

Hands of law have sorted through
My identity
But now this sound is brave
And wants to be free - anyway to be free

This is Radio Clash on pirate satellite
This is not free Europe
Nor an armed force network
This is Radio Clash using audio ammunition
This is Radio Clash can we get that world to listen?
This is Radio Clash using aural ammunition
This is Radio Clash can we get that world to listen?
This is Radio Clash on pirate satellite
Orbiting your living room, cashing in the Bill of Rights
This is Radio Clash on pirate satellite
This is Radio Clash - everybody hold on tight

A-riggy diggy dig dang dang

Go back to urban 'Nam


That part where he says "and wants to be freeeeeeeeeee" was always my favorite part. I'm on my fourth listen in a row.

Brent and Solonor were both kind enough to leave links to audio of this song in this morning's eulogy to Joe Strummer. Solly's version is of his band covering the song, check it out. And then listen to Radio Clash, which Brent provided.

I can't believe he's dead. I think I'm going to cry, and I don't normally do that over the death of someone I didn't know personally. But you have understand - this is my youth. This is part of my life, my history, my soul.

I'm feeling old and sad and like something is missing.

gratuitous pictures and details of my day

This will be my last post until much later tonight. I'm leaving work in a few moments to brave the crowds at Best Buy for some last minute gifts. Later on, we are meeting my best friend Barbara and her kids at Outback (mmm cheese fries) for our annual Hannakuh/Christmas dinner. Barbara, bless her heart, has invited my kids to sleep at her house tonight, leaving Justin and I alone to finish wrapping.

I brought my kids to work today - as did most of the employees here it seems - and we had camera in tow. So here are gratiuitous pictures of me and my wormbabies. (If you have to ask, don't).

with Natalie


with DJ

I'm clairvoyant, so I'll answer your remarks ahead of time:

1. Yes, I know I look tired. I am.
2. Yes, Natalie always has that smirk on her face.
3. Yes, DJ is in desperate need of a haircut. He looks like I slapped a bowl on his head this morning.

Now, go forth and be merry.

today's textbooks: lies, revisions and the equator in Florida

What is your child being taught in school?

According this article in the Daily News, you may not be happy with the answer.

Ever wonder what your children might be learning when they hit the books in the New York City public schools?

A kinder, gentler definition of jihad. It really means "to do one's best to resist temptation and overcome evil."

An error-filled version of global geography. The equator actually passes through Florida, Texas and Arizona.

A saga of a swashbuckling hero of today who can be compared to ancient historical heroes dating to the Trojan War: Indiana Jones.

The world of 21st century textbook education is a learning laboratory in which agendas, ideologies and errors all too often trump balance, accuracy and fairness.

I'm taking a wild stab here, but I'm guessing that New York City is not the only place these textbook revisions are occurring.

One book in the school library states that Rev. Al Sharpton, hails from a "long tradition of activist ministers like Martin Luther King Jr."

Al Sharpton - publicity hound, ambulance chaser, obnoxious loudmouth, defender of Tawana Brawley. Hardly Rev. King material.

And while going out of their way to avoid textbooks with stereotypes or other non-politically correct phrases, the schools felt okay with this line from a history book: "Poor blacks in the cities often found themselves at the mercy of Jewish shopkeepers and landlords, who decided when and when not to advance credit to their customers."

There is also a whitewash of Louis Farrakhan, described as a "black American of achievement" who bears a "message no American can ignore." The Nation of Islam leader also shows a "willingness to forgive," the book claims.

Are we thinking of the same Farrakhan here, or is there a kinder, gentler Farrakhan walking around somewhere that we don't know about?

At least three schools have bought copies of "The American Vision," a 2003 high school history textbook, published by Glencoe McGraw-Hill, that was one of the first to write about the terror attacks. In a seven-page lesson on the massacre of 3,000 innocents, students are asked:

"What are the three main reasons certain Muslims became angry with the United States?"

"Why does American foreign policy anger Islamic fundamentalists in the Middle East?"

Ah, yes. These books must be for that new course, "Root Causes 101," where the students are taught to always blame America first, that when your country is ambushed and bombed, it must have done something wrong to bring that on themselves.

Political correctness isn't the only thing wrong with the textbooks. They are filled with factual errors.

Prentice Hall's "Exploring Physical Science," a middle school science book used in Queens, confuses Newton (1643-1727) with Galileo (1564-1642). It also pictures the Statue of Liberty bearing the torch in her left hand and calls her skin bronze; actually, it's copper with a green patina, and she holds the lamp in her right hand. Corrections were made in a 1999 version, said spokeswoman Wendy Spiegel. But errors remain in thousands of 1997 editions still in circulation.

McGraw-Hill's "Human Heritage: A World History," a high school social studies text used in Brooklyn, incorrectly identifies Gerry Adams as "a Protestant leader." Actually, he's the Catholic firebrand who heads Sinn Fein, the Irish Republican Army's political wing.

A geography book states that the equator actually passes Florida, Texas and Arizona.

And, of course, we must protect our children from the horrors of artworks:

The cover of "Economics," a high school textbook due to enter city schools next year, sports a doctored photo of the New York Stock Exchange's landmark exterior.

With a pair of loincloths strategically inserted into the picture, publisher Holt, Rinehart and Winston draped the private parts of the two heroic male figures — Agriculture and Science, by name.

"The nudity was inappropriate for kids at this level," said Holt spokesman Rick Blake.

Don't worry about those copies of Teen People magazine on the library shelf, though. Those ads with butts bared and cleavage flowing aren't nearly as offensive as pieces of art outside of an American landmark.

The ridiculousness reaches levels so bizzare, I actually had to laugh out loud:

Stripped of relevant passages to avoid giving the slightest offense to anyone. Gail Stein, a French teacher at Long Island City High School in Queens, is the author of several popular French textbooks that deal with Gallic staples — perfume, Champagne, chocolate mousse.

Then her publisher started getting complaints: Perfume was deemed sexist; not all women use it. A line about "bubbles in a glass of Champagne" might foster underage drinking. So out went the bubbly and all other offending references.

When "French is Fun" was released, one woman complained that using cognac in mousse would encourage drunkenness. So Stein's editors at Amsco School Publications asked her to change the next edition. Out went the cognac, out went the authenticity.

I'm just waiting for the lawsuit from some parent who claims that learning about Socrates caused her child to kill himself.

The famous 1896 picture of husband-and-wife scientists Marie and Pierre Curie experimenting with radioactivity in their Paris lab was reproduced in Holt's "SciencePlus: Technology and Society." But it was radically cropped to purge Pierre, who shared a 1903 Nobel Prize with his wife.

Holt's Blake said Marie "was a famous scientist in her own right" and that "some of her most important work took place after her husband died."

I'm waiting for the next version of the book, when all references to Nelson Mandela are edited out in order to give his ex-wife, Winnie, the limelight that she missed out on when standing in her husband's shadow. I wonder if they will doctor photos of the Clintons so as not to make students assume that Hillary rode her husband's coattails to the senate.

History also was fictionalized in McDougal Littell's "America's Past and Promise," taught to middle school students in Brooklyn. It prints a 1915 photo of men linking hands around the world's most massive tree, the General Sherman sequoia in California, with a caption that reads, "Conservationists link hands around a tree to stop loggers from cutting it down."

The sequoia was never threatened by loggers. The men were simply demonstrating its enormous girth.

Agenda, anyone? Could these books have been written and chosen for the district by - dare I say it - liberals?

Many of the older versions of textbooks had product placement - sticking a product like Frosted Flakes into a math word problem. A bill has been introduced in Albany to do away with product placement, which is probably the only decent suggestion in this whole article.

In the meantime, math problems in some classes continue to be formulated like this: "Will is saving his allowance to buy a pair of Nike shoes that cost $68.25. If Will earns $3.25 per week, how many weeks will he need to save?"

$3.25 a week?? The poor child must be working for Nike, not buying shoes from them!


How far can we, as parents or future parents (or not even parents, but people who depend on the education of today's children to preserve our history, and protect our future) let the various boards of education around the country tinker with the education of America's youth?

Revisionist history and silly displays of pro-feminism posturing, liberal agendas and the whitewashing of historical figures and places has no place in public education.

Our future looks very grim, indeed, if this is what the future leaders of our country are being taught.

a eulogy of sorts

I did not start out today intending to write a eulogy; in fact, I was not going to post from work at all today. However, the death of Joe Strummer calls for a moment of rememberance. Not silence, not that. Today, my speakers are filled with the sounds of The Clash.

When a favorite icon of your life dies - be it an actor or writer or rock star - one takes the time to reminisce and share some memories and relive -in the rock star case - a little of your life through their music.

1977 was a watershed year for me. Punk rock arrived in the USA and it forever changed the way I listened to music. Though I didn't pick up on it until the following year when I heard the Ramones on a college station, I still recognize 1977 as the year the music changed.

A friend whose uncle owned a record store lent me an import copy of Clash (UK), which hadn't been released in the US yet. It was I'm So Bored with the USA that wrapped itself around my head and never let go. Janie Jones, Remote Control...I listened to the album on my piece of crap record player over and over. I was in 11th grade. 16 years old. My friends were listening to the new hearthrob of the music scene, Bruce Springsteen. Some of them were still doing the hustle, openly engaging in disco dancing while the rest of us wore our "Disco Sucks" pins.

At the end of 1978, a friend gave me a cassette copy of Give 'em Enough Rope. Safe European Home and Tommy Gun were staples of my days and night. Sitting in my bedroom with my newer, yet still crappy stereo, those huge, cushioned, oversized headphones on, bopping my head up and down and humming punk rock tunes all to the annoyance of my parents.

This isn't so much about the songs - I could sit here all day listing which songs played on my stereo during specific times of my life - it's about what Joe Strummer and the Clash meant to me. There were times when the only sounds coming from my room or my car were The Clash or The Jam.

So many hot, sticky summer nights, sitting in my Nova, drinking beer and listening to Joe Strummer's passioned voice.

I had my first major break-up with Clampdown playing in the background.

When I threw up that entire bottle of Boonesfarm wine, Brand New Cadillac was blasting from the speakers we had set up in the park that night, before the cops came, before we were chased through the woods by snarling dogs, smelling of puke and Miller Lite. Every time I hear that song, I can recall the taste of warm beer vomit.

And even though Sandinista disappointed me, I can still recite all the words to Magnificent Seven, and I bet my sister can, too.

By the time Rock the Casbah came around and everyone was a Clash fan, I had earned the right to call myself an old school fan and maybe, just maybe, looked down upon those who thought The Clash were a "great new band."

The most telling memory of what Joe Strummer meant to me, perhaps, lies in the bottom of a box in my bedroom closet. It's a tiny stuffed chicken that someone gave me, I have no idea why. It was just one of those things. When that person, my old friend Chris, gave me the chicken and said I had to give it a name, Radio Clash was on the air and I thus named the chicken Strummer.

I guess I'll fish little Strummer out of the box today and give him a place of honor on my dresser, right next to the tattered photo of Joey Ramone.

I think you all should leave your favorite Clash lyrics here. Just for the hell of it.

so long, joe

JoeStrummer.jpg
Joe Strummer died.

I'm pretty damn sad about it.

More on this later.

5 sacks for Christmas

A special message to my sister, Lisa:

Merry Christmas, Drew Bledsoe.

Don't hate me because I'm beautiful. Hate me because my team beat yours.

weather report: slight chance of nostalgia

weather2.jpg


I don't recall the last time we had a white Christmas around these parts. I'm sure that when I was a child, we had them all the time. Right?

I wonder how many of my Christmas memories are colored not by real happenings, but by television commercials and magazine articles and other people's polaroids.

When I envision Christmas Past, I see myself as a small child, dressed to the hilt in gloves, parka, snow boots, some itchy woolen hat with a pom-pom attached and, if my grandmother was around, plastic sandwich bags around my socks for extra protection. I see at least two feet of snow on the ground, and every lawn decorated with real snowmen, not those blow-up doll versions of today. Carrot for a nose, coal for eyes, a real honest-to-goodness stovepipe hat and the most perfect of all branches that jut out like real arms and hands.

I'm almost positive it would snow every Christmas Eve, beginning just about midnight. And I know that if I stayed very, very still in my bed I could hear not only the glistening, powdery snow falling to the ground, but the slight jingle of sleighbells in the distance. Maybe even a ho! ho! ho! if I listened very, very carefully.

And I'm pretty sure that when I woke up Christmas morning, before the sun, before even the birds, that I would immediately spring to the window and pull up the shades and be greeted by the hugest snowfall ever. The moon, still hovering in the dark morning sky, would reflect on the whiteness below and everything appeared to be tinged in an early morning vision of blue. The snow sparkled and shimmered in the moonlight and the perfectly formed icicles that hung off the rain gutter of every house on my block reflected the moonlight and made those wee hours look as if a magic spell had turned my street into a Christmas fairy land.

And I know that when I woke up my sisters at that ungodly hour and we ran in to shake my parents until they opened their sleepy eyes, that everyone was incredibly excited to be awake at 4am, even my parents. We would trudge into the living room, fuzzy slippers shuffling on the carpet, and either mom or dad would turn the tree lights on and the living room would come alive with color and flashes and the huge, spinning, majestic star on top of the tree seemed to dance.

I'm pretty sure that we would all exclaim at the same time that Santa indeed had arrived, even my parents, who looked as astonished as us girls and we would weep with joy because Santa loved us so.

In my memories, the three of us, sisters full of love and wonder, would sit by the fireplace as mom and dad handed us present after present - Chatty Cathy and E-Z bake ovens and K-Tel records and trinkets that seemed to be made of gold, frankincense and myrrh. We never fought, us angelic sisters. We didn't compare or contrast or argue over presents. We just shared each other's joy and felt the warmth from our parents, who praised Santa for rewarding such well behaved children so lavishly.

I'm almost positive that we would then dress up in our winter ensemble, the boots and jackets and scarves, and we would frolick out in the deep, soft snow with all the neighborhood children, and the nice man from across the street would offer sleigh rides to all the children, whose cheeks were flush and rosy and whose laughter filled the air.

I force these nostalgic visions of the Christmases that really weren't upon my own children, regaling them with tales of chestnuts roasting on an open fire and riding in a one horse open sleigh. They eye me suspiciously, as if these memories of mine could not possibly be real.

Oh, I am in no way saying that the real version of my Christmas Past does not fulfill my sense of nostalgia; even the visions of my sisters and I fighting over gifts and the itchy pajamas we had to wear and my parents not being very joyous at 4am still make me smile.

Even if we never had a white Christmas at all, in my mind's postcard of those holidays, the ground is always white and there's a huge spruce in my front yard and sleighbells can be heard at midnight. My memories get mixed up with Norman Rockwell paintings and Christmas poems.

Still, all that nostalgia is made of a few real things, whether or not there was snow on the ground. It's made of family and warmth and the anticipation that comes with being a kid on Christmas eve.

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow.

December 22, 2002

video games that should not be

From Somethingawful.com


click for biggie size

the party you are trying to reach is still unavailable

Thank you for continuing to hold. Your call is important to us.

Your call may be recorded to ensure quality service.

[I think I love you, so what am I so afraid of]

Thank you for continuing to hold. Your call is important to us.

Your call may be recorded to ensure quality service.

[I'm afraid that I'm not sure of A love there is no cure for]

If you do not wish to continuing holding, please leave a message.

[I think I love you, isn't that what life is made of? Though it worries me to say
I've never felt this way]

please hold while i finish christmas shopping and having a nervous breakdown

We're sorry. All our thought processes are clogged right now. Your page visit is very important to us. Please stay on the line and you will be served by our next available coherent thought.

[You light up my liiiiiiiiife]

We're sorry. All our thought processes are clogged right now. Your page visit is very important to us. Please stay on the line and you will be served by our next available coherent thought.

[You give me hoooooooope]

We're sorry. All our thought processes are clogged right now. Your page visit is very important to us. Please stay on the line and you will be served by our next available coherent thought.

[To carry ooooooooonnnnnn]


This blogging hold program copyright Juan Gato 2002

an explanation not owed, but given anyhow

I have no idea why Sylvain reads this site, when all he has to offer to every post is negativity and opposition. Oh, I don't mind opposition at all, but when it becomes apparent that someone is reading your words just to find fault within them, it makes me want to tell them to piss off and get another hobby.

I wrote this on the "bite me" post last night:

" I know what it's like to be poor. Ever cash in your kids' bonds to buy groceries? Ever hock jewelry to buy diapers and formula?"

To which Sylvain left the comment:

Hate to say this, but who made the decision to have kids? My ex-wife tried to convince me to have a kid, put I told her we couldn't afford it. She went of (sic) the pill anyway without telling me. Lucky we all survived that, but it took several years, and ended in divorce.

You choose to have kids, you choose to put yourself in that position.

Not that it's any of your god damned business, Sylvain, but the shit hit the fan after we had kids. Oh, it probably started before then, but I wasn't wise to the fact until it was too late.

See, I married a compulsive gambler. No, I didn't know that's what he was when we got married. I thought the problem was long gone. Things looked downright rosy for a while.

Some time after our second child was born, I realized (and I admit I was stupid for not taking a more active role in the finances of our union before this) that bills that I was told were being paid, weren't. That instead of building up a little savings, we were in debt. That my then husband had borrowed money from my own father without telling me, that he owed bookies somewhere between life and limb and that we were, in fact, piss poor.

Proving further that I was way too trusting and a bit naive, all the credit cards and household bills were in my name. My credit rating was forever ruined. My bank account was empty. And thus, I had to cash in bonds, break the piggy banks and hock jewelry to get the necessary supplies.

I did not owe you this explanation, Sylvain. But you took it upon yourself to be presumptous and rude about the whole thing - per usual - and I thought that because you left that statement in my comments for all to see, I should explain myself and my actions.

And not for anything, but most people can never "afford" to have a kid, as the cost of raising one, let alone a brood, is never ending and always escalating. But we do it anyhow, and we survive and so do the children. A little sacrifice here, a little juggling of the budget there, and it's all good in the end because having kids (for me, and I know it's not the same for everyone) is one of the greatest joys of life.

I'm sure you will find something in my explanation to blame me, to turn my words around or to make a ridiculous commentary on my past, but that's ok. I understand. You're an oppositional, defiant, negative ass and you can't help it.

Happy holidays, Sylvain.

December 21, 2002

welcome, wipe your feet at the door

If you are coming here from The Guardian/Observer, the alternative Christmas songs are here.

I'll try to not make any disparaging remarks about The Guardian while you're here.

Refreshments are in the corner.

bite me

And another thing, about this tip jar crap.

If you feel like reading a profanity laced rant, step inside. If not, move forward. I like to give options.

I got one email telling me that if I knew what it was like to really be poor I wouldn't be asking people for money when other people really need it.

Fuck you, I know what it's like to be poor. Ever cash in your kids' bonds to buy groceries? Ever hock jewelry to buy diapers and formula? Been there done that, so shut your pie hole.

Next email was from an asswipe who said I should put my money where my mouth is and cough up dollars to other bloggers, their tip jars and their causes.

Let's see. I raised $700 dollars for the Daniel Pearl Foundation back in July. I raised over $1000 for the IDF last month. If a blogger I read daily has a tip jar, I give. If they have a wishlist, I buy when their birthdays or other occasions come around. I read sad stories and buy Christmas presents for people who can't afford to give their kids anything. I just don't announce it, if that's ok with you. So stick it.

My favorite email was this one:

"Oh, please, who do you think is going to give money to some girl who puts some bitchy opinions on a website? Big fucking deal. No one cares. Maybe if you showed a little T&A once in a while your readers would be more inclined to give. You're a girl, for gods sake, shut the fuck up for a change and flash us some skin and then maybe you'll deserve to be paid for what you write. Doesn't mean we'll care about what girl bloggers have to say about politics, but at least us guys will still check your site out to see if there's any new pictures or if the cam is on."

You think anyone writes to Glen Reynolds or Andrew Sullivan and tells them to wave their dick around on camera to get people to throw them a few bucks? Somehow, I doubt that. But once again, I come across an asswipe who thinks that female bloggers have nothing of importance to say, unless they are saying it with their tits. Go back to your porn and your box of tissues, buddy. That's probably all you're ever gonna get.

Yea, I'm in a mood. Why do you ask?

reacting and over reacting

In the course of one day, Acidman called accused me of slander and called me a bigot.

He compared me to Bill Clinton and inferred that I said southerners are idiots and unintelligent.

This was the entire post he referred to:

In case you were wondering where to shop for Trent Lott's Christmas present.

Oh, damn. Too late! Two shopping malls in Huntsville have evicted a vendor selling Dixie Outfitters merchandise, which combines images of the Confederate Battle Flag with trucks, wildlife and dogs.

Mac says " their supplier also sells a shirt depicting 'blacks picking cotton and the slogan, "Land of Cotton."'

But Terry Bagwell, owner of the offending kiosks, said Dixie Hot Stuff, the supplier, carries 600 different different prints for their shirts and "Most is dogs and puppies and fish and deer."

I bet they is.

Acidman said:

Oh, yeah. That "I bet they is" comment chapped my ass, too. I'll admit that we have a different way of talking down South. It's called the "vernacular" in intellectual terms, and it means that we have lots of idioms and phrases that sound peculiar to the untrained ear....

I don't see anything foolish or ignorant about it. I have a degree in English Literature and certificates for Business Writing classes that I have attended. And ain't I proud of ever one of them suckers? Betchooass I am. Just because we talk funny don't mean we're all idjits down heah, heah?..

We're Southern and therefore we're ALL pining away for the good old days of segregation, lynchings and separate water fountains.

Nobody but a professional liar such as Clinton or a complete ignoramus could say such a thing with a straight face. When I read Michele's post, I felt that same wink, wink, nod, nod crap being passed off as conventional wisdom again. Yeah. WE KNOW about the South.

I don't see where I stated that only southerners say things like "they is." I don't see where I implied that southerners are idiots. Nor do I see where I implied all southerners pine for segratations or are racists. And I still don't see how this makes me a bigoted Yankee.

Like I told Acidman in his comment, If I got my panties in a bunch every time someone made fun of the way Long Islanders talked, I'd have a wedgie 24 hours a day.

Maybe I do need to apologize for that post. Did anyone else read into it what Acidman did? Did I come off as a bigot? Did you construe from my words that I think all southerners are idiots who can't speak? Am I a bigot?

Please, share with me, because I can't see it.

Just for the record, I really like and admire Acidman. But sometimes I just want to kick him in the balls.

what exactly do you mean by white christmas?

Mark Steyn reports:

Merry Christmas. There, I've said it. Which is more than the Royal Canadian Mint is willing to do. Its ad campaign for this "holiday season" uses a certain familiar tune, which has been so imperceptibly altered that only the most alert will notice it: On the first day of giving/ My true love gave to me.

Ladies and Gentlemen, the P.C. apologists have taken over the world. I fear the time has come when we must alter every "holiday" song to please and pacify the politically correct so we do not enrage, offend, demean or omit any person, race, creed, color, religion, species, subculture, nation, organization or plant life.

Hence, the new, improved holiday songs, with title and/or lyrics appropriately changed or subtitles added.

  • I'm Dreaming of Many-Hued Winter Season
  • Rudolph, the Reindeer with the Facial Appendage of a Different Color
  • Oh, Come all ye Faithful, Agnostics and Atheists
  • Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer (but it was Grandma's fault for being in the space set aside for woodland creatures to run free without interference from human beings)

  • Frost the Snowperson of An Indistinguishable Gender
  • Joy to the *World (*The word world includes all nations, including Iraq, North Korea and Iran)
  • I Saw My Parent/Step Parent/Guardian/Caretaker Kissing Santa Claus
  • We Wish You a Merry December (and a happy new calendar page for those that observe the years according to other religions or cultures)
  • I'm Getting Nothin' for Christmas (because my parents think the holiday is overcommercialized and co-opted from pagans and only capitalist pigs buy presents)
  • Little Drummer Person
  • It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Buy-Nothing Day
  • You Must Have Had a Terrible Childhood, Mr. Grinch
  • Supreme Being of Your Choice Rest Ye Merry Gentlepeople
  • Oh, Christmas Tree (we will guard you from the lumber industry)
  • Up on the House/Apartment/Cardboard box Top
  • All I Want For Christmas is My Two Front Teeth (but because we don't have nationalized health care for everyone, my parents can't afford dental coverage)
  • Let it Snow (but it won't because of global warming)

Have yourselves a merry little seasonal day of enjoyment!

addendum to two of last night's posts

Typical reaction from a leftie when called on the carpet:

"This is being turned into a circus by the right-wing media outlets and fed by right-wing haters," [Sen. Murray's spokesman, Todd] Webster said.

Bullshit. For once I would like to see a left-winger stand up and say "I was wrong," instead of immediately going on the defensive and telling the media "everyone who thinks I was wrong is a poopy head."

Usual leftist crap of resorting to name calling and finger pointing instead of taking responsibility for their actions. Or, god forbid, admitting their actions were less than stellar.

Before you get your panties in a bunch, I understand that these traits are not strictly held by the left, but they seem to have a corner on the market.

Engaging in debate is one thing. Using your "America is to blame for everything" views to bring your brand of propaganda to high school students is reprehensible.

Don't be surprised at my reaction, after all, I am a blogging blowhard.

blowhard.gif

(Thanks to TQOTFI for the image)

One more thing, just to piss off Acidman.

Oh, give me money, I am a poor, hungry soul. Feed me, clothe me, bathe me, shower me with your plastic goodness and dirty dollars.

Fuck that. Buy me tequila.

action figure nativity


click for larger image

Yes, I know I'm going to hell.

December 20, 2002

run, joey, run: now you have can suffer, too!

In my post about the horrible songs that get stuck in your head, I referred to the 70's gack-fest, Run Joey Run.

Because I want you to suffer through this song like I have, I've uploaded a copy of the song, courtesy of a very generous and nice DJ (whose email I seem to have lost), for you to listen to.

Run, Joey, Run!

Lyrics are here:

Run Joey Run
David Geddes

Daddy please don't, it wasn't his fault, he means so much to me
Daddy please don't, we're gonna get married...just you wait and see.

She called me up, late last night, she said Joe, don't come over
My dad and I just had a fight, and he stormed out the door
I've never seen him act his this way, my God, hes going crazy
He says he's gonna make you pay, for what we've done, he's got a gun, so

Run Joey Run Joey Run
Daddy please don't, it wasn't his fault, he means so much to me
Daddy please don't, we're gonna get married...just you wait and see.

I got in my car and I drove like mad, till I reached Julie's place
She ran to me, with tears in her eyes, and bruises on her face
All at once, I saw him there, sneaking up behind me, WATCH OUT!
Then Julie yelled, he's got a gun, and she stepped in front of me
Suddenly, a shot rang out, and I saw Julie falling
I ran to her, I held her close, when I looked down, my hands were red,
and heres the last words Julie said...

Daddy please don't, it wasn't his fault, he means so much to me
Daddy please don't, we're gonna get married.....aaahhh..ahhhh
ahhhh....ahhhhh

Run Joey run Joey run Joey run Joey run Joey run

I apologize in advance for any nightmares that may result from listening to this song.

here a blowhard, there a blowhard

Norah Vincent (L.A. Times): Putting the Brakes on Blowhard 'Bloggers'

But there's a flip side to this. As much as the blogosphere is full of brave and vital input, it's also full of the careless, mad and sometimes vengeful ravings of half-wits who will say anything, especially about established journalists and writers, just to attract more attention to their sites. This can get ugly when content is unregulated. (emphasis mine)

Note to those "established journalists and writers" who feel picked on:

Being an established journalist or writer does not exempt you from being ripped apart by the general public, bloggers included.

Being an established journalist or writer does not necessarily mean that your words aren't full of smug, self-righteous bullshit and should be torn apart mercilessly by those who posses more wits about them than you will gather in your closed-off brain in your entire lifetime.

In the major media world, editors and fact-checkers try to catch inaccuracies, excise lies and slanders and print corrections and retractions for mistakes that slip into print. But few bloggers follow this protocol. What they say, however outrageous or unfounded, tends to stick.

Is she saying that the words of half-wits and blowhards carry more weight in the world of the written word than the established journalists and writers themselves?

Blogging is one of the best things that has ever happened to freedom of expression and the press, and we should make every effort to protect its scrupulous practitioners. But freedoms come with responsibilities. Common journalistic standards of accuracy and fair play exist for good reasons, and bloggers, like the rest of us, must abide by them.

No, they don't have to. They should, but they don't have to. If that were the case, there would be a lot of blowhard, half-witted bloggers out there having to defend their mad and vengeful rantings on a daily basis.

Besides, I could probably name more established journalists who do not engage in standards of fair play and accuracy than I can bloggers. But I guess that's the benefit of being paid to be a paid blowhard. It creates a certain smugness when a paycheck lets you call it journalism instead of blogging.

the last cat supper

Before I leave my office for the day, there is one thing I must share at you, via Xkot. I don't know whether to damn him or thank him for this link.

Walter Potter: A case of curiosities

Back in the 1800's, Mr. Potter (I'n hoping he's not relation to Beatrix because that would be way too creepy) took taxidermy to a new level. He posed dead animals to make art.

Dead. Animals. Art. That's right.



click for the larger, more disturbing image

Yes, those cats are stiff. This is so many shades of wrong I can't even find words for it. Can we say issues?

He doesn't stop at cats, though the dead cat wedding is interesting. There are rabbits and rodents and I think I saw a cow before I freaked out and hit the back button.

These pictures beg for new nursery rhymes to be made.

(Thanks to everyone who hit the tip jar today. I have enough to buy two bottles of tequila so far! Party at my house!)

speaking of propaganda

Reader Sondra sent me a link to this story, concerning her state senator, that almost made me lose my lunch:

Speaking at Columbia River High School, [Senator Pat] Murray, D-Wash., responded to questions from students, most about the war on terrorism or government spending for education.

Murray met at Columbia River with world history students and student government leaders. Across town, Hudson's Bay High School students participated via teleconference.

Murray concluded the session by challenging the students to consider alternatives to war.

"We've got to ask, why is this man (Osama bin Laden) so popular around the world?," said Murray, who faces re-election in 2004. "Why are people so supportive of him in many countries … that are riddled with poverty?

"He's been out in these countries for decades, building schools, building roads, building infrastructure, building day care facilities, building health care facilities, and the people are extremely grateful. We haven't done that.

"How would they look at us today if we had been there helping them with some of that rather than just being the people who are going to bomb in Iraq and go to Afghanistan?"

So, she challenged the students to think how we could be more like the man who masterminded the plan to crush America.

There are plenty of philanthropic people who, at the end of the day, are still raging assholes. Giving money to charities and building bridges does not mean that people should follow your lead. Most likely, in bin Laden's case, he had ulterior motives for everything he did that seemed "neighborly."

I resent the fact that a senator of the United States went into a classroom and shoved her leftist propaganda bullshit down the students' throats.

Before you lefties start in on me, imagine if a right-wing senator went into your child's class and asked them to suppor the war, or support Israel or any of your perceived enemies. You would be marching on the school campus within minutes.

"War is expensive too," she said. "Your generation ought to be thinking about whether we should be better neighbors out in other countries so that they have a different vision of us.

"It is a debate I think we ought to have."

Better neighbors? Should we start by having Saddam over for a cup of tea and a nice chat? Shut down the INS so anyone and everyone can come on over here, earn an engineering degree with student loans and then make a plan to blow the USA to pieces? Perhaps we should extend a welcoming hand to North Korea. You know, share plans for nuclear annihilation over a sandwich.

Murray opened Wednesday's event telling the students, "You'll be graduating into a world that is very difficult. … The economy is struggling. War in Iraq is a very real possibility in the short term" and could cost $200 billion even if it were to last only a few weeks.

The cost of waging war could result in cuts to domestic programs such as Pell grants for college students, she said.

Remember Natalie's project on propaganda from this morning? Her history teacher could use Senator Murray as a prime example.

Murray did respond to the paper, stating that "Osama Bin Laden is an evil terrorist," but she also said in the statement "Having a challenging and thoughtful discussion about America’s future reflects the best values of a free democracy; To sensationalize and distort in an attempt to divide is not."

Oh, really? What was that bit about how a war could result in cuts to Pell grants? Engaging in a bit of scare tacticts, there?

She also stated in her response "How else can we bring America's values to those who do not understand us?"

News flash, Senator. I guess you haven't been keeping up with current events because those people do not want our values. In fact, some of them want us to adopt their values and threaten to kill us all if we don't.

Good neighbors, indeed.

the inevitable happens

CNN is reporting that Trent Lott will step down. No link yet.

Yahoo News has the story.

Trent Lott has stepped down as Senate Republican leader, GOP sources say. The reports come as more Republican senators line up behind Bill Frist as a successor to Lott, amid the continued controversy over Lott's comments concerning Strom Thurmond's 1948 segregationist campaign for the White House.

CNN has the story up:

Lott is expected to retain his seat as Senator from Mississippi, while giving up the majority leadership position in the upper house of Congress.

I don't know much about Frist, so I'm reserving judgment. However, I think Lott did the right thing, perhaps the only thing he could do. There was no way he was going to recover from this and be able to lead the senate effectively.

I did a run of my blogroll and I think I was the first to post this. I beat LGF out by three minutes.

Yea, I know the only thing this means is that it proves I'm reading weblogs on the job. You take what you can get.

breathe easy

I'm just thinking out loud here - you know those smoke eaters they have in restaurants and bars that suck up all the smoke so the air stays clean?

Someone should invent a really tiny one that you can implant in your lungs.

Oh, go ahead and laugh. Some day you will all look back on this post and and recognize me for the genius that I am.

Stop laughing.

you can't make this shit up

(this one goes out to adam)

Headline of the day:


Man sentenced for monkeys in pants

Don't even read the story. I think we should all make up our own, because the real story could not possibly do justice to the headline.

how to give a parent a heart attack

Natalie came home from school yesterday with a "very important notice" that I was going to be "very angry" about. Great. What now?

I take a look at the note.

Dear Parents,

Because the state is not giving us enough aid and because the budget was smaller than usual this year, we have to make some changes in order make do with what we have.

It then listed the changes - which were not proposed changes, but changes already put in place, the notice said.

-After school extra help would no longer be free. It would cost $22.50 per hour, even if the instructor was your own teacher

-The price of school lunches would rise by 25% beginning in January

-Each student would have to pay a $250 budget fee prior to each school year to make up for lack of supplies

-Computer time in the library would now cost $20 an hour to make up for technology costs that the state isn't paying.

I nearly had a heart attack. I was all set to run for the phone, outraged, when I looked at the signature.

Richard M. Nixon
Director of School Propaganda

The lesson in history class this week is about propaganda and how people react to it.

I told Natalie to tell her teacher I'm suing him for distress.

the one time, never-happen-again pledge drive

Sure, I made light of Andrew Sullivan's Pledge Drive. Who's laughing now? Not me.

Sullivan pulled in almost $80,000 in tips and donations during his drive. That's right, 80k.

I offered to stage a pledge week featuring all female blogger sex and jello wrestling.

I offered to double my efforts and post twice as much. I got bad songs stuck in your head. I gave you horrid decorations to look at.

The thing is, I didn't have a tip jar or a donation button. Oh, but I do now. You can see it over in the sidebar.

If elected tipped, I promise to be even more humorous, more outrageous and more vitriolic.

No, that doesn't sound right. It sounds as if I have been holding back on you. Which it's painfully obvious I have not been doing.

I can do tricks. You would be amazed at the things I can do with my tongue. I can have DJ entertain you. You should see him channel Dean Martin when he sings Jingle Bells. I could invite you over and have Natalie make her famous strawberry cream dessert or have Justin serve you his famous steak au poivre.

Or I can just continue writing here, which I will do with or without tips. So this isn't really a pledge drive, as I'm not pulling one of those PBS stunts and yelling to the kids that Barney will go the way of extinction if their mommies don't open their wallets right now.

Nah, I will always be here, spewing and ranting and (hopefully) making you laugh. I'm just saying. If Andrew Sullivan can make $80k in two weeks and he doesn't even show any cleavage, maybe I can pull in enough money in two weeks to buy a bottle of tequila so I can do some weekend drunken blogging.

And you do realize that most of this post is here because I have pretty much nothing else to say this morning? I need to wrap four presents, bake rice kripsie treats and pick up donuts for class parties and drop them all off at two different schools before I get to work.

I'm real good at procrastination. If only I could get paid for that...


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I feel so dirty now.

I will not ever, ever, ever mention the tip jar again.

update: I just realized there are some people who would much rather hit me than tip me. I working on a hit jar, so you can virtually punch me every time I piss you off.

I'm nothing if not fair.

December 19, 2002

mirror ball

Bah. Humbug. If I hear Felice Navidad one more time I'm going to wish myself deaf.

We did finally get the tree up and I took the requisite mirror shot in the ornament.

I'm beyond exhausted. Any rants I had ready to go will have to wait until tomorrow.

Except this: Good riddance, you bastard.

sports scores and a real hero

The Green Machine girls basketball team (coached by yours truly) handily beat the Yellow Jackets (coached by the nasty, tough ex-marine who has been on my shit list for five years) 18-6. We are 1-0. Woohoo.

It's been a long day and I haven't eaten dinner yet. I'll update later, but meanwhile, pleasepleaseplease go read why how Kat saved the lives of two lost children today and became my hero. Start with the Kira post and work your way up.

conversation of the day

Phone rings.

Me: Judge's Chambers
Man: Oh, the Judge has a little person over there answering his phones?
Me: Little person? Hardly. I'm his secretary.
Man: And what's your name?
Me: (In little girl voice) Michele
Man: Oh, Michele, I'm just jok....
Me: Did you need to speak to the Judge?
Man: Yes
Me: Who is calling, please?
Man (mumble mumble)
Me: Al Simerz?
Man: (grrr mumble mumble)
Me: Alzheimer's?
Man: Al. Simons.
Me: Oh, Al Simons, why didn't you say so?
Man: Can I speak to your boss please?

I walk into the Judge's chambers

Me: Some asshole is on the phone
Judge: Oh, Al Simons??

I'm not saying all attorneys are assholes (I know too many nice ones), but the ones I have to deal with on a daily basis certainly are. Maybe they are just pissed at having to deal with small claims cases and misdemeanors instead of the big cases so they get their jollies pissing off secretaries and clerks.

the cheerleaders of the left, gathered in one place

Right Wing News has the final countdown of the most annoying liberals of 2002.

Ted Rall was voted more annoying that Sean Penn and Woody Harrelson, which makes me proud, in a hateful, spiteful sort of way.

See if you can guess the top 20 before you head over there. And I heartily agree with #1.

(I'm quite overwhelmed at work today and I have to coach a basketball game tonight, so the most you'll get out of me is links to others people's sites until later tonight)

food for thought

A co-worker in the Navy Reserves got the call he has been dreading last night. He's shipping out right after Christmas.

My sister's friend, a Marine, got his call yesterday. He's headed to Kuwait first week in January.

Just saying.

tackiness in the name of the lord: More Christmas Decoration Hell

The Christmas Decoration Hell TIPSters are out in full force.

I had no idea that the tackiness and guadiness of holiday decor had grown to such proportions.

Ever vigilant reader Carol sent along a link to the following picture from where else, Texas. Yes, kids - that is Santa's head skewered on a fork.

(I am at work and Photoshop-less, so I had MT make thumbnails for pop-up images. Sorry for any extra large images that appear in the pop-ups, I'll minimize the size of them tonight)

Mike sends along this exhibit of overabundance:


Henry Blake gets TIPSter of the Day award for his link to this site, (midi warning) maintained by a homeowner who thinks the surefire way to get people to recognize that Jesus is the reason for the season is to suck up all the electricity in the entire state of Indiana: (thanks also to Michelle Jones, who sent me a link to this article about the house)

Oh, there's more. So much more:

He even has a history page/diary:

November 8, 1999

We have put up around 15,000 lights so far. All the lights are on the house. We tested the chase sequences on the house last night for the first time and we were amazed at what we saw. Dasher worked perfect! We only have about 70,000 to go. It is a lot of work but my "Father in Heaven" and "Jesus Christ" are WELL worth it.

I'm sure they thank you for turning your neighborhood into a circus sideshow and sending gawkers to look at you like you're at your mind. The key to eternal life in the kingdom of heaven is........Electricity and advertising!

And remember kids, Jesus may be the reason for celebrating Christmas, but Santa shows up at the house every night from 7-9 pm!

Along the same lines, there's this gem, sent to me in a link by Peat:

nickcross.jpg

A unique holiday display in Boise has prompted mixed reactions from neighbors and passersby. Residents of a home in the 6300 block of Ustick Road have erected a cross with a full-size, stuffed Santa Claus attached.

Chili Ciluaga got the idea to build the crucified Santa in his front yard while watching a TV commercial. He said the display conveys the message that the holiday season has become over-commercialized.

“The last thing I want to do is offend people, but if I have to do that to bring people to the cross, come on,” said Ciluaga, who lives in the home with his wife and two roommates.

Nice way to traumatize the neighborhood kids, asswipe. These grinches and killjoys who want to suck the fun out of childhood and everything good associated with it ought to just lock themselves in their house for the month of December and stop bothering everyone else with their sourness and bad taste.

I swear to Santa on a cross, if that guy lived near me, he would be finding piles of dog shit all over his lawn every morning.

More, more, more. There is no deadline on sending pictures or links. In fact, I have a few of mine - I've been driving around at night with camera in hand - and will post them on Saturday.

foiled again

I thought I did a good job ripping apart those Canadian grinches, but of course, Lileks makes me look like sloppy seconds.

i swear, i was not singing air supply songs

There are days when I flip through the myriad of radio channels that come with my digital cable and I find myself singing along to something on each station, often looking around to make sure no one can hear or see me.

I know all the words to a lot of Air Supply songs. I can still sing along with the Bay City Rollers. I've been known to...dare I say...dance to Nsync. This is all in between my attempts at singing guttural death metal and screeching like Axl Rose and trying to style like Ice Cube.

Once in a while someone will catch me humming "I'm so out of love, I'm so lost without you," but no one really laughs. Because we all have our musical skeletons in the closet.

Admit it, you really like Skid Row. You roll up the windows in your car when Abba comes on the radio so no one knows what you're singing. You bring the cd player into the bathroom and croon in the shower to Michael Bolton. You not only can belt out all the songs from Annie Get Your Gun, but you can play all the parts.

Yea, so I like that Nelly song. And if you walk by my office while I'm listening to my mix cd, you just might hear me sing:

Ben, the two of us need look no more
We both found what we were looking for
With a friend to call my own
I'll never be alone
And you, my friend will see
You've got a friend in me
(You've got a friend in me)

I've confessed. Now you do the same. What songs are you almost embarassed to admit you love? What cd, albums or 45s do you own that you hope no one ever finds? What song do you know all the lyrics to, but you wish you didn't?

Anonymous comments are allowed, but I do wish you would come clean once and for all. It's cleansing. It's good for the soul.

early morning notes and news

Before I get to the promised music post, I'll do a bit of a news roundup on things I may or may not expand on later.

First, for those who emailed about it, Natalie did not take her grounding well, as expected. But she did get all her homework done before dinner; which in itself is amazing, and the fact that she was off-limits from the phone and AIM gave her ample time to work on a project that is due after vacation. I expect I will have more to say on the subject of teacher expectations and learning disablities later on.

Second: The Bitch Bra™. Made from 100% pure duct tape, the Bitch Bra™ will provide you with all of the defense you need against airport security. It comes in two styles! Brought to you by who else but the Bitch Girls.

Third: It looks at though we are getting closer to war and it may happen in late January or, according to Stephen, early February, when there is no moon. I'm hoping for January 21, thus ensuring that the premiere of America Idol 2 will be pre-empted for war coverage, and I won't be forced to watch it with Natalie.

Fourth: There's been a nasty, horrid stomach virus going around here. Almost everyone I know has had a taste of it. Today I read that the local hospital (located just about half a mile from my house - and whose staff and doctors mostly live around here and whose children go to school in this district) has been struck by the Norwalk Virus. More on this later, I suppose.

Last: Look for a big shake-up at the North Pole today. Less than a week before Christmas and pink slips will be handed out - survivor style.

I think that's it for now.

December 18, 2002

prepare for tomorrow's post

One more thing before I pass out.

Tomorrow I will do another music related post, this time about guilty pleasure songs - those tunes you don't want anyone to know you love for fear of embarassing yourself and losing your street cred.

Start thinking.

Oh, and Joe has a post over at Raising Hell.

And my pings aren't working. I hate it when I can't ping. MT is acting real weird like these days, but I'll be damned if I have the patience to look at it now. I'm in a royall pissed off mood and the best thing to do is curl up with some graphic novels until I fall asleep.

slow boat to denial

U.S.: Iraq Plans Scorched-Earth Strategy

Iraq is preparing to destroy its own oil fields, food supplies and power plants and blame America for the devastation in the event of war, U.S. intelligence officials said Wednesday.

Attention all purveyors of peace and handshakes and appeasement: your boat to denial land is now leaving. Please board immediately.

Saddam has been preparing for a war with the United States and its British allies since the weeks after the Sept. 11 attacks, the officials said.

Anyone who still believes that Saddam is not a threat to us or his own people is either a complete idiot or should lay off the peace pipes.

If you read the whole article (and I'm in too pissy of a mood to sit here and quote the whole thing line by line) you will see where Saddam has put us.

He obviously has weapons. Only a fool does not believe that. And he intends to use them. The thing is, we lose either way. If we invade, he deploys everything he has against his own people. If we don't invade, he employs everything he has against us, eventually. A leader does not collect biological and chemical warfare just to say he has them. If you produce these weapons, it's because you intend to use them.

Heads out of your asses, folks. We are fucked no matter what we do - or don't do.

note to toren

Thank you, thank you Toren. The books arrived today. I now have manga to keep me warm and cozy over Christmas vacation.

And that was the greatest company Christmas card ever.

hit the back roads, bill

Clinton calls GOP 'hypocritical' on Lott

Former President Clinton said Wednesday it is "pretty hypocritical" of Republicans to criticize incoming Senate Majority Leader Trent Lott for stating publicly what he said the GOP does "on the back roads every day."

You don't want to talk about what goes down on those back roads, Arkanas boy.

"How do they think they got a majority in the South anyway?" Clinton told CNN outside a business luncheon he was attending. "I think what they are really upset about is that he made public their strategy."

Hate to break it to you, Bill, but I don't think any party's strategy is self-destruction. Oh, wait. That was the Dem's strategy this year, oh so it seemed.

Asked if Lott should be removed, Clinton said, "That's up to them, but I think they can't do it with a straight face."

You would know. You're the master of straight-faced lying. I did not have sexual relations....

The former president then said, "He just embarrassed them by saying in Washington what they do on the back roads every day."

And you embarassed the entire nation by doing under your desk what teenagers do on the back roads every day.

"I think the way the Republicans have treated Senator Lott is pretty hypocritical since right now their policy is, in my view, inimical to everything that this country stands for," Clinton said.

Not for nothing, but if no one said shit about Lott, Clinton would be standing up there raging to the media about how no one spoke out against Lott's racism. He is an opportunist of the worst kind; willing to jump in and kick at the bodies only when they are already dropping.

As to what this country stands for, the leaders of this country made it pretty
clear when they practically ran you out of the White House for your bold faced lies and drunken old man behavior.

I think Bill needs a can of whoop ass opened up on him. (Thanks Sondra!)

you are in a large jail cell. there is a small bucket in the corner and a man named bubba is staring at you.

Four brothers who work for a suburban Dallas computer company were arrested Wednesday on charges related to an alleged financing scheme for the radical Islamic group Hamas, law enforcement sources told CNN.

A 33-count federal indictment filed Tuesday named the brothers, three other individuals and the computer firm, Infocom Corp.


Infocom?? The same Infocom that took away half my life by making those addictive adventure games?

You are standing at the entrance to your workplace. You see federal agents approaching.
>n
You cannot go that way
>e
There is a large tree blocking the path
>s
You come face to face with a man holding a gun
>examine man
There is nothing to examine
>examine gun
It is a huge gun
>run
run where?
>run w
You run straight into the path of another armed man
>talk
who do you want to talk to?
>talk man
The man says you are under arrest
>pray
>To whom do you want to pray?
pray to Allah
>Allah says you are on your own

What's next? The makers of Atari arrested for supporting Saddam?

the six towers

New Plans For Ground Zero Released

1. Ugliest building design ever.
2. Too cold looking, very sterile.
3. I always liked the Oklahoma City memorial, where there is a chair for each victim. This design borrows on that: The garden would contain an amphitheater on the north tower footprint with one seat for each victim who died in the attacks. I like the peacefulness and grace of this design, as opposed to the hard symmetry of the previous two.
4. Too post-modern for my tastes. Also, looks too much like the inside of any mega-mall.
5. Welcome to Epcot. Umm..is that a plane flying in back of the towers?
6. This is what would happen if Darth Vader were an architect. I think someone was watching the Superman Fortress of Solitude scene when they thought this one up.

Maybe it's me. Perhaps I just don't get these artsy, complicated designs.

Then again, perhaps I still don't wish to see ground zero built upon. I feel once they do that, once they start building, Pete, and the others, will really be gone forever.

implosion

Two weeks ago, we got in the mail Natalie's certificate for making the scholastic roll for the first semester.

Today we got her progress report.

She is in danger of failing all four major subjects this semester.

The shit is going to hit the fan here at about 3:30 p.m. It will not be a pretty sight. Have you ever grounded a teenage girl from using the phone or AIM? Do you have any idea what this house is going to be like in an hour?

Fear me, for my wrath has been invoked.

J-JAMMY-JESUS IN DA HIZOUSE

Baby Jesus has made his way into the Santa Blog. And he's not crying, he's whining.

So, I've made my break and here I am - do you know how god awfully cold it gets in Trenton at night? And those 'tards have the gall to leave me outside in nothing but swaddling! Sure, mom and - er - that guy who isn't really my dad, are there looking over me, but they don't do a damn thing - hey! There's a frickin' sheep over there, make me a blanket! Jesus H. Christ!

Peace unto you, too.

(Sorry for the quietness today. I'm wrapping presents and bemoaning how much I spent for Natalie on stupid American Idol crap)

bloviating jesus

Bill Cimino is on a fast train to hell. And I think he made the baby jesus cry.

the operative word here is "tool"

Oh My Goodness! I am SHOCKED! I think I have to lie down, I'm so unnerved by the revelation that Iraq is using Sean Penn as a propaganda tool.

Oh, please! I don't know where those statements are being fabricated from," said spokeswoman Mara Buxbaum.

"This is specifically propaganda. It's a twisted interpretation of what he said. They are twisting his words."

According to Buxbaum, Penn never even spoke with the Iraq Daily.

So why would Penn's newfound buddies stab him in the back?

Buxbaum said Penn would not be available to answer that question.

Nor could she say whether the acid-tongued talent would now write off the terrorist nation.

Raise your hand if you saw this coming a mile away.

we had joy, we had fun....

Everyone has a special song, maybe more than one. I don't mean the let's hold hands and gaze into each other's eyes songs. Nor do I mean the man I miss those drunken college days songs. I'm talking songs that grate on your every last nerve, songs that get stuck in your head for days on end, songs that make you think bad, bad thoughts.

I have several of those songs, but none that get under my skin more than Terry Jacks' Seasons in the Sun. You know the one:

We had joy we had fun
we had seasons in the sun

Yea, that one.

What made this song so spectacularlly horrible for me was the mention of my name:

Goodbye Michele, it's hard to die
when all the birds are singing in the sky

When this song came out, it surpassed singing the Beatles' Michele as the number one way to bug the living shit out of me.

The song was sticky, syrupy sappy. The lyrics made me cringe. And everyone knew this. My sisters, my neighbors, my classmates who needed no further excuse to make fun of me to begin with. If you wanted to get under my skin, you just stood in front of me and sang Seasons in the Sun.

A little known fact about Seasons in the Sun is that the 45 (remember those?) had an equally disturbing and morbid song on the flip side. Titled Put the Bone in, the lyrics went something like this:

Put the bone in
she yelled
at the store
cause my doggie
got hit
by a car

I am not kidding. Looking for a link to the lyrics, I discovered that Soul Asylum did a cover version. I can only hope it was for laughs.

There were plenty of songs I could use against friends, if I had any. Billy Don't be a Hero was a very popular song at the time, full of war time angst and sadness, but I didn't know anyone named Billy. Besides, if Billy was the hero, it just wouldn't have the effect I wanted it to.

Then there was Run, Joey, Run, a song about a boy who got a young girl pregnant and the girl's father shoots him, leaving the mourning young woman to wail at the end of the song (presumably while holding Joey's dying body in her arms):

Daddy please don't
we're gonna get....
(pause for effect)
married
.

I think there was a slight obession with over-wrought emotions and death in the 70's. Maybe it was to counter the happy hedonistic disco craze.

The 70's was also the height of my mother's show tune craze. I was almost afraid to get off the bus each day, as my mother had a penchant for opening every window in the house and blasting her soundtrack of the moment. Do you know what it's like to get off the bus with a group of people and have every stare in horror at your house as the songs from Hair drift out the window?

Sodomy
Fellatio
Cunnilingus
Pederasty

Father, why do these words sound so nasty?

Masturbation
Can be fun
Join the holy orgy
Kama Sutra
Everyone!

And you wonder why I am the way I am? These are the songs of my childhood. War, death, sex. It all makes sense now, doesn't it?

Mom and dad also schooled us in the way of doo-wop, forcing us to listen to the Sunday night show on CBS-FM. There was nothing like having a few friends over on a summer Sunday night, hanging in the backyard and your mom turns off your "hippie druggie" music so she can embarass the hell out of me by dancing with my dad on the pool deck to lyrics like "Sh-boom, sh-boom." Doo wop seeps into your brain like on other kind of music. Three days after hearing a song, your mind is still going ramalamadingdong.

There are plenty of other songs - without my name - that get stuck in my head and cause me to writhe around on the floor in agony. McArthur Park, Copacabana, The Pina Colada Song, Whoomp There it Is, song, just to name a few. The only way to combat the phenomenom of a horrible tune playing on repeat in your head is to listen to some Cannibal Corpse. Trust me, after hearing those lyrics, you will forget all about the cake being left out in the rain.

And don't ever, ever sing that Seasons in the Sun song to me. You will regret it.

he who shall not be named

At the risk of facing the ire and wrath of the Imperial H.I.M. Emperor Misha I, I will not make a single post or reference about He Who Shall Not Be Named today.

So here's the latest Imperial Decree™:

By order of His Imperial Majesty, Defender of the Clue™, Wielder of the Holy Hand Grenade of Enlightenment™, Scourge of Idiotarians and Evil Ruler of All of the Known Universe, Pontifex Maximus of the Church of Linear Thinking, Princeps Patriae and a Partridge in a Pear Tree (With Cheese™), it is henceforth to be considered a crime of the highest order to mention the numbskulled, mealy-mouthed, fuckwitted jerk 1st Class with Oak Leaves and Diamonds, the soon-to-be-former Majority "Leader" of the Senate, Trent Lott.

I'd rather not deal with the punishment. I'll go pick on Ted Rall instead.

carnival of the vanities: season 13

So I overslept just a little bit today.

That's ok, you don't need to be here, anyhow. Alex Knapp has put together an incredible episode of Carnival of the Vanities. Makes my icon idea look like child's play. Just an idea of what he put together and the work he put into it:

Season 13 of the popular, long-running series Carnival of the Vanities is regarded by many critics and fans as the best season of all. This season occurred during a long period of time in which the creator of the program, Silflay Hraka, gave up creative control of the series, and several other prominent producers took the helm for a season apiece. Critics frequently regard season 13 as the best due to the sharp wit brought to the program by famed producer Alex Knapp. Fans of the long running series, however, view Season 13 as a high point in spite of, not because of, Knapp. Frequent mutterings can be heard at Carnival conventions about "that lousy egomaniacal hack Knapp" whenever a critic heaps praise on his work in the 13th Season. These hardcore fans cite that the writers for season 13 had already been lined up by previous producers, and that Knapp was merely "riding on their coattails." Still, love him or hate him, nobody can deny that season 13 was filled with terrific writing, intense characterization, ingenious plot points, and of course, a healthy dose of humor.

What are you waiting for? Turn the station to Heretical Ideas and watch the 13th season of COV.

December 17, 2002

at my own request

I love Jim Treacher.

Speaking of funny people, Kevin Parrot is having a Blogger/Blogspot motto contest. Hopefully his archives are working!

request night at asv

This one is for Kevin Parrot re the post with Rummy. (note to Kevin, it's Aladdin, not Little Mermaid)

I can show you the world
Shining, shimmering, splendid
Tell me, Myers, now when did
You last let your bombs decide?

I can open your eyes
Take you wonder by wonder
Over, sideways and under
On a giant missile ride

A whole new world (order)
A new Saddam-less point of view
Bushie can't tell us no
Or where to go
Or say we're exaggerating

Unbelievable bombs
Indescribable feeling
blasting, shooting, arms dealing
Through an endless nuclear night

Yea, I'm not as good as Laurence or Bigwig at these things, but it's the thought that counts.

at the request of juan gato

This one's for Juan.

pdTSCHG0003.jpg


I mugged a protester to get this for you. Don't mind the stains under the armpits. It's just liberal sweat. Maybe a bit of blood.

professor or professional protester?

Found at - where else - Indymedia: Faculty and Students Call for Teaching Moratorium

We, the undersigned students and faculty, resolve that on the two school days following the beginning of an unnecessary and unjustified bombing campaign or land invasion of Iraq, will hold a two day teaching moratorium. During this time only teach-ins debating the war and related foreign policy issues will be held. Through our actions we will create a space for dialogue and discussion for the diverse elements of civil society who are united in our skepticism of the necessity of such a war.

Should such an attack occur during the winter recess the moratorium will take place on February 3rd and 4th, 2003.

Andrew Arato GF New School University
David Graeber Yale University
Lauren Leve GF New School University
Stevphen Shukaitis New School University

If I was a parent paying for my kid to go to one of these colleges, I would be throwing a tantrum on the floor of the main office right now.

I don't really care if you are for or against the war, but if you are paid to teach, then teach. If you're on the clock, you shouldn't be spending your time spouting your ideologies and political ideals to your students. Colleges are not supposed to be training grounds for liberal pep rallies, but it sure looks like that's what's happening these days.

What about the students who don't think the same way? Maybe some of the students actually want to go to class and learn something besides ways in which you can be a far left liberal.

I wonder what the university higher ups would say if a bunch of right-wingers got together to stage a day of protest for Israel or to support a regime change in Iraq. You can bet a semester's tuition that they would be silenced so fast the protest would never get past the planning stages.

who turned out the lights?

Is it just me or has the entire blogosphere slowed to a crawl this week?

Well, don't look at me to break the trend. I'm too busy Christmas shopping and trying to figure out if Victoria's Secret has started designing clothes for 13 year olds, because it sure looks that way. My daughter is not going walk around dressed like a ho.

Man, life was so much easier when before Natalie turned into a teenager.

So, you think Rummy is in love with this guy, or what?

rummy.jpg

when bloggers have too much time on their hands

If you haven't been reading the Santa blog, you're missing out on some interesting developments. Apparently Mrs. Claus (aka Stacy) and Strom Thurmond go way back. And Strom is a little umm....light on the brain matter these days.

Hannakuh Harry has stopped by to post also. The dude gives out library cards for Hannakuh presents and then he wonders why people are shooting at him.

Even Sean Penn wrote a letter to Santa.

fingering your neighbors for christmas

Hold the presses. I'm not ready to give Batgirl her award yet.

Peat of Diversionz has found a link to what may be the most offensive - yet oddly amusing - Christmas decoration yet:

finger.jpg

You don't have to look very carefully to spot the giant wooden middle finger among the lawn Santas, reindeer and lights in one Pompano Beach neighborhood.

The homeowner said he was inspired when someone speeding by his yard hit and killed his Jack Russel terrier, Whiskey....

...His finger, according to city officials, is a personal expression on private property. So for now, the unique display will remain.

I think he should have at least strung some festive lights on it, or at least blared this song through speakers. It would make a much bolder statement.

When Penn speaks, does anyone listen?

Sean Penn. Gotta love him. After all, he just saved an entire country from having the wrath of the U.S. foisted upon it's ground.

Mr. Penn gave an interview to Iraq Daily:

He confirmed that Iraq is completely clear of weapons of mass destruction and the United Nations must adopt a positive stance towards Iraq.

Well, it looks like there's no need for the weapons inspectors to be there now that a bona fide Hollywood star has confirmed that there are no WoMDs.

The self-righteousness and smugness of this man amazes me. Does anyone really put that much value in Sean Penn's declaration of Iraq's state of armament?

Oh wait, I'm sure everyone in the Moore/Chomsky/Rall camp o' idiots will be hanging on Penn's every word and cheering him as a spokesperson for his generation.

I say strap him to a missile and aim it for Saddam's palace. Two crazy birds, one missile.

News with a gratuitous stab at Lott

In case you were wondering where to shop for Trent Lott's Christmas present.

Oh, damn. Too late! Two shopping malls in Huntsville have evicted a vendor selling Dixie Outfitters merchandise, which combines images of the Confederate Battle Flag with trucks, wildlife and dogs.

Mac says " their supplier also sells a shirt depicting 'blacks picking cotton and the slogan, "Land of Cotton."'

But Terry Bagwell, owner of the offending kiosks, said Dixie Hot Stuff, the supplier, carries 600 different different prints for their shirts and "Most is dogs and puppies and fish and deer."

I bet they is.

Snoop in da hizzouse!

I'm very busy at work today so I thought I would bring in a guest author to entertain you with a traditional Christmas story.

For your blog-viewing pleasure, I present my homie Snoop Dogg with A Visit From St. Nicholas:

T'wuz da night before Christmas, when izzall through da house Not a creature wuz stirring, --not even a mouse; The stockings wuz hung by da chimney wit care, In hopes that St, know what I'm sayin'? Nicholas soon would be there n' shit. The shorties wuz nestled izzall snug in they beds, While visions of sugar-plums danced in they heads; And mamma in her 'kerchief, 'n I in my cap,

Had just settled down fo' a long winter's nap,
When out on da lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from da bed see what wuz da matter."
Away da window I flew like a flash,
Tore open da shutters 'n threw up da sash n' shit.
The moon on da breast of da new-fallen snow
Gave da lustre of mid-day objects below,
When, what my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, 'n eight tiny reindeer,

With a little old driver, so lively 'n quick,
I knew in a moment that shiznit gots be St, know what I'm sayin'? Nick, know what I'm sayin'?
More rapid than eagles tha dude's coursers they came,
And tha dude whistled, 'n shouted, 'n called 'em by name;
"Now, DASHER! now, DANCER! now, PRANCER 'n VIXEN!
On, COMET! on CUPID! on, DONDER 'n BLITZEN!
To da top of da porch! da top of da wall!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away izzall!"

As dry leaves that before da wild hurricane fly,
When they meet wit an obstacle, mount da sky,
So up da house-top da coursers they flew,
With da sleigh full of toys, 'n St." Nicholas too n' shit.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on da roof
The prancing 'n pawing of each little hoof, know what I'm sayin'?
As I drew in my hand, 'n wuz turning around,
Down da chimney St n' shit. Nicholas came wit a bound n' shit.
Tha dude wuz dressed izzall in fur, from tha dude's heezee tha dude's foot,
And tha dude's clothes wuz izzall tarnished wit ashes 'n soot;
A bundle of toys tha dude had flung on tha dude's back,
And tha dude looked like a peddler just opening tha dude's pack, know what I'm sayin'?

His eyes -- how they twinkled! tha dude's dimples how merry!
His cheeks wuz like roses, tha dude's nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth wuz drawn up like a bow,
And da beard of tha dude's chin wuz as white as da snow;
The stump of a pipe tha dude held tight in tha dude's teeth,
And da smoke that shiznit encircled tha dude's heezee like a wreath;
Tha dude had a broad face 'n a little round belly,
That shook, when tha dude laughed like a bowlful of jelly, know what I'm sayin'?

Tha dude wuz chubby 'n plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I seen tha dude's ass, in spite of myself;
A wink of tha dude's eye 'n a twist of tha dude's heezee,
Soon gave me know I had nothing dread;
Tha dude spoke not a word, but went straight tha dude's work,
And filled izzall da stockings; then turned wit a jerk,
And laying tha dude's finger aside of tha dude's nose,
And giving a nod, up da chimney tha dude rose;
Tha dude sprang tha dude's sleigh, tha dude's team gave a whistle,
And away they izzall flew like da down of a thistle, know what I'm sayin'?
But I heard tha dude's ass exclaim, izzle tha dude drove out of sight,
"HAPPY CHRISTMAS TO ALL, AND TO ALL A GOOD-NIGHT."

Fo shizzle.

have a crustacean christmas?

Christmas Hell TIPster Batgirl has outdone herself and everyone else by directing me to this picture of a Cajun Christmas.


click for larger image


I dare any of you to find anything more absurd than that. It defies even a caption.

sean penn, north pole activist

Not content with visiting Iraq for his own peace of mind, Sean Penn has decided to pay the North Pole a visit to see for himself how Santa is upholding U.N. Resolutions:

Santa's mailbag.

you've been a baaaaaaaad boy

What is it with nativity scenes?

Charleston police arrested an East Bank man for allegedly having sex with a sheep used in a West Side funeral home's live nativity scene.

I don't know what's more disturbing; the guy having sex with the sheep or the fact that a funeral home has a live nativity scene. The thought of mourners having to pass what appears to be a holiday petting zoo on their way into the funeral home seems wrong in a whole lot of ways.

But what I really want to know is, if this was a "live" nativity scene, where were the people playing Mary and Joseph while this guy was bedding the sheep?

The assailant was charged with trespassing, destruction of property and cruelty to animals.

I wonder if the sheep really thought it was cruel.

December 16, 2002

Operation Christmas Hell: add another rule on the fire

Operation Christmas Hell TIPSter Mike sent me a picture which reminds me that I forgot one very basic rule of Christmas decorating:

Christmas spirt and school spirit should never, ever be mixed. Ever.

small-go-hogs.JPG

Token Lott post for Monday

Funditry has a growing list of people who want Trent Lott to resign. (link via Instapundit)

I know the political world is dying to know my views on the issue. So I'll tell you.

I think Trent Lott should step down or be taken out.

It has less to do with the words he spoke (which I thought were incredibly ignorant) but the fact that he spoke them at all.

If you are too stupid to think before you speak, you have no business being majority leader.

And that is why I think Lott should be gone come January 6.

they made the baby jesus cry

"TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN: WE HAVE YOUR BABY JESUS. IF YOU EVER WANNA SEE YOUR BABY JESUS AGAIN, LEAVE 800 DOLLARS IN SMALL BILLS, NOT TRACEABLE, IN THE MAILBOX OF ... WE WILL CONTACT YOU LATER WITH FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS. YOURS TRULY."

$800 for a plastic Jesus? For about 70 bucks the owners can run down to any mall and pick up another one.

Maybe they thought it was the real baby Jesus? In that case, they should have asked for a hell of a lot more than $800.

The note was signed:

The note was signed by "Me, him and the other kid who was really scared and didn’t want to take your baby Jesus and the whole time all he did was say stuff like you’re going to hell, this isn’t right, stop."

I'm sure I shouldn't find this amusing in any way, but I do. You really have to give the thieves credit with that note. They sure knew how to get in the local paper.

you think?

Powell: Iraq declaration has 'problems'.

He later announced that the world is round and Michael Jackson is weird.

I'm headed to Target. On a Monday, nine days before Christmas. If I'm not back in a couple of hours, send bail money.

And don't forget to see what that nasty santa and his posse have been up to.

A reader's letter to NPR

Reader and frequent commenter Alistair Mackay took issue with an interview on NPR this morning with Cokie Roberts, centered around the Trent Lott story. Alistair, an NPR subscriber, was ired enough to send off a letter to NPR regarding his feelings on the issue. It reads like a blog entry and should be a blog entry, and Alistair has given me permission to post his letter here:

As a dues-paying National Public Radio supporter, I was glad that today's "Morning Edition" included Cokie Roberts' analysis of Senator Trent Lott's situation. Roberts noted that the weeklong controversy has been fueled by conservative rather than liberal commentators. She then asserted that these
pundits object to Lott because he is an "institutionalist" and a "legislator" rather than a true-believing right-wing activist in the mold of Rep. Tom DeLay.

It's an interesting and important story. If true. I wouldn't know what motives lurk in the hearts of right-wing pundits. However, to Trent Lott's sorrow, Google makes it easy to recall what people actually say and write.

The "prominent," "conservative" commentators that I've read are Andrew Sullivan, Charles Krauthammer, Joshua Micah Marshall, and Glenn Reynolds. Recent brief quotes from the first two (plenty more where these come from):

Andrew Sullivan: "[Lott's Dec. 6 statement] was part of a pattern of consistently voting and speaking as if he did indeed regret desegregation. [It] was damaging precisely because it makes more sense of Lott's career in racial matters than any other plausible explanation."

Charles Krauthammer: "[Lott's behavior] is about getting wrong the most important political phenomenon in the last half-century of American history: the civil rights movement. Getting wrong its importance is not an issue of political correctness. It is evidence of a historical blindness that is utterrly disqualifying for national office."

Perhaps Sen. Lott's vile statements and craven spin-doctoring have stayed in the news because these analyses make sense to centrist voters like me. Perhaps the heart of this story is best captured by righty pundits, not mainstream media pontificators or collegial apologists (James Jeffords, Paul Simon).

Ms. Roberts might wish to name the commentators who have criticized Lott for his "institutionalist, legislative" tendencies, rather than for his despicable utterances on matters of race and history. If she can't point to any such pundits, she can always apologize for her "poor choice of words" this morning.
Suggestion: do it quickly, completely, and sincerely.


written by Alistair Mackay

he said what?

Scene: Family dinner last night at my parents' house, all of us present

DJ takes a piece of bread out of the bread basket and looks around for butter. Seeing it's all the way down the other end of the table, he politely asks for someone to pass it down. Unfortunately, no one hears him. He sits there a few minutes until, tired of being ignored, my nine year old son says - in a loud, macho-type voice - what he heard at his father's house earlier that day, thinking it would get results:

"Hey! Who do I have to sleep with to get some butter around here?!?"

It was obvious he had no idea what it meant, nor did his use of the phrase get the desired results. I think he realized from the look on my face that what he said was totally inappropriate and that Cousin Paulie was not a person he should be mimicing.

But man, if I had a video camera at that moment and a desire to be on America's Most Ridiculous Home Videos, I would be golden.

SantaPundit

Ho ho holy shit! A group blog with featuring a pissed off Santa, a bitchy Mrs. Clause, and Dingle, the union rep elf.

It’s nine days before Christmas and all is not well. I’m tired of this shit. Back in the day, when the Holiday Gods gave me immortality so I could do this crap every year, I was young of mind, naive and full of gung-ho-ho-ho. I wanted to spread joy and peace throughout the land. I wanted to make kiddies smile. Now, I just want to bomb the fuck out of almost every country and give every kid a lump of shit in their stocking.

Santa's blogging and boy, is he pissed.

random picture #1

The angel from mom's tree.

christmas myths legends, and shoes for mama

For those of you who commented or emailed that the modern image of Santa Claus was created by Coca-Cola as a marketing tool, please be advised that you are, as I stated previously, wrong.

This legend is not true. Although some versions of the Santa Claus figure still had him attired in various colors of outfits past the beginning of the 20th century, the jolly, ruddy, sack-carrying Santa with a red suit and flowing white whiskers had become the standard image of Santa Claus by the 1920s, several years before Sundlom drew his first Santa illustration for Coca-Cola. As The New York Times reported on 27 November 1927:

A standardized Santa Claus appears to New York children. Height, weight, stature are almost exactly standardized, as are the red garments, the hood and the white whiskers. The pack full of toys, ruddy cheeks and nose, bushy eyebrows and a jolly, paunchy effect are also inevitable parts of the requisite make-up.

There you have it.

While we are on the subject of Christmas myths and legends, let's -with the help of the ever-reliable Snopes - debunk a few before they make the rounds again:

A Japanese department store did not show a display of Santa crucified on a cross.

The character 'Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer' was created for the Montgomery Ward group of department stores.

A man attempted to surprise his family by dressing up as Santa Claus and entered the house by sliding down the chimney. He got stuck, died, and was discovered by his family after they lit a fire in the fireplace.

That one only happened in Phoebe Cates's award-worthy scene in Gremlins.

And some things that are true are hard to believe, like the fact that this song actually became a hit last Christmas:

Sir, I want to buy these shoes for my Mama, please
It's Christmas Eve and these shoes are just her size
Could you hurry, sir, Daddy says there's not much time
You see she's been sick for quite a while
And I know these shoes would make her smile
And I want her to look beautiful if Mama meets Jesus tonight

Although some of you may remember the story of - who else - DJ and his misunderstanding those lyrics:

So Natalie comes home from school today singing this song. The song is wrong in and of itself. The main lyric is "if momma meets jesus tonight." It's way too sappy, way too depressing and just...wrong. If momma meets jesus tonight.

Now, you know how people sometimes mishear lyrics? And they sing the wrong lyrics so openly, so righteously, because they think that's the way the lyrics go, no matter how bizarre it makes the song? So we were sitting in a restaurant tonight, eating dinner, having a pleasant family meal, when DJ starts singing at the top of his lungs:

What if momma eats jesus tonight....

I didn't stop him.

What if momma eats jesus tonight

Yes, I know. I'm going to hell.

At least I'll be laughing.

millions of strangers are disappointed

Hang onto your Real Dolls and put your bikes back in the shed. The NYC transit strike is off. For now, at least.

After a feverish round of eleventh-hour talks, the transit union stopped the clock on a subway and bus strike early today - giving millions of morning commuters a reprieve from a walkout.

"Trains and buses will run at least through the morning rush," a union source told the Daily News. [emphasis added]

How comforting.

For the record, I do not tolerate either side in this mess. It's like a Joel Schumacher movie; there are no likeable characters, the plot drags on and on without really moving and it feels like it will never, ever end. All we need is a stylish soundtrack and a love scene.

December 15, 2002

You better watch out!

My sister Lisa told me this story today, involving her fiance's mother Mary and his sister Eileen.

Mary and Eileen go to the mall to have Eileen's year old son Jack sit on Santa's lap for a picture. They wait on line for what seems like hours and finally, it is their turn. Mary takes baby Jack up to Santa's throne while Eileen runs into a store.

After Jack grins at Santa and the picture is snapped, Santa leans over to Mary and says, pointing to the little boy, "This one is going to have the ancient curse."

Mary looks at Santa warily. "What do you mean?" she asks him.

Santa leans down close to Mary and whispers in her ear, "He's going to kiss a lot of pussy!"

Mary grabbed Jack off of Santa's lap and turned towards the female "Santa's Helper" standing next to her.

"That man is a pervert!" she shouted at the woman.

"Yea, I know." Was all the woman could muster.

Mary found Eileen and practically ran out of the mall.

I probably would have kicked old Santa in the balls and reported him to mall security. Mary is much more civil than I. And I imagine she is a bit traumatized. I mean, even if you are over 50, it still has to be upsetting to hear Santa utter the word "pussy," especially while your grandson is on his lap.

Seriously, I would have knocked him on his ass. Wouldn't you?

get on your bike and ride

Transit strike + snowy morning rush hour = armageddon.

I guess Mayor Bloomber didn't plan ahead for snowy and icy sidewalks when he encouraged people to ride their bicycles to work.

His other bright idea, picking up strangers to comply with the four person-per-car minimum isn't going over too well, either. 84% of the people taking a Newsday poll said they would not ride with strangers. The other 16% of the votes all came from the Nassau County Jail.

Just in case you were wondering, motorcycles and hearses are exempt from the four person rule.

Stay away from NYC tomorrow.

Thanks, Santa

Christmas comes early!!

Look for him to start a comedy career in which he does nothing but mock himself. Think about it, he has an endless source from which to draw on. And really, what else can he do? Make Pepsi commercials with Shakira?

So let's start the betting pool now. Who will be the Dems' sacrificial lamb?

bigwig sucks up in song

A Small Victory has been immortalized in song by the pardoy song-master himself, Bigwig.


I sat and read the blogs all day
On Christmas day, on Christmas day;
And what did those blogs have to say
On Christmas day in the morning?

Michelle of a small victory
On Christmas day, on Christmas day;
Wrote on her kids and entropy
On Christmas day in the morning.

Go read, lots of fun!

creative liberties

I don't know how I get on these mailing lists - maybe someone is covertly trying to indoctrinate me into the Vast Left Wing Conspiracy.

One of the newsletters I get is from Orion Magazine. I'm sitting here, too lazy to unpack the box of Christmas decorations I took out of the closet. So I read the Orion newsletter and click on a few links.

I see now. It is unmined territory for me. I can add this to the list of places I troll looking for far left drivel.

Tonight's feature story is from David James Duncan, a college professor of creative writing.

Yet as the semester unfolds and we listen to President Bush and his various goaders and backers wage a rhetorical war on Iraq and prepare an increasingly vague national "we" to lay waste to Saddam Hussein, the mere teaching of creative writing has come to feel, for the first time in my life, like a positively dissident line of work.

I can see he teaches this class objectively. I wonder how many of his "creative writing" lectures head off into anti-war statements. And please, pray tell, what does creative writing have to do with invading Iraq? Oh, look. He explains.

Creative writing requires a dual love of language and of life, human and otherwise. The storyteller then sculpts these raw loves with acute observation, reflection, creative struggle, allegiance to truth, merciless awareness of the foibles of human beings, and unstinting empathy toward human beings even so. Not only have these strategies foundered in the post-9/11 rhetoric of the Bush administration, they look to me to have been outlawed by two recent federal documents: the "2002 National Security Strategy for the United States" and the 107th Congress's "Patriot Act."

Basically, if you are in support of an invasion of Iraq, you cannot be a creative writer, because you probably hate humanity and have no empathy at all.

In such an America the teaching of creative writing is one of countless professions that has been inadvertently redefined as dissident. This puts me in an odd position. Having signed a contract to teach before Bush/Cheney/Powell's "New America" existed, and knowing only the former America's literary methods, I'm left no choice but to instruct my students in how to become what the new national lexicon might call "better unAmericans."

I had to read that paragraph twice to make sure I read it correctly. Writers are now considered dissidents. All literary methods have changed since Bush became president. He now is forced to teach his students to become unAmerican.

I wonder what would happen if I were in his class. Would you call me "too American?" Would he accept my challenges to his views? Would he tell me I'm a terrible writer because I support what our country is doing?

Post-9/11 anti-Saddam talk has usurped thought, annihilated international trust, and polarized our populace.

Yes, we all have become unthinking, unfeeling robots of the New America, the Stepford Children of politics, just waiting to be told how to act and what to say. My mind is being controlled from the White House.

ANOTHER EXAMPLE of how the New America forces literature into a dissident position is Bush's presumption (stated in the National Security Strategy, page 5) that it is the New America's "clear responsibility to history" to "rid the world of evil." As a lifelong student of the world's wisdom literature, it is my duty to inform students that "ridding the world of evil" is a goal very different from any recommended by Jesus, Buddha, or Muhammad, though not so different from some recommended by the Josephs Stalin and McCarthy and by Mao Tse Tung.

Where does religion fall into this and why is he comparing former world leaders to religious leaders? He claims it his duty as a teacher to tell his students that their president is comparable to ruthless dictators. He is a creative writing teacher. I'm sure nowhere in his job description does it state that he must force his politics upon his students.

And tonight's secret word, ladies and gentlemen is OIL.

I fear that the Bush administration's claim that Iraq must be attacked, defeated, and occupied for America's domestic safety is just such a distortion, and that its chief aim is the embezzlement not of cash but of Iraq's oil reserves -- the third largest on Earth.

Ding! Ding! Ding! Congratulations, Mr. Duncan, you are tonight's winner of Tire Rhetoric prize package. It includes a one way trip to Berkeley and a date with Susan Sarandon!

I fear that weapons of mass destruction will be discovered in Iraq, that the discovery will be hailed as the greatest victory yet in the war against terror, and that the U.S. will use this victory to justify occupying Iraq with a military force whose job it will be to cultivate international goodwill and protect us here at home by brandishing weapons of destruction all day every day at Muslims forbidden to brandish their own.

So what is he wants us to if WoMDs are found? Pat Saddam on the back and go home? Embrace him in empathy?

I still don't get what this all has to do with teaching creative writing, or why writers are unAmerican.

Silly me, it has nothing to do with it at all. He just needed a scary monster to pop out of his closet and yell BOO! at the right time.

Now that, folks, is creative writing.

Christmas Decoration Hell: Come all ye tipsters

I've been receiving some excellent pictures and links via email. I've also been scouring the neighborhood taking my own pics of holiday decorating monstrosities.

I urge you all to grab a camera and go riding through the night, spying on your gaudy neighbors, as I will award a prize to the person who sends me the picture of the most horrible display of Christmas tackiness.

Go forth and seek out the lights!

have a ho-ho-homer christmas

No, it's not mine. The drunken-looking Homer belongs to my neighbors.

Mmmmm.....drunken Christmas.

homer2.jpg

pissing on my christmas tree

Or: Why this atheist celebrates Christmas

Let's talk about Christmas and co-opted holidays and why some people have their panties in a bunch about this time of year and why I don't.

We all know by now that Jesus was not born on December 25. That doesn't really matter to me because Christmas was never about Jesus's birthday to me. It's about so many other things. Sure, I'm not celebrating the "true meaning" of the holiday but then again, no other holiday really gets its true meaning celebrated. Easter has become about bunnies and colored eggs. Halloween is about scary witches and ghosts and candy. Even holidays meant to celebrate births of great figures in American history are nothing more than days off from work and school. Americans love a holiday, that's for sure.

So why does this atheist celebrate a holiday that is supposed to be about religion? It's not the gifts, it's not the gaudy decorations. It's the spirit.

You know what to do, click the "MORE" link to continue.

When I was a child, Christmas time meant so many things. Parties in school, snow on the ground, snooping around my parent's bedroom for hidden presents. The air was filled with a sense of anticipation and joy that was not present most of the year. The calendar was marked down with X's on the dates of December, and every new X meant that special day was coming.

Of course, I loved the presents. But I loved the atmosphere, too. My parents are very social people. During the holiday season, there would be friends and relatives dropping over to say hello, have a drink, maybe a bite to eat. The Christmas tree glowed and sparkled and the windows were covered with those plastic, colorful decorations depicting Santa and snowmen and angels.

Christmas is about traditions. For as long as I can remember, we would gather at my aunt's house on Christmas Eve - we still do - enjoying an Italian feast of fish and pasta, at least 40 of us crowded into the fully decorated basement. We exchanged presents and Santa came and the grownups were all happy and carefree and festive. We would go home late, get tucked into bed and then lay there for what seemed like hours, too excited to sleep. It was a great night to be a kid.

My father would always take us shopping on Christmas Eve day, usually to Sears. We would buy presents for our mother - always Jean Nate perfume and powder - and presents for each other (I still have the music box my sister bought for me one year that played "Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head") and we would get home and have hot chocolate covered in whipped cream and wrap our presents. We made cards for our parents and sometimes we would make presents, too; sloppy hand-made ornaments that still hang on my mother's tree.

Even decorating the tree became a tradition of hot chocolate and Christmas songs and sibling fights over who got to put the star on top. We still do that to this day, gathering at my parent's house, now with kids and spouses in tow, and continuing the tradition of decorating and fighting. In fact, we are doing that tonight.

As I got older and discovered - through a spiteful cousin - that Santa no longer existed, none of the excitement and wonder of the holiday season wore off. I became more deft at making hints at what I wanted for Christmas, and still secretly wrote letters to Santa in hopes that my cousin was playing just kidding. Eventually I became ok with my parents being the real Santa. I figured they were more likely to get me a Black Sabbath album than the jolly bearded guy would be.

On Christmas morning, my sisters and I would wake earlier than any human should rise, and we would sit by the fireplace in the half-dark, opening whatever was in the bulging stockings that hung from the mantle, waiting for our parents to wake. Finally, we couldn't take it anymore and we would run into their bedroom, jumping on the bed until they finally got up, bleary eyed and exhausted from wrapping and arranging presents the night before.

After the presents were unwrapped and the fire was roaring, fed by discarded wrapping paper and empty boxes, dad would make a huge breakfast and we would gush over our presents, comparing each other's stack of gifts. Then, while mom cooked, dad would take us out visiting relatives and each aunt or uncle would give us Christmas candy or cookies as we went from house to house.

All these traditions are still intact. Some have changed a bit; there were years when the Christmas Eve party at my aunt's house turned into 3am drunken poker games and most of the cousins hanging out back with the keg and the nickel bags of pot. Then we got older, had kids of our own, and put the magic back in our tradition.

We still open our presents very early, all of us arriving at our parent's house at an ungodly hour, heading straight for the stockings while we wait for our parents to wake up. They greet us with the same bleary eyed look they always did and the presents are still stacked sky high under the tree like they always were. We have a big breakfast and compare presents and then it's time to visit relatives, except now we visit them at Holy Rood cemetery, putting wreaths and blankets on their graves and thanking them for the all the cookies and warmth they gave us in the past.

Of course, the more things change, the more they stay the same. Our Christmas and Christmas eve follow all the same patterns, but now we have our own children to work magic for. There is nothing like the gleam in their eyes as they see the gifts under the tree and even though they no longer believe in Santa, they still delight at the note that "Santa" leaves for them, thanking them for the cookies and milk. Even better is the smile on their faces as they present us with the presents they picked out, wrapped using six yards of scotch tape and a lot of love. They are truly grateful for everything they get and our home is filled with a warmth and comfort that gets pushed aside most of the year by homework and housework and the hurried pace of our lives.

This is why I love Christmas. I love way the neighborhood is lit up in color and light at night. I love the excitement in the air, the way people give so freely of themselves in the spirit of the season, the way the kids bounce when they walk through the mall, thrilled at the thought of picking out presents for those they love.

Yes, Christmas has become commericialized and may appear to be nothing more than a celebration of cosumerism. If that's what you see, then that's all you want to see. Me, I see pretty lights and smiling kids and relatives all gathered in one place for a change instead of scurrying to appointments and ball games and work.

If I co-opted your holiday, I'm sorry. I think we could all use a time of year set aside to eat, drink and be merry. If you don't celebrate it or for some reason or are angry at the way this time of year has ventured into a capitalist's dream, that's your choice. Just don't piss on my Christmas tree and try to take that joy from me because you don't want to see it.

live from new york, it's saturday night tedium!

It's only fitting that the most boring, unfunny person in America is hosting the most boring, unfunny show in America. All accompanied by the world's most boring band.

Does anyone watch this show for fun anymore, or do people tune in a train wreck sort of way?

On an Al Gore note, I watched an episode of Pinky and the Brain today where Al appears as Eeyore (called AlGore) and Pinky and the Brain realize he is so full of hot air when he talks that they can use him for a balloon to reach the top of the honey tree.

Which was not nearly as funny as the queen bee being Bea Arthur.

Now that is funny tv. Narf!

update: On second thought, Al may have a career in self-parody. He's not doing so bad.

December 14, 2002

the grinch is canadian

I think I found the winner of the Asshole of the Year award. I wasn't exactly looking for one, but when I read this article, I made up the award just for her.

grinchy.jpg
VANCOUVER - After years of sending friends anti-Christmas cards, one of which featured a homeless Santa and another battered child angels, Valerie and Trevor Williams decided to "go big" this year.

The result can be seen on a billboard looming over the Pat Bay Highway near Victoria, where commuters, rushing no doubt to buy gifts, are faced with this stark message: "Gluttony. Envy. Insincerity. Greed. Enjoy Your Christmas."

Ho! Ho! Ho! to you, too! If anyone in Vancouver has a paint gun, please head over there and start shooting at the sign for me.

While others are humming carols, trimming trees and picking out gifts for the people they love, Mr. and Mrs. Williams have taken all their Christmas gift money this year -- $1,200 -- and spent it on the attack ad.

"I think the billboard is stark, it's angry, it's red. Black letters on red, the Christmas colours," she said when asked to describe the sign.

I thought Christmas colors were black and green. Damn, now I have to go change my decorations.

The couple sent out this mass email to friends instead of Christmas cards:

In response to the growing onslaught of manufactured consumeristic Christmas cheer, we have decided to actively reject the capitalist ideology of Christmas. We refuse to spend one cent on buying into the consumer machine this year -- no tinsel, no tree, no shiny balls, no Christmas cards, no presents, no wrapping paper, no turkey, no cranberry sauce, no candy canes, and no icicle lights. Christmas will not be coming to this house.... Join us in our Christmas rebellion!

If I got that email I would certainly reply to them, but I would attach the nastiest computer virus I can find. Preferably one that makes the computer start spewing out Christmas carols every time they turn it on.

Their holiday message on the answering machine goes like this:

Callers hear a recording of White Christmas that is interrupted as if the Williams had just come home.

Valerie: "My God, who put that music on?"

Trevor: "It's awful, get it off."

Valerie: "Oh.... Jesus. Oh. Oh. Doesn't that just drive you insane?"


First of all, it's just stupid. There's no irony, no humor. It just falls flat. I think they should have gone with "We're not home you capitalist pig! Call back when you're done spending all your money on facist toys!"

Mrs. Williams, who grew up in a middle-class family in Victoria, said she has good memories of the Christmases she had as a child. But the growing commercialism of the season and its Christian exclusivity had long troubled her.

Hello? Christian exclusivity? It's a Christian holiday you dumb bitch!

"Who is Santa?" she asks heatedly. "He is the mall's puppet.... Children are taught to worship this white, heterosexual man who overeats. I mean, it's wrong."

It would be better if her were an Asian gay man who has an eating disorder?

The Williams have no children of their own. When asked if she explaining her views to other children, she said:

"And I wouldn't want to say anything to ruin Christmas for a child.... "

Oh, no. You'll just erect a huge, ugly billboard that stares them in the face as they drive past it every day, forcing their parents to explain what the sign is about.

"If everyone in B.C. gave their Christmas money to charity this year, imagine the good we could do," she said.

So instead of sending their $1500 to charity and quietly supporting their own beliefs, they instead spend the money on a huge ass billboard and get as in-your-face about the whole deal as they possibly can. Think of how many books or cans of baby formula or warm winter coats they could have bought for needy children with that money.


She's cheered to learn that Visa is predicting that, in B.C. alone, people will spend 23% less this Christmas than they did last year.

"That's my Christmas present," she says with delight.

Asswipe, people aren't spending less because they are joining your idiotic cult of unhappiness, they are spending less because they have less. Thanks for taking such joy in other people's financial disasters.

I have the sudden urge to drive up to Vancouver and beat this woman over the head with ten foot, metal candy cane while yelling Joy to the World, you humorless bastard!

This story was pilfered from Andrea, who gave Ms. Williams the Sheriff of Nottingham award.

Mike also tackles the grinches with his usual cold fury.

blaming george clooney

We just watched Ocean's 11.

Guess I'll go out and rob a casino now, because you know that's what happens when you watch movies.

(I actually enjoyed the movie. Very slick, very stylish, a lot of fun.)

outrage alert

The Univeristy of Illinois does next to nothing while its students are raped and abducted at an alarming rate.

In the past three months, there have been 27 rapes (several including abduction) on my campus. This week, a 28th occured. This does not include the numbers from the summer, when the string of attacks began. The total approaches, if not exceeds, possibly 50 women--mostly of Asian heritage--who have been targeted by this predator, who is still very much at large, and using a handgun to subdue his victims.

Read the rest. It's an eye opener. Emily, the author of the blog, also gives several ways in which you can voice your concern. You do not have to be a student of that school or even live in the area to be outraged by the apathy the university is showing.

the other miracle of christmas

And because Jesus was born on the same day, the miraculous story of the reindeer who gave birth to the pumpkins remains largely unknown, except to my neighbors who still celebrate this little known tale.


click for amazing picture!

anti war protesters: let Iraqis free themselves!

The anti-war people get wise. They are now clarifying, for those interested, that they oppose Saddam and the war.

We oppose the impending U.S.-led war on Iraq, which threatens to inflict vast suffering and destruction, while exacerbating rather than resolving threats to regional and global peace. Saddam Hussein is a tyrant who should be removed from power, both for the good of the Iraqi people and for the security of neighboring countries. However, it is up to the Iraqi people themselves to oust Saddam Hussein, dismantle his police state regime, and democratize their country. People in the United States can be of immense help in this effort--not by supporting military intervention, but by building a strong peace movement and working to ensure that our government pursues a consistently democratic and just foreign policy. [emphasis mine]

Listen up, you dimwits. In your own words, Saddam is a tyrant. Have the reams and reams of articles about Saddam's penchant for torturing and killing those who speak against him not given you any clue as to how it would turn out if even one person spoke against him, let alone many? They would be locked up and hung from their ankles in a millisecond and their revolt would be shorter than Sean Penn's marriage to Madonna.

How do you expect people who have very little education, if any, no food, no medicine and no money to democratize their country? Are you really that naive or do you just think that everyone has the freedom we do to stand up and oppose the government?

"Democratic and just foreign policy" does not work with a leader who understands neither concept