Last Post of 2008

Time for some last minute ramblings before I hunker down for some New Year's Eve fun and frivolity. That is definitely one of the advantages of being an old married lady - I don't have to do a blessed thing on New Year's Eve! Which is fine by me - I've been at work and frankly, I am pooped. As a native Noo Yawker, can I call it a night at 9:00 p.m. PST, since the ball has dropped in Times Square, hopefully atop the Clintons?

I'll know when it's midnight - the sound of gun fire in Santa Ana will wake me.

Do I have any resolutions? I don't see how I could, given as nearly perfect as I am. Besides, are we talking resolutions or are we talking goals? In 2009, I want to: (a) grow older, because it beats the alternative; (b) find a perfect tea cart for my office on which to place a lovely cut glass decanter of Abelour A'bunadh; (c) learn how to properly skeet shoot; and (d) run a mile, maybe even more than once. Always keep your expectations low and disappointment is rare to follow.

A lot happened this past year, and there is a lot more to come. I was listening to a radio program (The Catholics Next Door on The Catholic Channel) and they were talking about the top stories of 2008. You know what I think was one? The death of the credibility of the mainstream media. Not only did their bias shine through, but whereas politicians have always been fair game in the past, the viciousness of the media against Sarah Palin was staggering.

Bravo to the Israeli Defense Force! I will keep them in my prayers.

The DigiSon is excited as 2009 will bring the second "Transformers" movie. I must admit, I escaped having to take him to the first one, when the father of Patrick's best friend offered to take both boys. This is one of those occasions, like learning to pee standing up, that must come under the aegis of the DigiHusband.

I miss my Ma.

It doesn't look like the economy will improve any, so I guess that means we are staying put for the time being in Southern California. Pam and John, you got your wish. Well, time to put some money into the homestead - get the pipes redone, replace the tile counters in the kitchen, upgrade the HVAC system so this summer we can have some real air conditioning. Other than that, I don't want to spend much and, in fact, focus on frugality and savings. Economy is too rough and I liked scaling back this Christmas - made it more simple and more enjoyable. I think I want my life that way.

May you live in interesting times. That is supposed to be a curse but I think it is a reality of everyone's lives. The difference is how a person handles the situations. I remind myself that I am fortunate - God loves me and I can count on Him for His grace, and I have my health, so why worry? And I am not alone - I have a great family and I have great friends and to those out there who fall in one of those two categories, including the family and friends yet to be met - Happy New Year! God bless and keep you all safe, and I will see you next year!

Danske Dreams

Fleggaard is a Danish supermarket that has launched a new ad campaign for its online stores with the slogan "Lige over grænsen", meaning "just over the border", because its marketing area lies on the Danish/German border.

This is being hailed as the greatest ad campaign for 2008 - and it starts with a television commercial showing a man in his office surrounded by beautiful women cleaning it. He directs the viewer to the online commercial since, as he warns, it is not suitable for television.

Both Forbes and Wired magazines have raved about the online ad. Others have a less than stellar opinion. I lived for a couple of years in Switzerland and became quite immune to nudity in advertising - actually, the real extent of nudity in European advertising and television programming is bum shots and topless women.

So, here is the oneline commercial. I have to admit, I watched it and laughed my tuckus off. However, I may never listen to Ride of the Valkyries quite the same ever again.

Warning: Boobs! Lots and lots of boobs! Nekkid boobs! (I think that should suffice as adequate warning for one clergyman - who shall go unnamed and will remain anonymous in Utah - who commented that I should include such warnings after he clicked through on one of my posts and encountered a new fashion trend in hoodies).

This posting is my New Year's Eve present to certain men . . . you know who you are . . . yes, you're welcome . . . thank you for being unabashed manly men.

Don't Forget to Start With a Topic Sentence

Make a minimum donation of $5 to the Presidential Inaugural Committee and get a shot at a ticket to the historic inauguration of Barack Obama ... or you could make no donation at all and still have a chance.

Each entry requires an essay on what the inauguration means to you. The essay is required whether a donation is made or not, [committee spokeswoman Linda Douglass] said.

The offer of inaugural tickets to 10 people who each may bring one guest will take into account diversity, she said, adding that fundraising is not the main goal of the effort.

The inaugural committee sent out an e-mail pitch that focused on donations, however, suggesting that those who make a minimum donation of $5 or more could get a trip to the inaugural.

"Make a donation of $5 or more right now," the e-mail says. "You and a guest could receive your ticket to history."

After clicking on the link to make a donation, the donation options start at $25, going up to $2,500, with an "other" option at the end. And the Web page also says that you can make a pitch for the inaugural tickets without donating anything.

"Unlike past inaugurations, this year's event will not be paid for by Washington lobbyists," the e-mail says.

Call me cynical, but . . .

(a) I don't expect any $0 "donors" to get any tickets. Even though "fundraising is not the main goal of the effort" but they vow that the inauguration "will not be paid for by Washington lobbyists."

(b) The essays will be used as almost "testimonials" and fodder for future speeches, since I am willing to bet the topic is not what the inauguration means to someone, but what Obama means to someone.

(c) Evidently it is not a random selection since "diversity" will be taken into account.

So, if I wrote an essay telling them that I am a blind, transgender mulatto who was abandoned as a baby but raised by a pack of friendly vegan human secularists and have risen from poverty to become a community organizer with ACORN and believe that Obama's inauguration will mean an end to racism, sexism, elitism, and restore the Unicorn back to northern woodland forests while preserving Mother Gaia and stimulating the economy . . . think I have a shot?

Waitin' On a Woman

For every man who has been made to wait . . . and for the woman who was responsible, my favorite country artist, Mr. Brad Paisley, redid his song Waitin' on a Woman with Andy Griffith. Can't embed the video, but looky here.

I swear, I can't say who is dang cuter in this video - Brad or Andy?!

G'wan, tell me it was worth watching it . . . I admit, I'm a sap and I just cried my eyes out, honey chile, at the end of this one!

Joke of the Day

What's the difference between a serial killer and an abortionist?

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A paycheck.

Fight the Good Fight - Fight FOCA

• The Freedom of Choice Act (FOCA) would eliminate every restriction on abortion nationwide.
• 
  FOCA will do away with state laws on parental involvement, on partial birth abortion, and on all other protections.
  
• FOCA will compel taxpayer funding of abortions.
  
• FOCA will force faith-based hospitals and healthcare facilities to perform abortions.

Want to learn more . . . go to Fight FOCA.

Maybe your life doesn't depend on it . . . but somebody's does.

Who's Gonna Be Underneath It?

[Bill and Hillary Clinton] will have the honor of pushing the ceremonial button that signals the Times Square New Year's Eve Ball to begin lowering at 11:59 p.m. on Thursday night.

"I can't think of anyone I would rather stand at the crossroads of the world at the beginning of this new year than Bill and Hillary Clinton . . ."

Given a nanosecond of thought . . . I can.

Emily Post for Priests

In a first-year class, the students studied a pamphlet called “Growing up Gracefully.” The school’s rector, the Rev. Sebastian Panjikaran, demonstrated proper priestly etiquette. Father Panjikaran acted out the wrong way for a priest to walk through town, charging down the aisle between the students’ desks, his eyes fixed on the ground.

“A priest should not walk so fast,” he said, turning to face the students. “He should walk how?”

“Slowly,” the students said.

“He should walk slowly,” Father Panjikaran repeated, strolling casually up the aisle and making eye contact with the students. “And he should ... ?”

“Help,” the students say in unison.

Hmmm . . . I have known priests who could use a copy of that pamphlet . . . maybe some bishops, too . . .

Happy Life Day!

Look, I have some good friends who are Star Wars geeks, but take a Wookie, mix him in with a Christmas special, add a singing Carrie Fisher, and you've got a recipe to justify heavy drinking. Thank God it stops at adding liturgical dance.

For you guys who DO love all things Star Wars - and you know who you are - sorry . . .

I heard they're incorporating this into the Obama Inauguration . . .

The Hezbollah Al-Wassir Tech Rush Week is Happening Now

We may be the Great Satan, but at least we've got spell check, dude.

H/T to SondraK!

Congratulations, Bristol!

People magazine reported that 18-year-old Bristol Palin gave birth to Tripp Easton Mitchell Johnston on Sunday. He weighed 7 pounds, 4 ounces. Colleen Jones, the sister of Bristol's grandmother, told People magazine that "the baby is fine and Bristol is doing well."

On this, the Feast of the Holy Innocents, Bristol - thank you for choosing life!

And for any troll who wants to remind everyone how she is an unmarried mother . . . yes, that's right, but why wouldn't you express joy at the birth of a child, regardless of its circumstances? My father found out after his own mother's death that she did not marry his father until just before the birth of their third son, making him and my Uncle Hughie "bastards" to use the phrase then in vogue. And a finer man never lived, my Dad, so keep your comments to yourself on little Tripp's parentage . . .

Missionaries to America

Father Oneko is part of a wave of Roman Catholic priests from Africa, Asia and Latin America who have been recruited to fill empty pulpits in parishes across America.

When Father Oneko was growing up, the priest in his Roman Catholic parish was an American who spoke the native Luo language and was beloved by the villagers. He showed the children home movies of his parents and his seminary back in America.

“He inspired me,” Father Oneko said. “He was able to speak my language better than anybody I have known. It really interested me, the way I saw him praying the rosary every day. I just admired to be like him.”

Interesting article in today's New York Times regarding the foreign priests who come to America to man our pulpits because of a shortage of homegrown priests. God bless them. And regardless of the country, pray for vocations.

Oprah's Buyin', Anyone Sellin'?

Oprah got punk'd!

"Herman Rosenblat and his wife are the most gentle, loving, beautiful people," literary agent Andrea Hurst said Sunday, anguishing over why she, and so many others, were taken by Rosenblat's story of love born on opposite sides of a barbed-wire fence at a Nazi concentration camp in Germany.

On Saturday, Berkley Books canceled Rosenblat's memoir, "Angel at the Fence." Rosenblat acknowledged that he and his wife did not meet, as they had said for years, at a sub-camp of Buchenwald, where she allegedly sneaked him apples and bread.

Rosenblat's believers included not only his agent and his publisher, but TV talk show host Oprah Winfrey, film producers, journalists, family members and strangers who ignored, or did not know about, the warnings from scholars that his story did not make sense.

Rosenblat, 79, has been married to the former Roma Radzicky for 50 years, since meeting her on a blind date in New York.

Never let the facts stand in the way of a good story. This is the third time this has happened to Oprah, promoting a non-fiction book that was fabricated.

That Oprah - always a sucker for a good story. And guess what? She's also won PETA's "Person of the Year!" I hate to tell them, but trust me, Oprah didn't get that big shoveling in the carrot sticks . . .

Give This Kid an "A"

Found in the Humor section of The New York Times. Even socialists laugh now and then.

Holy Family

It occurred to me today that the structure of the Holy Family is not without reason.

The ages span from infant to elderly, thus lending dignity to all ages.

Both genders are represented, thus lending dignity to male and female, mother and father.

The parents are married, the Child will remain celibate, thus lending dignity to both states.

St. Joseph is an adopted father, thus lending dignity to care of a family in other than two biological parents.

St. Joseph, unlike his foster Son and the Virgin Mary, is a righteous man but one who is with sin, thus lending dignity to us sinners, despite our faults.

Yes, I Am!

I'm an embarrassment to Barack!


I only scored 17 on the Obama Test

My New Toy and No, I Am Not a Gun Nut

Today I purchased what I term "the Christmas gift I didn't get." It is a 1911 model Kimber Custom II .45 ACP. I have always enjoyed shooting larger calibres and find that I do well with a .45. I had owned a Colt Gold Cup .45 but when I thought about obtaining one to replace it, my cousin Jon (a detective in PA) suggested I go and shoot a Kimber before making my decision. I did so, and thought it was a sweet piece. At the store, one fellow said, "Lemme see what this little lady is buying!" When he saw, his eyes grew wide, he let out a whistle, and then congratulated me on my fine taste in firearms. Indeed.

Now, I realize that the picture above may actually frighten some people. Yes, I wanted to purchase a handgun, given an ever-so-slight fear that Obama could outlaw them, but no, I do not consider myself a gun nut. I bought this for two reasons: (a) I enjoy target shooting, and (b) I want protection for my home. If you buy a gun for either purpose or both, you must be ready to be competent and proficient in its handling. Owning a gun is a serious responsibility.

I read on another blog the proposal that private gun ownership be done away with, and instead the State would keep guns in a repository, to be "checked out", like a library book, when one demonstrates a "legitimate need." Preposterous! It leaves open the question of who determines the need and what happens when that need manifests itself at 2:00 in the morning, should be find yourself the victim of a home invasion. Given the local population and the police assigned to protect it, a 9-1-1 call response is averaging 3 to 8 minutes. Stop to think what can happen in that same time span in a football game - now stop to think what can happen in a situation presenting risk and danger to you and your loved ones.

But more importantly, it removes from the citizenry the means of protecting themselves against the State, should the State become the oppressor. People forget that the Constitution was written by our founding fathers as a protection against a strong, overpowering central government, as was seen in the British monarchy. Thus, it is not without forethought that they felt private gun ownership was so important, that they included it in the second amendment. It is not an amendment to protect us against foreign enemies - it is an amendment to protect our rights against any power that seeks to oppress the states.

Does this mean we all move to Ruby Ridge? Don't be absurd. But never assume what happened in Nazi Germany or Fascist Italy could not happen here. The first thing the State did there was remove the means of the people to protect themselves and enforce their rights. Once that is gone . . . roll tanks.

I look forward to bringing this to the range (of course, I cannot pick it up until the requisite background check is done) and firing it. If anyone in the area would like to join me some time, let's make a date.

Cheap Date Rawks

Where ya gonna be tonight?

You should be at The Olde Ship in Santa Ana, to catch Cheap Date in action, that's what you oughta do. I'll be there, if only to cast goo-goo eyes at the best looking of the Hirota brothers - and it is so obvious which one that is, that it does not even merit mention here . . .

Massacre in Covina - Some Thoughts

As a family law attorney who deals with the emotions of divorce, what occurred on Christmas Eve shakes me. I am fortunate. I have not had a client "snap," although to most of my kind I think that would more likely translate into suicide, rather than homicide.

So what happened? I read Pardo's attorney said that last week his client said Pardo was "happy" that the divorce was concluded and was looking forward to starting his life over. This is not atypical - many clients say that and mean that. Understand that we are trained as lawyers, not psychologists, so quite often when our clients are harboring deep-seated emotions, we simply don't know that. This is not to say that they do manifest themselves, and when I think a client is struggling, I know an extraordinary counselor to whom I refer them.

But Bruce Pardo was struggling lone before he married, it seems. How is it a man can be a dutiful usher at his church's evening Mass, yet turn his back and basically abandon his handicapped child, as we know learn? It also seems he lied on his work resume, claiming to have a Master's degree when none existed.

The more I read this story and facts unfold, the more I feel I have met his type before. I cannot reveal names, but even now, I think of both clients and opposing parties that resemble him. Narcissistic. Anti-social. Sociopath.

I struggle with sympathy for Bruce Pardo. The man shot a child point-blank in the face and his acts are inexcusable. I will give it time and offer up prayers for the victims tomorrow at Mass.

Massacre in Covina

Prayers are needed for the victims of Bruce Pardo's rampage. Like it or not, Pardo was a Catholic, who regularly acted as an usher at his church. Pray for him, too. I think more details will be forthcoming about desperation and hopelessness, that drives someone to do this.

And evil, too.

Waste of Ammo

Okay, I am not going to knock men - just young, dumb males who can spend good money unwisely, as I saw a trio do today.

I took my brother, who has been visiting for the holiday, to the gun range where I am a member. Busy day today - people were there trying out their Christmas toys or simply enjoying a long holiday weekend.

Two lanes down from where we were, three young men (young 20's) were shooting a .45 semi-automatic. And doing so expensively. I say that, because everytime they pulled their target back, the shots were all over - I mean, no quadrant of the target was left untouched. And they would high-five each other if there was one hole in the bulls-eye (chest area).

Huh? So much for keeping tight clusters. I watched them shoot while my brother fired the S&W .357 that we were using and saw so many reasons for me to want to tap them on the shoulder and offer advice, including don't look away from the gun sights as you are squeezing the trigger - yes, I know gun is about to make large boom-boom, but closing your eyes is not going to alleviate that.

I wondered what they would say if I went over to them and offered some advice. Ya know, like taking the time to aim, or perhaps taking the time to take a gun course and learn how to shoot. I only recently got back into target shooting - used to do so quite often in the past and earlier, when I was in the Army - and I am grateful for the refresher course I took recently, which I think makes my time on the range all the more enjoyable.

I have heard that women are often better shots because we are more patient. I think these guys proved that, because they seemed to be having more fun emptying the clip as fast as they could. We need more ladies on the range.

Mama Always Said It Was the Most Important Meal of the Day

Japanese researchers studied 3,000 people and said that teens who skip breakfast lose their virginity earlier than those who start their days off with some food, Agence France-Presse reported Friday.

There's a joke to be made here with the term "Pop-Tarts", but I'm not sure I wanna go there . . .

Unhappy Papa

This picture taken yesterday made the DigiHusband sad.

It made him sad because it demonstrated how his little girl is growing up, and the next thing you know, there could be boys coming around, and so now he is going to buy a shotgun.

The DigiHusband is not ready to accept the fact that the kids don't remain small forever. Especially daughters.

Obscure Music Friday

Song: Maybe I Will

Artist: Julia Nunes

Why I Like it: This young gal is talented! I came across her music on YouTube and subsequently bought her stuff on iTunes. Plus, she plays the ukulele! How cool is that?

My Christmas T-Shirt for the DigiHusband

Well, the DigiHusband adored the homemade t-shirt that I made for him. I had Kinko's print an original design that I did in Photoshop on a long-sleeve white t-shirt, and he wore it all day today.

Here is the set-up. Mark loves to cook and he is outstanding at doing so. One joke of his is that whenever a canine member of the family gets into trouble, Mark starts yelling, "Get the wok - we're having Sum Dum Dog tonight!" That, and my husband is tighter than a duck's ass and that's waterproof, so he also loves to score on specials at the local grocery store.

Thus, here is his t-shirt design. I assure you, no corgis were harmed in the making of this t-shirt:

I like it so much, I think I am going to have a mug printed for myself through cafepress.com. In fact, the DigiDaughter and I were thinking of opening up a little shop on cafepress.com, just for fun. I think she wants to call it "Evil Corgi Creations" or something like that . . .

It Occurred to Me . . .

Looking at the Nativity at St. Joseph Church, why is it that they always seem to display the Virgin Mary kneeling reverently before the Baby Jesus? If I had just given birth, I think I would be more apt to recline reverently.

My two cents . . .

A Christmas Tradition

Can there be too many traditions at Christmas? I don't think so.

Rather than the "picture-with-Santa-Claus", I have taken a picture of my kids when we have gone to the tree lot to purchase the Christmas tree. So, for 2008, here is the official shot of the DigiKids.

Merry Christmas, one and all!

Christmas 2008

I just set up my Nativity creche, save for the figure of Baby Jesus, of course. The creche was my parents' and was given to them as a wedding gift in 1956 by my mother's brothers. It is a Hummel set, made back when the nuns in Germany crafted each by hand.

Tonight we will follow tradition. First, the 5:00 pm Vigil Mass at St. Joseph. It is known as the "kiddie" Mass, since it has become popular with families with children - the obligation to attend Mass is fulfilled so that Christmas Day can be unrushed. Tonight will be a little bittersweet - this will be the last one for Fr. Michael St. paul, our parochial vicar, as the normal course of rotation will see him at a new parish come July. I remember his first time - only ordained the previous June, he asked the fatal question during his homily, "So, is Santa Claus real?" He paused, just long enough for us parents to think, briefly, you SOB, you tell them no and we will drag you from that altar, only to have him smile and firmly state, "Of course he is." Fr. Mike has managed each year to give a homily that keeps the children's attention while remaining Christ-centered. He always ends every homily with "God bless you." God bless you, Michael St. Paul, and I hope your successor can do as great a job you have done with these Christmas Eves.

Then, dinner. Sometimes in the past we have had neighbors and friends over for a Christmas toast, but other years, as this one, we are heading over to the Olde Ship for fish-n-chips. The fish part comes from my childhood, when my grandmother would cook the traditional and meatless Polish Viglia feast. I am not one to whip together a 12-course meal as she did (!) so we retire to our local British pub and snap open the crackers that they provide.

Finally, back home to read the story of the first Christmas, courtesy of Luke. When I was a child, we took turns each year reading the story, and upon concluding, then and only then, the Christ Child was placed in the creche, and my father would solemnly intone, "The Martin Family Christmas has officially begun." Now I do the same with mine, and the Richer Family Christmas commences.

2,000 years ago, or so, a scared yet resolute young virgin labored to give birth to her firstborn. On this very night. But she had faith that the result of her effort would be the Incarnation, the Word made Flesh. And with that, Humanity would have new worth. 2,000 years later, it seems, we are also fearful, but from this miracle we take that hope and that faith and look forward. May the Christ Child bring all of us His Love to strengthen our hearts for the task of being close to Him.

God bless you.

Christmas Eve 40 Years Ago

Anybody out there old enough to have remembered this as I do?

Tracking Santa

As of 6:45 PST, he is in Daegu, South Korea!

I track Santa every year through the graciousness of NORAD. If you have kids - or are one at heart - you should too!

My Yearly Christmas Challenge

I think the sentiments are lovely, but sometimes the reality can be daunting.

The DigiHusband prefers that each year we exchange homemade gifts. Okay, it is not as if I am the embodiment of Martha Stewart - indeed, quite the opposite. But I do possess an imagination and, moreover, a fairly good working knowledge of Photoshop.

So this year I am producing a custom t-shirt for the DigiHusband, playing on his love of cooking and BBQ. I would show it here, but I know he lurks 'round the blog, so I don't want to spoil the surprise. In fact, I wound up doing some other custom designs for the DigiBrother and the DigiPriest and a DigiFriend - again, no peeking until the gift is given, so I won't say much more. Once Christmas is done, I will post whether success was had with these gifts - homemade and really, really unique. And fun. And really, isn't that what Christmas gift-giving should entail?

However, as an example, I offer the following from some years ago, when I made a framed "comic strip" for my husband - he HATES the cold and dark of winter and this poem said it all!

Honeymooners Christmas

If you watch this and do not either have your eyes tear up at his speech about Christmas or at least feel a warm rush in your heart, check your pulse.

Geez, to have TV shows like this again . . .

Humanity Counts More

Expect more accusations of homophobia hurled against us coming soon. And to no one's surprise, the words get twisted once more.

Pope Benedict said on Monday that saving humanity from homosexual or transsexual behavior was just as important as saving the rainforest from destruction.

Uh . . . no. In speaking of the environment - one of several topics covered in his annual end-of-year speech to the Curia, but evidently not covered by the media, His Holiness had this to say (and I addeed my own emphasis):

“Faith in the creator Spirit is an essential component of the Christian creed,” the pope said. “The ultimate basis for our responsibility towards the earth lies in our faith regarding creation. It is not simply our property, which we can exploit according to our own interests and desires. It is instead the gift of the Creator, with certain intrinsic rules that offer us an orientation we must respect as administrators of creation.”

“[The church] must defend not only the earth, water and air as gifts of creation that belong to all,” he said. “It must also defend the human person against its own destruction. What’s needed is something like a ‘human ecology,’ understood in the right sense. It’s not simply an outdated metaphysics if the church speaks of the nature of the human person as man and woman, and asks that this order of creation be respected.”

“Here it’s a question of faith in creation, in listening to the language of creation, disregard of which would mean self-destruction of the human person and hence destruction of the very work of God,” the pope said. “That which is often expressed and understood by the term ‘gender’ in the end amounts to the self-emancipation of the human person from creation and from the Creator. Human beings want to do everything by themselves, and to control exclusively everything that regards them. But in this way, the human person lives against the truth, against the Creator Spirit.”

“Yes, the tropical forests merit our protection, but the human being as a creature merits no less protection – a creature in which a message is written which does not imply a contradiction of our liberty, but the condition for it,” the pope said.

I suppose the critics cannot see the broader message here, that is, that homosexuality is just one manifestation of the self-destructive acts in which Man engages. And "human ecology," to use our Holy Father's words, is more important than the ecology focused on the rainforest. Because the rainforest - as well as any of the gifts that God gave us to enjoy on this Erath - cannot be preserved without the joint effort of Man and God, with Man doing His work and inspired by the Holy Spirit.

Ah, but what is being angrily denounced is that the Pope had the audacity to include homosexuality in that list of self-destructive acts. Because, after all, that is the same as denouncing love, since only good can come out of two men loving each other, or two women doing the same, right? And so long as those people are in love, all is right with the world, isn't it? Because love makes the world go round and justifies all behavior . . . or so they would have you believe.

Merry Christmas, Juice!

Heh.

Alaskan Christmas Card

From the blog, Enlightened Redneck:

There is some debate about whether that is Sarah Palin steering Santa’s sleigh while he takes aim at a wolf. It sounds like a safe bet to me, based on the unwarranted grief the Republican vice-presidential nominee took this year for supporting aerial hunting.

Yeah, But Don't Touch the Chicken Dance

In the UK, the "Hokey Cokey" is what we call here the "Hokey Pokey", and it seems that the song has anti-Catholic roots.

But according to the Catholic Church and some Scottish politicians, singing the popular tune that begins with the words "You put your right hand in, your right hand out," may constitute an act of religious hatred.

Critics claim that Puritans composed the song in the 18th century in an attempt to mock the actions and language of priests leading the Latin mass.

So they want to ban signing it at football games. Oh, for pity's sake - I have danced the Hokey Pokey throughout my grade school years at St. Brendan's in the Bronx and so what? "Ring-a-Round-a-Rosie" is said to have originated to deal with the horror of the Black Death, but what child cares of that?

Stick It

I found this amusing piece containing fictional "comments" in the same vein of Amazon.com consumer reviews about the latest toy for kids - a stick. Some of the comments were:

**** Nice toy, but not for all children

By JJ (PA)

We gave our son The Stick for his fifth birthday this past summer, and at first he loved to jump around the yard, slaying dragons and evil knights with his magic sword. Then the girl across the street got her hands on it and started to prance around, pretending it was an umbrella handle. Our son was devastated. We tried to tell him The Stick could be anything he might imagine. If he wanted it to be a sword and only a sword, then that's what it was. But he was inconsolable. I'd have to advise the parents of sensitive children to go with another toy, or at least speak to the neighborhood kids in advance and reach a consensus as to what The Stick represents.

*** Frustrating ... any help?

By D. Monroe (Richmond, CA)

My boy is enjoying his Stick, but no instructions came with it. He's used it as a walking stick, but isn't sure which end is the handle. It's the same problem when he uses it as a baseball bat. Did anyone else not get instructions? Can you read them online somewhere? Any help will be appreciated.

* Not what we'd hoped

By Sheila Lampert (CT)

Our 8-year-old is a very bookish type. We gave her The Stick in an attempt to help her get out of the house more and be more physically active. She not only refuses to play with it but whenever we mention it she gets an exasperated look on her face and says, "You paid $89 for a common stick? Why didn't you just break one off a tree?" I'd have to advise the parents of smart-ass know-it-alls to go with another toy.

DigiTravel Log: San Jacinto/Palm Springs Aerial Tramway

God's Country

Dolly Girl trying to sneak up on me with a snowball.

Future Father Patrick catches some air on the way down the hill

For those of us in Southern California, a delightful day trip is to head out on the 10 Freeway and head into the city of Palm Springs to visit the Palm Springs Aerial Tramway. The trip takes but 10 minutes to the top of Mt. San Jacinto, but once you are up there, it's another world.

High country. Pines. And at this time of year with the right weather conditions . . . SNOW. Yesterday there was about three feet of it, and while I realize some of you have to live with that stuff all winter long, for a couple of kids from Santa Ana, it was a treat to get up and play in it. As were a lot of children, with a myriad of snowball fights going on, snowmen getting built, and defying death down dangerous slopes - or, at least, so it seemed to a child on an out-of-control piece of plastic sled.

And for me - aw, for a girl outta da Bronx, ain't nothing like snow for play! I am just grateful that at the end of the day, we get to leave and head back off the mountain.

Clothes Make the Man

Christmas is fast approaching, so if you are still looking for that last minute gift for him, and he happens to be a sports enthusiast, here are some lurvly ideas for some gear that he may like.

(*sigh* - yes, Fr. Erik, you can watch this. No thongs. I promise. And it's German!)

Gertschvazten!

After All, the World Will Be Watching

No strollers near the Capitol. No tents on the National Mall. None of that Silly String on the parade route.

That's just a sample of the items forbidden from President-elect Barack Obama's inauguration for security reasons. And while many people say the inconvenience is a small price to pay to witness the swearing-in of the nation's first black president, others are scratching their heads, trying to figure out how they will sit, snack, carry diapers or transport tired tots.

Some older people are backing out of their inaugural plans, partly because of a no-chair rule for the parade route.

Parenting blogs are abuzz with complaints about the less-than-kid-friendly restrictions. Thermoses, coolers and backpacks are out at both the Capitol and the parade route.

The stiff arm salute just doesn't have that same dramatic effect when you're seated. And children are notorious for not following the script.

I Thought the Unknown Lay With What Was Under the Kilt

A talk on the "biomechanics of bouncing breasts" will take place at Napier University in Edinburgh tomorrow.

In an innovative piece of research, Scurr placed 60 female volunteers on treadmills to create the largest scientific study into breast bouncing during exercise.

Well, this story is good for a few titters . . .

Obscure Music Friday

Song: Little Drummer Boy

Artist: Bing Crosby and David Bowie

Why I Like It: One, because the DigiBrother and I always make fun of it. But really, who would ever pair Bing Crosby with David Bowie? What I find funny is that Bowie is probably now about the same age as Bing in this clip, and after a career that saw him manifest himself as Ziggy Stardust, The Thin White Duke, Major Tom, etc., I can see Bowie on Christmas Eve, with his wife, Iman, and their kids, watching this and enjoying it. Which I want you to do.

Update: Read Lily's comment here and go to her blog to see her offering - you will be delighted!

Some Groups Are More Important to Cater To

Barack Obama’s choice of a prominent evangelical minister [Rick Warren] to deliver the invocation at his inauguration is a conciliatory gesture toward social conservatives who opposed him in November, but it is drawing fierce challenges from a gay rights movement that – in the wake of a gay marriage ban in California – is looking for a fight.

Okay, now I know this is ancient history, occurring as it did in early October, but does anyone remember Joe "Where Has He Been? Are They Keeping Him Sedated?" Biden during the vice-presidential candidate debate saying that he and Obama supported the position that marriage is only between a man and a woman? Oh yes, he did - so why are the gays surprised?

No Quarter, No Pardon

The parents of American-born Taliban fighter John Walker Lindh on Wednesday pleaded with President George W. Bush to set their son free before he leaves office next month.

At a news conference in San Francisco, Lindh's mother Marilyn Walker asked the president to show mercy during the Christmas season by commuting her son's sentence.

"John made a mistake in joining the Taliban," she said.

It is funny to see these Marin County liberals - who prior to this I am sure had plenty of negative things to say about George Bush - now ask for clemency for their son, who simply "made a mistake."

Yes, and mistakes have consequences. Someone cue this song for Mrs. Walker:

Great Caption

Now For the Woman Who Has Everything . . .

I just wonder if they have my size!

I Always Cry at Weddings

Drew Peterson, the former Chicago police sergeant who is a suspect in the disappearance of his fourth wife, Stacy, and the homicide of his third wife, Kathleen Savio, is engaged again.

Drew Peterson, 54, recently proposed to his 23-year-old girlfriend of four months, his publicist confirmed to ABCNews.com, but he will not reveal her identity in an attempt to shield her from the media.

Do some women simply not get it? Or is it enough that he's single?

Fore!

The United Auto Workers want a bailout of the Big Three to protect their membership, but is unwilling to mkae any concessions. If you are looking to talk to the head honchos, try here - something tells me that the rank-n-file don't tee up that often.

Family Ties

Mah Gawd, the DigiHusband said to me, "Looky here - they done wrote a Richer family Christmas song!"

Ah swear . . .

For the Man Who Has Everything . . .

. . . I am willing to bet that he does NOT have one of these.

I am just trying to figure out - who on my Christmas list would want one? Oh heck, maybe I'll just buy one for all the men in my life! But just the adult ones.

I'm still confused, though - how do you size these?

Culinary Curmudgeon at Christmas

Bah, humbug, to certain comestibles that find their way into my home at Christmas. No, I am not talking about fruit cake - that at least has use as a door stop, home plate in a pick-up game, or as a target for skeet. Instead, I offer you the panalopy of food gifts that tend to drive me crazy.

Danish Butter Cookies. You have seen those tins. Every Christmas, a local realtor hires a troop of teen elves to leave one on the doorsteps of the neighborhood. I enjoy getting it only for the sticker on it - it rpovides a status check on her personal life, having featured in the past her and the lap dog, followed by her and the husband and the lap dog, followed by her and the lap dog alone again, followed by her and the new husband and the lap dog, followed by her and the new husband but no lap dog, and now this year featuring her and the now-not-so-new husband and a grandchild. I see this a heartwarming progression in relational maturity.

"Moose Munch." What the hell is it? And why would anyone want to eat something that is deigned to resemble moose scat? I don't like Cracker Jack and I don't like Kettle Korn, so to somehow create a hybrid of the two and cover it with chocolate is an abomination. A greater abomination is when a friend - having shown the tin of it to me at Thanksgiving that he bought in as a "mandatory purchase" in a Boy Scout fundraiser - brings it back to my house last night as a hostess gift. However, given that this friend - who shall remain anonymous so as not to cause him any embarassment - has a short-term memory loss issue due to the multitude of accidents in his life and perhaps heavy drinking, I will forgive him. But wrap it back up to regift to him next week. This tin may start a journey back and forth each year between my house and the rectory of St. Joseph Church ad infinitum.

Hickory Farms "Gift Baskets." Don't get me wrong, I like cheese. But cheese that is perhaps one step above government-issue, mixed with cheap port wine and then rolled in nuts, to be spread on oily crackers and eaten with rock-hard and heavily processed rolls of meat? Mmmmmm. All that needs is a box of white wine and voila! Romance!

Strange Cookies from Cost Plus and other "international" marts. At least with Danish Butter Cookies, you know what you are getting. Butter. Sugar. Little else. But when I get the gift box of cookies with names like Hpfeneheisserschwarmermesiterbiskttten and has an ingredient list that reads like the index of an Ikea catalog, I just say no. And try feeding one to the dog. And when the dog won't eat it, then you know it is bad . . .

Mixes Presented in Christmas Mugs. "Christmas" hot chocolate. "Mulled" something-or-other. "Holiday" coffee. Look, I get confused enough trying to pick up a cup of joe this time of year at Starbucks with all the "seasonal" flavors that are added to what are time-tested and proven hot liquids for consumption at this time of year. Keep it simple. Put some milk in my Yuban coffee. Add a little peppermint schnapps to my hot chocolate. And keep the mug, because my cupboard is overflowing with holiday-themed mugs.

Feel free to add to this list. And please, this is meant to be tongue in cheek. If your idea of a good time is to curl up with any of these items and indulge yourself in such a binge, enjoy!

How to Get a Priest's Goat Today

"Hey, Fadduh - nice pink you're wearin' today!"

(Yeah, yeah, I know it's rose. I can't even do it at my own parish since Father John doesn't even have a rose vestment and instead is opting for the light purple.)

I [Heart] Alfonzo

Anytime Alfonzo posts a video, I will pass it along on this blog so more people hear his words.

"If you don't show your face on the Internet, I doubt seriously you're gonna show your face in a fight."

DigiBook Review: The Lost Art of Walking on Water

Before I became a parishioner at St. Joseph Church in Santa Ana, I was a parishioner at St. Irenaeus Church in Cypress, CA. While I was there, the pastor was Fr. Michael Heher, whom I knew as both an affable priest and an erudite one as well.

I did not realize just how learned a man he is until this past week's trip to NewYork, which afforded me the opportunity to read his collection of essays, The Lost Art of Walking on Water - Reimagining the Priesthood. I had only learned about his book after it was mentioned by my good friend, Fr. John Moneypenny.

The book is written by a priest and for priests - when he uses the pronouns you and us, he is speaking to his brothers in Holy Orders. However, this is a book that can, and should be, read by laity who are concerned about vocations and love our priests for the service they provide.

One chapter impressed me greatly, as reading it made me realize that it could have easily been written for attorneys, or doctors, or any person who sees their chosen occupation not so much as a career, but as a vocation. Entitled "Acedia", it goes on to speak to something that was a deadly sin to the desert fathers, perhaps more aptly termed a sort of spiritual ennui, and more contemporaneously called "burnout."

When they spoke of acedia as a deadly sin, they did not mean it as we think of sin, as a fault committed by an individual, as a personal moral failure. They thought of a deadly sin more like quicksand, as a force that attracted its victims away from the growth and maturity and holiness that they had committed themselves to find.

Published in 2004, Fr. Michael speaks of the scandal in the Church with sex abuse, but takes no extreme view, instead stating with a battered, but dignified pride:

At a time of crisis, people often find the freedom to voice things they would not ordinarily express. A dying woman can give advice to her children; a soldier going off to war can tell his brother that he loves him dearly; a father can talk with his daughter about fear and worry and faith as he prepares for a dangerous surgery. As men who have suffered as many hits as we have in the last couple of years, we priests can pretty much talk about whatever we want and in whatever way we want to talk about it. We've earned the right.

And, on in the chapter on celibacy:

A chameleon makes a lousy celibate. As nice guys, we get so practiced in our compliance, that we stop feeling almost anything at all. Everybody else's feelings must be accorded our pastoral interest and respect; it's just our own that aren't. When we stop listening to our feelings long enough, we begin to stop feeling them. Our imaginative life shrinks. We become the men who have lost our affect. We certainly do not feel strongly enough about anyone or anything to speak up or disagree or fight or fall in love or weep. We can even get to where we know more automatically what we ought to feel than what we actually do feel in our hearts.

This book left me with a greater appreciation for the "men in black." I say to you, if you cherish our priests, then buy a copy for yourself and buy a copy for your priest if he has not already read this.

Free and Worth the Price

If you have not already subscribed to Imprimis, a publication of Hillsdale College in Michigan, then you should because it is not only excellent, but it is free of charge.

It is a one-article publication, usually, but of great value. The November 2008 issue has an article by Dinesh D'Souza, entitled Created Equal: How Christianity Shaped the West. I was particularly struck by the simplicity and utter logic of his proposition (emphasis mine):

When Thomas Jefferson wrote in the Declaration of Independence that “all men are created equal,” he called the proposition “self-evident.” But he did not mean that it is immediately evident. It requires a certain kind of learning. And indeed most cultures throughout history, and even today, reject the proposition. At first glance, there is admittedly something absurd about the claim of human equality, when all around us we see dramatic evidence of inequality. People are unequal in height, in weight, in strength, in stamina, in intelligence, in perseverance, in truthfulness, and in about every other quality. But of course Jefferson knew this. He was asserting human equality of a special kind. Human beings, he was saying, are moral equals, each of whom possesses certain equal rights. They differ in many respects, but each of their lives has a moral worth no greater and no less than that of any other. According to this doctrine, the rights of a Philadelphia street sweeper are the same as those of Jefferson himself.

More Proof of Liberal Stupidity

“We’re rightly horrified by fascist murderers like Adolph Hitler,” says reason.tv’s Nick Gillespie. “Why aren’t we also horrified by communist killers?”

Watch this video.

Then go and visit Che Mart.

Wii Are Legion (Actually, Wii Are Pretty Scarce)

My kids do not read my blog, so they won't see this.

The Digihusband and I decided that Santa is bringing a Wii to the household this year. Problem is, now, how to find one?

My husband set out this morning with a plan (and gritted teeth) and on his second stop - the first being Target - and after exhausting his options on line, he walked into a GameStop in a tiny, nondescript strip mall in the middle of Santa Ana.

"You guys probably don't have any Wii consoles, do you?"

"Actually, sir, we just got a shipment of 18 in - would you like to buy one?'

Meanwhile, at work I was talking to Boss Lady and she was telling me she wanted to get one for her kids, but was getting nervous because she had not started looking and was hearing horror stories of unavailability.

I got home and my husband told me his story. I jumped to my cell phone.

"Pam, I might have a Wii connection!"

This GameStop being only 5 minutes from my home, I sped over . . . and snagged Number 18, the last one, with no sign on the horizon as to when the next shipment was coming in. I dialed my boss.

"Dude, I just bought you the last one!"

"Dude, I so owe you!"

So for anyone out there contemplating a Wii for Christmas, I found you the Wii Tracker. Get 'em while they're hot.

RIP, Bettie Page

The 1950s-era model, whose saucy poses for publications like Beauty Parade, Twitter and an upstart rag called Playboy won her a legion of fans and a cult following long after her pinup days were over, died Thursday night at a Los Angeles hospital, nine days after suffering a heart attack. She was 85.

Say what you want, but her "look" has served as an inspiration to countless others, like Dita von Teese and the character Abby on NCIS.

Obscure Music Friday

Song: There Ain't Half Been Some Clever Bastards

Artist: Ian Drury and the Blockheads

Why I Put It Up Here Today: Oh, I think a little silliness is in order. If you have trouble understanding the working-class British accent of Ian Drury, here is a video that gives the lyrics to the song. This one is dedicated to all you clever bastards out there.

Waste of Resources

Driving back from the cemetery, my brother's Garmin GPS brought us into Manhattan, where - believe it or not - the device became confused. I was driving, it was raining, and I said, "Screw this, it may not be the fastest way, but hang on, I'm gonna shoot over to the FDR Drive [1]."

In doing so, however, I got stuck behind cars that seemed to be making their own rules as they did a left turn at 43rd Street onto 1st Avenue. Oh, but then I realized why - diplomat plates on the vehicles. And then I realized I was in front of the United Nations, where there were about fifty NYPD squad cars assigned to sit outside and keep the barbarians at bay - excepting those barbarians inside.

What a waste of time for those cops. What a waste of prime East River real estate for New York City. Making sure that Patrick was not looking, my brother flipped the edifice the bird as we drove by. Hey, it was just a Noo Yawk salute.

And yes, my brother and I then proceeded to indoctrinate Patrick and explain why the United Nations is a useless and parasitic organization. So sue me.

[1] Anything said by me should be read with a New York accent. As soon as I get off da plane, old speech patterns come back and I'm tawkin' like I nevuh left . . . yoo want I drive? Lemme drive . . . meeeeee, did yoo just see what that jerk did? Yer byootiful, baby, yoo know that? Wheredja get yuh f***ing license, ya moron? Yeah, I'm honkin' at yoo, I'm honkin'!

Yo' Web, Yo' World

Reaction to the new African-American based web browser, Blackbird:

But the angriest reaction came from a commenter on Gizmodo who calls himself "Cordfucious the Ubuntu Walker."

"I am offended at this," he posted. "As a Black man in this country I don't need a browser to help my kids find culturally relevant material... it's the damn WORLD WIDE WEB... not the Black Web, or White Web or Yellow Web. ... It's s--- like this that burns me up. I need to tell my wife (who is Hispanic) that the[y] need the BlackBean browser for the Hispanic community."

And for gay men . . . Blackball?

Home Again

God is great and answers prayers. Wednesday I awoke to a rainy day, which caused undo headaches getting from Vernon, NJ to St. John's Cemetery in Queens, but evidently kept my sister at home. No show, even after we waited about 20 minutes for another family member to arrive. No phone call, either. I admit, I was relieved that Cassie did not attend, as were my brother and cousins.

So, a lovely service in the Chapel of the Blessed Mother and we took advantage of a break in the rain to visit the grave where Mom will rest. That was a funny scene - family members spread out (St. John's is very well populated), all calling to one another within a section - "It's closer to the fence!" "Wait, I remember this bush!" "Wasn't there a big tree nearby?" "This tree?" "No, bigger!" "Aren't they buried near some Eye-talians?"

Finally, I heard my brother chime out in a sing-song voice, "I foooounnnnddddd them!" We got a chance to visit the plot that my great-grandparents, Stanislaw and Apolonia Witowski, established. Later on, at a commemorative lunch, I glanced around the table at family profiles and realized I lucked out inheriting my father's Irish snub nose, as the schnozzes were prominent. And the warmth was welcoming, as we raised a toast to my mother and to the family - na zdrowie!!

And speaking of family, I am back home again. I feel I did the right thing and Mom is happy with my decision. As for my sister, she will live with hers, as we all must do once those are made.

And now - it's time to get ready for Christmas . . .

Weather Report

I always wondered just who looked at the weather report and determined whether the day would be "partly cloudy" or "partly sunny," because, in fact, both are true.

As I write this, I am sitting in Vernon, New Jersey, in front of my brother's dial-up computer, dreading the interment of my mother tomorrow at St. John's Cemetery in Queens. It is not the expectation of sadness - I was reconciled to my mother's death because she was, and I know I will feel grief, because I already have and, I daresay, I will feel more of it when she becomes the guest of honor next October on my ofrenda for the Day of the Dead.

Rather, I am dreading it because it will bring more disorientation. I have been here since Sunday morning and I want to be at home. Lat Sunday night was the Christmas Classic, my church's annual dinner dance, and I found myself depressed because I was missing a tradition of my holiday season. It made me realize what a family of friends I cherish at my parish and how I miss them.

I wish my husband was here, as Mark remains the rudder of certainty in my life. Next to him, however, I have my other important man in my life with me - my son, Patrick. His presence is calming and keeps me from losing it, because I know he relies on me. Last night my heart broke because he had a case of homesickness and started crying how he wanted to go home. So do I, sweetie, I thought, but I realized part of the problem was the brutal cold that the East had seen the past two days. Today was warmer and we went swimming at Uncle Greg's health club and his outlook on life improved immensely.

I still worry - tomorrow I have to face my mentally ill sister at the cemetery. Last week we had an ugly scene with her at the mortuary and me on the telephone, where she lost it and called me a "f***in' b**ch c**t" in front of the mortuary director - now she told my brother that she is coming "to give a eulogy" at the graveside and who knows what she will say. She has no respect for boundaries or propriety. Even when I picked up my mother's ashes on Monday, the mortuary director told me that Cassie called him several times on Saturday, begging that he "sneak her some ashes." However, they remain intact and will be laid to rest tomorrow.

Kadosh, kadosh, kadosh. I have two very good companions with me in the form of books, of which I want to write about more, but for now, I will tell you give me some insight, some comfort, and light a spark to my faith. If you have not read Archbishop Chaput's book, Render Unto Caesar, go and buy it now. And while you are shopping for that, if you have a priest you love, buy yourself and him Fr. Michael Heher's book, The Lost Art of Walking on Water.

Partly cloudy, partly sunny. At least tomorrow I will see friends and family whom I love and they will help me with my duty of burying my mother. Then Thursday Patrick and I get to go home. This Saturday is our traditional day to buy the Christmas tree and decorate it. I am looking forward to that.

True Confessions

I saw a vision of Heaven this morning.

I apologize, I really should have brought my camera with me, so I could share it with you. But now it remains in my mind and something I can summon whenever I want to remember something holy and good.

This morning, my son, Patrick, made his First Penance at St. Joseph Church. Patrick was nervous, which is understandable given he is only a 2nd grader. The children were given a choice of which priest would hear their first confession. Who else would Patrick choose but his friend, Fr. John.

The priests did not use the confessionals. Rather, they positioned themselves on each side of the front of the church and had simply two chairs facing each other, but at a distance from the pews so that nothing could be heard from there.

Fr. John had the side of the church near the Baptismal font. The timing was such that the morning sun came through the stained glass window of St. Joseph and bathed his area in golden light. I watched the children before Patrick go up and thought, what a beautiful sight, as Fr. John leaned forward to hear their earnest little confessions that concluded with lovely smiles from both priest and penitent at the end. But before that moment, the children sat ramrod straight in the chair, their hands clasped tightly before them. As I said, to be expected - for a 7- or 8-year-old, this was very serious business.

Then Patrick went up. He sat down in the chair and I expected him to follow suit as the rest of the kids. However, his foot came up to rest on the chair and he settled back, as though he and Fr. John were just going to shoot the breeze. I watched him speaking and while Patrick was not smiling, he was looking Fr. John in the eye, speaking directly to him, gesturing with his hands, and all in all seemed quite at ease with the whole process. Fr. John never stopped smiling broadly and they stayed up there longer than the children before. It was such a beautiful moment and I wondered, all kidding aside, if this was a vision of the future, only it would be Fr. Patrick hearing a child's First Confession - or, is a crusty old Monsignor Moneypenny going to find out he has been assigned a brand-new priest, fresh out of the seminary, who will stroll in and high-five him, just as Patrick does now when he sees Fr. John? It was clear watching, though, that Patrick was not taking this moment lightly and the two of them, with the golden light around them, made me catch my breath.

Afterwards, Patrick came back to the pews. He recited a prayer of forgiveness that he had been taught and together we prayed a Hail Mary. And then he said, "Oh yeah, I have one more thing I have to do." He leaned over and hugged me tight.

God is great, indeed.

Suffer the Children

A college student posing as a pregnant 13-year-old was told at a Planned Parenthood clinic to lie about the age of her baby's father to skirt Indiana laws on parental consent for abortion and on reporting child sex abuse.

The video shows "Diana," a nurse at Planned Parenthood in Bloomington, Ind., telling Brianna that she is required to report the pregnancy to Child Protective Services, because it "could be reported as rape." But she goes on to tell Brianna that if she lies about the age and identity of her baby's father, she can avoid turning him in.

"I didn't hear the age. I don't want to know the age," Diana says in the video.

Pure evil.

Fresh Squeezed OJ

O.J. Simpson was sentenced Friday to at least 15 years in prison for armed robbery and kidnapping in a failed attempt to recover sports memorabilia from two collectibles dealers.

Ah HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA

HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA

HA HA HA HA HA HA HA !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

*Whew!* Let me catch my breath . . . okay, I' m alright . . .

HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA

HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA

HA HA !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Obscure Music Friday

This Friday is dedicated to Ma, with a few of her favorite ditties. How could we start with anything else but The Chairman, Himself . . .

Song: New York, New York

Artist: Frank Sinatra

Why It Is Appropriate: "Start spreading the news/I'm leaving today . . ." If New York represents everything that is the "ultimate", then let's consider it a metaphor for Heaven and Mom's got on her vagabond shoes.

My mother skipped school that day to see Frankie sing at the old Paramount Theater in New York City, and screamed her head off. Later that evening, my grandmother asked her, cool as a cucumber, "Dorothy, where were you today?" My mother answerd, "Why, I was in school, Ma - where else?" My grandmother whacked her across the head and angrily pointed to the afternoon newspaper - back then there was a morning paper and an afternoon one as well. There was a picture of avid bobbysoxers waiting outside the theater to get in - with my mother in the middle.

Song: Fly Me to the Moon

Artist: Frank Sinatra

Why I Like This Song: Because I can remember my parents dancing to it. And how can you not grab your sweetheart and do so when you hear it?

Song: Hold Tight

Artist: The Andrew Sisters

Why I Like It: My mother used to clown around and sing this song. When she was a young girl, she and her friends would each have a "little black number" that they would put on and head down to places like the Stork Club in Manhattan for highballs and dancing. This would have been in that era right after WWII, in the early 50's. Women were a lot more fashionable back then.

The Man, The Mouse, The Magic

I think it is arguable that Walt would not be happy with everything done to his empire after his death, but it still amazes me that one man sketching a little mouse began it all. On December 5, 1901, Walter Elias Disney was born.

Just Another Bum Looking for Some Change

Right after a news story with the headline, "US Loses 533,000 Jobs," comes this:

President-elect Barack Obama's vast list of donors is being asked to donate to Hillary Rodham Clinton as she scrambles to reduce her massive campaign debt before she becomes secretary of state and federal ethics rules limit her fundraising, an Obama adviser said Thursday night.

An appeal on Clinton's behalf signed by Vice President-elect Joe Biden is to be sent by e-mail to all of the more than three million donors to Obama's record-setting fundraising, according to this adviser, who spoke on condition of anonymity because the e-mail had not yet been sent.

How much is Bill giving?

I'm Just Saying It Could Happen Here . . .

Soviet Leader Nikita Khrushchev, 1959: We cannot expect the Americans to jump from capitalism to Communism, but we can assist their elected leaders in giving Americans small doses of socialism until they suddenly awake to find they have Communism.

(H/T to Annoyed White Male)

Your Tax Dollars at Work

Okay, if you live in Perry County, Alabama . . .

A small central Alabama county whose mainly black residents gave Barack Obama more than 70 percent of the vote on Election Day has created an annual holiday in honor of the president-elect.
The Perry County Commission voted 4 to 1 to observe the second Monday in November as "The Barack Obama Day." County offices will close and its roughly 40 workers will get a paid holiday.

The remaining 30% or so who didn't give their vote to Obama have no say in this matter.

If Obama had any class or sense of humility, he would call the county commissioner and ask that this not happen, instead suggesting that it be something along the lines of a County Service Day. But the first part of my sentence just then started with a big assumption.

More H8te

The ban drew its strongest support from both evangelical Christians and voters who didn't attend college, according to results released Wednesday by the Public Policy Institute of California.

Because stupid people and Christians just don't get it.

What? People voted their morals? Maybe if the courts were not legislating morality people would not be so up in arms. As for the uneducated - and I am sure the left thinks, if they would just listen to "Fresh Air" on NPR, they would see the light! - remember that the California Teachers Association spent $1 million of its members' money, regardless of the individual teacher's belief, to stop Prop 8 - learning does not seem to be part of the CTA's agenda.