Well, that's comforting!

How will I die? Your Result: You will be murdered.   This doesn't guarantee pain and suffering, but it will be at the hands of another. Perhaps the vile deeds of a past life will attribute to this horrific demise. Do not fear murder. There is a rare epiphany that comes from this type of death. You will see it in the last moments.
You will die from a terminal illness.
You will die in your sleep.
You will die in a car accident.
You will die while having sex.
You will die in a nuclear holocaust.
You will die of boredom.
You will die while saving someone's life.
How will I die? Create a Quiz

A tip of the Akubra to Ricki.

She's not pointing at your belt buckle, fella.

A dose of humility, photographed in a men's room in Holland.



Akubra tip to A Welsh View.

Sports training ain't what it used to be

We may revel in schadenfreude over the tabloid antics of today's athlete-celebrities, but that's nothing compared to our grandparents' day:

If the world of sport - or our way of watching it - changed irrevocably at the very time of my birth, there happened, too, one glorious final fling for sport's old order. I was precisely one week old 70 October 11s ago (the very day, as it happens, that Mrs Cissie Charlton of Ashington gave birth to bonny babe, Robert) when an England cricket team, led by Hampshire's Lord Tennyson, embarked for India. They won the series but Fleet Street never so much as whispered that, during it, they enjoyed hunting panther, tiger and elephant, that at Patiala the Maharajah gave the team the run of his 300-strong harem, and that on the very eve of the state match against Madras (according to Arthur Wellard's memoir) "the local Maharajah challenged us to an all-night drinking contest - whisky, brandy, gin, the lot. George [Pope] and I dropped out after midnight, but Joe [Hardstaff] matched the Prince glass for glass, drink for drink, till past 5am when Joe collapsed and we had to carry him home as good as dead." Next day, Hardstaff scored 213 (c Gopalan b Parthasarathi) in five hours, 24 fours, and, says Wisden, "never appeared in any trouble".[Emphasis mine]

H/T to Kendal King Pin, who noted that it sounds like Wellard was channeling Harry Flashman. Anyone for whom Flashy comes quickly to mind is my kind of people.

You call that a taco?

I had no idea that Taco Bell had the sheer gall to operate stores in Mexico.

Some of the names have been changed to protect the sacred: the hard-shelled items sold as "tacos" in the U.S. have been renamed "tacostadas." This made-up word is a play on "tostada," which for Mexicans is a hard, fried disk of cornmeal that is always served flat, with toppings.

But while Mexicans eagerly buy many American brands, the taco holds a place of honour in the national cuisine. Mexicans eat them everywhere, anytime of day, buying them from basket-toting street vendors in the morning or slathering them in salsa at brightly lit taquerias to wrap up a night on the town.

Taco Bell has taken pains to say that it's not trying to masquerade as a Mexican tradition.

"One look alone is enough to tell that Taco Bell is not a 'taqueria'," the company said in a half-page newspaper ad. "It is a new fast-food alternative that does not pretend to be Mexican food."

It's still a mixed message for Mexicans like Marco Fragoso, a 39-year-old office worker sitting down for lunch at a traditional taqueria in Mexico City, because the U.S. chain uses traditional Mexican names for its burritos, gorditas, and chalupas.

"They're not tacos," Fragoso said. "They're folded tostadas. They're very ugly."

Am I the only one who thinks this is like opening Olive Garden in Milan, or Long John Silver's in London? Don't get me wrong; I actually like Taco Bell's food. (I'm a sucker for the steak baja gordita.) And in some parts of the US, I guess it's what passes for Mexican food. But to call it that in Mexico requires a uniquely Gringo kind of arrogance.

Sidebar changes

I was looking over an old post from about a year ago, and noticed that although Pastor Dave at Postings from Prairie Hill had commented, I had neglected to add him to my blogroll. I'm sorry to have forgotten him, because he's got some good things to say. Dave pastors an Evangelical Lutheran congregation in Texas, is a fourth-generation PK, and has a rather new-looking baby. Now that he's been added, I expect to check in with him frequently.

And on a sadder note, I have to take off Villainous Company, as Cassandra has retired. I'm going to miss her. May God bless her in whatever she tackles next, as she does it with pungent humor and graceful speech.

Putting God in a box

Or on a movie screen, or in a mold, or whatever. Ricki hits so many nails on the head here that I don't even know where to begin.

Some of the things Ricki brings up here are the ones that make overtly-practicing Christians about as popular as Amway salesmen to the rest of the world. Yes, I know, Christianity isn't about being popular with the world, but is it necessary to deliberately cultivate annoying habits? If we're going to be hated for Christ's sake (and I hope at least some people do), then it should be for virtue, not for asininity.

Ricki doesn't like to get all verbose about her faith, so she doesn't post like this very often. Which is exactly in keeping with the post's attitude. I wish I were good about living Christianity without speaking, in a St. Francis "if necessary use words" sort of way.

Monica Lewinsky endorses the GOP

I won't put the picture of the campaign button up myself, but you can see it here. Safe for work, but bawdy.

This is why I love Moses Lake

Remember the family that suffered a tragic fire on Saturday? All that remain now are the mother and a 1-year-old baby; two chidren died in the fire, and the father died trying to save them. Well, there's no way to bring them back, but the neighbors didn't abandon the survivors, either. So far, folks in town have set up two donation accounts at local banks, collected contributions of clothes and toys, loaned the family a storage unit for what little they have left, and donated a duplex, rent-free, for them to live in while they get back on their feet!

There are some good people in this town, and I'm proud to call them my neighbors.

Saaaa-lute!

I missed this when SondraK posted it last month, but it was so perfect I just had to dredge it up. I hope my Californian wife will forgive me.

Do you know what happened this week back in 1850?

California became a state on September 9, 1850.

The State had no electricity. The State had no money. Almost everyone spoke Spanish. There were gunfights in the streets.  Basically, it was just like California today, except the women had real [breasts] and the men didn’t hold hands.

Happy birthday to the state that makes America the weirdly wonderful place it is!

We have a winner loser!

The Mother of the Year award goes to... the envelope please... Wendy Cook of Saratoga Springs, New York, for not only prostituting herself with her kids in the back of the car, but snorting cocaine off her nursing baby's tummy!

If anyone can top this one, I'm not sure I want to know about it. A/T to Obscure Store and Reading Room.

Ya, y'betcha!

People who try to outstubborn a squarehead have only themselves to blame for what follows. (Did I mention that my mother's family is Norwegian?)

Edith Macefield is stubborn. Man, is she stubborn.

That's what her mother told her when she was a little girl back in the 1920s. It's a characteristic that has followed her all her life. Now that unrelenting stubbornness has won the 86-year-old woman admirers throughout Ballard.

Macefield refused to sell her little old house where she has lived since 1966 to developers, forcing them to build an entire five-story project, which includes a grocery store, fitness club and parking garage, around her. (Emphasis mine.)

She was offered $1 million to leave. She turned it down flat.

For those who aren't fortunate enough to live in the Northwest, Ballard is a Scandinavian enclave in the north part of Seattle. It started out as its own town and was absorbed sometime in the last century, but when I was a teenager I used to take the bus up there and just hang around, soaking up the Norseness. I've known old ladies like her, and my money's on Mrs. Macefield. Yu betcha.

This is how a man dies

I only knew him slightly, but I'm proud to see that he did exactly as a husband and father should. Rest easy, Danny. Your family will be well cared for.

I wish I were dumber

I seldom read the Internet Monk without learning things that I had no idea I didn't know. This is what I mean by that:

Now I live in a part of the county where ignorance of every sort is widespread. The dropout rate is almost 30%. Running any kind of school here is a battle. And most of the ministers and Christians in this area are untaught, or at the most, self-taught. Comparatively speaking, pastoral ignorance of various kinds is common.

My friend Walter is a local pastor. He’s never attended Bible school, much less college. He’s not much of a reader. He’s too busy in his bi-vocational ministry just trying to make ends meet and do what his job, family and church need of him to be a scholar. Some of Walter’s sermons are difficult for me to listen to. They are delivered in mountain style and they are, frankly, hard to understand. Mostly, Walter takes a well known character or story and applies some principle from the scripture to the day to day experiences of his congregation...

Of course, those who are more educated in the doctrines of the Christian faith will tell me that there is much wrong with Walter’s ministry. He needs to know many, many things and preach them faithfully. His congregation will be strengthened by doctrinal soundness in way they won’t be through Biblical stories and their lessons. His ignorance ought to be repaired and his ministry improved. I’ll not argue with that, but I will tell you another Walter story.

One thing I didn’t tell you is that two years ago, I was in the hospital with my dying mom, and I needed a pastor. At the time, I didn’t have one. I guess I could have called any number of the ministers that I know. Actually, having been the minister in the hospital before, I was fairly certain of what would happen, and while I wouldn’t have been ungrateful, it wasn’t that important to me.

Walter happened to be in the hospital that day, visiting members of his congregation and the wider community, as was his habit. He found me, my wife and my dying mom in the ER.

Walter stayed with me all day. He found a doctor who would let my mother stay in our hospital and pass there, instead of flying her to Lexington. He helped me talk to the doctors about the course of treatment mom and I had agreed on. He prayed for me. He was a pastor to me. He was Christ to me.

Never once did Walter attempt a theological justification of the ways of God. He never got out the Bible. (Nothing wrong if he’d chosen to, of course.) He was the Bible for me that day. He put flesh and blood on God and hung out with me. He thought for me when I couldn’t think clearly. He knew my heart and he helped me listen to my heart at a very confusing moment. He treated me with love and dignity that brought joy into one of the worst days of my life.

Walter showed me that day that if you are going to measure life by how it’s lived, and not by how people talk about what they believe, he knows a lot more about God than I do. He’s not read anywhere close to the books that I’ve read and he doesn’t have my vocabulary or degrees. He has the the book that matters, and its author, in him. Compared to Walter’s embodiment of Jesus, I’m stupid...

Walter has a life full of Jesus. How did Walter get so full of Jesus? By wanting him there and keeping the doors and windows open for Jesus. Not by learning the outline, the answers and the powerpoint version and stopping there. My version of Jesus often looks a lot like an essay question I’d write. Walter’s Jesus - his rough, unpolished and ignorant version of Jesus - is the real deal, at least when it counts.

Remember that Jesus was a teacher, but he never dismissed class. Life was his classroom, because he refused to isolate truth into compartments. He had no intention of producing a disciple who was an expert in theology but useless in a hospital ER. He had no plan to allow the specializations we use to excuse ourselves from what it really means to be a Christian. Carrying the Cross and Washing Feet weren’t talks. They were your life.

And if you’re smart enough to improve on that, you’re too smart. Dumb up, brother.

I'm not theologically knowledgable, not by a long shot. But I'm a long way from Walter, too. I think I know which one God prefers, and given the choice, I know which I'd rather be.

That's my boy!

At least, I can't find anyone else to blame him on. Our mailman is a mail-woman, and there wasn't time to switch him at the hospital. Besides, he looks too much like the other kids.

My one consolation is that either (a) there will be some really, really fun grandchildren coming out of all this, or (b) that he'll become a priest and those particular genes can be stopped in one generation. I didn't know how much I meant this post when I put it up.

I'm a little late with this...

... but congratulations to Bitterroot and Mrs. Who!


May all the morning sickness, weird cravings and visits from Messrs. Braxton and Hicks be rewarded in spades!

With friends like these...

There's nothing like a little paranoid conspiracy-whispering to make Christian morality seem looney.

MAPUTO, Mozambique - The head of the Catholic church in Mozambique said on Wednesday he believed some European-made condoms were deliberately tainted with the HIV/AIDS virus to kill African people.

“I know of two countries in Europe who are making condoms with (the) virus on purpose, they want to finish with African people as part of their program to colonize the continent,” Archbishop Francisco Chimoio told Reuters.

“If we are not careful we will finish in one century.

He goes on to say that the anti-AIDS drugs being sent from the West are intentionally increasing the spread of the disease as well. I'm not sure which to be more upset at: the idea that a bishop in my church really thinks we Westerners are such callous bastards or that he's giving the rubbermongers ammunition to pooh-pooh ouur teachings on contraception and sexual morality.

Gee, Grandma, what big teeth you have!

So this morning I flipped over to Photoshop Phriday to see what I had missed last week, and what should be the first picture I saw:

The better to embark you on a life of exploitation, depression and breast cancer, my dear!

Supreme Court bans prescription drug coverage for employees

Of course, it won't read that way in the papers.

WASHINGTON (AP) — The Supreme Court on Monday declined to enter a church-state dispute over whether some religious organizations can be forced to pay for workers' birth-control health insurance benefits, a growing trend in the states.

The court let stand a New York court ruling upholding a state law that forces religious-based social service agencies to subsidize contraceptives as part of prescription drug coverage they offer employees.

Catholic Charities and other religious groups argued New York's law violates their First Amendment right to practice their religion because it forces them to violate religious teachings that regard contraception as sinful.

When are our robed masters going to figure out that no mattter how many laws are passed, the government cannot change religious tenets? You can see how much success the Chinese have had. What did they think, Catholic Charities was suddenly going to sit up and say, "Aha! God was wrong and the state of New York is so much smarter!" (It's not just New York, either; 22 other states have similar laws, including The People's Republic of Seattle and Vicinity Washington.) If churches can't offer coverage without sinning, they just won't be able to offer coverage. It's that simple.

Naturally, the next step will be to eliminate that option as well, and force the charities to close, so they can say, "Look what a bunch of hypocrites those people are, refusing to feed the hungry or house the homeless!" Of course, I don't see the backers of these laws stepping up to the plate to do the dirty work of charity. High-blown rhetoric is one thing, but actually consorting with the needy isn't in their job description.

The next paragraph is the money quote, with the real reason for the law:

"If the state can compel church entities to subsidize contraceptives in violation of their religious beliefs, it can compel them to subsidize abortions as well," the groups said in urging the court to take their case. "And if it can compel church entities to subsidize abortions, it can require hospitals owned by churches to provide them."

Bingo! (As we Catholics like to say.) Once again, "Choice" means doing as you're damn well told.

What Mark said

I can't possibly improve on Mark Shea's commentary, so I'll just quote it in its entirety:

What a Relief!

I am *so* glad Joni Mitchell has finally broken the terrible silence among our entertainment elite and penned a song that criticizes the Catholic Church.
“Shine on the Catholic Church/And the prisons that it owns”, she sings. Yes, all those prisons! Big huge Catholic prisons. We've got one in the basement of our parish!

Oh wait! That's the soup kitchen we've been running for Seattle's homeless for 30 years. Well, then there's that horrible dungeon downtown.... No, that's a hospital. How about the jails called Oxford and Cambridge? The prison of the confessional? No. I've found more freedom there than anybody can ever know.

Well, at any rate, I'm sure she knows what she's talking about. Because only an Incredibly Brave Artist would kick and insult a bunch of people whose creed bids them turn the other cheek.

Next time you're hot and thirsty, reach for an icy-cold can of...

... Linebacker sweat!

Jones Soda (Nasdaq: JSDA), you sweat hog! The edgy soda-pop maker is coming out with a limited-edition pack of gridiron-themed flavors to coincide with its debut this month as the exclusive soft drink provider at Seattle Seahawks home games.

Running Back Root Beer? Hail Berry? Post Pattern Punch? You're dreaming if you think Jones Soda will settle for flavors like those. The company has never shied away from putting out some pretty funky flavors over the holidays, so don't be surprised to learn that two of the five new flavors target dirt and sweat.

The five flavors?

* Dirt Soda
* Sports Cream Soda
* Perspiration Soda
* Natural Field Turf Soda
* Sweet Victory Soda

Thanks, but no.

Oh, please

Please, please, let this guy get the Democratic nomination. Besides being clearly the best-qualified on the blue side of the fence, he even makes Brownback look electable.

Please?

Woops! Thanks, Ken! Forgot to tip the ol' Akubra to Better and Better.

Aaawwww!

This is without a doubt the coolest marriage proposal I've ever seen.

The clue for 111 across in yesterday’s Boston Globe Sunday magazine crossword puzzle was “Generic Proposal.” The answer (spoiler alert, for those still working on it!) was “Will you marry me?”
Most puzzle devotees no doubt just moved on to the next clue when they solved that one. But for Aric Egmont of Cambridge, those 14 letters on the grid were the actual proposal he’d been plotting for months to his girlfriend, Jennie Bass.

Egmont, 29, who works in the communications department at Fidelity Investments, contacted the magazine this summer to ask if the people who create the puzzles would be willing to write a special one for him. Sunday mornings for he and Bass, he said, have always included tackling the Globe magazine crossword, a tradition that started early in their relationship.

“On our fourth date, I knew I had found the kind of dork I could love,” Egmont wrote in a note to the magazine. “We had already had some more adventurous outings. But on our fourth date we just went to the local coffee shop and did the crossword. That date was the first moment when we stopped relying on some kind of event to set the agenda, and instead we took that first tiny step towards normalcy, spending time together doing the same things we would regularly do on our own.”

Any couple that does crosswords together has a better than even chance of making it, as far as I'm concerned.

If anyone's curious, here's the actual puzzle.

A little embarrassing

I got 85% right, 51 out of 60. One less than Ken, so I guess I don't feel that bad. I think I'll have my kids take this and see how they do. Maybe that'll humble them a bit.

Naw.

Congratulations, Jeff!

He's answered the call to be a Newsweek reporter. Now if only those hidebound traditionalists at Newsweek would recognize his calling, and end their discriminatory hiring practices!

Candlelight vigils and protests to follow. We shall overcome...

A tip of the Akubra to Mark Shea.

"Man. I wish you were stupid."

How often do parents of teenagers hear that? Or at least we would, if the kids knew just how not-stupid we are. But they always think they can get past us.

Crystal (have I mentioned that she rocks my world?) had to meet with her son's principal. I'll bet from here on in, they'll both move heaven and earth to keep her from having to come in again. (Language alert!)

"Mom, you have to come to school with me tomorrow."

I avoid high school like it's my high school. I hate the banners, the noises, the ... kids. They all smell like evil.

"Why would I do that when there's so many other things I'd rather be doing, like, like - having my asscrack hair tweezed! That sounds like fun! Or, ooh, I know! I'll have someone come over and stick an egg beater up my-"

"I have five tardies. If you don't come, they'll...well, I didn't pay attention, but it can't be anything good."

"Why do you have five tardies?" I asked.

"Because when I miss the bus, you can't get it in gear and take me-"

"Stop. Think about what you're doing. You're already in shit. Do you want to compound that shit?"

He sighed. "Because I keep missing the bus."

"Exactly. If I have to go, you will sit and keep your mouth shut."

"But-"

"No. You will not say a word. If you do, I'll take my shirt off and try to climb into the counselor's lap. Capiche?"

"Man. I wish you were stupid."

Read the whole thing here. But make sure you set down your beverage first.

All right, all right

Since everyone else seems to be doing this 55-question meme, I guess I might as well. I'm just a lemming at heart. At least they're original, and not not one of those "Which color paper clip are you?" quizzes.

1. Is your second toe longer than your first?
Now that you mention it, yes.

2. Do you have a favorite type of pen?
Not really. I've always wished I could learn to use a quill pen, but it seems kind of unlikely. Also pointless (no pun intended). But it sure would look cool.

3. Look at your planner for March 14, what are you doing?
Cooking fish, probably. That's a Friday in Lent.

4. What color are your toenails usually?
I suppose toenail color. Kind of a pinkish-white.

5. What was the last thing you highlighted?
A number on a list of ads for one of our salespeople.

6. What color are your bedroom curtains?
Brown, dusty miniblinds.

7. What color are the seats in your car?
Those are also brown, as are the seatcovers over them.

8. Have you ever had a black and white cat?
No, I haven't. Most of our cats when I was a kid were Siamese, and my last one was a delightful orange cat named Romeo. He disappeared a couple of years ago, but every so often I think I see him around the neighborhood.

9. What is the last thing you put a stamp on?
I think I mailed a resume out last spring. It's funny how much the internet has replaced snail-mail.

10. Do you know anyone who lives in Wyoming?
Not anymore. I used to, but she died about nine years ago.

11. Why did you withdraw cash from the ATM the last time?
To distribute the kids' allowances.

12. Whose is the last baby that you held?
Jamie's, a girl I work with. The next one due at the office is mine.

13. Unlucky #?
Not that I can think of.

14. Do you like Cinnamon toothpaste?
No, but I use it anyway.

15. What kind of car were you driving 2 years ago?
The same thing I do now: an unbelievably dilapidated '86 Nissan pickup. I paid $300 for the thing seven years ago, and it's still going strong. It's ugly, but a truck is supposed to be. Guys who drive nice-looking pickups are prissy.

16. Pick one: Miami Hurricanes or Florida Gators?
Beats me. They both sound to me like good reasons not to live in Florida.

17. Last time you went to Six Flags?
Next time I go will be the first.

18. Do you have any wallpaper in your house?
No, which is a good thing. I hate to imagine what Hypertot would do to it.

19. Closest thing to you that is yellow?
A highlighter on my desk. It's dried up, but Im too lazy to throw it away.

20. Last person to give you a business card?
A realtor I interviewed yesterday.

21. Who is the last person you wrote a check to?
A farmer selling tomatoes at the Farmers Market last Saturday.

22. Closest framed picture to you?
Some relatives of the co-worker at the next desk. I don't know who they are, but if they're related to her, I don't want to know.

23. Last time you had someone cook for you?
My Lovely and Brilliant Wife made dinner a couple of weeks ago when I had to work late. Usually I cook, which seems to suit her all right.

24. Have you ever applied for welfare?
Not as such. We had food stamps for a while last summer, and even that was a festival of paperwork. In contrast to the popular image, though, the bureaucrat who helped up went out of her way (and bent some rules, I suspect), to get us signed up, as she knew we weren't freeloaders by nature. There are two kinds of government employees: people like her and chairwarmers. I wish they'd hire more of the former.

25. How many emails do you have?
In my work inbox, 679. In my private e-mail, 200. I also keep a Yahoo address for required registrations and such, so if I get spam, it can go there. God knows how many I have in that one.

26. Last time you received flowers?
I honestly don't recall. It's not the sort of thing guys usually get. Maybe a nice bouquet of lug wrenches or something.

27. Do you think the sanctity of marriage is meant for only a man and woman?
Yep. And I don't feel any need to argue the point.

28. Do you play air guitar?
Depends on whether anyone's watching.

29. Has anyone ever proposed to you?
Nope. I've been married twice, and both times I did the proposing. The first time was in the backseat of a Dodge, and the second in a Mexican restaurant with both sets of kids watching. Guess which marriage lasted?

30. Do you take anything in your coffee?
Cream (real cream if I can) and sugar.

31. Do you have any Willow Tree figurines?
Any what?

32. What is/was your high school's rival mascot?
I don't know. My high school's mascot was the Trojans, so anyone would have looked better. Besides, I hatedthat school. I left my home town when we moved after two months of my freshman year, and I spent my high school years wishing I could go back. If nothing else, it's a lot cooler to be a Timberwolf than a Trojan.

33. Last person you spoke to from high school?
I think my ex-girlfriend, almost six years ago. I talked to my boyhood best friend a couple of weeks ago, but although we were friends at the time, we didn't actually go to high school together. (See above.)

34. Last time you used hand sanitizer?
I think we have some in our bathroom at home. I'd have to check to be sure.

35. Would you like to learn to play the drums?
Naah. Bagpipes would be cool, though.

36. What color are the blinds in your living room?
They're cream-colored drapes, torn off on one side by Hypertot playing Tarzan on them.

38. Last thing you read in the newspaper?
Everything you see here is there because I read it and posted it.

39. What was the last pageant you attended?
You mean last year's Christmas pageant? Number Three Daughter was in it, the last time she'll be young enough. Naturally, she was the star.

40. What is the last place you bought pizza from?
I bought frozen pizzas at the grocery store a couple of days ago. The last time I bought real pizza was from Papa Murphy's, sometime last month.

41. Have you ever worn a crown?
I think I was a magus in a Christmas pageant when I was about 11 or 12.

42. What is the last thing you stapled?
A set of dummies for the next day's newspaper.

43. Did you ever drink clear Pepsi?
No. I'm not much of a pop drinker, certainly not enough to get what's trendy. We buy whatever's diet and on sale.

44. Are you ticklish?
Violently so.

45. Last time you saw fireworks?
The Fourth of July, watching the display over Moses Lake from my sister's backyard.

46. Last time you had a Krispy Kreme doughnut?
I think last spring. We had a salesperson from Konica who used to bring them from Spokane whenever he came to check on our supplies, but he retired and I haven't seen one since. The nearest Krispy Kreme is a hundred miles away, alas.

47. Who is the last person that left you a message and you actually returned it?
The guy at the temp service I've been working for off and on.

48. Last time you parked under a carport?
I think in January 2003, when we moved Christina's stuff up here from Sacramento.

49. Do you have a black dog?
Nope. No dog at all.

50 . Have you had your mid life crisis yet?
I have a wife and eight kids. Who has time for one?

51. Are you an aunt or uncle?
Yes, but until a few years ago I never got to act like one. My sister had a little girl, but they lived in Pittsburgh. Since that time they've moved back to Washington, so I've gotten to be Uncle Joel. It's kind of fun being around kids I'm not responsible for. My brothers, on the other hand, are damnably slow about reproduction. One of them has been married for a couple of years, and it's about time they started shouldering their share of the grandchild-producing.

Then too, when I married Christina, I suddenly acquired her 22 nieces and nephews. (I think there are a few more now.) Most of them don't know me from Adam, but I've come to like a few of them a lot.

52. Who has the prettiest eyes that you know of?
I should say Christina, but I'm looking at a collage of Lauren Bacall on my desktop, and it's a hard call to make. I hope she'll forgive me.

53. What kind of soap or body wash do you use?
Whatever's in the shower. I'm sorta partial to Irish Spring, but I'm not picky.

54. Do you remember Ugly Kid Joe?
Yeah, but my mom made me stop calling him that, because it wasn't nice.

55. Do you have a little black dress?
No, which is just as well. I don't have the legs to carry one off.

Okay, someone else's turn now. Who's up to it?

Show him, honey

This gives a whole different dimension to the "designated driver" concept. Not that it kept them from an accident anyway.

For Ricki

Because she brought up the subject of archaic vocabulary the other day.

My school principal died the other day

I wish I could be sad, but I can't.

John Davis, the former Hockinson school superintendent who helped lead the successful 2000 bond drive to construct a high school and create a full-service school district, has died of cancer.

A memorial service will be in the Hockinson High School auditorium at 7 p.m. Tuesday, Sept. 25.

Davis, 60, a Ridgefield resident, died Sunday.

Just last week, the Hockinson school board unveiled a plaque that honors his seven-year tenure, from 1994 to 2001, and his devotion to libraries. It was placed in the high school library, next to the large stone fireplace and comfy chairs that have become a student hangout.

Confined to a wheelchair, Davis attended Thursday's emotional tribute that drew a crowd of former colleagues and friends...

Davis spent 33 years in public education. Before his time in Kelso, he was assistant dean of the school of education at the University of Connecticut, principal of Goldendale Middle School and principal of Neah Bay Schools on the Makah Indian Reservation.

He was the principal at Goldendale Middle School the four years I was there (fifth through eighth grades), and the strongest emotion I can summon up is disappointment that I'll never have a chance to get him alone and repay his viciousness. I know, lots of kids think their principals are mean, but this guy really was abusive to me. I don't know what it was that made him dislike me so much, but I was a hyperactive, smart-mouthed kid and it wasn't hard for an authority figure to get tired of me to me. With most of them, though, it's not personal; with Davis, it was. Just for an example: when the school created a special program specifically for me and a couple of other kids, he actually changed the rules to make sure I couldn't get in. I'm not exaggerating that, either; the requirements had been laid down beforehand, and when my name came up, he added an extra one that he knew I couldn't meet, one the other kids hadn't had to meet. (Naturally, his own kids were among the first enrolled.) My mother risked her job (she was a school secretary) to go over his head. He never forgave me for that. If he disliked me before seventh grade, he purely hated me after.

By the end of my eighth-grade year, he was taking me into his office literally every day for a paddling, on any pretext he could find. I say "paddle," but it was really a baseball bat that had been shaved flat, and he had to take a batting stance in order to get the leverage to hit hard enough. I don't recall him ever missing a chance to punish me, even when he had to invent something. (Some of the things he invented were downright silly, but the served their purpose.)

No, I can't make myself mourn. The most I can do is hope that by the time he died, he was a better person than the John Davis I knew. And repent of my own hatred.

Update: It looks like maybe he was a better person than I remember him. Certainly there are people who loved him. His daughter started a blog here, and it's a really sweet one. I hope it was justified, I honestly do, and that the stuff he did to me was an aberration. And I'm editing this to make it a little less harsh.

This can't be an accident

It just can't.

There's a story going around South Lake Union, but a spokeswoman for Vulcan, Paul Allen's development company, says it's just an urban legend.

That aside, the story that the neighborhood's streetcar line now under construction was called the South Lake Union Trolley until the powers that be realized the unfortunate acronym -- SLUT -- seems here to stay.

Officially, it's now the South Lake Union Streetcar. But the trolley name already has caught on, and in the old Cascade neighborhood in South Lake Union, they're waiting for the SLUT.

Jerry Thomson, foreground, and Don Clifton model the "Ride the S.L.U.T." T-shirts they created to poke fun at the original acronym of the South Lake Union Streetcar. The shirts are sold at the Kapow! coffee shop in the neighborhood.
At the Kapow! Coffee house on Harrison Street, they're selling T-shirts that read "Ride the SLUT."

"We're welcoming the SLUT into the neighborhood," said Jerry Johnson, 29, a part-time barista. Johnson said the T-shirts were done just for fun, but they seem to have tapped into something: The first 100 sold out in days and now orders for the next 100 are under way.

Am I the only person who thinks it should have been named "Janet?"

Planned Parenthood: Fighting for a whiter America

It's billed as satire, but that's only because it's truer than most people want to think. All Dawn's guest blogger did was connect the dots that Murder Inc. don't want you to connect. Not that it's hard to piece together; they're pretty blatant about their genteel, white-liberal racism. All they need is sheets and nooses.

A chuckle to take into the weekend

Bon Apetit!

Life, death, and the Communion of Saints

I've been meaning to write this for a while now, ever since Pastor Larry Brice passed away last week. (There's a good story on him here and his obituary is here.) Alas, time has been tight, and I really wanted to wait until after his funeral before I posted. Somehow a death doesn't seem "official" before the funeral, if that makes sense.

My Lovely and Brilliant Wife and I did go to his funeral service, although we couldn't stay through the whole thing. (Pregnancy is a lot tougher at 40 than at 20, and she was feeling pretty lousy after the first hour.) I don't think anybody noticed our absence; not only did they hold it at the biggest church building in town (his own church, Grace Harvest, wasn't nearly big enough), but they also had to set up a second sanctuary with a video screen for the mourners who couldn't fit. Larry was a police chaplain, so every cop in town who wasn't actually on duty was there in dress uniform. I saw people from probably every Christian church in Moses Lake. I expect there were even more than a few Mormons in attendance, because of his police work and his work with the local CPC. Lots of people loved Larry, and they were all was there to show it. Because Larry loved Jesus, and what's more, Larry loved everybody Jesus loved.

We heard testimonials from one person after another who had witnessed Larry's work for God in action. He had served the Lord faithfully as a layman, husband, and father, for decades before taking on full-time ministry work for Grace Harvest. Even in his last days, when he was so weak he couldn't get up, he was asking a fellow police chaplain if there was anybody he could pray for. Everybody had a story of how Larry had helped them, through prayer, support, counsel, or just being a good example. Faithful and loving to the end.

But it's not the end. "He that believeth in Me, though he were dead, yet shall he live." This is one of the linchpins of the Christian faith. "The life everlasting" is how it's phrased in the Apostle's Creed. Larry's passing reminded me of another phrase from the same creed: "The Communion of Saints."

That line is interpreted in different ways, but I'm speaking here of the traditional understanding of it, what Lewis called "the Church as we see her spread out through all time and space and rooted in eternity, terrible as an army with banners." This has nothing to do with schisms or Reformations; it's not a Catholic, or a Protestant, or an Orthodox thing. Rather, the whole Body of Christ is said to be divided into three parts: The Church Militant (on earth), the Church Suffering (in Purgatory), and the Church Triumphant (in Heaven). I'm going to leave the second part alone for now; it's kind of tangential here. Besides, I suspect a man who's been through almost a year of colon and liver cancer has had all the Purgatory he'll ever need.

It's first and third parts of the Church I'm thinking of, and how easily we forget that they're not two completely different things. We think of death as a total departure: that when a man leaves earth and enters into glory, he's gone for good and has no further connection with the rest of us. But it's not that cut and dried. They may go far away from us, but it doesn't follow that we are far away from them.

But when we try to articulate this, it comes out sounding like superstition at best and New-Age occultism at worst. Sure, we believe in life after death, but it's still death, after all. Any attempt to circumvent that is necromancy, right?

Well, yes and no. (Love those precise answers!) Man can't circumvent death himself, but Christ short-circuited it on the Cross. If we think of death not as the end, but as the transition from Militant to Triumphant (with maybe a stopover at Suffering), it's easier to see. The Church is not, as Chesterton said, limited to those members who happen to be walking around at any given time. Larry isn't gone from the Church; he's just gone from Moses Lake.

But do you really think Moses Lake is out of his sight? Do you really think he stopped loving the people he left behind? Not likely! Our Christian faith is both a vertical relationship (Man and God) and a horizontal one (Man and the rest of the Body of Christ). That horizontal unity doesn't disappear at the Pearly Gates. And a man like Larry Brice, who prayed and loved here, isn't going to quit just because he's reached the destination he was headed for all along.

When he was on earth, Larry prayed for people constantly. He sought out people who needed prayer and comfort, and he gave it to them. But then, he saw through a glass darkly. He only knew to pray for those needs that someone told him about. Today, he sees clearly, and sees many more people to pray for. he also knows what to ask God for, whereas on earth he had only the Bible and his own thin knowledge of God to guess by. Nor is he limited by the earthly restriction of only doing one thing at a time. He has all eternity, the never-ending "now." I have no doubt that he is right now watching the people of Moses Lake, of Grace Harvest Church, and of earth in general, and praying for their constant needs. And what's more, he's not praying to a God he can't see, but to one he can look full in the face and say, "Father, will You help this person?" And you can bet that He will. That's how prayer works. It's not just a two-way channel, with each individual asking God for favors for himself. It's a huge, intricate network, webbed between the three parts of the Church and the Triune God, all intersecting and interlacing, all forming a support that sustains us and shares out God's blessings in abundance.

Back in November, when Larry was diagnosed, many people prayed for him. Now there's no more need to pray for him, but I'll bet that anyone who asks a favor from him will find that petition immediately brought before a generous God. That is the communion of saints. We're all praying for each other: Militant, Suffering and Triumphant. Death can make a temporary, incomplete separation, but it can't divide the Body of Christ in any complete way. You can't stop a saint from praying. He'll always be lifting up the people of his Church. And especially those in Grace Harvest, where his heart was when he was here. Because in the Communion of Saints, death isn't the end; it's just a change of address.

Game day!

That's the theme at this week's Catholic Carnival. Lots of good stuff there.

I have a problem with this

I don't have a lot of stomach for what the "Mormon fundamentalists" have done with the tradition of plural marriage. I don't care what they do in their religious ceremonies, but marrying underage cousins should be outside the pale. (Not all the polygamists are into that sort of thing, but those who are are the ones that make the headlines.)

However, I see a disturbing precedent in the Warren Jeffs trial. Has anyone else noticed that the actual perpetrator of the alleged rape isn't being charged with anything? And that so far all "Uncle Warren" has been accused of is teaching that the marriage was Godly? I don't like the idea that a religious leader can be prosecuted simply for advocating the tenets of his faith. I don't think it's too much of a stretch to see clergymen down the road prosecuted for preaching that homosexuality is a sin, or the Catholic Church sued for prohibiting abortion. I know, those sound like paranoid scenarios, but suppose a gay person killed himself, because he was afraid of the church's condemnation. That would place the preacher in almost the same situation as Jeffs. Not quite, because it's still legal not to be actively gay, so the hypothetical reverend isn't actually advocating something illegal. But it's less of a stretch than it first appears. (Update: Looks like what Jeffs told the girl to do wasn't illegal either. I hadn't realized that the age of connsent in Utah was 14. So the scenarios are parallel.)

If the "bridegroom" were being charged with statutory, and Jeffs were tried as an accessory, that would make sense. But this smacks of lynching. And with the current climate in this country toward traditional religions, it could be just the first step.

What a man should be able to do

Pastor Jeff at Conblogeration links to a list at Popular Mechanics of 25 things a man ought to be able to do. I can say I've done most of them, albeit badly in some cases. (In particular, my early attempts at number 13 were not pretty.)

1. Patch a radiator hose
2. Protect your computer
3. Rescue a boater who as capsized
4. Frame a wall
5. Retouch digital photos
6. Back up a trailer
7. Build a campfire
8. Fix a dead outlet
9. Navigate with a map and compass
10. Use a torque wrench
11. Sharpen a knife
12. Perform CPR
13. Fillet a fish
14. Maneuver a car out of a skid
15. Get a car unstuck
16. Back up data
17. Paint a room
18. Mix concrete
19. Clean a bolt-action rifle
20. Change oil and filter
21. Hook up an HDTV
22. Bleed brakes
23. Paddle a canoe
24. Fix a bike flat
25. Extend your wireless network

Jeff cites Sippican's shortened list, which is a lot less subjective:

Sippican's List Of Everything A Man Should Know:
1. Know how to do whatever the hell you feel like doing
2. Learn how to take your lumps for doing #1

Amen!

Personally, I like Lazarus Long's list:

A man should be able to change a diaper, plan an invasion, butcher a hog, conn a ship, design a building, write a sonnet, balance accounts, build a wall, set a bone, comfort the dying, take orders, give orders, cooperate, act alone, solve equations, analyze a new problem, pitch manure, program a computer, cook a tasty meal, fight efficiently, die gallantly. Specialization is for insects.

Update: Bill thinks I resolutely refused to link his decidedly bawdy contribution, so I defy him with equal resolution. So there!

Let's play "Count the Ironies!"

The Democratic Party (which considers itself the sole advocate of Hispanics, immigrants and diversity, and is vehemently oppposed to "official English" laws), held a Spanish-language debate in which the questions and answers were translated for the candidates through earpieces. Two candidates were actually fluent Spanish speakers but were not allowed to speak Spanish to a Spanish-speaking audience. Apparently abilities that allow a person to rise above the herd are contrary to the Democratic ideal. (As is actual Hispanicness, as opposed to superficialities that can be exploited in the media.)

Incidentally, how many people are aware that President Bush actually speaks fluent Spanish? This despite dyslexia that makes his have to work twice as hard to express himself in any language. But then, he's just a Gringo racist Republican, so his Spanish and familiarity with Hispanic culture don't count.

One more tesseract

Madeleine L'Engle travels in elephants.

Besides her better-known children's books, she also wrote some surprisingly (for an Episcopalian) orthodox Christian material. I had no idea of htis unti a friend loaned me his copy of Walking on Water, tackling the arts from a Christian perspective. Even better was Penguins and Golden Calves: Icons and Idols which explored the role of the visual in Christianity. I had just begun looking into traditional Christianity when I read both those books, and they hinted of more things in heaven and earth than were dream't of in my Baptist upbringing.

Her books for kids (she hated being a "children's author") were still the jewel in her literary crown, though. Unlike an awful lot of people who write for kids, her characters were believable and identifiable, even over the generations. I went through much of puberty feeling like I knew the O'Keeffes and the people they encountered. Bright people, strange families (as whose isn't?) and stories that may not have been, strictly speaking, magical but nevertheless set the imagination racing.

Thank you, ma'am. You made millions of children dream bigger, brighter dreams. Rest now.

Heaven's gain, earth's loss

Larry Brice, whom I lifted up for prayer back in November, went home this morning after a long and painful bout with cancer. I didn't know him very well myself; we crossed paths from time to time, but since I didn't go to his church, that's all it was. What I do know is the effect he had on other Christian brothers I respect a lot. Doug and Paul both describe him as a mentor and a role model, and they're the sort of Christians I look to as examples.

May the Lord welcome him home where cancer is less than a memory. Guys like Larry are why the Church Triumphant is called that.

Back to work

I took down my post from Monday, as it looks like I won't be leaving the paper after all. Out of the blue, minutes before I was about to hand in my notice, my boss called me in and offered me enough money to make it through, plus prospects for down the road. It suits me dandy; I've been here a long time and I was sorry to have to leave.

He had no inkling that I was fixing to quit, either. This wasn't a game of leverage and counter-offer; I was really expeccting to take the other job. I'd gone so far as to clean out my desk last night in case I was dismissed on the spot. I'll still be working side jobs through a temp agency until the bills get caught up, but at least the light at the end of the tunnel isn't the Bankruptcy Express.

Woman sues over botched abortion

She's lying, of course.

A 40-year-old Nebraska woman said in a lawsuit filed Friday that she had an emergency hysterectomy because of a botched abortion at the Planned Parenthood clinic in Lincoln last month.

The woman, who is not named in the lawsuit, said she lost four liters of blood — the equivalent of 80 percent of the average woman’s blood volume, according to the lawsuit — and that the procedure caused her excruciating pain.

Obviously, she set this up because she's a hysterical (you should pardon the expression) wingnut devoted to the patriarchy's plot to control women's uteruseses and force them all to have lots of babies. It's all faked.

And the slander she brought against that poor doctor – she should be ashamed. No matter what they say, he wasn't fired for doing an unauthorized abortion. He chose to bring his saintly services to Planned Parenthood to further the right of all women to have exactly the same benefit that this anonymous whiner received. For a consideration, naturally.

She should just buck up and quit complaining. If she had hemorrhaged to death, she could have been a martyr in a good cause. Not that she was ever in any danger of that, of course. It's perfectly safe! Safe, I tell you! La la la la... I can't hear you... la la la...

That kid and his football game prank

I can't watch it at work, but as soon as I get home I aim to watch this. I understand it's sheer poetry.

I don't care what the school administration has to say; this kid deserves a scholarship. This took some serious planning and organization.

Some things you just don't explain

Once again, Crystal rocks my world.

Devon and I went to Wal-Mart on Thursday night to pick up some last minute school supplies. I was exhausted and not thinking clearly, so I told him to just get what he needed and I would mindlessly swipe my credit card at the register. This is how I approach back-to-school time, you see. It's the only way I can spend that much money (and pay interest! Yay!) on that many glue sticks and Bratz folders and other useless shit without walking into school on the first day and asking to please speak with the other twelve children I'm obviously supporting.

I was numbly standing behind him in the aisle and watching him obsess over rulers when he turned to me.

"Look at this, Mom. Who in the world would need an eighteen inch ruler?"

And without thinking, I replied, "John Holmes."

The lady passing me began shrilly giggling and my son looked puzzled.

"Who?"

I coughed. "Um, actor. Way before your time."

"But, why-"

"Just pick a damned ruler! I have places to go and interest to pay! Gah!"

My kids wouldn't have understood it either, for which God be praised.

Keeping the playgrounds play-free

Apparently tag is too hard on the kids' self-esteem or something. Maybe it would be best if we just duct-tape them to chairs and set them outside to enjoy the fresh air.

Homophobic cop arrests innocent man on suspicion of gayness

Wait... that's how it woiuld read if the arrestee had been a Democrat. How does it really go?

WASHINGTON - Idaho Sen. Larry Craig, who has voted against gay marriage and opposes extending special protections to gay and lesbian crime victims, finds his political future in doubt after pleading guilty to misdemeanor charges stemming from complaints of lewd conduct in a men's room...

A political science professor in Idaho said Craig's political future was in jeopardy. And a spokesman for the Democratic Senate Campaign Committee, Hannah August, said Craig's guilty plea "has given Americans another reason not to vote Republican" next year.

The married Craig, 62, has faced rumors about his sexuality since the 1980s, but allegations that he has engaged in gay sex have never been substantiated. Craig has denied the assertions, which he calls ridiculous.

The arrest changes that dynamic, said Jasper LiCalzi, a political science professor at Albertson College of Idaho in Caldwell, Idaho. He cited the House page scandal that drove Florida Rep. Mark Foley from office.

"There's a chance that he'll resign over this," LiCalzi said. "With the pressure on the Republican Party, he could be pressured to resign. If they think this is going to be something that's the same as Mark Foley - the sort of 'drip, drip, drip, there's more information that's going to come out' - they may try to push him out."

Only much farther down the article do we find out what Craig actually did:

Roll Call, citing the report, said Sgt. Dave Karsnia made the arrest after an encounter in which he was seated in a stall next to a stall occupied by Craig. Karsnia described Craig tapping his foot, which Karsnia said he "recognized as a signal used by persons wishing to engage in lewd conduct." [Emphasis mine]

Hey, today tapping his foot, tomorrow waving his john thomas at the crowd in a pride parade. Not that there's anything wrong with that. Unless you're someone gay people (and the media) don't approve of.

Yes!

Yes! Yes! Yes! How many other ways are there to say it! Yes! I agree with this man in (almost) every particular!

We have become a nation of women.

It wasn’t always this way, of course. There was a time when men put their signatures to a document, knowing full well that this single act would result in their execution if captured, and in the forfeiture of their property to the State. Their wives and children would be turned out by the soldiers, and their farms and businesses most probably given to someone who didn’t sign the document.

There was a time when men went to their certain death, with expressions like “You all can go to hell. I’m going to Texas.” (Davy Crockett, to the House of Representatives, before going to the Alamo.)

There was a time when men went to war, sometimes against their own families, so that other men could be free. And there was a time when men went to war because we recognized evil when we saw it, and knew that it had to be stamped out.

There was even a time when a President of the United States threatened to punch a man in the face and kick him in the balls, because the man had the temerity to say bad things about the President’s daughter’s singing.

We’re not like that anymore.

Now, little boys in grade school are suspended for playing cowboys and Indians, cops and crooks, and all the other familiar variations of “good guy vs. bad guy” that helped them learn, at an early age, what it was like to have decent men hunt you down, because you were a lawbreaker.

Now, men are taught that violence is bad—that when a thief breaks into your house, or threatens you in the street, that the proper way to deal with this is to “give him what he wants”, instead of taking a horsewhip to the rascal or shooting him dead where he stands.

Now, men’s fashion includes not a man dressed in a three-piece suit, but a tight sweater worn by a man with breasts.

Now, warning labels are indelibly etched into gun barrels, as though men have somehow forgotten that guns are dangerous things.

Now, men are given Ritalin as little boys, so that their natural aggressiveness, curiosity and restlessness can be controlled, instead of nurtured and directed.

And finally, our President, who happens to have been a qualified fighter pilot, lands on an aircraft carrier wearing a flight suit, and is immediately dismissed with words like “swaggering”, “macho” and the favorite epithet of Euro girly-men, “cowboy”. Of course he was bound to get that reaction—and most especially from the Press in Europe, because the process of male pussification Over There is almost complete.

Read the rest. It rates a language alert, but it's well worth it. It's an old essay; I can't believe I hadn't seen it before. Thanks to Johnny Law for bringing it to my attention.

Reality check

Guys, take note: Regardless of what she looks like, says or does, before you get involved with a woman, ask yourself if she would do this. If you're not convinced that she would, then just don't bother with her. This is where the rubber meets the road.

The Loons of August

Late summer is called the "silly season", because of all the weirdness that seems to show up in the news. This guy seems to be doing all he can to augment the bizarrity. Must have a lot of time on his hands where he is.

Let's see: Michael Vick stole his dogs and sold them on E-bay. Barry Bonds sold steroids to nuns (those must be some bulked-up sisters!), and in between times, supplied arms to Saddam Hussein. but only after liberating food out of the plaintiff's refrigerator. He was framed to prevent him from exposing Bonds' dealings.

As soon as I saw the guy had put a copyright symbol next to his name, I knew it would be a hoot. And I wasn't wrong. Happy silly season!

A dose of Spam Zen

It's been a while since I've done Spam Zen. Most of my spam these days seems to contain only sentence fragments butting up against each other, which makes it harder to mine them for insights. Once in a while, though, I get something with actual sentences, however non-sequiturish they may be. So let the meditation begin...

Sometimes a mortician for a dolphin sweeps the floor, but some insurance agent always buries a fundraiser of an industrial complex!

This line has more elements than one of those sleeping-pill commercials with Abraham Lincoln, a deep-sea diver and a beaver. (Oh, the symbolism in that combination!) So let's consider what symbolism we can derive from our cast of characters.

First we have the mortician. A mortician's function is twofold: first, to assuage ceremonially the grief of those who have lost a loved one, and second, to make that loved one appear as though he were still alive, and to fix him in his mourners' memories in his natural state. In both cases, death is both the stock in trade and the enemy of the clients. Should death suddenly cease to exist, the mortician would be out of business. This makes it tempting to think of him as profiting from the misery of others, but any actual mortician would tell you the opposite. They side with their clients' families, against an enemy which has already defeated them, at least temporally. (Spiritually, of course, they may not be defeated at all. Christian immortality and the resurrection of the body add a whole 'nother dimension to this.) The dichotomy between the need for death and the conflict with it is reminiscent of the relationship of a dentist toward candy.

Typically morticians work on human beings. So when he performs the same duties for a dolphin, what does it mean? (Assuming it's a literal dolphin, and not a football player from Miami.) Among the animals, dolphins are often thought to be second only to Man in intelligence (come to think of that, you could probably say the same of the football player), a kind of lesser (and unthumbed) human race. Nevertheless, they are not and cannot be human. So if a mortician does his work on one, is he implicitly denying the natural superiority of man over cetacean? Or is he merely being charitable to a lesser creature out of magnanimity?

In either case, he seems not to want the fact to be made public. He sweeps the floor, perhaps to hide the evidence of his cross-species labors. This would seem to support the second hypothesis, as he wouldn't be so furtive if he wanted to make a statement in favor of equality. He would shout from the rooftops, or perhaps from the sea floor, depending on whom he was trying to convince.

But he is foiled in this by the insurance agent. Like the mortician, the insurance agent both profits from death and seeks to disarm it, but for opposite reasons. The insurance agent's profit is derived not from death itself, but from the fear of it, whereas the actual event of death costs his company money. It is thus natural to see the agent and the mortician as opposing forces in a dualistic sense, a kind of yin-yang of the Rotary Club.

The use of the word "bury" is telling, as that's usually the province of a mortician, yet here we see the insurance agent doing it. Is it possible that he's trying to get an edge on the mortician by doing the job ahead of him, or is the fundraiser something that the mortician would rather not see buried? A fundraiser is at bottom an act of altruism, much like embalming a dolphin, which suggests that the two opposite forces are nonetheless parallel in their actions. To be simultaneously parallel and opposite is self-contradictory, and so the stuff of which koans are made.

The fundraiser itself presents another interesting conundrum. On the one hand, it is a vehicle of charity, a means for an entity with no merchandise except generosity to continue to dispense that generosity. But is there anything less evocative of generosity than an industrial complex? The whole nature of the complex is the buying and selling of goods: it's a marketplace in which the one-way exchange of the fundraiser is completely out of place. It may be that this unnatural placement of the fundraiser is what impels the insurance agent to bury it, to hide its deformity.

So here we see the fundamental difference between the mortician and the insurance agent. The mortician is embarrassed by his act of kindness out of modesty, whereas the insurance agent is apparently ashamed of an act of kindness which he himself presumably didn't perpetrate. The one regards charity as essentially good but not an occasion of pride, while the other regards it as essentially bad and worthy of shame. We come at last to the conflict: woe unto those who call good evil and evil good. The mortician, who does good, has no cause to fear death, while the insurance agent, who does evil, derives only harm from that final journey. And so cosmic justice is maintained.

Now where did I put those sleeping pills? Maybe the beaver has them.

Book meme on the 'Fly

He didn't actually tag me, but I'm the pushy sort, so I grabbed it and ran:

What are you reading right now?
I'd like to say I'm reading Summa Theologica, but really, I just have it out so I can try and convince myself I'm reading it. In fact, I'm not reading anything new, but I am re-enjoying Thomas Howard's Splendor in the Ordinary before I give it to my mom. (I have my own copy, but the one for her is in the car, so it's closer.)

Do you have any idea what you’ll read when you’re done with that?
Probably not Aquinas, alas. I'm waiting on a shipment from Powell Books in Portland (which is where I hope to go when I die) that has an out-of-print Donald Westlake book and a couple by Orson Scott Card. I'll probably read the Westlake first; it's called Dancing Aztecs and it's the funniest he's ever done, I think. I last read it about twelve years ago.

As for first-time reads, I'm really looking forward to Rachel and Leah, which is the third in Card's "Women of Genesis" series. I already have Sarah, haven't yet read Rebekah, and the third was the only one that was available cheap at Powell's. Card is a devout Mormon, and his retellings of Old Testament stories bear that out, but if you ever get a chance, you have to put that aside and read Stone Tables. It's the best Exodus rendition I've ever seen, bar none.

What magazines do you have in your bathroom right now?
My wife has whatever the current issue of Sunset is, and I have a few re-re-re-read books lying around. We're not really magazine people, as we (okay, I) tend to sign up for subscriptions and forget to pay them.

What’s the worst thing you were ever forced to read?
I forced myself to read The Da Vinci Code to see what all the yelling was about, and it sucked like a White House intern. Bad writing, bad plotting, and enough historical howlers to make me chew off my leg to get away from it. I finished it, but when I tried to read the prequel, Angels and Demons, I just couldn't do it. I not only put the book down but actually punted it across the room when Brown mentioned in passing, that Copernicus had been executed by the Catholic Church. Really. It wasn't an element in the story, mind you; it was just background, in an everybody-knows tone. Had the man some tinge of letters or of wit, he could easily have found out that Copernicus died at the age of 70, retired from teaching astronomy on the Church's payroll. That was the last time I tried to read something by Dan Brown.

What’s the one book you always recommend to just about everyone?
I'm a huge fan of Lewis' The Great Divorce, and I've been known to recommend it to strangers on the sidewalk. Thomas Howard's On Being Catholic is one I like to recommend, too, but it's harder to find.

Admit it, the librarians at your library know you on a first name basis, don’t they?
Yes, but it's a small town. Mostly, they know my oldest daughter, who used to hang out there after school just about every day when she was little. (And became the first girl to climb onto the library roof, I learned later.)

Is there a book you absolutely love, but for some reason, people never think it sounds interesting, or maybe they read it and don’t like it at all?
Several. George MacDonald Fraser's Flashman books are a source of continual delight to me, yet nobody else ever seems interested in them. A couple of others by the same author go begging as well. But the one book I've never, ever been able to get someone to read is Manly Wade Wellman's short-story collection John the Balladeer. (The whole thing is online here, if anybody's interested.) Wellman created an entire mythology out of Appalachian folklore, inserted a soft-spoken hero, and made magic such as I've seldom seen on a page. The speech cadences, the resurrected legends, all of it is so addictive that I can't help talking like the characters after I've been reading them. Yet somehow nobody else ever gets caught up in them.

Do you read books while you eat? When I can get away with it. I have a big family, so reading tends to be on stolen time.
While you bathe? This sounds silly, but at six foot three, I don't fit into the bathtub. And reading in the shower has proven disastrous in the past.
While you watch movies or TV? Sometimes I watch my wife's shows with half an eye while reading.
While you listen to music? Can't concentrate when I do. I'm like a poster child for adult ADD.
While you’re on the computer? Not really. Although my computer chair is the only place to sit in our bedroom, so I'll alternate sometimes.
While you’re having sex? If I ever really, really wanted a skull fracture, that might be an efficient way to get one. (Who on earth stuck that question in here?)
While you’re driving? In Moses Lake? We never have enough traffic backed up for me to do that. Although I confess I used to in Seattle, twenty-some years ago.

When you were little, did other children tease you about your reading habits?
Boy howdy, did they ever. In Little League, I used to take a book into the outfield with me, which affected my popularity with my teammates no end. In fifth grade, I dodged every bit of schoolwork, while reading pretty much the entire contents of five (yes, five) sets of encyclopedias. Not cover to cover, but cross-referencing from subject to subject like you can do with mouse clicks on Wikipedia today.

What’s the last thing you stayed up half the night reading because it was so good you couldn’t put it down?
Empire, by Orson Scott Card. Not his best, but still better than most of what's out there.

I'm not going to tag anyone either. If you take it up on your own, let me know inthe comments.

I expected more Calvin than this

But what can I say? Statistics don't lie, do they?

Your Score: A Bit Of Both

You are 40% Calvin and 60% Hobbes

Calvin & Hobbes, like a scruffy yin and yang, are in perfect balance within you. Like Calvin, you're weird, a bit insecure, and can be a trouble-maker. But like Hobbes, you're down to earth and sensitive. It's a risk to say it here, after just a ten question test, but I'll bet you're smarter than most. Both Calvin and Hobbes are crafty, clever characters, and any one made from equal parts of each is a force to be reckoned with.

Link: The Calvin Or Hobbes Test written by gwendolynbooks on OkCupid, home of the The Dating Persona Test

A tip of the Akubra to Michelle at Rosetta Stone, who actually posted this something like a year and a half ago. What can I say? Tigers don't have time to do quizzes.

Speaking of daily bread

You Are a Club Sandwich

You are have a big personality. It's hard for anyone to ignore you! You dream big. You think big. And you eat big. Some people consider you high maintenance, but you just know what you want... and when you want it. Your best friend: The Tuna Fish Sandwich Your mortal enemy: The Peanut Butter and Jelly Sandwich

What Kind of Sandwich Are You?

Ricki, I'm sorry. I guess we can't be friends anymore.

Sure enough...

... God came through. At the last minute, and it doesn't solve the long-term problem, but He gave us this day our daily bread.

Why does He insist on the suspense, though? It's probably to teach me faith, but it's unnerving while it's happening. As someone said once, "The Lord moves in mysterious ways, and I just wish He wouldn't insist on carting me along with Him."

Thanks for praying, y'all!

Life imitates Bugs Bunny

Except that instead of having his hair singed and soot all over his face, this poor schmoe lost his house.

Starting your lawn mower can be trouble enough.

But Danny Fendley, of Johns Creek, started more than just his mower Tuesday afternoon when he tugged at the pull cord.

Danny Fendley and his wife Sabrina watch as their two-story Johns Creek home burns down after Fendley's lawn mower exploded into flames inside his garage.

Firefighters try to extinguish the fire at this Johns Creek home. The fire started when Danny Fendley tried to start his lawn mower, inside his garage, and the mower exploded.

The mower "exploded," starting a fire that soon consumed Fendley's home.

"It's a goner," said Fulton County Fire Lt. Gregory Chambers, at the scene of the blaze. "There's not even one brick standing."

Fortunately, nobody was hurt, not even the cats.

Now I'm afraid to mow my own lawn. Who knows how many of those possessed lawnmowers are out there? I'm having visions of the mower following Peter Sellers around in The Fiendish Plot of Dr. Fu Manchu. Sure, that one was friendly enough, but you know, some breeds can turn on you without warning.

Sorry, honey. I can't take the risk. The grass'll just have to grow. Think I''ll have a cold beer in the hammock and be thankful for my fortuitous escape.

Ain't it the truth?

You know you're a big family when...

...people count the number of your children out loud when you're in public
...people ask, "Are they all yours?"
...you start counting your children when you're out in public...

My Lovely and Brilliant Wife has the rest. It reads like a checklist of our lives.

See why I love The Dawn Patrol so much?

Dawn keeps coming up with things like this:

"Fun new products available soon," says the home page for Planned Parenthood's online store. Along with that tease is an image that is apparently a preview of the abortion provider's new line of clothing: a logo reading "I ♥ WOMEN."

Given Planned Parenthood's main source of income, its vocal support of partial-birth abortion, and its failure to report a single adoption last year, a more appropriate slogan would seem to be "I ♣ BABIES."

Update: Scott points out that they can't ♥ women too much, since half the babies they abort would have been destined to become women. Maybe it's only the ♠ ones they like.

And to follow that...

... a sweet story with a happy ending:

A FATHER posing for a publicity photograph in an attempt to track down the daughter he hadn't seen in 10 years was unaware that she was standing just behind him.

Michael Dick had lost track of Lisa, 31, when his first marriage broke down.

After searching the electoral register for clues, he went to the local free newspaper, which agreed to do a story about his search.

Mr Dick posed in a photo with his two daughters from his second marriage.

Lisa, who was told about the article by friends, was amazed to see herself and her mother in the background of the photo. The family has been reunited.

Your daily cringe

If there's a more embarrasssing way to go to the hospital than this, I don't want to know what it is. I'm not going to quote it; you can read it for yourself if you like.

Good luck enforcing that one

The Chinese government has prohibited living Buddhas from reincarnating without permission.

Tibet’s living Buddhas have been banned from reincarnation without permission from China’s atheist leaders. The ban is included in new rules intended to assert Beijing’s authority over Tibet’s restive and deeply Buddhist people.

“The so-called reincarnated living Buddha without government approval is illegal and invalid,” according to the order, which comes into effect on September 1.

The 14-part regulation issued by the State Administration for Religious Affairs is aimed at limiting the influence of Tibet’s exiled god-king, the Dalai Lama, and at preventing the re-incarnation of the 72-year-old monk without approval from Beijing.

It is the latest in a series of measures by the Communist authorities to tighten their grip over Tibet. Reincarnate lamas, known as tulkus, often lead religious communities and oversee the training of monks, giving them enormous influence over religious life in the Himalayan region. Anyone outside China is banned from taking part in the process of seeking and recognising a living Buddha, effectively excluding the Dalai Lama, who traditionally can play an important role in giving recognition to candidate reincarnates.

The problem atheist regimes have historically run into is the assumption that all religion is merely a collection of superstitions that can be changed at will, like a children's jump-rope rhyme. By definition, religion involves things beyond Man's control, be he priest or commissar. Religions may be false, but they're never frivolous.

A/T to Fr. Tucker at Dappled Things.

Was you ever bit by a dead bee?

Apparently it works with rattlers as well.

Turns out, even beheaded rattlesnakes can be dangerous. That's what 53-year-old Danny Anderson learned Monday night, when a 5-foot rattler slithered onto his Central Washington property, about 50 miles southeast of Yakima.

Anderson and his 27-year-old son, Benjamin, pinned the snake with an irrigation pipe and cut off its head with a shovel. A few more strikes to the head left it sitting under a pickup truck.

"When I reached down to pick up the head, it raised around and did a backflip almost, and bit my finger," Anderson said. "I had to shake my hand real hard to get it to let loose."

This is a new one on me. You can't spend too many summers in central Washington without learning how to deal with rattlers. (Method one: stay the hell away from them. Method two: see method one.) But I always figured at least the dead ones were safe. 'Pears not.

A problem with a simple solution

Stay faithful to your wife.

E-ZPass and other electronic toll collection systems are emerging as a powerful means of proving infidelity. That's because when your spouse doesn't know where you've been, E-ZPass does.

"E-ZPass is an E-ZPass to go directly to divorce court, because it's an easy way to show you took the off-ramp to adultery," said Jacalyn Barnett, a New York divorce lawyer who has used E-ZPass records a few times.

Lynne Gold-Bikin, a Pennsylvania divorce lawyer, said E-ZPass helped prove a client's husband was being unfaithful: "He claimed he was in a business meeting in Pennsylvania. And I had records to show he went to New Jersey that night."

Generally mounted inside a vehicle's windshield behind the rearview mirror, E-ZPass devices communicate with antennas at toll plazas, automatically deducting money from the motorist's prepaid account.

Not so much as a collar

The priest, while insisting he was not intoxicated, could not explain his nudity:

Frederick police busted the Rev. Robert Whipkey in June after an off-duty officer spotted him walking down the street naked at about 4:30 in the morning. Whipkey told police he had been jogging at the Frederick High School track.
"I'm a heavy man and wearing clothing while running makes me sweat profusely," Whipkey said, according to a police report. "I know what I did was wrong."

Must... resist... urge to make a pun... on his name. Must... resist...

A word to the [not overly] wise

If you're going to commit armed robbery, stay armed.

Uh uh. Not gonna happen.

I'm pretty sure this is a violation of the officers' civil rights. I know I'll give up my boots when they pry them off my cold, dead feet. Some things are just... well... inalienable.

Gay Brownshirts! Gotta love 'em!

Because if you don't, punishment will be certain and swift. Remember, tolerance is not enough. You must approve.

And don't give us that dreck about sexual harassment. We're the minority here. It's not harassment if gay people do it, but it's harassment for you breeders to object to it. What, you have a problem with that?

It's a boy!

This makes it even; four of each. For the sort of people who really want to know pregnancy details (i.e., women), Christina has them here.

No sex. No problems.

Mark Shea pointed out this excellent campaign, which I hope catches on like wildfire. Like Mark, I wonder how long it will take before Planned Parenthood gets it silenced to protect their bottom line. Barak Obama has promised to add Lolita 101 to our kindergarteners' curriculum if he's elected, but there's still no law (yet) against parents teaching their kids that doing the bouncy is a bad idea.

Being a teenager sucks anyway, and that suckage is never - and I mean never - improved by sex. All sex does is magnify all the misery that comes with adolescence. Face it, people: Porky's was a fantasy.

The fact is that most of the grief we went through in junior high and high school could have been avoided had it merely been a given that our zippers would remain closed. Never mind the horsecookies about how they're "just going to do it anyway." That cuts no ice whatsoever. There's no excuse for us adults sloughing off our duty to teach them better.

And these days, it's not just the teenagers. Preteens, especially girls, are being drawn into the exciting world of becoming sex toys, which pisses me off no end. Because the only people who believe that childhood is improved by sex are the ones who stand to make a profit from your daughters being molested.

No sex. No problems. How complicated can that be?

Bobby Bare trivia

In the spirit of Ken's rock-and-roll and country-western trivia games, I thought I'd whomp one up in honor of one of the great underrated talents in the goatropin' world. Leave your answers in the comments:

1. If a burger and coffee are 85 cents, and the hippie's only got 23, what time is it, what day is it, and where are you at? (I posted this in Ken's comments, too, but it's unanswered so far.)

2. I got no brains, I got no sense, and I never had no class. Where am I going, and what will I be when I get there?

3. What should the Lord do with all those departed dear loved ones of mine? [Thornharp: Stick 'em up front in the offensive line.]

4. I'm almost out of cigarettes. Where is Margie?

5. If you don't stay with Marie for the rest of your life, what'll it be?

6. You see these nice white pearly teeth? You know they ain't my own. What happened to mine?

7. What did John Wayne once say to me? (This wasn't just Bare, but three other guys with him. Extra points if you know who they are.)

8. Hey, Sheriff, thank you for stopping and being concerned about... what?

9. What was above the door of the cabin in Hickory Holler? [Ken: Above the door there burned a scarlet lamp (at the end of a deep and wide path).]

10. If she left on that 5:09, what time zone are you in?

Goin' to the chapel...

By now, our buddy Nightfly will have donned his finger shackle and joined the oldest fraternity in the world. He is now a Married Man, with all the rights, privileges and aggravations appertaining thereto.

Congratulations and blessings, 'Fly and Ladybug! May you live as long as you want and love as long as you live. And may your married life overflow with joy, children and silliness.

For Ricki

I sounded more unsympathetic in the comments below than I meant to. Itching is nothing to laugh at. I've never had poison ivy, so I don't know from experience how bad it is, but I've heard it's ghastly. I hope it fades as fast as possible.

Some serious bragging

So yesterday, Christina and I went to pick up Number Two Daughter from a week at a jazz camp at Eastern Washington University, which she attended this year and last courtesy of my very generous parents. In the course of it, the campers got time in an honest-to-God studio, to record the songs they were going to use for the final recital. Herewith is presented Number Two Daughter's recording. (The link seems to be funky if you just click on it, but if you download it, it should play fine.)

Granted, I'm a little biased, but I don't think I have to be in this case. She's sixteen, for heaven's sake, and she sounds this good. We've never gotten her any private lessons, either; we can't afford to. All she's had is training from a semi-adequate high school choir teacher, and the intensive stuff she's gotten in two one-week sessions at Eastern. Which, I have to say, has been excellent.

Dang, she's good. Is it any wonder I'm proud?

Blogging Nekkid

Oh, the Google searches I'll be getting from that!

I have to admit that I am, indeed, typing away without clothing. This isn't for any lecherous purpose, I assure you; that's as far from my mind as can be.

I took most of a day off from work, and fulfilled a promise to Thing One and Thing Two (eleven and about-to-turn-twelve) that as soon as my big overtime-sucking project was finished I'd take them out fishing. We headed out at five this morning to Hutchinson Lake, on the Columbia National Wildlife Refuge, to try and convince a few fish to join us for dinner. The cool thing about Hutchinson is that although it has a gravel boat launch, gas motors aren't permitted. Well, we have a paddle boat, one of those kind that you can rent at lakeside resorts. With that, the lake belonged to us.

By about three in the afternoon, a mess of bluegill, crappie, and one small largemouth bass also belonged to us. (The first time the three of us got anything at all on our fishing trips, I might add.) And along with those, the sunburn from hell belonged to me as well. I may have been a redneck in theory before, now I'm one in practice as well. And red arms, and red scalp, and red legs (although I still think William Quantrill was a blackguard). In short, I crackle when I walk.

Ah, well. I got to spend some time with Thing One and Thing Two when they (mirabile visu!) weren't bickering, and I got to see each of them haul in their first fish. We also got to see a couple of Sandhill cranes, for which the refuge is justifiably famous. I made some serious dad points today, I tell you what. Alas, it also means that clothing is going to be a miserable thing for a while. When I went in to the office briefly after we got home, I had to do it in sweats. One look at my lobster-raccoon-hybrid face and nobody questioned it. But oh, how I dread tomorrow.

Gotta go slather on some more aloe vera. Having discovered this fishing spot, I now need to take Christina there next week. The couple that lures bluegill from the water together, stays together.