Let there be enchiladas on earth...

Many years ago, I was involved in several Mormon e-mail lists to learn more about the religion. (As I recounted here.) One of the other list members used a sig that said, "It really comes down to who makes the best enchiladas." Eventually he sent me the recipe, and I made up a batch at home. As we were belching happily after several platefuls, I found his phone number in Salt Lake and called to tell him so. I said, "If all the world ate these, we wouldn't have wars." He said, "Yeah, it's hard to hate someone who's passing you the hot sauce."

I've been wanting for a long time to post the recipe, but I lost it in a hard drive crash. Fortunately, another former member of the list preserved it verbatim, so I'm passing it on just as he gave it to me:
Rudy's Enchiladas
(yup, that's my other name from times past!)

COSAS PARA COMPRAR AL MERCADO:

1 lb ground meat
2 lg cans crushed tomatoes
1 small can tomato paste
1 white onion
1-1/2 lb or so sharp (charp!) cheddar or white cheese
3 large jalapenos (or enough to heat it all up a bit or a lot depending on how macho--Chicano you are.)
2 tbs. chile powder (pref. Chipotle but good ol' red will do) 1 tsp. cumino
1 can black olives
1 large pkg. cream cheese
Fresh cilantro
Green onions (so-called scallions on the east coast)
2 dozen or so corn tortillas
oil (lots of it)
Sour Cream
Chips of choice
Guacamole (Another easy thing, Cocinero. Just blend together ripe, soft avocado--of course without the skin burro!--a little lemon juice, salt, and hot sauce to taste ( If you're going to buy some, I really like "Cholula" brand. Blend in food processor until a little chunky...do it esse, it's so easy.)
Refried beans (Go ahead, esse, make you own, its ezzzzzzzy with una poca manteca or bacon grease, salt and chile powder. Smash those suckers up and fry til smooth and hot, put cheese on top with salsa....saboroso!) salt to taste
COMO HACERLOS:
Grate queso (OK, cheese) and set aside

In a blender or food processor, put jalapenos, chile powder, cumino, 1/3 cup (mas o menos) cilantro, 4 green onions, tsp. or so salt, half of can of crushed tomatoes, and blend.

Put 2 tbs. oil in bottom of deep pot, heat and brown 2 tbs. flour. Add sauce blend along with rest of crushed tomatoes into pot. Add can of tomato paste.

Simmer for a long time while you snooze una siesta....or at least 20 min. Fry meat, drain fat (this is just a small gesture toward health), put in bowl with cream cheese and half the onion chopped, stir until meat, onions and cream cheese are blended

Fry the tortillas in hot oil just until soft (!no mas!)and set aside.

Spoon about a heaping tbs. spoon into a tortilla along with a small handful of cheese and roll into enchilada. Place in baking dish. Continue until something runs out--either ingredients or your patience.

Pour sauce over rolled enchiladas, top with more shredded cheese. Bake at 350 degrees or at least until cheese melts and dish is bubbling a bit.

Take those suckers out and top with sour cream, chopped green onion, chopped fresh cilantro, chopped or whole black olives. Sit your nalgas down at the table with lots of napkins, Fritos, White Corn Chips, guacamole, refritos (refried beans), Sangria (Make some real stuff or, for you who WW*, get some Pena Fiel Sangria--its ok, no alcohol), Margaritas (not to be confused with macarenas!) and XX and Orale!. An hour later, when you are finished drinking and eating a plate or two, have someone help you up from the table and into bed. Sleep it all off until the morning when you wake up and have the left overs (they heat up bueno in the microwave with Saranwrap over the top) for breakfast with more XX. Follow the whole works up with Menudo the next day....!Buen provecho, life is gooooood esse!

Enchiladae vobiscum!

* Abbreviation for the Word of Wisdom.

"Out of my mouth, foul Jesus cookie!"

I almost spit coffee on my monitor when I read that. (Via Ken; Language alert in the original)

Watch her graciously greet a visiting foreign ecclesiastical dignitary from Africa, and not go running off the state in an undiplomatic freak-out as he exhibits his strange foreign customs.

Apparently some on the left think she should have done the latter.

I was the best man at my friend's wedding but am not a confirmed Catholic (or much of a confirmed anything). We told this to the priest, and he said I wouldn't be able to receive communion, which was fine by me, because 1) the rules said I shouldn't and 2) I didn't want to be a hypocrite and 3) well, who cares. It wasn't my church. I was there to be my friend's best man. Whatever was on the program, I was down for.

During the actual ceremony, apparently the priest called an audible and decided that the it would look better if everyone got communion instead of three out of four, so he put the wafer in my mouth.

At that moment, I jumped up and spat out the communion wafer, screaming "OUT OF MY MOUTH, FOUL JESUS COOKIE!" and generally ran around like a jackass, screaming blue murder and cursing God and ruining my friend's wedding.

Uh, no I didn't. I ate the wafer and sipped the wine and bowed my head thoughtfully and pretended to be a good Catholic. I was there to be my best friend's best man, not to let everyone in the church know my precise feelings on transubstantiation.

Just for the record, the priest wasn't supposed to have done that. Nevertheless, Ace did the right thing. If a given religious function doesn't actually violate your beliefs, be as polite as possible out of respect, not necessarily for the belief, but for the person who believes it.

Now, there are limits to politeness. I wouldn't participate in, say, a Wiccan ceremony even so far as walking in the door. That would violate my beliefs. However, if I fond myself present for something of that sort, I would still try to quietly slip away and pray for their souls, rather than make a huge to-do that would serve only to make Christians look like dolts by association. (Of course, I'm not promising that I wouldn't go find some holy water to splash on them when they weren't looking, but still. Always discreetly.)

Among Christians, it seems to me that there is much we can agree on, and it's usually possible to skip over the things we can't. I've been to pentecostal services where, when the whole thing dissolved into Holy Spirit-induced chaos (from my perspective, anyway) I stood and prayed quietly in English while others around me prayed in tongues. I don't do it myself, but other Christian brethren in good conscience were, and we're all in it together. (I did avoid the Hail Mary out of respect for them, because if others knew I was praying it it would have been a stumbling block.)

Conversely, my mom came to Pete's baptism last month, and although she doesn't believe in infant baptism or baptismal regeneration, she loves and respects us Christians who do. (For those who aren't familiar with the rite, it's here. When we went through the Apostles' Creed and the priest asked us all if we believed it, she could say "I do," because she does. When we reached the Litany of the Saints, she held her peace while those of us who could pray it, did. (I'd forgotten it was part of the ceremony, incidentally, or I'd have asked Father if he could leave it out.)

I've even been to Mormon functions, mostly weddings and funerals, and there are things I could agree with. They read from the Bible, I can say "amen." They read from the Book of Mormon, I can let the people next to me say "amen" and disagree silently. God knows my heart and theirs; there's no need to clarify publicly.

Sarah Palin might or might not have put much stock in the pastor's prayer. (I haven't actually seen the video, so I don't know what-all it entailed.) But it seems to me that, for all the guff she's gotten about lack of foreign exposure, she has the right attitude. She was respectful of a presumably good man doing what he believed was a good thing for her.

The criticism she's gotten points more to the secular Left's (and the media's) ignorance and fear of serious religion than to anything about her. The African pastor's invocation seemed weird and scary to them, because people who actually believe their religions frighten them. Look how much has been made out of her belonging to a pentecostal church in her youth. Pentecostals aren't scary to me, because I know that they hold to a particular moral code. Mormons aren't alien to me, either, for the same reason. I've never met an Orthodox Jew, but they don't give me the willies, either. It's got nothing to do with whether I believe their tenets or not. It's more to do with how strongly they believe their faiths. Someone who believes strongly in praying in tongues (or even in Joseph Smith's visions) probably also believes equally strongly in honest dealing and charity to the needy. I can respect such a person.

It's like Lewis said: People who are orthodox in separate religions usually have more common ground than the more inclusive liberals who try to pretend there are no differences.

Uh oh!

Does this mean I have to let my daughters get tattoos now?

A bad week for the medical profession

And an even worse one for patients. But apparently a fantastic one for lawyers.

Gobsmacked by God again

So a few minutes ago I overheard a co-worker take a phone call, then burst into tears and run to the ladies' room. A few minutes later she came out and I asked her if she was all right.

Seems two days ago, she had a call from her dad that he had cancer. No other details were available yet. The call today was to tell her that the cancer was gone before treatment had even begun. These people are prayin' folks, so I have no doubt that's what they've been doing.

A better Christian than me would be completely unsurprised by it. Me, I just sat there with my mouth hanging open. And then blogged about it.

Best slogan ever

Okay, so "Barbie" is a little demeaning. But I like the idea of her high heels being planted in a few liberal hinies. They'll be begging her to go after caribou before she's done.

Meanwhile, the real reason McCain postponed the debate.

Akubra tip to Roanoke Copand Mark Shea, respectively.

For my buddy Ken

With my compliments:

Pure genius!

Beep beep!

Just for the record, Iowahawk rocks my world. If he didn't before, this would be sufficient. Puts the whole thing in perspective.

Hooray for injustice!

"What I’d like to understand,” said the Ghost, “is what you’re here for, as pleased as Punch, you, a bloody murderer, while I’ve been walking the streets down there and living in a place like a pigstye all these years. Look at me, now. I gone straight all my life. I don’t say I was a religious man and I don’t say I had no faults, far from it. But I done my best all my life, see? I done my best by everyone, that’s the sort of chap I was. I never asked for anything that wasn’t mine by rights. If I wanted a drink I paid for it and if I took my wages I done my job, see? That’s the sort I was and I don’t care who knows it. You may think you can put me down because you’re dressed up like that (which you weren’t when you worked under me) and I’m only a poor man. But I got to have my rights same as you, see?”

“Oh no. It’s not so bad as that. I haven’t got my rights, or I should not be here. You will not get yours either. You’ll get something far better. Never fear.”

“What do you keep on arguing for? I’m only telling you the sort of chap I am. I only want my rights. I’m not asking for anybody’s bleeding charity.”

“Then do. At once. Ask for the Bleeding Charity. Everything is here for the asking and nothing can be bought.”
(C. S. Lewis, The Great Divorce)

I mentioned a while back that I was mildly impressed with our new Associate Pastor, Fr. Brooks. I'm sorry, but I have to change my assessment of him in light of yesterday's Mass.

I'm impressed as all get out with him now.

Since we left Visigoth, Ostrogoth and the baby at home, we were able to sit through an entire Mass and actually hear what was being said. I have to tell you, I know Fr. Brooks is a cradle Catholic, but the way he preaches, I'd have taken him for a recovering Baptist.

You have to understand, I grew up in a church that was probably on the liberal end of Baptistdom, but still decidedly Baptist. And like many other denominations that don't make a big deal of sacraments, they compensate for it with a strong tradition of sermonizing. That's the primary criterion for a good preacher in that tradition, is how well he can drive a point home in a sermon.

When I turned Catholic, I found that one of the first things I missed was good sermons. We call them "homilies" on this side of the Tiber, and they're actually about five minutes of thoughts on the readings of the day. Most of the priests I've heard (which isn't many, admittedly) deliver them in almost a Father Mulcahy style, sounding well-educated in well-modulated tones, with enough reasonable openness not to offend anyone. In a word, Catholic homilies tend to be, well, bland.

Not so with Fr. Brooks. Now here's where the looks get deceiving. Fr. Brooks looks like a nerd among nerds. He's tall (about six-four), thin and balding and has kind of a perpetually befuddled look on his face. When he speaks to you, he kind of sounds hesitant and unsure of himself, like that shy middle-aged bachelor that lives two doors down and spends his time talking to cats and reading the lonelyhearts ads. (Father, if you read this, I'm sorry. I mean all that as kindly as possible.)

But when he finishes that Gospel and steps out from behind the ambo, it's like somebody threw a switch somewhere and he suddenly turns confident, colloquial and coherent. Having spent a fair amount of time in the business world before swapping a tie for a collar, his take on yesterday's Gospel reading was really, really cogent. (It was the parable of the Laborers in the Vineyard, if you're familiar with that.) He pointed out that it's human nature to demand fairness in our dealings, and that that principle is what the American business culture is founded on. If business were operated the way the parable describes, he said, the economy would crumble. That, he said, is where the American culture and the Kingdom of God part ways.

It's true. The entire Christian faith is predicated on unfairness. It's hard for the rest of the world to grasp, but that's the truth. Take a look at the "cultural religion" you see on TV and in the movies. There's an underlying assumption that you go to Heaven if you're good, and to Hell if you're bad. (And that once in Heaven, you turn into an angel, but that's a whole 'nother irritant.) You get what you deserve, in other words.

You can't blame the makers of such shows, because to a human way of thinking, that's exactly how it should be. Justice is one of the most basic human instincts, and on the whole, it's a good one. it is incumbent on us to behave justly toward one another. We should keep our word, give honest measure for fair pay, and return the wallet on the sidewalk with all the money intact. And if we violate laws, our punishment should be swift and sure.

To an extent, that's what we find in Christianity. There is a quid-pro-quo involved. Sin rates damnation. (N.B.: I'm not going to get into arguments about the exact nature of the Atonement. I'm not theologian enough to keep up my end.) But that's where it ends. Virtue does not rate salvation. In fact, nothing rates salvation. We start out sinful through no direct fault of our own, and as soon as we learn how, we proceed to add our own fault to it. Everybody does it, and once it's done, it's done. The debt outweighs our potential for payment. We cannot virtue our way out of it.

So damnation is a given. We deserve it, if not for original sin, then for actual sin. It's no use complaining that it's not fair, because it's eminently fair. We did the deeds, we take the consequences. it's also no good complaining that eternal damnation is disproportionate to whatever our little peccadillos are, because we simply have no way of knowing what is proportionate and what's not. We understand as much about God's operations as a cow understands about calculus. Did we know right from wrong when we sinned? We did. Then we're in a darn poor bargaining position to try to negotiate proportionality. We don't make the rules, we don't get to change them. We're damned, fair and square, and there's not a frimpin' thing we can do about it. And what's more, it's fair that we should be.

But God doesn't cotton to fairness. He's a Person, not an accounting system, and He has a way out of the dilemma. The catch is, we have to give up on the whole idea of justice. Justice won't keep us from toasting our toes eternally. Injustice will. God, who owes us less than nothing, will give us a free passage into Heaven, which He is under no obligation to share in the first place. The catch is, there is no catch. None. Take it or leave it. You can't pay for it, you can't repay it, you can't get it anywhere else. It's just not fair.

That's the part that's so hard to grasp. We automatically start looking for catches and loopholes. We automatically want to make an exchange. But while God does have some expectations for us as saved people (like not throwing it away once we have it), the actual salvation is not subject to any kind of deal whatsoever. Then, too, we think of a scapegoat system as a dishonest, sneaky way to do things. That we should gain by throwing Someone else under the bus upsets all our notions of right and wrong. Nevertheless, this is how God has decided to do things.

This is so much a part of the Christian faith that we tend to treat it as a fish treats water. We take it as a background and assume we're owed justice within that structure. Once we're in the Kingdom, we reason, we ought to get what we deserve. I've been good. Shouldn't good things happen to me?

That's kind of the attitude I took last year when our financial situation came to a head. I've been a good Christian, I figured. I don't kill, fornicate, worship idols or covet my neighbor's ass. My areas where I do fall short I glossed over, since that has already been taken care of. Unjustly.

But when it came to this, I figured I deserved justice. I did what I was supposed to do as a child of God. I should get the results I consider fair.

Yeah? Sez who? I don't determine what's right and wrong in that area, any more than I do wen it comes to salvation. I'm completely pig-ignorant of how God does things. the one thing I can be certain of is that I will not get what I deserve. I may get something better, or I may get poked in the metaphorical eye with a sharp stick. Either way, as long as I'm benefitting from God's manifest injustice, it's pretty stupid of me to start demanding "fairness" when it suits me. I'd much rather have the Bleeding Charity.

Yep! That's me!

What would we do without the Curt Jester? More here.

Friday Night Miscellany

As I'm trying to ignore the kids clamoring in the next room. Meanwhile, Wharf Rat sent Christina a picture of the new grandchild. I don't care what anyone says; I think he looks like his grandpa.


A thought came to mind the other day: My grandparents are still alive, pushing ninety. In particular, my grandfather has lived long enough to see his first great-great-grandson. His great-grandfather, the man who is the same relation that to Grandpa that he is to Loki, was a boy of six when he watched his father march away to the American Revolution. It's a little staggering to think of.

I don't know how to embed a music player, but here's something for my Reverend Auntie and anyone else who might be interested. You'll have to right-click, download, and play it on your own computer. It's a song I used to hear my mom sing as a child, so it must have come from one of her parents. (Update: Found a player. Let's see how this one works.)





And a soundie by the same band, courtesy of High-Falutin'Newton:




Happy weekend, y'all!

Blowin' like a bandit

Pastor Dave hadn't posted for a long time (since March), so I didn't notice until now that he's returned and is blogging his way through Hurricane Ike. It looks like the worst is over now.

Up here in the sagebrush desert, it's hard to picture what those hurricanes must be like. The worst we ever get is dust storms, and those aren't nearly so destructive. I can't imagine sitting through something like that.

I hope it means once the mess is cleaned up, he'll be back in the blogosphere. I've missed what he's had to say.

Any time now

I may already be a winner grandpa. Wharf Rat went in to be induced this morning, and so far there's no word. I don't have any rational reason to worry, but I am anyway. She's down in Oregon somewhere between Portland and Salem, and I can't be there, so I'm nervous. St. Anne, grandmother of Our Lord, protectress of women in labor and WR's own patron, pray for her.

More information will follow as it comes in.

Update: The phone rang literally as I clicked the "Post" button. It's all over with. (Or just beginning, depending on how you look at it.) Mama and baby are doing well if wearily. They ended up doing a C-section because of worries about the cord, so WR is about to discover the joys of painkillers. I don't think she's ever had to take them before.

Official stats because the ladies will ask: Loki Brian was born at 2:45 at Willamette Falls Hospital in Oregon City. He is 8 pounds 9 ounces, 21 inches. No picture yet, as the parents have much more pressing matters on their minds.

(And incidentally, Brian is my middle name. I'm humbled and proud.)

If I believed in reincarnation

Your result for Reincarnation Placement Exam...

Pirate

Arrrh! Yer just what we need in the way of a pirate -- I mean, privateer!

According to your answers, you love adventure, and working with -- or against -- people. And you can enjoy it all without having to deal with the pesky interference of that abomination called... civilization.

Keep yer powder dry and yer sense of adventure as sharp as yer cutlass! Don't bother saving for retirement... it's just not close to likely. If the weather doesn't sink you, an enemy ship will. But in the meantime, you'll have plenty of rum, fresh air and adventure.

Remember the Pirate's Code! Even though it's, you know, more of a set of guidelines.

Take Reincarnation Placement Exam at HelloQuizzy

A tip of the ol' Akubra to Nina.

Classy. Real classy.

Just for the record, I'd be equally disgusted if this were aimed at a Democrat. My beloved grandmother used to volunteer at a home for developmentally-disabled adults, and I was brought up better than to call them "retards." Apparently, there are those who hate Sarah Palin so much that they'll stoop to lows I wouldn't have expected, and prove that they weren't even as well-raised as a red-necked Rethuglican. I wish I were more surprised.

A/T to Mark Shea, the Godfather of St. Blog's Parish.

NOW abandons all pretense...

... of advocacy for actual, you know... women.

Gov. Palin may be the second woman vice-presidential candidate on a major party ticket, but she is not the right woman. Sadly, she is a woman who opposes women's rights, just like John McCain.

The fact that Palin is a mother of five who has a 4-month-old baby, a woman who is juggling work and family responsibilities, will speak to many women. But will Palin speak FOR women? Based on her record and her stated positions, the answer is clearly No.

In a gubernatorial debate, Palin stated emphatically that her opposition to abortion was so great, so total, that even if her teenage daughter was impregnated by a rapist, she would "choose life" -- meaning apparently that she would not permit her daughter to have an abortion....

What McCain does not understand is that women supported Hillary Clinton not just because she was a woman, but because she was a champion on their issues. They will surely not find Sarah Palin to be an advocate for women.

Translation: Sarah Palin believes that fetuseses are people. Therefore, she's not really a woman. More like a man. With hooters.

Many women, of whom Sarah Palin is one, believe that (a) an unborn baby ("fetus," if you insist) is a human being, and (b) that human is therefore entitled to the same protection under the law as anyone else. I have yet to hear an explanation of why this is "anti-woman" that holds water for ten seconds.

(N.B.: The canard that it's really about a "woman's right to do what she wants with her own body" does not hold water. If that were universal, rape would be a constitutional right. It's my body, and I'll violate someone else with it if I want to. Right? I thought not.)

Crispy had a good point to make about he left's infatuation with the sacrament of abortion (edited for capitalization):

I'm going to say this one time, and then I'm going to shut up. Re: Bristol Palin. The American liberal is, - seriously, literally - pro-abortion and anti-choice, believes essentially in mandatory abortion. What does the average liberal mom do when her 16-year-old daughter shows up pregnant? Drags her immediately to the abortion clinic, whatever the daughter's (or the babydad's, of course) misgivings. The American left thinks that Bristol Palin having her baby is, actually, morally wrong. And more to the point, it shows something terrible about her mom, who had a moral obligation to make her daughter have an abortion. And one reason for this is that if you have a baby when you're 16, you will likely slip out of our class. You'll go live with Joey, the kid who wants to be a mechanic. You'll take classes at the community college instead of heading off to a decent school. You'll end up in a housecoat with a houseful of wailing babies, listening to Faith Hill. What haunts the imagination of the American liberal: my family, in the next generation, will be white trash. Maybe it would be more interesting to look at these sorts of motivations than to try to figure out "when human life begins."

I suspect it's time for NOW to change their acronym to "NOAFA": National Organization Against Feto-Americans. That way, they can deny all affiliation with that woman vaginally-unchallenged thing running for the vice-presidency.

Who's the hypocrite?

I've been hesitant to weigh in on the bottom-feeding that's taken place about Sarah Palin and her pregnancy... or Bristol's... or - wait! Both of them! Better writers than myself have already said more than I ever can.

But there's one aspect of it all that burns my butt with the fire of a thousand habanero chalupas: Where on earth do the lefty losers at places like Daily Kos get the assumption that Sarah Palin would automatically be ashamed of Bristol's condition? It's a logic I can't follow: "Those Republicans don't believe in killing children, so they must not love them as much as we do." (The Uterofascists are being even viler. And even American Spectator had something fatheaded to say.) Obama had enough class to ask his followers to back off Bristol, but somehow I doubt it'll work.

There's a delicious irony, though, in the way it points up the contrast between Gov. Palin and Sen. Obama.

Palin: Stands behind her daughter and welcomes the grandchild.
Obama: Would hate for his daughters to be punished with a baby.

Palin: Gave birth to a Down Syndrome boy, and is raising him happily in a loving family.
Obama: Fought for Down Syndrome babies to be left on a shelf to die alone.

Palin: Human beings are good things, worthy of love for their own sake.
Obama: Human beings are disposable, inconvenient and a punishment.

But us conservatives... we're the haters. Right?

Yeah, yeah. I know. Put my money where my mouth is, right? Fine.
This is my oldest daughter, hereinafter referred to by her childhood nickname, Wharf Rat, to preserve some hint of privacy. She is twenty years old, beautiful (as you can see), smart, and charming. She is also eight months-plus pregnant, literally ready to give birth any day. She is not married. Rather, she lives with a boyfriend who I think is basically all right, despite the shiny things stuck through his nose and a few other superficialities. They have expressed vague plans to get married, though I'm not holding my breath.

By Kossack logic I should be mortally ashamed and keep this hidden as best I can. Wharf Rat has sinned, and conservatives cannot abide sin. I should pretend I don't know her, spit when she walks past, and burn any residual photos of her in my house. Just like Dick Cheney was expected to do about his gay daughter, I should do about my knocked-up one.

If I fail to behave this way, it only proves that I'm a hypocrite. Being conservative, I naturally despise anyone who falls short of my pharisaical moral code. I'm willing to make an exception for my own. But other people's get no mercy.

So why am I owning up to WF? Because I'm not the least bit ashamed of her. See, I had her out of wedlock, and married her mother two months later. From the time she was four until ten years later, I raised her mostly alone. We had some rough times in her teen years, but I never, never was anything but proud of her. I still am. I'm worried for her, because she's got a tough road ahead of her. Sin? Yes. I did a long time ago, and she has since. That's what a confessional is for. But to think a child whose birth results from my sin or hers is somehow less wonderful requires a Calvinistic puritanism only someone who doesn't believe in sin could express with a straight face.

Far from wanting to keep the impending grandson hidden, I'm eager to make his acquaintance. If he turns out to have a disability or something, so it goes. Because he's a human being, and human beings are basically a good thing. His mother certainly is.

That's Sarah Palin's attitude, too. It's one Barack Obama cannot conceive of, apparently. I know which attitude I'm happier to have.

One quick note

Has anyone else noticed that while our new VP candidate has lived in Alaska since infancy, she was actually born in Sandpoint? (How long do you think it'll be before the media get hold of that fact and make racist innuendos? That's where Mark Fuhrman moved to after the glove fiasco, too.)

I know, Alaska is the northwest too, but Idaho is rather closer to home. In any event, this may be the closest a northwesterner has ever gotten to the highest office in the country. Go Sarah!

Placeholder post

There's a real one coming as soon as I get a respite from parenting. Meanwhile, here's a cool article from last spring about our new priest, who did Pete's baptism a couple of weeks ago. Christina's mom and sister came up from California for the occasion, and my parents came too, which was cool. My mom tries to be nonchalant about these functions, but I knew very well that a Catholic church is outside her comfort zone. She always looks nervous. My sister couldn't come, but my little niece did, and got to hold the book for Fr. Brooks.

Anyway, I didn't quite know what to make of the new father, but this article explains a lot about his personality. Great guy!

Crass, but true

No time for a real post today, as I have to take 12-year-old Long Drink back to his mother by way of her mother, which means three hours each way to meet in the middle. Instead, here's a cartoon I liberated from Tim Bayly:



Lest we should forget what the Obamessiah really means by "Hope."

Saturday Matinee: Freaks

I know it's been a long time, and honest, an actual post will follow this weekend. Today, however, we're off to the Grant County Fair. There we will ride rides (the kids will, anyway), consume vast quantities of horribly unhealthy food, and look at animals that we would otherwise have to drive two or three miles into the country to see. After, of course, the obligatory stop at the Spaceburger booth. And I do mean obligatory; the kids aren't allowed to set one little toe in line for a ride until they've had a Spaceburger and lemonade. Alas, the otherwise very intelligent and personable young lady who partially replaced me at the newspaper is of a different opinion regarding them. What she doesn't get is that it's not just the taste of the things; it's the tradition. Spaceburgers were first made for the Seattle World's Fair in 1964 (which my parents attended), and Lord knows how, the Moses Lake Lioness Club acquired the machine to make them and they've been using them for a fair fundraiser since before I was born. As a proud Moses Lakian, it's just not right for me to flout the tradition like that.

If you're a city person, you won't understand, but during Fair Week (yes, it's capitalized), the entire county more or less goes into slow motion. At the paper, you'd be hard-pressed to find anybody in the office except to answer the phones. Same goes for most of the other businesses in town. Even my box plant was on short hours this week, although I think that's a coincidence.

So, since it's Fair Week and since this just showed up in the Archive (hallelujah!), I'm putting this film up in lieu of a more informative post. (As I said, I'll catch up this weekend.) If you've never seen this movie, you've at least heard of it. This is a film that defies genre altogether. Is it a horror film? Is it a melodrama? Expoitation? What exactly can you call it? The only thing it can be safely called is the quintessential cult film, some 43 years before the Rocky Horror Picture Show made cult films sorta mainstream. Since its creation (spawning?) in 1932, among the names associated with it have been Anton LaVey and the king of grungy celluloid, Dwain Esper. There seems to be some question about who if anybody owns the rights to it (one rumor holds that LaVey bought it and put it into the Public Domain himself), but as long as Archive has it up, I'll share it gladly.

The director, Tod Browning, was an interesting case. He'd been a sideshow barker himself, having literally run away with the circus as a boy before moving into film. This was made when he was fresh off his cinematic triumph, Dracula, and he was looking for a way to top that. Well, top it he did, and then some. So much so, in fact, that studio executives were nauseated at the screening and censors across America cut out so much of it that at one point, only about half an hour remained.

To be honest, however, I think anybody who was upset by Freaks was taking an extremely shallow view of it. The characters in it were not creatures of horror or anything like that. They were real people, people who had been born weird in body, but were not that different from anyone else. To be exhibited for their bodily eccentricities was their profession, the only one they could have had, and they took it seriously. There was no makeup wizardry or trick photography here: the "freaks" were all the real McCoy. Look them up on IMDb or elsewhere: these characters had histories and futures. Some of them lived to ripe old ages; others came to sad ends. Tod Browning knew them well; these were his people.

That may be the most important aspect of this film: not the shallow "ick" factor but the loyalty and goodness the "freaks" showed their own when one of them was mistreated by an outsider. God grant everyone should have such a circle of friends to guard his back. "Gobble Gobble, we accept you! You're one of us!"

If you haven't seen this before, do it now. I guarantee you won't come away unmoved.

I have found my candidate

Maybe we could move the White House to R'leyeh.

Why I'm voting Democrat.

Yep, you read that right. You've seen the viral video that's going around called "I'm Voting Republican?" (If you haven't, there's an embed and a transcript here.) Well, I watched it a while back, and you know, I could see their point. It made me reassess my own priorities, and after careful reflection, I've decided to vote Democrat this year. Here's why:

I'm voting Democrat because I can afford to shop at little local boutiques and whole-foods stores. Can't everyone?

I'm voting Democrat because I don't really want a cure for AIDS or breast cancer. Research just turns up inconvenient findings.

I'm voting Democrat because I think new drugs should be made available immediately whether they've been tested properly or not. Certain ones, anyway.

I'm voting Democrat because I want my little girl to know all about sex before she learns to read. That way, even if she grows up illiterate, she'll always have at least one marketable skill.

I'm voting Democrat because disabled people are kind of icky. Who wants them cluttering up the place?

I'm voting Democrat because women can't be trusted with too much information. They need to shut up and quit asking questions. After all, it's their choice.

I'm voting Democrat because other people's religions are really stupid, and nobody should be allowed in certain professions if they believe differently from me. Not even on their own property. Not ever.

I'm voting Democrat because global depression and food riots are a small price to pay for keeping that oil in the ground. If just one polar bear lives a few years longer, it's all worth it.

I'm voting Democrat because my skin color defines who I am and what I can do. Only a race traitor would try to change his own circumstances.

I'm voting Democrat because tolerance isn't good enough. You must approve of all sexual practices. Or else.

I'm voting Democrat because corporations are evil. Especially the one that signs my paycheck.

Because there are too many brown people in the world.

Because people in other countries don't deserve safety.

Because babies are a punishment.

Because working for money shouldn't mean it's yours.

Most of all, I'm voting Democrat because...

If I don't, my vote won't be counted anyway.

Sunday Matinee: His Girl Friday

In which Joel celebrates his departure from the news business.

This is almost certainly the funniest movie in the Internet Archive. How on earth it fell into the public domain is beyond me. Cary Grant and Rosalind Russell play off each other like a string of firecrackers, with dialogue that crackles with wit. The little digs at media and politics are gloriously snide. ("They... they ain't human!" "I know, they're newspapermen.") And watch for inside jokes hidden in the script. ("He looks just like that actor fellow... Ralph Bellamy!") You'll go a long way to find anything funnier than this film, before or since. If you don't watch any of the others I've posted, you'll still want to see this one.



"And that, my friends, is my farewell to the newspaper game."*

Maybe miracle, maybe not.

Sometimes the Lord is funny. You can pray and pray for a miracle, and just when you've pretty much resigned yourself to a "no," He does something completely unexpected.

The really fun bit of news is that my dad's blood work was all within normal range, which is pretty friggin' unusual for a guy who has leukemia.

Internet people, there is no amount of spin I can put on this that will improve your opinion of me. I know it looks like I lied to you three weeks ago when I said he would die any minute. I swear, I didn't. We have no idea what his bone marrow looks like. He could still have leukemia. But if he does, it's not hanging out in his blood, which is where it likes to hang out when it is busy killing people.

I don't know much about leukemia, but I do know that there are a lot of people praying for Nina's dad, including people who aren't in the habit of praying. I don't want to start shouting about a miracle just yet, but it looks like it can't be ruled out, either.

On a mostly unrelated note, I meant to link Nina's post a while back about Jesus, scotch and marshmallows. I envy Nina her humility sometimes. If it were me, I'd be pretending to be all penitent rather than admit how hard it is sometimes to get back onto speaking terms with Jesus. Nina is a lot more honest.

Brendon one, Pompous Neo-Know-Nothing zero

I love it when uninformed blowhards pontificate about their chosen field of ignorance. The Inquisition is one of the few things that can unite Chick-tract-thumping mouthbreathers and atheists educated beyond their intelligence. Brendon channels Aquinas in a polite but corrective response to this ignorama.

Pre-Father's Day reading

I don't know if I'll actually post anything on Father's Day, but we can get the Dad-ism going with this on why Homer Simpson is EveryDad.

Take me out to the ball game

For the last couple of years, Moses Lake has had a kind of a Z-league semi-collegiate baseball team, and we'll be going to see them tomorrow night. (It's Herald night, and paper employees and families get in free.) Nobody's ever going to mistake the Moses Lake Pirates for the Mariners, but in a town this size, it's good to have our own team to root for. We're the smallest town in the league, but our boys kick butt with the best of them. (Up to taking the championship last year!)

Where I grew up in Goldendale, little league and high-school football games were the biggest entertainment in town during the season. I actually played little league for a couple of years. I don't know if other guys my age remember these, but the league usually had a "loser team" with really patient coaches so that the kids who hadn't a hope of being any good on the field could still play. (Sort of a Bad News Bears without Tatum O'Neal and with less skill.) Not surprisingly, I was on that loser team every year. (Bernie Leingang and Pastor Sid Cox, if you ever Google your names and run across this, thank you for coaching us. You guys had patience that would make Job look like a crankhead.)

Go Pirates!


Update: Whupped up on the Olympia Athletics 5-1, which leaves us 6-0 for the pre-season. Like I told a co-worker at the game: Our votes may not count for anything in Olympia, but we can sure kick their hiney on the ball field!

Memories...

I was cleaning my stuff out of a drawer at work today that I haven't used in a long time, and I came across this picture from nine or ten years ago. We must have been at a party at someone's house, as we're wearing name tags and I don't recognize the furniture. The little girl in the sweater and glasses is Ceidwen, my wharf rat oldest daughter. For perspective's sake, she's now twenty and about to render me an ancestor. (And knockout beautiful rather than cute.) But there was a time when she was (a) little, (b) adorable and (c) unembarrassed to be in her dad's company.

I can't wait to see how this comes out

Lesbosians sue lesbians for besmirching their identity.

Three residents of the Greek island of Lesbos submitted a request to court against the Greek Association of the Communities of Homosexuals and Lesbians (OLKE), national media reported today.

The islanders demanded that the use of the words ‘lesbian’ and ‘lesbians’ be banned in the name of the association and by media, the Greek Naftemporiki newspaper reported. The submitters of the request claimed that the words’ adoption and use by the gay communities insults their place of origin and themselves. Many of the island’s women, they said, are ashamed to say where they come from.

This could open the way for lawsuits from Holland, as well. Stay tuned.

Baptist conversions taking a dip

I couldn't resist.

Damn global warming!

At this rate, we'll greenhouse ourselves straight into another ice age.

A legal perspective

KG has a good dissection of the California gay marriage ruling here. I don't think it's going to be the end of civilization, but I do dread the climate of mandatory approval that I think is going to follow.

'The gas prices we deserve'

George Will:

America says to foreign producers: We prefer not to pump our oil, so please pump more of yours, thereby lowering its value, for our benefit. Let it not be said that America has no energy policy.

Remembering D-Day

More than any other day, June 6 is the time to recite the St. Crispin's Day speech from Henry V:

This day is called the feast of Crispian:
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when the day is named,
And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say 'To-morrow is Saint Crispian:'
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars.
And say 'These wounds I had on Crispin's day.'
Old men forget: yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember with advantages
What feats he did that day: then shall our names.
Familiar in his mouth as household words
Harry the king, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester,
Be in their flowing cups freshly remember'd.
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remember'd;
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition:
And gentlemen in England now a-bed
Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.

No matter how many times I read that, I can't get to the end without a throat-lump.

Centuries later, I wonder if Patton had that passage in his head when he addressed his men before D-Day:

There is one great thing that you men will all be able to say after this war is over and you are home once again. You may be thankful that twenty years from now when you are sitting by the fireplace with your grandson on your knee and he asks you what you did in the great World War II, you WON'T have to cough, shift him to the other knee and say, 'Well, your Granddaddy shoveled shit in Louisiana.' No, Sir, you can look him straight in the eye and say, 'Son, your Granddaddy rode with the Great Third Army and a Son-of-a-Goddamned-Bitch named Georgie Patton!'"

Read the whole thing here. Warning: Patton should have been named the Poet Laureate of Profanity, but it's all the more stirring for being phrased in a soldier's terms.

He was completely wrong in one thing, however: when he said "Only two percent of you right here today would die in a major battle." Fully half the men who landed that first day didn't make it to the second. My God. Half.

We owe our freedom to all soldiers, but more than any others, to those who landed at Normandy. For those who still remember the most decisive battle in modern times, and those who never came back, thank you, sirs. Just... thank you.

Heavy religious question

When Mormon kids play in a field, do they get Gentile oats in their socks?

Discuss.

Thank you, gentlemen

Rest now.

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years contemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.

*

Insert Tim Taylor grunt here

Via Ken comes yet another list of things a man ought to be able to do. I modified his a bit, striking out the ones I can't do and bolding the ones I can.

Let's make this a meme. Male readers, consider yourselves tagged.

A man should be able to:

1. Give advice that matters in one sentence. Constantly. I'm a lot better at giving it than at living it out.
2. Tell if someone is lying. Fairly well. My oldest daughter still doesn't know how I could always tell when she was lying. Maybe when her own kids are teenagers I'll tell her how I did it.
3. Take a photo. Eleven years in the newspaper business have forced me to learn, but I'm still not good at it.
4. Score a baseball game. Never done it. It looks straightforward, but there's probably aspects I wouldn't be familiar with.
5. Name a book that matters. The Confessions of Saint Augustine.
6. Know at least one musical group as well as is possible. The Grateful Dead. Go ahead. Ask me anything.
7. Cook meat somewhere other than the grill. Are you kidding? My dad used to say that a man who can cook is never going to be lonely. My Lovely and Brilliant Wife would agree, between ladylike belches.
8. Not monopolize the conversation. Depends on whether I've taken my medication that day.
9. Write a letter. I can still do that, even in the Internet age. I wouldn't know where we keep envelopes and stamps, though.
10. Buy a suit. I never, and I mean never, shop for my own clothes. It would be a recipe for stupid-looking. And on the rare occasions I wear a suit, it hangs on me like I borrowed it from my father.
11. Swim three different strokes. I used to could, but now all I can do is kind of dog-paddle.
12. Show respect without being a suck-up.> Actually, I'm pretty good at this. Spending lots of my childhood around old people helped.
13. Throw a punch. If absolutely necessary. I haven't done it since the night before my college graduation, though.
14. Chop down a tree. I'm from Goldendale. Of course I can chop down a tree.
15. Calculate square footage. I'm with Ken. Are there really guys who can't do this?
16. Tie a bow tie. No clue. I can just barely cope with a regular tie.
17. Make one drink, in large batches, very well. I used to brew an excellent brown ale. As for cocktails, I do fuzzy navels in a gallon tea jug that I don't think I could replicate in a glass.
18. Speak a foreign language. Spanish and Welsh, plus varying facility in German, French, Latin, Cornish, Italian and Portuguese. I was a serious language nerd in my youth.
19. Approach a woman out of his league. I've done that. Don't tell Christina, though; she hasn't twigged to how far out of my league she is, and I'd just as soon she didn't.
20. Sew a button. As long as neatness doesn't count.
21. Argue with a European without getting xenophobic or insulting soccer. Yep. The trick is to avoid dogmatic statements.
22. Give a woman an orgasm so that he doesn't have to ask after it. Next question...
23. Be loyal. Absolutely.
24. Know his poison, without standing there, pondering like a dope. I assume it refers to beverages. My tastes are straightforward. Beer doesn't usually take too much dithering. In a pinch, bourbon on the rocks is easy to remember.
25. Drive an eightpenny nail into a treated two-by-four without thinking about it. I can hammer a nail, but not instinctively.
26. Cast a fishing rod without shrieking or sighing or otherwise admitting defeat. Yep.
27. Play gin with an old guy. I have no idea how to play gin.
28. Play go fish with a kid. Now there's a gam I can handle.
29. Understand quantum physics well enough that he can accept that a quarter might, at some point, pass straight through the table when dropped. No, but now I'm going to do some reading until I can discuss it without looking too stupid.
30. Feign interest. Uh, I mean, "No, honey! I can't! Really!"
31. Make a bed. Again, as long as I don't have to be very neat. Christina usually just sniffs and does it herself.
32. Describe a glass of wine in one sentence without using the terms nutty, fruity, oaky, finish, or kick. I can say "Yum" or "Yuck." I'm married to a northern Californian, so I know better than to fake wine knowledge.
33. Hit a jump shot in pool. Not without tearing the felt.
34. Dress a wound. If I had to, I could. I haven't had to do it with anything serious, though.
35. Jump-start a car, change a flat tire, change the oil. Yep. I'm no mechanic, but anyone who can't do those things shouldn't be driving. Especially not in the kind of cars I can afford.
36. Make three different bets at a craps table. Nope. I haven't the foggiest.
37. Shuffle a deck of cards. Yes, Ken, there are adults who can't. Or at least not with any sort of grace.
38. Tell a joke. It's stopping that's difficult.
39. Know when to split his cards in blackjack. Are you beginning to get the idea that I don't gamble much?
40. Speak to an eight-year-old so he will hear. By now, I think I've got the hang of this one.
41. Speak to a waiter so he will hear. Yep.
42. Talk to a dog so it will hear. Not really.
43. Install: a disposal, an electronic thermostat, or a lighting fixture without asking for help. I've done the last, and I think I could handle the other two given time and no kids yelling, but I'm going to call it a "no" just because I'm not that confident.
44. Ask for help. This one I can do.
45. Break another man's grip on his wrist. A cop friend of mine taught me once years ago, but I don't know if I still could.
46. Tell a woman's dress size. Not that I'd be so stupid even if I could.
47. Recite one poem from memory. Ozymanias the King, off the top of my head. I believe there are more.
48. Remove a stain. With eight kids? Damn skippy.
49. Say no. See #48.
50. Fry an egg sunny-side up. Yep, although nobody in the house likes them that way.
51. Build a campfire. Yep.
52. Step into a job no one wants to do. Story of my life.
53. Sometimes, kick some ass. Not really, either literally or figuratively. I tend to take what comes down the pike.
54. Break up a fight. Oh, I suppose if I had to, but I've never tried.
55. Point to the north at any time. Generally.
56. Create a play-list in which ten seemingly random songs provide a secret message to one person. Do what, now? I guess so.
57. Explain what a light-year is. Yes.
58. Avoid boredom. Who wants to avoid it? I'd kill for some.
59. Write a thank-you note. I'm not going to claim credit, because I'm the worst person for remembering to write them that I've ever known.
60. Be brand loyal to at least one product. Yes
61. Cook bacon. First thing I learned to cook.
62. Hold a baby. Again, see #48.
63. Deliver a eulogy. Not for anybody I cared enough about to eulogize. I couldn't keep from tearing up.
64. Know that Christopher Columbus was a son of a bitch. Trick question. By the standards of his time, he wasn't.
65-67. Throw a baseball over-hand with some snap. Nope.
66. Throw a football with a tight spiral. Nope.
67. Shoot a 12-foot jump shot reliably. Nope. Can you tell who hated gym class?
68. Find his way out of the woods if lost. I haven't been in the woods for a long time, but I'm pretty sure I still could.
69. Tie a knot. This probably means the fancy ones they teach you inn Boy Scouts. I didn't stay in it long enough to learn anything useful.
70. Shake hands. Yep. I can also roll over, play dead, and usually not make messes on the carpet.
71. Iron a shirt. I didn't think I could until I had to. It wasn't as hard as I thought.
72. Stock an emergency bag for the car. Yes
73. Caress a woman's neck. See #48.
74. Know some birds. Some. I'm no expert, but I can usually pick out the obvious ones.
75. Negotiate a better price. Nope. I feel impolite trying.

Saaah-lute!

He'll never see this, I'm sure, but my grandfather is 89 years old today. Within a year of his birth, the two stupidest amendments to the Constitution were enacted: the Eighteenth and Nineteenth. I don't hold either of those against him, however. Meanwhile, he's seen a Depression, a World War, 68 years of marriage, four kids, ten grandchildren, and God knows how many great-grandchildren. If he holds out the way he is, he'll live to see at least one great-great-grandchild in September. (I'm not sure if my cousin Lori's daughter has kids yet, so I don't know if this will be the first or not.) I wrote about him here at rather greater length. I'll be calling him tonight, but I doubt he'll remember me.

Happy birthday, Grandpa!

A time to mourn, even when it's more fun to celebrate

Looks like Ted Kennedy has a brain tumor. I'm sure there will be others on the right side of the political aisle who will gloat. I won't.

Yes, I loathe just about everything he stood/stands for politically. Yes, I'm angered by his insistence on flouting his Church's teachings while reaping the political advantages of being a member. And in particular I'm revolted by his fanatical support for the slaughter of innocents. But my dad, my mother-out-law and my uncle all died of brain tumors. I wouldn't wish it on anyone.

More importantly, to be a Christian requires a constant awareness that - literally - there but for the grace of God go I. I've never left my date to drown in a river, nor have I ever sold out my principles for political advantage. Then again, I've never had the opportunity to do either one. I have done enough of my own sinning that I know how easy it is to fall into, even without the temptations that come with being wealthy and powerful. Jesus died for him and me both, because we're miserable offenders. Only the circumstances of the offenses differ. I can't be pleased at seeing another suffer what I deserve to, even if he deserves it, too.

May God make Sen. Kennedy's remaining time and his death as merciful as possible. May He grant him repentance and forgiveness as he needs it, and may He welcome Ted Kennedy into His kingdom shriven and holy.

That's family values for ya!

It's never too early to get a head start on emphysema!

The boy's 26-year-old mother and 39-year-old aunt were eating at the restaurant last week when they held a cigarette up to the boy's mouth and attempted to light it.

The aunt told police that the boy often says, "smoke, smoke," and sometimes takes cigarettes out of a pack and puts them in his mouth.

The child had been saying "smoke, smoke" while the aunt was smoking in the restaurant, and she held her cigarette up to the child's face. When she took it away, he continued to ask for a cigarette and grabbed one from a pack on the table.

When the child put the cigarette in his mouth, the aunt held up her lighter to light it, but the boy did not inhale the cigarette so it failed to light. During this time, the boy's mother was paying for the food and when she returned to the table, he still had a cigarette in his mouth, and the two women began laughing.

That given, is the next part any surprise?

The aunt said the mother keeps a rolled up dollar bill in the bedroom, which the child plays with.

Any time the boy has the dollar bill he hold it up to his nose and says, "fix, fix" over and over again.

What in the name of every deity ever postulated is the matter with these people?

Evolving sidebar

I happened to be looking through blogs in Moses Lake and found some gems.

Under "Prods," we have John Roberts' 5:30 Coffee, written by a pastor here in Moses Lake that I didn't know was blogging. I know John slightly, both from having had my kids at the local Christian school and from working on the newspaper's short-lived Christian magazine. He's always impressed me as having his head and his heart placed squarely in the Lord's service. I'll be checking back with him often; he seems to have good insights.

Under "Other," I'm adding Jonda. I don't usually go in for photoblogs, but this lady has some serious talent. In the interest of full disclosure, she also earns her living two desks away from me at The Greatest Newspaper in the Northwest™. That seems to be keeping her too busy to post very often, alas.

Also, I'm regretfully going to remove Sagebrusher from the sidebar. Hindu hasn't posted since last June, his URL is up for sale, and he said in a comment a while back that he's not going to go back to blogging. I hope he'll still keep in touch, though, especially since I've lost his e-mail address.

Thank you for not jamming scissors into my skull, Mommy!

Every time I think the limits of chutzpah have been reached, Murder Inc. manages to top it. This time, it's soliciting donations for Mother's Day. Yes, really.

The e-mail reads:

"Dear Friend, Join us! Make a Mother's Day gift. My daughter, Hannah, recently wrote this for a national magazine:

'I was raised by strong women. My mom, Cecile Richards, fights daily for women's reproductive rights and social justice as president of Planned Parenthood. It's a legacy she got from her mom (my late grandma), Ann Richards, the former governor of Texas. I've learned that the most rewarding battles in life are those waged for something you truly believe in.' ...

"... As Mother's Day approaches, I am grateful for the opportunity to make a difference and hope you'll join me. Happy Mother's Day."

Happy Mother's Day ... from the one you didn't dismember! With love from your worthless little clump of cells.

I'm so glad I didn't see this last weekend. H/T to Protein Wisdom.

Good boy!

Abortion whore gets a Scooby-snack from his masters.

Of course, he's been a satisfactory servant to the abortion industry all along, with stomach-turning fidelity:

This brings us to the next category of human being Obama says has no intrinsic right to life: Babies born “accidentally” while a doctor attempts to kill them by abortion.

This is a necessary consequence of Obama’s embrace of abortion throughout all nine months of pregnancy. Most of us know parents who have cared for preemies — premature babies, born too soon. With the abortion industry’s wide-scale attempts to kill American premies and nearly due children, some will be born alive accidentally.

Whistleblower Jill Stanek, a Chicago nurse, described the practice of killing babies in what is now known as “live-birth abortion.” Illinois tried to stop the practice. But in 2002, as state legislator there, Obama voted against the Induced Infant Liability Act, which would have protected babies who were “accidentally” born alive during attempts to abort them.

“I could not bear the thought of this suffering child dying alone in a soiled utility room, so I cradled and rocked him for the 45 minutes that he lived,” Stanek told the U.S. Congress, describing one such case. “He was too weak to move very much, expending any energy he had trying to breathe. Toward the end he was so quiet that I couldn’t tell if he was still alive unless I held him up to the light to see if his heart was still beating through his chest wall.”

After Stanek’s testimony even N.Y. Democrat Jerrold Nadler, who says he is “as pro-choice as anybody on earth” supported and spoke in favor of the bill.

But for the abortion industry and Obama, opposing the right to life has meant uncompromising dedication to a counter-principle. For Obama, protecting the unstated principle “unwanted children do not have the right to life” is the only way abortion can remain legal.

I don't care how charismatic and charming the man is, Barack Obama isn't fit to be elected dogcatcher.

56 Questions meme

I've tried to stay clear of memes for a while, since no matter how many you answer, there are always more being sent your way. But since both Ken and Ricki succumbed to the temptation, I guess I might as well, too.

1.ONE OF YOUR SCARS, HOW DID YOU GET IT?I had a tumor removed from my right hand when I was a toddler. Even today, the only way I can remember right from left is that the right hand is the one with the line on it.

2. WHAT IS ON THE WALLS IN YOUR ROOM? A couple of posters that the kids gave me, a charcoal portrait of Jerry Garcia and a monster bookshelf. Other than that, the walls are pretty bare.

3. DO YOU KNOW WHAT TIME YOU WERE BORN? 12:29 p.m. Every year I try to call my mom at that time and apologize.

4. WHAT DO YOU WANT MORE THAN ANYTHING RIGHT NOW? To get out of debt.

5. WHAT DO YOU MISS? My grandmother, my dad, and Redhook Double Black Stout.

6. WHAT IS YOUR MOST PRIZED POSSESSION? Gosh, I don't know. I have a wooden fire truck my grandparents sent me from Italy when I was about three, and a copy of The Kingdom of the Winding Road that belonged to my grandmother when she was a little girl. I also have a rosary that Christina made for me while we still only knew each other online. Those are pretty prized.

7. HOW TALL ARE YOU? Six foot three.

8. DO YOU GET SCARED IN THE DAY? Of what? I'm usually too stressed to be genuinely afraid.

9. WHAT’S YOUR WORST FEAR? Losing a child. I can't even imagine what that would be like.

10. WHAT KIND OF HAIR COLOR DO YOU LIKE ON THE OPPOSITE SEX? The exact shade of brown that graces my Lovely and Brilliant Wife's head.

11. WHAT ABOUT EYE COLOR? See above.

12. COFFEE OR ENERGY DRINK? Coffee. The older I get, the less I consume, but that's a decrease from a habitual seven-shot latte.

13. FAVORITE PIZZA TOPPING? Shrimp. Do you know how few places will put shrimp on a pizza anymore? I remember when it was common.

14. IF YOU COULD EAT ANYTHING RIGHT NOW, WHAT WOULD IT BE? Steak and kidney pie at the Horse Brass pub in Portland.

15. FAVORITE COLOR OF ALL TIME? Green, I guess. Which makes it a little incongruous that I live in the desert.

16. HAVE YOU EVER EATEN A GOLDFISH? Nope. But then, I'm not trying to find the location of a safe-deposit box full of diamonds.

17. WHAT WAS THE FIRST MEANINGFUL GIFT YOU EVER RECEIVED? I can't recall the first, but my dad gave me a watch for my high-school graduation that my grandfather, his father-in-law, had given him. It had been bought new for Grandpa in 1939. I still wear it.

18. DO YOU HAVE A CRUSH? I've had a long-standing infatuation with Lauren Bacall. My wife is very understanding about that.

19. FAVORITE CLOTHING BRAND? I can't really afford to buy particular brands over others most of the time, but I do wear an Akubra hat, and when I'm forced to wear a tie, I wear a Garcia.

20. WHAT KIND OF CAR DO YOU WANT? An early 1960s Corvair, preferably a drop-top.

21. WOULD YOU FALL IN LOVE KNOWING THAT THE PERSON IS LEAVING? Been there, done that, bought the abandonment issues.

22. HAVE YOU BEEN OUT OF THE USA? To Vancouver, B.C., several times, and to Wales for a week many years ago.

23. YOUR WEAKNESSES? I'm very distractible. That tends to... hey! Is that a Tootsie Roll over there?

24. MET ANYONE FAMOUS? Not really. I met Peter Kreeft last year, but he's only well-known in certain circles.

25. FIRST JOB? Hauling firewood when I was about 11 or 12.

26. EVER DONE A PRANK CALL? Not since I was old enough to sound like an adult on the phone. There was a family named Vader in my hometown, which made them the perfect target. They must have gotten really sick of smart-ass kids asking to speak to Darth.

27. DO YOU THINK EVERYONE OUT THERE HAS A SOUL MATE? Heck if I know. I'm just happy with what I've got. And I got a lot of misery from looking for a soul mate in my younger days.

28. WHAT WERE YOU DOING BEFORE YOU FILLED THIS OUT? Talking with my boss about upcoming Internet work.

29. HAVE YOU EVER HAD SURGERY? Yes.

30. WHAT DO YOU GET COMPLIMENTED ABOUT MOST? Writing, I guess. Every time I have a column in the paper, people stop me in the store to tell me they liked it. can you tell it's a small town?

31. WHAT DO YOU WANT FOR YOUR BIRTHDAY? I'd kind of like one off those USB turntables, so I can put my vinyl collection on CD. But those are a little spendy for our budget.

32. HOW MANY KIDS DO YOU WANT? Every time I make a suggestion as to a limit, God laughs at me and hands me another.

33. WERE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE? One Joel Abshier, whom I barely remember. My parents still have some furniture he made.

34. WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST TURN OFF WITH THE OPPOSITE SEX? Women who object to traditional manners, like opening doors or standing when they enter the room.

35. WHAT IS ONE THING YOU MISS ABOUT GRADE SCHOOL? Being able to go anywhere in town without my mom worrying about something happening to me. Moses Lake isn't a very dangerous place, but it was a lot safer in Goldendale in the 70s.

36. WHAT KIND OF SHAMPOO DO YOU USE? I'm too nearsighted to read the bottle in the shower, so I use whatever looks like shampoo.

37. DO YOU LIKE YOUR HANDWRITING? Define "handwriting." I'm not sure what I do on paper qualifies.

38. ANY BAD HABITS? Silly question. I have Tourette's; my life is filled with minor bad habits.

39. ARE YOU A JEALOUS PERSON? I wouldn't say so. Why? Who told you I was!

40. IF YOU WERE ANOTHER PERSON, WOULD YOU BE FRIENDS WITH YOU? Probably. I'd get on my nerves eventually, though.

41. DO YOU AGREE WITH FRIENDS WITH BENEFITS? Hell, I don't even believe in girl/boyfriends with benefits. If there's anything I've learned from years of being a lousy Christian, it's that nookie without a ring always leads to misery in the long run.

42. HOW DO YOU RELEASE ANGER? Release? Who has time to release it? Someday it'll reach right up through my chest and strangle me.

43. WHAT’S YOUR MAIN GOAL IN LIFE? To raise good kids, make my wife deliriously happy, and eventually go to Heaven. Everything else is kind of peripheral.

44. WHAT WAS YOUR FAVORITE TOY AS A CHILD? It's a bit of a stretch, but my favorite thing was a fort my uncle built in the backyard for me and my sister. It was a two-story jobby, with a playhouse below for her and a crow's-nest/castle keep/darn near anything in the top for me. Bestest toy I ever had; I wish our yard had room for one like it.

45. HOW MANY NUMBERS ARE IN YOUR CELL PHONE? Three. It's a company phone for the moonlight job, and it has some other employees' numbers in it. I don't use cell phones by choice.

46. WERE YOU A FAN OF BARNEY AS A LITTLE KID? No, but some of my kids were. I hated having to watch him when my oldest was little, but then, he wasn't aimed at me anyway. I think he was great for the kids.

47. MASHED POTATOES OR MACARONI AND CHEESE?I guess I'm a smashed potatoes kind of guy.

48. DO YOU HAVE ALL YOUR FINGERS AND TOES? 
Yep.

49. DO YOU HAVE A COMPUTER IN YOUR ROOM? Christina and I each have one. And all the kids have their own in the family room, too, all networked. Any family with Number One Son in it is jolly well going to be wired.

50. PLANS FOR TONIGHT? Cook dinner and get the urchins off to bed. I was up at 2:30 this morning for the side job, and I could stand a little unconsciousness.

51. WHAT’S THE FASTEST YOU’VE EVER GONE IN A CAR? 120, in my buddy Dean's 70-sommething Nova when I was in high school. We were on the Biggs-Rufus Highway (you can see the area here), and we pegged the speedometer. There were three of us in the front seat (no seatbelts, natch) with me in the middle, and while we were flying down the road, the guy on the passenger side opened the door, stuck his foot out, and scraped the sole of his tenny-runner on the asphalt to see how hot it would get. And we were all sober, even. The stupidity of teenagers knows no bounds.

52. WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO? 
 co-worker bitching about yet another employee of hers that quit. What she doesn't mention is that she put the poor girl in a position where she had no choice. I'd say three quarters of the turnover in this office is due to one person.

53. LAST THING YOU DRANK? Stale coffee from the office pot.

54. REPUBLICAN OR DEMOCRAT? Republican with strong libertarian leanings. In general, I figure the government probably isn't wiser than the individual, and if it is, it still has no business getting uppity with me. However, I'm also emphatically pro-life, which isn't usually a libertarian position. That issue, and free exercise of religion, are my strongest voting points.

55. DO YOU HAVE A LOW SELF ESTEEM OR A HIGH SELF ESTEEM? I dislike that terminology. Better to have a fairly accurate self-image than to worry about low or high. Besides, I'm really not good enough to deserve self-esteem anyway.

56. WHAT BOOK ARE YOU READING? I'd like to say I'm re-reading The Imitation of Christ, but I'm not getting far enough fast enough to be able to say that. When I get time to read, it's usually something I've read a dozen times already, just because I can put my brain in neutral. George MacDonald Fraser and Harry Turtledove are old standbys. I'll make it through Imitation eventually, though. I loved it the first time I read it, years ago.

Friday Flicks: Hitler – Dead or Alive

There was a little pre-discussion about bad movies over on the Friday [Fornicate]-Off Thread at It Comes in Pints? (language alert, obviously), so I thought I'd toss in a demonstration of true celluloid badness.

Yes, I know it was wartime. Yes, I know propaganda movies were an important part of the war effort. All I can say is that in order for guys like Ward Bond and Warren Hymer to be willing to appear in this stinkeroo, they must have really, really loved their country.

The plot is silly enough on the surface. An American businessman offers a million-dollar reward for the abduction of Hitler (hence the title). His offer is accepted by a group of low-key gangsters, who join the Canadian air force, hijack a plane, and parachute into Germany behind the lines. It gets progressively more ludicrous from there. I hesitate to give away any more plot, because you actually have to see it to believe it. It's not boring, at least. Nor, mercifully, is it overly long at an hour and ten minutes. But if you can get out of it without cramping up your cringe muscles, you've got a higher threshold than I do.

This is not a movie with camp value, like Plan 9 from Outer Space. It's unintentionally funny, like Plan 9, but it's so straight-faced that it's hard to make enough fun of. If it were a person, it would need to be institutionalized for its own good.



As always, if you watch even some of this, leave a comment. If I'm to watch this bilge, I hate to do it alone.

A note of additional weirdness: Apparently this turkey was inspired by an actual reward offer. There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are turned into schlocky B-flicks.

My son, the stereotype

It seems all those assumptions about video game fanatics have a certain basis in truth.

This is what makes me proud of my country

Well, one of the things.

The governing military junta in Myanmar has agreed to allow a single U.S. cargo aircraft to bring in relief supplies for victims of a devastating cyclone, Bush administration officials said Friday.

White House spokesman Gordon Johndroe said the United States welcomed the go-ahead to land a U.S. militaryC-130 in the country on Monday. He said he hopes this is the beginning of continued aid flowing into the country from the United States and other nations and international relief agencies.

Earlier Friday, Ky Luu, director of the U.S. office of foreign disaster assistance, had said that skilled aid workers were being forced to sit on the sidelines as victims of last week's cyclone die. His comments reflect the mounting frustration among the United States and other countries as they wait for permission from the military-led government to begin trying to help.


Said Johndroe: "We will continue to work with the government of Burma to allow other assistance. We hope that this is the beginning of a long line of assistance from the United States to Burma."

"We are very concerned about the people of Burma," he added.

Johndroe also said that while the U.S. still has limited leeway to help, "One flight is much better than no flights.

This is a country whose government hates us, and what are we doing? We're jolly well begging them to let us come and save their lives. We've got nothing to gain from this. There's no profit potential, no political capital to be won. We're simply humbling ourselves and asking to be allowed to give away some of what God's blessed us with. Why?

Because we're Americans, and this is what Americans do. Remember that the next time some loud-mouthed pissant starts ranting about all the evil we unleash in the world, or shouts "God damn America" from a pulpit. When people are hungry, or homeless, or in danger, Americans are the first ones to step up to the plate. We are, by and large, some of the most generous people on the planet. Even to countries that treat us like dung. Notice that when the story first broke and President Bush called for sending aid, he didn't use the press conference to badmouth the Myanmar junta. (And if ever a government had some badmouthing coming, this is it.) Say what you will about his policies, the president understands what it is to be American. How many of his detractors would have left politics out of the equation?

I'll salute the flag and sing the national anthem. I'll cheer when soldiers go by on parade. I support our military endeavors, whether or not I think a particular operation is a good idea. But the time I'm proudest of my country is when we're handing out food and saving lives.

God bless America. And then may He help us bless the rest of the world.

Steeplechase!*

A guest blogger at Internet Monk seems to have solved the denominational problem, albeit at the cost of a lot of gas and more stress than the Sabbath should warrant:

First, I will attend the early service at my local evangelical megachurch, New Life Excitement Amazing Church Franchise #165. About half an hour into worship (maybe 1/4 of a worship chorus), I will inevitably convert to Catholicism. I will hurry over to mass at Our Lady of Dubious Likenesses in Quesadillas, but find myself so irritated by the idea of the actual mass that I will indignantly march over to Biblical Family Principles Baptist Family Family Church. With any luck, they will be well into the sermon. Since this is an election year, I’ll only have to listen for a few minutes before the blatant politicization and unbearable law sends me over to St. Oprah’s Episcopal. I’ll enjoy the sonorous liturgy right up until the sermon, which will help me finally understand that there is no God and all religion is evil. I’ll head out to my car, where I’ll do devotions with Richard Dawkins. It usually takes around 17 or 18 pages before, out of spite, I go to a mosque, or more likely Extremely Greek Orthodox church, which is just down the road. I know I won’t be able to take communion, of course, but I’ll be able to get the priest’s blessing and tell everyone about my coming home story. The self-congratulation will be enough to propel me happily back to NLEAC #165 where I’ll be able to catch maybe the last 15 minutes of the closing song, having made peace with evangelicalism until next Sunday.

The only flaw I can see is that I’ll never get to take communion, but if my wife and I order rolls and a glass of merlot at lunch, we can decide that’s what Jesus really had in mind and be emerging for a few minutes. Problem solved!

*With apologies to Steve Taylor.

I'm a little proud of myself

I'm not as out of practice as I thought. I only had to look up one word to get this. (In honesty, though, it was a pretty crucial one.) The Wittenburg Door's Latin Joke of the Day:

Cum Bob expiscit is reciperet fortunam ubi suum patrum aegrum interiit, decrevit invenire mulierem quam fructa sit copiam cum eo.

Ita, uno vespere iit ad tabernam caelibum ubi conspexit pulchrissimam feminam quam visus esset umquam. Nativa pulchritudo feminae exanimavit eum.

"Videor quasi sum modo vulgaris vir," Bob dixit ubi ambulavit ad eam, "sed in septum diebus modo, meus pater interibit, et hereditatem sestertiorum viciens accipiam."

Inculcata, femina ivit ad domum cum eo illo vespere, et, post triduum, noverca eius facta erat.

Feminae sunt tantae intelligentiores quam vires.

How and why I learned Latin to begin with is a story for another time. I had no idea then I'd ever be Catholic.

Daughters Two and Three are studying Latin in their homeschooling. Let's see if they can get this one.