Because every dead horse deserves one more flogging

I'm getting a late start on the Cheesy Christmas Movies this year, because I'm trying to branch out a little bit and find some new films. That means I actually have to watch these stinkeroos, at least enough to be able to review them a little bit.

Let's kick off with a fairly recent one: The Christmas Clause (2008). Apparently somebody in Movieland had a brilliant idea: "Hey! How about this for a premise? A person is unhappy with their lot in life and a guardian angel changes the past to give them an entirely different one! And they end up appreciating what they had so much more!"

It was magnificent in It's a Wonderful Life. It was even pretty good in The Family Man. But for heaven's sake, can we just let the horse corpse decompose in peace?

True, Lea Thompson gives a fair if not overly inspired performance. The viewer can feel the frazzlement right along with her during the first pivotal scene in the mall. (The hot chocolate incident alone would make Mother Teresa drop-kick the kid across the food court.) And I really, really hope that husband of hers turns out better in the second half of the film, because he's a bit of a useless oaf in the opening.

One thing they must have gotten right is that her new-and-improved life is much more unappealing than her old one. I'd take Jimmy Stewart's non-existence over her two-dimensional fantasy any day.

Presented for your revilement:




As always, do please leave a comment.

It's Advent! And you know what that means...

Time for Cheesy Christmas Movies! I'll probably recycle a few of the same ones from years past, simply because I like them and it's my blog, dagnabbit! But I'd love some suggestions for some new ones to add.

They should be public domain if possible (although I probably won't be as picky about that as in years past), embeddable from the Internet Archive or YouTube or some other source. Preference goes to older or more obscure films. Leave your suggestions/links in the comments.

"I pray for my grandchildren to die"

Or words to that effect.



A/T to Creative Minority Report.

As I was saying...

... below:

Akubra tip to SondraK.

Whoo!

Bill Whittle is in fine form:

The KKK was formed by Democrats, after the Civil War in which the Republican Party freed the slaves. It eventually morphed into the Jim Crow south whose laws were written by Democrats, and all of those guys turning the hoses on the Civil Rights marchers – guys like Lester Maddox, Bull Connor and George Wallace, were all Democrats turning the same hatred on Republican Martin Luther King as they had a century earlier when the Democrats in white hoods turned it on Republican Frederick Douglass, who said: “I recognize the Republican party as the sheet anchor of the colored man's political hopes and the ark of his safety.”
Now of course, modern Progressives say that’s all true, completely true, 100% true, absolutely and undeniably true -- but in the 60’s the two parties switched sides, you see? In other words, if Florida is beating Florida State 60-0 at half time, and then the Gators score 72 points in the second half… the Florida State fan says the Seminoles really won because at half time both teams went into the locker rooms and switched uniforms. They actually believe this.

Preach it!

Unintended consequences

At least we know the kids are paying attention.

Here comes the bride

Okay, so I'm a  few days overdue. My Virtuous and Excellent Daughter, who took the photos on Saturday, had to have some time to get them posted on Facebook. I stole a few good ones.

The lovely Drama Queen:

The unlovely old goat giving away the bride:

And the happy couple:

The ceremony went fairly well. Ostrogoth had a meltdown at the rehearsal but did beautifully at the ceremony, strewing her flower petals with great care. Visigoth and Octopus Boy were ringbearers and (mirabile visu!) stood still voluntarily through most of the wedding. My wife's family wasn't able to come up from California, alas, but my parents and all the siblings except Long Drink were there. (He's in a phase of not wanting anything to do with his family. It's either typical teenage stuff or his mother messing with his head. I'll never know for sure.)

It wasn't the grand affair she was hoping for, but the end result was the same: she got a good husband. And I think he will be. They're both young, but he's made of excellent material.

Three to get ready...

Heading out shortly for Drama Queen's wedding rehearsal. For the second time this year I get to walk a beautiful young lady down the aisle and hand her over. (I'm not supposed to heave an audible sigh of relief, but I can think one.) My Virtuous and Excellent Daughter will be photographing; I'll post pictures as they become available.

In honor of the date

Try and watch this without grinning. Go ahead, I dare you.

Shutdown horror

Okay, shutting down veterans' memorials and evicting people from their homes was bad enough. But this is going too far.

Where will the madness end?

The Apocalypse of St. Cassandra the Awesome

The end is nigh.

And I saw when The Lightworker opened one of the seals and I heard, as it were the noise of thunder, one of the 232 beasts saying, "Come and see".
And I saw, and beheld a white horse: and he that sat on him had a face of orange; and Lo! a bomb was strapped to his chest. And he rode forth to wreak havoc upon the economy in the midst of the worst Recession since, well... ever, really.
And when The Lightworker had opened the second seal, I heard the second beast say with the false consciousness of a token Hispanic, "Come and see".
And there went out another horse that was sickly red and reeking of coded racism and ill concealed misogyny: and power was given to him that sat thereon to take peace from the earth and free contraceptives from struggling Georgetown coeds and bread from the mouths of innocent babes, the elderly, and the near-poor. 

Tolle, legge!

The Elwha tragedy

It was thirty years ago today, and every Washingtonian can tell you where he was when he heard about it. Read about that harrowing night here, and listen to the song written in tribute.

Never forget.

The last of his kind

One of the original science fiction writers, editors and fans has passed.

Frederik Pohl was a founding member of the Futurians, along with Isaac Asimov, Donald Wollheim, Damon Knight, Cyril Kornbluth and others of blessed memory. He edited Galaxy and If magazines, in whose pages I had my first introduction to the joys of sci-fi pulpdom. His 1978 memoir The Way the Future Was is a fascinating insight into the history of my favorite writers and literature.

Even at the age of 93, the man simply could not stop writing. His blog covered on sci-fi, politics (from a very left-wing perspective) and other topics, often several times a day. He blogged Monday morning, and died Monday afternoon, a departure befitting his life.

Travel in elephants, sir.

Come-a-come-a down-doo-bee-doo-down down...

Breakin' up is hard to do.

I love it when atheists get history

I can get along really well with this guy.

I love to totally stump them by asking them to present me with the name of one - just one - scientist burned, persecuted or oppressed for their science in the Middle Ages. They always fail to come up with any. They usually try to crowbar Galileo back into the Middle Ages, which is amusing considering he was a contemporary of Descartes. When asked why they have failed to produce any such scientists given the Church was apparently so busily oppressing them, they often resort to claiming that the Evil Old Church did such a good job of oppression that everyone was too scared to practice science. By the time I produce a laundry list of Medieval scientists - like Albertus Magnus, Robert Grosseteste, Roger Bacon, John Peckham, Duns Scotus, Thomas Bradwardine, Walter Burley, William Heytesbury, Richard Swineshead, John Dumbleton, Richard of Wallingford, Nicholas Oresme, Jean Buridan and Nicholas of Cusa - and ask why these men were happily pursuing science in the Middle Ages without molestation from the Church, my opponents have usually run away to hide and scratch their heads in puzzlement at what just went wrong.

Bonus: A graphic that he declares (and ( concur) The Stupidest Thing On The Internet Ever. Go read it all.

Once again. life imitates classic movies

Where have we seen this before? Oh yeah... here.

A fantastic film, and one that lets Olivia DeHavilland move beyond her Maid Marian persona into some serious drama. Watch it if you can find it.

I really wonder how this real-life example will end up. Despite the changes in technology, the problem is the same: how can they possibly prosecute?

Just so we're clear...

Laws that hurt gay people's feelings: International outrage.

Churches burned and Christians murdered: Ho hum.

It's all about who matters and who doesn't.

An apology letter to Mr. Obama

I am not worthy to link to this. (But I will anyway.) I can't possibly excerpt it; you'll just have to go read it all. Akubra tip to Heroditus Huxley.

Quote of the Day

Totalitarianism does not consist of iron law; it consists of capricious law, because those in power get to decide when it will not apply.

Found at Ace via SondraK.

Cluck away!

My Virtuous and Excellent Daughter (see here for gorgeous photo) has resumed blogging at Clucking Catholic. Check it out!

Thinking of amputating...

... Visigoth's dialing fingers. I just answered the door to find a mobile computer tech on the porch. She had apparently gotten a call from my Lovely and Brilliant Wife, to come fix a faulty laptop port. I called her and lo and behold, she hadn't.

It didn't take much to put two and two and nine together and figure out that it was Visigoth. To his credit, he didn't try to deny it. Which (combined with the fact that we weren't charged for the visit) is the only reason I haven't stuffed him in a box and mailed him to Tristan da Cunha or some equally inaccessible place.

Mmmmm

Nothing says "Happy Birthday America" like chickens being cooked in an undignified position vis-a-vis a beer can. With tequila, lime juice, garlic, onion and jalapeno.

About frimpin' time!

What's the point of being in the desert if we can't have real summers? For the weather we've had this year, we might as well have been in (God forbid) Seattle.

To the lake this weekend!

D-Day post

Sixty-nine years ago today, 160,000 men gave it all they had and saved the world. Every time I do this, it gets harder to find enough of them to link here.

This day is call’d the feast of Crispian.
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam’d,
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 Crispian’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 rememb’red.
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 remembered –
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 accurs’d they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin’s day.

Thank you, gentlemen. Just... thank you.

And here she is!

As you can see, my Virtuous and Excellent Daughter was absolutely breathtaking. (Pay no attention to the geezer next to her.)

The wedding went off fairly well. Ostrogoth had a meltdown on the way out the door and had to be dragged bodily to the car, but was all sugar once we arrived. Not so Octopus Boy, who pitched the mother of all tantrums halfway through the ceremony and had to be removed by Drama Queen. I kid you not, I could hear his screams all the way in from the parking lot. That kid has a set of lungs that would make professional hog-callers wince.

We had a little confusion when VaED announced that the cake-cutting would be at a neighborhood park, forgetting to mention it to her new husband beforehand. But he's pretty used to rolling with the punches, which is exactly the sort of husband she needs. They fit well together.

Minor bobbles, but they ended up married in the end. And that was really the whole point of the exercise, wasn't it?

Ding dong, the bells are gonna chime

Tomorrow, I get to walk my Virtuous and Excellent Daughter down the aisle and hand her over to her new husband. She's his problem source of joy now.

One down, seven to go.

A credit to his cassock

Father Andrew Greeley travels in elephants.

A highly-regarded sociologist, preternaturally prolific author and unabashedly liberal Chicago priest, the Rev. Greeley regularly took his church to task in both his fiction and his scholarly work. His non-fiction books covered topics from Catholic education to Irish history to Jesus' relationships with women.

The Rev. Greeley authored some 50 best-selling novels and more than 100 works of non-fiction that were translated into 12 languages.

His racy novels and detective stories, which often closely paralleled real events, aired out Catholic controversies and hummed with detailed bedroom romps that kept readers rapt and coming back for more. Best-sellers like "The Cardinal Sins" in 1981 earned him millions of dollars, much of which he donated to the church and charities.

I'll be honest: Father Greeley was generally a mediocre novelist, with two or three passable plotlines that he recycled perpetually. His politics were as opposite mine as you can get. His theology (or that of his leading characters, anyway) has often struck me as borderline heretical.

None of that matters a whit to me. Shortly before I started looking seriously into the Catholic Church myself, I read several of his novels. The faith that pervaded them was tangible. It was human. Even priests (and at that time, I'd never actually even met one) were ordinary people in his books. Catholicism was simply a central fact of life. (So were his heritage and hometown. In his books, everybody who was anybody was either from Chicago or Irish, and usually both.)

It was that matter-of-fact approach to the Church that made it seem more accessible to me later. By the time I began my journey to Rome, I had reference points for some of the things I was about to encounter for the first time. God used Father Greeley to soften me up, as it were, for the plans He had for me.

The other quality I absorbed from his books was a certain integrity. Two-dimensional though his characters often were, they were true to themselves. His priests really believed what they preached, and if they strayed from their vows, they did so knowing it was wrong. His laypeople sinned, but they knew right from wrong. I could have done with less sex in the books, but even there, the moral dimension was always present. As too few writers do (Orson Scott Card is another), he knew how to treat religion as more than just a personality quirk. That's because to him, it really was everything.

And finally, he had an optimism and friendliness about him that may be priestly, or it may simply be Irish. I dunno. But in spite of the critical things I said about him in this post, I think I'd have liked him immensely.

Thanks, Father. Partly thanks to you, I'll see you 'round.

Note: This is one of the few Andrew Greeley novels I can recommend. Yeah, it's not great literature, but I still enjoy rereading it now and then. Sappy, romantic, and genuine.

Re: Joyce!

I just discovered via Mark Shea that my high-school Sunday School teacher, Joyce Crain, is not only a Catholic convert, but is leading a plethora of ministries at St. Francis Parish in the San Juan Islands. She was an awesome teacher in the 1980s (and especially patient with the teenage pissant I was back then) and I have no doubt she's just as wonderful today. Her husband was the one who gave me the copy of "Mere Christianity" that triggered my decision to embrace the faith I'd been raised in. Otherwise, I shudder to think where I would have wound up.

Joyce blogs here. I've just started reading it, but she's got some rich material. Check it out!

Finally! Now we can tell what they're saying

Jim Goad at Taki's has bridged the gap between liberals and ordinary people with the Progressive Glossary. Never let a conversation be derailed again through vague terminology!

DIVERSITY—A magical incantation used to divert your attention from the fact that it is strikingly similar to the words “divide” and “division.”
DOG WHISTLE—A high-pitched screech from the enemy that only progressives are able to hear. Lately this term has been deemed offensive to canines and should therefore be replaced with “coded speech” wherever possible.
ELITES—Wealthy people on the political right. This term is never used to describe wealthy people on the left who control much of the media, government, and academia.
EMPOWERED—Loud and annoying.
GUN NUT—Anyone who owns a gun yet doesn’t belong to the group that actually commits the majority of American gun violence.
HATRED—Anything that we hate.
HERSTORY—The part of history that is usually ignored because not much really happened.
HETERONORMATIVE—Sexually normal.
HOMOPHOBE—Someone with a distaste for sex that involves feces and AIDS.
LOOKISM—A term used by ugly people to explain why beautiful people won’t [fornicate with] them.
REDNECK—A racial slur used to describe people we assume are always using racial slurs.
SOCIOPATH—A non-socialist.
STARTING A DIALOGUE—Starting a monologue.

Go read the whole thing. Ambrose Bierce would be proud.

Yes!

Arlene's is fighting back!

Barronelle Stutzman has decided that the best defense is a good offense. Stutzman, 68, is the owner of Arlene’s Flowers and Gifts, the Richland, Washington, business being sued by state Attorney General Bob Ferguson.
Ferguson is suing Arlene’s because Stutzman declined to violate her faith by doing the floral decorations for the wedding of longtime customer Robert Ingersoll and his partner Curt Freed.
Stutzman filed a countersuit yesterday against the attorney general, arguing that his suit violates her rights under both the United States and Washington State Constitutions, as well as violating the federal Civil Rights Act.

Bullies have to be stood up to or they'll keep finding new victims and new ways to torment them. Read the whole thing.

If only teachers could marry! If only women could be teachers!

This sort of thing would never happen.

What she said!

I thought I had a pretty good command of invective, but Heroditus Huxley comes up with phrases here I'd never have thought of. I'm in awe. Also in agreement with every unrepeatable word of it.

A shot at the new frontier

If I were twenty years younger and had no family responsibilities, I'd be doing whatever it took to be in on this. Yeah, yeah, nine chances out of ten it'll never go anywhere. But that tenth... ah, to be one of the first.

Heard around Boston

"Hey, I've got the day off. Wanna go downtown and get legless?"

Horrible. Stipulated. But sometimes grim laughter is all you can manage in the face of the need to weep. And I don't know when I'll have much more to say after spending yesterday afternoon in the newsroom waiting to hear if the runners from the Moses Lake area had come out safe. As of now, we've heard that two of the four are fine.

They're just cops

What could they possibly know about guns and crime?

Today's prize...

... for the most fatheaded claim about the Catholic Church goes to Slate. See, it doesn't matter how far-fetched a statement is, if it involves the Church trying to take all the fun out of sex, people will believe it implicitly.

Akubra tip to Creative Minority Report.

"Maybe it’s time for the Catholic Church ... to come out swinging"

This has needed to be said for years, but nobody outside of a few Catholic bloggers (and who listens to them?) dared utter it above a whisper:

Almost everything the media say about the Catholic Church is a lie. A deliberate slander intended to obscure the facts and besmirch good people with the filthiest possible stigma.

So why isn’t the Church launching a counteroffensive? For every accusation of molestation, why aren’t they publicizing the very existence of false accusations? What sort of misguided piety and humility prevents it from publicizing case after case after case of priests who were exonerated after falsely being accused?

If they really wanted to fight fire with fire, they should issue weekly press releases about the fact that the president of an organization that’s been antagonizing them ceaselessly—the Survivors Network of Those Abused by Priests—neglected to call the policewhen his older brother, a priest, was accused of molestation. Why are they sitting on that bombshell?

And since many of their antagonists are of a secular socialist bent who’d like to portray themselves as the sole protectors of the poor and disadvantaged, why doesn’t the Church shed a layer or two of humility and more aggressively publicize its global charitable work? Why does it shy away from quantifying the billions it spends to feed the hungry and heal the sick? Why doesn’t it challenge the socialist types to demonstrate they’re doing remotely as much to uplift the poor?

Read it all.

Bergoglio?

That surprised me. I really expected somebody younger.

Habemus papam!

Watching Twitter, Google News and AP feed to find out who it is. No name yet.

Nope.

Smoke is still black. Next voting will be at 9:20 Pacific.

And... they're off!

The conclave begins and the world will wait with bated breath to see which cardinal will be reviled by the news media as a terrible disappointment.

Let's be honest: the new pope is not going to make any of the changes that the media are so frantically insisting the entire Catholic Church desperately wants. Catholics know this. Orthodox Protestants know this. Mormons know this. Atheists (those who actually have read anything more informative than The God Delusion) know this. The only people who don't know it are muttonheaded media mavens who have no concept that religion is anything but a fashion statement.

So for those folks, here it is in simple words: The pope has enormous authority but relatively little power. He appoints bishops to their respective dioceses. He acts as a symbol of the eternal, universal Church. And occasionally he defines some point of doctrine that has been in dispute, usually for centuries. What he does not do is change doctrines already defined, nor does he pull fresh doctrines out of his... er... cassock.

Gay "marriage" ain't-a-gonna happen. Neither is female "ordination." Those things aren't even issues. No matter how "liberal" (read, trendy) a pope might be personally, he can't screw around with sacraments. At the very least, he'd engender a schism that would make 1054 look like a squabble over what color to carpet the sanctuary in.

That's not to say he can't make an enormous impact. When John Paul the Great was elected, it started the communist bloc on its inexorable slide onto the ash heaps of history. The Poles had held (one might even say clung bitterly) to their Catholic faith despite being sandwiched between a Protestant power and an Orthodox one for centuries. That went a long way toward making them the weak link in the red chain. Even at that, their vibrant, colorful Catholic faith was slowly being dulled by the drab sameness of Marxism, coupled with a sense that the rest of the world just didn't give a damn what happened to a bunch of Polacks.

But when one of their own was set on the throne of Peter, it galvanized the Poles. Here was a man who had worked as slave labor under the Nazis, studied in underground seminaries during the war and walked the razor's edge of being an archbishop in the Soviet shadow before becoming the moral lodestone of the world. For the first time in centuries, Poland had a national hero.

I expect the next pope will be chosen for similar reasons. So what's the big bugaboo menacing Christendom today? Islam. Yeah, yeah, I know. Religion of peace and all that. And I'm sure that holds true for individuals Muslims, and I mean no disrespect to them. But Christians in Muslim countries are currently getting pretty universally crushed. Even Egypt, which until recently was pretty decent to the Copts who predated Islam by centuries, has begun abandoning Christians to Muslim mob justice.

Now, I could be totally wrong. In fact, I've been thinking all along that the most likely candidate would be Angelo Scola, Archbishop of Milan. (Not my preference, but nobody asked me.)  But what if the cardinals are smarter than I give them credit for? What if we get, say, Jean-Louis Tauran, currently the President of the Pontifical Council for Interreligious Dialogue? His homeland of France has a large culture war going with Islam. Even more provocative would be John Onaiyekan of Nigeria or Luis Antonio Tagle of the Philippines. Can you hear the heads explode across the Islamosphere if the dhimmis suddenly had their own pope?

The next few days could well be the most significant in the 21st century. Pray hard. (Note: Check out the semi-complete slate here, by one of the best-informed Vatican-watchers in the world.)

Update: The smoke is black. No big surprise there. More voting tomorrow morning.

A good neighbor moves out

Richard Briers travels in elephants. The Telegraph has the best memorial I've seen so far.



 The Good Life (or as it was called over here, Good Neighbors) was probably the first Brit-com I saw, and the one that got me hooked on them. Penelope Keith and Paul Edgerton as the beleaguered and sorta-snooty neighbors were all right, but it was the chemistry between Briers and the adorable Felicity Kendal that made the show worth watching, and whetted my appetite for all things televised and British.

Thank you, Tom, for making the good life look a little bit better.

Sounds reasonable to me

Quote of the day:

"Given Sandy Hook, you have to make reasonable compromises."

Accepted. In exchange, gay men should make reasonable compromises over Penn State. They will simply have to accept being registered and kept a safe distance from children. This isn't a violation of their rights. It's just common sense.

RTWT.

Keeping Faith

The other day, I got into a discussion on Facebook with an agnostic friend (shameless plug for her business) about Jehovah's Witnesses and blood transfusions. She related an anecdote she'd heard about a Witness church leader (I'm not sure of his actual role) who was in the hospital, and loudly and publicly refused to receive a life-saving transfusion. But later, when it was just him and his family, he accepted the procedure secretly.

Now, obviously I don't share his scruples about transfusions. If I ever need it, a hospital can pump my veins full of walrus piss for all I care. It's not about blood. It's about faith.

Faith is one of the most misused words in the language. If you ask a non-believer, they'll usually say that faith is believing something with no evidence. (And if they're a Fundamentalist Atheist, when they say "evidence," as often as not they mean "absolute proof." If you can't prove a religious tenet beyond any possible doubt, they consider it proven false and worthy of ridicule. But I digress.)

Even Christians often think of faith as a set of statements. A person being baptized will affirm the Apostles' Creed and we say "This is the faith of the Church." And in that context, I guess it's applicable. But it's only one small aspect.

Faith isn't about things you believe. Faith is commitment. Faith is loyalty, to a person or an institution, placed ahead of one's own welfare. We use it idiomatically all the time: keeping the faith, acting in good faith, and so on. Faith isn't just believing; it's sticking to what you're committed to. Faith is a man sticking by his wife as she's dying. Faith is a soldier obeying orders that may well get him killed. Faith is St Damien of Molokai, taking on certain slow, miserable death to take care of people who would never be able to repay him. "I know Whom I have believed," says St. Paul. Not "what," but "Whom." Faith is, at bottom, faithfulness.

That's where this guy failed. He may well have believed all the religious doctrines about transfusions, but when the rubber met the road, he wimped out. He had committed his life to his God, but when it was actually required of him, he broke that commitment.

(Mind you, I'm not saying I'd have done better if I'd been in his shoes. I hope I would, but I've never had to find out.)

When it came to the Crucifixion, only one disciple, John, stayed with Jesus. Peter may have famously denied Him, but all of them ran away. In that, they broke faith as well. But in the years that followed, all of them (again, except John) died violent deaths. Andrew was crucified. Peter was crucified upside-down. Jude and Simon were beheaded. Thomas was martyred nearly three thousand miles away, in India. (So much for "Doubting Thomas.") They could have saved their own skins easily enough. Most people would say they were fools not to. But they didn't. They were committed to a Person, not to a set of beliefs. And for that Person, they would face anything.

That's what faith is. That's the real faith of the Church. We are proud to profess it.

The irony?

How much you wanna bet a lot of these are Feminist Studies majors?

Traditional Proclamation of the Birth of Christ

The twenty-fifth day of December.
In the five thousand one hundred and ninety-ninth year of the creation of the world
from the time when God in the beginning created the heavens and the earth;
the two thousand nine hundred and fifty-seventh year after the flood;
the two thousand and fifteenth year from the birth of Abraham;
the one thousand five hundred and tenth year from Moses
and the going forth of the people of Israel from Egypt;
the one thousand and thirty-second year from David's being anointed king;
in the sixty-fifth week according to the prophecy of Daniel;
in the one hundred and ninety-fourth Olympiad;
the seven hundred and fifty-second year from the foundation of the city of Rome;
the forty second year of the reign of Octavian Augustus;
the whole world being at peace,
in the sixth age of the world,
Jesus Christ the eternal God and Son of the eternal Father,
desiring to sanctify the world by his most merciful coming,
being conceived by the Holy Spirit,
and nine months having passed since his conception,
was born in Bethlehem of Judea of the Virgin Mary,
being made flesh.
The Nativity of our Lord Jesus Christ according to the flesh.

The Play of the Nativity of the Child Jesus

I've been saving this one for last, because it's decidedly not cheesy.

If you're looking for a plain old Christmas pageant on screen, you're going to be caught a bit off-guard, especially by the dialogue. This isn't some hokey Hollywood bastardization of the Christmas story. This is modeled after the medieval Nativity plays.

The archaic, rhymed dialogue and the lighting give this an overall tone of reverence and age befitting to such a holy narrative. Notably, the commercials are only at the beginning and end; the play is uninterrupted.

Such a solemn, joyful treatment of Christmas on TV is impossible to imagine today. I doubt it was commonplace even in the early 1950s. If you've watched none of my Cheesy Christmas Movie series, watch this and leave me your thoughts in the comments.



Available for streaming and download here.

Yee-ho-ho-ho!

Today's Cheesy Christmas Movie really does live up to the name. It's not bad in the same sense as the last one, but it will make your eyes roll so hard back you may need a crowbar to retrieve them.

Down the Wyoming Trail is a typical Tex Ritter singing western, with a bit of a holiday twist. It's Christmas Eve, and Tex has (of course) just ridden into town and been asked to play Santy Claus. A local badman overhears that Tex is going to be the jolly old elf, and dons a suit and whiskers to rob a ranch payroll. In the process he kills a man. The dying man fingers Saint Nick as his killer, and Tex narrowly misses getting lynched. In a fashion that would be the envy of O.J., he sets out to find the real killer.

Every western has to have a pretty girl, and Joan Leslie's big sister Mary Brodell is exactly that, in one of her few credited roles. And speaking of credits, it's a never-ending source of amusement to me that White Flash is so often credited higher than any of his bipedal co-stars except Tex himself. I'm only about halfway through this one, but there's a twist beginning to form I won't give away. I'll update this once I finish previewing.



Available for download or streaming here.

Update: Yep, the twist is a good one, but still leaves the whole thing pretty predictable. Yes, and cheesy.

Randy Stonehill: Christmas at Denny's

This is probably the most heartbreaking Christmas song I've ever heard. Well worth a listen.

A hero

Mary-Ellen at Hopefully Ever After has written an absolute must-read piece, pouring her soul out in pixels.

What are you waiting for? Go read it. Then come back. (Warning: it's extremely descriptive in places. But necessary.)

I have three things to say about this piece.

1. Mary-Ellen is a hero. More on that later.

2. I've inveighed more than once on the witchhunt that has developed around the pervo-priest scandals. I still maintain that many good men are unjustly accused and that many people have profited handsomely from the Big Lie that priests are all potential molesters.

But big lies often grow from small but deadly truths, and this is one of those. Fr. Leo Riley was indeed a child molester. (Mary-Ellen wasn't his only victim, though she may have been his most long-term one.) Which makes it all the more despicable. A stranger who lures a child into a car is vile enough. But when a trusted family friend, a man whose job it is to model virtue, destroys a child from the inside out, it is an unspeakable evil. The same hands that held Christ's body every day snaked over an innocent child's body at night. The same lips that spoke the words of Jesus told manipulative lies to a little girl. This is one of those sins that cry out to heaven for vengeance.

And the ripple effect, while not as personally devastating, is far-reaching and possibly unerasable. A few vermin like Fr. Riley have tainted the reputation of priests for generations to come. The very word "priest" has become a snickered synonym for "hypocritical pervert." His behavior has made the Catholic Church, not just a laughingstock, but a stench to much of the world.

3. I don't know Mary-Ellen's parents, but I'm reluctant to judge them very harshly. The thing to remember is, in the '70s and '80s, child molestation was just beginning to be talked about openly, and lots of people had no idea how to deal with it when it came to light. In my family, there was an uncle who couldn't keep his hands off his nieces, and I don't think anything was done except to keep a close eye on him at family functions. (He died before I was born, thankfully.) The same thing applies to the bishops who kept shuffling accused priests around. Often, they just didn't know better. It had always been done that way.

In fairness, Mary-Ellen's parents did believe her and put a stop to her abuse, even if it was too little to late, and the Stigmatine Order did cooperate with police after policies were put in place in the early '90s. We know what to do now. But back then, the times they were still a'changin'.

Okay, back to point 1. Lots of people have memories of childhood abuse. Lots of them go public about the abuse later. That doesn't make them heroes. It just makes them veterans. It's what they do with their victimhood that counts.

Most people, with a history like Mary-Ellen's, would spend their lives bitter and cursing God for betraying them. (Which, in a way, I suppose He did. At least His representative betrayed her on His behalf. God gets the credit for the good things, and at Calvary He took on Himself all the blame for evil done by Man. In all cases, it comes back to God.)

I would have abandoned a God that I felt had allowed those things to happen. I probably would never have set foot in a church again except to spit in the holy water. Yes, I know intellectually about one bad apple, yada yada yada. That knowledge doesn't bind wounds or soothe fear.

But Mary-Ellen is able to separate Fr. Riley and his evil from the good God that always loved her. She is faithful to the Church that failed her. She talks about her parish's pastor who is the polar opposite of Fr. Riley, a good and Godly man who keeps his vows and works with her where she is.

Mary-Ellen has faith that leaves mine in the dust. She loves God more than she hates her abuser.

That's what makes her a hero.

From the country that brought you Sartre and Camus

Teacher assigns suicide notes for homework.

And speaking of Sartre...

(A/T to Cassandra for the second link.)

Santa Claus Conquers the (choke) Martians

Today's Cheesy Christmas Movie is dedicated to Lazarus Lupin, who first introduced me to bad cinema more than 30 years ago. Full disclosure; I've never actually sat through more than half an hour of this abomination without trying to chew off my mouse arm like a trapped coyote to escape. My Akubra is off to anybody who can.



Available for download or streaming here.

A note on movies

If you're not aware, the movies I post are all at the Internet Archive. From there they can be downloaded in various formats for offline viewing. And since they're all public domain, it's as legal as Sunday School.

I'll start tagging them with the link forthwith.

A Christmas Without Snow

I did promise more Cheesy Christmas Movies, did I not?

This one isn't really all that cheesy. It's a made-for-TV movie from 1980 that features a handful of known names (meaning ones I recognized) and a fair number that I didn't. It gets sentimental at times, but it's not on the level of "Santa Claus Conquers the Martians," or even of the last film I posted.

This film doesn't have a whole lot in the way of plot, being more a collection of "day-in-the-life" snapshots. The setting is a generic-Protestant church's choir, where they have obtained a choir tyrant of professional caliber and are preparing for a performance of Handel's Messiah.

(Okay, can I just stop there and say that this alone would have sold me on the film? I frimpin' love Messiah. Back when I was a single father, Wharf Rat and I would see how many performances we could catch every year.)

Anyway, the story centers mostly on a divorcee from Nebraska who is trying to get herself established in San Francisco while her son stays behind with Grandma. But along with her we see a minister who takes his parishioners' troubles as his own, a sweet 30-something spinster who is so lonely she's gone a bit north-northwest, a young black man living with his grandmother who just wants to make his way in a world where skin shade still matters a little bit, and so on. Parallel illustrations of the human condition.

A few things to watch for:

This movie has a plethora, not so much of Christian themes, as of Christian incidentals. Hymns are sung without embarrassment. The preacher is neither a closet pervert nor a platitudinizing milquetoast. The church doesn't make vocal stands on social issues; it's a house of worship first and foremost. Not something we see anymore. (Incidentally, notice that when Reverend Lohman is being pastoral to a newly-widowed church member, the background music is "Comfort Ye My People." Nice touch, that.)

The little one-sided catfight over the soprano solo is fun. There's a self-described opera singer who is miffed that anybody else would even audition, and when a soft-spoken Korean woman gets it, Miss Diva leaves in a flurry of fur. The Korean character, incidentally, is the only listed screen appearance of Daisietta Kim. Her audition piece is "I Know that my Redeemer Liveth," and her rendition gives me goosebumples just thinking about it.

The pastor's son is the quintessential PK, a good-natured young man who just one day can't take it anymore. Preachers' wives get the job they signed on for, but their children often find their identities submerged. This kid fits that to a T. The spinster is worth a cringe every time she opens her mouth. And even for 1980, her dress looks dated to me. Am I wrong, ladies?

Enough. Watch the film and leave your thoughts in the comments.



Also available for streaming and download here.

Joe Santa Claus

Today's Cheesy Christmas Movie is short (a half-hour TV special with the commercials removed), but there's a lot packed into it. Ray Montgomery and Maria Palmer turn in competent performances, but for anyone who's seen "Dark Passage," it's a little disconcerting to see Houseley Stevenson playing a kindly old janitor. Little Jeri Lou James redefines the word adorable.  

It's sappy. It's predictable. And if you don't choke up by the end, you have a stone where your heart should be.





Also available for streaming and download here.

Okay, a little more Yogi

Because of this post from HH.

A little touch of Yogi in the night

I'll have a cheesy Christmas movie to post a little later, but for now, here's a little something to get holidayish with:

War stories

The 7 Types of Failed Relationship Understood Via U.S. Wars

I can put names to a few of these. In some cases, I can put the same name to multiple wars. What can I say? I'm a slow learner.

No comment needed.

A/T to SondraK.

Genius

Caffeinated snack food for kids. What could possibly go wrong?

Get that thing off my roof, fat boy!

Here at the Greatest Newspaper in the Northwest™, the Christmas season (yes, I know it should be Advent) begins in mid-November with the usual mountain of gift-sale advertising.

I say "begins," but actually what it does is plow into us like necrotizing fasciitis on meth, leaving nothing but douglas-fir-scented, tinsel-bedecked wreckage in its path. I used to like the holiday season when I was young. At least, I'm pretty sure I must have. Now I just go around humming this:



Incidentally, does anybody still read this blog and want another round of Cheesy Christmas Movies? I have some ready to put up if anybody cares. Maybe it'll take some of the sting out of the season.

The best part? Somebody probably fell for it.

This totally looks like something Momma Fargo would do:

A tip of the Akubra to Miss Cellania.

The End

A mite overdramatic, but just about how I feel today:

Andrea stood at the side of the bed. The beep, beep of the heart monitor pulsed quietly in the background. It was nearly time. The nurse sat back quietly, giving Andrea space and privacy so she could she could give her uncle her undivided attention. The attending physician ducked into the room to check on his patient. Andrea looked over to him, hoping above all hope the doctor had better news. He didn’t. He shook his head, sadly.

“He went terminal in November of 2012,” he said. “There’s really nothing more we can do.”

Read the whole thing.

A wave from across the river

Happy Reformation Day to all my Protestant friends! I wrote this five years ago, and it still applies. (Although I think I was too polite about John Calvin. He'd have been right at home with David Koresh, the self-righteous, bloodthirsty weasel.)

It's not voter suppression if the good guys do it

Remember, it's RethugliKKKans who want to suppress votes (by insisting that they come from actual, you know, voters, and preferably ones that are still alive.)

I know exactly where they got the names. Huffington Post, the infallible prophet of left-wing America, regularly posts donor names and cities in the hope that its disciples can use them to mete out punishment to the heretics.

For some reason, it doesn't surprise me that the letters came from Seattle. The cities in the Northwest aren't just liberal; they're bitterly, pugnaciously liberal. If you're not, you're The Enemy and any means used to squash you are justified beyond question. It's not just Seattle; while I have a soft spot in my heart for Portland, I'd never live there again.

In 2008, Long Drink (who lives in a Seattle suburb) wore a John McCain shirt to school one day as an experiment, and was greeted with jeers, profanities and at least one physical assault. Unsurprisingly, the day he wore an Obama shirt, nobody blinked.

And of course, Florida is a logical target. It's a swing state that is currently leaning just slightly toward Romney. God grant that this backfires on the Obama campaign there.

Happy Petrov Day!

I sort of knew this story, but never had the details before. It's a kick in the gut to think how close we came.

On September 26th, 1983, Lieutenant Colonel Stanislav Yevgrafovich Petrov was the officer on duty when the warning system reported a US missile launch.  Petrov kept calm, suspecting a computer error.

Then the system reported another US missile launch.

And another, and another, and another.

What had actually happened, investigators later determined, was sunlight on high-altitude clouds aligning with the satellite view on a US missile base...

Go read the whole thing. And hoist a glass to Lt. Col. Petrov tonight in gratitude for not vaporizing us all.

Akubra tip to Mark Shea.

"It’s important to destroy their sense of individualism while they are still young.”

Snerk.



Akubra tip to Protein Wisdom.

The statement the president should have made

"On behalf of my administration and the United States, I would like to reiterate how sorry I am that a group of Americans used their rights to free speech and freedom of religion to say mean things about Islam. Please be assured that my administration and I are laboring tirelessly to ensure that those rights are eliminated as quickly and completely as possible."

Ho. Ly. Cow.

They killed our ambassador in Libya. They stormed our embassy in Cairo and replaced our flag with Al Qaeda's. On September 11.

Naturally, our fearless leader apologizes to them for not being sufficiently humble in our dhimmitude. This was an act of war, and our president is shouldering the blame (or rather, dumping it on us).

Meanwhile, our guardians of free speech are calling for Christians here in America (who actually had nothing to do with it anyway) to be prosecuted for the whole disgusting spectacle.

Just in time for the 9/11 anniversary...

Egyptian protesters are scaling the walls of the American embassy and Libyans have burned the American consulate, because some Christians over here have offended them.

Here's where we find out whether the Muslim Brotherhood's promises to protect Copts actually mean diddly. I'm predicting a bloodbath, but obviously I hope I'm wrong.

Customer servicing?

The hot wax and punch card jokes just write themselves.

Chele

Chele is my second cousin, although genetically I suppose she's more my first cousin. Or one-and-a-halfth, maybe? Her grandfather and mine were brothers, and our grandmothers were sisters. Someday I'll sit down and puzzle it out.

Anyway, I met Chele and her brother when they visited my grandparents in Goldendale around 1980 or so. She was two years older than I was and he was right in between, so we hit it off pretty well. Chele's family had been in Germany at the same time my grandparents were, so they'd grown pretty close. In fact, to hear my grandpa talk, Chele and her brother were the best grandchildren they'd ever had. (I mentioned them here.) She was a nice girl, if somewhat reserved. Being the hyperactive boy I was, I didn't really notice.

I saw Chele off and on at family functions over our teenage years. She shows up in this video a couple of times: a pretty, dark-haired 19- or 20-year-old. The last time I actually saw her was in 1994, when my dad was in the hospital for the last time. She looked nothing like the girl I remembered. She was wearing heavy makeup and tight clothing, and she generally had the look of an angry woman who had grown up too quickly and with too little self-worth. I was kind of sad for her. I didn't know why.

Now I know why.

I read her blog from beginning to end this morning with my jaw dropped. I had no idea.

Chele has been through hell and come out singed but standing tall. I'm proud that she's my kin.

Comment issues

Okay, I have the old Haloscan comments imported into Disqus. They show up on my admin site, but not on the actual blog. Still trying to figure out why.

Once upon a time, a junkman had a dream...

With the passing of both Andy Griffith and Neil Armstrong this summer, this film has been at the top of my mind lately. I just rewatched it (along with several episodes of the mediocre spin-off TV series) during my vacation last week. Here's the whole thing:



I remember watching "Salvage" when it aired on TV, my best friend and I spread out in our sleeping bags on the living room floor with popcorn and cheap-o candy, being fascinated with the special effects and the thought that, darn it, this was possible.

Y'know, the 1970s get a bad rap for being a time of malaise and diffidence for America, but that's not how I remember them. In 1979, we were three years past the rah-rah of the bicentennial and still confident with the feeling that America could do anything it wanted to. The Cold War was a background fact of life, but the nihilism that would shape the 1980s hadn't affected us pre-teens yet. In that world, a junkman could still use his know-how and moxie and go to the moon. And if anyone could do it, it would be Andy Griffith. Everybody else remembers him as Sheriff Taylor or Matlock, but to me, he'll always be Harry.

Didn't you suspect as much?

He's hanging out with Elvis.

Hey Ryan-haters!

Amish population increasing

Let's see... they have sex that isn't sterile, raise their children with a strong faith structure, and live out what they believe under the surface as well as on it. And they're flourishing. Could there be a connection there?

Nah.

Akubra tip to Tim Challies.

Comments should be working now

But I still haven't figured out how to import the old ones from Echo. Let me know if the new system gives you grief.

Prayers for a shepherd

Cardinal George, the brilliant former bishop of Yakima who went on to some obscure place called Chicago, has had his second cancer diagnosis. We need more leaders like him.

So where's the problem?

Our elders are perfectly copacetic with sucking up all the resources and leaving us to clean up the mess and pay the bills. After all, isn't that why they let some of us live to be born?

Not dead yet!

Although it probably looks that way. Bit by bit I'm resurrecting my blog. I lost my sidebar in the changeover to the new template (thank you, Blogger!), so I'm plugging links back in as I remember them. If you used to be there, or just ought to be, leave me a comment and I'll rectify the situation. Which reminds me: I need to reopen comments as well. If anyone is still reading this (besides Graveyard Dog - thanks for the holler!), I'd love to know. Boost an old blogger's ego a bit, why don't you?

A little maintenance

On the off-chance anybody is still coming by and reading this blog, you will have noticed the new template. I'm still updating it along with trying to get comments imported, as Echo is shutting down its comment system in October and I want to get a jump on it. So far I have Disqus more or less installed, but I'm still trying to import the old comments into it. Meanwhile, I'm disabling commenting until I can get it straightened out. I'll also be replenishing my sidebar as soon as time allows. Of course, given how seldom I've been posting lately, who's likely to notice anyway?

Who was Hiram Cronk?

The last man alive to have taken up arms for the United States against the British Empire, that's who. His funeral procession was preserved on film in 1905:



I have to wonder what he would have thought a dozen years later when American boys fought alongside British soldiers. More good stuff about the War of 1812 here.

Gotta love bullies... or else!

So it seems a fast-food company has been making donations to pro-gay-marriage organization. In retaliation, Fundamentalists are demanding that public universities ban the chain from their campuses. They basically can't stand the idea that anyone who doesn't follow their narrow, self-righteous superstitions could be allowed to do business at government-supported schools. Trying to force their beliefs on us all and push an agenda of discrimination and hate. What's worse, these schools are knuckling under. Who the hell do these people think they are to tell us who we can do business with?

Angry? Of course you are.

How about now?

Addendum: The last thing we need is voices of so-called "reason" like this guy claiming that the Civil Rights Act applies to bitter-clinging godbotherers. The h8er.

Oh, for the days...

... when being liberal meant speaking against bigotry and hatred.


Update: Tangentially related.

A little presidential history

Do you realize that (barring a last-minute miracle for Ron Paul) this year will mark the first presidential election since 1924 in which neither candidate has seen military service?

There was a spate of service-less elections in the early twentieth century, but those were all contests between men who had come of age in the late 1800s, when the military was mostly composed of professional soldiers and it was unusual for a young man to serve and then go on with his life.

Heck, the latter half of the nineteenth century and most of the twentieth were dominated by veterans of the War Between the States and the Second World War, respectively. Every president between 1945 and 1980 was a combat veteran. (To his credit, President Reagan served but was not allowed into combat service.)

Newt, Rick, Mitt and Barack are all guys who had ample opportunity to serve their country and instead stayed home safe. Embarrassing. I hope it's not going to be a trend. The willingness to place one's body between one's home and danger is a crucial part of what makes a good statesman. And a man who is going to be the commander-in-chief of the armed forces ought to have done his time in those forces.

Disclaimer: I never served myself. I paid a visit to an army recruiter in high school, but was turned down because of my childhood asthma, and I never made any further effort to enlist. To my lasting regret.

A chilling thought

Up to now, I've been assuming that the HHS mandate was simply a colossal misstep on the president's part, thinking that because so many Catholics contracept, he could get away with demanding that the Church buy them contraception. I figured it was going to backfire on him in the election. We make up a fifth of the country, after all, and a majority of Catholics voted for him the last time around. Depriving them of their first amendment rights seems like a sure-fire way to lose in November.

But last night, it occurred to me: what if the president has been reading history and knows exactly what he's doing? What if he's familiar with the Edmunds-Tucker Act?

For those who are maybe less brushed up on religious suppression than our Dear Leader, the Edmunds-Tucker Act outlawed the Mormon church, allowed the government to confiscate its property, and denied the franchise to any practicing Mormon. Incredibly, it was upheld by the Supreme Court, and remained on the books until 1978, although the 1890 manifesto renouncing polygamy made it irrelevant. (Incidentally, one of the petitioners in the case was Mitt Romney's great-uncle.)

Currently, the Catholic Church operates 625 hospitals, 230 colleges and universities and God only knows how many charities (adoption agencies, soup kitchens, homeless shelters, hospices, and so on). What's to stop our Democratic Overlords from confiscating all those institutions and using them as building blocks for a single-payer system? He's already shown that he thinks of the First Amendment as legal Charmin. Why should he respect any of our other rights if he gets away with it the first time?

I suspected this might be coming three years ago, but I didn't think it would ever get to this point, and certainly not on a federal level.

As much as I hate to say it, if the administration won't back down on this point, then the bishops need to close the institutions that aren't covered. Immediately, so that the government doesn't have a chance to seize them. If Obama wants to get us out of the charity field, he's welcome to try, but under no circumstances should we provide him with the facilities he so desperately wants to pervert to immoral uses. I know it's harsh to withdraw so much good from the needy (who aren't to blame for this whole disaster in the first place), but if the alternative is to render unto Caesar the things that are God's, then I don't see that we have much choice.

Pissed off to the point of derangement

(Sorry for the language in this one. But I think it's warranted.)

You know, I promised when he was elected that I wouldn't succumb to Obama Derangement Syndrome. And I think I've stuck pretty well to that. I haven't mocked his teleprompter or claimed that he really was so stupid that he thought there were 57 states. I haven't freaked out at his every move and shouted that he was going to clap us all into concentration camps. Overall, I think I've been pretty respectful to the president.

But that ends now. I want that back-stabbing sonofabitch out of office, whether by election or impeachment. I want his name so besmirched that Democratic politicians will beg him not to endorse them. I want his legacy to be on a par with Nixon's. Catholics (not me, but plenty of others) tipped the scales in his favor in the election, and this is how he repays them?

On second thought, forget the Catholic part. I'm not angry on behalf of my church, but of my country. We're American citizens, God damn it, and we will not be stripped of our guarantee of free exercise of religion. Not by Barack Obama, and not by anybody else. If this be derangement, so be it.

It's time again for Cheesy Christmas Movies!

And you thought I'd forget this year, didn't you?

Today's classic is called "Son of the Navy", from 1940. I posted this one back in 2007, but it's worth a second look.

"Son of the Navy" is one of those movies where Christmas isn't the primary theme, but does provide an excuse for some sentimentality that you couldn't get away with any other time. Consider the plot: young Tommy runs away from an orphanage to find himself a set f parents of his very own. First he bamboozles a sailor (Mike, played by James Dunn) into posing as his father, and Mike goes along with it so he can hitch a ride back to his ship. The two of them are picked up by a beautiful young woman (Jean Parker, as Stevie) and after Mike ships out, the boy keeps up the pretense. In Hollywood fashion, the woman turns out to be a naval officer's daughter, and she's furious that Mike would leave his son behind while he's at sea. Now, I ask you: would you buy that plot even in a B movie?

Of course not, not if it was, say, August or March. But this takes place in December, and Tommy wants a family for Christmas. Mike's shipmates are initially furious with him for abandoning Tommy, but once that's resolved they form themselves up into a squadron of uncles. It's all very family-heavy, and at Christmas, you can get away with a lot of family content.

It helps that there are some solid if underrated actors in this. I cannot fathom why Jean Parker never made it into the big-budget films. James Dunn isn't brilliant, but he's competent. And Martin Spellman, who plays Tommy, is several notches more believable than most of the child actors of his time. (Mr. Spellman is alive and well in California, it appears. One of these days I'd like to call him and see if I can get his thoughts on this film.)

As always, if you watch this, leave me a comment and tell me what you thought.

Oh, for the love of God heaven absolutely nothing!

Apparently all that peace on earth and goodwill toward men is just too much for the professional dogs-in-the-manger to stomach:

For the past 57 years, the churches erected 14 displays along the length of Ocean Avenue depicting scenes from the nativity story about the birth of Jesus Christ using life-size figures.

In all that time, the churches have had little to no competition for the total 21 spaces available for displays, because only three regular applicants took up approximately 16 spaces.

Not this year.

For the first time in the history of the winter holiday displays 13 individuals entered the race for the 21 spaces rather than the usual three, forcing City Hall to use a random lottery system to allot the spots.

That process left the churches with only two spaces on which they can put up only three of the usual 14 scenes.

A Jewish group received one space for a menorah and two individuals snagged a total of 18 spaces for "solstice greetings." One person can request a maximum of nine spaces.

To date, only two of the solstice spots have been filled, and both with set-ups declaring an aversion to organized religion.

So they're snapping up the spaces for the sole purpose of making sure they can't be used.

These people are basically civic vandals. They not only take no joy in a festive season, but they insist on spray-painting over any beauty that anybody else might enjoy. They demonstrate their superiority by pissing all over our traditions. They spew their hatred over us and then call us haters for being happy in spite of them.

A Puritan has been snidely defined as someone who lies awake worrying that somebody somewhere may be having a good time. Scratch a militant atheist, find a Puritan.

Ex-gay penguins

Who'da thunk?

Of course, this is patently impossible. Everybody knows that homosexuality is permanent and since animals engage in it, it must be healthy and natural. It's time for Buddy and Pedro to undergo some sensitivity training. The little h8rs.

Immaculate Conception

Mother! whose virgin bosom was uncrost
With the least shade of thought to sin allied;
Woman! above all women glorified,
Our tainted nature’s solitary boast;
Purer than foam on central ocean tost;
Brighter than eastern skies at daybreak strewn
With fancied roses, than the unblemished moon
Before her wane begins on heaven’s blue coast;
Thy Image falls to earth. Yet some, I ween,
Not unforgiven the suppliant knee might bend,
As to a visible Power, in which did blend
All that was mixed and reconciled in Thee
Of mother’s love with maiden purity,
Of high with low, celestial with terrene!

William Wordsworth


I don't think I could post anything better about the Blessed Mother than I did back when this blog was new.

Christians in the lead...

... in Muslim Spain. From Wikipedia:

Saint Laura of Cordoba' (Spanish: Santa Laura de Córdoba) (died 864) was a Spanish Christian who lived in Muslim Spain during the 9th century. She was born in Córdoba, and became a nun at Cuteclara after her husband died, eventually rising to become an abbess. She was martyred by Muslims who took her captive and scalded her to death by placing her in a vat of boiling lead.

Her feast day is today. How to celebrate?

The times, they are a-changin'

125 years ago, it was illegal for a practicing Mormon to hold public office. Mitt Romney's grandfather was chased out of the country for his religion. Mitt may be our next president.

When Herman Cain was born, his parents took their lives in their hands every time they tried to vote. He wasn't allowed to set foot in the same school as white kids. Herman may be our next president.

When Barack Obama was born, his parents' marriage was illegal in 21 states. Today, he's the president.

Yeah, we've come a long way.

Wanna work? Or just a job?

I got my first full-time employment here when I was 20. My boss, John Landstrom (God rest his foul-mouthed, hot-tempered, honest and generous soul), said to me my first day, "If you're looking for a job, you're in the wrong place. If you want to work, I have some for you." Over the six years I worked for him, I got an education in the difference. Boy, did I.

Since then I've spent a total of maybe four months unemployed. I earned a college degree while working 60 hours a week. I've worked two jobs most of my adult life, and sometimes three. I've lugged furniture, pulled weeds by the road, cleaned ashtrays and toilets, and made deliveries on a motorcycle in 35-degree weather, all in addition to working my way up at the Greatest Newspaper in the Northwest™. I support a family of nine at well below poverty level. Some of that is circumstances and some of that is the result of my own choices, good and bad. That's the way it goes.

Here in tater country, growers are having trouble finding enough legal workers to bring in the harvest. (Fortunately, in these parts nobody scrutinizes a worker's Social Security card too closely and there are still Mexicans doing it. Other places aren't so lucky.) Three generations ago, desperate Okies like my Lovely and Brilliant Wife's family streamed into California looking for any work they could find. They found it and did it: dirt, sore backs, indignity and all.

So forgive me if I'm a little short on sympathy for the college-educated, employable twenty-somethings bitching on Wall Street that they can't find a job. What they mean by that is they can't find convenient, dignified jobs. That hard stuff is for Mexicans and Okies.

Yes, the economy is tight. Yes, a lot of the work that are out there is unpleasant, poorly paid and menial. But there is no work that's less dignified than being unemployed. People who really want to work are the ones doing it. The people who just want a job... well, they're sitting on sidewalks waving signs.

None of the above?

From MSNBC:

So what do we make of Herman Cain’s surprising -- and overwhelming -- victory at Saturday’s Florida Straw Poll? Call it a vote for “None of the Above” by the conservatives who gathered in Orlando.

No, you cretins. We call it a victory by Herman Cain. Pushing him to the back of the news bus isn't going to make him go away.

Anybody want to start a pool on how long it takes before the media actually acknowledge that there's a black contender in the race?

Update: Note the wording of this article in the LA Times. Any time you see someone "insisting" something in in a news story, it means you're supposed to disbelieve it.

Denial is overflowing.

And we wonder why foreigners think we're stupid.

In my dad's day, young guys were required to do things like this. But they didn't get to go home in a week.

Lynch mobs of love

As I've said before, I don't hate gay people. True, I have opinions about the morality of some of their actions, which is not the same thing. The few gay folks I know are probably aware of this and don't really care what I think. So the matter never comes up.

Others aren't so lucky. One blogger's expression of distaste for a homosexual display has thrust her right in the path of the gay jihad. Lavender warriors have bravely descended on her en masse (with their names courageously concealed) to clog up her comment boxes with... well, they're gay, so we can't really call it hate, can we? But certainly extreme disapproval.

Naturally, it's not just that one post that draws their righteous indignation. Anything this blogger writes is up for vilification, as well as any post in her defense. By now someone has certainly traced her home address and phone number. It took me two minutes.

But it's all right, because we're the hateful ones here. They're just loving, peaceful people who happen to form a lynch mob.

Nota bene: I'll tolerate nasty comments up to a point, provided your name and e-mail are included and you keep the language clean. Post anonymously or obscenely, and I'll edit your comments in any way that amuses me.

Who could have seen this coming?

We allow our betters in the school system to groom kids for molestation, and call it "sex education." We bend over backwards (probably the safer direction) to pander to the Pervo-American community, and pride ourselves on our commitment to diversity. We carefully sift out any reference to homosexuality and pretend that being a priest is what makes a man a predator.

And when one man made the mistake of stating the obvious after the Lawrence decision years ago, his very name was turned into a filthy word all across the Internet.

But of course, this is completely out of left field. No connection whatsoever.

Mark Shea said it well: the day will come when the Catholic Church is vilified both for condoning pedophilia and for condemning it.

Teacher who fails to genuflect to his homosexual betters...

... may lose his job for it.

Remember, these are the people who insist they're just like anybody else. So if Buell had expressed his private opinion in favor of same-sex "marriage," would he be hounded from the classroom?

Don't be silly.