Tuesday, December 27, 2005
Shorter Scalito:
"I want a strong monarchy with a tasteful and decent king."
(Via Atrios, I think. "Shorter" concept stolen from busybusybusy.)
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"I want a strong monarchy with a tasteful and decent king."
(Via Atrios, I think. "Shorter" concept stolen from busybusybusy.)
What happens when the catsitters get into the eggnog
So I'd been out of town for a few days and I come home early this evening and greet my cats. Rocky seems kinda grouchy. Which is odd, because he's usually glad to see me when I return from a trip. But he's a cat, who knows what he's thinking.
I unload my car. I take my bags upstairs and put them on the floor. Cat no. 2, TC, has accompanied me. He alertly makes for the bed and sticks his head underneath it. His sizable butt is poking out from under the bed. He seems to be straining to get under there.
I wonder what he's looking at. "What is it, boy? Fire?" I ask.
I get down on my hands and knees and look under the bed and damned if there isn't a strange cat under there. A white-footed gray tabby.
"Who the hell are you?" I said. "How the hell did you get in here?" The cat says nothing.
I call S. "Did you know there was an extra cat in my house?"
Long story short, my neighbor came over yesterday when S and T were here feeding the cats. She asks them if one of my cats got out. S and T say, no, we don't think so, but they look around the house and they can't find Rocky (he's hiding. Cats do that). So they think he must have gotten out of the house somehow.
The neighbor says, well, this cat has been hanging around my porch - is this Rocky? And S and T say, Does Rocky have white feet? We can't remember. We can't find him, so that must be him.
S and T let the stranger in, and he spent last night and all day today IN MY HOUSE. Until I came home and found him crouching under my bed.
When I called S she explained the whole thing and apologized profusely. I can't believe she got this cat confused with Rocky. S said she and T weren't entirely sure about the stranger, but they let him in anyway. Then, she says, they went home and inspected their own cat, wondering if they could identify him if they ever had to pick him up at a shelter.
Luckily, the stranger is a nice cat and I was able to coax him out with some canned food, and then pick him up and carry him outside. I felt kinda guilty about putting him out, but geez. I don't need or want any more cats (side note: I just got a 3d, named Beavis, but I'm trying to find a good home for him. He's adorable, honest. Want a cat?)
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So I'd been out of town for a few days and I come home early this evening and greet my cats. Rocky seems kinda grouchy. Which is odd, because he's usually glad to see me when I return from a trip. But he's a cat, who knows what he's thinking.
I unload my car. I take my bags upstairs and put them on the floor. Cat no. 2, TC, has accompanied me. He alertly makes for the bed and sticks his head underneath it. His sizable butt is poking out from under the bed. He seems to be straining to get under there.
I wonder what he's looking at. "What is it, boy? Fire?" I ask.
I get down on my hands and knees and look under the bed and damned if there isn't a strange cat under there. A white-footed gray tabby.
"Who the hell are you?" I said. "How the hell did you get in here?" The cat says nothing.
I call S. "Did you know there was an extra cat in my house?"
Long story short, my neighbor came over yesterday when S and T were here feeding the cats. She asks them if one of my cats got out. S and T say, no, we don't think so, but they look around the house and they can't find Rocky (he's hiding. Cats do that). So they think he must have gotten out of the house somehow.
The neighbor says, well, this cat has been hanging around my porch - is this Rocky? And S and T say, Does Rocky have white feet? We can't remember. We can't find him, so that must be him.
S and T let the stranger in, and he spent last night and all day today IN MY HOUSE. Until I came home and found him crouching under my bed.
When I called S she explained the whole thing and apologized profusely. I can't believe she got this cat confused with Rocky. S said she and T weren't entirely sure about the stranger, but they let him in anyway. Then, she says, they went home and inspected their own cat, wondering if they could identify him if they ever had to pick him up at a shelter.
Luckily, the stranger is a nice cat and I was able to coax him out with some canned food, and then pick him up and carry him outside. I felt kinda guilty about putting him out, but geez. I don't need or want any more cats (side note: I just got a 3d, named Beavis, but I'm trying to find a good home for him. He's adorable, honest. Want a cat?)
Friday, December 23, 2005
Merry Christmas!
You know, it's a shame I can no longer say "Merry Christmas" with a straight face. Ah well.
No blogging for a few days. Happy Festivus, all!
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You know, it's a shame I can no longer say "Merry Christmas" with a straight face. Ah well.
No blogging for a few days. Happy Festivus, all!
Thursday, December 22, 2005
Subliminal stalking victims unite!
A New Mexico woman is seeking a permanent restraining order prohibiting David Letterman from thinking of her:
I feel Ms. Nestler's pain. I've lost track of the celebrities who are stalking me. For example:
George Clooney: Three years ago, I sent George Clooney a fan letter and now he's constantly signalling his lust for me with a series of coded winks and facial expressions. Every time I approach him at a publicity event or happen to see him as he exits a hotel lobby, he telegraphs "I want you NOW" with his eyebrows. Only he uses more explicit language, if you know what I mean. The mental sexual harassment is extremely stressful.
Angelina Jolie In 2002, I sent Angelina Jolie thoughts of lust, and she responded by getting a tattoo with a secret meaning, known only to Angelina and myself: "kc, you sexy bitch, no man can please you the way I can." Since then she's gotten many more tattoos, all of which convey her desire to do unspeakable things to me.
Keanu Reeves: I once waited outside Keanu Reeves's hotel room to get his autograph. Whereupon he began sexually stalking me via certain meaningful fighting moves in the Matrix movies. When he leaped into the air and did 6 horizontal rotations, he was actually saying to me, "I've never wanted a woman the way I want you. Come and be with me. Be my soulmate, my lover. Stay with me for all eternity."
Jake Gyllenhal: Recently, on a trip to New York City, I approached Jake Gyllenhal in a restaurant, just to say hello; he then deliberately preceded me out of the restaurant and ran down the street in front of me in a sexually taunting manner. I intended to take a right at the intersection and proceed down the cross street and he sensed my intentions and went down the street before me. No matter how fast I ran, he ran faster. I couldn't get away from him. It was horrible. He continued to run in front of me until he ran up to a policeman, at which point I seized the opportunity to dart into a subway station. Unfortunately, he continues to think of me which has caused me great anxiety.
So, yes, I can attest that subliminal harassment by celebrities is a HUGE problem. Vastly under-reported.
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A New Mexico woman is seeking a permanent restraining order prohibiting David Letterman from thinking of her:
SANTA FE, New Mexico (AP) -- Lawyers for David Letterman want a judge to quash a restraining order granted to a Santa Fe woman who contends the CBS late-night host used code words to show he wanted to marry her and train her as his co-host.
A state judge granted a temporary restraining order to Colleen Nestler, who alleged in a request filed last Thursday that Letterman has forced her to go bankrupt and caused her "mental cruelty" and "sleep deprivation" since May 1994.
Nestler requested that Letterman, who tapes his show in New York, stay at least 3 yards away and not "think of me, and release me from his mental harassment and hammering."
[snip]
Nestler told The Associated Press by telephone Wednesday that she had no comment pending her request for a permanent restraining order "and I pray to God I get it."
[snip]
Nestler's application for a restraining order was accompanied by a six-page typed letter in which she said Letterman used code words, gestures and "eye expressions" to convey his desires for her.
She wrote that she began sending Letterman "thoughts of love" after his "Late Show" began in 1993, and that he responded in code words and gestures, asking her to come East.
She said he asked her to be his wife during a televised "teaser" for his show by saying, "Marry me, Oprah." Her letter said Oprah was the first of many code names for her and that the coded vocabulary increased and changed with time.
I feel Ms. Nestler's pain. I've lost track of the celebrities who are stalking me. For example:
George Clooney: Three years ago, I sent George Clooney a fan letter and now he's constantly signalling his lust for me with a series of coded winks and facial expressions. Every time I approach him at a publicity event or happen to see him as he exits a hotel lobby, he telegraphs "I want you NOW" with his eyebrows. Only he uses more explicit language, if you know what I mean. The mental sexual harassment is extremely stressful.
Angelina Jolie In 2002, I sent Angelina Jolie thoughts of lust, and she responded by getting a tattoo with a secret meaning, known only to Angelina and myself: "kc, you sexy bitch, no man can please you the way I can." Since then she's gotten many more tattoos, all of which convey her desire to do unspeakable things to me.
Keanu Reeves: I once waited outside Keanu Reeves's hotel room to get his autograph. Whereupon he began sexually stalking me via certain meaningful fighting moves in the Matrix movies. When he leaped into the air and did 6 horizontal rotations, he was actually saying to me, "I've never wanted a woman the way I want you. Come and be with me. Be my soulmate, my lover. Stay with me for all eternity."
Jake Gyllenhal: Recently, on a trip to New York City, I approached Jake Gyllenhal in a restaurant, just to say hello; he then deliberately preceded me out of the restaurant and ran down the street in front of me in a sexually taunting manner. I intended to take a right at the intersection and proceed down the cross street and he sensed my intentions and went down the street before me. No matter how fast I ran, he ran faster. I couldn't get away from him. It was horrible. He continued to run in front of me until he ran up to a policeman, at which point I seized the opportunity to dart into a subway station. Unfortunately, he continues to think of me which has caused me great anxiety.
So, yes, I can attest that subliminal harassment by celebrities is a HUGE problem. Vastly under-reported.
Die, Barbie, die!
When I read this story, I laughed with recognition, because it brought back fond memories of the Barbie I hanged with a noose when I was about 10 years old. And the other Barbies whom I decapitated. I thought it was funny. Indeed, I was "quite gleeful" about it.
The lovely Desi, however, is appalled: She asks, "Am I getting really old, or are children getting to be really twisted? Or is it something else?"
It's something else, Desi! Namely, that little kids merely want to give Barbie, that plastic slut, her just desserts. Look at her. She has it coming, the tiny-footed tart.
There's nothing warped about it. Children who abuse Barbies grow up to be productive, perfectly normal adults. Why, just look at me - I'm hardly really twisted. Well, maybe a little twisted. But not the type of twisted that would hurt people or animals. I suspect that a future study will reveal that youthful Barbie-torturers are way less likely to become serial killers than children who like to hurt animals. In fact, I'll bet Barbie abuse is a healthy way of venting aggression . . .
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When I read this story, I laughed with recognition, because it brought back fond memories of the Barbie I hanged with a noose when I was about 10 years old. And the other Barbies whom I decapitated. I thought it was funny. Indeed, I was "quite gleeful" about it.
The lovely Desi, however, is appalled: She asks, "Am I getting really old, or are children getting to be really twisted? Or is it something else?"
It's something else, Desi! Namely, that little kids merely want to give Barbie, that plastic slut, her just desserts. Look at her. She has it coming, the tiny-footed tart.
There's nothing warped about it. Children who abuse Barbies grow up to be productive, perfectly normal adults. Why, just look at me - I'm hardly really twisted. Well, maybe a little twisted. But not the type of twisted that would hurt people or animals. I suspect that a future study will reveal that youthful Barbie-torturers are way less likely to become serial killers than children who like to hurt animals. In fact, I'll bet Barbie abuse is a healthy way of venting aggression . . .
Wednesday, December 21, 2005
Some people just shouldn't wear shorts
ever.
You'd think with all that swag, Tom DeLay could afford pants with legs that come down to his ankles.
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ever.
You'd think with all that swag, Tom DeLay could afford pants with legs that come down to his ankles.
While I was out
I see George W. has crowned himself Queen.
Did I miss anything else?
Posting will be light for the next few days - my dainty fingertips are all raw from shucking oysters and picking crabmeat. Plus the Festivus holidays are upon us. I have real-life grievances to air.
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I see George W. has crowned himself Queen.
Did I miss anything else?
Posting will be light for the next few days - my dainty fingertips are all raw from shucking oysters and picking crabmeat. Plus the Festivus holidays are upon us. I have real-life grievances to air.
Thursday, December 15, 2005
Maybe we really DO need to convene a panel on blogger ethics
[Update: I edited this post (and some comments) today - 9/14/06 to remove some material about a specific incident. The material did provide the context for the following rant about how bloggers treat anonymous and pseudonymous commenters, but the material isn't necessary to the rant. I wouldn't normally edit a post like this, but, well, it seemed like the right thing to do in this case. Besides, it's not like anyone's reading this . . . the fact that I'm even posting this explanation probably means I'm taking myself WAY too seriously.]
[edit]
Because although I know that one is never truly anonymous on the Internet, when you operate a blog that seems to invite and encourage anonymous comments, you, the blog operator, ought to honor your commenters' desire to remain anonymous, unless you prominently post a notice that says you will NOT do so. Or unless one of your commenters posts something that is genuinely threatening or defamatory. And by "defamatory" I mean actually defamatory - not just critical of a (unduly in the minds of some) beloved politician.
Now then. I choose to blog and comment anonymously (OK, I'm actually pseudonymous, if you want to get technical about it). I am aware that every time I comment on another blog, my IP address is traceable by the blog's operator.** Sure, I could use a proxy server and thereby comment anonymously, but that's a time-consuming pain in the keester and I just don't want to fool with it. So I realize I'm assuming the risk, in criticizing, oh, say, Steve Gilliard on his own blog, that he will maliciously "out" my identity. But I rely on his good faith and his good graces, and the good faith of Atrios, Acidman, Michael Totten, tbogg, and all the various liberal and conservative bloggers on whose blogs I occasionally comment and with whom I occasionally disagree, occasionally quite strenuously. I've been insulted in most entertaining fashion by Gilliard, Totten, and Acidman in their respective comment threads, but, perhaps naively, I've never feared that any one of those bloggers would post my name or my IP address or call my employer. Because I assume those folks - Gilliard, Totten, Acidman, et al - respect my desire to remain anonymous (while preserving their right to delete my comments or ban my ass if I get too obnoxious). Because it seems to me that one of the valuable qualities of the blogosphere (hate that word) is the free-wheeling exchange of ideas, information, commentary, and opinion. Some of which commentary and opinion is, indeed, obnoxious and deplorable, but hey - there's nothing stopping you from criticizing the obnoxious opinion without trying to cause trouble for the obnoxious opinion-expresser in his real life.
So. Maybe I've been operating under a hugely incorrect assumption about how this whole blog dialogue thing is supposed to work. Which is that when a blog offers what appears to be an anonymous comments feature, one can comment in an anonymous fashion, without worrying that the blog owner is going to call one's god-damned boss. In that spirit, my pledge to you, my beloved readers, is that unless you overtly threaten me or someone else, or unless someone subpoenas me, or offers me a buttload of money, I will respect your desire to remain anonymous. So help me Bejus.
[edit]
** Most of my 11 or so readers have their own blogs, so they know how this works, but in case you don't already know this, dear readers, when you leave a comment on a blog, your computer leaves an Internet provider stamp that may be traced back to you. For example: I've installed a comments program called Haloscan on this blog. If you were to leave a comment here, I could log into Haloscan and look at your "IP address," and possibly, using a free search site, trace the comment back to you or your employer. I COULD do that, but I don't, because a) I'm too lazy - I mean, look at this blog, I can barely muster the energy to post on it, let alone trace the comments; and b) unless you are genuinely overtly threatening, I don't give a shit who you are. I'm just happy that you're here. Even if you're rude and insulting, which most of you are not. May I offer you a cocktail? Anyone?
[edit]
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[Update: I edited this post (and some comments) today - 9/14/06 to remove some material about a specific incident. The material did provide the context for the following rant about how bloggers treat anonymous and pseudonymous commenters, but the material isn't necessary to the rant. I wouldn't normally edit a post like this, but, well, it seemed like the right thing to do in this case. Besides, it's not like anyone's reading this . . . the fact that I'm even posting this explanation probably means I'm taking myself WAY too seriously.]
[edit]
Because although I know that one is never truly anonymous on the Internet, when you operate a blog that seems to invite and encourage anonymous comments, you, the blog operator, ought to honor your commenters' desire to remain anonymous, unless you prominently post a notice that says you will NOT do so. Or unless one of your commenters posts something that is genuinely threatening or defamatory. And by "defamatory" I mean actually defamatory - not just critical of a (unduly in the minds of some) beloved politician.
Now then. I choose to blog and comment anonymously (OK, I'm actually pseudonymous, if you want to get technical about it). I am aware that every time I comment on another blog, my IP address is traceable by the blog's operator.** Sure, I could use a proxy server and thereby comment anonymously, but that's a time-consuming pain in the keester and I just don't want to fool with it. So I realize I'm assuming the risk, in criticizing, oh, say, Steve Gilliard on his own blog, that he will maliciously "out" my identity. But I rely on his good faith and his good graces, and the good faith of Atrios, Acidman, Michael Totten, tbogg, and all the various liberal and conservative bloggers on whose blogs I occasionally comment and with whom I occasionally disagree, occasionally quite strenuously. I've been insulted in most entertaining fashion by Gilliard, Totten, and Acidman in their respective comment threads, but, perhaps naively, I've never feared that any one of those bloggers would post my name or my IP address or call my employer. Because I assume those folks - Gilliard, Totten, Acidman, et al - respect my desire to remain anonymous (while preserving their right to delete my comments or ban my ass if I get too obnoxious). Because it seems to me that one of the valuable qualities of the blogosphere (hate that word) is the free-wheeling exchange of ideas, information, commentary, and opinion. Some of which commentary and opinion is, indeed, obnoxious and deplorable, but hey - there's nothing stopping you from criticizing the obnoxious opinion without trying to cause trouble for the obnoxious opinion-expresser in his real life.
So. Maybe I've been operating under a hugely incorrect assumption about how this whole blog dialogue thing is supposed to work. Which is that when a blog offers what appears to be an anonymous comments feature, one can comment in an anonymous fashion, without worrying that the blog owner is going to call one's god-damned boss. In that spirit, my pledge to you, my beloved readers, is that unless you overtly threaten me or someone else, or unless someone subpoenas me, or offers me a buttload of money, I will respect your desire to remain anonymous. So help me Bejus.
[edit]
** Most of my 11 or so readers have their own blogs, so they know how this works, but in case you don't already know this, dear readers, when you leave a comment on a blog, your computer leaves an Internet provider stamp that may be traced back to you. For example: I've installed a comments program called Haloscan on this blog. If you were to leave a comment here, I could log into Haloscan and look at your "IP address," and possibly, using a free search site, trace the comment back to you or your employer. I COULD do that, but I don't, because a) I'm too lazy - I mean, look at this blog, I can barely muster the energy to post on it, let alone trace the comments; and b) unless you are genuinely overtly threatening, I don't give a shit who you are. I'm just happy that you're here. Even if you're rude and insulting, which most of you are not. May I offer you a cocktail? Anyone?
[edit]
Tuesday, December 13, 2005
I hate to admit it but
This guy is kinda funny . . . for a wingnut. A bit too much scrolling involved on his blog. Made me seasick. But this cracked me up.
Courtesy of the batshit-insane Dennis the Peasant.
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This guy is kinda funny . . . for a wingnut. A bit too much scrolling involved on his blog. Made me seasick. But this cracked me up.
Courtesy of the batshit-insane Dennis the Peasant.
Monday, December 12, 2005
Jesus wept!
(cross-posted at Distance)
Digby:
Amen! Preach it, Brother Digby!
I'd like to ignore this phony war-on-Christmas horseshit, but it's everywhere. Infesting the pages of my local papers, as lemming-like O'Reilly followers and AFA members write indignant letters to complain about the campaign to "take Christmas away" from them. Legions of them patrol the malls, looking for an excuse to take offense. If O'Reilly, Don and Tim Wildmon and John Gibson had any decency they'd be ashamed at what they're doing: Taking a season for celebrating peace and good will and turning it into a season of belligerence, combativeness, and rage. Very Christ-like of you, fellas.
The Sun News dutifully sent a pair of its crackerjack reporters out in the trenches to report on this ginned-up controversy:
You can have his Christmas when you pry it from his cold dead fingers!
Go ahead, burn her at the stake, secularists! This courageous woman will laugh and sing Christmas carols in the flames!
Like you have any.
And the letters sections of the papers have become, even more than usual, a wellspring of dumb-assery:
So much dumb-assery that The State had to create a separate page to hold it all. Samples:
[That's because you're a moron, sir. With all due respect.]
[Consult your physician.]
[Only if you're, well, a moron.]
Bob Somerby says, it just doesn't get any dumber than this. I'd like to think that was true. But I have the feeling it's going to get a lot dumber, and a lot uglier, before it's over.
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(cross-posted at Distance)
Digby:
I'm not religious but I've always loved Christmas --- the food, the lights, the tree, the music, the whole thing. Now the right wing pricks have gone and made it a cause in their goddamned culture war and I can't enjoy it anymore. One sniff of fruitcake and a picture of Bill O'Reilly enters my mind. I'm instantly nauseated.
Everywhere I go, even here in the very heart of godless secular humanism, the People's Republic of Santa Monica, there are carolers on the sidewalk (singing songs like "Oh Holy Night" no less) "Merry Christmas" is written on store windows, decorated trees and twinkling lights are all over the place. And all I can think is "what in the hell are these wingnuts going on about? Christmas is everywhere! Are they nuts???" And then the pure, simple, childlike enjoyment I usually feel for the holiday just slips away.
I resent the hell out of these wingnut bastards turning Christmas into a political football. Is nothing sacred to these people?
Amen! Preach it, Brother Digby!
I'd like to ignore this phony war-on-Christmas horseshit, but it's everywhere. Infesting the pages of my local papers, as lemming-like O'Reilly followers and AFA members write indignant letters to complain about the campaign to "take Christmas away" from them. Legions of them patrol the malls, looking for an excuse to take offense. If O'Reilly, Don and Tim Wildmon and John Gibson had any decency they'd be ashamed at what they're doing: Taking a season for celebrating peace and good will and turning it into a season of belligerence, combativeness, and rage. Very Christ-like of you, fellas.
The Sun News dutifully sent a pair of its crackerjack reporters out in the trenches to report on this ginned-up controversy:
Forget jolly.
'Tis the time to make much ado about what to call the season.
A debate is playing out locally and nationally on radio and TV call-in shows, online message boards and newspaper editorial pages about the word "Christmas" being included or excluded in retail advertising, the White House holiday card, parades, tree lighting ceremonies and seasonal salutations.
For some, the exclusion of "Christmas" is an effort to dismiss the traditional celebration of a majority of the nation. Believers of other faiths and nonreligious folks see phrases such as "Happy Holidays" as more inclusive and respectful of all beliefs.
Advocacy groups are campaigning to steer shoppers away from retailers and products not using "Christmas" in advertisements.
The American Family Association's Web site, www.afa.net, urges shoppers to boycott companies on its list that have excluded the word "Christmas" from their retail ads, TV commercials and in-store promotions.
The Rev. Mitchell Livingston, pastor of Foundations Forever International Church in Little River, signed a petition on the Web site and has called the corporate offices of major retailers to voice his displeasure.
"[Some businesses] are trying to appease everyone, and that's fine with me," Livingston said. "But don't take my Christmas away from me. I don't care if you don't believe in Jesus Christ, but I do."
You can have his Christmas when you pry it from his cold dead fingers!
The Rev. Windy Price, pastor at Atlantic Beach Christian Methodist Episcopal Mission Church, doesn't let political correctness get in her way when she shops.
"When I go into stores and they tell me 'happy holiday' or 'season greetings,' I always say 'Merry Christmas,'" Price said.
"I don't care what they say, I refuse to be moved."
Go ahead, burn her at the stake, secularists! This courageous woman will laugh and sing Christmas carols in the flames!
Surfside Beach hosted a Christmas parade Saturday. Town officials have not discussed changing the name of parade or other events, said Town Administrator Clyde Merryman. "It concerns me deeply that we're trying to do away with a lot of traditions in our country," Merryman said.
"This is the Christmas season in our country. I'm very firmly in support that this is the Christmas season in the United States. That in no way should this be demeaning to personal friends of mine who are of the Muslim or Jewish faith."
Like you have any.
And the letters sections of the papers have become, even more than usual, a wellspring of dumb-assery:
I am saddened by the removal of "Christ" from Christmas throughout this great country.
We are 85 percent Christian, yet more and more we see stores eliminating the word "Christmas" from their signs and displays and replacing it with "holiday." I know of only a couple of stores still calling this wonderful time of year Christmas: J.C. Penney and Dillards. They will get all of my shopping dollars this year.
Most of the well-known discount stores have eliminated "Christ" from Christmas (political correctness out of control). One has forbidden The Salvation Army from its entrance. How awful.
If my devout Christian Grandpa Stanton, who passed away 50 years ago, were alive today, he would think he was in a foreign country instead of the good old U.S.A. [In 1897, The New York Sun] made a famous statement to a child, "Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus." Today, a more profound and true statement might be said, "Yes, Virginia, there really is Christ in Christmas." God bless you all.
D.A.P.
Myrtle Beach
So much dumb-assery that The State had to create a separate page to hold it all. Samples:
We have all been told to be politically correct about everything we say and do these days. The retail giants are removing Christmas from their stores; it is now a “holiday” time of year. Lowe’s is selling holiday trees!
I read through the huge amount of sale papers after Thanksgiving, and every large business is killing Christmas. Target is one of the worst ones, but thankfully a graphic artist was able to slip in one little ad for “Christmas Kids.”
Have the majority of us just decided to let others handle the fight? Let’s put “Christ” back in Christmas. We are letting a few make the decisions for the majority.
R.S.
Columbia
I read an advertisement in your paper for people to buy “holiday trees” this year instead of Christmas trees. I get confused when I read this kind of advertisement because I do not know which “holiday” they are talking about.
[That's because you're a moron, sir. With all due respect.]
Should I buy a Labor Day holiday tree or a Memorial Day holiday tree or one for another holiday? I never used to have this problem; for 60 years, I always bought a Christmas tree this time of year.
[Consult your physician.]
So, it looks like I will search in your newspaper for a business that sells Christmas trees and purchase one there. I will take it home and get out the old Christmas tree decorations and proceed to for another year have a beautiful Christmas tree that is worthy of being part of the celebration of the birthday of Jesus Christ.
I suppose the people who just buy “holiday trees” will have it as part of their celebration, but what are they celebrating this time of year? Confusing isn’t it?
[Only if you're, well, a moron.]
Oh well. Merry Christmas, everyone!
E.N.
Lexington
Bob Somerby says, it just doesn't get any dumber than this. I'd like to think that was true. But I have the feeling it's going to get a lot dumber, and a lot uglier, before it's over.
Wednesday, December 07, 2005
Fellas, do you cry at the movies?
Don't be ashamed to admit it. Even alpha male Velociman confesses to it.
My former fie-ance used to cry during "Field of Dreams," every time (yeah, there were plenty of times). During the scene where the dad-ghost appears and Kevin Costner says, "you wannna catch?" (or however it went).
Every time he started crying, I would start laughing. I guess that's one of the reasons why we're exes now . . .
The movie scene that makes me tear up, every time I see it, is in "Terms of Endearment," where Debra Winger is in the hospital dying of cancer, and her young sons come in the room to see her for the last time. And the youngest son is sobbing, but the older son is angry at the mom and he's also at that snot-nosed age where he can't show any emotion other than sullen-ness and he's all surly and resentful and will barely even look at his mom. And Debra Winger tells him, fiercely, "You love me. You know you do." And tells him not to feel guilty when he gets older. It's such a great distillation of the essence of motherly love that it makes me boo-hoo every time.
You would laugh at me if you saw me watching that scene . . .
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Don't be ashamed to admit it. Even alpha male Velociman confesses to it.
My former fie-ance used to cry during "Field of Dreams," every time (yeah, there were plenty of times). During the scene where the dad-ghost appears and Kevin Costner says, "you wannna catch?" (or however it went).
Every time he started crying, I would start laughing. I guess that's one of the reasons why we're exes now . . .
The movie scene that makes me tear up, every time I see it, is in "Terms of Endearment," where Debra Winger is in the hospital dying of cancer, and her young sons come in the room to see her for the last time. And the youngest son is sobbing, but the older son is angry at the mom and he's also at that snot-nosed age where he can't show any emotion other than sullen-ness and he's all surly and resentful and will barely even look at his mom. And Debra Winger tells him, fiercely, "You love me. You know you do." And tells him not to feel guilty when he gets older. It's such a great distillation of the essence of motherly love that it makes me boo-hoo every time.
You would laugh at me if you saw me watching that scene . . .
Tuesday, December 06, 2005
Death to the great Santa!
If I hadn't been AWOL for the past two weeks, I coulda posted about the Great War on Christmas before it was done to death. But no. Serves me right.
Anyway: Nothing says "peace on Earth, good will to men" like bearing false witness:
How . . . Christian!
Mr. O'Reilly added, "You're on my list."
I must take issue with Mr. Haynes, as I have found evidence of anti-Christmas bias going way back. Old Hollywood movies prove my point. Take the Bing Crosby movie "Holiday Inn," which aired on AMC earlier this evening. I suppose "Christmas Inn" would have been too devout for the depraved likes of Crosby. And "It's a Wonderful Life" - why no mention of the birth of Christ in the title? Because the anal-sex-loving secular Jews of Hollywood had already declared war on Christmas, that's why.
Via Blondesense, Miss Betty Bowers has helpful tips for dealing with anal-sex-loving baby-Bejus-hating liberals during the holi - I mean, Christmas season.
Have a blessed Christmas! Or else!
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If I hadn't been AWOL for the past two weeks, I coulda posted about the Great War on Christmas before it was done to death. But no. Serves me right.
Anyway: Nothing says "peace on Earth, good will to men" like bearing false witness:
BY JOHN RILEY. STAFF WRITER
Last Tuesday, the Alliance Defense Fund - a Christian legal group founded by religious-right minister James Dobson - posted on its Web site a letter and news release warning the Jackson County, Ga., schools to lay off Christmas. The group said it had learned that the 6,000-student district northeast of Atlanta prohibited teachers from wearing angel pins, banned references to a "Christmas" party, removed some Christmas songs from a seasonal concert, took the word "God" out of another song, prohibited classroom Bibles and art with angels or nativity scenes, and banned the greeting "Merry Christmas."
The Christian law group offered to educate the school system about religious rights. But, warned senior counsel David Cortman, "When necessary, we litigate these issues."
Within 24 hours, Superintendent Andy Byars had digested the faxed letter - along with a small flood of incensed e-mail from around the Internet denouncing, sometimes in offensive terms, his schools. His head was spinning because, he said, almost none of the claims were district policy. "They could have picked up the phone and said, 'Could you respond?'" Byars said. "Instead, they sent out erroneous information."
How . . . Christian!
Told of the e-mail by Newsday on Friday, the district checked and said the principal, in her first year on the job, had received staff complaints about it before Alliance stepped in and had already been told to ease up - little cross or angel pins were fine. Bibles, the district says, can be used in Christmas lessons - they just can't be put on permanent, decorative "display."
Administrators haven't figured out the basis of the other complaints, but say they have been jarred by the emotion Alliance's release triggered. "You are either bigoted Jews who hate Christians or mindless secularists," noted one anonymous e-mail. " ... Go live in Israel."
Mr. O'Reilly added, "You're on my list."
Charles Haynes, a religion expert at the education group First Amendment Center in Washington, says the prominence of the issue among conservatives is part of a long-term shift.
Shift toward secular
Fifty years ago, he says, nativity scenes or religious carols in schools didn't even raise eyebrows. But legal rulings and increased religious diversity pushed norms toward more secular treatments and efforts at "inclusiveness." That shift, he believes, has triggered a deep anger.
I must take issue with Mr. Haynes, as I have found evidence of anti-Christmas bias going way back. Old Hollywood movies prove my point. Take the Bing Crosby movie "Holiday Inn," which aired on AMC earlier this evening. I suppose "Christmas Inn" would have been too devout for the depraved likes of Crosby. And "It's a Wonderful Life" - why no mention of the birth of Christ in the title? Because the anal-sex-loving secular Jews of Hollywood had already declared war on Christmas, that's why.
Via Blondesense, Miss Betty Bowers has helpful tips for dealing with anal-sex-loving baby-Bejus-hating liberals during the holi - I mean, Christmas season.
Have a blessed Christmas! Or else!
Sorry, sorry!
Apologies for the paucity of posts. I've been, ah, competing with geor3ge for the title of Most Infrequently Updated Blog. I'm pretty sure that's one of the Koufax Awards categories. If not, it oughta be.
Blogging here will be pretty light all month. Social whirl, and all. Busy. Shopping in the name of CHRIST!
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Apologies for the paucity of posts. I've been, ah, competing with geor3ge for the title of Most Infrequently Updated Blog. I'm pretty sure that's one of the Koufax Awards categories. If not, it oughta be.
Blogging here will be pretty light all month. Social whirl, and all. Busy. Shopping in the name of CHRIST!
