The Downside of Vacation Time

I was walking back from the bakery this morning, eagerly awaiting that first bite of steaming hot croissant avec jambon et fromage, when it hit me. There were very few cars out on the streets. What's the deal? Is New Year's Eve becoming a big sleep-in holiday, too? Is this normal for a, let see...New Year's is Monday so today must be...Sunday. Sunday! And the mass I would normally go to is already over.

Fortunately, there is masstimes.org, so we are able to find plenty of afternoon masses (at this point, it would take too long to get ready for an 11am).

Fortunately I am not doing anything elaborate for New Year's Eve dinner: French onion soup, salad, pannetone for dessert, followed by cigars and cognac.

No recipes for the blog, though, since they are from other people's books (Julia Child Mastering the Art of French Cooking for the soup, Michael Chiarello's Tra Vigne Cookbook for the pannetone).

So, dear readers, thank you for bearing with my time-impaired fog of pointless observations and useless, recipe-less food nods. My celebration is your penance (although I really don't know what horrible thing you did to have to come reading this blog).

Feast of the Nativity and St. Stephen's and St. John the Evangelist

First, I hope everyone had a wonderful celebration of the Nativity. We sure did.

I was going to remind you to listen to that great carol that is for yesterday's feast, "Everybody Must Get Stoned," (and a fat lip to the first person to point out that that is not really the title of the tune), but I got busy doing work that you will probably not appreciate, that no one will appreciate... oh. I have been informed that it is not considered correct to commemorate a martyr by adopting a martyr's pose. Darn. I had a whole list of things.

Anyway, today you are supposed to have your wine blessed. Don't forget.

Which brings me to the business at hand: our out of town guest has been persuaded to stay another day. The party continues. Serious blogging will resume tomorrow or maybe tonight if all these pikers call it in early and I still have energy (3 am two nights in a row, followed by 2 am! Yippeeee!).

So, please continue to have a merry Christmas, and don't you dare take down those decorations until Epiphany (I told you the day after Thanksgiving was too early!).

Three things.

First, we sampled some of our mincemeat, and it was very good. I will post a full report when it is baked into pies. The flavors are very Christmasy, with loads of fruit and spice, supported by a rich beefy meatiness.

Second, I am now officially in the throes of Christmas preparations. Expect little or no blogging until the feast of St. Stephen.

Third, please say a prayer for the repose of the soul of Jason Brown, a friend of mine from high school and college who recently died of brain cancer.

Here's a thought.

Perhaps people shouldn't name their children after saints, because if the children get canonized, then we are stuck with more of these cumbersome two-or-three-named saints: Francis de Sales, Francis Franco y Bahamonde (or Francis of Madrid), Thomas Aquinas, etc. When we really like to have one name saints: St. Jude, St. Barnabas, etc.

Otherwise the litany sounds a bit like a phone directory:

Lisieux, St. Therese of, pray for us!
Avila, St. Teresa of, pray for us!

And if this keeps up, which it hopefully will, because we hope that all of these folks become saints, we will have to go with something horrible like this:

All saints named John, Pray for us!
All saints named Peter, Pray for us!

Perhaps we should give all children unique names, so that if they are canonized, the Roman Calendar doesn't get too confusing.

Of course we could end up with a St. Aardvaark, as unique names would start having to take some strange turns.

Aardvaark is a really good name, though.

Just a thought.

Your Ecumenical Moment of the Day!

It has been awhile since I have slammed our dear friends in the Anglitic/Episcopagan communion. Mostly since they have been doing such a good job of slamming themselves recently (it seems that you can get an Episcopagan cleric to say something silly these days faster than you can say "Gene Robinson").

One of the funnier aspects of the crumbling of the Druid of Canterbury's little sect is that it is being misunderstood by the secularists almost entirely in Catholic terms, where we have a nice, clean split with one side being the Liberals who want wymyn priestesseses (pheh! phhhhht!), married priests, married homo priests, guitars at mass, polyester pantsuits on the few nuns that are still around (except when protesting, as the habit makes a good prop), vernacular all the time, church in the round, etc. And then you have the traditionalist, orthodox sorts.

We will leave out the various SSPX and Mel Gibsons, since they are really Protestants.

Now, the Episcopagan Sect is different, in that the high church is where the fruitcake infestation tends to be strongest. "Sodomites with atrocious accents." And the ones favoring sexual orthodoxy tend to be wrong on just about everything else.

Don Jim has a good entry on this, except that it does tend towards a lot of handwringing, which is the "polite" way of dealing with Episcopagans. Not me. I would rather have seen all of England's beautiful churches razed than turned into the dens of thieves and heretics that they have become, and I will tell you so, and I will tell them so.

It is not OK to be an Anglitic/Episcopagan. It is absurd, wrong, silly, and evil. Stop it. Just stop it. No crying about this, that, or the other thing. Just go. Give yourself the best Christmas present you can: become Catholic. Leave the "denomination" to fracture into a million parts. There is no honor in staying on. You are much better than that. You were made for something better, like communion with the Church Christ founded, not membership in the Club Henry VIII founded.

And that is your ecumenical dialog for the day.

I Got it!

While the Greek Orthodox Church and the Catholic Church are improving their relationships,these guys could have summit meetings with the SSPX, where they could all wallow in the trough of bitterness together.

Sung, together, in disharmony, with an irritable dinosaur:

You hate me.
I hate you.
But not as Much
As We Hate Together
Our Respective
Bishops, Patriarchs, and Hierarchies!
We really are a bunch of Protties!

Remember, boys, use your imagination! Oh, I see Pulvermacher already has that covered.

Then, after an unpleasant dinner of potatoes, they could play "pin the anathma on the cleric," that always fun game of resentment and nastiness.

On the last two weeks of Advent...

I really like Christmas. I like the food, the decorations. All the lights, parties, some of the music (although "Little Drummer Boy" has got to be about the most insipid song ever written), hot sweet drinks that I normally wouldn't touch. Cold, thick sweet drinks that I normally wouldn't touch. Etc.

However, as Christmas approaches and the level of activity leans towards the fever pitch, I begin to think of how nice it would be to be on some tropical island, listening to gamelan angklung or gong kebyar (OK, it is not just "some" tropical island, obviously), and eating curry. Then, we could return for Christmas on the 23rd, just in time for the holiday.

Well, the cold weather has something to do with it. When is global warming going to kick in? Did someone forget to pay the bill?

Tipping

On my Yahoo News page I see the obligatory article on how much one should tip various people at Christmastime.

Let me answer this for you: nothing. zero. nada. zilch.

Now, if you have some mailman who really goes the extra mile, knows you by name, etc., then, fine, give him something.

But for the letter carrier (very literal usage here, because parcels inevitably end up sent back, because the lazy-ass civil servant on our route cannot seem to figure out the connection between declining service and increasing business for the brownshirts) who has ignored our mailbox for years (two boxes on a duplex. Clearly marked. Why oh why do we need to sort the mail that was all put in one of the boxes? Every day?!?), who delivered an invitation to my cousin's party in October, when the party was in July and the invite was mailed from accross the bay in late May, that letter carrier is lucky that she is a protected class of person, which might be the only thing that keeps people on her route from "going postal" on her.

Newspaper carrier? My normal policy is "bah humbug" but he did send out a Christmas card with a very Catholic and devout religious message. In a neighborhood that is probably 20% Buddhist and 25% Protestant. Good for him. And he has to work for the cretins in circulation. Anyone who has to work at the bottom of the Circulation rung deserves something. I don't know how much, but something.

Barber? Well, if I make it to the Barber (it will be my third visit of the year), then the tip will be my usual. The chances are I will cut my own hair, then get Melanie to make the back not look as crappy as it will after I cut it myself.

Gardener? We don't have one, but if we did, he would have to go into that above and beyond the call of duty range to get a tip.

We are too tip happy, and, while I might sound like Scrooge here, what this does is let the employers off the hook. Now, for a gardener or other independent contractor, it is trickier, because they are reluctant to raise prices for fear of losing the business, but it is what they have to do if they want more money, not hope for a tip at the whim of the customer. If they raise prices and the level of service, they will end up making more money for less work, which is a good thing. Let the bargain hunters settle for the competition.

So, by tapering down on tipping, we can bring back a situation where someone is paid for their work and does not have to rely on the caprice of the customers.

Yours for a tip-free holiday!
Ebeneezer Keilholtz

Judging an Industry by its Christmas Parties

I have decided, based on Christmas parties alone, that the record business is the best business. Never mind that the industry is in a nine year slump with bleaker forecasts, when you have a record label party, there is going to be good music.

I just got back from the Arhoolie Christmas party, which is a great chance to catch up with old co-workers, old musicians, young musicians, music journalists (hey, where were they this year?), folklorists, and assorted people connected with roots music in the Bay Area. The food is good, the conversation good, and the various rooms full of musicians jamming and having a great time are amazing.

Last night was a printing industry party. This is another industry that has seen healthier days. The people are great. Since this was in Sacramento, most of the oldtimers are people I grew up knowing. There was plenty of food and drink and good conversation, but no live music, except for when my godfather did his vocal impressions of various archaic typesetting equipment (if you ever get a chance to hear that, jump at the opportunity. The linotype is a gem).

We will not be going to any newspaper parties this year, but from past experience I know what happens in those: great food, unbelievable wine, good conversation, tequila and conversation that degenerates until the wee small hours. But...no live music.

I don't get it. Live music is easily obtained. It is not that expensive, especially if you just have guests bring their instruments (this probably would fall flat in the newspaper business, though. They would probably have to hire someone - which we did when Melanie organized the thing and had free reign), and it makes for great parties.

Now, part of the advantage of being in the Bay Area is that you can have people bring food, and it will all be pretty good. Some of it will be very good. But nothing is fancy, and the setting is a warehouse and a record store with the shelves cleared out. But the party is always a highlight of the year.

So, there you have it: you want your party to be great, have good live music. The rest can take care of itself.

Laundry and Spam Deletion

My two least favorite chores are laundry and spam deletion from the blog. Neither one allows the satisfaction of true completion. Unless you do your laundry naked (and I don't want to hear about it if you do), even if you empty your basket, it is not really done. Ever.

Similarly, several times this week I have deleted a host of spam comments only to find that as soon as it is done, when the comments screen refreshes, there is a whole new host of them.

At least with dishes, you can do ALL of them and not have to worry about them for awhile. And cooking, when you are done, there is the meal. The cooking is finished.

They Get Weirder

The latest funny search engine request was "recipes for damnation oil."

Is this some sort of anti-sacrament? What does it taste like?

Oh, I know the answer to that one: devilled eggs!

Sorry, buddy. You will probably have to go to a voodoo priestess for that one, but that oil can work both ways! Be careful.

Don Camillo

I am very pleased that Julie has enjoyed the Don Camillo stories. She mentions that Peppone, the Communist mayor, is an atheist, which is somewhat correct, in the convoluted dealings of post-war Italian communism. However, Peppone is not really an atheist at all (and his wife votes solidly Christian Democrat). This story, from an excellent Don Camillo site that Julie brought to my attention, best shows the complexity of Peppone's character. It is one of my favorites from Don Camillo's Dilemma.

On the Death of a Monster

I generally frown on humor, seeing mirth and frivolity as nothing more than nervous noise people make when they are trying to deny the fact that after their brief and miserable lives, they are heading straight to Hell, where they will burn and suffer for all eternity. Still laughing, clown boy?

Hee hee hee. I figured you would be. Kick the thermostat up a notch!

However, if I have to watch comedy, then Young Frankenstein is, if not my favorite, then one of my favorites. So, it is with some sadness that I must note the passing of everybody's favorite monster. There wasn't a bad actor in that film, and Mr. Boyle's performance was a stand-out performance.

In the end, what is there but to sing, "Putin' on the Ritz!"?

The Best Search Engine Request Ever

Yes, this:

calm hallucinations with espresso

brought someone to Erik's Rants and Recipes.

The question is whether or not "calm" is a verb or an adjective.

But I Don't Pay Anything For Television!!!

Two nights ago, in the middle of dinner, I got one of those telemarketing calls from India offering me some great deal on dish television. I said, "not interested" and hung up.

Yesterday, the same company called again.

The poor fellow could not understand how I could possibly be happy not paying anything for television, when I could spend $24 a month (for the first year, and $34 after that), AND get all of this free equipment. All those channels!

Ah, yes, but would I also get a couple of extra hours per day to watch that television?

Yes....Mr. Keilholtz if you are not interested, you could just say. I will not be offended.

Anyway, we had a good conversation, but I don't think that he is going to go out and start selling books.

What amazed me was the fact that it baffled him that I thought that my current situation was acceptable. The script was clearly trying to point out that people are spending too much money on television. Someone like me who spends nothing on television simply does not make a lick of sense in this system.

It is much like when people ask me what my cellphone number is, and I tell them that I don't have one (which is technically not true. We have a cell phone, but we don't use it, never have it on, and have no idea what the number is. Prepaid minutes are great, in that you don't have this feeling of "oh no, if I don't use this I am wasting money").

Instead, be content to know that Mr. Keilholtz is in a meeeting.

Or reading a book.

The Monterrey Bay Aquarium

I love the collection, the setting, and the aesthetics of the Monterrey Bay Aquarium. Who but a complete dolt could argue against seeing giant ocean sunfish, torpedo-like tuna, scads of anchovies swimming around a column, giant octopi, and all of that? And what a great way to interest people in learning about science.

Unfortunately, the big opportunity, which is to actually teach people about science, rather than simply to tickle their interest, is completely lost at the Monterrey Bay Aquarium, where the administration has decided to focus almost exclusively on preaching about environmental issues.

Even in the restroom, where we have little signs reminding us that "Paper towels = trees," the visitor is almost constantly assaulted with calls to action. Every exhibit seems to culminate in a "what can you do?" moment, where the visitor is urged, not to learn, but to ACT, and ACT NOW! Congressmen are standing by!

Look, I am all in favor of ocean conservation, especially to protect our fisheries (because to lose some of the exquisite types of fish that can grace our tables would be a tremendous loss to human culture), even to the point of restrictive legislation and fishing season buy-outs, and all of that stuff that sends the free-market fetishists climbing up walls.

However, environmental agitprop is hardly an endangered species. I can hardly turn around without being told that such and such a thing will help the planet (because being simplistic is what it is all about!), that driving such and such a car is going to make the air cleaner, and so forth.

However, I really doubt that anyone who is going to marvel at the beauties of the kelp forest really needs to be convinced that it is important to not foul the oceans like a bunch of vodka-drunk commies on a nuclear-reactor dumping bender.

And if they do, why does it have to be so insistant and to come at the expense of science education?

What do I mean by "at the expense of science education?"

1. Far too many specimens without adequate labeling, including such basic information on some rather strange looking creatures (is it a fish? or what? Who knows? Who cares? If you buy soda, be sure to cut the little can connectors to save turtles).

2. Lack of range information on many specimens - including a few maddening ones that basically say, "its range is shrinking" but giving no clue as to which ocean the thing is found in.

3. Too much presentation of disputed points as scientific consensus.

4. No discussion of scientific method and free inquiry.

Now, this is not to say that I do not love going there. The Outer Bay, the Kelp Forest, the Art of the Jellyfish, these are all fantastic exhibits. The tropical stuff? Well, it is a good exhibit, but it is hard to see it as anything but an attempt to cash in on Finding Nemo, and the insipid synth-calypso music that is looped over and over and over and over again begins to make the visitor crave a 24-7 construction site, which would at least have some variety.

However, the place has slipped further and further into this muck since it opened, and it is not a good direction for a science museum. It is interesting to note that I have not had to pay admission to the place for my last three or four visits. I could see myself being a tad irate if I had.

What brought this on? I haven't been to the aquarium for a couple of months, but looking at YouTube for leaping sharks brought me to a very good video about shark attacks and the Monterrey Bay Aquarium:

I am Having a Little Problem

With the storm on us, the signals that give me my orders are getting a little fuzzy. Or maybe it is because the #$%^$^&& filling fell out.

It has been in my head for less than a year. I never realized how much under the control of the signals I was, until the filling fell out. But, apparently, the signals gave me a feeling of confidence and contentment with my dentist.

Now those signals are gone.

Maybe I can fill it myself, with some other material (marzipan might be nice), and perhaps can pick up different signals, a whole regime change in The Head of Dear Leader! Perhaps they will have more luck keeping the Inner Milhous at bay. Recently, it has been very hard.

Just the other day, when Checkers, I mean, Amalia, woke me up, I bolted upright, raised my two hands with "v's" for "victory," shook my jowls and bellowed "I am not a crook." Since it was five thirty in the morning, the rest of the family was a little alarmed.

So, if I lock onto a new control frequency, perhaps I can keep these incidents down.

Naw. I will give myself a haircut (and, if you ignore the fact that it is uneven, it is pretty good), but I will not perform dental work on myself. Not even after a generous dose of anesthesia (I prefer this kind from London that comes in a pale blue bottle, with a good splash of vermouth). So this means that I need to sandwich a dentist appointment in with everything else.

The little twit better not charge me anything for it, either.

1 am thought of the day...

Why, oh why do I have this urge to open a restaurant called Sal Minela's?

Hi, welcome to Sal Minela's. The lovely Listeria will be your server tonight. Our soup special is a tasty Pumpkin Ptomaine, and the pasta is a boccilli with tomato sauce.

A Tale of Two Fathers

On the front page of the Oakland Tribune today there are two stories about fathers and the hardships their respective families have had to deal with recently.

On the one hand we have the all-too-common sort of horrible story, in which a man beat his 3-year old son to death because the boy failed to recite his ABC's correctly. The story goes from there to even worse.

This is one of those cases that begs for the death penalty, something that I am finding my willingness to see used ever increasing (and not just because of Sr. Prejean's wretched book).

Stories like this are tedious because of their combination of idiocy, self-centeredness, and frequency. Every week there seems to be some similar story, and it is just about enough to make you want to give up on humanity.

And then there is the other story, the story of such heroism that it seems almost unreal. James Kim's family tried to take an ill-advised shortcut through Oregon's Coastal Range (something that I could see someone doing, thinking of the snow-less California Coastal Range near the Kim's home in the Bay Area). Their car got stuck, the family remained in the car, and after seven days, Mr. Kim decided that the right thing to do was to strike off through the snow to get help.

Wrong thing to do. I could have told him that, but would I have done differently if it had gotten to day seven, we were out of gas and had burned the tires for warmth, and no rescuers were to be seen or heard? Mr. Kim went eight miles, through horrid conditions. He was gravely underequipped yet undaunted, even swimming through a stream (when the air temperature was 20 degrees).

"It seems superhuman to me that he was able to cover the distance that he had," said the local undersherriff.

The loss of James Kim is tremendous, not only to his family, but to society in general. In an era when families tend to make it in the news because of savagery and butchery, to see an example of such total self-sacrifice shows that there is hope for humanity.

We Are Becoming a Culture of Idiot Savants

We have these "debates" over Intelligent Design that paint a bleak picture of the state of the modern mind.

Scientists, who are very well trained in their fields, look at the ID folks and they see a whole pack of scientific retards. One might seem reasonable, but then his comrade will turn out to be a "scientific creationist," which is thinking at such a low level, that one wonders how these folks remember to breathe. And the smart ones in the ID set look to the scientists and see a whole bunch of metaphysical retards, fundamentalists, if you will.

"Science says it, I believe it, that settles it."

As to why they believe what they do about the material universe, this is about the bottom line. Some of them, like Dawkins, gussie it up a little bit, but this is just about where it all ends.

So, instead of debates, we have dimbulbs shouting past each other. And the wagons get circled, and strange bedfellows have to be chosen. Or not. But it seems politically expedient, so they are chosen.

Then, with the wagons being circled, nothing is left to debate, because in a liberal democracy, everything ultimately is oriented towards the mass media. And you don't win points in the mass media with reasonable debate.

Which brings us to this morning's California Report on the The Bloated Pig of a Public Radio Station. They had on a senior researcher for the Kalifornia Mengele Institutute (or Institute for Regenerative Medicine), who was probably chosen because focus groups thought that her voice reflected authenticity and integrity, was asked, "well, if in ten years there are still no cures, what have the voters of California gotten for their money?"

Fair question, sort of. The interviewer completely ignored issues of the what exactly is the human person and how does this all fit in with how the human person is to be treated, but that is par for the course these days. And, when it comes down to it, it is not unreasonable for pioneering research to take a couple of generations for the pay-off. So, it is a slow pitch right down the middle sort of question.

What was entertaining was this line from the scientist:

"In science, it is the unexpected that surprises us."

Really? I would have thought that it was the predictable that shocks, I mean absolutely shocks! us.

Guess what, California? I will not be surprised when it turns out that we frittered away $6 billion on brutal human experimentation with zero gain beyond what will have already been achieved with licit sources of stem cells.

ACK!

Today is the feast of St. Ambrose, and I have a French menu planned for tonight! Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

I know that Milan is practically France, or Germany or Switzerland, but it is still not quite any of those places.

So, the menu must change.

Here's the deal: we are going to our friends' house tonight, and cooking together, so when I make these sorts of unilateral changes, I have to get consensus.

Osso bucco and risotto alla milanese? Getting consensus for that is going to be hard. Right.

Anyway, to set the mood, we should listen to some Ambrosian chant. Unfortunately I don't have any.

It has been a long time since I have been to Milan. The last time, it was so foggy I thought the plane had mistakenly landed in Sacramento in the middle of winter. Except that the cathedral in Sacramento (which is beautiful) is not quite as cool as the cathedral in Milan. And when it comes to the opera house...forget it. And Sacramento does not have its own Rite.

Now, a traditionalist wag might say, "with the Novus Ordo, every parishioner has his own rite."

To which I would say, "if they veer off from the GIRM and the Missal, that is not a Rite but a Wrong."

Pa-dum pa-dum. I'll be here all week, folks! Try the osso bucco.

And Another Thing...

Go out and buy yourself a sharpening stone and learn to use it.

I used to be pretty good back in Boy Scouts, but in the many years since then, I lost my stone, and thought, "well, I was probably good for a fifth grader with a pocket knife, but my Wusthof knives need the professional treatment."

Once in awhile I would use a coarse stone I still had, and fine grit paper to take care of emergencies (oops, there was a stone in that), and the result was fine, but what a lot of work!

So I would go to my favorite cutlery store four times a year (not enough, but when you are paying for each knife, keeping them in really proper shape is expensive. Of course the injuries that can come from a not-in-proper shape knife are even more expensive) and have to use a backup blade for a week, while the dude was "out sick" for three days, and then needed three more to get caught up (local readers who spend time in North Beach will know who I am talking about). Of course when the knives were done, they were beautiful. But it costs, so I have been determined to get back into taking care of my own knives.

I went to the restaurant supply shop and bought a Norton dual stone and some honing oil, and got my chops back up. I use the back of my belt for stropping, and, for the past few months, have been enjoying razor sharp knives, without having to pay through the nose to keep them there.

It isn't hard. Ideally you should find someone to show you how, but you can teach yourself with a book and some practice.

When I am in other people's kitchens, I am amazed at the high quality, yet poorly maintained knives I encounter. One house I know, where one of the couple likes to cook and is a good cook, boasts a lovely collection of German knives, which probably have not been sharpened since they were made, thirty years ago. Next time I am over there I am going to bring my tools and take care of two of the knives.

But I probably won't be over in your kitchen soon, so get on over to the local restaurant supply store, buy a stone and some oil, and get to honing!

One of these days...

My favorite time to do some sorts of projects is "one of these days." Unfortunately, it looks like today might be "one of these days."

Grumble.

Never put off for tomorrow what you can put off forever.

Anyway, duty calls.

As a result blogging should be scant today. However, it probably won't be, since what is a better way of dodging tedium than by blogging? We'll see.

Procrastination is a funny thing, but I don't think I trust anyone who doesn't procrastinate to some degree. There is just something sick about people who get everything done well before deadline. What are they racing for? Generally getting your work done early just means more work (the early worm gets eaten and all that).

I really do understand Francophilia, or at least elements of it.

Ah, the 35 hour work week. How amazingly civilized. It also has the benefit of getting the crypto-and-not-so-crypto Puritans all tied up in knots. The thing is, I would bet that the average French worker is just as productive as the average American worker. Much of the energy that I see people spend on the job tends more towards maintaining an appearance of being busy.

Now, certainly the French fritter away time on the job, too. They have the internet, after all. But I would bet that the sort of frittering that goes with the French work ethic means that there are more productive hours in a week than that which goes with the Protestant work ethic.

Less than Three Hours To Fend Off The Return of Prohibition!

I am going to go ahead and count those who do not drink, but do not try to prevent others from drinking, so long as they do some act of solidarity. I am also going to allow wine and beer to count. So, no need to pledge. Just report in the morning!

Your twenty minutes before the official start of Cocktail Hour reminder...

Well, Gregg's household has pledged five! This is a good start, but we are getting close to the official start of Cocktail Hour, and we have to get 62 pledged cocktails or we are at risk of having Prohibition brought back! I suppose I could go down to Pier 23 and count heads at Lou's, but it would be better to have people make the Pledge and offer the aforementioned prayers along with their cocktails.

You think the repeal of Prohibition is a minor event?

I suppose I can count a few in absentias...for instance, if Old Oligarch were blogging, I am sure I could count on him to raise a glass or two for this one.

But keep 'em coming.

I Really Do Hate Bumper Stickers

After mass today a friend was promoting some sort of "Keep Christ in Christmas" bumper sticker. The things were tastefully designed, and I certainly support the statement. However, I am convinced that even bumper stickers with a good and proper message do more to hurt the common good than to better it.

The bumper sticker is a piss poor way of making an argument. At best it is a harangue, but one that offers no chance of response. I suppose you can go out and affix your own bumper sticker with a rebutal: "Saving the Whales is a Waste of Resources!"

But when it comes down to it, bumper stickers are nothing more than rallying the troops with assurances of their own strength in numbers. Oh well, some people must need that. I am more of a "damn the opposition and full speed ahead" sort. I really don't give two flips if the rest of the world believes some idiocy all the more fervently this year than they did last year. I am not going to be convinced by a slogan on the back of a Honda.

Bumper stickers represent reducing written debate to the level of television political discourse. And that is why I have no problem with the modification of, yes, even others' bumper stickers, provided that those others' bumper stickers are promoting things which are clearly evil.

Fer'instance: Remember when Chevron would print these wordy adds telling about how they were dumping special, high grade oil into pristine waters solely so wildlife could benefit by having shinier coats, and the penultimate line would be "do people care enough about the handsomeness of the Aquatic Wallabee to pour expensive hair treatments into the water?" And then you would get "People Do." Well, this eventually was simplified into just "People Do" which is brilliant.

People do what? Kill other people? Yes. Build ugly buildings? Vote for criminal knuckleheads like Ron Dellums? Yes. No one is claiming anything. People do.

Similarly, the homos used to have a slogan "SILENCE = DEATH" which wasn't quite true, insofar as it was making any real claim whatsoever. But it was a rallying cry. Of course it was, to be proper, done in a particular typeface with a particular color scheme.

Well, that has been reduced to "=". Fine! Wonderful!

All a creative editor would have to do is get some sticker paper and have fun on the computer:

"SODOMY" "DEATH"
"HOMOSEX" "DAMNATION"

etc.

Then he cuts them out, and, next time he sees a parked car, completes the statement for the people.

OF course you are not going to do anything like that. It would be vandalism. And my readers are not a bunch of vandals. Visigoths, maybe, but not vandals.

Explain Me Something...

My desktop Weather Channel thing tells me that it is currently 39 degrees Farenheit. Feels about right.

Why then does it project the day's low temperature for the same place as 41? I would think that there should be some sort of face saving script that makes sure that the minimum is at least as low as the temperature already has been for the day (and that the maximum is at least as high as what has already been hit).

Or is the meteorological cycle not midnight to midnight?

Inquiring minds would like to know.

Wimping Out...Day Three of the Baby Treatment

I ended up wimping out, and decided to go one more day of taking it easy. I will probably regret the decision, but we'll see.

I am now three days behind where I wanted to be this week on a major painting, though, and that irritates me.

Sniffle. Sniffle. Honk. Sniffle.

I am quickly realizing why I don't get sick more often. It is not fun, and it is not particularly noble suffering, either, since it tends to make you a slug, and so it increases ones inclination towards sloth in greater proportion to the penitential aspect of the suffering. At least in me, but I tend towards the slug anyway.

Of course writing is a terrible job for one with a tendency towards the sluggish, since it involves sitting in front of a computer for hours at a time. Painting is a good job for a slug, since there is always something that has to be stretched or prepped or moved or set up or cleaned, and the physical nature of the craft side of it makes the body move, even when one is reluctant.

So, perhaps I need to see the dearth of writing assignments as some special gift. The daily papers I write for are all in turmoil, and I found out that my old editor was gone by seeing a different name in the masthead. Of course that doesn't directly matter to my own future, because I had already been moved from one section to another (which is a whole different story), but I liked this old editor, and I don't think I like the direction that will come with the new editor. Oh well, as they say, it's not my department, no mo'.

So, here I am writing on this (old habits die hard), when I should be out fixing sags in a large stretched canvas. But, I say, it is cold out there, and I should really stay inside taking care of myself...

Balderdash! I have hit a plateau in my recovery. And, as my regular readers know, a plateau demands the gin and cigars cure. Of course I don't drink gin before five, except in the context of tonic on a hot day at an outdoor party, so it will have to wait.

I am serious. Often when we are sick it is because we are weak and secretly like the excuse of being sick. Our bodies are either recovering or getting worse. Stasis is a sure sign of goldbricking, so when you find that you are not getting sicker, yet not really improving, it is time to stop being a baby. When you are getting worse, sure, rest, plenty of clear fluids, blah blah blah. When it starts getting better, encourage it by the same. But when you hit a plateau, this means war, and you will need heavy artillery, like martinis and maduro cigars.

Now, the question of coffee comes up. At no point should you stop drinking espresso, but if you are in the getting sicker or getting better stages, avoid drip coffee even more arduously than usual. The espresso must be strong, ristretto and served completely without milk, which is, of course, baby food.

If you don't normally drink espresso, you must when you have a cold. At least one shot in the morning and one in the afternoon. And it must be well made. Starbucks ain't gonna cut it. Also, before bed, have half a Tablespoon of cognac (and no cheap Korbel brandy either, it must be cognac).

And you must always take megadoses of Vitamin C, zinc, and whatever other herbs the hippies put in the "immune boosters." Half of them are snake oil, but so is half of what the doctors give you, too, so just take the things.

Oh yeah...

Don't tell Culbreath, but we passed through his neck of the woods again, without stopping. This time, as we were rushing North to get to Redding in time, Melanie asked, "doesn't your friend live around here?"

"Yeah, and everytime he reads on the blog that I passed through, once again, I catch it."

Next time, Jeff, I promise. We would have stopped today, but with this storm bearing down on us we were anxious to get back home.

It really is a lovely part of the world, though.

One last thing, before I get back to fiddling with the receiver:

If you live in Northern California, you owe it to yourself to head out to one of the salmon/steelhead runs just to look at the big fishies. Watching a four foot monster swim up rapids is breathtaking.

The Coleman National Fish Hatchery is one of our favorite spots, but you can catch the action closer to civilization at the Nimbus Fitch Hatchery, too.

More from Ali G.

Buy low, sell high, right? Ali G learns a valuable lesson in economics.

My Axe is Sharpened for Baptist Necks...

This atrocious piece of excrement was written by a heresiarch of the Baptist orientation. However, I really don't think that one is made a Baptist at birth, rather it is a lifestyle that one chooses. One's formation might have a lot to do with it, but...well, anyway, let's fisk, shall we?

What if Christian leaders are wrong about homosexuality? I suppose, much as a newspaper maintains its credibility by setting the record straight, church leaders would need to do the same:

Correction: Despite what you might have read, heard or been taught throughout your churchgoing life, homosexuality is, in fact, determined at birth and is not to be condemned by God's followers.

Obviously if you are a Baptist, you are used to your church being wrong. On most things, as a matter of fact. Now, adding to denial of the Eucharist, Purgatory, Primacy of Peter, etc., is this funny notion that homosexuality is "determined at birth." Really? How does this happen? Does God mysteriously infuse the newborn with pixie dust? Or is the birth experience so traumatic that some poor little boys develop an irrational fear of women?

Birth? Ah, yes! Everything starts at Birth. Life, for instance. I see where "Rev." Buzz is going here. It's SCIENCE, dontcha know? You fun-da-men-tal-ists are denying science with your crazy respect for the unborn and embryonic stem cell research, which has so far led to, well, not a single cure, but it will. This I know. Because the Scientists tell me so.

Based on a few recent headlines, we won't be seeing that admission anytime soon. Last week, U.S. Roman Catholic bishops took the position that homosexual attractions are "disordered" and that gays should live closeted lives of chastity.

And there you have it. In other news, the US Roman Catholic bishops reaffirmed the Nicene Creed.

At the same time, North Carolina's Baptist State Convention was preparing to investigate churches that are too gay-friendly.

Does "Rev." Buzz feel a little threatened perhaps?

Even the more liberal Presbyterian Church (USA) had been planning to put a minister on trial for conducting a marriage ceremony for two women before the charges were dismissed on a technicality.

Wow! Hope even for the Presbyterians, who have always struck me as being about free markets and golf.

All this brings me back to the question: What if we're wrong?

Buzz (I am going to drop the Rev bit, Buzz, it's not really accurate), I have news for you: you are wrong. What you are asking here, in an oh-so-sneaky-look-how-this-includes-me-and-is-not-just-some-east-coast-liberal-thing-but-it-really-is way is "what if you're wrong?" And, truth be told, what you are really saying is "you are wrong."

Religion's only real commodity, after all, is its moral authority.

Bullshit! Bullshit! Bullshit! Sorry for the crudity, but anything more refined does not do justice to this statement. Real religion's prime commodity is Truth. Moral authority is built on truths. Sexual morals are built on what the nature of the human person is.

Come on, Buzz, repeat after me: "Ontology first, then Ethics."

Otherwise you get monsters like Peter Singer. Or Buzz Thomas.

Lose that, and we lose our credibility. Lose credibility, and we might as well close up shop.

Lost is. Now please close up shop. You people lost credibility when you signed on with the fallen angels in their rebellion against God.

It's happened to Christianity before, most famously when we dug in our heels over Galileo's challenge to the biblical view that the Earth, rather than the sun, was at the center of our solar system.

Oh crap, I knew you were going to dig this one up. Why don't you learn the details of the case first? Do I even need to go over the minutiae here? You can read it elsewhere, but if what Buzz here says makes you nod, you have homework to do. Lots of it.

You know the story.

Yes, I do. Too bad you don't.

Galileo was persecuted for what turned out to be incontrovertibly true. For many, especially in the scientific community, Christianity never recovered.

No, Galileo was prosecuted for refusing to teach his erroneous theory as theory.

ERRONEOUS? C'mon, Keilholtz, you are not like that Sungenis idiot? Surely you accept a heliocentric solar system?

Yes, I do, but I accept Kepler's theory of eliptical orbits. Galileo was trotting out the Copernican theory of circular orbits. The Jesuit astronomers CORRECTLY noted that the data did not support Galileo.

Galileo would not accept the data, which, although he had been a brilliant scientist in the past and had a correct intuition, made him a cruddy scientist in this case. Just as a scientist who accepts the scientistic mythology that Buzz has bought, hook, line and sinker, is a cruddy reader of history. Galileo, in spite of his papal patronage and church support for his studies his whole career, stubbornly took the position at odds with the data and called it "science."

If that is not the foundational myth of modern scientism, I don't know what is.

This time, Christianity is in danger of squandering its moral authority by continuing its pattern of discrimination against gays and lesbians in the face of mounting scientific evidence that sexual orientation has little or nothing to do with choice.

Buzz. Let's go over something very basic: repeating something over and over does not count as "mounting scientific evidence." There is not a shred of scientific evidence pointing to the cause of homosexual orientation, as the tendency is commonly called. None.

To the contrary, whether sexual orientation arises as a result of the mother's hormones or the child's brain structure or DNA, it is almost certainly an accident of birth.

There we go with that birth stuff, again. DNA has nothing to do with birth. Can you get that into your little, pea-sized brain? And "almost certainly?" Well, Buzz, what if you're wrong? I am getting the feeling that this possibility has not even entered your mind.

The point is this: Without choice, there can be no moral culpability.

I am glad you learned at least one thing in moral theology. However, I am a heterosexual guy. But you know what? I don't chase skirts, because I have choice in my actions. I know some heterosexual guys who choose to do other things, and they leave their families and "marry" (probably in a Baptist church) a younger floozy, and the cycle starts all over again, until they are just too old to bother.

I think the problem is that Baptists don't have self control. If you people see something that is sexy, you want to have sex with it. And it is not the church's business to tell you to leave the sheep to themselves.

Answer in Scriptures

It is. Too bad you don't know how to read or interpret them.

So, why are so many church leaders (not to mention Orthodox Jewish and Muslim leaders) persisting in their view that homosexuality is wrong despite a growing stream of scientific evidence that is likely to become a torrent in the coming years?

Here we go wtih that "scientific evidence" again. A torrent? If you mean that "repeating the same thing over and over without any data," well, yes it is likely to become a torrent. Mostly because a lot of this "research" will come from psychologists who have already settled on determining truth by popular vote.

The answer is found in Leviticus 18. "You shall not lie with a man as with a woman; it is an abomination."

Leviticus! I knew it. Never mind what St. Paul wrote, we have to point to Leviticus, so that we can trot out some other Old Testament prohibitions to ridicule.

As a former "the Bible says it, I believe it, that settles it" kind of guy, I am sympathetic with any Christian who accepts the Bible at face value.

Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, there is nothing left for you to do but convict.

But here's the catch. Leviticus is filled with laws imposing the death penalty for everything from eating catfish to sassing your parents.

I knew it!

If you accept one as the absolute, unequivocal word of God, you must accept them all.

Buzz, I am surprised that you weren't considered too dumb to make it through Baptist seminary. My estimation of the Baptists has just fallen a notch. I suppose you are going to accuse us of "not being able to see nuance."

For many of gay America's loudest critics, the results are unthinkable. First, no more football. At least not without gloves. Handling a pig skin is an abomination. Second, no more Saturday games even if you can get a new ball. Violating the Sabbath is a capital offense according to Leviticus. For the over-40 crowd, approaching the altar of God with a defect in your sight is taboo, but you'll have plenty of company because those menstruating or with disabilities are also barred.

Yes, clever. Never mind the New Testament, never mind thousands of years of orthodox Judaic thought on these matters. Never mind making a distinction on matters of doctrine and discipline, etc. etc. etc.

The truth is that mainstream religion has moved beyond animal sacrifice, slavery and the host of primitive rituals described in Leviticus centuries ago. Selectively hanging onto these ancient proscriptions for gays and lesbians exclusively is unfair according to anybody's standard of ethics. We lawyers call it "selective enforcement," and in civil affairs it's illegal.

So, by Buzz's own brilliant legal reasoning, holding on to prohibitions against murder would be selective enforcement as well, if we were to allow the eating of shark.

A better reading of Scripture starts with the book of Genesis and the grand pronouncement about the world God created and all those who dwelled in it. "And, the Lord saw that it was good." If God created us and if everything he created is good, how can a gay person be guilty of being anything more than what God created him or her to be?

You see, Buzz, there was this incident in the Garden, where a serpeant tempted Adam and Eve, and now people are still basically good, but fallen. We "miss the mark" of who we are supposed to be. Notice, once again, the ontological basis of sin: it is not a rule book approach, but a yearning for a human ideal that, because of original sin, we can only attain with Grace.

But, not for Buzz. You see, God said "it was good" and absolutely nothing else has happened until those mean people came around last week and started preaching Leviticus. No exodus. No chosen people of Israel. Neither flood, nor prophets. No Hell. No Incarnation. No Passion. No Resurrection.

Buzz, you went to the John Lennon school of Theology, didn't you?

Turning to the New Testament, the writings of the Apostle Paul at first lend credence to the notion that homosexuality is a sin, until you consider that Paul most likely is referring to the Roman practice of pederasty, a form of pedophilia common in the ancient world.

Yes, Buzz, that "Roman" practice of pedophilia. You know, Spillane was a more subtle writer by ten.

Successful older men often took boys into their homes as concubines, lovers or sexual slaves.

"...Just as many successful older Baptists today take third wives. In fact, I will be officiating at one of those "weddings" this afternoon!"

Today, such sexual exploitation of minors is no longer tolerated.

Until that "torrent of scientific evidence" comes out to show us that this is OK, too.

The point is that the sort of long-term, committed, same-sex relationships that are being debated today are not addressed in the New Testament.

Neither was dropping atomic bombs. Buzz, are you seeing the problems that stem from a lack of magisterium? By the way, I am not even going to nibble on your goofball exegesis of St. Paul.

It distorts the biblical witness to apply verses written in one historical context (i.e. sexual exploitation of children) to contemporary situations between two monogamous partners of the same sex. Sexual promiscuity is condemned by the Bible whether it's between gays or straights. Sexual fidelity is not.

This is the rule book approach: the manual doesn't exactly condemn this in the words of today, so it must be alright. Buzz, you need to sit down and ask yourself some basic questions: what does it mean to be human? What is the purpose of human sexuality?

What would Jesus do?

What does Jesus do? He calls you to repent and to come into the True Church and get your mind out of the toilet.

For those who have lingering doubts, dust off your Bibles and take a few hours to reacquaint yourself with the teachings of Jesus. You won't find a single reference to homosexuality. There are teachings on money, lust, revenge, divorce, fasting and a thousand other subjects, but there is nothing on homosexuality. Strange, don't you think, if being gay were such a moral threat?

It's there in the lust section, if you weren't such a blind literalist. You just need to see nuance.

On the other hand, Jesus spent a lot of time talking about how we should treat others. First, he made clear it is not our role to judge. It is God's. ("Judge not lest you be judged." Matthew 7:1) And, second, he commanded us to love other people as we love ourselves.

If you turn this last one into a defense of hippy free love, you are hopeless. I am not sure if that is what you are doing, but since you miss almost every nuance in Scripture I do not think that you can distinguish between the types of love. Therefore, I can come to no other conclusion but that you are into the summer of love. Dirty Hippy Baptist.

So, I ask you. Would you want to be discriminated against? Would you want to lose your job, housing or benefits because of something over which you had no control?

As I said, I have control over my actions. It takes Grace, though. I also would not object if someone were to loose their housing because they turned their house into a brothel.

Better yet, would you like it if society told you that you couldn't visit your lifelong partner in the hospital or file a claim on his behalf if he were murdered?

What about friendship, Buzz? You could make these same claims on close, non-sexual friends. Why is it always about sex with you people? And don't say that it isn't all about sex, because if you take the sex out of your homosex relationships, they ain't so special anymore and wouldn't need all the fuss.

The suffering that gay and lesbian people have endured at the hands of religion is incalculable, but they can look expectantly to the future for vindication. Scientific facts, after all, are a stubborn thing.

Even when they don't exist!

Even our religious beliefs must finally yield to them as the church in its battle with Galileo ultimately realized.

No, circular orbits are still wrong. Period.

But for religion, the future might be ominous. Watching the growing conflict between medical science and religion over homosexuality is like watching a train wreck from a distance. You can see it coming for miles and sense the inevitable conclusion, but you're powerless to stop it. The more church leaders dig in their heels, the worse it's likely to be.

Yawn. I am so glad that we have Buzz to tell us what the future of medical science will bring.

Oliver "Buzz" Thomas is a Baptist minister and author of an upcoming book, 10 Things Your Minister Wants to Tell You (But Can't Because He Needs the Job).

The alternative title is "Martyrdom, Schmartyrdom! Sacrifice Truth to Hold on to a Good Position as a Pharisee!"

This title tells you all you need to know about Buzz Thomas.

At first I thought the Mohammedans were coming the their senses!

When I first saw the headline to this story, I thought, "wow! An Arak reactor. This could be fun. Maybe they are backing off on the idiotic prohibitionism, which is really unbecoming on anyone, especially a Mediterranean people, ESPECIALLY those who have great varietals that came from their land."

Of course, they aren't making a reactor that will produce Arak (tasty stuff, that arak), rather they are building a reactor in a town called Arak, eventually to build atomic weapons to force more people into Mohammedan deviltry and prohibition.

Alas, no arak. Too bad. Too bad.

Borat

I have yet to see Borat, and, although I am looking forward to it, I will probably wait until it is out on video, as it is a rare thing for me to get out to a theater. In the meanwhile a friend told me about Ali G., which was where the Borat character came from. I just (on my way out to the studio, har har har, there goes half an hour) went to YouTube and checked him out. Sort of like Colbert, but over the top. Here he is with a very funny panel discussion on Animal Rights:

Made in Romania?

So, a half hour a go, as I was finishing my lunch, I felt something stuck to my beard. A sticker.

Well, that is not surprising, as Amalia loves stickers, and they seem to find their way everywhere.

However, this was not a sticker of a butterfly or a unicorn or any of the usual suspects, but rather a label that read, "Made in Romania."

Now, while it is true that I was in Romania as a little lad, I was not made in Romania, and, furthermore, I have no idea how long this sticker has been affixed to my beard. Was it there when I dropped Amalia off at school? Do all the other parents now think that I am some strange Romanian super-patriot. Do I now need to send out a press release saying that, while I have deep respect and a love for the Romanian people and their traditions, I can really only be considered Romanian in that my Italian and Austro-German ancestry share some common roots, centuries back, with the Romanians, and I apologize for any misunderstanding regarding my Romanianness (Romanianitas?)?

When I was in about the second grade and pretty fascinated with Dracula, I would love to have found a "Made in Romania" sticker. I would probably been insufferable, running around with my Lugosi Bela accent and fake teeth.

Why emailing is better than dealing with people face to face...or maybe not.

I belong to a couple of email discussion groups. There are some personalities that sometimes make discussion a bit difficult. Sometimes, like this morning, I have an urge to write back, "you moron, you moron, you moron, you moron, you moron!" and then a stream of curse words.

I resist, and yet I wonder if I would be able to resist if they were sitting accross from me, uttering such balderdash. Then I have to think, "would they still say the daft crap they do, if they could not do it in the privacy of their own basements?"

Probably not.

But even then, these sort of people would probably still be stuck in their basements, getting even stranger. So, in the long run the internet is a good thing, because it gives these dementos some small sort of social interaction.

My first experience with internet pests was on a Music Theory listserv. There was a grad student (the worst always are) who had something (and yet, strangely enough, nothing) to say on everything. When you would have had enough and would send her a mildly biting email, she would go ballistic and threaten doom and gloom and the wrath of the list manager. Eventually several of us had an informal Anti-Theresa M. Society (anyone who was on the Music Theory Listserv in the mid-1990's will know exactly who I am talking about) that was quite a fun second thread, where we would discuss the topics at hand when the main list was clogged with Miss M.'s nattering.

Now, I have never met the aforementioned M. in person, and perhaps those who know her will testify to a smart, talented, personable sort. Frankly I doubt it. My guess is that her colleagues all hate her, her professors tolerated her only insofar as they could use her for grunt work, and that undergraduates who had to suffer under her dropped her classes at the slightest valid excuse. So, her only social outlet was the internet, with the rest of us drafted as unwilling and unwanted social skills coaches (and that is a gas! Me, giving advice to folks on how to get along with people: speak as loudly in German as you want and carry a howitzer).

Perhaps without that outlet she would have turned into a vampire.

OK, Now it is Getting Silly

At first, I thought it was amusing that someone googled "Was Ed Bradley a Homosexual" and it brought them to this site. However, I have been getting quite a few of these, and I have to ask: who cares? He's dead. He ain't gonna marry you, no matter if you are a boy or a girl.

Sheesh. Find something more interesting to fixate on, like the time of day that St. Francis received the stigmata or the pH of tamarind or how exactly does Mop and Glo work so well.

Maybe I am missing something about the fascination with Ed Bradley, because I don't know him from Adam and could not really say that I have much memory of his on-air persona. I hated 60 Minutes because it was nefarious trash and avoided it like the plague. Was Bradley ambiguous on the show?

Strange.

Every so often I think that I should watch more television, just so I can know what these people are talking about, but it never seems to work out.

Search engine requests...

"Ed Bradley was he a homosexual" brought someone to this site.

I have to say that I wondered the same thing, for two reasons:

1. He was getting absolutely unqualified praise in the mainstream media, something that frequently signals that one is dealing with a poofter.

2. That earring. God Lord, Mr. Bradley, you were 65 years old.

So, the answer is, I don't know, and, frankly I don't care. If he was, I hope he repented of it. Either way, I hope he repented of 60 Minutes.

I can think of places around here where they might do this...

Trouble is, the tax collection technique outlined here would hardly outrage anyone in the areas where they would have a ready labor pool.

Of course it is good to know that Tom Ammiano has a potential career when he retires.

Nerds and Dorks

It just struck me that I know the difference between a nerd and a dork.

If the person you are talking to uses The Lord of the Rings in a political discussion, you are dealing with a nerd.

If he uses Dune in a political discussion, you are dealing with a dork.

Any other sure-fire signs?

Great Walls of the Twentieth Century

Since a couple of my readers seem to think that building walls on the Mexican border is a good idea, let's spend some time this week looking at how good border walls have been in this century.

My favorite is the Maginot Line. The French were not afraid of hardworking Germans coming over to steal jobs (French unions already took care of that sort of thing), rather hardworking members of the Wehrmacht coming over to steal the whole country. So, they built a string of fortifications called the Maginot Line, which was supremely effective in keeping the Germans on the other side of the Rhine.

So effective that there are no photos whatsoever of German troops marching through the Arc de Triomphe, nor of Hitler looking over the rooftops of Paris.

Of course the big difference between a wall of heavy fortresses on the Rhine and a wall on the US-Texas border is that the Germans had Panzers (and a will to conquer, and a recent grudge, and a psychotic neo-pagan leader with a Wagnerian vision of world domination). We are dealing with people who want to come over to work and support their families, which would be bad, because then many Americans might have to stop spending $60 a month on cable television, and would have to go down to being a four car household, and might even have to cut down on the sugar coated chocolate knockers for breakfast.

I love the Maginot Line, however, because I had a roomate in college from France. When he would get out of line I could fix him with an icy stare and say, "Frankreich! Achtung! Remember the Maginot Line! You must obey!" This was good, as it kept variety to our discourse, which would have otherwise been little more than regular questions of "well, Francois, is this a bathing week, or non?"

So, go ahead support border walls. It puts you in the same league as the, uh, French and their noted valor (Best Frontier Defence - Gold Medal).

Especially since this is seen as some sort of job protection thing. Do we get a 37 hour work week and six weeks vacation, too? Well, now there are a couple of things I could get behind.

We would still be able to bring in former colonists to be domestics and farm laborors, though, right?

Because even with a completely closed border, we still won't be able to find Anglos willing to pick pears.

Englisch Dentistry

No wonder vampire stuff is so popular in the Islands.

I would have found someone wearing fake teeth for the picture, however.

OOPS! Thanks to Don, I realized that I did not include the link. It is a photo of someone in England wearing very realistic vampire teeth. What is impressive about the teeth is that they are not perfectly even, which most fake-looking fake teeth are.

Anyway, it was from a news story, and I have no idea where I found it. If I run accross it again, I will post it.

But if I don't you can set the scene up in your head and imagine it sparking a German-accented diatribe against the Godless Englischer.

TFP and Wicca

The other day I had the rare treat of having a great little thing pop into my head, one that definitely is quoteworthy:

Wicca is not a religion. It is a role playing game.

You can even take if further and note that it is a role playing game for stunted adolescents, for bored suburbanites, etc.

It would be refreshing to hear an elected official say this, but until we get rid of the poison of liberal democracy, fat chance.

Anyway, a couple of days after that a friend's blog made notice of a "traditionalist" (actually SSPX adherent, so chalk him off as yet another Prottie who thinks he has stumbled on a church that is more ancient and authentic than the True One) who was whining that the woman he will marry (unlikely) is going to provide him with a dowry (even more unlikely) and that it is a waste of time to educate women.

A couple of days later I got my regular silliness via email from TFP, and, while reading one of their essays on dress (they seem to pay a lot of attention to how people cloth themselves), I realized that TFP is the Catholic version of the Wicca role playing game.

How many hit points do I get for reading one of Prof. Plino's little essays?

But Lord...

But Lord, what if we find a hundred good people in the land? Surely you will spare it for a hundred?

We seem to be getting closer and closer to striking range.

Notorious Homoxexualist Dies

Stubbs died. Let's hope he repented. One thing to note in the obituary is that the writer refers to Stubbs sodomy-buddy as his "husband." That is the legacy of men like Stubbs, one of the worst legislators to ever serve in Congress, and a long-lasting stain on the state that elected him (one of many).

May his soul rest in peace, and may perpetual light shine upon him.

Journalists...

I certainly don't advocate the systematic killing of journalists, but I can understand culling their self-important numbers every so often. The cure for thinking that journalism is the most important profession in the world is to spend some time with them, preferably the ones who went to J-School. You will not find a bigger group of numbskulls on the planet.

So when I read of the International Journalists' Union and Coven calling this a war crime, my instinct is to roll my eyes. Especially when they use the sort of pompous language of "any attempt to silence a journalist must be brought to justice."

Sorry, guys. Often silencing journalists is justice.

Thinking in Bumper Stickers

Nothing brands someone as an idiot faster than a carload of bumper stickers making political points.

It will be a wonderful day when the schools get all the money they need and the Deparment of Defence has to hold a bake sale to get a bomber.

Sure. Right. Whatever. If you want to live in some pinko country where they have more schoolteachers than soldiers, move to Costa Rica. And pray hard that Nicaragua never gets its stuff together enough to invade (never mind that what keeps Costa Rica safe is that the United States DOES have a standing army, and one that is well equipped).

Newly discovered truths go through three phases...ridicule [I am paraphrasing, as it is one of these longer ones], reluctant acceptance, and then full embrace as if it were self-evident." -Schopenhauer.

First, what are the odds that anyone with this sticker has actually read Schopenhauer? Second, there are plenty of untruths that were correctly tagged as ridiculous.

Free Leonard Peltier/Mumia Abdul Jabar

Hang 'em both. Dangerous murderous revolutionaries.

Practice Random Acts of Kindness and Senseless Acts of Beauty

OK. I can live with random acts of kindness. Help an old lady cross the street. Give a lost tourist directions that don't land him in Bayview. Etc. However, there is no such thing as a senseless act of beauty. Can't happen. Does not exist. Senseless acts of violence? Yes. Senseless acts of cruelty? All the time. But there is no such thing as a senseless act of beauty. This betrays a horrible neo-puritan thinking that the good and the true are not always also the beautiful. Practice that act of random kindness. Piss on the car with the sticker as a gratis educational device. With love.

Question Reality

This says much more about the driver than the driver probably intends.

Alas

Rod Dreher has gone back to Protestantism, albeit with valid sacraments. Poor bastard. To leave the One True Church because you find too much banality in worship and too much corruption in the clergy and go over to...the Russians?

Pray for him. Hell is a nasty and miserable place, and the place reserved for ex-Catholics is one of the vilest.

The Irish

I was asked by an Irishman, what is it that I have against the Irish?

Well, first let me tell you that I am no bigot. Some of my best friends are Irish.

Tee hee hee.

No, seriously folks, I am a bit of a bigot. I admit that quite freely. And yes, some of my best friends are Irish (even my wife is part Irish).

However, there is a long history between the Irish and the Italians in this country. The church in the United States was inflicted with the Irish in a very bad way, going back to the 19th century. Irish priests, Irish bishops, and worst of all, Irish liturgy and church art. The Irish bishops combined the worst of clericalism (and you must remember that Italians are an innately anti-clerical people) with dubious theology and the habit of lording their Irish ways over everyone as the only Catholic ways, and you will understand why the Italians of Sacramento begged the Papal Nuncio for Italian priests in a national parish (which we got in St. Mary's, originally a mission parish of St. Francis in San Francisco).

Now, there is nothing wrong with the Irish per se, and this is where we get to the root of my bigotry: another island, one peopled by renegade swamp Germans and Viking spawn. Yes, the Englisch.

Because when it comes down to it, every bad trait of the Irish has roots in the Englisch. Jansenism? Deliberately introduced to the Irish priesthood by the Englisch. Tacky art? The people did not have access to cultivation or education because of... you got it. Sentimental songs about only the rivers running free? Well, most oppressed people do develop much better music than that cheesy crap that comes from the Emerald Island. Go figure.

And as for cuisine, what do you expect on a near Arctic island? Can't hold that against them. Especially when the Englisch stole all the cows. I still don't quite understand the potato, but Melanie loves them, so I have learned to cook the things in a variety of ways.

Now, as for language, I love the sound of Irish Gaelic, mainly because songs in it are incomprehensible, so I don't have to pay attention to all the silliness of the rivers running free.

And "pogue mahone" is a fun thing to say!

Nerd Alert

Watch out. Someone found this site looking for: official kryptonite recipes.

My advice?

Put down the comics books. Comb your hair. Brush your teeth.

Very good.

Now, move slowly. This is going to be hard. I understand.

Open the bedroom door. The daylight will not hurt you.

Now, it is time to go outside. Just a walk. Nothing too scary. I promise you that if you encounter a girl, you can go back into your room, just this first time. Tomorrow I will expect you to at least get out a "hi." Then on Friday, you will be expected to actually make eye contact.

See, that wasn't hard, was it?

Now, let's say this together: Krypton is a fictional place. Superman isn't real.

I knew you could do it.

A disturbing look at the toll of celebrity

Be warned. Some of this is pretty disturbing...

Or as Melanie says, "you didn't post that one with the dog?"

Well, yes I did. So be warned.

And another thing...

I have to applaud The Cardinal on having a blog. I don't know exactly what role blogs are going to have in communications overall, but I know that they will have one (or several).

However, I have a couple of questions and comments:

1. Why the accent mark? The Irish love accent marks. Why? Aren't they a pre-to-il-literate people? Do they just like making little marks above random letters because they think they are pretty?

2. OK, Keilholtz. Why does your daughter have an accent mark?

3. Because she has a Portuguese name, and they are certainly a pre-to-il-literate people, especially after a whole day drinking wine and cerveja at the bullfights. Of course there are literate Portuguese, on the mainland. Islands sap something in the head.

4. And if your wife reads this?

5. She has, for the most part, given up on reading the blog. "I get enough of that in real life," she says.

6. Anyway, back to the Cardinal.

7. Using lol is silly when it is done by teenagers, irritating when done by college students, and out and out embarassing when done by a Prince of the Church. What if the Pope put one of those asinine IMHO's in an encyclical? I know, a blog is not an encyclical and a cardinal is not the Pope, but still. Dignity, man, and I'm not talking about the poofter group.

8. I can think of no worse penance than having to leave Rome to go to Boston.

9. No, Amarillo would be worse.

10. Far worse.

11. Amarillo is just about the ugliest place I have ever been to.

12. If you are from Amarillo and are offended, there is probably not much I can do for you at this point. Get out, if you still can. I'll pray for you.

13. Doesn't Cardinal Se'an have a ple'asant smile?

14. Wow! Look at m'e. I'm writing Irish.

15. No, it's only Irish if it's uncial.

16. And shamrocks.

Happy Feast of St. Francis

Better than getting all sentimental over animals, go out and read the Canticle of Creation. Then go hear a Dominican preach.

Unfortunately I will not be able to hear a Dominican preach today. Deadline looms, the car is fritzy, and the nearest Franciscan church is beyond walking distance, so if I get to mass it will be Fr. Wiener from the Institute of Christ the King, Sovereign Priest preaching, which is not a bad thing at all.

Anyway, have a good feastday. Maybe you should go out and preach to a Mohammedan.

The Spy Who Wouldn't Kill

I think I might write a little spy story for you. Nothing fancy. Not even that good, and predictable. Some people might get what it is that I am talking about, and not, therefore, need to ask a lot of questions. Others will know, and will be made curious. This will make them ask me more questions. Some will just shrug and say, "huh?"

A spy was sent by his government, a government that was on the right side, by the way, to kill a treacherous double agent. He was to do this by catching the treacherous double agent in the act of doing something terrible.

The spy had read the dossier and had no doubts that the agent had to die. He found easy access to the place where he was to do the killing. The guards were friendly, even helpful.

At the moment when the double agent was supposed to do something awful, something went right. So much so that the spy has to wonder about the accuracy of the dossier.

Could it be?

Anyway, the spy came out with the notion that perhaps not all of the dossiers at headquarters are all that reliable. He already knew that several of the dossiers were not that reliable, but he had never found a bad one in the ones he had been assigned.

In semi-but-not-really-related news, I was amused to see that one of the restaurants I had panned a few months ago has changed its name and had a face-lift. While I do not know if it still features the same lousy food, I would not be surprised if the kitchen had not gotten a shot in the arm as well.

Better a shot in the arm than a shot in the dark, I guess. Personally, I hate shots, but I love Peter Sellers movies. So there you go.

Waterboarding

Is it just me, or does "waterboarding" sound like some silly "X-Treme" sport that is indulged in by people with too many piercings and tattoos?

"Dude, Tyler is the world Waterboarding Champion!"

Cool, Dude.

Of course anytime the neocons can turn something into a profit-making enterprise, you can expect to see it go mainstream, so I would not be entirely surprised if we were to see Waterboarding added to the Olympics.

Pay Your Respects...

Now, you all know exactly where I stand on the man, so you know I mean no disrespect by this, but...

Could someone please translate the following into Spanish or English or some language I can understand?

And Finally...A Funny

This is it for the YouTube today. I was just recently introduced to the Red Green Show. Just about the funniest thing from Canada (besides their Politics, their notion of what constitutes "beer", and those lumberjacks). Here we go...

And...

For the girls...

A Music Meme

via Ward Wide Web

Best Title for Music Piece: "Poeme Electronique" by Edgar Varese

Most underrated guitarist: Sandy Bull (those who know him, know how great he was, but, sadly, many don't know of him at all. Check out his Fantasias for Guitar and Banjo)

Music that moves me to tears: Allegri's "Miserere"

Most unusual lead-in for a piece of music: Dizzy Gillespie and James Moody's hilarious vocal improv at the beginning of the live recording of "Swing Low, Sweet Cadillac"

Coolest Name for a Rock Band: Kraftwerk

Worst genre of music: Most contemporary "neo-tonalism" which is air pudding that is conflated with grand sentimentality (imagine Aaron Copland, but even worse).

Best Guitar Jam: Does anyone have to ask this? "Free Bird" by Skynyrd

Music that's ever scared your kid: One of Mahler's Symphonies made Amalia say "ooh, that's scary music" but I don't think she was really scared, but just liked the heavy orchestration and somber harmonies.

National Anthem you love: "Deutschland Uber Alles" obviously. Who else has an anthem by Haydn?

I tag anyone who wishes to do this list.

Very Funny

This is good, a quiz letting you decide what kind of Rad Trad you are.

Courtesy of Wavelet.

Oh quit whimpering you Infidels!

In typical fashion of Mohammedan cowardice we get all the usual whining and yammering, combined with hinted at threats. Honestly, one of the amusing things about reading nineteenth century orientalists is how consistent they are in describing the Mohammedan cultures as being plagued with the "Greek vice."

Mamma mia, boys. Grow up and act like you have a pair.

Funerals...

TSO talks about things that bother him about funerals. I understand his annoyance. Personally, I have given some long thought to what to do when I die:

1. If the priest suggests that I am already in Heaven (and thus not in need of any prayers), I will implore the Heavenly Father to allow me to sit bolt upright in the coffin, point to the well-meaning priest and say "you might just be next."

2. Black vestments, please.

3. All together now: Dies irae, dies illa...

4. When Herb Caen died, I drank a vodka martini in his honor. It cost fifty cents, as almost all of the bars in town had fifty cent martinis in his honor. It was the last vodka martini I have had. So, please. I am only asking this once, but drink gin. Just for one toast at least.

5. The priest should talk about confession. And Hell. He should remind the good folks gently about how long eternity is, and how wretched it would be to spend it in torment.

6. IF anyone dares play a guitar or piano at my funeral, I will grab his ankle during the burial and pull him into the grave with me.

7. Ornate, marble Etruscan sarcophogus is optional.

8. Black-shirted honor guard isn't.

9. No photographs of me in sight at the Church or the burial. Just leave the lid open until it is time to shut it. No squeamishness around corpses, you people.

You got that?

Ah, Oakland...

Last week we had terrible weather in the Bay Area. It started cold, grey and windy, and stayed that way...all day. Every day.

Yesterday Oakland hit its 100th homicide of the year.

A week ago our neighbor, Berkeley, hit its fourth of the year...it was a guy from Oakland involved in shady circumstances (deserted buildings at night and that sort of thing).

A few weeks ago, the week Oakland hit homicide number 83, Alameda, a short hop over the channel, had its first homicide since 2004.

The idiot leftist citizens of Oakland elected Ron Dellums to be the next mayor of Oakland. I am guessing that the homicide rate will double under his administration.

I have loved Oakland for many years, but it just might be time for a change.

No, nothing concrete, but feelers have been put out.

Did I mention that it was 80 degrees in Sacramento when we left at 8pm? Tree-lined streets, family, good Catholic schools.

New to the blogroll

This blog, by a leftist friend of mine who is going by the moniker Carson Park Ranger, is very entertaining. If all lefties were as smart as this guy, the world would be in much better shape. He has daft ideas about the Spanish Civil War, but he is a Catholic and a good guy (not to mention a lot of fun to drink with).

Liberalism and its Consequences

I should know better than to read Bill Luse when I have work to do, but I done did it, and it led me here.

Let's have a betting pool: when do you think that this stuff will be considered "normal" and "healthy?" The weenie shrink seems to be pointing the direction.

Also, since I have been watching a lot of Colbert Report clips, I get a giggle out of the faces of the newscasters. Do they ever sprain their eyebrows?

Anyway, back to work. Restaurant review #1 of the week filed. Yippeee! Now to the Fra Angelico handouts.

You are coming to the lecture tomorrow (7:30pm, with a mass at 5:30, at the National Shrine of St. Francis of Assisi in North Beach, San Francisco. Free, but we may ask you to join the St. Anthony of Padua Institute), no?

Nineteenth century art restoration folks must have been a fun bunch. I bet they never went to work sober. Why do I say this? Find out tomorrow.

I have to wonder...

In this comment and many others by Mr. E. I have to wonder that if he had been sent to an elite school he perhaps would be able to string together complete sentences. There is nothing more entertaining than reading rants against elitism from people who write almost exclusively in fragments.

Of course he is doing it to sound breezy and cute, which might be even worse than doing it because he really does not know how to write.

I should probably be nice to him, because he might be able to give me some good recipes for regurgitated cud (good non-elitist food, so long as it is bought at Wal?Mart).

Dear Abby...

I don't know why I followed this link, but it offers a typically off-the-mark Dear Abby answer, something the old bat did when she was alive, and her daughter or assistant or whoever it is who is Abby now, continues.

The correct answer is:

Your daughter is eight years old and that is the slate of activities she is forced to endure? And cheerleading for an eight-year old? Motocross? Is this a joke? Are you insane? Do you hate your daughter?

The reason little Emma hits other children is that she imagines that it is your face she is pounding, and, quite frankly, I don't blame her. Let me guess: you are typical status-obsessed Prottie Yuppies who are using your daughter as part of your status-seeking.

People like you disgust me, and I don't even like the fact that you read my column. In fact, I don't even like you reading any paper that my column is in. Please cancel your subscription at once.

Creep.

The Crusader State

Go read this from Cacciaguida on why we should support Israel. I have often said that our primary interest in the region is the preservation of and access to holy sites. Israel does a very good job of seeing that these aims are achieved.

Always Our Bishops

Courtesy of Cacciaguida comes this moving pastoral letter. Go read it.

Back from The Far North...

Well, as far north as you can be and still be in California.

We saw a mountain of obsidian, lava fields, caves, a scary volcano crater, waded in a lake at the bottom of an active caldera, watched NASCAR, enjoyed (?) 111+ degree heat, etc.

One stupid thing I did when I got back was to delete a comment from a Chloe regarding Limoncino/Limoncello. I apologize to her, but I have no idea of how I can retrieve the deleted comment. I was in a fury of spam deletion and forgot to uncheck her comment from the deleted. Oops. Into the blackhole of the internet.

I hate when I do that.

More on the Collapse of Hank 8's Little Play Church

Someone asked me, "instead of just slinging invective against the Anglicans [sic], why don't you read what they have to say and answer their points?"

Short answer: Because when I do read their spew, I tend to despise them as people and not just their false church as an abstract. Ignoring their actual words does wonders for keeping my view of them in the realm of charity and compassion.

When I actually hear the words of the Mitred Harlot and her army of Priestesses, I am far less sympathetic than when I can pretend that they are good-natured, yet misguided, etc.

I am firmly convinced that a girl will have a better chance of working out her salvation in a whorehouse than running around pretending to ordination.

Ah the now fading light...

I have a friend who hates today.

"You know that it is the longest, so it is all downhill from here."

He is a physician, so I am assuming that is what accounts for the gloomy take on it.

Not me. I love it (unless it is a cloudy or overly foggy day, in which case I feel gyped). Amalia and I played in one of our favorite parks this evening, until a few minutes to nine o'clock, and it was still twilight. It helps that today has been wonderfully warm, almost hot, certainly hot for those who did not grow up in Sacramento or Redding (hunnert fourteen on Sunday, if all goes as predicted).

Tonight is much like a Sacramento summer night, even here in Oakland (aka Murderville or Potholia). If I didn't live in what has become in the last year a war zone, I would probably take a chair, a glass of single malt scotch and a maduro out front and enjoy the night. I tried it awhile back, but it just wasn't fun. You know it is time to move when you are outside at night and have a sigh of relief when a cop car pulls up to the corner house. And then the #$%$#$%s go and elect Ron Dellums.

Right now is not a personally good time for us to move, but we will see what happens at the end of summer.

Meanwhile, I am loving the weather and the late embers of day that have lasted until not too long ago.

The Fish and Chips Offer...

A few years back a moron named Elihu Harris was running for office, yet again, in Oakland, a town that for a few decades seemed to vote for him no matter what he was running for. He blended the twin toxins of racial identity politics with the Democratic machine, and so long as he kissed who he was told to kiss things went pretty well, for him at least.

He was a grossly incompetent mayor, and the town breathed a sigh of relief when he was on his way.

Now, we have a new mayor elect, a criminal shyster, machine politician, arrogant, cynical, old-style Oakland Democratic racialist named Ron Dellums. To the people who did not turn out to the polls, figuring that there would be a runoff, well #$%% you. To those people who actually think that it was smart to vote for Dellums, well double, triple #$%# you.

He's not my mayor.

Somewhere in the Oakland Hills, Montclair Village has lost its idiot.

Don't blame me. I voted for De La Fuente.

Oakland sh