Monday, July 31, 2006

Yalla ya Nasrallah!

Time to start kicking in with the Psy-Ops part of the ongoing war on Terror, that is, Islam...

Curiously, the one element lacking in this war is the ridiculing of your enemies. It was a given that in wars past, in order to ramp up support in the effort, ridiculing the enemy was important. It was also cathartic.

Political Correctness has put the kibosh on that once hallowed tradition, at least in this country.

This is the new media, and we can all participate in the trashing of our enemies!
Everyone can be a psy-ops agent provocateur. Why should we leave the fun to the professionals?

On a related note, the enemies of humanity make full use of the useful idiot media.

Wednesday, July 26, 2006

Just when we were beginning to lose hope

Could the news be worse for Israel?

Only if you believe all that you read in the newspapers or watch the news on television.

One thing is clear: Everyone hates Israel.

Israel is the whipping boy of the world. He can do nothing right.

Now, as in the past, it's the smallest flame of light which pierces the darkness, the still, small voice which silences the roaring demons of ignorance.

Follow the links and read about an amazing discovery in an Irish bog.

Israel Insider has some good insights on this as well.

Here is the 1200 year 0ld message found in an Irish bog... some people would do well to heed it.

Psa 83:1 Keep not thou silence, O God: hold not thy peace, and be not still, O God.
Psa 83:2 For, lo, thine enemies make a tumult: and they that hate thee have lifted up the head.
Psa 83:3 They have taken crafty counsel against thy people, and consulted against thy hidden ones.
Psa 83:4 They have said, Come, and let us cut them off from being a nation; that the name of Israel may be no more in remembrance.
Psa 83:5 For they have consulted together with one consent: they are confederate against thee:
Psa 83:6 The tabernacles of Edom, and the Ishmaelites; of Moab, and the Hagarenes;
Psa 83:7 Gebal, and Ammon, and Amalek; the Philistines with the inhabitants of Tyre;
Psa 83:8 Assur also is joined with them: they have holpen the children of Lot. Selah.
Psa 83:9 Do unto them as unto the Midianites; as to Sisera, as to Jabin, at the brook of Kison:
Psa 83:10 Which perished at Endor: they became as dung for the earth.
Psa 83:11 Make their nobles like Oreb, and like Zeeb: yea, all their princes as Zebah, and as Zalmunna:
Psa 83:12 Who said, Let us take to ourselves the houses of God in possession.
Psa 83:13 O my God, make them like a wheel; as the stubble before the wind.
Psa 83:14 As the fire burneth a wood, and as the flame setteth the mountains on fire;
Psa 83:15 So persecute them with thy tempest, and make them afraid with thy storm.
Psa 83:16 Fill their faces with shame; that they may seek thy name, O LORD.
Psa 83:17 Let them be confounded and troubled for ever; yea, let them be put to shame, and perish:
Psa 83:18 That men may know that thou, whose name alone is JEHOVAH, art the most high over all the earth.

Now, something WAY off-topic for you on these hot, sweltering summer days:

Expect a line to form when you unveil this stunning dessert. It's swirled throughout with tangy lemon curd, which amplifies the richness of the surrounding cheesecake.

Lemon Curd Marbled Cheesecake

For lemon curd
1 teaspoon finely grated fresh lemon zest
1/2 cup fresh lemon juice
1/2 cup sugar
3 large eggs
1/2 stick (1/4 cup) unsalted butter, cut into small pieces

For crust
1 1/3 cups finely ground graham cracker crumbs (5 oz)
1/3 cup sugar
3/4 teaspoon salt
5 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted

For filling
3 (8-oz) packages cream cheese, softened
1 cup sugar
3 large eggs
3/4 cup sour cream
1 teaspoon vanilla

Special equipment: a 9- to 91/2-inch (24-cm) springform pan
Accompaniment: blueberries

Make lemon curd: Whisk together zest, juice, sugar, and eggs in a 2-quart heavy saucepan. Add butter and cook over moderately low heat, whisking frequently, until curd is thick enough to hold marks of whisk and first bubbles appear on surface, about 6 minutes.

Force lemon curd through a fine-mesh sieve into a wide shallow dish, scraping bottom of sieve, then cover surface with wax paper. Cool completely, stirring occasionally, about 30 minutes.

Make and bake crust: Put oven rack in middle position and preheat oven to 350°F. Invert bottom of springform pan (to make it easier to slide cake off bottom), then lock on side. 3Stir together crust ingredients in a bowl, then press onto bottom and 1 inch up side of springform pan. Place springform pan in a shallow baking pan and bake 10 minutes, then cool crust completely in springform pan on a rack.

Make filling and bake cheesecake: Reduce oven temperature to 300°F.

Beat together cream cheese and sugar in a bowl with an electric mixer at medium speed until smooth, 1 to 2 minutes. Reduce speed to low and add eggs 1 at a time, beating until incorporated. Beat in sour cream and vanilla until combined.

Pour two thirds of cream cheese filling into crust, then spoon half of lemon curd over filling and swirl curd into filling with a small knife. (Avoid touching crust with knife to prevent crumbs getting into filling.) Repeat with remaining filling and curd.

Bake cheesecake until set 1 1/2 inches from edge but center trembles when pan is gently shaken, about 45 minutes. (Center of cake will appear very loose but will continue to set as it cools.) Transfer springform pan to a rack and immediately run a knife around top edge of cake to loosen. Cool completely, about 2 hours, then chill, uncovered, at least 4 hours. Remove side of springform pan before serving.

Cooks' Notes:
• Lemon curd can be made 1 week ahead and chilled, covered.
• Crust (without filling) can be made 1 day ahead and kept, covered, at room temperature.
• Cheesecake can be chilled, loosely covered, up to 2 days. Cheesecake must be completely chilled before covering to prevent condensation on its surface.

Makes 10 servings.

July 2006
Maggie Ruggiero © CondéNet, Inc. All rights reserved.

Wednesday, July 19, 2006

Spritual Interruptions

Christ granting the request of the Canaanite woman

One of the things I would like to state about myself is not a boast. It is a simple truth.

I have perfect pitch and can pick out tunes on the piano and play them after one hearing, including all the complex chords and basslines. This is a knack which doesn't necessarily make me a very good pianist, but it is helpful.

Another thing is that I have memories of my life as far back as the age of three, some centered around scary childhood experiences, and some not so scary experiences.

It would be a mistake to leave everyone with the impression that I have only memories of traumatic experiences and that is all I would write about. Not at all.
Concerning my mother, I have some very lovely and tender memories. I also have some hilarious ones as well.

Things I remember about Mom before 1969:

Lucid Moments

Mom liked to make lemon meringue pies. She made the flakiest crust and most delicious lemon meringue I have ever eaten. I don't eat lemon meringue pie but once in every five years or so, because the taste always evokes a strong and whistful memory in me about her.

Mom read to me as a child. All the time. I have tried to do this for my children. One of the greatest joys was being taught to read by my mother. Before I was 5, I could read. I cannot remember not being able to read before entering school.

Mom always prayed with us at bedtime. We also said grace at dinnertime. She didn't tolerate thievery. She caught me once having pilfered a handful of grapes and marched me back to the store with them to apologize for stealing them. I sobbed on the way home, filled with shame at my first petty crime.

She always forgave, freely. She had a temper, but was never brutal or violent. She never ever used her words to belittle or degrade us. But she did fight with Dad. All the time.

She was devoted in her faith. She sat me on her knee as a tyke and read the story of Adam and Eve, and made me understand at a tender age what the meaning of sin was, and what the price paid by Christ for our sins.

She washed out my mouth with soap whenever I said I hate you!

Once, at eight years of age, when I thought she was completely unfair, I threw a tantrum and was sent to my room. " I HATE YOU!" I screamed.

My grandmother on dad's side was visiting. After I said those harsh words, she came in and gently admonished me that once you say something, it can never be unsaid.
It was a bitter memory, and I desperately wished that I'd never said those thoughtless words. They have caused me endless grief and remorse since I said them.

Mom was a prankster. One Christmas, my dad was trying to put our new bikes together, and he needed his drill. She reminded him it was back at the music store, and Dad got into his car, in 10 below weather, with a bitter wind, and drove the icy roads to his store, got his drill, and at four in the morning, managed to put the bikes together, with his drill motor finally burning out.

On Christmas morning, the last present he opened was a brand new drill! Mom could have saved him the trip to the music store the night before, but the look on his face was too good to waste.

Now, back to finishing this part of my life. When my aunt told my mother that she was seeking full custody of my sister and me, and the state was granting the adoption of my brothers to their foster parents, she became utterly hopeless and distraught.
Her whole life's dream was to have a large family and a big house. It was all about to come to nothing. She was at the brink of utter dispair, and felt she would die. Literally.

In the meanwhile, my father had been driven off by her family for the last time, and it appeared that the divorce would become finalized. He was sending child support checks to my aunt, and that would prove to be her undoing.

The welfare department contacted my father, and let him know that he would be billed for the welfare money my aunt was receiving on our behalf, because he hadn't been paying child support. My father showed her his cancelled checks, and proceedings to remove us from my aunt were begun.

My aunt was an eccentric. Her house was a combination of unbearable odors. Linseed oil and animals. All kinds of animals. Chickens, cats, dogs, and snakes. Possibly there might have been monkeys, since there was a hurdy-gurdy she often played.

In 1968, while in first grade, my sister and girl cousins, with whom we shared a room, all came down with a deadly strain of Hong Kong flu. Our room was quarantined, since the boys didn't get it. Only the doctor and our aunt were allowed to come in.
We stayed in this room for weeks, through the Christmas holidays and it was at this time when the welfare department paid my aunt a visit. They gave her an ultimatum: "Return custody of the girls to their parents or be prosecuted for welfare fraud and have your own children removed from you. And you will go to jail."

It was after the new year. We were barely over the flu when we suddenly found ourselves bundled up and bags packed, standing in front of our parents.

I recognized mom, but who was this guy with her? It was my own father, whom I couldn't recognise. I didn't recognise my own dad.

My sister and I didn't want to leave, since it was the only stable home we'd had for awhile, but we said hasty goodbyes and then went to my father's house and said goodbye to gramma and grampa.

I was angry at this man I couldn't even recognise, and angry at my mom for being in league with him, and all the way to our new house, I wept and wouldn't talk to either of them.

Oh yeah, our new house was in Montana.

We were being moved far from the only reality we had known. In the dead of winter.
The trip there was harrowing. I told myself over and over that I wouldn't like it therealive and that we were all going to die, and even if we got there alive, I was going to hate it. But by morning, seeing the Rocky Mountains for the first time in my life left me quietly in awe. I had never seen mountains in Kansas before. I had never seen deer, or elk. My defiance was giving way to anticipation and wonder.

We arrived at our house late at night, after nearly falling over a cliff with the U-Haul and stationwagon on an icy mountain road, after finding the victim of a car crash on the road, and watching my mother tend to his injuries, and in spite of the fact that my dad had to turn around and go looking for me, because Mom was sure I was still at the rest area. (I wasn't. I was asleep in the back under sleeping bags and pillows, but hey! What's an extra 50 miles in Montana, right?)

So here we were, on a cul-de-sac....the first time I ever heard that word. We entered our house, not yet furnished, but bustling with activity at midnight.

All four of us kids were taken downstairs to find a wonderland of playthings and all our favorite toys. The basement was huge. There was a bedroom on one side, with a large place for my sister's dollhouse under the steps. A toy racetrack with cars was being played with by kids. Four children, our ages. What a wonderful homecoming.
We had our own house, filled with toys and new friends.

The new year proved a good omen for mom and dad. Mom never had another moment that year where she was under the care of a psychiatrist. She didn't need the drugs they'd convinced her to take. She was, like Christ sending the demon out of the child, clothed and in her right mind. The woman I saw at the mental institution was replaced by a mother who knew me, who knew where she was. Who was happy for possibly the first time in her life.

Later in the month my dad brought us a puppy, whom we name McGee. Mom's cat DumDum wasn't happy. But I think I already told that story.

By July, mom was pregnant with her fifth child. She was in the peak of lucidity. She became the favorite mother on the block, and our house was always filled with everyone's kids. She arranged games for us to play, and quickly became known as the Kool-Aid Mom. In October, she and dad renewed their marriage vows. Mom was resplendent in her fashionable powder blue dress which complemented her red hair so well and we had met some new cousins for the first time. It was a happy celebration.

By the middle of January she was ready to have the baby. For an agonizing two weeks, we waited for her to come home, while she was getting over a staph infection.
Our new sister had already preceeded her home by a week and gramma and grampa were with us, helping out with the new baby. Finally, the day for mom to come home had arrived. We occupied ourselves with play til we heard her steps on the basement stairs.

It wasn't her. It was the preacher. "Your Mom has gone home to be with the Lord"
This was the euphemism for death.The other word the grownups all used was, "She passed away". Mom had lost her battle to the infection that ravaged her following a botched caesarian section, performed by a doctor who had never done one before. Her bowel had been perforated, and thus her blood poisoned.In the rush to save her, more mistakes followed. She was overmedicated just before the final operation to repair her bowel, and on the operating table, she died. She was only 29.

My father, wracked with grief, all but stopped living. Following mom's death we became poor, and the state paid for a live-in housekeeper to take care of us. Dad never sued the hospital or doctors. It is the one mystery that I can't figure out. I won't even begin to try now. It is all in the past.

There are times I feel like an amputee. My mother never lived to see her children grow up, to give them the kinds of memories that I cherish and share with my own daughters. There are so many times I would have liked to simply call mom up on the phone and ask her about the care of babies. It is the only lack I have in my life.

I am grateful to have been able to give my children good memories, and I hope they treasure them as much as I treasure the memories I have of my mother.

Tuesday, July 18, 2006

Priceless Kodak Moment

Get used to it, chinless wonder. The wheels of justice may turn slowly, but they are mighty weighty. Oh, but let's not leave
your big sister out of the picture. Oh, I know, It's so easy to forget when you are so frickin' busy with the end of the school year graduation festivities!
Apparently, much to everyone's relief, the chronic shortage of little boys has been erased! Great news for the class of 1384! Seems like they have just enough boys to make it an official war! Hoo waah! but ain't grampa the smart one! If you are a male in your 40s, you won't have to go to war....just send the snot-nosed 9-year old boys to do the work. And where they once sent in all those shining, fresh-faced boys with plastic keys to clear the mine fields, storm the gates of Heaven, the boys have graduated as their OWN mines! The 1380s have proven to be a time of complete modernization for Iran.
But hey, thanks for telling us what your plans for summer vacation are. Be sure to send us lots of pictures! Bubbye, now, and take care!
Major blog-grovelling to GateWay Pundit and the Prairie Pundit for their better analysis on these unfolding stories.
Your featured source for Israel news today is Ynet News
and your featured Israeli blogger for news analysis is Aussie Dave!

Monday, July 17, 2006

The Best Sources for News from Israel

Photo appears at

Note to the following people: Annie and Joem @DiscardedLies, and all the Jews and Israelis who comment there, to Sarah from Beit El, Israel @ Arutz Sheva, with whom I had the pleasure of talking to on the phone, Sarah who sounded so dejected and alone in the world: I wanted to let you all know how much we care about Israel, and that we fully support you in your suffering, and that you are in our hearts and prayers.

Sunday, my brother and his family were having dinner with us, and apparently drunk on the vodka sauce, he let slip his inhibitions and spoke freely about a topic that many of us find too embarrassing to talk about.

That's right.

I am talking about blogging.

He is of the opinion that people who blog must lead pathetic lives, are narcissistic, and have nothing to say worth reading.

Well, that may be true of Yours Very Truly here, but remember:

Necessity is the Mother of Invention.

Without a propagandizing state-owned and subsidized press and Marxist proseletyzers of state-funded universities, there would never have been a need for independent and reliable sources of information.

Without the blatant invention of the news by state-owned television stations and national dailies, there would be no need for a blogosphere.

The revolution in media started in America in the late 1980s with the repealing of the "Fairness Doctrine".

Enter Rush Limbaugh, and a window was opened with a fresh breeze of needed
news analysis and debunking.

Limbaugh is a gurgling fount of opinions that most Americans held under their hats, and his daily program allowed for the release of all that pent-up frustration with the press, the culture and our government.

I know, because I was priviledged to be one of his regular callers from 1990 to 1994.

He was the first conservative to be funny, to fight the lefttards with weaponry that only they thought they possessed: parodies and comedy.

In other words, he ridiculed their ideas, and we loved him for doing it!

Rush ventured out to television, but in my mumbled opinion he wasn't very good at it. His milieu is radio and always will be. He is the "voice".

Following Rush came others, most notably Sean Hannity and Glenn Beck. (My personal favorite of the three at this time is Glenn Beck, but only because he is funnier than Rush and Sean) and of course - let us not forget the perpetually angry Michael Savage, whose theme is Anger: it is good for you.

But now, for the last two years, but not limited to them, a new source for reliable information has arisen from the smoldering carcass of a defunct press:

The Blogosphere.

There are many kinds of blogs.

Those that are the best aren't necessarily conservative. Some are written by libertarians and former Democrats.

Many of the most excellent blogs are written by experts in particular fields, such as defense analysis, law, high tech fields, and of course, why not? Journalists who are actually good journalists.

Some of the blogs deal mainly with debunking shoddy journalism, digging deeper into the investigation aspect, while others, like myself, simply comment on the scene around us in our own small corner of the world.

The Iraq and Afghan fronts in this war are being covered by excellent milblogs.

And the Israeli front is being brought to us by the Israeli and Jewish blogs!

And WHAT a breathtaking supply of excellent writing and analysis coming out of Israel and the Jewish blogosphere there is, today!

The press who used to faithfully flog the Palestinian dead horse of Israeli occupation, Israeli terrorism, Israeli persecution, are no longer finding any willing takers anymore. Pallywood is burning.

The press-generated myth of disproportionate response is a colossal failure, and a prime example of just how ineffectual the mainstream press has become these days.

People who hunger for the truth don't like the taste of dead horse, anymore, and we can now see for ourselves how the press has lied, lied, LIED!

And THAT is a very good thing~ also sprach Martha Stewart

Today's featured J-blog is Atlas Shrugs. Be sure to download the mp3 of Pamela's on- air conversation with Rush Limbaugh, and follow her many links to other excellent bloggers.

I only WISH I'd had an mp3 of the many times I spoke with Rush.

The Hippies are going to get a wake up call from hell, and I feel to laugh!

I hope at last the 60s are finally over.

Finally a grown up is calling this WWIII.

Good. I like the sound of that.

I, for one, would like to see all those academically sheltered JewHaters find an alternative to Israel.

How loudly will they applaud when the Evil Zionist Entity is finally dismantled, dismembered, disbursed and vanquished?

How long will the clapping continue until the Happy Fun Religion of Peace and Misunderstanders of Islam™ then turn their sites on their useful idiots?

Who will come to their aid?

Where will they hide?

Meh. I could care less. Seeing the sharks have at them is pure catharsis for me.

Sunday, July 16, 2006

Bob Dylan Got it Right, back in the day

Whatever you might think of Bob Dylan's music, and I must admit to not being a big fan of his, the song "Neighborhood Bully" is a brilliant piece of truth. Seldom heard today, if at all. It is just not safe to have this sort of opinion about Israel.

Published in 1983, when Israel was just beginning its proxy wars with Hizbullah in Lebanon, the song rings especially true today.

I first read the lyrics at Aish and then at An Unsealed Room, but the song is going all around the Jewish blogsites at this time.

Let this be the war cry for Israel and America.

Neighborhood Bully (from the album Infidels)

Well, the neighborhood bully, he's just one man,
His enemies say he's on their land.
They got him outnumbered about a million to one,
He got no place to escape to, no place to run.
He's the neighborhood bully.

The neighborhood bully just lives to survive,
He's criticized and condemned for being alive.
He's not supposed to fight back, he's supposed to have thick skin,
He's supposed to lay down and die when his door is kicked in.
He's the neighborhood bully.

The neighborhood bully been driven out of every land,
He's wandered the earth an exiled man.
Seen his family scattered, his people hounded and torn,
He's always on trial for just being born.
He's the neighborhood bully.

Well, he knocked out a lynch mob, he was criticized,
Old women condemned him, said he should apologize.
Then he destroyed a bomb factory, nobody was glad.
The bombs were meant for him.
He was supposed to feel bad.
He's the neighborhood bully.

Well, the chances are against it and the odds are slim
That he'll live by the rules that the world makes for him,
'Cause there's a noose at his neck and a gun at his back
And a license to kill him is given out to every maniac.
He's the neighborhood bully.

He got no allies to really speak of.
What he gets he must pay for, he don't get it out of love.
He buys obsolete weapons and he won't be denied
But no one sends flesh and blood to fight by his side.
He's the neighborhood bully.

Well, he's surrounded by pacifists who all want peace,
They pray for it nightly that the bloodshed must cease.
Now, they wouldn't hurt a fly.
To hurt one they would weep.
They lay and they wait for this bully to fall asleep.
He's the neighborhood bully.

Every empire that's enslaved him is gone,
Egypt and Rome, even the great Babylon.
He's made a garden of paradise in the desert sand,
In bed with nobody, under no one's command.
He's the neighborhood bully.

Now his holiest books have been trampled upon,
No contract he signed was worth what it was written on.
He took the crumbs of the world and he turned it into wealth,
Took sickness and disease and he turned it into health.
He's the neighborhood bully.

What's anybody indebted to him for?
Nothin', they say.
He just likes to cause war.
Pride and prejudice and superstition indeed,
They wait for this bully like a dog waits to feed.
He's the neighborhood bully.

What has he done to wear so many scars?
Does he change the course of rivers?
Does he pollute the moon and stars?
Neighborhood bully, standing on the hill,
Running out the clock, time standing still,
Neighborhood bully.

Copyright © 1983 Special Rider Music

Saturday, July 15, 2006

So Many things to say, so little time to say them

It is time to take sides.

It is time to realize that we are truly in a world war.

Some are calling it World War III, yet others are calling it World War IV.

Doesn't matter.

What history will record is whether Western Civilization survives and Islam be utterly defeated, or is it just a given that Islam will succeed because we lack the desire to survive?

I don't know whether or not we have the will to win this war.

It is so discouraging to listen to the navel gazing press interview each other about this celebrity or that celebrity.

And their frickin' babies.

Shut UP! Get serious!

It is even more discouraging to listen to our President and State Department tell a righteously aggrieved ally to "show restraint".

In other words, don't respond.

Enough is enough, already!

It is time to fight back, and it is time to stand with the righteous.

This is a war between utter evil and good.

Choose whom you will this day serve.

As for me and my household we will serve the Lord.

We will support Israel. We will stand with her, pray with her, fast with her, support her in whatever way we must, but this isn't only an Israeli conflict.

Israel is only the "Littlest Satan".

We are the bigger fish they so badly want to fry.

If Israel can be tempted into signing yet another worthless peace treaty, she can be destroyed, one inch at a time.

Any of you taking the side of the State of Vampiria, please note: Your head is next on the chopping block, so consider not being useful idiots for a change and recognize that the world is finally at war.

Pick a side, and if you choose the losing side, don't come running to my house....

I ain't hiding your yellow ass in my attic.

Item number Two:

To those people in my family who have a problem with me talking about my past, put your trembling hearts at rest. I am not scandalmongering, and I am not showing disrespect to my mother. If anything, I have tried to treat Mom's life with sympathy.

I write from my memories of her as a child, with a child's puzzlement about mental illness. I am going to continue to explore this topic, from my memories, and my perspectives.

I am not blogging to humiliate, shame or scandalize anyone. I love my family. I am writing vignettes about my life. That is why it isn't in chronological order. These are just stories about my experiences. I am not writing about your experiences, m'kay?

Finally, these stories all have a common thread. It is this: You need a good sense of humor to get through life. If you look at the billion seething muslims in the world, the one characteristic they display is a galling lack of a humor gland. Which is why they are so damned funny. Not.

Now, if you don't like what you read here, post a comment! That's why the comments section is there. And please, don't go complaining to other family members. They have read this blog and don't have a problem with it. It is in poor taste to not come forth and share your problem with me.

Last Item of the day:

I hope you find this as useful as I did. Implementing these rules will make your writing fresh and crunchy and oh so finger licking yummy!

How to write good

1. Avoid alliteration. Always.

2. Prepositions are not words to end sentences with.

3. Avoid cliches like the plague. (They're old hat.)

4. Employ the vernacular.

5. Eschew ampersands & abbreviations, etc.

6. Parenthetical remarks (however relevant) are unnecessary.

7. It is wrong to ever split an infinitive.

8. Contractions aren't necessary.

9. Foreign words and phrases are not apropos.

10. One should never generalize.

11. Eliminate quotations. As Ralph Waldo Emerson said, "I hate quotations. Tell me what you know."

12. Comparisons are as bad as cliches.

13. Don't be redundant; don't use more words than necessary; it's highly superfluous.

14. Be more or less specific.

15. Understatement is always best.

16. One-word sentences? Eliminate.

17. Analogies in writing are like feathers on a snake.

18. The passive voice is to be avoided.

19. Go around the barn at high noon to avoid colloquialisms.

20. E ven if a mixed metaphor sings, it should be derailed.

21. Who needs rhetorical questions?

22. Exaggeration is a billion times worse than understatement.

There, I think that just about covers everything I wanted to say today!

Wednesday, July 12, 2006


I have been having problems with Word Press lately. I am trying to get my blog rolling on that account, since Blogger, home for Blogtards like myself, is being delisted from major search engines, due to Splog, or spoof blog sites that simply spam everyone, especially those with Blogger accounts. I have enjoyed working on Blogger, and I like the look. WordPress isn't nearly as good in my opinion, with the layouts and varieties, but maybe I should look into getting a site designed through WordPress. The costs are reasonable. It is reasonably priced.

The problem I have been having with WordPress is that everytime I try to log on, I get an error message that reads: Incorrect password. So I try to have a new one sent, and when it comes, and I carefully type it in, I get a message that reads: Error: Incorrect password. This is happening to every site which uses Word Press. And those sites are Israpundit and Hot Air. For some reason, I can still log on to my account at Democracy Frontline. I think that is because the password was set for me by the sitemasters there. Sigh. Someone, please give me some good advice. I am getting all pent up. I need to pianoblog.....Ian is having a crisis with his barlines. I think he believes if he doesn't stop at each one he may break his mother's back. So a 15 second song is taking forever, and I need to rant about that at WordPress.

Okay, I was able to log onto my site after they reset the password and didn't randomly generate one for me. But I am thinking of signing on with BlueHost for a year to see how it goes. Any ideas or suggestions? Any caveats for this emptoress?