Thursday, December 18, 2008


We went to the youngun's school Christmas program last night. I think it had to be one of the most depressing Christmas programs I'd ever been to. The first song, 'Snowplow', consisted of the 5th and 6th grade Strings Orchestra sawing back and forth between two whole notes in the low register...occasionally adding variety by adding a minor third here and there, setting the tone of morbidity that was the theme of the concert, for the most part.

Actually, the string orchestra was pretty good, pitting the cellists playing 'Christmas is coming, the Goose is getting fat', vs. the violins and violas playing 'Deck the Halls'. Together, while not as sublime as Your Chocolate in My Peanut Butter, it was pleasant and clever enough to make me stick around.

Next came the band. Cacophonous din would be the polite thing to say, or more accurately, the accurate thing to say. I guess there just isn't enough soul-stirring Hannukkah music out there to capture the imagination. One of the flutists was out of tune, which wouldn't have been too bad if she didn't have the same note to play repeatedly. Perhaps, the composer, knowing that such flutists would be in abundance, composed the 1 note flute section for that very reason.
Next came the choir, which was actually pretty good. There was a Hebrew song, executed quite well called 'Hanerot Halalu'....which sounded more like BadaBing BadaBoom.

At least there were no recorders. My goodness people, how many songs, other than Snowplow and Hot Cross Buns can there be that consist only of three consecutive notes?

Which brings me round to the following insanity:

Vicar Bans O Little Town of Bethlehem

Yes, it's all Israel's fault, of course. Now what would Christmas be without the additional British Jew Hatred? I mean, the Peaceful Followers of the Prophet and his god wouldn't have anything at all to do with the suffering Christians in Bethlehem, now would they? Naw.

Poor dears. Just keep cranking out all those lame-ass Nativity sets for the Liberated Church of the Verklempt and Compassionate Marxists to sell in the narthex. (I'm sure you''ll get a pittance of it after the Council of Churches gets their cut. You're just as easy to exploit for cash and attention as your more rowdy Muslim neighbors are by Pallywood.

Satan Claus is coming to Town!


Question for the Archbishop: What happens to you when your existence becomes pointless?
Answer: Why, You Become A Useful idiot and a tool.

In the meantime, let us flee that madness and check upon our little French fabulist, Capucine, to see what she is up to.

"What is it ?" from Capucha on Vimeo.

Pssst: Spoiler Alert! It's a Pooh Bear!


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  2. There's a special place for that useful idiot. He just looks evil.

    On a different note, I had to stop watching Fox News because they kept playing the Pajama-gram commercials AND the Christy Lane comercials. Both just make me crazy. So tonight will be spent making Christmas cookies for the guys at the waste transfer station. Who gives cookies to the garbage men?

  3. Jewel6:35 PM

    Oh my goodness! Don't think of Christy Lane in pajamas, don't think of Christy Lane in pajamas! ARRRRGH! Darn it! I have to scrub my eyeballs out, now!

    I give cookies and hot chocolate to garbage men. Since I am sometimes out in the bad weather doing routes, I always see them. I sympathize and understand their lot and they do work few others would do. God Bless every garbageman on Earth!

  4. Darn it girl, we are cut from the same cloth. You are the only other person I know who bakes for the trash guys. Actually, I think these guys have the BEST sense of humor around. I dump my trash and they always have me laughing by the time I drive away.

    Please keep sharing the Capucine videos. They truley make my day. I'm also learning French from her!

  5. Jewel2:07 AM

    I also give stuff to the postman. I never think twice about it. Once, we had some spectacularly handsome African not American trash guys, and I mean to tell you, my twins were blushing 6 ways from Sunday at them when they came up on a hot summer June Friday. They went in and got the men all cold cokes, and the men, grateful for the refreshments, put on a display of trashcan twirling, acrobatic trash can tossing and general all-round entertainment, that we sat on our porch and applauded them. They even bowed. And they were speaking French, too...Africans always speak the most melodious bass registered French you ever did hear! (I translate and interpret from time to time in French, so I really like the African accent. It is the most easily understood) Unlike the snooty Parisians, who talk in their heads, the Africans talk from the soles of their feet! And Laws, how it do resonate with me. Sigh.


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