Wednesday, December 29, 2010

The Twelve Days of Kwanzaa

The thing about fake holidays that are created to give people self esteem who neither need nor want it, is that the holiday becomes a sad and pathetic joke. Such is Kwanzaa. Phony holidays by phony people who get their credentials from diploma mills.

This woman has the serious goods on Kwanzaa. And she's funny.

Sippican's Hall Pass Goes to Sesame Street

..and it winds through Oscar Petersonville, Sipp.

O Christian, where art Thou?

Body language is the same the world over. You do not need subtitles to understand the shock, the grief and anger in this video. Let it seep into your mind as much as you can. Lisa Graas, once again, is doing superior work on covering the massacre of Christians in Iraq. The video is an eye witness account of what happened to Adam, who is being called a saint by those who survived the slaughter.

An Epistle from the Church in Iraq
Lisa Graas:
I found the video below linked to the image of the little martyr we call St. Adam of Baghdad in the sidebar at the blog ‘In Defense of the Church‘. I offer a translation with the help of Google’s translator, from the text in the ‘Info’ section added with the video at YouTube. I do not know if the text below is consistent with the audio in the video, but only of what is offered on the ‘info’ tab.

The Martyrs of the Church of our Mother, “Our Lady of Deliverance”, have learned of the ways of the world once again. The Christians of Iraq have joined the convoy of Martyrs of our Church who have sacrificed their lives as an offering to Christ our Lord, who taught us to see the resurrection, of life, of forgiveness, of love, of hope, of faith, of joy.
The blood of our fallen heroes cries out to the world and to all of humanity, and we call upon Christians everywhere to speak out of the Christians of Iraq, in order to “preach” to the world that it is Christ here Who suffers, and Who exists in the lives of our wounded.
Christians of Iraq have experienced deeply the meaning of life because they lived in joy within the sorrowful gloom; lived even though asked that they should experience the power of tragedy; lived in laughter after shedding an abundance of tears; lived with a smile even after their will was broken by violence. These are true Christians of Iraq.
Do you want an example of all this?!
The Church of Our Lady of Deliverance is the Body that would give its whole on behalf of the Christians of Iraq and give you examples written in the blood of its martyrs. Do you hear how, and in what way, Father Alcjaan Thaer Saadallah and Father Wassim Sabih [photos at WaPo] died in this massacre?! Did you know that they defended the Believers, and they tried to preserve their lives and stepped forward instead of them from the first moment that the killers entered the church?!
Did you know that the father of his son’s fever [sic] lives in the small church that completely covered his body and two Mamddan [sic] on the ground, killing the father with a barrage of bullets to keep his son alive?!
Have you heard that the wicked killers murdered a four-month-old girl as well as a young woman who had received good news, the most beautiful news, of a pregnancy, of a child in her womb, and that she had come to church to thank the Lord for this blessing?!
These are the Christians of Iraq, O peoples of the world, Hear, and testify to all of this!
And you, the Christians of Iraq, if there is sorrow in your souls that has now blocked the future from your eyes, look up to the Lord of heaven and earth, and know that He cares for you, and that the world recognizes it.

Mass In Canada for the Slaughtered Iraqi Christians

Al Qaeda is not responsible for this massacre. Islam is. The worshipers of Mohammad are responsible. There is no misunderstanding. There is no tiny minority of extremists. There is no excuse for believing these lies. There is no excuse for turning away from our suffering brothers and sisters in Christ. There is no excuse for leaders in the churches to not strenuously denounce this false religion and its false prophet. No more excuses.

Sunday, December 26, 2010

Happy Birthday, Gerard!

Gerard Vanderleun has been quite generous with me this year, prominently featuring two of my posts on his site and putting up with my constant pedantrums. Today's his birthday, and I wish him a heartfelt, happy happy joy joy. It must be hard, having to compete with this holiday. I just hope your day isn't lost in all the Kwanzic revelry.
Much love to you, kind sir, and a Happy New Year, to you, too!

If He was not Flesh....

One of my daily pilgrimages on the interwebs is Cost of Discipleship. There, Brother Romanós observes and notes the spiritual minutiae that if I didn't stop there to reflect, I'd miss something. His simple faith, in the Eastern Orthodox tradition, is by no means 'denominational' in the sense of the word that he believes only the Orthodox Christian is saved and all the rest of y'all are Hell-bound sinners. Far from it. He keeps his faith simple, focused and entirely upon Jesus, using only the best from every flavor of our rich and vast faith. His essay of this hour is so full of, how shall I say it...positive reinforcements....that once you have read it, your faith is bolstered an hundred fold. I am looking forward to the day, when the rewards are given, to be able to point to this brother and testify all he has done to help me in my walk. God bless you, Romanós, and may your year bear much spiritual fruit. You have been in season and out of season with an apt and ample word or three, and I thank you from the depths of my soul.

Consider what the downfall of Byzantium hath wrought, and strengthen the things that remain. Our enemy, the Devil, is on the warpath.

Saturday, December 25, 2010

O Holy Night, sung by the Merry Wives of Stepford

My favorite Christmas carol, sung with utmost perfection by the Celtic Women. Or Disney Princesses. Live....I think. On one stage. Together. Just wait for the Stepford Wives moment. It hits at 1:11.
Unintentional hilarity to follow.

Really, it's sung beautifully, just avert your eyes.

...and Merry Christmas! From Stepford.

Merry Christmas, Everyone

No one was on the look-out for divine interference. Via American Digest. Gerard has left us all some beautiful Christmas presents, this year. It's a feast for the heart and soul. Thank you, Brer Gerard.

Bethlehem, by Frederick William Faber

Thursday, December 23, 2010


This is a repost from 8/14/08 in response to comments made by Dan Montana and John Jay regarding the mass killings of Christians in their church in Baghdad on All Saints Day and especially the murder of the heroic little boy, Adam, who followed the murderous sons of  Allah as they slaughtered his friends and his family, pleading all the while, "Enough!"

John suggested canonizing Adam by the Catholic church, and my response is that he is already a saint. The church can no more make him a saint than they can unmake him a saint. What priests and bishops do in the comfort of palaces has no bearing on his sainthood. Christ made him a saint, and this child's blood is on his murderers hands. Perhaps the only prayer worth praying is that God, in His unfathomable love and  mercy, may  cause their consciences to accuse them night and day, and never give them rest. Adam is at rest, may his killers never find rest or peace until they seek Him.

The music is from Sergei Rachmaninov's Vespers, also known as The All-Night Vigil. It consists of 15 songs sung by an acapella choir begining at sunset on Saturday until sunrise on Easter Sunday morning. Each vesper is a prayer, ackowledging the supremacy of God the Father, and extolling the death and resurrection of His Son, Jesus Christ.

Rachmaninov wrote the Vespers in 1915, opening to critical acclaim during a fundraiser for the Russian Army during WWI. This particular recording of the Vespers is from a 1965 Melodiya album of the Moscow State Choir, directed by Alexander Sveshnikov. It is considered the gold standard for all other recordings of this deeply spiritual and soulful piece of music.

In the 1970s Columbia Records, in a joint production with Melodiya, released the Vespers to American audiences. Although I don't have the liner notes, one of the more interesting events surrounding the original recording was the fact that Communist Party hacks, worried about the overtly religious themes of this piece of music, warned the choir members and Sveshnikov against taking the music or the words too seriously, and that they were being watched. It is under this cloud of spiritual oppression that Sveshnikov produced this highly emotional and beautiful piece of music, never before recorded in what was then the Soviet Union. So much for stern warnings. The fifth vesper is titled Now Lettest Thy Servant Depart. And it is a fitting requiem for "Rania" a young teenaged Saudi girl who converted to Christianity, and was killed by her father, who worked for the Commission on Virtue and the Prevention of Vice.

Kathe Kollwitz Die Klage (The Lament)

I am trying to wrap my mind around the girl's hellish last moments on earth. The fact that we in the west even know about this is astounding enough, that the reaction to her violent murder has also been published in the Kingdom of Everlasting Hate is astonishment with compounded interest. Let Islam boast of its gains in the west. Mohammed is fast losing the hearts and minds of his offspring in Dar el Islam.

An appropriate tribute from the commenter, dumbledoresarmy at Jihad Watch:
Since no-one in Saudi Arabia will do this for her; since her murdering father will have shoved her into the ground hugger-mugger; let those of us who are Christian say for her now the prayer of commendation.

"Go forth, O Christian soul, on your journey from this world.
In the name of God the Father, who created you.
In the name of Jesus Christ, who suffered for you.
IN the name of the Holy Spirit, who strengthens you.

In communion with the blessed saints
and aided by angels and archangels and all the heavenly host
May your portion, "Rania", this day be in peace
and your dwelling in the heavenly Jerusalem."

"Receive her, Lord, as a lamb of your own flock
as a child of your own creating
as a soul of your own redeeming;
and grant that whatever sins she may have committed
through the weakness of her earthly nature
may be forgiven
and that she may enjoy forever
the clear shining light of paradise."

The comments at Jihad Watch about this gruesome crime express, of course, outrage and horror, with the usual troll comment thrown in just to make things so much more angering. But what is missing is the silver lining of hope within the tale itself. Again, we know about this in the west, why? Because of the internet. Certainly, the mainstream press will ignore it or whitewash it as they do everything else. No surprise there.

Saudi Arabia bans Bibles, crucifixes, Stars of David...and yet, this girl became a Christian. She even blogged about her faith, and had the courage to confront her father and brothers about it. Again, why? Because a ban is foolish and futile. The truth came in over the transom of the internet. Ban a Bible. Faw! You can download a Bible in nearly every language on the planet as an MP3 file, or a pdf. One single person can put 50 Bibles on 50 discs or on secret little thumb drives. It is completely futile to ban the Bible.

Saudi Arabia deported 15 Christians over the last month or so. (This was written in 2008). Perhaps they were a little too effective in their quiet witness.

Saudi Arabia exports its Wahabbist poison into all the ports in the West. Our craven leaders are too afraid to even name that religion which sponsors terrorism world wide! They scratch their chins in willful ignorance. Yet, from within the Evil Kingdom itself, "Rania" was a brief and brightly shining light in the darkest places of the human heart. As light which travels far and is seen long after it has been extinguished, we get to see for but a moment her ember.

Rest in Peace, sweet Rania. Your work is finished. We must toil in your place.
And your brother, Adam, greet him with a sister's kiss.

Wednesday, December 22, 2010

Dinner time Conversations

New mother and new baby are doing fine, and for the first time in my life, I know something the former Miss Irksome doesn’t know. What a difference! It used to be the exact opposite. Ahhhh. I could get used to this.   But let’s digress, shall we?
It has been hectic here, as I’m sure it’s been for everyone.  When it gets hectic, I won’t cook dinner. I will just eat out. This is an all you can eat post from the Tasty Infidelicacies Reheated Take Out Night. Enjoy, and don’t get a tummy ache from overindulgence.
PS The beets are awful. Skip them and opt for the chow chow, instead.
From 02/06/09:

The following conversation, which took place at Ruby Tuesday's this evening would never have been possible 20 years ago. Trust me.

Husband: "What are you having? I'm not too hungry, I think I'll just have the salad bar."
Wife: "The avocado turkey burger looks really good, I think I'll just have that. How about you, Rachel?"
Rachel (she always has chicken tenders and fries whenever we eat out) "I'll have the chicken tenders and fries."

The waitress brought us our drinks, 2 Diet Cokes with lemon and a water (Rachel doesn't like soda, either....go figure)

Husband: "I figured out what I have to do in order to keep the silver back monkeys from extorting me."
Wife: "Oh?"
Husband: "Yes. I just go to their home planet and annihilate everyone. But it is expensive."
Wife: "Well, then, why don't you just enslave the survivors? You might be able to turn a profit that way."
Husband: "I would, but this particular species is really hostile. No matter what I do. First I tried being friendly, but they kept wanting me to pay, and so I just got tired of them and killed them all off."
Wife: "I guess so. I mean, you might have to deal with slave uprisings and such, so I suppose you had to kill everyone."
Husband: "It was easy, once I vaporized their home world. They just sort of folded." Shoveling salad into his face. "These beets aren't very good."
Wife: "You like Harvard beets, dear. These aren't even pickled. They're just beets, you know."
Husband: "And they didn't have sunflower seeds. Maybe the waitress can get me some."
Wife: "Probably. How about you, Rachel?"
Rachel: "I'm only in the creature phase. I can't attack other planets. Only other creatures."
Wife: Well, you'll get more aggressive once you develop a means of shooting poison gas."
Rachel: "I have horns, and my tail has spikes."
Wife: "Keep practicing. Ah, dinner's here."
Rachel: "Do you want my mustard?"
Wife: "Sure. Have my ketchup."
Rachel: "I have my own."
Husband: "Yeah, I figured that trying to be nice just isn't possible with aliens. You just have to kill everybody and take their stuff."
Wife, taking a drink and thinking: "You realize, don't you, that this conversation could never have taken place 20 odd years ago, don't you?"
Husband, thinking, nods in agreement: "I was just trying to include Rachel in the conversation."

Monday, December 20, 2010

Adam of Baghdad: "Enough! Enough! Enough!"

Anyone who thinks the new, Saddam Hussein-free Iraq is now a stable democracy needs to be disabused of this notion fast. Saddam Hussein is very like the people he ruled, anyone of them could be a Saddam Hussein. 

It is hunting season on Christians in the Middle East. Naked genocide. Our churches, for the most part say nothing about it, because it might offend. Everywhere in this country and in other western countries, Christians are being told that their symbols and traditions are offensive and they must be more inclusive. Someone in the Department of Selective Outrage needs to visit Baghdad. Maybe go to church on Sunday and partake in the Holy Rite of Communion and eat His flesh and drink His blood....literally, because that is what Christians do when they are slaughtered by Muslims. Lisa Graas has penned a gripping and gruesome account about the bravery of one of Christ's littlest lambs. All I can say is, "Out of the mouths of babes...." 

From her report:

Now, at the end of last month, on the vigil of the feast of All Saints, in the Syriac Catholic Cathedral of our Lady of Deliverance in the city of Baghdad, many dozens of Catholics were killed as they gathered for Mass. Two were priests: one was killed at the altar and the other as he left the confessional. They are joined in death with hundreds of others who have died for their faith in Christ since the current conflict began. An American Dominican Sister, a friend of a friend, has written from that country: “Waves of grief have enveloped their world, surging along the fault lines created in Iraqi society by the displacement of thousands of Iraq’s Christian minority who have fled what is clearly a growing genocidal threat…One survivor was asked by a reporter, what do you say to the terrorists? Through his tears he said, ‘We forgive you.’…Among the victims of this senseless tragedy was a little boy named Adam. Three-year-old Adam witnessed the horror of dozens of deaths, including that of his own parents. He wandered among the corpses and the blood, following the terrorists around and admonishing them, ‘enough, enough, enough.’ According to witnesses, this continued for two hours until Adam was himself murdered.” As bishops, as Americans, we cannot turn from this scene or allow the world to overlook it.
And yet, we do overlook. We do not want to see. But wait, there's even MORE to overlook:

And in other news.....

Any regrets about supporting the Muslim side in Kosovo, Mr. Clinton? Maybe you should think about that while you eat your crow with fava beans and a nice chianti.

Why wait for Saturday,
when Sunday comes first on the calendar?

Forgive them Father, they know not what they do.

Mother and Child

I have so many thoughts it is hard to know where to begin. I watched my child cross over from being my child to being mother to her child. We are now equals. I can't tell her what to do, where to go or even how to raise her child. She is her own woman, and I can only offer her my shoulders and my wisdom, should she seek it.

My first thought: Time and space have been condensed by technology. The world is no longer a great big place to be explored. Everything is mapped, charted from above and below. Photographs so detailed and so fine, zoom in and the smallest wonders of creation are seen. The invisible particle becomes as big as the wall onto which its image is projected. Our response to that fact is to yawn. What else is new?

We see the child wonderfully knit inside his mother's womb with sharp focus, his features are known before he even takes his first gulp of air. I have videos of my children that are so crisp and fresh, that they could have been made yesterday, and no one would know that the tow headed one year-old burbling on camera has just given birth. Time is evaporated, condensed and memory is sweetened by forgiveness and reconciliation.  

Second thought: My mother. My mother died when I was eight. She never saw me grow up, graduate high school, get married, have children....or see me become a grandmother. She was never a grandmother. She died at the age of 29, just after her fifth child, a daughter, was born. Even in 1970, the death rates for mothers giving birth in this country were not what they were just half a century before that. Her death sent shock waves all over the hospital and community and ripped our family apart with shattering devastation, and we feel the aftershocks in moments far removed from the day it happened. Sometimes unexpectedly, and sometimes, like the day when James was born, with a wistful grimace of loss.

Today is the boy's father's birthday. It was also my mother's birthday. Dates and events are always a thing to ponder. Consider: Mary's child was born on a Friday, on the 17th of a month. Mary was born on a Friday, on the 17th of a month. Whether it is life or death, dates always hold signs and wonders for me, though I am not astrological in nature. My youngest was born on Easter Sunday, and that evening there was a total eclipse of the moon, and a comet in the sky.  Such is the stuff of wonderful stories. Fictions to entertain. Facts that cause us to wonder.

Third thought: We are in the last week before Christmas. Many people feel cheer and hope at this time of year, fueled by twinkling lights and happy songs, with happy memories. Many others feel grating annoyance at the same things, perhaps with sad memories. I guess it depends on how many lights are twinkling in the neighbor's yard, and how many times you are forced to listen to "I want a Hippopotamus for Christmas". The important thing about Christmas is buried under a blizzard of spending and partying.

Christmas isn't actually a High Holy Day. It's celebration was never proscribed for the Christian. In fact, many Christians do not celebrate it at all. For many reasons, all valid. The 'reasons' for the season are varied, stemming from its pagan beginnings to the present tackiness, greed, avarice and gluttony that epitomize the holiday today. Banning crêches and crosses and trees doesn't bother me as much as the collective amnesia that fogs our crowded minds. We are forgetting that All Powerful God became a helpless baby boy.

When I beheld my daughter in the throes of giving birth to her son, I thought about Mary, Mother of God, in her own throes. It is the living, eternal nativity, played out in the ordinary every day. 

I thought about the Slaughter of the Innocents that followed His birth. Just another slaughter of Jews in a long procession of slaughters that have marred history. We are in such times, with evil becoming more sanitized and discreet, festooning its deeds with shiny, happy words, like 'choice' and 'fetus' and 'unviable tissue'.  They smile, the evil ones, as they go about their slaughtering of  innocents, hoping to erase God completely, before He finds them.

The love of God is dispassionate and universal, and my final thought is this: You, who think your sin is so grievous that you have made reservations in Hell, are much closer to Heaven than many who boast that they are booked on the eternal cruise of Spiritual Smooth Sailing.  Your broken heart is the only gift required. It is all you have. Give it completely. It is more priceless than frankincense, gold or myrrh. 

Thursday, December 16, 2010

Linklove to Mr. Sippican

It's a Merry Festival of linkage to Gregory in all of his internets. He finds all these fantastic videos, and still has the time to make furniture, do you get that?

The man makes FURNITURE, too!

I wish I had these dolls when I was a little boy.

Rudolph puts out the red light.

Must it be Santa? If Bob says so, I guess.

I'd linger at his site all day, but he'd have to charge me rent. Merry Christmas, Sip!

Angel Flight

Thanks, John Jay:

Just a reminder: More of our soldiers have died since 2009 than in all the years George W. Bush was in office.  The press doesn't seem to be interested in that since the Anointed One ascended to power.

I had the opportunity to watch the documentary "Restrepo" on National Geographic a while back, and it was difficult. The men are young. They look like boys, barely men at all. They are more manly than the people who currently misrule us. They are fighting a war, which, if fought with purpose and determination,
has a chance of being won. But they are not allowed to even name the enemy. Instead, we are told our sons' and daughters' lives must be extinguished in a vague, never ending 'war' on terror. And we tell them they must not kill 'civilians', who are always pure as the driven snow and never collaborators with 'terror'.
The war has been lost. Bring our children home. Shame upon our rulers and our media. Shame on them all. Our tyrants are not worthy of the sacrifices our children have made.

I Have No Words

I know my limitations. I lack the necessary language to even comment. So I won't. Others do it much better than I. And one discovery always leads to yet another priceless discovery.

                      "Fairytale" by Aleksei Gavrilov

After mulling it over for awhile, I thought I'd add this photograph, as it so ably adds to the imagery of the poem. It isn't the photograph the author chose, which is his own and quite apt, too, but he posted this elsewhere, and its loveliness is complementary.

Wednesday, December 15, 2010

Bunnyman to the rescue!

When Our Beloved Leader began taking serious heat for compromising with the Party of Wusses, he sent out the emergency signal and was rescued by: Well, you understand. I might learn Mandarin just so I can enjoy watching these news shows from Taiwan more fully.

This is one of the better episodes.

Update on Mother Mary and The Baby James: Labor to be induced tomorrow, so he's coming, whether he wants to or not.

This should clear everything up

Night workers never work according to reality. My shift starts at 11 pm the night BEFORE the day I am scheduled to work. In other words, I am scheduled for Wednesday, but I start work on Tuesday night. Holiday shifts are even more confusing, in that I start well before the midnight hour, and usually finish before the midnight hour, but technically, they pay me for working the following day. Confused? Yes, of course you are. So I came up with a solution for people like myself who work from one day into the next:

Normal people calendar:  Sunday Monday Tuesday Wednesday Thursday Friday Saturday

Abnormal people calendar: Sunnight, Monnight, Tuesnight, Wednesnight, Thursnight, Frinight and Saturnight.

See what a simple thing of clarity it is? Works for me.

Thursday, December 9, 2010

El Cant Dels Ocells

Aquesta és la meva cançó favorita de Nadal .... i sí, vostè pot aprendre a parlar català a la taula de la cuina!


(Traditional Catalonian Carol)
En veure despuntar
El major illuminar
En la nit mes joiosa;
Els ocellettes cantant a festejarlo van,
Amb sa veu melindrosa.
Els a celletes cantant
A festejarlo van
Amb sa veu melindrosa.

L'ocell rei d'espai
Va pels aires volant,
Cantant amb melodia,
Dient: Jesus es nat
Per treure'ns del pecat
I darnos alegria.
Dient: Jesus es nat
Per treure'ns del pacat
I darnos alegria.

Respont-il el pardal:
Esta nit es Nadal
I es nit de gran contento
El verdum i el lluer
Diuen, cantant tambe:
O, quina alegria sento.
El verdum i el lluer
Diuen, cantant tambe:
O, quina alegria sento.

Cantava la perdiu:
Me'n vaig a fer el niu
Dins d'aguella establiam
Per voure l'Infant
Com esta tremolant
En bracos de Maria.
Per voure L'Infant
En bracos de Maria.

English Translation: CAROL OF THE BIRDS

Upon this holy night,
When God's star appears,
And floods the earth with brightness,
Birds' voices rise in song,
And, warbling all night long,
Express their glad heats' lightness.
Birds' boices rise in song,
And, warbling all night long,
Express their glad heart's lightness.

The Nightingale is first
To bring his son of cheer,
And tell us of his gladness:
"Jesus, our Lord, is born
To free us from all sin,
And banish ev'ry sadness!
Jesus, our Lord, is born
To free us from all sin,
And banish ev'ry sadness!"

The answ'ring Sparrow cries:
"God comes to earth this day
Amid the angels flying."
Trilling in sweetest tones,
The Finch his Lord now owns:

"To Him be all thanksgiving."
Trilling in sweetest tones,
The Finch his Lord now owns:
"To Him be all thanksgiving."

The Partridge adds his note:
"To Bethlehem I'll fly,
Where in the stall He'l lying.
There, near the manger blest,
I'll build myself a nest,
And sing my love undying.
There, near the manger blest,
I'll build myself a nest,

And sing my love undying."

(Found at Angelfire)

Wednesday, December 8, 2010

Google is in Search of Itself

Maybe Google is having the equivalent of a midlife crisis.

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Tuesday, December 7, 2010

This isn't Good on a Full Stomach

My. Blood. Is. Boiling.

It's Beginning to Look A Lot Like Baby!

From my letters to Daphne:

12:17 PM:  Contractions are starting! I'm timing them to see when we go in. Today may be the day that lives in infancy! (Sorry, couldn't resist)

12:45 PM:  I will be liveblogging the birth. Don't have a laptop, but I will be creative about it and get it posted. Blogger has a phone-blogging feature.

1:57 PM: She's nervous and pacing. Walking helps. She's watching 16 and Pregnant on television right now, and thankful she's not married to a total loser. Heh. Life is going to get real interesting, real fast.

4:58 PM: Well, the contractions have subsided again. Maybe they'll start up in the wee, small hours of the morning. The way they ought to. All the signs point to 'now' or 'later'. I will write my heart out. I'm settling on Nonna as the name he should address me. No Italian in my blood, but damn, I don't want to hear Gramma or Granny. Grannybones will get him confined to the cryin' room, soon as he's old enough to try and say it.

She's definitely going the epidural route. He's a big 'un.  I didn't go epidural. I thought I was man
enough to handle all that pain. All three times.  At least there's a ¡Nunca jamás! in my future.

Tomorrow she has a doctor's appointment, and they may induce labor then, if she doesn't go into labor, tonight.

Keeping you up-to-date, your erstwhile baby-blogger on the beat.

Wednesday, November 24, 2010

Lemme Get This Straight

Via RightNetwork

Let me see if I got this straight:  The State Department is negotiating terms of surrender with the taliban. 

Terrorists. Really. The guys who kill women for being out of doors? Got it. And for not wearing their portable prison over their entire bodies? Yup. And just for the thrill of killing women? Most definitely. Oh, and who blow up girls' schools, too? Yes. Wonderful. The savages who blew up the Buddhist statues in Bamiyan? Okay. Got it. Those guys.

The taliban who used money given to them by the United Nations for the purpose of building of a soccer stadium - because nothing says you're a civilized nation more than having a soccer stadium - who then used the same soccer stadium to put on a show of mass executions of women....which is, I guess the national past time.

Wonderful people. So very like the Hamas and the Fatah we are forcing Israel to 'negotiate' terms of peace with. Ah.

What do you mean the taliban leader was an impostor? You mean he wasn't an honest broker? A man of integrity? A fair trader? 

Huh! What do you know about that!

Update:  Breaking news. The State Department found the real McMullah! Peace in our time is at hand!

Her Hawtness, Evil Twin Wants to Know....

"Can I keep them, Mom?"

I need to have another talk with this child.

Tuesday, November 16, 2010

Iowahawk Reminds You: Song Parodies are the Lowest Form of Humor

The man is brilliant.
iowahawk: Comply With Me*: "

                                       As Seen at Boingboing! 

Read it here or read it there, just read it and laugh. Or weep, depending on whether you are scanned or groped.

Comply With Me*

(With deepest apologies to Sammy Cahn, Jimmy Van Heusen & Frank Sinatra)
Comply with me, before you fly away
Remove those shoes and take a cruise
Through my peekaboo X-ray
Comply with me, I'm your friendly TSA

Comply with me, you domestic coach class bums
If you opt out I'll just give a shout
To my icy-handed chums
Comply with me, bend over here it comes

Once I get all up there where your hair is ticklish
I'll just fish
Got my wish
Once I get all up there you'll be squirming like an eel
You may squeal
At the feel
When we're together

Proctology is such a lovely trade
I'll show you love with my rubber glove
Try not to be afraid
I'd be a perfect gentleman, if you had just obeyed
Comply with me, I'm GS8 pay grade

Janet Napolitano says to spread 'em wide
Have you tried Astro-glide?
Janet Napolitano knows your clothes are off
Head aloft
Turn it and cough
When we're together

Don't crack wise or I'll ruin your whole day
Please don't frown when I pat you down
It alerts the CIA
It's perfectly legal practice except at Gitmo Bay
Comply with me, comply comply
Comply with me, obey, obey, obey!

Check out the security risks on that one! Yeah!
 Image taken from a January 11, 2010 post at Media Monarchy.
Well, that didn't take long!

Monday, November 15, 2010

Monday Reality Check

The weekend was a beautiful send-off for autumn, lingering a bit longer in these here parts of the land. Reality intrudes, however. The ugly reality is that we're in for of a long, cruel winter. Ushering the new week in with a veil of tears for Monday posting only seems appropriate. Let me start this week by praying, "Lord Jesus, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner." It will help to keep me in the proper frame of mind for the winter that is before me.

The Gods of the Copybook Headings   
by Rudyard Kipling

As I pass through my incarnations in every age and race,
I make my proper prostrations to the Gods of the Market Place.
Peering through reverent fingers I watch them flourish and fall,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings, I notice, outlast them all.

We were living in trees when they met us. They showed us each in turn
That Water would certainly wet us, as Fire would certainly burn:
But we found them lacking in Uplift, Vision and Breadth of Mind,
So we left them to teach the Gorillas while we followed the March of Mankind.

We moved as the Spirit listed. They never altered their pace,
Being neither cloud nor wind-borne like the Gods of the Market Place;
But they always caught up with our progress, and presently word would come
That a tribe had been wiped off its icefield, or the lights had gone out in Rome.

With the Hopes that our World is built on they were utterly out of touch,
They denied that the Moon was Stilton; they denied she was even Dutch;
They denied that Wishes were Horses; they denied that a Pig had Wings;
So we worshipped the Gods of the Market Who promised these beautiful things.

When the Cambrian measures were forming, They promised perpetual peace.
They swore, if we gave them our weapons, that the wars of the tribes would cease.
But when we disarmed They sold us and delivered us bound to our foe,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: "Stick to the Devil you know."

On the first Feminian Sandstones we were promised the Fuller Life
(Which started by loving our neighbour and ended by loving his wife)
Till our women had no more children and the men lost reason and faith,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: "The Wages of Sin is Death."

In the Carboniferous Epoch we were promised abundance for all,
By robbing selected Peter to pay for collective Paul;
But, though we had plenty of money, there was nothing our money could buy,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: "If you don't work you die."

Then the Gods of the Market tumbled, and their smooth-tongued wizards withdrew
And the hearts of the meanest were humbled and began to believe it was true
That All is not Gold that Glitters, and Two and Two make Four —
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings limped up to explain it once more.

As it will be in the future, it was at the birth of Man —
There are only four things certain since Social Progress began: —
That the Dog returns to his Vomit and the Sow returns to her Mire,
And the burnt Fool's bandaged finger goes wabbling back to the Fire;

And that after this is accomplished, and the brave new world begins
When all men are paid for existing and no man must pay for his sins,
As surely as Water will wet us, as surely as Fire will burn,
The Gods of the Copybook Headings with terror and slaughter return!

Sunday, November 14, 2010

What is There Left to Say?

I cannot wrap my head around this. I'm speechless.

Lyndsey Fiddler, 26, was high on drugs when she put her newborn daughter, Maggie May Trammel, in the washing machine along with the dirty laundry and started a washing cycle, NewsOn6 reports.
Fiddler’s dangerous drug habit spurred her relatives toward an unsuccessful attempt to have her parental rights stripped when she was four months pregnant.
This is not Fiddler's first run-in with the law, the Tulsa World reported. She had previously been convicted of larceny and assault and battery, and has received numerous traffic violations for speeding, driving without a license and failing to put her other kids in child safety seats.

 By Jamie Urbarri, New York Daily News Staff Writer

Beauty for a Beautiful Sunday

Piano Concerto No 2 in F Major Op. 102: II. Andante

Bonne Anniversaire, Monsieur Monet!

Tarkovsky's Mirror (Spiegel im Spiegel: Arvo Pärt)

Enjoy the day.

Thursday, November 11, 2010

Italian Lessons

One thing always leads to another. It's been one of those days for me. Seriously.

One of the more amazing experiences I had as a piano teacher was trying to teach a family of Sicilian immigrants. The father, Sal, owned two pizzerias with his brother and was doing quite well. He lived with his wife and two sons in a newly-built, upper middle class housing development and spoke mostly Italian in the home. La Sposa, a beautiful young woman with not a word of English in her mouth did all of her grocery shopping in Little Italy™ on their regular weekend shopping trips to New York. She bought only Italian products, and not just food products, but household cleaning products as well. My minimal Italian was enough to endear me to La Famiglia for life.

Sal was a quick study, and had a knack for the piano. His son Pietro, was another story. I just couldn't teach him anything.

Our lessons were always interrupted by Mamma, Skyping La Sposa from Palermo. Blah blah blah is the same in Italian as it is in English. Compounding La Sposa's need to talk to Mamma was the papagallo's endless squawking. Little brother Davide added to the decibel levels with his constant entreaties for me to play with him.

I came for their lessons one Monday, and walked into the kitchen to see La Sposa, her 4 sorellas and Mamma visiting from Sicily. 6 of them, sitting around the kitchen island, each holding a scratch-off lotto ticket in one hand, a quarter and a lit cigarette in the other. They blah-blahed with each other happily, as they tossed scratched tickets into a large pile in the middle of a table under a thick haze of cigarette smoke.

I smiled, said "Buon giorno come state mi chiamo Gioella sono la maestra ciao" and went down to the rec room to give Bambino and Babbo their piano lessons. Babbo was usually not present for his boy's lesson.

Poor Pietro. Every mistake proved he hadn't practiced, and Babbo smacked the back of his head while the boy howled at the injustice.They argued with each other in Italian, and the boy would make another attempt, fail, and invite more head smacks and curses upon himself for wasting Babbo's hard earned money. Needless to say, piano lessons soon ended. Neither Babbo nor Bambino learned to play the piano. I, on the other hand, learned a lot.

La vita è dolcissima, infatti! Grazie mille, Signor Sippicano!

Wednesday, November 10, 2010

Christie Gets Personal

New Jersey Governor Chris Christie takes the war on graft and corruption to a new level by naming and shaming one particular greedy bastard and the school board who approved of this institutionalized theft. It isn't just teachers' unions that are the extortionists, but the superintendents and school boards who appropriate  expropriate money from the powerless taxpayers. And it isn't just in New Jersey. Even here, in conservative Lancaster County, PA, we aren't safe from the sharks who devour our children and then make us pay for it.

Posted also at Cubachi and Ace of Spades HQ.

You think that students aren't learning the lessons that corruption teaches? Think again.

Tuesday, November 9, 2010

Note to the Pregnant, Irksome Middle Child: Give the Poppy-Seed Bagel a Pass

H/T HotAir and Reason

The All-Encompassing Nanny State has proven just how incompetent its agents are when enforcing its draconian drug laws. Their actions are never tempered by commonsense or decency. Petty tyrants wield unbridled power to increase the magnitude of pain and suffering they inflict upon people whose lives are ruined by malicious prosecutions and convictions.

This trickle down stupidity overflows the legislative sewage pipes of Utopian thinking, backing up into Ugly reality, with mandatory sentences that punish the guilty and innocent alike with merciless vindictiveness. So many wasted lives wither and die in prison for just the crime of drug use. Or for not using drugs. Does it matter to the test that she was only eating a poppy-seed bagel? The test can't tell whether she ate a poppy seed bagel or if she shot heroin, so why should the police, the social workers, the hospital staff, the prosecutor or the judge?

The test makes looking for other evidence of drug use unnecessary. Only a minimum of thought needs to be used, because there's a test, and no one can fool the test.

And so, a little strip of paper allows the mandarins to be excused with the heartless cliché, "I was only doing my job." No sleep lost. No excess is too wretched. The prison bed is a cold slab of cement with a shredded pile of United States Constitution. Make yourselves comfortable. The mandarins will eventually get around to outlawing the manufacture and selling and eating of anything containing poppy seeds. For your health and benefit. Dorothy and her little air-breathing friends will just have to tumble into fields of something other than poppies, and the Belgians will have to replant Flanders' Fields.

Moral of the story:  Sue the bastards.

Thursday, November 4, 2010

A Bumper Sticker, Explained

Via Jihad Watch, with credit to Kathy Shaidle at NewsReal Blog

This  goes a long way in clearing up any misconceptions you may have had about the liberal mindset. Print out some copies and give them to people who have this sticker on their Volvos.

This is the pact made between the suicidal leftists in the West and Islam: COEXIST, which doesn't mean really coexist, just quit existing altogether, if you are anyone but the C.  Like 'tolerance' doesn't really mean being tolerant of people with unconventional ideas and lifestyles. I hope this clears everything up, for you.

One glance at the spotless stainless-steel counters and the professional-grade binoculars revealed the truth: 
only the most unspeakable dishes were prepared here.*
*(I'm going to put that line in the banner)

(Photo: Uncredited; Dwell)

Dozy Bint Confused About Must-Haves and Gadgets, or something

I would fisk this starry-eyed innocent abroad, myself, but the readers of her pasty blather do it so much better. Here is the  "explanation" for her choice of words. For what it's worth.
Okay, okay. You're all quite right. There are mortars and pestles of different varieties in use all over the world. I didn't mean to claim that the concept of mortar and pestle was unique to Gaza; I am sorry if it sounds that way. I meant the zibdiye as such, with that name and those particular materials: neighboring regional cuisines, otherwise similar in many ways, do not use it.

Nor did I mean the "must-have" part. That was sort of ironic, see. Cause whatever is in the Gaza Strip can't get out: the borders are closed, there are no exports, the economy is wallowing, you can't have it. Until some nostalgic and business-minded Palestinian in the US starts producing them there... if you come across one do let me know.

But this is not a consumer report, this is not about acquiring everything there is in the world. The choice to write about the zibdiye was sort of a literary device, a way of following one item in order to give an overview of the cuisine as a whole, and by extension something about this place which is so seldom seen as anything beyond a geopolitical problem.

I hope you will forgive my hyperbole in light of the broader intent.
Really, Ms. Schmitt? The Gaza Strip's economy wallowing?
Why, it's a regular concentration camp!
With a four-star restaurant. 
And a mall

Oh, the humanity.

Drop Everything and Sing Hallelujah, Wherever You May Be!

How I love Book Worm's Room. What a wit. And she's Jewish! I could just hang there all day.

When things get you down, when you feel like you are about to hit bottom, when you are just plain worn out by the baseness of the culture, it is the time to lift your heads up and remember one thing above all others. Life is all about singing Hallelujah. Glory to God in the Highest. Takes a world of weight off the shoulders. All this is passing. We aren't meant to keep our eyes focused on the sick and transitory gloria that is this mundi. It is a heavenly paean sung in the temple of commerce by a secular choir with the righteous and sincere joy of an angelic host. On the day before All Hallow's Eve, my brother's birthday...Happy 50th, old man! And the very same day another small child came into the world: Happy Birthday young Garret Matthew Huacani! God bless us, one and all.

Hallelujah Chorus Hymn

Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah!
Hallelujah! Hallelujah!
For the Lord God Omnipotent reigneth.
Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah!

For the Lord God omnipotent reigneth.
Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah!
Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah!

The kingdom of this world
Is become the kingdom of our Lord,
And of His Christ, and of His Christ;
And He shall reign for ever and ever,
For ever and ever, forever and ever,

King of kings, and Lord of lords,
King of kings, and Lord of lords,
And Lord of lords,
And He shall reign,
And He shall reign forever and ever,
King of kings, forever and ever,
And Lord of lords,
Hallelujah! Hallelujah!

And He shall reign forever and ever,
King of kings! and Lord of lords!
And He shall reign forever and ever,
King of kings! and Lord of lords!
Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah!

Wednesday, November 3, 2010

Friday, October 29, 2010

The Fools' Wedding in Paradise

Crossposted at The Blasphemous Book

ehold the fool, who sayeth in his heart, that good is evil, and evil is good. Ruin shall come to him. 

2.How many are they, who seek in Hell, a Garden of Eden, and sail off to her fair ports, only to find that the water hath been turned to poison.

3. Now it came to pass, that from the West there did sail a wedding party, a ship of fools, to consecrate their sacred vows of marriage in the presence of lawless men and their false god, Allah, who is but Satan in disguise. They came to seek the blessings from the Sons of Allah, and instead received curses, for they were fools and wot not, because they wished not to wot.

4. For the Sons of Allah and his prophet, whose body is hoist evermore and writhing on the fiery pike of the True Judge, where he awaits his just deserts, did invite their guests, and in their language did abuse and mock them.

5. Yea verily, there are no secrets with the Oracles, and they shall forever be renown for their simple minds. For they sought not the blessings of Christ, nor did they seek to be His Bride, but instead, exchanged blessing for cursing, from the mouths of blasphemers.

6. And that is what the Sons of Allah and his lying prophet do, and that, right well.

7. And the fools, as fools never learn, are once more surprised.

Wednesday, October 27, 2010

Strike, While the Iron is Hot

If this doesn't give you hemorrhagic fever and make you insane with rage, nothing will. I have long believed that the only way you will break the teachers' unions is to have a parental strike. There will come a time when the only recourse you have left against this corrupt and greedy machine is to remove your children from school en masse and go on strike. It should not be left up to a governor, and not up to a school board or principal. It is up to the parents to take control of their children's educations.

Click through all the videos for maximum, high definition outrage inducement. This is how you deal with the powerful and corrupt. You subvert and let them destroy themselves. Just make sure your child is home with the flu, or something, when the walls come tumbling down.

Via Hot Air