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

Monday, October 25, 2010

Elizabeth's Voice: An Appeal


As someone who often writes about the foibles of Islam and its mission to convert the west by silky, smooth persuasion or endless, bloody warfare, I feel obligated to support those people who also take on the Beast and his prophet, in whatever forum or nation they may be. I'm a small scale blog, but many of my readers are in Europe and the Middle East. And Elisabeth is a mom, like me. First they come for the big guys, and then they hope us little guys just fall in line with the Official Policy of Shut Up or Else. Geert Wilders is on trial. Elisabeth's is coming up in November. We can do no less than to at least stand with them in support of the right to speak the truth freely. If you can, pass this around, post it on your blog and add your name to the list.

From In Defense of Free Speech  with thanks to Gates of Vienna


Elisabeth’s Voice: An Appeal to the American Blogosphere


A Call to Mobilize the American Blogosphere in Support of Elisabeth Sabaditsch-Wolff
We, the undersigned — consisting of four European blogs, one Canadian blog, and one American blog — have written this post jointly as a public call for our American colleagues to take up the cause of the Austrian feminist and anti-jihad activist Elisabeth Sabaditsch-Wolff.
Geert Wilders is well-known to most American conservative and libertarian bloggers, but Elisabeth’s case is not so prominent. Like Mr. Wilders, she faces trial for reporting factual information about Islam. Her “crime” was to conduct public seminars in which she described Islamic doctrine, quoted from the Koran, and explained to her listeners what she considers the dangers of Islam.
Like Mr. Wilders, Elisabeth has been charged with “hate speech” for her words. Unlike Mr. Wilders, however, Elisabeth is a private citizen, a wife, and the mother of a small child. She lacks the major resources necessary to defend herself against the well-funded organs of the state which seek to persecute her.
Elisabeth will go on trial in Vienna on November 23rd, in what is clearly a political action intended to silence anyone who dissents against the prevailing multicultural orthodoxy.
We, her European and North American supporters, have formed Elisabeth’s Voice to ensure that she is not silenced. By appealing for financial aid, we hope to ensure that her defense is well-funded. By appealing for publicity, we hope to ensure that her case is well-known, not just in Austria and the rest of Europe, but across the entire Western world.
Americans may think that Elisabeth’s is a uniquely European plight, and has nothing to do with them. But make no mistake about it: the same repression is on its way to the United States of America. As the recent cases of Molly Norris, Juan Williams, and Derek Fenton demonstrate, free speech may already be taken away by non-juridical means. Dissent is even now being silenced in schools and on college campuses, and politically incorrect expression is cause for dismissal from both public and private employment.
The same types of “hate speech” laws that were used against Elisabeth in Austria are being prepared for the United States through the work of the United Nations. At the initiative of the Organization of the Islamic Conference, the UN is on the verge of requiring all member states to pass laws criminalizing “the defamation of religions, including Islam.”
Your president, Barack Hussein Obama, has indicated his support for the UN’s proposed resolution. Time is running out for all of us. If we don’t stand up now for people like Geert Wilders, Ezra Levant, Mark Steyn, and Elisabeth Sabaditsch-Wolff, there will be no one to stand up for us later, when our turn comes.
Links to detailed information about Elisabeth’s case may be found at the bottom of this post, along with a link to her legal defense website where you may donate to her cause.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Friday, October 22, 2010

I've worked so hard!


If you notice the profile on the right side of the blog,  you will note that it says  'About Mother Effingby'.

I worked hard for that title. Pissing off other people's kids is a full time job. Riling them up when you say "Hell, no" is not easy work, and I feel that I have earned the title of Mother Effingby. If I were to add anything, it would be the term of endearment thrown at me by some of the more swarthy children who just don't feel my love. Lily Wight Effingby. Ought to be my pen name. Among others.

Just thought you should know.

Thursday, October 21, 2010

Trovo Vergognoso....


Italian movie day. Oriana Fallaci's works should be read. Better to listen to her. In Italian. The unquenchable anger rises from her grave. Click through each of the videos.

Find Somebody to Love Israel

From the Elder of Zion, who's always good for great videos and so much more.  These kids really put the Milli in the Vanilli, don't they?  Excellent! Attractive, joyful, with infectious glee. The lyrics are chock fulla extra meaning. Was it intentional? Well, look for the girl in the Auschwitz pajamas making a brief appearance. And toward the end, there is a young lady who could be a doppelgänger of my daughter, Rachel. But mostly, just listen to the music. It's fantastic.

Let all the Angry Academes of the World™ unite against the Jews. I'm hanging with the Israelis. They are joyous in spite of the whole world hating them. It's in your face. I hope and pray that these kids, when they wrest the reins of power from their corrupt leaders will find a way of standing up to the world with more than a music video.



These kids, most of them, will serve in or have served in the army. That just amazes me.
In other news:

From Solomonia: The Liberal Lynch Mob Comes for the Jews, Again

Tuesday, October 19, 2010

Why I'm Depressed (a Chain E-mail)

Probably the only chain letter worth passing on. Kiped from No Pasaran:

Over five thousand years ago, Moses said to the children of Israel, "Pick up your shovels, mount your asses and camels, and I will lead you to the Promised Land."

Nearly 75 years ago,(when Welfare was introduced) Roosevelt said, "Lay down your shovels, sit on your asses, and light up a Camel, this is the Promised Land."

Today, the government has stolen your shovel, taxed your asses, raised the price of camels and mortgaged the Promised Land!

I was so depressed last night thinking about Health Care Plans, the economy, the wars, lost jobs, savings, Social Security, retirement funds, etc . . . called a Suicide Hotline. I had to press 1 for English. I was connected to a call center in Pakistan. I told them I was suicidal.

They got excited and asked if I could drive a truck......

Sunday, October 17, 2010

Oh yeah, James says 'Hi!'


He looks like his mom.



Sleep, little baby, don't say a word. 
Gramma's gonna buy you a talking bird.
And if that bird drives mom up the wall,
Gramma's gonna get you an Elmo doll.

And if that doll makes Momma weep.
Gramma's gonna buy you some marshmallow peeps.
And if your sugar rush wears her out.
Gramma's gonna teach you how to shout.

And if your outdoor voice wears thin,
Gramma's gonna get you a kazoo made of tin.
And if that buzzing makes her mad.
Gramma's job is done, and now she is glad.

Friday, October 15, 2010

Chopin Erotica: Khatia Buniatishvili

This is a reprint from 2008. Just because she's so exquisite and lovely. I have a girl crush on her. So will you.




Ballade No. 4 in F minor by Frédéric Chopin. Enjoy.


She is lovely as the piece she is playing. I could watch her for hours. This particular piece of Chopin is one of my favorites. Her name is Khatia Buniatishvili. She is from Georgia, and this is the 2008 Artur Rubinstein Piano Competition, which was held in Israel. She came in third place, but won the favorite category. I have a feeling she will be recording for many years, and I will be buying her albums. I found her quite by accident. I was looking for a response to Hugh Fitzgerald's Interludes, in which he highlights a lot of the best of American singers throughout the 30s and 40s. His selection at the time was Peggy Lee, and who could argue with him, except me, that's who, pardon the grammar. I wanted something more emotional than a mere interlude could provide...face it. Hugh's writing is deep, logical, and he hardly makes any typos. So cut the man some slack and let him have his interlude. Me? A good interlude would be THIS blog, which is now included in the Ferkakta Dinner Theatre. Sometimes, you need a good belly laugh.
When you have finished watching her play the ballade, watch her play the Debussy Ondine, and then be enchanted all over again.

Thursday, October 14, 2010

Food Porn Hotline: Episode 4

(The above image in no way represents me. Any possible resemblance to me is purely not coincidental, and very probably, forces beyond my control have conspired to render me in this unflattering fashion, and you can bet that the Trilateral commission and maybe the Rothschilds had something to do with it. Seriously.)

The original story was about MTV suggesting that its employees might want to show up to the Stewart-Colbert Restoring Sanity show, but somehow, we just lost track of the topic.

TrooBloo99: Everyone I've known who has worked for MTV says the same thing: That it's a sweatshop.
Alric_IV: Just about all work environments are sweatshops. That's why we're in the economic mess we're in.

This is all followed by a number of yada yada comments, and then I chime in:

Jewel: I work in a bakery. It is hot. Ovens are hot. I sweat. I love it. Best job I ever had. Care for a sticky bun?
Alric_IV: Oh, God. A bakery. The smells alone would make me delirious, and I'd be salivated all over the goods. At our Winn-Dixie, they back bread fresh every day, and when I walk in, I can smell it. It's almost like the scent crooks a graceful finger, like in a cartoon, and leads me by the nose right to the source. The bread is still warm, and when I put it in the car, it wafts through the interior and I have to tear off a piece right then and there. It got me to thinking that the smell of bread is probably a primal genetic memory. The pleasure is just too intense. 
Jewel: Not only is it hot in the bakery, and the air is heavy with the perfume of butter and vanilla and chocolate, not only do I go home smelling of yeast and Vietnamese cinnamon, but my hands are softened by the constant massage of butter into dough, and from brushing it onto steaming, flaky croissants. Our bakery also makes a lot of different kinds of coffees and teas, so the air just swirls with intoxicating aromas, and in the morning, there is an underlying grace note of slow cooked steel cut oatmeal, which cooks up into a light and fluffy cloud onto which customers sprinkle brown sugar and cinnamon.
The bakery is but one aspect of this family-owned emporium of delicacies. But they smoke their own bacon, Alric. Their. own. bacon. Have you ever tasted home made bacon? Cut thick, and smoked over hickory wood? And hams, Alric. The hams would send a Dane into madness with craving and envy.
Yes. It's a sweat shop. A most delightful sweat shop.This has been your food porn moment of the day.
Alric_IV: Oh, my. (gulp) T-t-thank you for that.
Jewel:  Anything I can do to help, Alric. Would you like me to eat a cookie for you, too? 


Alric, welcome to the Tasty Infidelicacies Café of Bliss. I welcome all kinds of people, regardless of political persuasions, race, creed or sexual disorientation(s). This blog is about conversation. I don't tolerate hackneyed clichés, because it provokes the mirthful side of mockery in me, so if you would like to post something, I only ask that you be honest in what you believe and defend it for all its worth. And be as funny as you are at Big Hollywood!

I do not think that means what you think that means

For Vermont Woodchuck, who speaks French. I do, too, but I don't often understand the French. Both the characters in this ad are speaking the same language, but they aren't quite speaking the same language,
which is why it's so funny, and of course, the video is going viral.
Hat tips to Bookworm Room, American Digest and  The New Editor.


The soundtrack for this television promo is the same piece of music that was used in the movie,
"The Fall", also known as Beethoven's 7th Symphony, 2nd movement.

Wednesday, October 13, 2010

Commenting Problems

If you came here and noticed that all the comments have disappeared, fret not. I am switching from Blogger's commenting scheme to Disqus' system. Apparently, people have tried to comment and are not able to. Since Disqus has been the least difficult for me to use, and because it is being used at Right Networks, in addition to a lot of really great blogs, I thought it would be best to keep it all in the family. I am in the process of importing the comments over from Blogger to Disqus, but the widgets are touchy, so it might take a while. Patience is all I ask.
Thank you.
The Ménagement.

Tuesday, October 12, 2010

Good-bye, Irksome Middle Child, Hello, Mrs. Franze!


Her father wept. I wept. We all wept, and here he's sharing a last dance with her. More pictures to come later.

Manuel Blancafort

This year I have given most of my attention to the Catalan composers Manuel Blancafort and Féderico Mompou.  Their music is pensive and 'miniature', meaning each piece is about a page or two in length, only. Most of the songs are played between andante and allegretto. Many of them have a sadness to them, especially the Blancafort pieces.

In this series of short songs from Blancafort's 'Cançons de Muntanya' (Mountain songs) the pieces are plaintive and gentle, very good to listen to just before going to sleep.


And this from Mompou: Scènes d'Enfance - Jeunes Filles au Jardin


and for you, Teresa: Secreto


Blancafort and Mompou can be downloaded here.  Or at iTunes. I recommend this from Blancafort and that from Mompou, to get you started.

Understanding the Muslim Dyslexicon

Via Gateway Pundit:  Turkish Nationalist Rally in Ancient Church Angers Armenians.

Extended video here.


From the video:
"Turkey's government hails what it calls growing religious tolerance in the country after allowing a Muslim prayer service to be allowed to be held in a disused Armenian church." 

Breathtaking hypocrisy. Why is the Armenian church disused? Well, look at the video. It is not only not used, it is in terrible disrepair. This is the normal state of Christian churches in Muslim countries.  

The Akhtamar church fell into disrepair following the 1915 mass killings and deportations of Armenians in the Ottoman Empire, which many countries and historians regard as the first genocide of the twentieth century. It was thoroughly renovated and turned into a state museum in March 2007. (my emphasis) The Turkish government, which spent $1.5 million on the renovation, has since resisted calls to return the church to its previous owner, the Istanbul Patriarchate of the Armenian Apostolic Church. It has only allowed Turkey’s remaining Armenian community to hold religious serves on the tiny island once a year. 
Ankara’s failure to honor its reported pledge to restore a cross at the top of the temple by September 19 provided another source of controversy, leading many Armenians to dismiss the event as a publicity stunt. Turkish authorities quietly placed the cross back on the church dome on September 30 (Yerkir-Media TV, www.tert.am), a development that was completely overshadowed by the “namaz,” or Muslim prayer, in Ani on the following day.
The MHP made no secret of the fact that the prayer service was a response to the Akhtamar mass. The party’s senior leader, Devlet Bahceli, personally led a crowd of several hundred nationalists into the ruins of Ani, located on the Turkish-Armenian border, to the accompaniment of Ottoman military marches played by a Janissary-style brass band. Turkish television images showed the crowd waving Turkish flags and chanting “Allahu Akbar” (God is great) before saying prayers in and around the Armenian cathedral.
Really? That was a renovated church?


All throughout the video the commentator blathers on about brokered peace accords and unused churches, without ever once mentioning why that is. The above images ought to help with your understanding.

Hiding the Little Sister

Thanks, Unhappy Hipsters, for dredging up a happy memory and making me feel like crap.




Someday he’d remember which pod contained his sister; until then, her
piercing cries cut into his practice time.
 
I have to confess. I need to confess. I will feel better if I confess.

I did this to my sister.  I didn't lose her, of course, but I did hide her in a  pod...if a dryer can be called a pod.

She got over it. Eventually.

It wasn't on.  And her piercing cries did cut into my practice time. 

Monday, October 11, 2010

The Mother Effingby Award

This woman is how we should all be when it comes to the rancid, thuglike behavior of SEIU, which is officially the new and improved KGB in this country. She earns the "Mother Effingby'' Award for her act. More power to you, sister!


Sunday, October 10, 2010

Musica Callada

I'm a softy when it comes to Spanish composers, especially the Catalan composers. Most people think of flamenco and guitars, but  I think of the piano. This performance of Féderico Mompou's Musica Callada no. 3 is lovely, wistful and intimate.


The man playing isn't a professional, but he's pretty good, and in our conversations, he has inspired me to really practice and love this music. Acquiring it is half the game, though, but well worth the effort.

You Might be an Idiot, if...

You need a manual to explain what being an idiot is.



TV licence staff get complaints guidance
By Sam Marsden, PA
Sunday, 10 October 2010

TV licence fee staff have been issued with a manual advising that customers who use the words "idiots", "shambles" or "useless" are likely to be making a complaint.

Other indications that a viewer may be unhappy include use of capital letters or the phrases, "When will you people listen?", "Who do you think you are?" and "Sort yourselves out!"

The document also reveals quirks in the rules about who needs a licence - the Queen, prisoners and diplomats do not, but all other Royals and prison officers who live in the grounds of a jail do.

The 964-page official handbook, which was released following a Freedom of Information request, sets out in detail how the fee should be administered.

A large section is dedicated to dealing with complaints, including prepared answers to regular objections about the BBC's "offensive" programmes and the aggressive tone of licence fee warning letters that could "shock" elderly people.

Staff are advised to look out for particular "keywords" suggesting a customer is protesting about some aspect of the £145.50-a-year fee.

These include: "compensation", "complaint", "disgraceful", "disgusted", "incompetent", "appalling", "furious", "intimidation", "mistakes", "harassment", "rude", "threatening", "outrageous", "upsetting", "unacceptable" and swear words.

The guide also lists warning phrases, such as "I am extremely angry", "I demand an apology", "lack of courtesy", "your failure" and "I will sue".

The document adds: "Remember underlining of key words and phrases or the use of bold or capital letters designed to make certain parts of a letter stand out is also an indication of a complaint."

Officials are given stock answers to common criticisms of the licence, including "The BBC is producing poor programmes, some are offensive, I am only going to pay a proportion of the fee" and "If an old person had received this letter they would have been very shocked".

The two main companies contracted by the BBC to administer the TV licence received 35,000 complaints in 2008 and 37,000 in 2009, according to the TV Licensing website.

The manual, known as the TV Licensing Ask Helpscript, discloses that the Queen is exempt from paying the fee but other members of the Royal Family are not.

Prisoners do not need a licence for TVs in their cells or other communal areas because prisons are subject to Crown exemption.

But a licence is required by prison officers who live in jail grounds and have a TV in their accommodation or for a staff social club on the premises.

The document also notes: "Diplomats enjoy immunity from prosecution. If they choose not to buy a TV licence, TV Licensing cannot enforce the law against them.

"Embassy buildings also have diplomatic protection and TV Licensing cannot enforce the law if the embassy chooses not to buy a TV licence."

The BBC Trust announced last month that the licence fee would be frozen at £145.50 for at least a year because of the financial pressures on viewers.

A TV Licensing spokeswoman said: "There are more than 25 million licences in force.

"In 2009-10 complaints totalled 29,900, representing 0.1% of all licence holders, which was a 16% decrease on the previous year.

"Complaint numbers are published each year in TV Licensing's annual review."

She added: "The Government is responsible for setting the level of the licence fee and defines who needs a licence."

 If you, the customer, are willing to pay a fee for the privilege of watching television, then you're probably an idiot. Perhaps it is called the 'idiot box' for a good reason.

No Place to Lay My Head

The new bride and her husband tip toed in at 4 am. The bride, the former Miss Irksome, asked if they could sleep here.

"We married, now, so is it okay?"

Well, when you put it that way.

Apparently, Lancaster PA is a major destination for Columbus Day travelers looking for a 3-day weekend. The pregnant couple couldn't find a single available room. No rooms at the inn. So they crashed here for the rest of the night.

Thus ended an emotional day for all. I don't think I have ever seen a grown man cry as much as her dad did.  Our faces are still puffy. Happy-sad. Can't make up my mind.

Saturday, October 9, 2010

The Balloon


The Mother’s Loathing of Balloons

BY A.E. STALLINGS
I hate you,
How the children plead
At first sight—

I want, I need,
I hate how nearly
Always I

At first say no,
And then comply.
(Soon, soon

They will grow bored
Clutching your

Umbilical cord)—

Over the moon,
Lighter-than-air,
Should you come home,

They’d cease to care—
Who tugs you through
The front door

On a leash, won’t want you
Anymore
And will forget you

On the ceiling—
Admittedly,
A giddy feeling—

Later to find you,
Puckered, small,
Crouching low

Against the wall.
O thin-of-skin
And fit to burst,
You break for her
Who wants you worst.
Your forebear was

The sack of the winds,
The boon that gives
And then rescinds,

Containing nothing
But the force
That blows everyone

Off course.
Once possessed,
Your one chore done,

You float like happiness
To the sun,
Untethered afternoon,

Unkind,
Marooning all
You’ve left behind:

Their tinfoil tears,
Their plastic cries,
Their wheedling

And moot goodbyes,
You shrug them off—
You do not heed—

O loose bloom
             With no root
                              No seed.




While it isn't the same movie as the one we all saw as children in the basement of the Public Liberry, it looks interesting enough to check out. I'm in a giddy, balloony kind of mood, today. Can't imagine why. Might have to do with the fact that I should be getting some sleep and I'm wide awake. And 2 pm is the big balloon moment for me as I watch Irksome Middle Child become Mrs. Irksome Middle Child Bride. Yes, I know she's 20, now, but she's always going to be my little girl. I promise to put up pictures of the nuptials. Oh, how her dad's gonna weep. Here's the original Red Balloon movie, by Albert Lamorisse, in 4 parts:


Wednesday, October 6, 2010

Madison Avenue....emphasis on Mad

From Moonbattery:

I guess children aren't the future, after all.




I fear they are just getting started.

What happens when they start telling you that you can only have one child per family. Europeans don't seem to mind breeding themselves out of existence, but when even that is no longer enough, what then?

Of course our overlords have a master plan, so that's reassuring.

Useful Maps

I love maps. Always have. They were my favorite part of the National Geographic magazine. As the designated backseat driver, I was in charge of the road map. It pains me that I became obsolete when a soft spoken disembodied woman's voice of the GPS tracking device replaced me.. She's almost made maps unnecessary. Until now. I bring you, courtesy of xkcd,  the Online Communities map:


It is said that Joseph Conrad learned to write English by reading maps and newspapers. And what exquisite English he wrote. But of course, that was before the internet, which has, for the most part either made spoken and written  language better or worse, according to whatever online community you happen to be living in.

Here's another very useful map, for Americans who can't be bothered with the ever changing borders of Europe: From flickr,  via Right Network:


Clearly, a more perfect union could not be formed without the threat of NATO threatening something in a really, really important tone.




I miss my map of the Hundred Acre Wood, that useless relic of innocent childhood. If you were to use it when wandering into the Hundred Acre Wood after dark, nowadays, you'd be set upon by a bunch of knife-wielding yobs who would rob you, then stab you, leave you for dead, and if you were lucky enough to remain alive to be able to give a good description of the thugs to the police, you'd be arrested and sent to prison for committing a hate crime for having described them as a gang of 'Pakistani' boys what jumped you and took your money.

And of course, Narnia and all the Shire are now tourist traps, thanks to Hollywood. But wait, there's more!

Fantasy maps in reality:  A completely judenrein Israel! Way to go! Land for Peace of the watery grave, since I am assuming that the Peace partners were successful in driving all the Jews into the sea, going by this map, anyway.


Ah, but Google Earth has restored my love for maps, once more. It's the next best thing to being there.

Kalifornistan, Here we come!

Via China Confidential.



If the Fumbling Bumblers of Incompetence aren't worried, and the Department of Homeland Indifference isn't picking up when you call to let them know about a possible bomb threat, does anyone have a right to be surprised when the Ikhwan come a calling, looking for their 72 Sunmaid Raisin Babes? It is just a matter of time before the IED makes its debut here. And then the shahid won't have to kill himself for Allah Snackbar, now will he? Nope, he'll make his killing and get all the raisins his heart desires, because Allah Knows Best, that there aren't a hell of a lot of vineyards in Dar El Islam.

I never did believe the half-assed attempt by the soft spoken moderates of Islam that the horny little jihadist was going to get 72 'raisins' when he goes trick or treating among the infidels, I am but a woman, after all. Still, stoking the sons of Allah with the promise of healthy snacks if they just detonate themselves says a lot about their state of mind. How awful is the cuisine that you'll blow yourself to Heaven for some raisins?

We had lovely, thick cut pork chops covered in gingered apples and golden raisins for dinner. With mashed potatoes and cider gravy and green beans. Completely haram, of course. But that's the point. We were satisfied with our infidel fare, not needing to go BOOM! in the train station or on a bus somewhere. What a sorry state to be in, that you are not permitted to enjoy the things of this life for the promise of....wait for it....the things of this life which you were forbidden to enjoy in this life!

Which is why Islam is a totally suckworthy religion. It makes no sense at all. As for the movie trailer...is it me, or did you notice that the narrator of this comical horror show sounds an awful lot like Invader Zim?

Monday, October 4, 2010

Rehash movie Review: The Fall

Leftovers, again. No money this week. Scrimp, save and reheat.



Rent this movie tonight. I think it is one of the best movies I have seen in a long time. Visually, it is a feast for the eyes. Tarsem Singh has revived the art of storytelling, which these days has largely been replaced with a lot of anti-American and global baloney propagandizing. I haven't liked the movies for a very long time.

Here is possibly the best review of what I wish I could say.

Written by Chris Pandolfi:

I remember the days when I had stories read to me. I remember how it made me feel. Me and about twenty other kids would gather at the teacher's feet, and I would actually imagine the story unfolding as she read aloud. I think we all have those memories buried somewhere within, those wonderful moments when the spoken word transcends mere speech and becomes a definite vision. Tarsem's "The Fall" works in much the same way, not only for the characters, but also for the audience; reality and fantasy are interchangeable, not separate. People from our world appear in the story, and characters in the story are broadly drawn from the people in our world. It's much like the whimsical dreamscape of "The Wizard of Oz," in which Dorothy awakens in Kansas and realizes that the Scarecrow, the Tin Man, the Lion, and the Wizard were actually people she knew, therefore with her the entire journey.

But the dreamscape of "The Fall" is much more compelling than anything conjured out of whimsy. It's a character-driven fantasy that uses both its brain and its heart, with a story so compelling it doesn't let us escape. We don't much want to, especially if we hold true to the power of imagination and the hope of redemption. Paradoxically, it takes the imperfections of human existence to reach these perfect ideas; the characters of this film are flawed and vulnerable, far from a series of walking clichés. Many are manipulative and selfish. The main character is innocent, but at age five, she's also incredibly naïve. She sees and hears everything going on around her, and while she doesn't understand most of it, you can tell that she's trying to. Her name is Alexandria, and she's played by Catinca Untaru--she was so receptive to the material that I never once believed she was acting. She was living it.

Taking place in 1920s-era Los Angeles, "The Fall" actually opens with the aftermath of a bad fall, and we see a man and a horse pulled from a lake, having tumbled off a railroad bridge. Soon after, we meet little Alexandria, an immigrant worker hospitalized after breaking her arm picking oranges. Always with a box full of things she likes, she travels the hallways and wings of the hospital, mentally gathering the sights and sounds. One day, she wanders onto a lower floor and meets Roy Walker (Lee Pace), a bedridden, emotionally broken Hollywood stuntman; after some initial banter, Roy begins telling Alexandria an epic story of five men seeking revenge.

Over the course of the film, we see that the characters of Roy's story are reflections of the people in or around the hospital: a one-legged actor becomes Luigi (Robin Smith), a master of explosives; an orderly becomes Charles Darwin (Leo Bill), a naturalist who travels with a monkey, searching for an elusive breed of butterfly; the hospital's ice delivery man becomes Otta Benga (Marcus Wesley), a former slave; an orange picker becomes the Indian (Jeetu Verma), who lost his intended so horribly, he vowed to never stare at another woman; Alexandria's dead father (Emil Hostina) initially becomes the Masked Bandit, but he's replaced by Roy when Alexandria says her father shouldn't be in the story. With the help of a tree-dwelling mystic (Julian Bleech), the five bandits journey across exotic lands to find the ruthless Governor Odious (Daniel Caltagirone), drawn from the hospital's Dr. Sinclair.

As the story progresses, we quickly realize that the characters aren't the only things mirrored from reality--the entire plot is a stylized reinterpretation of Roy's recent life. To say more would give too much away, but here are a few things to consider: (1) Roy periodically pauses the story and has Alexandria steal medicine for him; (2) he closes his eyes at one point and tries to guess which of his toes she's holding on to, and we're not sure if she tells him a lie; (3) he gets increasingly unwilling to see the story through to the end. Even when Roy's situation is finally explained, we still wonder what would possess him to do the things he does. For him, telling Alexandria a story is not his way of escaping into fantasy, but of gaining the upper hand. And yet we deeply care for him; we believe that a decent soul lies beneath the anguish, waiting for the right time to emerge.

At the same time, we're taken aback when Alexandria wishes to never get better. She seems to have formed a special bond with Roy, most likely because she doesn't know she's being manipulated. She probably doesn't even know what manipulation is; she does what she's asked without stopping to consider why she's doing it. With her, it's not about being sneaky but about experiencing life, and this is despite the limitations of young age and the confines of hospital walls. Keep in mind that we never see her playing with the other children in the pediatric ward; we suspect that she imagines things at a much more mature level, considering how well developed her communication skills are. She doesn't always have the words, but she somehow finds a way to get her point across. This kind of character development is rarely seen in today's movies; most are bogged down by predictable plotlines and mass-produced special effects. "The Fall" is a refreshing exception to the rule--a visual masterstroke with an engrossing character-driven plot. It's definitely one of the year's best films.




I don't recall seeing this movie which came out in May of this year, advertised, or even seeing it in my theater. Which is a shame, since we went to see City of Ember....another pretty good family film...and we were the only people in the theater for the final matinee.

I think Catinca Untaru should receive an Oscar for her lovely, honest performance. She has a definite future in the movies.

Sunday, October 3, 2010

Contrast and Compare

Be not afraid! Be not very afraid! From I Own the World via Smart Girl Politics @ Facebook

Leftovers are Wonderful. Here, Have Some!


Since I started blogging, I have gotten many new regular readers. Most people don't like to go poking through the archives if there are a lot of blogs they read. Most just stop by to see if I've updated, and still others come and look up recipes or hotlink to photos. Tsk. Blog etiquette rule: Download your picture, and create a link for it at your own site. Thanks. And I'm getting some weird spam from Anonymous. But, enough of that. I thought I would repost some older essays for those of you who haven't been here all that long. I'll try to post new things, daily, but I will sprinkle some of my favorite stories into the mix.

Enjoy!

Today's leftover, served once more with extra ketchup, if necessary:


What do you suppose the high school mascot is of Shitterton, England?



The Scullery Maid by Giuseppe Crespi

Annie @ Discarded Lies asks the following question: "Is a British accent all you need to succeed in America?" Well, in the words of Twin Number 2, "Hell to the Yeah!"

I know this how? Not because I am British, by no means. I know this because I pretended to be British in order to get a job, a job I got by lying about everything else through my crooked British-looking teeth, too.

I wasn't always a good liar, since I only lied in order to get out of trouble and pin the blame on my brother. I wasn't very good at it, and I always felt a tinge of remorse....especially if my dad's belt came off and did some harsh asswhoopage. I hope you can forgive me for those times, dear brother. I know I have already gotten over it.

Anyway, back to "How I Became a Fab Success by Lying While Using a British Accent, and How you can, too!"

CHAPTER 1

I was unemployed and apparently, unemployable...at least in the town of Berwick, Pennsylvania.

Although I had worked in the news business for many years, no newspaper wanted to hire me. (They usually hire from within the paper.)

And my abilities as a librarian got me nowhere with the local librarian, who, though desperately needing another librarian, didn't want to pay what I'd made in Lancaster as a newspaper librarian. So I looked beyond my ken, and applied at restaurants, where no one wanted to hire me because they were always concerned that once a position opened up at the library, I would quit and go there to work. The grocery stores gave me the same reasons.

Desperate, I decided that the only way to get a job was to lie about my credentials. So I made my mind up to lie. Number One Rule about Lying to get a job: Lie about everything. I mean EVERYTHING! Make sure that the people you create as references are people you have known a long time, and give fake phone numbers, but make sure it's really long distance, like from England or France, or Morocco, if you want to make sure they won't ever call....and make sure your references are dead, too. I prefer dead references who have died in hideous manners. Suicides aren't necessarily a good idea, but make sure you add in the margins: "Investigators say the explosion was an accident."

Oh, and make sure that the job experience you make up is in relation to the job you are looking for. Which means, if you are applying for a lawyer job or a brain surgeon job...make sure you give yourself lots and lots of brain surgeon or lawyer experience. That way, the prospective boss will really be impressed. And always say that you learn new things quickly. At this point, I wanted to close the deal, because the personnel director was clearly impressed with me and when she called me in for the interview, I thought to myself, while still out in the lobby waiting, "how do I make sure I get this job, and not these other skanks who are probably better trained than me?" Answer: English Accent. Boo-Yeah!

As the future boss was looking over my creds and shaking her head with awe at the fact that I had been so well-traveled, she asked me some pointless thing about my childhood...and then, POP, out it came, the Britishest accent you ever did hear! Well, needless to say, she was REALLY interested in getting me started right away.
She took me to where I would be working, and introduced me to my new work mates, who were duly impressed with me, because of my Acme™ British Accent, including the German lady, who said, "Oh, I Lufffffff Enklant! I used to liffff in Enklant Zvanzik Yearsss! Vayre Vere you born in Enklant?" Damn, I hadn't thought about that question. Because my birth certificate says Kansas City, MO, and well, I was going to say that I was accidentally born there, yet British all the way, in spite of my mother's botching it. But I didn't say that, because that would have actually sounded plausible. So I said the following:
"Well, I was born in a rather small and insignificant town, you probably never heard of." (Think dammit. THINK!!!! Something. ANYTHING. MAKE. IT. UP!")
So I did, remembering that English towns are often combinations of ridiculous-sounding words and syllables, like Primbole on Sackwhuthers....and thus I created the small village of Twatsworth. You know, Twatsworth? It straddles the river Bumsuckle?

And that is where I became from: Twatsworth-Upon-Bumsuckle.

Fräulein's blank stare didn't bode well, but luckily, the rest of the staff members were American, so they believed me. (FYI: I decided, when I went home from work, that Twatsworth-Upon-Bumsuckle was given this name after Henry the VIII came looking for a good wench with whom he could sire a manchild, and seeing only a few cows and inbred farmers around, he proclaimed that there was nary a twatsworth to be had in this Godforsaken land, and that's how our town came into being...just in case it ever came up.)
So now I had a point of origin. As I began my on the job training, I vowed to tell one new outrageous lie after another, every day of the week. I was going to be the best damn dishwasher they EVER had.

The Most Aggressively Inarticulate Generation, Ya Know?



Typography from Ronnie Bruce on Vimeo.  Stolen shamelessly from Right Network.


After I rightfully received a good verbal drubbing for being inarticulate,  I thought this would push the topic on language and the importance of clarity further forward. So pay attention!


I began to notice this awful trend in American speech about thirty years ago while in high school. It started as a quickly spreading linguistic mold in California and soon infected the speech patterns of my generation in the Pacific Northwest, where I was living at the time. I thought it was funny and mocked my friends who began to speak like this. But let me tell you something. Nothing is funny about a man or a woman who, at nearly 50 years of age, STILL speaks like this.

When my kids began speaking this way, I hounded them.

Here's how you stop this bad habit from taking root in their mouths: Let them hear how they sound whenever they do it by mimicking them. Around their friends. Always in a public place, like the mall. And speak loudly. Talk to their teachers this way. All the time. Relentlessness is the key. Soon enough, they will get tired of hearing it, and it will stop being cool. Nothing kills cool like a parent trying to be cool.

Now, one of the interesting things about living 40 miles from Philly is the regional accent. There are a number of interesting accents in Lancaster County. There's the Philly transplant accent, the Pennsylvania Dutch accent, usually spoken by the elderly natives, and then there's a kind of patois that blends those two with a Baltimore twang, which is the accent  my in laws have. I love hearing it, I often speak with it, and the interesting thing about it is the inversion of the interrogative sentence into a declarative sentence. I first noticed this accentidental oddity while visiting my brother-in-law for the first time. I was sitting in one of the only available chairs, eating my dinner from a paper plate. My 9 year-old nephew came up to me and asked, "Youse'r DONE wid 'at?"  His voice made it a declarative sentence. As if he was saying, "You're done sitting here, get up, so I can sit down."

On the topic of speech 'pediments', I have preferences. Speaking in an accent is fun, and English has so many wonderful accents. My favorite is the transatlantic English accent that you hear in the old movies of the 30s and 40s. Katherine Hepburn is the perfect example of well-spoken transatlantic English.

The voice is a marvelous tool, and used well, it is powerful for many reasons. A well-spoken speech can inspire and motivate. Hearing the dilapidated state of our language  is maddening, but there is hope, because many people have finally noticed and are speaking against its decline.

Here is a good demonstration of accents, all beautifully spoken - if you're looking to change up the one ya gots.



Speechify! And remember:

Friday, October 1, 2010

No Problem, Really.

At least they're honest. The video is viral, and the people responsible for it cannot possibly hope to put the genie back into the bottle. When you cut through all the blather about saving the planet, the solution begins to look horrifyingly final.

video


It has always been the same means to the same happy and perfect ending  for the utopia fanatics in every age, of every stripe, whether religious or atheist.  And always, it has ushered in a final solution that requires the slaughter of 'hindrances' by the millions. Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose.

UPDATE: Big Fur Hat has made some alterations, and I think you'll agree, the Kool-Aid tastes less cyanidy.

EVEN MORE UPDATED: Bookworm Room has a list of the parodies you knew were coming. Hitler's Bunker Moment will be surpassed.