Spoooooky!

Yeah, I would have to say that's pretty true. As far as the bad stuff, I have a built-in excuse: I'm a Scorpio. Everyone knows we're nutso.

Hat Tip: Chrissy

As If You Needed Another Reason

...to love Sheila, but if for some unknown reason you do, know that she hates Forrest Gump.

Which makes her worthy of being worshipped, if you ask me.

She's also right on about movies about the disabled and Rosie O'Donnell.

File This One in the "Revenge Is a Dish Best Served Cold" File

Remember The Guardian's Operation Clark County from last autumn? You know, the project wherein they invaded the voter rolls from Clark County, Ohio and asked people from all over the world to write a letter to one voter, encouraging them to get out and vote? Because the American election really and truly affected everyone in the world, not just Americans! Hence they felt they had the right to butt into our electoral processes. Remember that?

Well, payback is, indeed, a bitch.

{Insert much mirth here}

No Prizes of Worth Here, But Perhaps a Little Fun

So, since it seems all anyone in the blogosphere is able to talk about is the upcoming release of Episode III:Revenge of the Sith, and this has brought out, how shall I put it, a wee bit of cynicsm in most people, I thought it was time to have some fun.

Because these movies used to be fun, right?

They used to be magical.

Now, we all could go on about how George Lucas is a money-grubbin', kiddie-entertain', legacy rapist---and I'm not saying he doesn't deserve those titles---but let's be honest about a few things here, ok?

1. Like myself, you're all going to go and see Episode III. You just are. You've been suckered yet again. Like myself. I have to see how the story ends and so do you.

2. You're somewhat excited about going to see Episode III. You may feel dirty about being excited, like you do when you watch pr0n or go to a strip club, but you are excited nonetheless.

So, like the man who ditches the guilt and loads up on one dollar bills before a trip to sniffer's row, it's time to load up on some pre-Episode III fun.

Which is why I'm announcing, {insert drumroll and much fanfare here}

Here's the deal. In the Cake Eater household, there are many boxes labeled with the brand name, "Trivial Pursuit." One of these boxes just also happens to have the Star Wars logo on it with the phrase "Classic Trilogy Collector's Edition" printed right below it. Each day until the movie is released (May 19, 2005), I will pick one card, post all the questions, and whomever answers them all correctly (or gets the most correct...some of these questions are very obscure) will receive the gratitude of a blogosphere (and this blogger) for having the guts to have some freakin' fun with this whole thing. And If the winner of the day emails me a picture of themself, I'll p'shop them into a Storm Trooper uniform or, in the case of Princess Leia's metal bikini, I'll put their head (or the head of their beloved) on her body. Same goes with any other character. Just think of the possibilities---they're endless.

These are all questions from Star Wars, The Empire Strikes Back and Return of the Jedi. There will be no questions from Episode I or Episode II. (This edition was released right before Episode I came out. ) There might be questions from the Special Editions, but I'm not really sure. I've never played this game because the husband knows all of this stuff backwards and forwards and I do not generally enjoy being spanked in Trivial Pursuit, so I've never actually played this edition. This might make it too easy for you, if you're a dedicated Geek who still has The Millenium Falcon in its original box, but it should be fun for everyone, ya dig?

It's time to have some fun with all of this, so in the spirit of said fun, I would ask you not to go out and Google the answers. It's no fun if you do that and this is supposed to be fun, damnit! HAVE SOME FUN!

Without further ado, Here are today's questions:

• What was Piett's rank in the Imperial military at the start of The Empire Strikes Back?
• What type of machine on the first Death Star bore the unit number 3263827?
• What suggestion of Darth Vader's prompted Luke to attack Vader in a murderous rage?
• What massive object did Darth Vader's flagship collide with?
• What Rebel had an alien co-pilot named Nien Nunb in Return of the Jedi
• Who, according to Grand Moff Tarkin, was the last of the Jedi?

I'll post the answers and the winner tomorrow (you know, if anyone actually participates! Don't make me look like an idiot here, ok?)

It's Review Time

No, not me. The child. She's reviewing the new IPEX bra from Vicky's. Other ruminations are involved as well.

A small sampling.

{...}Men don't understand bras - or breasts for that matter. This should maybe be a topic for the divas...I don't know. All I know is, most men seem to think of breasts as toys. You know, the x-wing fighters of their adult world. Very few men I've met have not been utterly fascinated by breasts. Touch, squeeze, twist, twit, they do love to play.{...}

The husband would swear that the "Most Technologically Advanced Bra in The World tagline for these things is meant to appeal to men and not women. After all, boys have to have the latest and greatest toys in the world or they're just not cool. When they were kids, it was all about Big Wheels and that sort of thing. Nowadays it's pricey cell phones and stereo equipment. Why not tap into that market by billing a bra as "the most technologically advanced"? The theory going on that men would buy their chicks these titslingers using the same criteria as they'd use to buy a pair of speakers.

Makes sense.

Kingdom of Heaven Update

Courtesy of Ith, we have an extensive post by Justin at Calblog, which points to the Council on American Islamic Relations approval of Kingdom of Heaven. A few months ago, I posted a bit on this, agreeing with Jonathan over at Galley Slaves that there would probably be a CAIR backlash leading up to this film, but expressed my hope that the film would rise above it all. (Yeah, I goofed the original link, which you can find here. You people have to tell me when I do this.)

It's surprising that CAIR endorsed the film. To quote from Justin's post:

{...}The fact that a sue-happy, terror-apologist group like CAIR actually put its seal of approval on the film should be quite damning. (Do you suppose that the filmmakers bothered to show Christian/Catholic leaders an advance screening of the film to get their input and seal of approval? Not likely. That should speak volumes about the cynical nature of this film.){...}

Hmmmph.

I don't agree with that. Given the strong theme of the glories of Western Civilization in Ridley's other films, such as Black Hawk Down, I'm not going to be so quick to condemn the movie simply because CAIR endorsed it. Ridley's got a track record when it comes to defending Western Civilization. I'm willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. If he chooses to show what could be considered to be a low point for Western Civilization, which many people think the Crusades were, then score one for Ridley. Sometimes Western Civilization needs to be defended from itself. Whether this is one of those instances, I do not know. It could be utter crap. Again, I don't know. I haven't seen it. But, I'm certainly not going to take CAIR's word that it's great as proof that it's politcally correct crap, either.

I can judge these things for myself.

Chickensh*ts

Courtesy of Sully, we have this lovely little ditty.

Republican Alabama lawmaker Gerald Allen says homosexuality is an unacceptable lifestyle. As CBS News Correspondent Mark Strassmann reports, under his bill, public school libraries could no longer buy new copies of plays or books by gay authors, or about gay characters.

"I don't look at it as censorship," says State Representative Gerald Allen. "I look at it as protecting the hearts and souls and minds of our children."

Books by any gay author would have to go: Tennessee Williams, Truman Capote and Gore Vidal. Alice Walker's novel "The Color Purple" has lesbian characters.

Allen originally wanted to ban even some Shakespeare. After criticism, he narrowed his bill to exempt the classics, although he still can't define what a classic is. Also exempted now Alabama's public and college libraries.{...}

To put it mildly, I despise people who wound ban books because something about a particular book disagrees with their worldview. It is the most cowardly, chickenshitted thing someone could do, in my humble opinion. One suspects that I'm not the only person who feels this way. But am I? In this particular case one would think that there would be a few courageous souls in the Alabama legislature who would show up to decry this action, just on the principle of the thing, even if their worldview agreed with that of the would-be banner.

Apparently not.

Editor's Note: When the time for the vote in the legislature came there were not enough state legislators present for the vote, so the measure died automatically.

{emphasis mine}

They didn't have a quorum. That's why this bill died. Not because anyone had the guts to stand up and decry book banning, but rather because this was the solution that, I suspect, would ruffle the least amount of feathers.

Chickenshits.

I do not know why I feel compelled to state this time and again, but I'm going to do it again, so LISTEN THE FUCK UP because it gets very tiresome repeating oneself.

Ahem.

Book banning is wrong. It is not what America is about. If you disagree with an author, or the ideas they've presented in a book, DON'T READ THE DAMN THING! But do not under any circumstances think you have the right to tell other people what they should or should not read. That's not your job. You are not allowed to tell people that. People have their own brains. They are allowed to feed their gray matter what they would. If they choose to read something you would disagree with, it is not your job or your right to become their mother and to say they shouldn't have access to that particular book.

Think I'm flying off the handle here? That I'm overreacting to what is, in all reality, a very small thing? Well, I'm not.

Would you like to know what the most frequently challenged books were in 2004? Go here.

Note that on that list is one of Maurice---Where the Wild Things Are---Sendak's books. The former poet laureate of the United States, Maya Angelou's I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings is on that list. Dav Pilkey's marvelously funny Captain Underpants series is on that list. Of Mice and Men, an American classic, by John Steinbeck is on that list. These are not books that are "out there." These are mainstream authors, whose works some idiot considers to be "dangerous" and "inappropriate."

If you want to be even more shocked, go and peruse the list of the 100 Most Frequently Challenged Books, 1990-2000 . Take a peek at some of the books on that list. I'm sure you've read a few. Probably in high school, when it seems everyone is subjected to Flowers For Algernon and The Catcher in the Rye. Take a hard, extensive look at that list and know that some people are afraid and scared by some books that are considered to be classics of American literature. Know that some people are offended by To Kill a Mockingbird or The Adventures of Tom Sawyer. These people don't like the ideas presented in these books. Then realize that since they didn't care for them, they don't think you should care for them either. Instead of being rational about it and agreeing to disagree, instead of saying "to each their own," their answer to the problem is to work toward outright banning of said books. In the process they would impose their thoughts and beliefs upon you.

It's cowardly in the extreme to not let someone make up their own mind about something. It signals that you have so little faith in the merits of your own argument that instead of encouraging debate, and bringing someone over to your side of the argument, you would repress opposing arguments altogether.

It is the equivalent of covering your ears and screaming, "LALALLAALALAICANT'HEARYOULALALALALAALALAICAN'THEARYOU!"

That, most assuredly, is not what America is about.

Quite Interesting

Quite interesting indeed.

But most likely false and is someone's whim to get people to watch the press conference.

{Hat Tip: STEEEEEEVE-O}

It's About Time

The Crack Young Staff of "The Hatemonger's Quarterly" has finally taken on the skank Wonkette.

{...}Perhaps you’d recognize Wonkette if you saw her, dear reader: She’s a thin, wan 30-something gal who looks as if she’s been genetically engineered to live in a bog. She makes an albino look like Isaac Hayes.

But never mind the fact that Wonkette clearly resembles that girl from your kindergarten class who used to pick her nose and eat it. That’s hardly why she ruffles our collective feathers.

Why, you are no doubt asking yourself, is the crack young staff so oft perturbed by the on-screen antics of Ms. Wonkette?

In short, it’s because she’s egregiously self-impressed, as if making snippy remarks about Jeff Gannon is really so difficult. As she offers her inevitably snarky remarks about the World According to Wonkette, she resembles nothing so much as the Internet’s Marie Antoinette.

“Let me tell you how the world works,” she intones, clad in vertiginous pastels that violently clash with her Conan O’Brien color palette.

To which we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” reply: Look, Wonkette. We’re sorry you didn’t make the cheerleading squad in high school because your ribs are iridescent. But could you please can the smugness? You’re like David Spade and Dennis Miller’s love child, for crying out loud.{...}

Interestingly enough, I read somewhere that Wonkette was originally from Lincoln, Nebraska. You know, that town in Nebraska where this school is. As most of you know, I grew up in Omaha. When I was in high school, places like The Old Market were our popular hangouts. Until the loser Lincoln kids started showing up.

It was our general opinion that they mixed quite well with the white trash from Council 'Tucky, who had actually managed to be more hip and started hanging out over on our side of the river, "scooping the loop" in the Market in their white trash cars. Which means they drove around the cobbled streets of the Market about five thousand times a night. The Lincoln kids, well...you could tell who they were and why they were there just by looking at them. They'd driven the sixty some odd miles to get someplace hip. Someplace cool. Because Lincoln is just not cool. It has no cul-chah for those who are not interested in banging the Cornhusker drum. That they thought Omaha was an oasis of cool in the vast Nebraska wilderness spoke volumes. Because while they thought they'd reached paradise, well, most of us were ready to get the hell out of there.

I'd bet my left boob that Wonkette was one of those kids.

There Seems To Be a Star Wars Theme Going On

My Devoted Cake Eater Readers, I present to you, The Darth Side: Memoirs of a Monster.

Yes, that's right. Vader's got a blog.

{Hat Tip: Doug, who got it from Sandy}

Fer Cryin' Out Loud

Just come out of the closet already. If you find you can't do that, well, stop preying on women who are still too enamored of the Vollyeball Scene in Top Gun to know that their Gaydars need to be recalibrated.

Oh, and learn how to act, too, while you're at it.

The New WB Tuesday!

Remember this post from the other day?

Seems I'm not the only one who's a bit worried.

{Click for larger}

Heheheheheh

Of course, this from the very talented Gabe and Tycho over at Penny Arcade.

Interesting

Denny Hastert just hung DeLay out to dry.

It's Contest Time!

Trout fishing season has officially started in Michigan and The Wiz has flown the coop to cast his line in numerous streams around the Great Lake State.

Lest things get down and out at his blog in his absence, he has a contest going. Puzzles are involved. *With REAL prizes* for the winners.

Go on over and check it out.

Teh Funny

For Rob, the blogosphere's original D&D freak enthusiast, I present this.

If the eight bit graphics are driving you nuts (seriously, I could do better than that and I haven't coded anything since 1985!) you could also go here.

The husband sez: "The original sound was done by a Wisconsin based comedy troupe called The Dead Alewives."

The Hate Kitty

Damn. That is one eeeeee-vil looking cat.

And it's been cracking me up all morning long.

(Courtesy of one of the husband's gaming friends)

Tattling

The Maximum Leader asks a very interesting question.

Since our Maximum Leader is a cheapskate who would prefer to buy lightsabers and Darth Taters instead of chipping out for some blogging software that enables comments, and who is too lazy to put freebie Haloscan comments on his blog, I find I am forced to bring this over to my blog. cough cough, link whore.

To answer the Maximum Leader's question: yes, his friend should have given the relative up. No offense to Joe for having principles, but a year of hard time in a federal penitentiary and a year on work release is too much to pay for said principles. He should have saved his own ass, particularly since his relative wasn't owning up to his part in the whole matter and it was obvious they were going to do their darndest to make him cooperate because they had no other evidence against the relative. (Although, one does wonder about how they knew to show up at Joe's door.) The law of self-preservation reigns supreme when dealing with the criminal justice system.

And believe me, I know about these things.

You cannot trust prosecutors. You cannot trust public defenders. You cannot trust anyone other than the lawyer you hire (and you'd better hire a good one, even if you're an auxilary portion of any case) and yourself. That is the extent of it. No one other than yourself matters.

Is this selfish? Yep. You bet. I'm sorry for it, but that's just the way the world works, particularly the legal world. And people will take advantage if you're not looking out for yourself. This is how I suspect Joe wound up in a world of hurt over a plasma tv. I also suspect Joe is regretting this decision every day of his life. The poor guy.

I don't like the idea of rewarding tattlers, like the school system in the Max Leader's original link is advocating, with parking spots and other school perks. Methinks that the kid who parks their car in the designated tattler spot will get their ass kicked sooner rather than later. No one likes a narc, after all, nor should they, and kids are remarkably good at sussing this sort of thing out. In that situation, the tattler is doing it for perks, rather than because it's the right thing to do. But when you must save your own ass? Well, that's a different deal altogether. You are in trouble and you have suddenly found yourself with a piece of very much wanted information: this is your bargaining power. You must use it to save yourself. You must.

Why?

Because if the shoe was on the other foot, you could bet your last dollar the other guy would be spilling the beans.

Turning Blue With Envy

Sigh.

I wish I'd written this.

Yeah, I know I'm supposed to turn green with envy. I may screw up most things, but on this one I know what I'm doing. Go read the post, doof.

Brain Gender

Hmmph.

I suspect this means more people (read, "the husband") will try to whip out the "You must be PMS'ing" excuse in an attempt to denigrate my arguments because I posted this.

Hmmph.

Shamelessly pilfered from Sheila

Immigration

Robbo has a thoughtful post about the Minutemen Project.

Just to throw in my two cents: I think this whole thing is an accident waiting to happen. Sure they're just watching the border. They're not doing anything illegal. They're just making sure that the government is doing what they've promised. I buy that argument and I have no hassles with it. But all it's going to take is for one person to cross the line from watching to acting and kablooie! There's some line about good intentions paving the road to hell, right? I'm not goofing that one, right? I've been nervy about this "project" since it started and I'll be glad when it's over. I'm glad to see that nothing untoward has happened, but it could. The situation just reeks of a search for trouble.

As far as illegal immigration is concerned, well, I don't blame the Mexicans one bit for coming across the border. It's all well and good to try and send them back and to claim that if we guard the border more closely, Mexico will actually have to put in place economic reforms. But, to my mind, you have to look at it from the point of view of the average person who's taking the risk: they need money to feed their families. That's why they come here: they need money. They can't earn that money in Mexico. It's pretty darned simple.

Now, I don't live in a state that borders Mexico, so my views are somewhat biased. I fully realize this, so no one need harangue me about it. I do not have to deal with Mexicans coming over the border and bringing gangs and drug trafficking with them. I do not have to deal with the burdens they place on hospitals and social services. It annoys me that the Mexican government puts out pamphlets advising potential immigrants on how to cross the border safely. I understand fully about sovereignty and about terrorist threats. I understand all about that. But, surprisingly enough, for all of that, I also know there are Mexicans here and in other midwestern states that I've lived in. They've come north looking for work, too. I've known and worked with many illegals. The husband has as well. I've never met a Mexican who was bound and determined---like they're portrayed on the Lou Dobbs Xenophobe Hour of Power---to cross the border so that they could suck up as many of our governmental resources as they could. They just don't come here with that expectation. They come with the expectation that they could have a better life. Social entitlements are secondary.

Case in point: Isaac. Now, I don't know if Isaac was his actual name or if it was the one he attained when he got his fake papers. It doesn't really matter. He worked with the husband down in Des Moines at the restaurant-which-shall-never-be-named-because-I-won't-give-the-bastard-who-owns -the-place-any-free-PR. He was a line cook and he was a Mexican. He'd somehow had hopped the border and had made his way to the middle of Iowa and found himself on the line at this very popular and very busy restaurant. Now, to be clear about it, Isaac was a demanding bastard at work. He was one mean motherfucker who, if you got out of line on his line, gave it to you with both barrels and would have given it to you with a third if that option had been available. He ran a tight ship and he worked his ass off. He also expected anyone and everyone on his line to work just as hard as he did. If that meant staying two hours past close to make sure the grease trap was adequately drained and sanitized, he'd be there and he'd be on the back of the person who's job it was. He had worked his way up from being a migrant laborer, to being a busboy, to being the head line cook, two steps below the head chef on the totem pole of the kitchen. Somewhere along the way, he learned how to speak excellent English. This man, this illegal immigrant, worked as many hours as he could get his hands on. They actually told him to stop hogging all the overtime, he was working so much.

Wanna know why he worked so much? He had a son back home in Mexico. His mother was taking care of him. He needed the money to send to her, so that they could eat. And was he ever proud of his son. When I would chat with him (he wasn't mean to me, obviously) he would pull out the most recent picture he'd received and his brown eyes would just melt into big puddles of paternal pride. I don't know where the boy's mother was. It wasn't relevant. Issac was doing his darnedest to make sure his child wouldn't go without. Ever. Because that was his definiton of a bad father: one who made their child go without because they were too afraid to take risks. It killed him that his son was still in Mexico. He wanted him in Des Moines, with him, and was working toward gaining legal immigration for his son and his mother, but was having a hard time with it, obviously. He didn't want them to have to hide and he wasn't going to bring them to this country until he could make sure he could make that happen.

I know that not everyone who crosses the border is like Isaac. I've run into my fair share of Mexicans, for whom the phrase "No habla," means I'm not going to do whatever the hell you're asking me to do now. I know that most people have, too. But, if just one of every ten people who crosses the border is like Isaac? Well, wow. Because that's what America is all about: this place provides the opportunity to make your fortune, if you're willing to work hard. Nothing's guaranteed in this country. I get pissed off at people who say illegals are getting a free ride. That's bull. They pay sales tax, gas tax, property taxes---if they're renting, part of the rent goes to pay those taxes---and if they've purchased a set of false documents, replete with a fake social security number, are you honestly going to tell me that the Federal and State Governments don't profit from receiving withholding taxes from paychecks on which a return will never be filed? They pay plenty, even if they're being paid under the table in cash. Some of that money does make it back into the economy. I'd love to see all the people against all those resource-sucking immigrants try to make up the money that would be lost if their anti-immgrations plans actually worked. It wouldn't happen.

I find it so damn incongrous that we, who live in a country populated almost entirely of the descendants of immigrants, are so quick to deny that right to others who would like to come here. Others who bear no ill will and aren't here to cause trouble; people who would just like to, you know, eat. It just blows my mind that people could forget this. Both of my grandfathers immigrated to this country---one from Germany when he was a small child, and one from Poland when he was a middle-aged widower with three daughters to care for---meaning that I'm one generation removed from the boat. Both of my grandmothers were born here, but their parents weren't. They immigrated, too. I'm sure it would blow their minds to see what their children and grandchildren have achieved with their lives. No one's famous, but everyone has at least a few years in college, some have graduate degrees, some work for themselves, some work for others, but most are successful at it. Everyone is self-sufficient. Everyone pays their taxes. And everyone knows that none of this would have been possible, that we probably wouldn't be on this Earth in any incarnation, if they hadn't gotten on the big boat and sailed across the vast blue sea to this country. It may sound like I'm romanticizing all of this, but, really, I'm not. I'm a direct beneficiary of the brave action of leaving your homeland behind and starting a new life elsewhere. For everything they gained, they had to give something up. That's not easy an easy thing to do. How people could forget this, I do not know, but they have.

There has to be a better way of doing all of this. Guarding the border like we are is a waste of time and resources. That money would be better spent documenting the people who wanted to come here to earn an honest living. The ones who wanted to come to start trouble, well, they can stay where they're at. The problem right now is that we're getting both kinds of immigrants---the good and the bad---because the system we have in place does not freakin' work. I think even the Minutemen would agree with that sentiment.

Why The Hell Hasn't He Called?

If it's Tuesday, that must mean there's another electryifying installment of the Diabolical Demystifying Divas and the Munificent yet Magnificent Men's Club.

Today's topic as we've begun calling it in chats amongst ourselves: Ring-Ring.

Ahem

Mike: So how long do I wait to call?

Trent: A day.

Mike: Tomorrow.

Sue: Tomorrow, then a day.

Trent: Yeah.

Mike: So two days?

Trent: Yeah, I guess you could call it that, two days.

Sue: Definitely, two days is like industry standard.

Trent: You know I used to wait two days to call anybody, but now it's like everyone in town waits two days. So I think three days is kind of money. What do you think?

Sue: Yeah, but two's enough not to look anxious.

Trent: But I think three days is kind of money. You know because you...

Mike: Yeah, but you know what, mabey I'll wait 3 weeks. How's that? And tell her I was cleaning out my wallet and I just happened to run into her number.

Charles: Then ask her where you met her.

Mike: Yeah, I'll ask her where I met her. I don't remember. What does she look like? And then I'll asked if we fucked. Is that... would that be... T, would that be the money?

Trent: You know what. Ha ha ha Mike, laugh all you want but if you call too soon you might scare off a nice baby who's ready to party.

Mike: Well how long are you guys gonna wait to call your babies?

Trent, Sue{unison}: Six days.

----Swingers which is a Cake Eater Approved Movie.

Do you honestly think Alexander Graham Bell had any idea of what he was about to unleash upon the world when he told Mr. Watson to "Come here"? Do you think good ol' Alexander could have possibly imagined how much freakin' angst his invention would cause billions of people, wondering when the object of their heart's desire would actually manage to let their fingers do the walking? I can't think that he knew. He probably thought that, gee whiz, here's this nifty invention and the whole world will soon be able to communicate with it! Think of all the problems this will solve! Wow. Wars could be averted because people could communicate directly! All the evils of society could be at an end because people will actually be able to talk to one another! This is neato!

I have to think the man's up in heaven and is a bit disillusioned at how trivial his invention has become. It's probably the same for the guys who came up with the Internet and the World Wide Web: another fantastic communications tool and what do people do with it? They have cybersex.

But, as usual, I digress.

Now, Mike in Swingers had a bit of a dilemma on his hands: when to call his "beautiful baby" so that he didn't come off as either too needy and anxious or, conversely, appear to be disinterested. He was searching for the Goldilockian Solution (TM): the one that was just right.

Sadly, he turned to Trent and the boy named "Sue" for this solution, which was not only a mistake because they're idiots, but also because they shot for the male solution to most problems: if you can quantify it, you can solve it, as if finding the key to a woman's heart was an algebra problem. Unfortunately, there is just no quantifying when a man should call a woman. It's a roll of the dice: no matter what he does he could come off as badly as Mike did when he kept calling Nikki. (I still cringe whenever I see that scene.) Or he could come off as well as he did with Heather Graham's character. You never know.

But I suppose this is something you already knew, right? You're probably getting a wee bit grouchy that I'm not "demystifying" this particular issue for you. Well, ok. I haven't handed out my number in quite some time, but here were my rules for what was and wasn't acceptable. If, for some unknown reason, there is a chick out there who reminds you of me, well, here are your guidelines.

Ahem. {Insert Kath blowing the dust off this particularly ancient scroll here}

Kath's Rules of The Ring

1. The guy is the one who calls. Always. You will never, ever, never ever catch me asking a guy for his number. Not. Going. To. Happen. He should never expect me to call him untill a month after we've been seeing each other exclusively. I chalk this up to being somewhat "old fashioned." Other people might chalk it up to me being a big, fat chicken. Toss of the coin. Ahem. Bygones.

2. One day is enough time to have passed for moi since the original meeting/handing over of the phone number. And by this I mean twenty-four hours should have passed. Call before then and you're a goner.

I am, at this point, not expecting you to call at all. The handover of my number does not constitute any such agreement between the two of us. There is no contract in place. As such, I will be slightly disappointed if you don't call, but hey, I realize there is such a thing as beer goggles, and if I was on the receiving end of yours, well, I don't honestly want to know about it. Ahem. Bygones.

3. When/if you call, please learn how to converse. Nothing annoys quite as much as dead air. Neither should you eat while you're on the phone with me. Bleech.

4. After we have set up a time and place for a meeting, if, for some reason, things did not go well on our date, and you told me at the end of it that, "You'd call me" and yet did not call, realize I will not be pleased. It's pretty simple stuff: don't say you're going to call if you're not going to call. Don't think you're "being nice" by lying. Women do not, on the whole, appreciate fibbers. If you say you're going to do something, do it. If not, expect me to badmouth you to all of my particularly mouthy friends to the extent that you won't get any for quite some time. Actions do, indeed, have consequences, or didn't your mother teach you that?

Pretty simple stuff. The original handover means very little in the scheme of things: it's what you do afterwards that counts. Each and every woman does have a Goldilockian Solution to her: you're just going to have to deduce what you think will work and avoid what won't. It's the clever boy who wins the prize.

Now run along and see what the other Diabolical Demystifying Divas have to say about this topic, and while you're at it, you can also see what advice and consolation the Munificent yet Magnificent Men's Club has provided.

You should also note that our Daring Diva is scheduled for Divas Sez on Friday. Get your questions into the inbox---which you can find by clicking on the button on the right sidebar---by Thursday evening, by which time she should be done with finals and drunk enough that she'll come up with some seriously good answers.

January 10, 2008 ADDENDUM: Women! Seriously! Stop Googling for the answers to your problems!

You see, I have this thing called a "referral log" and I check it occasionally to see who's coming to this site and what they're reading whilst they're here. For some strange reason, an inordinate number of people Google into this site using the search phrase "Why Hasn't He Called?" Seriously. I get at least ten hits a day to this freakin' post, which I wrote two and a half years ago. I realize that life is a mystifying thing and that the urge to find the answers to it is overwhelming. But you need to realize that when you Google for said answers, well, you look like an idiot.

You're bright young things, I'm sure. You obviously know how to use a computer and a search engine. Most of you use correct spelling and punctuation in your queries, too. This tells me that you all have potential. So listen up: STOP WASTING YOUR TIME ON MEN WHO DON'T CALL YOU!

Furthermore, stop Googling for the answers to all your problems, ok? You look a bit desperate when you do this. I sit here and wonder if there's an epidemic of rude men, or if it's just a group of women who want answers---and who go looking for them. YOU SHOULD HAVE BETTER THINGS TO DO THAT SIT AROUND AND WAIT FOR SOME JERK WITH BAD MANNERS TO CALL YOU. Go out, get a degree and make more money than some man can make and take care of yourself. Don't take that kind of crap from ANY man. You're better than that. Go out and live up to your potential, for chrissakes. Life is extremely short. Don't waste your time on some random dude you met in a bar and to whom you gave your number. In fact, DON'T give out your number unless you're fairly certain the guy is a gentleman who will treat you right.

And, most of all, stop Googling in here wondering why he hasn't called.

I Have Never Been So Happy To Be Broke Before

You wanna know why it's good to be poor?

Because if we had any extra money whatsoever, the husband would blow it on this.

Forget about buying a house. Forget about buying a new car. Forget about all of that. We'd be stuck with a friggin' X-Wing in the garage.

{Hat tip: Galley Slaves}

Would Someone Please...

...take this idiot out behind the barn and whupp his ass until he can't sit down for a week? Would that really be too much to ask?

According to StarWars.com, the saga's creator George Lucas told attendees at the fan convention Celebration III in Indianapolis Saturday that he is working on two "Star Wars"-related television projects after "Star Wars: Episode III -- Revenge of the Sith."

The first, "Clone Wars," actually exists as series of animated shorts on the Cartoon Network, but Lucas said it will be turned into a "3-D animated version full-series" 30 minutes in length.

But the surprise came with his announcement of a live-action spin-off series that will take place between movie Episodes III and IV.

At first, according to StarWars.com, Lucas said, "There's none of the main characters from I, II, and III" in the series, but stopped mid-sentence and said that "that's not exactly true now that I think about it." He concluded by saying it's hard to answer what will be in the show since it's a year away from going into production.

He added that a lot of issues from the films are connected, but you won't necessarily see a lot of the people that are connected," the site reported.{...}

The Young Indiana Jones Chronicles should be ringing a freakin' alarm bell right about now.

Anzac Day

Landing at Anzac Cove

Today is the 90th Anniversary of the Allied invasion of the Gallipoli Peninsula during WWI.

{...}The landings, which infamously saw waters on the coast stained red with the blood of dead soldiers, were intended to open a passage through the Dardanelles Straights separating Europe from Asia to provide a relief route to allied Russia via the Black Sea.

Instead the expedition ended in retreat and failure, after eight months of what Helen Clark, the New Zealand Prime Minister, today described as "hell".

Perhaps the most poignant illustration of the failure of the expedition is the fact that, with the allies forced to retreat from Gallipoli and unable to return until after the war, only 9,000 of the 22,000 Commonwealth soldiers who were buried lie in identified graves. The remains of more than 14,000 have never been found, their bones resting in the rugged terrain of Gallipoli.

Fierce resistance from the under-rated Ottoman forces, inhospitable terrain and bungled planning, spelt disaster for the campaign, which involved British, Irish, French, Indian, Canadian, Australian and New Zealand forces.

Among those who suffered the greatest losses were the Anzacs, the Australian and New Zealand Army Corps, who made the first landings, swept by an unexpected current to a narrow cove rather than the wide beaches the planners intended. The campaign is seen as a defining moment in the move towards nationhood in both countries, and April 25 is marked as Anzac Day in both countries.

The campaign, centred on territory close to the site of the ancient city of Troy, was one of the biggest maritime invasion attempts ever staged. Unlike the recent D-Day commemorations there were no surviving veterans of the campaign at today’s international gatherings.{...}

For more information on Gallipoli, go here. Make sure to pay attention to the numbers of wounded and dead.

{Photos Courtesy of The Anzac Photo Gallery}

So, D'ya Hear?

Susan Estrich has petitioned the Vatican to do away with that ruffian Benedict XVI and appoint a female pope instead.

Thank God. That dumb wench's taking the heat off me! WooT!

My Beer's Been on the Road Again

The backstory and previous adventures of my beer can be found here and here.

I'm late in posting this, but my beer has been making the rounds again, and made it to the Spring Game in Ames last weekend.

Russ reports:

Oh yeah, and "your beer" enjoyed the game. "She" got to pose with the Jack Trice statue outside the stadium. I was going to set her in his hand, but Jeez, that would be freakin' sacreligious.

Jack Trice, God Rest His Soul, was the first African-American football player at Iowa State University, and the first athlete ever to die for Iowa State. His is an exceedingly sad tale, which is why there are statues of him, not only at the football stadium that is named after him, but on campus as well. If I'm remembering the story correctly, nothing ever happened to the three Minnesota players who trampled him. They couldn't say for sure that it was intentional. (Pah!) I agree with Russ that it would have been sacreligious for my beer to have whined about not being placed into Jack's hand. My beer knows better than that.

It seems my beer is trying to make amends for hanging out with Hawkeyes and for her floozy-ish behavior in KC. One can only hope she learned her lessons after hanging out with a legend.

Good Grief, Charlie Brown!

So, the "interactive entertainment publishing rights" to Peanuts have been sold to Namco, a company which puts out games like Tekken and Soul Caliber. Not like I have any freakin' idea of what those games are, but I'm sure a few of you geeks will know.

Woody, over at GU Comics, was creative in his interpretation of the news. I thought it was humorous, so I thought I'd pass it along.

The phrase "good grief" has never been more loaded.

UPDATE: Man, I am such a loser. The appropriate commentary for this post should have been....

...Just go ahead and try to take the football away from me now, beeeeeyotch!

Why I didn't think of that last night, I have no idea.

Get your Peanut Butter Out Of My Chocolate!

No, you get your chocolate out of my peanut butter!

The Cake Eater Chronicles: Where inbreeding with the Llamas is---apparently---just around the corner!

Recommended Reading

If you've got the urge, go over and check out Andy at the World Wide Rant.

I've recently become a big fan of his. While I don't always agree with the things he writes or how he writes them, it's very refreshing to read a blogger who, unlike myself, takes no prisoners.

At times he can be about as abrasive as steel wool would be to your private parts, but he cleverly wraps this abrasiveness up in an impressive wit, so you really don't mind the stinging sensation all that much. I would highly recommend you go over and check him out.

Love him or hate him, you won't be bored.

Checkmate

Chrissy's daughter, Wee One, is my kind of girl.

It's probably just as well, Chrissy, that you never got past explaining the object of the game. I simply cannot imagine the pain of having to explain how a knight moves to a small child. Oy. The husband about blew a gasket when he had to explain the knights' movement to me, and that was when I was an adult. Don't tell anyone but they're still my glaring blindspot whenever I play. I just can't think as many steps ahead with the knights as I do with the other pieces. Everything else, I can pretty much suss out eight, nine, ten steps ahead. The knights, however? Well, sigh. They continue to baffle me.

Creating Havoc

Yep. It's that time. I got hit by the Daring Diva with a meme. She has charged me with the vital mission of "going forth and creating havoc." I doff my floppy, feathered hat in her direction and proclaim, while bowing before her greatness, that I shall humbly try do my best. (And no, I'm not going to freakin' curtsey. Bleh. The General Rule states you do not get to wear floppy, feathered hats if you're a chick. So, I'd probably pull a Twelfth Night sort of deal so I could wear the floppy feathered hat. But I'm pretty sure I'd skip the whole mistaken romance thing. Bleh. Who needs that?)

If I could be a scientist... I would try and cure all the bastard diseases out there. These are also called "orphan" diseases. That would be the more politically correct way of stating it, although I think "bastard disease" is more accurate because they treated like bastard children used to be treated...poorly. They don't affect enough people for it to be worth it, monetarily speaking, for pharmaceutical companies/research universities to devote time and resources for finding a cure. I'd particularly would like to cure this one so that my wee niece Maggie doesn't have to deal with people staring at her and then saying, loudly, "Good God! What is wrong with that kid? She has spots!"

People are so fucking cruel sometimes. And I'm not talking about kids here, I'm talking about stupid grownups who don't have the good sense to shut their pie holes, and who point and stare, treating her like she's a freak show, and then complete the cycle of their idiocy by asking my sister the most inane questions in the world, instead of looking past her skin and treating Maggie like she was the coolest little girl in the world. Which she is, by the way. If you think that in this country we're past judging someone by their skin, you're really, really wrong.

/angry

If I could be a musician...I'd try to weasel my way into any number of bands, the first and foremost of which would be The Foo Fighters, because I have to think that Dave Grohl is fun to hang with.

If I could be a painter...I'd be high all the time because I'd be huffing the paint thinner. I'd have to think the art I'd create under such circumstances would be critically acclaimed, even though I probably don't have an ounce of artistic talent in me. The critics smile on paint-thinner huffers.

If I could be a chef... I'd stage a coup at The French Laundry. I would take over, claiming that I was just taking back what was mine. That Thomas Keller had, indeed, stolen all my recipes and was making a fortune off of them, so I was just doing what needed to be done. Then I'd continue running the place just like he does.

If I could be a linguist... I'd finally be able to be as rude as some people have been to me and would be able to say nasty things about other people without said people cottoning onto the fact that, indeed, I'm saying nasty things about them. Right in front of them. Because they're clueless.

If I could be a bonnie pirate...I'd sail the seven seas, in search of adventure. I'd enjoy whipping out my cutlass, ramming ships, stealing loot, and talking like a pirate. "ARRRRRRGGGGHHHH! Swab the decks, ye scurrilous scabbies!" See? That would be fun.

If I could be a psychologist... I'd tell people to look beyond their childhood for the source of all their problems. I'd also tell people to give their kids a firm whack on the behind when they've earned it, because it's not going to scar their wee ones for life.

Ok, that's enough havoc wreaking for one day.

Time to pass on the meme, so here's how it works. Following there is a list of different occupations. You must select at least five of them. You may add more if you like to your list before you pass it on (after you select five of the items as it was passed to you). Of the five you selected, you are to finish each phrase with what you would do as a member of that profession. Then pass it on to three fine bloggers.

Here's that list:
If I could be a scientist...
If I could be a farmer...
If I could be a musician...
If I could be a doctor...
If I could be a painter...
If I could be a gardener...
If I could be a missionary...
If I could be a chef...
If I could be an architect...
If I could be a linguist...
If I could be a psychologist...
If I could be a librarian...
If I could be an athlete...
If I could be a lawyer...
If I could be an innkeeper...
If I could be a professor...
If I could be a writer...
If I could be a backup dancer...
If I could be a llama-rider...
If I could be a bonnie pirate...
If I could be a midget stripper...
If I could be a proctologist...

Three bloggers to pass this on to. Hmmmm. Who shall I pick?

Ok. I'm going to tag Sheila, The Puffster, and Jonathan, because I don't think he's ever participated in a meme before and it's high time that he did.

Fausta Wants Her Filibuster

And I quote:

"What I want is the full filibuster treatment: the whole Mr. Smith Goes to Washington kit and caboodle treatment."

I would have to agree with her on this one. I think it's wrong, wrong, wrong to mess with procedural rules that were put in place for a reason. As someone who is a big fan of the more arcane portions of procedural rules and who adores Robert's Rules of Order I have to applaud Frist for being very clever in attempting to work his way around the procedural rules, and for actually doing something about getting these nominees confirmed. Yet, it's nonetheless a violation of democracy. The filibuster is there for a reason. Just because you don't have the votes to overcome it doesn't mean you should get rid of it because it's more expedient that having to, you know, actually convince people to come over to your side of the argument.

Besides, when was the last time anyone actually filibustered a bill? I honestly can't remember. But, to my mind, it's always the threat of the filibuster that stops legislation dead in its tracks. If you don't have the votes to break a threatened filibuster, well, that's the end of that, and no one actually has to stand out there on the senate floor and talk until they drop. Call their bluff: make the Democrats follow through. I, like Fausta, would love to see it. The bit about Teddy Kennedy being bloated---read hungover---on the senate floor at three a.m. sounds like something I'd want to watch.

But Frist doesn't want to do that. He wants to shoot past it entirely, and he's dragging the Vice President into the fray. It behooves me to mention that he shouldn't act surprised and outraged when this comes back to bite him on the behind. Because it will. If you don't think the next time the Democrats are in power and won't attempt the same sort of stunt, you're nuts. In fact, I'm sure more than a few of them are sitting in their offices saying to themselves, "Gee, I wish we would have thought of that."

I didn't vote Republican so that we could gain control of the senate and weasel past rules that have been in place for hundreds of years. Frist, ultimately, is trying to make a small majority worth more than it actually is. That I can understand why he's doing it and sympathize with his frustrations nonetheless doesn't make it right.

What Lawsuits Have Wrought

I'm assuming your local news station did a "I'm FREAKING OUT ABOUT THIS" story tonight like mine did. You know, the one where the five-year-old got arrested for throwing a temper tantrum.

Well, if you're interested, there's a whole lot more video than what they showed on the news.

To watch the respective videos first go here for the classroom video and here for the office video.

That's what people call a temper tantrum these days? That is not a temper tantrum. That is what is called willful behavior. There's a difference. The word "tantrum" implies that there is no way the kid is coming out of it; that the child is uncontrollable/inconsolable/dangerous to themselves and others. I've seen and dealt with many kids who were in a full-blown tantrum. This kid was not in a tantrum. A tantrum involves incessant screaming, crying, kicking, more screaming, biting, hitting, more kicking, more screaming, more hitting. They are in the throes of an epically proportioned meltdown.

This child was controllable. Every time it seemed like she was being ignored, the child acted up. She pulled things off the wall when she realized someone would be upset if she did. She deliberately climbed up on that table after being told not to. Why? Because she was told not to. She was simply being willful. She thought she could win, and she proved it by doing it even though she was rebuffed once. The Vice Principal and teacher just did not have the means to control her. Why? They couldn't touch her for fear of a lawsuit. You'll notice the only time the Vice Principal touched her was when the little girl was in danger of harming herself. As Robbo points out, seither did the Vice Principal inject a little force into the tone she employed. Apparently, they're not even allowed to threaten the little buggers with adverse consequences.

Given that the school's staff was completely hamstrung by regulations, I can't blame those teachers for calling the campus cops. While one wonders why they have cops at the campus of an Elementary School, they were nonetheless the proper people to call. Unfortunately, they're being sued right now because they placed the girl in cuffs, which is a measure police generally use to subdue criminals, but is also a protective measure meant to ensure the officers aren't harmed. I don't honestly think they had any other choice, given that the girl had been kicking and screaming. You'll note how quickly she sat down and started behaving herself when she learned policemen were on the way. You'll also note that the police officer asked her if she remembered him and did she remember that he'd told her mother that the next time he'd put her in cuffs?

Why would a five-year-old be chummy with a police officer? Why would that threat be the only one this little girl would listen to? Makes a person wonder about that child's home life, doesn't it?

It seems as if the policeman was the only person who was willing to put his money where his mouth was about actions and consequences. His department doesn't deserve to be sued because he was doing his job. One can only hope this makes her straighten up and fly right. I don't think it will, considering her mother is suing the cops, and she's bound to learn the wrong lesson from that action, but one can hope.

{Hat Tip: Robbo and Wizbang}

Automobiles

Random Pensees' post on the demise of the Rover car company (replete with pretty pictures) reminded me of a thought I was going to share with you all the other day, but forgot about.

Earlier this week, I was walking home from the store when a beautiful late-50's, butter yellow, MG convertible whipped around the corner and took off down the street right in front of me. This thing was mint. Everything shone and gleamed and looked as it should look. A gorgeous car. Someone should consider themselves really fortunate to own such a beautiful vehicle on a gorgeous day, when they would be able to enjoy it to the fullest because it was a convertible. Well, guess who that special someone was, that lucky soul who was driving that gorgeous car?

Behind the wheel was a redheaded, sixteen-year-old, well-dressed brat who was undoubtedly skipping school as it was ten in the morning.

That would be when I started turning green with envy. It's completely possible that some stupid parent here in the fair fiefdom of Cake Eater Land, where there's more money than sense, had given their kid this car as a present. It's also completely possible that this kid had ripped it off from his parents' garage and was pulling a Ferris Bueller.

Either way, I hate them. I hate them. I hate them. A pox on their house.

Gosh, I really miss driving. I really miss Miss Marie, too.

I'd Be Remiss...

...in my duties as the blog hostess with the mostest if I didn't send you over to Rob's place.

Where he's heckling the Llamas with graphic storytelling.

Heh.

That Diva Sez

Silk has the answers to all your important questions.

Sadie is up for next week. Get your questions in so our Daring Diva may enlighten you. Clicket on baby got back girl on the right and ask away!

Pull Pin, Throw, Duck for Cover

I can't believe I'm writing this, but God Bless E.J. Dionne!

"I worry that Pope Benedict sees liberal Catholics primarily as products of the worst excesses of the '60s and not as people who are genuinely grateful for the Catholic tradition and the Church's efforts since Pope John to interpret it anew for our times. Many of us know that modernity urgently needs criticism and agree with the new Pope on the importance of asserting that truth exists. We remain Catholic precisely because we think that the Church's emphasis on the sacramental and the communal provides a corrective to a culture that overemphasizes the material and lifts up the narrowest forms of individualism.

But we also think that not all that is new is bad. Our Church was soft on slavery. It was terribly slow to embrace democracy. It still does not seem to understand that the desire of women for power in the Church reflects legitimate--and, yes, Christian--claims to justice, not weird ideological enthusiasms. Those who say that change in the Church is simply capitulation to a flawed culture must explain whether they really think the Church would be better off if it had not come to oppose slavery, endorse democracy, and resist anti-Semitism and other forms of religious intolerance."

Yep. Yep. And more Yeps until I can't say "Yep" any longer because I've lost my voice.

I wish I could read the entire article, but as I have no subscription to The New Republic, I cannot. (If anyone out there would like to share for this one special occasion, send me an email.) Of course, I'm sure that more than a few of you will automatically dismiss Dionne's words because they're found on Sully's site. Because he's been caterwauling over the past couple of days about how betrayed he feels at the election of Pope Benedict and you find said caterwauling either a. funny b. pathetic or c. heretical. But please do realize that for every conservative who's lauded the election of Pope Benedict, that there are a few of us conservatives out here who aren't so pleased. Sully is our lightning rod, for better or worse, and he's been taking the hits for us. Well, no longer. No matter what excuse you find to dismiss his writings over the past few days, you should know there are a few of us who---gasp!---actually agree with what he's written. We've just been keeping quiet because we don't feel like being called heretics or apostates. Neither do we want to be accused of not really being conservatives because, as the conventional wisdom of the blogosphere has been proclaiming over the past couple of days, if this pope doesn't do it for you, well, you must be a liberal. He's pissing off all the right people, he must be great!

Well, pardon my French, but fuck off.

I have really had it over the past couple of days with what's been spewed from Catholics and non-Catholics alike. Take it or leave it. What'd you expect? An Episcopalian Pope? You disagree with the Pope? How dare you! You're obviously not for doctrinal truth but instead are guilty of egotism! You're a moral relativist! You think you know better than the Church! You heretic! Your conscience is nothing compared to the Church Approved Truth (TM). We don't want your kind here! I can access the Vatican website, I've read the documents. Furthermore, since I can cut and paste from these documents to suit my arguments, I'm now a theologian of the first order. I am more than justified in lecturing you on the requirements of the Faith and I say you're not worthy! And so on and so forth. I have never felt so personally attacked even though the attacks weren't directed at me personally. These attacks were directed at "my kind," as if to suggest that since Pope Benedict wasn't what I had hoped and prayed for as the leader of my church, I am suddenly in league with the kind of Catholic who advocates a carefully orchestrated attack on St. Peter's Basilica to rip all the art off the walls because the proceeds could be better used to feed the poor. I'm in league with those who believe that Liberation Theology really, honestly and truly, is the way to go. I'm in league with those who believe the Church should approve on-demand abortion and euthanasia.

To put it bluntly, you people should get bent.

Would you like to know the main reason I wish we had a different pope? There are many things I would like to see changed within the Church, but I know won't happen. That's fine for me. Those are issues that should be raised every now and again, because that's what should happen. Thought is a good thing, otherwise God would have made us sheep. But there is one issue that I believe must be changed immediately. It believe a change in this bit of doctrine is crucial for the survival of the Church. My problem with Pope Benny is that he has already written and declared that this one issue will not be addressed during his papacy. He believes that the Church should never address it. This one issue that Pope Benny and I disagree about is the role of women in the Church. And it's not a personal issue for me in that I want female priests because sexual equality is the standard of western society. I want women to be priests so that people are not dependent upon the availablity of a man to receive the sacraments.

Did you get that? This isn't about me being an "egotist." This isn't about my being "morally relativist." This is about the much ballyhooed shortage of priests that still---ahem---exists even if we do have a new pope. This is about the practical ramifications of this shortage of priests.

To explain, I went to a Catholic all-girls high school. This high school was run by the order of the Servants of Mary. We had a convent attached to said high school, and by the time I attended the school, the convent was not a thriving place, but rather a nursing home for aged nuns. Most of these nuns were, obviously, pre-Vatican II nuns and they were cared for, mostly, by younger nuns and a small nursing staff of one person. These older nuns felt the need to take the sacraments daily. For that to happen, you needed a priest who was willing to drive to the convent to deliver them.

Normally, this wasn't a problem. There was a small cadre of priests who came to the convent regularly, but when one dropped out, and another could not take their place it was a daunting task to find a priest who could come to the convent to say mass. Or listen to confessions. Or, in a few rare cases, deliver the Annointing of the Sick. All of these sacraments must be delivered by priests, and if there are none to be found because they're all off on retreat, or at a conference, or they have other duties to attend to, who suffers then, I ask you people who are so interested in banging the sacramental drum? Why, it's the nuns. In this example, they're the ones who were consistenly asked to take one for the Catholic team.

Ever seen a nun panic because she's called every priest she knows and no one's available to come out to the convent to say mass? I have. It's not a pretty thing. Nuns are supposed to be steady, stable creatures. When a nun freaks out, well, let's just say that it's shocking. This particular nun knew how important it was to the older nuns to be able to take the sacraments daily. She knew how crucial they felt the sacraments were to their faith. And she was going to have to let these women down because there was nothing she could do about it. There were no priests to be found. Nor could she deliver them. She was a nun. A priest was needed. It didn't matter that she'd taken the same vows of poverty, chastity and obedience when she devoted herself to the Church. It didn't matter that she was an Ecumenical Minister of the Eucharist and could deliver the Body and Blood of Christ during Mass. She didn't have a penis, hence she couldn't deliver the sacraments to women who so desperately wanted and needed them.

The "doctrinal truth" of the priesthood only being reserved for men doesn't really cut it in this situation, does it?

But there are plenty who say it would be "radical" to have women priests. That this violates a tradition that was established by Christ himself when he "chose" male apostles. Never mind that Mary and Mary Magdalene were just as devoted to Him as the apostles were. It's not relevant to the discussion. Surprisingly enough, though, despite their sexual defects, they were there, on the day he was crucified, walking up to Golgotha with him, weeping at the foot of the cross, never once abandoning Him as He suffered through a slow and painful death. These women didn't run and hide and deny their Savior like the Apostles did because they weren't too chickenshit to admit they knew, loved, and followed The Man. But they don't count. Never mind that they were the ones who found someone to bury their Lord and Savior to follow the demands of their faith when all the apostles were hiding. They don't count. Never mind that they were the ones who found the tomb was empty three days after Jesus' crucifixion, something the apostles were too chicken to do. It's completely coincidental that they were the finders of this fact because they were just there to pray. They don't count. Women didn't count.

And they still don't count. All Catholic women---lay or clerical---are to follow the lessons of the Virgin. We're supposed to submit, like she did, to the demands of our faith, because we're the better sex. We give life. We're more compassionate. We keep the men from killing one another. And even if you're a nun and aren't allowed to give life, you're supposed to model your life after the Virgin anyway, because you have the same biology that she did; you're just modeling your life after different qualities she possessed. This shared biology makes a nun capable of serving our Lord, but not capable enough to deliver sacraments and preach the Gospels. For that you have to be a man.

Now, think of all the priests you've ever known. I'm sure some were fantastic. Ive known a few of those, too. Some, however, probably were really bad at their jobs. I've known boozer priests, one of whom once took my confession on a Saturday afternoon and breathed liquor fumes on me from the other side of the screen. I knew a priest once who, in direct contradiction to his vow of poverty, drove a Jaguar and had a marked taste for the finer things in life. He married one of my brothers and when offered a glass of wine or a beer at this brother's rehearsal dinner, snorted loudly and condescendingly at the choices presented and then chewed me out for not having any scotch on hand, wondering aloud if my parents were just being cheap or if they honestly didn't know that's what he drank. I've known priests who weren't exactly comfortable delivering a homily, so they skipped it altogether. I've known priests who let their deacon do all the heavy lifting at mass. I've known priests who had no issues betting on Notre Dame games, or who cut mass short because they wanted to watch a football game. The priest who married the husband and myself is one of the most gossipy creatures God ever created, and still, even though I haven't seen him in going on ten years, talks about me behind my back, and has no hesitations about asking my family if we're divorced...yet. But, you say, priests are human. They're allowed their faults. Well, ok. I'll buy that. But, how, exactly, with all these flaws in mind, are they more qualified to preach the Gospels and to deliver the sacraments than a woman?

Why is that, exactly?

Give me one good reason why priests should always and forever be male, knowing full well that I will not accept Church Dogma or the reason "that it's always been this way," as a good reason. The Church has no issues moving away from dogmatic teachings and you all know it. Mass only used to be said in Latin. The Church moved away from that. The Church actively advocated anti-Semitism. The Church moved away from that. The Church used to think slavery was fine and dandy. The Church moved away from that. The Church used to sell plenary indulgences, guaranteeing that if you donated a large sum of money to the Church, you could buy your way out of hell. The Church moved away from that. The Church used to preach that a mother's life was expendable, whereas the life of her child was not. The Church moved away from that. The Church used to wage wars in the name of Christianity and the defense of the Papal States. Now the Church believes there are very few moral wars. The Church found the excuses for these moves in Church Dogma. The same dogma that tells us we cannot have women priests.

Please realize that the Church can do anything it wants to do and it can find an excuse in two thousand years worth of teachings to justify their actions. "Doctrinal Truth" is subjective, in other words. Hence, dogma as the only reason you can hand forth justifying that women cannot be priests isn't going to cut it for me. It's just not. Times have changed. It does not mean the world is going to end or that the Church will end if they decide to allow women to become priests. It simply means that the world has changed and that the Church has recognized that fact. Women priests could, conceivably, solve a lot of practical, everyday problems within the Church, the first and foremost being that they would be allowed to deliver the sacraments to people who wanted to receive them. How that could be seen as a bad thing, I don't know, but I'm sure somebody is just dying to tell me.

Allo...

...my name is Suzy Homemaker. You fucked up my coiffure. Prepare to die.

Strange Referrals

Dude, I do not even want to know.

Run, Forrest! RUN!

Ben Affleck and Jennifer Garner are reportedly engaged.

God help us all.

We all know from watching Alias that Jennifer could probably do a four-minute mile if she pushed it. I would highly recommend running. That boy has serious issues.

In other Alias related news: I simply cannot believe that they're going to kill off Jack. I want to weep in my beer. I adore Daddy Bristow. Daddy Bristow is sexy as all hell (even though it appears Daddy Bristow is gay in real life.). He's one of the major reasons why I watch Alias. I don't want him to die! Waaaaaaah. Jack's like a sexy Henry Kissinger who not only knows about balance of power intimately---and could write you a thesis on it---but also knows how to throw a mean karate chop if needs be. Could you ask for more? I don't think so.

And for those of you who might think I'm a wee bit obsessive about this, just know that the husband has been rooting for Mommy to come back for quite some time and still holds out hope that Jack didn't actually do the dreaded deed and that's she's alive somewhere. Even if Sydney did see the body and buried her. This is Alias we're talking about, here, kids. Anything's possible.

Email the Pope!

I kid you not: Pope Benny has been given an email address.

If you would like to email His Holiness you can shoot one off to him at

Make sure you tell him the Cake Eater sent you!

UPDATE: Please don't email/comment to tell me I'm just setting him up for spam by not spelling out the "at," etc. It makes sense to me that the "God's Rottweiler" already knows all about protecting stuff and has informed the priestly hackers in the Vatican's server room about what needs to be done in this respect. If not, well, he'll just have to deal with penis and breast enhancement spams like the rest of us.

A Nifty Service

I finally got an "plug" email this morning that wasn't from a political campaign looking for some free PR. Hallelujah! It seems those pesky politicos are finally paying some attention. Anyway, the email was from a gentleman by the name of Robin who was looking to promote his service: watchingamerica.com

To summarize quickly: Robin and his partner---a former editor for the International Herald Tribune---are keeping an eye on the non-American/non-English-speaking press and are translating a wide range of articles from an even wider ranging selection of newspapers worldwide. They post their results on their site for those greedy English-only speakers like myself.

I had questions regarding the technical details of the translations and here's what Robin had to say about it:

{...}Most people don't know about this, but for many languages, esp. the romance languages, computer-based translations are over 95% accurate when it comes to meaning. The English they spit out is messy but a professional editor can turn it into the real thing. So we use technology to translate many languages, with the support of editors and a few native-speaking volunteers who help out with the tricky parts.

For some languages, such as Polish, we use only human native speakers. They support us voluntarily and on a part time basis. The total number of people who contribute to WA is about eight now.{...}

I would highly encourage you to check it out when you get the chance.

Well....DUH!

{Note from Kath: This post is by the husband. Not me. THIS IS MOST DEFINITELY NOT ME WRITING HERE, YA DIG?}

Robbo seems to be one of those lost souls who has yet to discover the Expanded Universe.

And how about the other Imperial fleets? And all the legions and garrisons scattered all over the galaxy? And the bureaucracy? There must be dozens of regional governors left, even after Tarkin got whacked. Not to mention all their staff, civil servants, toadies, etc., all of whom are out of a job if the Empire collapses.

The link above goes directly to the Ultimate Timeline page on TheForce.net. If it's Star Wars related, you'll find it, or a link to it, on TFN (as we call it). (Note: there is a particular affinity in 'The Community" for initials and acronyms. Always be wary when speaking with true geeks, because EU could just as easily refer to the Star Wars Expanded Universe as it does European Union.) Outside of the films (now 6) written and produced by George Lucas (referred to as 'The Canon'), an entire universe concerning the universe inhabited by those beloved characters has taken shape. From comic books, to graphic novels, to childrens literature to works of serious adult fiction; the world of Star Wars grows year in and year out.

For a more direct answer to Rob, I will reccomend a couple of books that are decent reading for adults (some of the teen fiction is truly horrendous) and follow immediately in the timeline after RotJ (Return of the Jedi). (Another Note: The SW chronology all centers around Episode IV: A New Hope - specifically the Battle of Yavin - and as such, timeline entries are placed as occuring in years + or - ANH. i.e. RotJ is ANH +4.)

The first novel concerning the main characters and the state of the falling empire after RotJ is "Truce at Bakura" by Kathy Tyers. It is actually the last of the novels to take place in the Rebellion Era, as it begins just days after the destruction of the Emperor.

There is a series centered around the adventures of Rogue Squadron (Luke's old outfit) by Michael Stackpole (Xwing #1: Rogue Squadron, Xwing #2: Wedge's Gamble, Xwing #3: The Krytos Trap, #4: The Bacta War, #5: Wraith Squadron) that spawned a whole series of graphic novels from Dark Horse Comics. These books begin to really flesh out what's going on away from the central characters in the movies, and deal with a lot of the actual fighting going on as the Imperial Governors, Admirals and other parts of the government are dealt with militarily. These bridge the Rebellion and the New Republic Eras 5-7 years after the Battle of Yavin.

Then we have "The Courtship of Princess Leia" (ANH +7) by Dave Wolverton. Don't let the title fool you, there's action a-plenty for both boys and girls. We know who she ends up with, but the journey is at least amusing, if not all that interesting to everyone.

The revered Thrawn trilogy by Timothy Zahn is next. Admiral Thrawn is a tactical alien genius, returning to the known galaxy after having been on a mission for the emperor that kept him away for most of the events known to now. These books are great reading and cover quite a lot of the struggles Leia and Mon Mothma experience while trying to establish the New Republic. Lukes struggles with his emerging Jedi powers and lack of a teacher are also explored and these novels set up many character and story lines that are explored in dozens of novels out there.

The New Republic era goes out to ANH +24 and really wraps up any remnants of the Empire and what can be known about the Jedi...from this galaxy anyway. After that, we begin the era of The New Jedi Order, and threats anew once again bring chaos to our heros and the New Republic that is just getting on its feet.

If you want to jump right in, and aren't so interested in some of the flotsam and jetsam concerning ancillary characters, just pick up the first of the Thrawn Books: "Heir to the Empire" and you'll be hooked. Start there, Robbo, and you'll be well on your way to "taking your first step into a larger world".

{Kath here again. To answer the question that's undoubtedly running through your mind right now: no, I most assuredly did not have any idea of the depth of the geek pool I was diving into when I married this man. I had an inkling the pool was deep, but this deep? Nope.}

Delicious

The EU Constitution is coming up for referendum in France and I'm just loving the news that's coming out of there: the opposition to the constitution is actually ahead in recent polls. This in France. Where the governement is a pack of proverbial EU-huggers.

{Insert snorts of glee here}

Scott over at The Daily Ablution has been wandering around the country this week and has some interesting insights. You can find them here and here.

A Friendly Reminder

It seems I'm forever having to remind you people of this, but here goes anyway...

We need QUESTIONS for our lovely Sassy Diva to answer on Friday. Clicket on the Demystifying Divas button on the right, and fill up the email prompt with a question.

Get them into the box by tomorrow, 6pm GMT, so our beyoooootiful English Diva can have a whack at answering them.

Swimming With Sharks

Did you ever see that movie? Kevin Spacey played Buddy Ackerman, the most obnoxious studio executive ever. One night, when his assistant had just a wee bit too much of his boss' behavior, he took Buddy hostage and practiced all sorts of interesting revenge on him. The bit with the paper cuts and lemons stands out in my mind. Anyway, whenever I read a story about the MPAA or the RIAA "cracking down" on file sharing and P2P networks, Buddy is the guy I cast in my mind as the suit.

Courtesy of Mike over at Tech Dirt, we have this lovely story that seems to have gotten lost in the Pope Shuffle.

File-swappers who distribute a single copy of a prerelease movie on the Internet can be imprisoned for up to three years, under a bill that's slated to become the most Draconian expansion of online piracy penalties in years.

The bill, approved by Congress on Tuesday, is written so broadly it could make a federal felon of anyone who has even one copy of a film, software program or music file in a shared folder and should have known the copyrighted work had not been commercially released. Stiff fines of up to $250,000 can also be levied. Penalties would apply regardless of whether any downloading took place.

If signed into law, as expected, the bill would dramatically lower the bar for online copyright prosecutions. Current law sanctions criminal penalties of up to three years in prison for "the reproduction or distribution of 10 or more copies or phonorecords of one or more copyrighted works, which have a total retail value of $2,500 or more." {...}

So, let's say that you've downloaded the newest, hottest Britney Spears song. You may have liked it, you may have not. You may have thought that this "prerelease" copy was crap as far as the technical aspects were concerned, but that's really quite irrelevant at this point. You may have forgotten all about it. You may be listening to it everyday, fully intending to buy the CD when it comes out. You, my dear friend, log onto Limewire or some other Peer To Peer network, blissful---or not---with your Britney.

This, my friend, is when you just committed a felony.

According to the MPAA, the RIAA and the federal government, you've just made this bit of prereleased, copyright protected bit of entertainment available for distribution by logging into a Peer-To-Peer network. Hence you're guilty of the same sort of piracy as a street vendor and you will be punished accordingly. Just by having the offending item in your shared folder, you're committing a felony. Never mind that if someone moved to download it and you quashed the download. You're still committing a felony. A felony that's punishable by three years worth of jail time and a fine of a quarter of a million dollars. As Mike at Tech Dirt so eloquently puts it:

The entertainment industry continues to insist that they're just looking for "balance" in trying to fight file sharing -- but the evidence suggests that they're just being purposely vindictive. They're not looking at ways to improve their business or how to better provide what people want. They just want to punish people.{...}

This is part of the Family Entertainment and Copyright Act I was railing against the other day. This passed the House today and has already been approved by the Senate. It's on its way to the President we speak.

Lovely.

One can only imagine how smug Buddy is tonight, safe in his Beverly Hills mansion, where the Cristal and the beleuga flow freely. One wonders, however, if he realizes that his whole house of cards will come crashing down sooner rather than later because of his actions.

Palimpsests

Last night, this post brought to mind a special I'd seen on NOVA a while back about the Archimedes Palimpsest.

Archimedes, if you remember from high school geometry, was the dude who came up with pi, among other things. He was a rare mathemetician for his day, and his life ended in 221 B.C. Now, in the way of things back then, some of his work was lost---and it was thought it had disappeared for the ages. Not so. In the library of a monastery in Constantinople a palimpsest was discovered. A palimpsest is a book where the pages are made of vellum, or animal skin parchment, where the text can be scraped off and used again for some other purpose. In this case, it was transformed into a prayer book. So, this palimpsest resides in Constantinople for near to a thousand years when a Danish philologist discovers it, photographs the entire thing, but cannot decipher all of the Archimedes text. The word is now out. About twenty years later, it's stolen from the monastery. It finds its way into the hands of a forger, who paints four of the pages with gold leaf, thinking it will make it more valuable, while not knowing what was underneath the prayers, until finally, it lands in the hands of a French collector who snatches it up and keeps it in the family for about seventy years, only selling it a few years ago.

As if that wasn't enough excitement for you, this is where it gets interesting. No one had the technology to see what exactly Archimedes had written entirely until recently. Of course it was big. Turns out that he'd pretty much invented Calculus...a full nineteen-hundred years before Newton and Leibniz---the generally credited inventors of that particularly horrible form of math---got their paws onto the problem.

During the NOVA episode, the scientists they consulted, while pleased about the document itself, lamented the fact it had been lost for so many years. They speculated about what it could have meant for society if Archimedes had not died when and how he did (he was killed by a soldier who stumbled into his house during a war) and the papers weren't lost, but instead published and disseminated for peer review. There are many things in our modern world that we would not have were it not for Calculus. It's not stretching it to say that these lost papers put Western Civilization back almost two thousand years.

With this in mind, try and wrap said mind around the possibilities that could flow forth from the Oxyrynchus Papyri. There could be equally huge discoveries lurking in those pieces of papyrus.

I, for one, cannot wait to see what is in there.

Wine Review

About a week ago, I was wandering around the local liquor store looking for a new Chardonnay to try out. I'm big on adventure when it comes to wine: there's lots of it to be found in the ten to fifteen dollar range. After all, it's only a bottle of wine---it's not like you're stuck with it for long if it blows. The guy working there asked me if I ever drank boxed wine.

I laughed. "Boxed wine is for my mother," I said. "She really digs her Franzia Chablis. I can't stand it."

He joked that he understood and then showed me the way to this. He said he sells a ton of the stuff and that, really, it wasn't that bad. And it was cheaper, too, the box holding the equivalent of four bottles of wine, retailing for about twenty bucks.

Skeptical, I blew him off in favor of a nice French chardonnay that was on sale. But yesterday, the husband remembered the guy's suggestion and thought I should give the boxed wine a try. And so I did.

Get this: it's not that bad. Hmmmph.

Now, if you're looking for a full-bodied Chardonnay, with lots of oak flavor, this isn't going to do it for you. It's pretty light on the whole. But if you like a lighter chard, with hints of apple and pears, it's pretty tasty. The only thing I would recommend is making sure you serve it when it's nice and cold. Otherwise, it's nasty. (The first glass didn't go down so well.)

Now, I don't think I'm going to switch over entirely, because a. I really love my Rabbit corkscrew and I have a great time using it and b. like I wrote above, I really do like to try new things, but I have to think that a lot of people, who buy the same Chardonnay over and over again, would like it. It'd be easier on their wallets, too. I also think that if you're having a party that this would be an excellent option for your guests that wouldn't burst your budget or, conversely, make you seem like a cheapskate for serving the cheaper, nastier boxed wine.

Disappointment

Sheer and utter disappointment.

I suppose it was only natural to have the Shadow Pope move into the job, but still... I had high hopes we'd finally get a pope who wanted to move the Church forward, and not back.

If you want a better handle on Pope Benedict XVI's teachings, go here . The Vatican server might be a little bogged down right now, so be patient.

If you thought John Paul II was conservative, you ain't seen nothing. The new Pope is positively reactionary.

I am just so disappointed.

For a different take go and read Doug, who's "pleasantly stunned."

UPDATE: The Llamas have a good roundup of links.

UPDATE II: Swiftee asks in the comments what I was hoping would happen.

Go here and be shocked at my radicalism!

Rolling Out of Bed

Another Tuesday, another set of truly fabulous Demystifying Divas posts.

The topic we've chosen for ourselves this week is pretty basic: the differences between men and women when they get ready to go in the morning. Talk about taking the differences between the sexes right down to base level. Heh. Should be interesting, no?

As most of you, my devoted Cake Eater Readers, will know, the husband and I have been married for ten years. We've lived together for a little bit longer than that. (Yeah, I know. Our bad.) During that time, we've lived in (counting on fingers) seven different apartments. Only two of which had big bathrooms, where we could both move around and get ready simultaneously. The apartment we live in now is most assuredly not one of these apartments. The bathroom here is the size of a postage stamp. If the bathroom door is shut, it's a crapshoot to open it: you might, quite literally, knock your spouse into unconsciousness. Whenever we see large bathrooms in our friends' houses or in a showcase, our envy erupts, like goosebumps on a Muscovite hooker in January. We both start lusting for a larger vanity, a huge bathtub, a bigger shower, and in the husband's case, a separate room for the toity. Some people have this response when it comes to kitchens, and we are not immune from that, either, but the bathroom is where it is at for us.

The reason for this envy is not only size-related, but also because I'm a slob and the husband is a neat freak who's constantly having to rein in the OCD. He wants a bigger bathroom so that he isn't forced to deal with my slovenly habits and somehow a double vanity will solve this problem, even though he hasn't listed out exactly how it will do so; he's just confident that it will. I want a bigger bathroom so I have more places to stash my excessive pile of appearance-related shit. In our current space, I have claimed the top of the counter, the space under the sink (the Q-tips reside there, so technically we're sharing), the bathroom cabinet (again, technically speaking, we're sharing because his shaving kit resides there), one side of the medicine cabinet and the top of the toity. The husband, God love him, gets one side of the medicine cabinet. But what's surprising is that's all he needs.

Now, given my need for extra space, you'd think I was someone who spent an excessive amount of time getting ready to go in the morning, wouldn't you? Well, I don't. Generally speaking, I can be in and out of the shower, hair done (well, it's a sopping wet mess, but I don't blow dry every day because it's bad for your hair, so it's as done as it's going to get unless I have a meeting and actually have to do it up), dressed, with minimal makeup in forty minutes or so. Pretty good for a chick, no? The husband, well, he does take less time to get ready, but that's because he doesn't wear makeup and never has to deal with a mascara wand that's bound and determined to spread black goo onto your face instead of your lashes. He just stands around in the shower, wondering about the world. I am seriously thankful we've never had to pay a water bill.

Fortunately for us, we do not have jobs that require us to leave the house every morning. We pretty much stay in our pajamas for as long as we can stand it. Then one of us will hop in the shower and the bathroom is our domain for that period of time. Working from home has saved us from many o' a fight about hogging the bathroom. The problems arise when we leave the house together, and I have to be fully made up with hair done.

The poor husband. It takes me a while to put on the full war paint. That means a couple of extra coats of mascara, eyeliner, and eyeshadow. That means full foundation and powder. That means the whole meal deal when it comes to lip liner and lipstick. And blush. We can't forget about the blush. Of course, while all of this is going on, I'm also running around trying to figure out what I'm going to wear and doing my hair. This takes, all told, about an hour and fifteen minutes. And I always think it's going to take less time than it does, hence the husband just stands there in the hallway, glowering, waiting for me to get my crap together, asking me every few minutes, "Are you ready to go yet?" To which I reply: "Yeah, just give me a second," because even if it's not going to take a just a second, and I know this, I have hope that maybe, just maybe, I'll be able to pull it together so he won't be annoyed with me.

Then I'll remember I have to switch out my handbag, so it matches my shoes and the ensemble I've chosen to wear.

Or that I've forgotten my belt, which is something you just cannot forget when you switch over to boot cut pants, otherwise you'll be flashing your ass crack to the world.

Or that I've forgotten to spritz myself with perfume because, after all, the husband bought me the stuff. He likes for me to wear it, so I'd better get with the freakin' program here.

(I can feel the disapproval from the male section of the audience already}

By this point in my rushing around, the husband is generally ready to lose it. He doesn't see why this should be so hard. After all, all he had to do was change his shirt, throw on a sportcoat, brush his hair and teeth. Why shouldn't I be the same, for crying out loud? It's not like I didn't know we had to leave the house at a particular point to get to our destination on time. I should be better organized. A bigger bathroom would spare him. He's sure of it.

I'm not so sure. Women just have more stuff to do in the bathroom than men do. What exactly does the husband do in the morning? He shaves, he showers, he washes his face and puts moisturizer on (and he wouldn't do the last two if he wasn't married to me). He then throws gel into his hair, brushes his teeth and---presto chango!---he's done. I have other stuff to do, like battling with mascara, which as any woman can tell you, takes time.

And you boys wouldn't like for us to look like garbage, would you? Because we would look like something the cat dragged in if we were ready to go when you wanted us to be. I know this for a fact.

Ok, that's not really going to fly, but that's my story and I'm sticking to it.

Now go and read what the other Delicious DemystifyingDivas have written on the subject. Make sure you go and welcome Kate from Katespot, who is subbing for Chrissy this week while the Feisty One takes some time off from blogging. The Marvelous Men's Club has their own take as well.

Important News!

Today is Free Cone Day at all Ben and Jerry's stores.

Go. Eat ice cream. You'll be happier for it.

If free ice cream isn't enough to get you off your skinny butt (I can't imagine that if you have a wide ass you'd be hesitating, ya dig?) realize this is the way to make those hippies pay for all their support for liberal causes. Keep their profits from being donated to the DNC!

{Snort}

Tee-bloody-hee.

It's Memo Time

To: Mamamontezz
From: Kathleen Nelson

Re: Criticism

A few points about your post wherein you slag The Demystifying Divas for having the gall to call ourselves divas.

1. If you choose to criticize our work, please link to it. You can also simply link to our blogs if searching for the individual posts is too much work. You might also want to use our names when criticizing us, just so your readers know whom you're referring to.

I have no issues with dissent. You're more than welcome to think our work is crap. But to never once refer to us by name or link to our work is intellectually dishonest. Furthermore, I suspect you know this.

2. The name "Demystifying Divas" is a joke. It always has been. It's a catchy title. That's all.

I suppose this means the joke is on you for not realizing this.

3. If you're going to criticize someone's writing, perhaps you should make sure your post is bulletproof when it comes to the grammar. Otherwise it comes off as a pot/kettle situation and I'm fairly sure that's not what you were shooting for.

Have a nice day.

See also: Pammy

UPDATE: Mamamontezz has deleted my trackback. Woooh. Classy behavior, that.

The Classics Might Be Expanding

Cool.

Very, very cool.

Random Observation

So, yesterday we got the news that the husband's aunt had slipped, fallen and, quite literally, had broken her neck. They had to airlift her to Peoria from her home in Rock Island. Now, don't worry---it's just a broken neck and not the severed spinal cord everyone assumes comes with said broken neck. (She's the third person I've known that's had this happen.) She'll be fine after a time. As long as she lies still, she will only have to suffer the indignity of a neck brace. If she doesn't lie still, well, it's the Halo unit for her. This course of treatment, to put it mildly, will go against the grain for this particular aunt. She's a busybody and it's going to be a trial for her and those around her for the next few months---because she'll be a pill about it---but we're sure she'll make it through just fine.

Anyway, the husband and I walked down to Walgreens last night to get a card to send off to her, conveying our wishes that she "Get Well Soon."

This shouldn't have been a problem. But it was. There were barely any get well cards in an aisle solely devoted to greeting cards. We finally found the section where they resided, but it was hard work to do so.

It pretty much seemed to me that as far as the greeting card companies were concerned, well, life should be a joyful process from birth to death. There were loads of birthday cards, graduation cards, mother's day cards, father's day cards, first communion cards, etc. They even had a whole section devoted to "sympathy" cards. You know, the ones you send when someone dies.

But as far as cards for the hard times in life? Well, those were far and few between. Sure they had "coping" cards---the kind you send when someone's going through a bad time instead of calling and perhaps having to hear all about it when you don't want to---but these were the most mealy-mouthed cards I've ever seen. One read, "I hope you're coping." Another read, "I'm thinking about you in your time of trouble." Bleh. Then we finally came across the "get well soon" section and it was measly. Measly. There were something like ten cards to choose from, thus guaranteeing that every person in the hospital probably has the same card as the husband's aunt.

What's the deal here? Is the bad stuff that happens in life not a worthy excuse to send the very best? Hmmm? Do the "artists" that come up with the greeting cards refuse to create something for these people because they can't handle the negative energy, maaaaaan? This makes absolutely no sense from a consumer's viewpoint: most people buy cards to express sentiments they cannot set down on paper themselves. This is doubly hard when it comes to difficult situations. Why are the greeting card companies seemingly ignoring the bad stuff? Hmmmm?

Life is not a Hallmark commercial. One would think that they, of all people, would know this.

Oh, The Drama

Courtesy of Sheila, we have a marrrrrrvelous essay from Mitch over at Shot in the Dark about the nature of art and conservatism.

{...}a question I run into a lot when I talk about art with conservatives; what are music, literature, visual art, drama, dance and all the other kinds of art supposed to be?

Because if it's supposed to be a recitation of people doing the right thing at the right time for the right reasons and getting the right results, most of Western art - literature, visual art, film, opera, drama, and of course music from the classical to today - would be very different.

Let's review some of the classics of Western art through the lens of the "Do The Right Thing" school of criticism:

• Shakespeare's "Julius Caesar" - "Criminy. Enough with the hubris! Brutus and Antony - hire a friggin' lawyer and settle your grievances like normal people! You're acting like MoveOn.org here!"
• On The Waterfront - "Jeez, Brando - have you ever heard of the F B Freaking I?"
• Anna Karenina - "You slut! You freakin' skeeze! You see how much trouble you'd have saved yourself if you'd have just followed your bleepity-blank wedding vows? And we're supposed to feel sorry for you?"
• Iron Chef - "What's with the frou-frou presentation? Just plop the stuff on a plate while it's still hot!"
• Huckleberry Finn - "Look, just get Jim the Slave to the north! Stay on the river, do what you have to do, and move on!"
• Don Giovanni - "Well, duh! Giovanni and Leporello, if they were rational people, would repent for murdering the Commandant before he drags them to hell. Duh!"
• Picasso's Guernica - "OK, the Spanish Civil War is over, and if the commies had won Picasso would have never painted it. Why do we care about this painting anymore?"
• Moby Dick - "So Ahab would risk everyone's life because he's pissed at a whale? Where are his priorities?..."
• Casablanca - "Jeez, Rick. You know that giving Lazlo the letters of transit is the right thing to do. Cut the dramatics and just do it!
• Crime And Punishment - "Why spend a whole novel on a snooty pretentious little artiste who thought he was so superior to the people arround him that he could justify hacking his landlady to death? String him up and be done with it! Fifty pages at the most!"
• War And Peace - "WHY ARE YOU SLEEPING WITH DOLOKHOV, you stupid IDIOT?"
• Rocky - "Jeez, he's working as a knee-buster for a loan shark! If he'd just gotten his crap together and taken a computer programming course and gotten a job and some stock options, he'd be rich right now, and his nose would still be straight!"

Art, in whatever form, among many other things is about places and times and situations that you aren't in, getting inside minds other than your own. Sometimes the place is somewhere you've never been; sometimes it's a different view of where you are now. Sometimes the mind is that of someone intriguingly, frustratingly, even horrifyingly different than your own. Sometimes the situation is mundane, or glorious, or wrenchingly horrific.{...}

Sheila throws in her own two cents:

{...}There's a strain of conservatism that gets impatient with human weakness. Half the blog-posts I read out there (and many of the blog posts I write myself!) link to some human-interest story, and the bloggers comment is: "GET OVER IT." or "STOP WHINING" or "GROW UP". "Pull yourself up by your boot straps." "Don't complain. Just suck it up, and do better next time." Etc. There is a lack of patience with indecision, frailty, weakness. Again: I understand where they're coming from, theoretically, and I feel that way myself at times - but NOT when it comes to the role of art in society. No.{...}

While I would disagree (barely) with Sheila that bloggers like myself do not possess a lack of of patience regarding human frailty, but rather are impatient with stupidity, the girl's (and Mitch) got a point when it comes to art: in art you need a struggle to produce anything worthwhile. You need drama. Drama produces good stuff. As all those actors who are in hock to TNT for their daily bread love to remind us, drama is conflict. Anything else is the equivalent of watching paint dry.

Further ruminations and one whopping leap of the imagination after the jump.

To add my own two cents worth and take it one step further: it's been my observation that it's the "Get Over It" crowd, as Sheila calls them, that's also behind every move to tell me what I can or cannot see, watch or read. They are, indeed, impatient with human weakness. They see art as glorifying all that is wrong with society. If you've got a teenage daughter who's pregnant, well, that boy probably had something to do with it, but really, it's because there's too much sex on tee vee that's the problem! We've got to do something about it! They're going to tell you what will make you a better person and that's to stop with the drama and get thy nose to the grindstone. They've got the recipe for salvation, right here, right now, and they want you to follow it. And in the process all sorts of works of art are banned because they don't think it's good for anyone.

I'm a big believer in being able to judge for myself. Some of these people would not have it that way. They'd force me to take their word for it. And that annoys me more than I can say. Why did I bother going to school for seventeen years if not to make myself worthy of being able to judge what I will allow in my life? Why should my entertainment choices as an adult be limited because of what someone else thinks is right and wrong? I'm more than capable of choosing for myself. But more importantly, I'm not scared to watch or read or view something that might disagree with my worldview. I believe that having your worldview challenged on a regular basis is a good thing.

I think this is the rub for many conservatives, even though they would deny it to the death.

It's often said that if your faith is strong, it will be able to withstand challenges to it. I believe this crosses over to someone's level of intelligence and their beliefs as well. As such I believe an awful lot of conservatives are scared that they will see something that they will find value in something they supposedly shouldn't. Hence they don't bother reading books their pastor has told them are bad. They don't bother watching movies that are "dirty." They don't go to view art they think is controversial from watching a newscast specifically designed to muckrake. They take someone else's word for it, so they can stay complete and faithful to their worldview. In and of itself, this behavior is fine. If you don't want to see something, that's no skin off my nose. Your world will be smaller for it, but, again, if that's what you want, fine and dandy. You'll get no hassles from me. The problem comes in when someone takes it one step further and tells me that I shouldn't be able to see something and makes active, legislative moves to ensure that outcome. This would include contacting the local library board to make sure a book is banned from the shelves. This would include lobbying Congress to legalize copyright law violations because they don't like Hollywood's product, but yet want to see it anyway, sans objectionable material. This would include picketing art displays and harrassing people who would like to see said display. This sort of behavior is full of fear. It reeks of fright, but moreover it stinks of a lack of confidence in the would-be banners' own beliefs.

It's the intellectual equivalent of the Dark Ages. Remember that period of time from history class? Holy Mother Church preached in the pulpits that this, that and the other was wrong, and as such, it was time to shut out what the Church believed was evil and corrupting. The Church, back those days, had the power to make this happen. They burned people at the stake for witchcraft. They charged people with heresy. They scared the ever-living crap out of people who were afraid of going to hell. The Church stifled dissent and we had a thousand years worth of darkness in western civilization as a result. The only art that was worthwhile in those days was what monks produced when they copied over the Bible. There was very little philosophy, poetry, science or math during that age, and we were---give or take a few hundred years---a thousand years behind when the Renaissance came to pass. Why was humanity subjected to the Dark Ages? Because the Church thought it would lose the moral high ground if it was challenged. The Church didn't have faith in itself to keep up with the progress of society it, ironically, had played a part in pushing forward. They pretty much threatened everyone with thoughts of hellfire and damnation to keep them obedient. Which, as we all know, is not a great way to bring someone around to your way of thinking. Coercion and threats do not work. Reasoned discourse, on the other hand, works wonders.

A free society requires that dissent be made available in all things, not just politics. It never ceases to amaze me that some bloggers with one breath glorify in the wonders of western civilization and all that it's made possible, and worry about the threat to it from Islamic fascists, thenwith the very next breath, declaim that there's something horrible about this movie, this book, this article, this piece of art, and that this will be the thing that sends us all to hell in a handbasket. They say all of this without realizing that one is not possible without the other. Western civilization, for better or worse, is what is today because a variety of options were presented and people were allowed to choose. That some people would take us back to the Dark Ages, to a time when no one was allowed to choose, because they're afraid anything they deem to be bad would send the whole of society packing is not only ludicrous, but insulting to western civilization as well. It ignores our traditions just as wholly and insultingly as an Islamic fascist does when they cry out about everything they deem wrong with our society.

This is what frightens me---and it frightens me just as much as Osama Bin Laden's ranting about what's vile with our culture---that someone who's been a direct beneficiary of all that western civilization has to offer, refuses to see it's all about choice. Having it, pondering it, and exercising it. Because if they can't see that, what good is western civilization in the first place? Why does it need to be defended at all? If Kid Rock threatens your beliefs so much that you would have his music banned---and have him banned from performing at an Inaugural----we've got a serious problem on our hands, and we will all suffer for it.

The Search For Redemption

The blog child has done her homework.

{...}It turns out I actually have heard Led Zeppelin before, I just didn't know it. In all honesty, it brought to mind all of the Rush that my college roommate forced me to listen to.

So, having taken this trip, I will say that it was okay. I can appreciate the real artistry of the musicians and the compositions. However...they will never be a favorite of mine. I just didn't love it.

I am undecided if I should send her off to exile in France, ala Charles II, or if I should just accept that it's not for everyone.

Thoughts?

Pope Talk

So, the conclave starts today.

Curiously enough, if it had started a few days earlier, the Cake Eater Chronicles would have had its very own cub reporter. My sister ML, who celebrates her fiftieth birthday today, is on a celebratory trip to Italy as I write this. (Yep. Fifteen years separate us on the timeline that is our family. There's less of an age span between her kids and myself. Wacky Catholics!) If they'd started the conclave on Saturday, well, let's just say that I would have shot that girl over to Vatican City faster than you can lick a stamp. Even if she was jetlagged as all hell.

The Cake Eater Chronicles: There's absolutely no limit to the amount of discomfort I'll put my siblings through to entertain and inform you, my devoted Cake Eater readers.

Heh.

Alas, however, she and her fellow travelers have left Rome for the more enjoyable evirons of Tuscany. (Grrrr.) Too bad, so sad and all that jazz. I'm sure she's thankful I never even bothered to ask.

Anyway, I digress, as usual. The reason for this post was to show all you heretics the way to the latest odds. Paddypower, an Irish online betting house, has set up popebetting.com They'll be updating the odds regularly.

Enjoy!

Just For the Record

Long time readers will know of my battle to get my mother-in-law to think my bathroom is a decent place to be and use.

She did not use it today. After a glass of water and two or three cups of coffee.

And this after I got down on my hands and knees yesterday and scrubbed the floor for the better part of an hour, utilizing a bucket, loads of Clorox Clean-up, a scrub brush, an old Crest Spinbrush (household tip: these work wonders on hard to reach corners) and a rag .

I'm not bitter.

Really.

UPDATE: The husband tells me I need to get over this.

Pffft. I think not.

E-Z Brunch

Have I mentioned that the mother-in-law is in town?

I fed her today.

If you a. do not like hosting brunch because you think it takes a lot of work or b. you're too hungover to throw something together other than a hair-of-the-dog Bloody Mary, this recipe is for you. You make it the night before and it's quite a wonderful thing. This recipe is courtesy of my mom's friend, Mrs. Schultz, and it's become a family favorite.

Baked French Toast

This will put five adults and two children into comas.

The night before brunch:

One loaf of French or Italian bread, sliced into 1" slices
9"x13" casserole pan (glass works best)

Spray the pan with Pam and place the bread, the slices flat, in the pan. You will most likely have to double decker it to get all the bread to fit. This is fine.

In a separate bowl mix together:

3 eggs
3 tablespoons sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla
2 1/4 cups milk

Pour the mixture over the bread, cover and refridgerate overnight.

In the morning, bring the casserole out and allow it to come to room temperature. While this is happening, you get to make the topping.

1 cup flour
12 tablespoons brown sugar
2 teaspoons cinnamon
1 stick of butter

Mix this together with a fork, like you would a pie crust. When it's reached its crumbly-goodness potential, pour over the top of bread.

Bake it at 375 degrees for 40 minutes.

Use frozen raspberries or blueberries for topping. (Of course you defrost them beforehand, you dork. You don't just serve a slab of raspberries to your guests and say, here, throw these over your french toast. Enjoy! Doof.)

I should mention that these are really tasty when served with mimosas. If you're really rich and can afford peach nectar, make bellini's instead. I don't, however, think these would be good with Bloody Mary's. Bleech.

Where's Mussolini When You Need Him?

He wouldn't put up with this stuff. I can tell you that for nothing.

WASHINGTON (Reuters) - Amtrak suspended its high-speed Acela Express trains between Washington and Boston on Friday because of cracks found in hundreds of brake discs and said it may not have full service restored for two months.

In a potentially serious setback for the passenger railroad that is fighting to survive threatened cuts in government aid, an inspection turned up 300 cracked brake rotors out of 1,440 installed on Amtrak's 20 Acela trains, the company said.

Amtrak Chief Operating Officer Bill Crosbie said it could take up to two months to get all the trains back on the rails. He said the process of phasing the trains back into service would not begin until Wednesday at the earliest. He had no timetable for when repairs would begin.

"Acela Express will return to service only when it is safe to operate," Crosbie told a news conference. {...}

Can we all admit one thing? Amtrak needs to be privatized and it needs to happen now. Because I, for one, am sick and tired of paying for it.

According to the article Amtrak received $1.2 billion for this year from the federal government. And they're having to shut their baby down because of shoddy brakes. How much more is this going to put them in the hole? How quickly are they going to go begging to Uncle Sam? Bleh. On today of all days, when most people have to hand over large chunks of their income to the government, it's about time to recognize the fact that government ownership and operation of Amtrak is just not working out and it needs to be sold off, part and parcel, to someone who wants to buy it and run it profitably.

Perhaps Richard Branson would be interested.

I'm a Tory At Heart

Who should I vote for?

Your expected outcome:

Your actual outcome:

	Labour 8
	Conservative 61
Liberal Democrat -80
	UK Independence Party 18
Green -13

The Conservative Party is strongly against joining the Euro and against greater use of taxation to fund public services. The party broadly supported the Iraq war and backs greater policing and ID cards. The Tories are against increasing the minimum wage above the rate of inflation, and have committed to abolishing university tuition fees. They support 'virtual vouchers' for private education.

Take the test at Who Should You Vote For

Pretty much as I suspected.

Although, if given the chance, I'd vote for Labour and Tony Blair in a heartbeat. He deserves some support after all the hits he's taken over not abandoning America after 9/11. While Gordon Brown is creepy in the extreme, Michael Howard has never floated my boat, either. I like Tony. I didn't before 9/11. But I do now.

{Hat Tip: The Maximum Leader. Who confessed he wants a Darth Tater.}

Legislating Laziness

For the love of all that is good and holy.

Anyone who has watched movies on an airplane or on network TV has seen films that have been sanitized, so to say, by the removal of things like foul language, extreme gore or nudity. Generally speaking, though, film directors don't like altering their original artistic vision, which helps explain why cleaned-up versions of commercial movies are not routinely for sale at Blockbuster. They do exist, however, made possible by new technology and by companies that are responding to consumer demand for hit movies in a "family friendly" format. Hollywood is hopping mad. Put on your seat belt; it's going to be a bumpy ride.

{...}Good grief. What companies such as CleanFlix and FamilyFlix really do is buy DVDs of popular movies and make a second, cleaner, version. The buyer gets both copies, allowing the seller to claim that Hollywood has gotten full price for each original-movie sale and that the edited, or "backup," disc is protected by the doctrine of fair use in copyright law. Another company, ClearPlay, doesn't alter discs in any way. It creates coding that works with a special DVD player to filter--by skipping or muting--potentially objectionable parts of ordinary DVDs.

{...}The Family Movie Act (part of the Family Entertainment and Copyright Act), if it passes, may end one part of the brawl. It would effectively legalize the technology that ClearPlay uses. As the legislation's author, Rep. Lamar Smith (R., Texas), notes: "This is the electronic equivalent of using a remote control to mute the sound or fast-forward over objectionable material."

If you are worried about junior seeing a pair of b00bies in a movie, or being desensitized by too much violence, well, it perhaps you need this little reminder.

Ahem.

On every electronic device known to mankind there is an "Off" button. Use it. You might have to deal with a lot of lip, but it will ensure that your children are seeing what you want them to see and not making everyone else suffer in the meanwhile. It might also help you in your quest for cleaner material if you said "No," every now and again when junior/juniorette requests something you deem to be objectionable. After all, if you don't buy/rent a movie, Hollywood does not make money. This will force them to consider their options, because they're in business to make money. That's the free market at work, kids. If Hollywood deems there's a demand for something they're not supplying, well, they'll work their tight, little, liposuctioned asses off to provide it. In other words, stop expecting the government to parent your children, and learn how to do it yourself. Stop messing with other people's livelihoods because you can't be bothered to do this, ya dig?

This just pisses me off.

If you are so goddamned lazy that you need a DVD player that skips through objectionable content because you can't be bothered to fast forward through it, you are a waste of space. Get off my planet. Furthermore, that you would attempt to legislate your laziness, well, you deserve what you get the next time someone pulls a similar move. Because it will happen, kids. This is a slippery slope you're advocating. Censorship always is a slippery slope, because where the hell does it end? Pretty soon the choice is taken out of your hands and placed into someone else's.

God, I Love the Internet

Courtesy of everyone's favorite commie pinko (who, by the way, has finally come back to blogging and has been on a tear recently) we have FemDefence.

The picture might take a while to load, but wowweeee, when it does, you'll be a wee bit surprised.

Heh.

For the men in the audience, don't make the jump. You'll be grossed out because I will be discussing GIRLY stuff. I guarantee it, given your sex's general response when asked to go to the store to buy tampons.

All I can is I sincerely hope they make that thing in different sizes, because I wouldn't want it to slip. While there aren't any nerve endings in the vagina, I still have to think it would be INCREDIBLY PAINFUL if that were to slip because of an improper fit.

Which leads one to wonder if they're going to start selling these at the gynecologists, and fitting them in the office like they would a diaphragm? I can forsee a whole raft of gynecological issues with this little device. Wonder if it'd set a pap smear off. Probably. Anything will set a pap smear off.

Hmmmm. Much pondering to be done, I suppose.

Cautious Optimism Dashed

Martini Boy believes that since Episode III: Revenge of the Sith has been given a PG-13 rating, this is reason to hope the movie hasn't been kiddie-downed too much.

I wouldn't bet the farm on it. Particularly not with this on the market.

They do not deceive you, your eyes. A Darth Vader Mr. Potato Head that truly is. Shot that marketing person should be.

/Yoda-speak

If, as I suspect, George Lucas is only in this for the money nowadays, what point is there to putting out toys for little ones if they won't be able to see the movie said toys are released to promote? But, you say, parents will take their kids to see it anyways. And you would be right. Hence it leads me to believe that everything other than the volcano scene and the ending will be targeted at an audience whose average age is five.

It also behooves me to point out that an unhappy ending to this movie (which we've all known about for years, but little kids might not) is preternaturally designed to---ahem---hook these kids for the rest of their lives. Where our generation clamored for the prequels, these kids will be clamoring for Episodes seven, eight and nine, because they want to know where it goes from there.

Which, of course, means more money for George Lucas.

But, hey, that's just me, Ms. Cynical, so take it for what it's worth.

The Diva Sez

So, it's Friday. It's Divas Sez day. So, while two of my comrades in arms are traveling to Georgia (and are prepping themselves to deal with one massive hangover) and the other one is hanging out in England, I'm answering all those very important queries you sent to our inbox.

Read on after the jump.

From Phoenix, we have this gem of a question:

To wit: What do you ladies make of the phenomenon known as work-husbands and work-wives?

I refer to the close relationship two co-workers of the opposite sex can develop. Two equals in the work force; peers, who are simpatico confidants, co-conspirators, and staunch boardroom supporters of each other. I have had a work-husband in the past. To this day we have a fantastic friendship and respect each other greatly. Our relationship was never sexual, not even remotely. We were both involved with other people. Did we flirt? Yeah. But always harmless stuff and never serious. We were attracted to each other cerebrally. (For his part, he has admitted feelings of a deeper and more complicated nature, but he never acted on them, for fear of damaging our mutual professional admiration and close relationship. I’ve only ever held him in esteem professionally.) And yet, people always suspected that something was going on. There were rumors – all baseless and false. I don’t hold myself to other people’s opinions. I always acted professionally and my conscience is clear. But I wonder about the phenomenon and what you ladies might have to say on the matter. Does having a serious relationship like a work-husband make me a tramp? My behavior is irreproachable, I feel, but what do you think?

No, it does not make you a tramp. Banish that thought from your mind. You cannot control what other people will think of you. If you're living your life as you think fit and have no issues with it and no one else is being hurt, you're absolutely fine. It's your opinion of yourself that counts, and not anyone else's, because, no matter how hard you try, you will never be able to make everyone happy all of the time. It's impossible.

Personally, I think this is simply finding an ally in a difficult situation. We human beings are all about self-preservation, and if making an ally in a certain situation allows for said self-preservation, well, so be it. The interesting part is when this person is of the opposite sex, because that's when it could get confusing if you don't have your priorities in the right place.

Despite confessing his feelings for you, your friend never crossed over into No Man's Land. You never crossed over into No Man's Land. You both stayed in your trenches and did your thing. No impropriety occurred and anyone who says differently can go hang. Life is not easy, and you need to find support wherever you can get it. If that happens to be with a member of the opposite sex, who happens to also be attractive, well, there are times when you have roll the dice and see what happens. This is one of those times. As long as both parties are on the same page, I don't see the harm in it.

Moving along to the next question, we have this query from Anonymous Man:

When is it okay to see men cry?

In the spirit of equality, I will say the same thing for a man as I would for a woman: very, very freakin' rarely.

Now, I have been know to burst out in tears. One time, when the husband was in Kuwait (and had been for several months already) and I'd just found out that his return had been delayed (again), I was was at work, making drinks during the morning rush. People were lined up outside the door and one of my kindlier customers asked, very politely, when the husband was coming home? Was I looking forward to it? At that moment, such a wave of lonelieness hit me as to knock me completely off-balance emotionally, like when you're standing in the shallows of the ocean and a just-big-enough wave sneaks up on you and knocks you down. All of a sudden, there I was, weeping right in the middle of a coffee shop. All I could do was to run. So, I did, dropping an entire pitcher of steamed milk on the floor in the process. Which is generally considered to be a big freakin' sin in the coffee business: on a morning rush, steamed milk is more precious than gold.

I just couldn't help myself. I tried to stop the tears. I just couldn't. They made it known quite quickly that they would stop when they were ready to stop, and not a moment before, thank you ever so bloody much. So, I just sat there, in the parking lot, blubbering. I should probably mention that I loathe crying. Nothing good ever comes of it for me---puffy eyes and eyebrows, red skin, red eyes, swollen nose, emotions that are still churned up instead of relieved---so I consider it to be a waste of time. Not like that mattered, though, during my little blubbering incident. My emotions had taken over and there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it. I finally managed to get it under control and had to apologize to a lot of people for being so emotional, because my outburst had made life harder for them. I felt badly about that. It wasn't fair to them, but, surprisingly, they were all fine with it. Much to my amazement when I walked back into the store, they told me they understood, that it was no big deal and I shouldn't worry about it. They hugged me and told me to take the rest of the morning off, because they had it under control, even though we were chronically short-staffed at that point in time.

The problem with tears and crying is that so many people seem to use them to get their way. They've noticed that people feel badly when you cry; that natural sympathy takes over and rules their responses. This is manipulative behavior and it IRKS the ever-living shit out of me. I can't stand it when some woman turns on the faucets to get out of a speeding ticket or whatever trouble she's landed herself in. She's letting our side down, and it pisses me off that instead of taking it on the chin, she weasels out of the problem by letting the tears flow. Surprisingly enough, I know men who have done this as well. It's just been my observation that these guys, while rare, have noticed this same sympathy phenomenon, and they have the added benefit of looking like a man "who's in touch with his feminine side" if they start blubbering. They also get more points for "honesty" if they blubber, because men don't normally turn on the faucets.

So, I would have to say if a man or a woman is crying because it's an honest emotional reaction to a situation, then it's just fine. Give them a hug and tell them it will be all right. But if you have a feeling that they're doing this to get their way, and you've noticed that there's something in it for them, well, tell them to turn the faucets off because it's not going to work on you.

Next question is from Paul:

Me and my girlfriend just had twins together. My girlfriend wanted to be a stay at home mother and so i agreed to work two jobs to support our family. My mam and sister come round during the day to help with the babies but when i come home at 6.30 none of the housework has been done and I have to cook my own dinner before going back to work for 9. Am I being unreasonable to expect that she could make some effort to do these things? When I get in from work I'd just like to spend a little time with my boys. I feel like I'm missing out on them to fulfil her wants.

Congratulations for being one serious fertile myrtle. Wow. Blessings from the Cake Eater on your baby boys. Send pictures when you get the chance.

No, I don't think you're not being at all unreasonable, but I will say this with the qualification that I have absolutely no idea how effort is expended to take care of infant twins. I have a fairly reasonable idea of what it takes for one kid, but twins? Well, wow. That seems like a lot of work, but if your girlfriend has your mom and your sister to help during the day, there perhaps should be some time to take care of the ordinary stuff, like cooking dinner and cleaning the house.

I think you need to sit down and have a serious chat with your girlfriend about expectations, because your expectations are not meeting up with hers. She may not be working outside of the home, but she is working. When you two set up your current situation, did you mention in her job description that you expected these things of her? Or was it just implied? Because she honestly may not know. If she does know, it's time to confront her and tell her of your desire to spend some time with your boys. I can only imagine what it would be like to have my mother and sister-in-law come over on a daily basis, and let me tell you, I do not think that relationship would go well. Do they honestly provide help instead of hindrance?

All I can say is to take an objective look at the situation and try to work something out with her. Suffering in silence is not going to give you more time to spend with your boys.

The next thing that was in the mailbox was this from Neateye:

Call out Gouranga be happy!!!
Gouranga Gouranga Gouranga ....
That which brings the highest happiness!!

Ok, well, that was a bit of a surprise. Hmmmph.

Dude, seek psychiatric help immediately. Run, don't walk, to your nearest loony bin and commit yourself forthwith. They have good drugs there, like lithium. You'll enjoy these drugs. I promise.

And so wraps up another episode of "As The Diva Turns." Our darling dearest Silk will be answering questions next week, so make sure you get them into the divassez at gmail dot com mailbox by six p.m. GMT, next Thursday, so our sassy English Diva can have a crack at answering them.

Oh. My. God.

I'm on the verge of disowning my child.

I wouldn't know Led Zeppelin if they knocked on my door.

I don't think I've ever heard "Stairway to Heaven."

So I don't know what all the fuss is about.

And you call yourself my child! Oh, the shame. The betrayal! The downright disappointment!

Vapors. Case of the vapors coming on right quick! Aieeeeeeeeeee.

{Insert Kathy trying to get a grip here}

Ahem. It's time to pay attention, child.

All you really need to know about Led Zeppelin is....

When it comes down to making out, whenever possible, put on side one of Led Zeppelin IV.

Fast Times quotes aside, this is pure rock and roll. It's derivative of nothing and everything simultaneously. It is fresh and original, even thirty some odd years later. All you need do is listen. One other thing you need to know is that listening to Stairway is freakin' OPTIONAL, but that's another story for another day.

Ahem.

To further your education, I present to you, my child, two of our favorites. My favorite Led Zeppelin song is Bron-Y-Aur-Stomp. I would challenge you to listen very carefully to Jimmy Page's guitar playing on this one. It's deceptively simple. There is only one guy playing the guitar on that track. There have not been multiple tracks laid down. There were no other guitarists around. There should be, by all rights, more than one guitar. Know that there is not. Very few other people could have wrenched that much sound from a guitar. I can only think of three and one of them is dead.

The husband, the true Zeppelin fan in this household, had a hard time narrowing his choices down, but ultimately decided to present you with Black Dog. He says this is basic Zeppelin and I would have to agree.

Listen, sweet child o' mine. That is all you need do to redeem yourself.

UPDATE: Have shamed the child into redeeming herself. Even if she's only doing it to try and gain the throne of Cake Eater Land. A line from The Lion in Winter comes to mind:

You're not mine! We're not connected! I deny you! None of you will get my crown, I leave you nothing and I wish you plague! May all your children breach and die!

Heh. No benevolent dictatorship here.

No doubt you're thinking that's a wee bit rough. I don't. I'm all about high expectations. And I have high hopes for Cake Eater Land. My kid knows this. If she wants the crown, she knows what she has to do.

I shall expect an update come Monday.

I cannot believe I just got away with quoting Fast Times and The Lion in Winter in one post about Led Zeppelin. Just try and beat that one! I triple-dog-dare you!

Your "Awwwww" Moment of the Day

This is Sophia and she's two and half months old. She's my friend Katie's daughter and isn't she just the sweetest thing you've ever seen?

Say it with me: "Awwwwwwww."

Ok, now move along. There's nothing more to see here.

A Bittersweet Tale In Which Scary Nuns Are Mentioned

Robbo and Steve-o are chatting about the Madeline books by Ludwig Bemelmans. I can only say that I disagree with the Llama-ettes: I, too, wanted to have my appendix removed, just like Madeline's fellow boarding school flunkies. That would have been COOL when I was five!

Ahhhhh. I loved those books when I was little and I'm so glad they're still around and haven't disappeared into publishing obscurity, like so many others I adored when I was little. You see, I'm quite the fan of Madeline. Always have been. I've had a yen to go to Paris ever since I started reading about the twelve little girls, walking in two straight lines, the littlest of whom was Madeline. I always wanted to be at the end of the line because that's where the adventure makes itself known. I've always wanted a straw hat with a ribbon on it. Well, now that I think about it, I actually do possess a straw hat and I did try to put a black ribbon on it, but wasn't handy enough with the glue gun. Hmmph.

Madeline had chutzpah. She hung around with Pepito, who, while the son of the Spanish ambassador, was rather notorious for being a bad boy. She got lost with Pepito and they ran away with the Gypsies. She gave Miss Clavel grief, even if she never intended for that outcome. Madeline ruled and I loved her for it. I obsessively read and reread all of the stories, checking them out of both the public and my school library over and over again. This is where I gained my lifelong glomming habit. I still do this: glom onto an author whose works I love and read and reread their works, but darned if Sister Ramunda, the school librarian at the time, didn't try her best to scare me off this practice.

Now, I've encountered many o' a scary nun during my twelve years of Catholic education. This is unusual nowadays, because there really aren't that many nuns in the Catholic education system, but back then, well, I was the last of the children to receive their largesse. Sr. Celine, my rotund first grade teacher---God rest her soul---was as bad as they came. No one, and I mean no one, could drag you across a classroom by your ear better or more painfully than her. She was also really handy with a wooden ruler. And if the little metal edge on said ruler had come loose and flopped around all on its own, so much the better: it provided a little extra sting to your hand on top of the blow the ruler itself delivered. She could also be incredibly mean. You didn't want to look stupid in front of Sr. Celine, because she was likely to yell at you. The woman inspired terror and I was terrified of her then and still am today. She is not one of the five people I want to meet when/if I go to heaven. I never want to see her again. Ever. She died a few years back and I've never heard such a stir at mass as when her death was announced. People turned to one another, a mix of incredulity and hope painted broadly on their faces. They were incredulous that the old bat was actually capable of dying and apparently there was hope that nuns maybe, just maybe, could roast in hell for being mean to little kids. Father actually had to clear his throat loudly to get everyone to pipe down.

Now, I'm sure some of you will object to all this violence in the classroom. That's fine. While I personally think Sr. Celine was a witch in a habit and all she was missing was a broom, I shall refer you to what my mother has to say about the subject, because, five out of the eight of us had Sr. Celine for first grade: "I trusted the woman because you all learned how to read, write, and do math and could sit still and be silent by the end of first grade." Take her disclaimer it for what it's worth, and it's worth quite a lot, if you ask me, because all of us could read above our grade level, write, do math and sit still for hours on end after first grade.

While Sr. Celine inspired abject terror in us, Sr. Ramunda was nonetheless scarier to me. She was tall and skinny, and had a face like a horse: long with a big nose and small eyes that were hidden behind glasses. I was introduced to her at the same time I was Sr. Celine, and as a nun character study, she was no more likely to suffer fools gladly than Sr. Celine, but she wasn't violent about it. Sr. Celine may have carried a big stick, but she apparently hadn't learned to speak softly while doing it. Sr. Ramunda had learned that lesson and it worked. I can only remember her raising her voice to me once, and that was when I tried to check out a Madeline book for the umpteenth time.

You're too old for those books! Find something else because I'm not letting you have another one!

She was completely exasperated with my reading habits. I, of course, was shocked. You could check out anything you wanted to check out at the public library. Why was it different at St. Margaret Mary's elementary school? It wasn't fair! I remember being ready to rebel because I was getting shaky knees. For me, when my knees shook, it didn't mean I was frightened. It meant I was pissed off. Nor could I control this to save my life. It just happened. It meant I was ticked off and this was my body's way of dealing with anger against people I knew I couldn't be angry with. Just as I was about to open my mouth to protest, Sr. Ramunda sent me so withering a stare from under her habit that I was jerked clean out of the impending protests I was about to lodge. My knees had stopped shaking. I walked back to where I'd found the book, returned it to the shelf, wordlessly picked something else out, walked back over to her desk and presented it for checkout. She stamped the card, handed me the book and sent me on my way without so much as a word.

I lost that battle of wills and Madeline walked out of my life, her hat ribbon flowing in the breeze. Because Sr. Ramunda was right: I was too old for those books and I needed to move on with my reading. I knew this even then, but I couldn't help but love how safe and secure those books made me feel, even when they were telling me tales of Madeline's adventures. I wasn't a popular kid at school, and as is true for so many other people, I retreated into books. They were my safe place, and still are. It's not lost on me, either, that this is perhaps why I'm not as adventurous in my reading habits today as I could be. As I mentioned above, I still glom, mainly because there's no Sr. Ramunda to stop me. While it feels mutinous and is definitely still feels like a guilty pleasure when I do this, the memory of Sr. Ramunda lingers and I know I should move on to other things. Because I might be missing something in my need for safety and comfort. Sr. Ramunda knew this. While I will contend that she could have been a little kinder in pointing this out to me, she knew what she was talking about : that, ulitmately, by moving beyond Madeline, I could become more like Madeline, which is what I wanted then.

And is something I still do want.

Kidding

As in, "You've got to be fuckin' kidding me."

WASHINGTON - Starting Thursday, air travelers will have to leave their lighters at home. Unlike guns, knives and other dangerous items that a passenger cannot carry aboard but may stow in checked bags, lighters are banned everywhere on a plane.

The rule change is expected to produce a large number of seizures of lighters even though airports, airlines and the government have been telling travelers for the past 45 days about the impending ban{...}

The reason behind this is pretty simple: they don't want anyone starting any fires on planes. Well, ok, but guess what?

{...} The ban does not include matches. Passengers still may carry aboard a plane up to four books of safety matches. Not allowed on planes are "strike anywhere" matches, which can be struck using any abrasive surface.{...}

Oh, good God, people.

You can't take a lighter on a plane because we can detect those, there being little metal parts in them that a metal detector will catch. But bring all the matches you want, because there's no way in hell that we can detect those, so they're a lost cause. (Are you reading this, Mom? Don't bring your lighter with you the next time you fly or they'll hoark it.) When I just mentioned this to the husband, he felt the need to inform me that the reason they're actually doing this is because with a lighter you have a flammable fluid (an explosive) under pressure and it could be used as a bomb. Well, ok, but if it's such a problem, such a threat, why did it take them three and a half years to ban lighters? Why, If lighters in checked-baggage have been banned for years because of the dangers to the cargo hold, have you been able to keep your cigar lighter in your suitcase and no one's given a rat's ass about it? Why hasn't that nice Colibri been confiscated before now?

{Insert slamming of head on desk here}

I believe it's time to ask this question: do you feel safer flying since all of these post-9/11 changes have been introduced?

Because I don't.

While I do believe airport security needed to be tightened up, I believe the TSA is now just going through the motions. They're doing stuff for the sake of doing stuff. They're trying to give the appearance of security, where none is going to be found in actuality. I don't feel one iota safer because they're x-raying my shoes, confiscating nail clippers, or feeling me up when I forget and wear an underwire bra instead of the sports bra. I will also say that I REALLY don't feel any safer because they let the first class/business class passengers skip to the head of the security lines because I've seen what happens when they go through the metal detector, and, just in my humble experience, they're not subjected to anywhere near the level of scrutiny that I have to go through as a coach passenger. They're whisked through as quickly as possible, because God help the TSA officer that doesn't allow them to get to their flight on time. They paid more for their ticket; they're special.

Does any of this make you feel safer? Does it make you feel as if there will never be another 9/11? Do you whistle your way through security, secure in the notion that this increased scrutiny is preventing another horrible terrorist incident? Or do you feel as if it could happen because the TSA employees are a. Union workers and b. even if they do care, still miss quite a bit because everything has to be scrutinized to the utmost?

There is something to be said for deterrence. All of this increased security is supposed to be a deterrant from someone attempting another 9/11. Do you think any of this is actually going to deter a terrorist? Or do you think they'll just be cleverer in the future and that we should be paying attention to that instead of banning cigarette lighters? Because you know someone out there will come up with a cigarette lighter that is undetectable. They've done it with knives and guns. Why not with cigarette lighters?

Throw your thoughts in the comments.

Teh Funny

The Manolo has a question regarding the Boom-Boom McConaughey and the Penelope.

There Will Always Be an England

Well, maybe not.

The Roma strike again.

Mommy, That Woman Is Scaring Me

I don't normally watch Channel 5 News. Hell, I don't generally watch any local news because I find it to be, for the most part, full of shit. But Wednesday night is ABC night at the Cake Eater Pad. You've got Lost, Alias and that new show, Eyes, so the husband and I are subjected to sitting in front of the tee vee for three hours at a pop every Wednesday night.

We're also subjected to Cyndy Brucato constantly plugging stories about whatever blew up in the Twin Cities today for the ten o'clock news. If you're lazy, I would ask you to please click on that link. See how that picture advertises her wares.

Then look at this.

This is how she looks every night of the week.

Aieeeeeee.

All I can say is that the woman is scary looking. I don't know who talked her into this harsh-ass makeover, but the insanity stops here. Lighten up, lady. Literally. Lighten your hair and ditch the Wednesday Addams eyeliner. You're scaring me. {Insert shudder here}

And while I'm on the subject of KSTP news: with all of the firings, Joe freakin' Schmit gets promoted? Joe "I'm a Suckup and I Don't Possess Even Half a Brain" Schmit remains gainfully employed? Explain that one to me, will ya? Oy.

That's Rich

Fidel's being obtuse again.

HAVANA - Cuban President Fidel Castro criticized President Bush's attendance at Pope John Paul II's funeral Friday as "hypocrisy" because of the pontiff's opposition to the war in Iraq, and he downplayed the pope's role in toppling communism in the former Soviet bloc.

U.S. officials "went to cry in the presence of John Paul II, who was so against war, who so condemned the world order imposed by that empire (the United States), who so condemned consumerism," Castro said in his speech Thursday. "How far will hypocrisy go in this world? In my opinion it's an insult to John Paul II's memory." {...}

But wait, it gets better. Fidel tries to hitch his star to John Paul II's.

{...} Praising the pope for his compassion for the poor, his anti-war politics and his rejection of a long-standing trade embargo against Cuba by the United States, Castro said he shared more similarities than differences with John Paul, and that it was religion, not politics, that shaped the pope's stand against communism.{...}

{Emphasis mine}

So basically, the way good ol' Fidel sees it, if the Pope hadn't been Catholic, he would have been a Communist.

{...}"It's true that the pope was very critical of communism," Castro said. "But he also became very critical of the capitalist system."

An impassioned Castro spoke at length about the pope's historic 1998 visit to the island, saying, "He did not come with the intention of destroying the (Cuban) revolution."

The Cuban leader downplayed John Paul's role in helping end communism in his native Poland and Eastern Europe, saying one man could not be credited with ending a political and economic system.

"If one day Cuban socialism comes crumbling down, no one is to blame except ourselves," he said.{...}

Finally! He speaketh some sense! But he must have been drunk when he said this, so it probably doesn't count.

Happy Birthday!

To Texas Best Grok's John L.

Have a great day, your connectivity issues notwithstanding. And make sure you have a piece of cake to celebrate! This way you too can be a Cake Eater!

Ok. Yeah. I understand that was pathetic, but it was also easy. Sue me.

My Day Is Not Complete...

...if I can't find a way to tweak the Llamas.

So, courtesy of Rob the Pious Agnostic, we have The Llama Song.

Clicket and enjoy. I know I did.

Yeah, I know this one's been floating around for a while. It will still tweak them. And, if you hadn't noticed, it's really freakin' fun to tweak those boys.

I Always Said I Was A Preppy

But did you believe me? Noooooooo. Well, I've got irrefutable proof.

Hat tip: Michele

RELATED: For all the wine and boob lovers out there---and God only knows we'll never get accurate statistics on those fetishists---we have Cleavage Creek Wines, where ten percent of the proceeds go to breast cancer research.

Get drunk and save those boobies you so dearly love! Could you ask for a better deal? I think not!

UPDATE: The Wiz has inquired if there is a name generator for his, er, whatchamacalit. Since I don't have a watchamacalit, I shall lead you here and y'all can play around with it as much as you like.

Christ, I amuse myself sometimes.

Blow Me Down

Not everyone's reading Sully these days, so I thought I'd pass this one along, since he's made a rather surprising admission:

IRAQ: It behooves me to write that I'm chastened - and extremely heartened - by the progress we're making in Iraq. The elections were obviously the key - and they should have been scheduled at least a year before they were. But it's equally true that the constancy of our amazing troops, and the magic of democracy, are turning this long hard slog into a long hard slog with an end in sight. The criticisms of the past endure. But the fundamental objective seems to be within sight. The right decision - to remove Saddam - is no longer being stymied by wrong decisions. I feared the worst. I was wrong.

Did you get that? He said he was wrong about Iraq.

Jesus Christ on a piece of toast!

Say what you will about the man, but I find this action very, very classy.

Bad Boys, Bad Boys...

....whatcha gonna do, whatcha gonna do when you're sniffing that glue?

Er, sorry. I couldn't help but continue on with the Cops antidote. I didn't want y'all to be poisoned. Ahem. Bygones.

Anyway, it would be Tuesday, which, of course, means yet another installment of The Daring Demystifying Divas. Today's topic: bad boys and why women, indeed, love them.

If I had a nickel for every time a guy, after a long night of drinking and smoking, asked me, "Kath, why do women like jerks?" I'd be a rich woman. This complaint was laid at my feet frequently in the golden days of yore, generally, because I was the nice girl they were walking home. If their evening had gone as planned, I wouldn't be anywhere in the vicinity. Their definition of a jerk was one who swooped in at the last minute, ruining well laid plans. I prefer to call the guys who did the swooping business "bad boys." Because, ultimately, that's what they are---bad boys.

I never answered these guys seriously when they asked. I always tried to boost their confidence by saying things like, "Oh, she's nuts. She's not worthy of you," and so on and so forth. The last thing they needed from me at that stage of the game was to lay out the facts of the matter.

Well, times have changed. I'm not walking home from the bars with yet another heartbroken man. I am blogging. I am supposed to be "demystifying" things. So I will, indeed, lay it all out for the men.

Now, as I see it, the attractions of the bad boy are many---one of which is that they generally ride motorcycles---but I think it ultimately comes down to the fact that they don't give a rat's ass about what the world thinks of them. They're not oblivious, by any means. They just don't give a damn. There's something very liberating in that, and freedom, as we all know, is a heady elixir. To be liberated from the say-so of society? Not to conform your life to what other people think you should be doing or saying? Not to care a whit if you're poaching on someone else's territory?

Well, wow.

One could get drunk on that potion rather quickly and easily, as if it was a shot of tequila, instead of a rush to the system. There's something very manly in that action that gets the estrogen to pumping, ya dig? It's quite sexy. Even if you know firsthand that the guy is a Grade 'A' Prime asshole. Some of us just don't care.

I know. It makes absolutely no sense, right? If women make judgments based on our emotions and brains rather than on our hormones, well, we'd pick the nice guy each and every time, right? We'd find niceness sexy, right? Well, I hate to tell you this, darlings, but we do possess hormones and when you get that sort of rush, well, I think those of you who possess the vaunted XY chromosome could relate, eh?

Ok. Knowing that's probably not going to fly, I shall valiantly push on with the demystifying, because there's more to come. There's the good news. I did mention that there was good news, right? I didn't. Oh, well. Sorry about that, but there is indeed good news, so ungird your loins: women get tired of bad boys. We do, indeed, move on to the nice guys. Eventually most women become accustomed to the hormone rush and decide that, "hey, most bad boys treat me like shit." They will dissect what they found attractive in their particular bad boy and they will look for the good qualities they liked and will try to find those in a nice guy. And there are plenty of nice guys out there, it's just a matter of finding the right one. One who has the proper blend of good guy and jerk.

So now that things are as clear as mud, go and see if the other Daring Demystifying Divas can clear things up for you. If you're a lady, know that the Macho Men's Club have flipped the coin and are tackling the topic of bad girls, and why men love them. See, kids? We really do have something for everyone!

UPDATE: Michele and Phoenix have also chimed in.

These Are Not The Droids You Seek

As if it was a birthday party, my Maximum Leader decided to have a Star Wars themed weekend.

Light sabers were purchased.

Go read all about it.

Silly Germans!

From Davids Medienkritik we have the lovely story of the VP of the Bundestag floating some interesting conspiracy theories.

Her theory is so whacked, even Der Speigel is calling her out.

No other country's citizens provides me with as much amusement as the Germans. I love ya, folks. Keep it up!

Thanks!

Well, the FIRST ANNUAL HAVE YOUR CAKE BLEGATHON is now officially over.

The regular readers can come back now. Did you hear that, kids? Antiques Roadshow will now be seen at its regularly scheduled time again. You will no longer be forced to watch Josh Groban warble at warp speed. Come on back!

Anyhoo...I would like to thank all of my contributors for finally allowing me to claim I'm a "real writer," meaning that I've been paid for my work! You've helped me realize a life goal, and I appreciate it.

For the rest of you slackers, well, eh? As long as you sent me some happy thoughts you're in the clear. You did send some happy thoughts, right? I have this sinking feeling that you didn't and that I won't be able to escape from Neverland and the evil clutches of Captain Hook (ha ha! get it?) anytime soon. So, not only are you cheap ass bastards, you couldn't get it together in time to send me happy thoughts...of all the nerve! Slackers.

The bitterness that I'm not suddenly able to afford a spring getaway to Jamaica aside, the Pay Pal key is still up there. And it's staying put, so throw some cash in the kitty if you ever get the chance. Or you can buy some crap from Cafe Press. Either way is good.

Bowling For Dollars

Note to my devoted Cake Eater Readers: this post will stay at the top of the page until next Monday, April 11, 2005.

{Insert Kath feeling mighty uncomfortable about what she is about to do here}

Ahem.

The Cake Eater Chronicles has just morphed into a for-profit enterprise.

Yes. That feeling that just hit your gut is absolutely right on: this is a blegging post.

For almost two years now, I have been using the Cake Eater as a repository for thoughts that had nowhere else to go. Surprisingly, a goodly number of you started showing up to read said thoughts and got something out of them. For that I am eternally in your debt, and as my father is wont to say, "your kindness will never be mentioned." (And, yes, I know that doesn't fit, particularly since I'm mentioning it right now, but it doesn't really fit when my dad says it, either, yet he says it anyway, so like father like daughter, blah, blah, blah.) Nothing is so satisfying to a writer as actually having readers because the whole enterprise is something of a wash if no one really cares all that much. I'm glad to have you, and while in the past I've asked for donations for charitable causes, I've never really asked anything of my readers for myself, other than the odd plea for comments.

That, my devoted Cake Eater readers, is about to change with the FIRST ANNUAL "HAVE-YOUR-CAKE-BLEG-A-THON!"

Woot!

Yeah, I know. I'm having a hard time getting excited about it, too, so I can't blame you for your lack of enthusiasm.

As many of you know, I do not contribute anything to the GDP of the Cake Eater household. The husband does this and I am grateful to him for it because he works his fine, fine non-ass off at it. But it's time I contributed something. Since the novel isn't in any shape to send out, and I spend a goodly portion of my free time on this thing, I must work with what I've got---which would be you, my devoted Cake Eater readers.

You will notice that on the upper left sidebar, there is a now a PayPal "Make a Donation" key. If you're so inclined, click on it and donate what you can. I'm not that picky. If all you can afford is five bucks, I'm thankful for it. If you are like my mother and are leery of internet transactions, yet would like to contribute, drop me a line and I'll send you the snail mail address to the Cake Eater Pad. If you can't afford to give anything at all (and believe me, I understand that) send me some happy thoughts and all will be well with the world.

Now the reason I am so uncomfortable doing this is because whenever money is involved, strings suddenly become attached. It's just the nature of the beast. This blogging exercise will turn into a quid pro quo excursion and I don't really like the thought of that. I'm selling out. But it's past time for me to do this, hence I will have to suck it up.

Conversely, I also understand that a goodly number of people have been soured on this experience by a particular blogger's bleg-a-thons. This particular blogger not only refused to attach the strings, he blatantly abused his readership in the process by lying to them, and gave the rest of us bloggers an undeserved black-eye in the process. I can't tell you what to do. But I will say this much: I'm not going to guilt you into giving. If you can and you're inclined, thank you very much. I appreciate it. If you can't give anything or have been turned off by blogger bleg-a-thons, no hassles. I understand.

In conclusion, I will say thanks for everything. Showing up, reading, commenting, and if you are able, for helping increase the Cake Eater Household GDP. I appreciate it all.

Wrong

No matter which way you slice it, allowing Cardinal Law to say mass as part of the Novemdiales is just wrong.

It just is.

News Flash

{Yawn. In an interested sort of way.}

Michael Moore is a big fat liar. And yes I do mean that in the metaphorical sense, although I could see where you'd think I was being literal.

I still think he needs to be rolled over by a gigantic wheel of brie, too.

{HT: Galley Slaves}

And While We're on the Subject of Good Tee Vee

That magnificent little bastard will be back come May 1st.

Estrogenical tyranny is BACK, baby! Set your Tivos accordingly.

Good Tee Vee Reminder

The new season of Wire in the Blood starts tonight on BBC America.

Woohoo!

Ceremonial Headresses

So, what did you all think about all the black lace worn on Friday at John Paul II's funeral?

We have Queen Paola from Belgium.

There's Laura Bush.

And there's your brand spankin' new Secretary of State, Condoleeza Rice.

Vatican II decreed that women did not have to cover their heads at mass---any mass, including the Pope's funeral---anymore. This is well-known by Catholics worldwide. This act forever freed women from trying to pin a scrap of lace onto their heads before they hurried into church.

So, what I want to know is which member of the Vatican protocol office told all these women---more than a few of them non-Catholics, who wouldn't know better---they should cover their heads?

Bear with me here. While I can understand wearing a hat or covering your head is a sign of respect in some faiths, it is not necessary in Catholicism, or even for a visit to the Holy See. It's not a tradition. It's not a custom that needs to be observed.

What the hell is going on here?

Do you honestly think that Laura Bush called up Bernadette Chirac and asked, "What are you wearing to the funeral tomorrow?" There was just too much black lace going on at that funeral for it to be a spontaneous thing. That Condi---the chief U.S. diplomat---wore a mantilla, too, signals to me there's a wee bit more going on here.

Condi is the Secretary of State of the United States. If she went to Saudi Arabia, she would be instructed to cover her head to honor local custom. It would be the same if she were in Iran, where it's the law that all women, no matter what their faith is, should cover their heads. That's protocol. That's following the "when in Rome," line so that the natives aren't offended. Why, as the chief diplomat, was she instructed for her visit to the Holy See that she needed to wear a mantilla to the Pope's funeral? Why is this a matter of protocol?

I know it's the Pope's funeral and all, but there were plenty of women who didn't have their heads covered. Several women sitting with the delegations were bare headed. The woman who read the first reading didn't have her head covered. She wasn't banned from the lectern because her unseemly hair was showing. It was out there, flowing in the breeze, and no one shot her dirty looks. Yet, the black lace certainly was flowing when it came to the diplomatic delegations, wasn't it?

Why is that, do you think? Pope John Paul II was definitely a stickler for the rules, but not even he demanded that women start covering their heads again. He never declared this particular aspect of Vatican II to be something that was in need of correction. So, why is it that someone thought it was necessary to inform women that they should cover their heads? Hmmmm?

And moreover, what precisely does it mean? That the Church wanted to put out a more conservative image and what better way to do that than to get all the powerful females to show this off, like they were strolling down the red carpet at the Oscars? This bothers me greatly. It shouldn't, I know. But a pope who'd been pope for twenty-six years dies, there are huge rumors swirling about who will be his successor and what direction he'll take the church in and we get mantillas at the pope's funeral?

Hmmmm. What point are they trying to make?

Blog Netiquette

While this statement will undoubtedly come back to bite me in the ass later on when I decide to break the rules, it's about time someone finally decided to devote a blog to blog etiquette. There are simply too many simple rules of blogging that some of us long-term bloggers take for granted that new bloggers may not know about.

Darling Phin, as a contributor to this new blog, has asked his fellow bloggers to provide examples of what agitates them. Instead of hogging his comments section, I decided to post over here, which will also perhaps spread the word about this new blog.

If you're interested in what agitates me as a blogger, well, read on after the jump.

I have to approach this from two different angles, because not only am I the author of a blog (duh!) but I am also a reader of blogs. So I shall list out what agitates me about reading other people's blogs and what annoys me about running my own.

Whether or not Phin will find any of this useful is another question entirely. I'm simply getting the opportunity to bitch here, so I'm availing myself of it.

First off, we have agitation about other people's blogs.

• Technical aspects.
  • learn basic coding
  • if you have no clue as to how to differentiate your blog from the millions of others which have the exact same Blogger template, well, find a geek and make them your friend. Geeks like beer and money. They can usually be bought cheaply
  • do not, I repeat, do not think that a hot pink background with light pink lettering is ok just because "it looks cool." No one will be able to read your blog. You do want people to read your blog, right? Well, make it so their eyes don't want to pop right out of their sockets after a visit to your home. The same goes for people who have black backgrounds with white lettering. Really, people. Not everyone has great eyesight
  • Get a comments section on your blog and for the LOVE OF ALL THAT IS GOOD AND HOLY sign up for trackback (and learn how to use it!). You need comments for the fact that people will want to chime in and they expect it. Trackback is good because it allows you to tell other bloggers when you've linked them. It also allows you to know when other bloggers have linked you. This is a beneficial tool that does not make one reliant on that piece o' crap Technorati.
  • Get a sitemeter. Sign up for Technorati. And sign up for the Ecosystem. These are all things that will help your blog become more well-known. If you want to be linked, well, get the tools to help you know when you've been linked. And that help other bloggers know when you've linked them
• Learn how to spell. The English language is a beautiful thing. Also, if you are under the age of nineteen and are fluent in IM, know that heavily relying on IM in your posts does not make you look good. It makes you look lazy. WTF is ok on occasion, but consistently using it is annoying as all hell. Same goes for FWIW, OTOH, BTW, etc. You have a blog so you can write, so, well, write.
• If you are referring to an article in your piece, post a hyperlink to this article. Do not bloviate without giving me a clue as to what you are bloviating about
• If you decide to chime in on a topic that is going around the blogosphere, do not automatically assume your audience knows precisely what you're writing about because, chances are, they don't. Give a recap of the story in the first paragraph. Include links. Sum it up so your readers don't have to spend time searching around for the scandal du jour.
• Learn about Fair Use.
• Don't steal. It's beneath you.

Okedokey. Here's what agitates me about running my own blog.

• News organizations who:
• charge for content
• make me click through an interminable amount of ads to get to said content
• whose hyperlinks go dead after three weeks. Yes, NY Times, I'm talking to you. Same with WaPo, etc.
• want to charge me to stroll through their archives.
• Comments
• People who comment anonymously and then get pissed off when I delete them. Don't send me an email and whine about it. This is not what is generally considered to be a wise move, because I have your frigging IP address, people, and have no issues with banning you/outing you to the world.
• People who think they have some right to shit all over my comments section.
• Readers who, for some strange reason, expect me to hold an online conversation with them in the comments section and then, like a petulant child, get pissy about it when I don't and send me emails wondering why I'm not commenting? Sheesh. I know it might not seem like it, but I do have other things to do, folks.
• Comment spammers! Die, M***erfuckers, DIE!
• Political campaigns who keep sending me press releases! I am not a CITIZEN JOURNALIST, folks! I am a CITIZEN OP-ED WRITER! Your ignorance about the Cake Eater Chronicles is showing! Get a freakin' clue.
• Bloggers who hotlink to images/mp.3's. This is stealing, folks. Learn it or suffer the wrath of some blogger's hosting serivce.
• Bloggers who don't give credit where credit is due.
• Readers who think I should be chiming in about this, that or the other. I will chime when and if I damn well want to, and not a moment before that. Get your own damn blog if you don't like it.

That should about do it. I feel better now.

The Husband Approved This Post

The husband is the resident Cake Eater Cat Hater (TM). He's deathly allergic. As such, he's just giving as good as he gets, so you cat lovers need not unite against him, ya dig? They started it.

Anyway, as you might expect, he laughed heartily when I read him this post.

I fully expect him to hijack this post and start posting in leet speak about how cats are evil.

{Hat Tip: Doug}

C Is For...Cucumber?

{Clicket on image for larger. Unless you have Superman-like eyes and can read it perfectly already. Which leads one to wonder: why are you reading my blog when you could be out, looking around, and seeing what sort of underwear people are wearing with your X-Ray vision?}

SCOTT KURTZ RULES! Preach it, brother!

The story is here if you're interested. Which you should be, because it means no more "C is for Cookie." Cookies are now a "sometimes food."

As the self-proclaimed defender of all that is good and wonderful in this world, I have decided I need you, my devoted Cake Eater readers, to lend your assistance to ensure Cookie Monster's original vision is kept alive. Think of it as a sort of Fahrenheit 451 action, only with music instead of some book. I will need you to download it and then back it up to a very safe place. You will then need memorize the song and sing it often so we can keep it alive for our young ones. Or until Sesame Street comes to its senses and decides to relocate out of New York City.

You can find the regular version here. And if the funk is running through your veins this afternoon, well, here's the disco version.

Wedded Bliss

Chuck and Cammie got married this morning.

Good for them. They seem to be pretty happy about finally tying the knot. Best wishes to them from the Cake Eater, yadda, yadda, yadda.

I just have a few questions, though.

Given his family's historical desire to usurp the throne, why on earth would you invite this guy to be a guest though?

Isn't that just asking for trouble? Or is that just following the "keep your friends close, but keep your enemies closer" mantra?

I mean, seriously. All you need is for Baldrick to show up and proclaim, "I have a cunning plan," and whoops! There goes the monarchy!

That Diva Sez

Feisty Chrissy has been answering all your very important questions.

You know how you're supposed to learn something new everyday? Well, this is your opportunity for today! Go and read.

Just in case you're interested, know that lil' ol' me is up to bat next Friday, so clicket on the Demystifying Divas button over on the right sidebar and send your questions to the divas sez email box. I need your questions by next Thursday evening so the gray matter has some time to work on them.

I will start eating fish right now to get said gray matter in shape.

I look forward to hearing from all of you!

Help! Help! I'm Being Repressed!

Fight the powers that be!

Woot!

/sarcasm /channeling Public Enemy

Some choice quotes on the repression of women in the blogosphere:

{...} But, one aspect of blogging Lauter finds disheartening is its coverage in mainstream media as an adult male political phenomenon.

“We are seeing more focus in mass media on blogs that are created by men. When in fact, the statistics show that more women are blogging than men,” Lauter said. {...}

Lauter said she believes the disparity in media coverage is a reflection of our society’s values. “I think that gets at another kind of inequity in terms of value. Valuing some of these blogs that are more political, more business-oriented, and privileging them over other kinds of blogs that may not be as edgy. A privileging of socially constructed ‘male issues’ over ‘women’s issues,’” said Lauter.

And male bloggers are helping to reinforce that privilege. Clancy Ratliff, a Ph.D. student at the University of Minnesota who is researching blogs, found that the most popular male bloggers rarely include women bloggers on their blogroll—a list of weblinks to other blogs the author visits and references frequently.

Ratcliff’s pilot study found that on the top 10 blogs defined by Technorati, a search engine that tracks more than 7 million blogs, just 16 percent of blogrolls provide links to female bloggers. Men are linking with men.

Some of the reasons for the male bias may harken back to more traditional forms of communication, Ratcliff said.

“I think it is kind of a self-perpetuating mechanism where male bloggers see all the op-ed pieces by men about foreign policy and blog about that,” said Ratliff. She said she feels the lack of women in the newsroom contributes to this disparity both in the real world and online, and helps to marginalize the issues women are blogging about. “A lot of times women’s issues like reproductive rights are not as often treated as serious political issues like the war in Iraq,” Ratliff said. {...}

{empahsis mine}

Please. For the last time. There is no lack of diversity in the blogosphere. I am sick to effin' death of reading this crap already. Let's air some things out:

• There are women in the blogosphere. We write. About any number of things. As do the men. It's all about the content, baby, and not really about who's writing it. Now that's gender equality!
• The fact that we have vaginas and tits does not mean Vodkapundit and Insty and the rest of the big dogs are repressing us. All it means is that we haven't taken over. Yet. And all we'd have to do is schedule the Great American Flash-O-Rama and we'd win. Hands down. Now there's some feminism for ya!
• Susan Estrich needs to be bitchslapped for starting this whole brouhaha off. And I'm just the bitch to do it.
• If you treat me like an effin' victim one more time, Farrah Fawcett ala The Burning Bed will have nothin' on my wrath.
• Have I mentioned that I'm not being repressed because The Cake Eater Chronicles is not in the top 100?
• I am however in the top thousand. So you can go ahead and bite me.
• Men are free to link to whomever they damn well want to link. I, too, am free to link whomever I want to link. That's called "Hyperlink Justice" in Cake Eater Lingo. I link things I find interesting. If I don't find your stuff interesting, I won't link you. Conversely, if someone doesn't find my stuff interesting, they are under no obligation to link to it just because I possess a (fabulous) pair of breasts

Get off this goddamn topic already, would you? It's a waste of time because it misses the goddamn point. To quote a marvelous female blogger:

{...}First and foremost I am a writer. That the content that makes up The Cake Eater Chronicles comes from a female shouldn't have anything to do with the validity of the opinions presented. They either have merit or they do not. It's quite simple. The blogosphere is all about ideas and opinions. It's a veritable smorgasbord. There's something for everyone. The sex of the author shouldn't come into the equation unless we're talking about things directly related to our sex---like tampons or jock straps. To miss this point is to miss the exact essence of the blogosphere. And the internet, for that matter.

Now, go and read what Doug and the MAWB have to say about all of this.

See also: Red and Sadie

Dancing Hippos

The Kath she got a good chuckle out of this.

The Kath she has really got to stop herself from the stealing of the Manolo's schtick.

But the Kath is having ever-so-much-the-fun referring to herself in the third person and adding in the extra articles for the hell of the it.

Er.

Ok, I'm out of it. Sad, but true. Bummer.

{Hat Tip: Puffy}

Social Responsibility

My good friends and former roommates, Barb and Christy, always used to despair this time of year.

I know. It's hard to understand why, just when the lovely season that is spring would be getting underway, they would despair. The air was warming. The sun was shining. The birds were singing. The bees were buzzing. The grass was turning green and the flowers were starting to bloom. Life is wonderful come April, no?

Well, not for them it wasn't.

Why? you ask. Well, that's a good question and I'm glad you asked it. You see, Babs and Christy were, at that stage of the game, budding fashionistas. They were learning the ropes of fashion. They were learning what were good grooming habits and what were not good grooming habits. They eventually came to the conclusion that it is the social responsibility of every woman who wears sandals to have her toes painted and her feet in good working condition. That these women were letting our side down if they didn't get a pedicure before succumbing to the desire to wear airy shoes. I laughed them off for years, but now, well, I wholeheartedly agree with them. It is the social responsibility of every woman who wears sandals to have her feet in good working order because....

...if I have to see yet another woman walking around in a $300 pair of mules with nasty-ass scaly heels hanging off the back of said mules, I'm going to puke!

This action, to put it quite bluntly, is disgusting. Do you get it, ladies? Your heels are disgusting! You may think they're not that bad, but trust me, they are! I don't want to see it. I really, really don't. I doubt men do, either. If your feet repulse you; if they bring to mind the "To The Pain" speech from The Princess Bride because you're afraid that someone is going to scream, "Dear God, what is that thing?" you probably shouldn't be wearing sandals or mules, no? I'm sure The Manolo he would agree with me.

It consistently surprises the Kath that here in the fair fiefdom of Cake Eater Land, where you cannot swing a dead cat without hitting a spa (and I really mean that. there are eight---count 'em---eight spas within walking distance of the Cake Eater Pad) that there are the women who do this. And the Kath is not talking about the poor women here. The Kath is talking about the rich bitches who drive the Lexus' and the Beemers and carry the Prada handbags. These women walk into the grocery store, wearing lovely mules that the Kath would love to be able to afford and wear, and hanging off the back end of the lovely mules are heels that would make a baby scream in horror.

The Kath she begs you to get a pedicure. If you cannot afford the pedicure, the Kath beseeches you to give yourself one. The Kath she begs you to take a bath and to take one of these things with you when you do. The Kath she begs you to buy some of this stuff and to start using it every day, twice a day. But mostly, the Kath she begs you not to wear the sandals or the mules until you do these things so she does not have to look at your nasty feet in the shoes that she covets.

Late

As in Zonker is late chiming in on the Cheating topic.

It's worth the wait, though.

UPDATE: Madame Sadie has some visuals for The Men's Club.

Methinks they fared better than the Demystifying Divas did.

Fraternite

According to Olivier Guitta it seems there's not much of that going on in France currently.

Some choice excerpts from his article.

{...}On March 8, tens of thousands of high school students marched through central Paris to protest education reforms announced by the government. Repeatedly, peaceful demonstrators were attacked by bands of black and Arab youths--about 1,000 in all, according to police estimates. The eyewitness accounts of victims, teachers, and most interestingly the attackers themselves gathered by the left-wing daily Le Monde confirm the motivation: racism.

Some of the attackers openly expressed their hatred of "little French people." One 18-year-old named Heikel, a dual citizen of France and Tunisia, was proud of his actions. He explained that he had joined in just to "beat people up," especially "little Frenchmen who look like victims." He added with a satisfied smile that he had "a pleasant memory" of repeatedly kicking a student, already defenseless on the ground.

{...}By coincidence, last week the French government's human rights commission delivered to Prime Minister Jean-Pierre Raffarin its 2004 report on racism and anti-Semitism in France. The report underscores a worrisome pattern of retreat into separate ethnic communities. And the evidence of hostility is sobering: The number of violent acts and threats nearly doubled, from 833 in 2003 to a record 1,565 in 2004. Of these, 62 percent were
directed against Jews, who make up just 1 percent of France's population.

{...}Obin discusses the attitudes of Muslim students, some as young as first graders. He reports, for instance, that Muslim students, asked their nationality, answer, "Muslim." When they are told that this is not a nationality and they are French, some insist that they can't be French since they are Muslim. This should come as no surprise. The presidential commission that examined the issue of secularism in 2003 reported that "extremist groups are working to test the Republic's strength and push some young people to reject France and her values."

{emphasis mine}

Go read the whole thing.

There is much at stake here. It seems as if the French are perhaps awakening to this problem, but I don't think the measures they're taking are strong enough to stop it completely. They need a better reporting system, first off, but there is still much they could do. They're still in pc/appeasement mode. Which is ironic, don't you think, considering how willing they are to put themselves on the line when they feel their culture and language is under attack by the English-speaking hordes?

Sin City: Again With the Redux Business

You can find previous posts here and here.

I'm a wee bit late with this one, but, as promised, I am delivering Jonathan's review of Sin City

The husband and I are going to try and see it this Saturday. I should have something for you then.

Because I know you're dying to know what I thought of it.

Still No Self-Control

When it comes to this sort of thing. Sigh. Swiped from TeaFizz, who also has their own post on yesterday's Demystifying Diva topic that you should go read.

If you're interested in the meme du jour, read on after the jump.

Have you ever:

(X) snuck out of the house
(X) gotten lost in your city (The Twin Cities are a large place and St. Paul is just screwy to begin with, so it's not hard to do this, kids.)
( ) saw a shooting star
(X) been to any other countries besides the United States
( ) had a serious surgery
(X) gone out in public in your pajamas
(X) kissed a stranger (Well, he kissed me, but woooh, that was a good kiss!)
(X) hugged a stranger
( ) been in a fist fight
( ) been arrested
(X) done drugs (I'm assuming smoking pot counts.)
(X) had alcohol (Snort!)
(X) laughed and had milk/coke come out of your nose
(X) pushed all the buttons on an elevator
(X) made out in an elevator
( ) slept in an elevator
(X) swore at your parents (I regret it)
( ) kicked a guy where it hurts (No, but I have made someone hurt in that region because I wasn't uber-careful once. {Insert cringe here})
(X) been in love
(X) been close to love
(X) been to a casino (Good God, can you avoid them nowadays? They're everywhere)
( ) been skydiving (I like life. I do not need to prove this by participating in activities where I could die.)
(X) broken a bone (Right wrist. Age 12. Vollyeball practice gone awry.)
(X) been high
(X) skinny-dipped
(X) skipped school (I assume they're talking pre-college. If so, no, I didn't skip school, but in a weird twist of fate, I was charged with precisely that offense and had points on my record because of it. I did the time, so I'm claiming I committed the crime.)
(X) flashed someone (Grape everclear punch is a baaaad thing)
( ) saw a therapist
( ) done the splits
(X) played spin the bottle (And what a waste of time that was!)
( ) gotten stitches
( ) had an IV
( ) drank a whole gallon of milk in one hour
(X) bitten someone (Excellent move when your older brother decides he wants to keep you in a headlock for the better part of an hour. He asked for it.)
( ) been to Niagara Falls
(X) gotten the chicken pox
(X) kissed a member of the opposite sex
(X) kissed a member of the same sex (She kissed me. Not the other way round.)
( ) crashed into a friend's car
( ) been to Japan
(X) ridden in a taxi
(X) been dumped (Oh, God yes. Bleh.)
(X) shoplifted
(X) been fired
( ) had a crush on someone of the same sex
(X) had feelings for someone who didn't have them back
(X) stole something from your job
(X) gone on a blind date
(X) lied to a friend (Only to keep them from being hurt by the truth.)
( ) had a crush on a teacher
( ) celebrated Mardi-Gras in New Orleans
(X) been to Europe
(X) slept with a co-worker (Wow. That was back in the day!)
(X) been married
( ) gotten divorced
( ) had children
( ) saw someone die
( ) been to Africa
(X) driven over 400 miles in one day (Omaha to Hattiesburg, Mississippi)
( ) been to Canada (Considering I live relatively close to Canada, this is quite interesting, no?)
( ) been to Mexico (I've been to Brownsville, Texas, though)
(X) been on a plane
(X) seen the Rocky Horror Picture Show (Let's Do The Time Warp Again!)
(X) thrown up in a bar (In the bathroom, of course)
( ) purposely set a part of yourself on fire
(X) eaten sushi (Mmmm. Candy!)
( ) been snowboarding
(X) met someone in person from the internet
( ) been moshing at a rock show
( ) cut yourself on purpose (No, and why would you want to?)
(X) been to a moto cross show (Now, that's fun, kids. No, I'm not joking!)
( ) lost a child (in either sense of the word)
(X) gone to college
(X) graduated from college
( ) done hard drugs
(X) taken painkillers
(X) love someone or miss someone right now

Questions, Damnit!

Why is it that every week I have to remind you people to cough up questions for our Divas Sez Friday feature?

What? Haven't you been paying attention? Geez. We've been doing this for almost a month! That's practially the longest running feature in the blogosphere!

I know. I know. You've been busy. You've been avoiding my site because I'm looking for coin and you don't want to feel guilty about not coughing up. You also are loathe to admit you are such a fan of blogs and bloggers that you emultate us by adopting our habit of having attention spans that are roughly the size of your average gnat. I know all about this, but come on, kids! We're here to answer all of your very important questions. Take advantage of the situation, for cryin' out loud!

So, here's what you're going to do: you're going to clicket on baby-got-back-girl over on the right sidebar. An email prompt will pop up. You're going to fill it with that one question about the fairer sex that you've been dying to ask, if only you'd had an outlet for such a question. You will then send it off.

Feisty Chrissy will do her absolute best to answer it on Friday and, to paraphrase Bertie Wooster, God, as I once heard Jeeves put it, will be in His heaven and all will be right with the world. (He added, I remember, some guff about larks and snails, but that is a side issue and need not detain us.)

You will then do this again next week. On the off chance that you will have become so well-adjusted as a result of Chrissy's brilliance, you will spread the word to your friends and family and ask them to send questions to the Divas Sez mailbox for the next Diva to answer. Which, if memory serves, will be me.

Got it? Good. Let's not have this discussion again next week, ok? One gets bored when one has to repeat themselves.

The Lexicon of Polyamory Relationships

Oh, good grief.

They believe in free love and multiple relationships, but not casual sex - and enjoy feeling "frubbly".

As a group they practise "polyamory" - the latest social phenomenon to cross the Atlantic to Britain, psychologists heard yesterday.

Polyamorists have relationships that are wide open. Despite having numerous partners at any one time, they are emotionally committed and do not cheat on them.

So, what these folks are doing is outside of the mainstream. They're rejecting the traditional Western monogamy construct as artificial. As such, one psychologist has decided these people (she's one of them, too) need a whole new language.

{...}Polys, as practitioners of polyamory term themselves, now need new words to describe their emotions and actions, Dr Barker said.

Some terms have been coined already. "Ethical slut" is used to define a woman in an open multiple relationship and is an attempt to take the stigma out of "slut". Feeling "frubbly" is described as the opposite to feeling jealous and is used to describe feelings of friendship towards a lover and their other partners, who are called "metamours".

A "wibble" is a jealous feeling but "not a massive sexual threat", Dr Barker said. "We are interested in another language," she told the conference. "The question is, when you are not having a standard relationship, what do you do for words? There are no words for what we do."{...}

{Insert head slamming on desk here}

Ok, bitch. Develop a whole new language to describe the fact that you like a little variety in your love-life. But don't try and tell me that by developing this whole new language you're not trying to rationalize your actions. Because you are. Even if you don't realize it.

Which is pretty pathetic, on the whole, if you ask me.

Hat tip: The Daily Ablution.

Dead Meat

Or should I say "dead fish"?

Can you barbeque dead guppy? Or would it be too much of a waste of time?

Random Thoughts

Some of the stuff that's going through my mind right now.

• Note to the boy and girl ducks that are in my yard right now: don't even THINK about getting down in my garden. The Cake Eater garden is not a duckie brothel. Go elsewhere to get your groove on.

  And don't fly up to the garage roof, either, to lay your eggs. I don't want a repeat of what happened last summer when you almost abandoned your baby ducks because you were too fucking fat and lazy to fly back up to them.

  Duck shortage in Minnesota my fine wide arse!

• Serious props go out to the deli guy at our local Lunds. Way to slice that pastrami extra thin. Mmmmmm. It was magically delicious.
• It may be almost eighty degrees right now, but it's going to snow again. I know it.
• Rainbath is the shit.
• Hey, lookie! I finally met Robbo and we partied down at the Crack Young Staff's first anniversary ball. Steve-o, unsurprisingly, was nowhere to be found. Seems as if Sadie and The Maximum Leader cut quite the rug, too.
• Thanks to everyone who has donated to the First Annual Have Your Cake Blegathon so far. You know who you are. I know who you are. God knows who you are. Your bases are covered. For the rest of you? Well, eh. Thanks to those who linked as well. You rule!
• While I like the sound of it, "Editrix" is not a word.
• It sucks that House is a rerun tonight.
• I wonder if Ith realizes that if you type "House M.D." into Google (Whilst looking for the link to the actual Fox site. Ahem.) her site is the third entry listed.
• I was up until 3:30 this morning. I am officially justified in taking a nap.
• I am going to go and take that nap. Right now. I've hit the wall.

This is yet another example, my devoted Cake Eater readers, of what it's like to be inside my head. I hope you've enjoyed the ride. Now, get out.

Thou Shalt Not Commit Adultery

Ah, another Tuesday, another day of Demystifying Divas.

Marrrrrvelous, darling.

As was mentioned last week the three of us and The Four Musketeers Men's Club were charged with sussing a few things out for Dax, who was inspired not only to ask, but also in a bit of creative illustration by watching Cheaters:

{...}What is cheating? Is it just fantasizing about being with another person? Is it a casual flirtation? Is it meeting for coffee? Is it any less than actual penetration?

And at what level of commitment can cheating occur? If I take Sadie out to dinner on Friday and then Christina to the theater on Saturday, did I cheat on Sadie? What if Sadie and I shared an intimate kiss? Is that different? What if Kathy and I had sex one night, then I went out with Silk? Did I cheat on Kathy? Never mind that Priscilla would castrate me and stuff my penis in throat before she got busy actually killing me.

At some point in every relationship an emotional investment is made. How much of an investment does it take before cheating can occur? What should be the penalty?

Hmmmm. That's a lot of questions. I shall do my best to answer.

Ultimately, for me, it comes down to what causes harm. That's cheating. If you know your actions will cause your partner pain because they would see your actions as a betrayal, that would be cheating. It's pretty simple stuff.

Now, this obviously doesn't count if you're not with someone, yet they are under the mistaken impression that you are and they're hurt because you went off with someone else, etc. You must be in a relationship where promises regarding faithfulness have been made. This need not mean marriage.

Now, I am absolutely sure after reading this it has just crossed someone's mind that they're in the clear and a big wave of relief has washed over them. Well, don't let yourself off the hook there, darlin', because I'm sure as heck not going to. If these people think they've just been given the green light to whip out the "what they don't know won't hurt them" rule, thinking ignorance truly is bliss, think again. Because partners always know, even if they don't know the particulars. That's, ultimately, a bogus rationalization for selfish behavior and it's not going to fly with me. (As a related side note: I find it interesting that there are many conservative men who were on the warpath when Bubba Clinton did his thing, ranting and raving about how, yes, a bl0w j0b does constitute sexual relations, yet who nowadays find it absolutely ok to justify their actions the same way he did. But I digress.)

Anyway, to get back to the topic at hand which was pain in case your mind is as all over the map as mine is this morning.

Now, there is pain, and there is pain. Cheating causes the latter type of pain. It hurts, to put it bluntly. I haven't been there, Thank God, but I have friends who have, and dear God, they were just ripped to shreds by the event. These friends were married or were in committed relationships---relationships where promises of fidelity were offered and accepted. Their partner would have a fling, they'd find out about it somehow and always, always, always, the betrayal was the only thing they could see for weeks. They felt like they'd been used, and to top it off, they had this habit of blaming themselves for their partner's actions. They'd been found lacking, they realized. Whether this lack of whatever was real or perceived was really beside the point at that stage of the game: it was there, looming large, like an oversized vulture just waiting to feast on the remains. It made them feel humiliated; it made them beat themselves all over with the if only stick. If only I'd done this, if only I'd done that...none of this would ever have happened and we'd still be happy. While that point is debatable, it's the humiliation that, just from my experience of helping a few friends, is harder to get over than the betrayal.

But cheating is relative. If you're in a relationship where you're allowed to hook up with other people, no one is cheating---in the true sense of the word. Cheating means to get away with something, to take the easy route to satisfaction. It means everyone is on the same page as far as what is expected and someone has diverged from that understanding. If there is a misunderstanding, where one partner thought one thing and the other thought something that was at the opposite end of the spectrum, well, there are bigger problems in that relationship than just perceived infidelity.

Does a casual flirtation cause harm? I don't think it does. But someone else might. Does the husband's endless fascination with Angelina Jolie harm me? Nope, because I'm secure in our relationship and I know that bitch can't hold a candle to me. She's also a whack-job, too, so I've got her beat there, as well. (No comments from the Peanut Gallery, eh?) Does my fascination with Colin Firth hurt the husband? Does he think I'm cheating because I occasionally wander around Pemberley in my mind with Colin? Nope. Because we understand what is and isn't cheating. We're on the same page. We've made promises and have kept those promises. Other couples might think differently and might have made different promises.

As far as penalties are concerned, well, I have certain thoughts about that and they involve a toothpick and rope.

Now go and read what the other Delicious Demystifying Divas have written on the same subject. For the droopy, feather-totin' hatted opinions of our Four Musketeers, go and read Puffy, Phin, The Wiz and Zonker. Although, I'm not really sure how two fish can wear big droopy hats adorned with feathers, but hey, this is the Internet, isn't it? The land of imagination, so make yours work for you.

UPDATE: Pammy at Lollygaggin' has chimed in.

More Theology!

In response to this post, Doug has finally come up with a more cogent argument.

Sort of.

{insert scratching of head here}

John Paul II: Second in a Series

I am sitting here, writing this, listening to Bach's Unaccompanied Cello Concertos. I suppose I should be listening to this instead, but I've never really thought of it as "death" music. I know. Oliver Stone ruined that adagio for you, but conveniently, as I've never seen Platoon, I have nothing to fear in this department.

Bach works well for what I'm about to write, and this particular piece of Bach's prolific catalogue works even better than some overwrought, organ grinding, gut churning fugue ever would.

Bear with me while I explain.

I was listening to our local classical station in the days after 9/11 and one of the DJ's announced out of the blue that they were going to play all of Bach's Unaccompanied Cello Concertos. This is a goodly bit of music, about an hour long, and as MPR usually just plays a movement here or an overture there, this was an unusual move. The DJ then gave their reasoning: at Ground Zero apparently there was a lone cellist playing this exact piece for the workers, as they searched for bodies. The DJ said that this lone cellist was a music teacher; that they were unable to help with the search efforts and yet they wanted to help, so they brought their cello and a chair down to Ground Zero and started playing.

From there on in I've associated this piece with the heartbreak of that tragedy, but also with the thought that someone, in their best Little Drummer Boy fashion, brought what they had and offered it up to make life better for someone else. That act touched me tremendously. It is in this spirit that I have pulled the Bach up on the WinAmp, have placed the headphones over my ears and have immersed myself in the gentle caressing of the cello strings to offer what I can for my church. So that I can, in my best Little Drummer Boy fashion, try and make life easier for others.

If such a thing is possible.

As I wrote in the first post, there were many things about the Roman Catholic Church under the leadership of Pope John Paul II that challenged my faith. And to explain what I mean by "faith" I must go even more detail about my life as a Catholic.

I have always believed. Belief is not a hard thing for me, for whatever reason. I am more likely to believe what someone tells me than I am to disbelieve it. That's just the way I am: the original Pollyanna. What cynicism I do possess has been hard-earned over the years and it's been a defense mechanism that I've developed to protect myself from liars. Because there are many more liars out there than there are people who tell the truth. Knowing this, it should be no great shock to many people that I have never had any issues believing in God. In Jesus Christ. In the Holy Spirit. In all of the stuff that you're taught when you're a young Catholic. I believed it all. And, what's even more amazing, is that I still believe. I've never had to pull the walls of my defense system up to protect my faith in the message of Jesus. That has remained as pure as it was the first day I could comprehend all of it.

But faith in the word, in the message, in the Trinity, I have learned, is different from faith in the Church. This is distinct no-no when it comes to Holy Mother Church. This is called heresy. When you're a Catholic, these two things are supposed to be the same. It's called "The Apostolic Tradition," and the basic precept behind it is that you, as a Catholic, accept that the Roman Catholic Church is the one, true Church, because it was started by Peter, one of Jesus' disciples. This way, it is supposed, the message of Jesus is to remain pure; as if the priest up on the altar today is simply repeating the message Jesus delivered at His Sermon on the Mount yesterday. After all, what's two-thousand years between disciples? It's nothing, according to the Church. Absolutely nothing.

While this is pretty neat and gives the Church great street cred as far as authenticity is concerned, the Apostolic Tradition doesn't just cover Jesus' message; it also covers everything the Church has ever done or will ever do. You accept that these men in charge of the Church are following God's Will with their words and deeds. This is all well and good until these men make massive blunders. And the blunders of the Church are many. They include, but are not limited to: the Inquisition; the selling of indulgences; ecclesiastical courts; the forced conversions of indigenous peoples in the name of a God who these people had no idea of; excommunication of scientists whose teachings Church officials feared would undermine the Church, etc.

But, as many would say, if you take the good, you must take the bad. Well, I don't see it that way.

This is where I've had to divorce my "faith" from the Church. "Divorce" probably isn't the right word. Separation works better, I suppose, because that is what I have done: separated myself on some issues because I cannot stay with the Church any longer when it comes to these issues. There is a disconnect on some issues, as I see it, between Jesus' message and what the Church does and I simply cannot, for reasons of conscience, follow them blindly. The men who run the Church may be a part of the Apostolic Tradition, but when I see them acting not very much like the Apostles of Christ, I have issues with it. It's hard to see straight as a Catholic when it's apparent that these men see threats in the wrong corners and defend accordingly; when they won't listen to your warnings or your desires because it goes against two thousand years of dogmatic teaching. And that's the only reason they won't listen, because it goes against teachings developed by man, and not by Christ. Sure, they were part of the Apostolic Tradition, but to my mind, the Tradition covers up too many sins as well as proving that the Roman Catholic Church is the one, true church. There's something very wrong with that action.

Over the past ten years, it's been exceedingly hard for me to go to mass, to hear the beautiful message of our Lord and Savior, the Son of God who died on the cross for our sins, and then come home, open up the paper and read yet another story about the wickedness the Church propagated on some person or persons with its actions. It's just been really hard. By the time you are done with the paper, you are begging to know where the message of Jesus is in their actions. Where has it gone in the time it took to you to get home from mass and the time you were done reading the Sunday paper? You question yourself. You question your judgment. You question everything you know as a Catholic. You try to defend the Church, but when it turns out the story is true, what are you to do? The old saying goes, "fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me." What are you to do when the organization fooling you more times than you can shake a stick at is the Church?

This is why I said that the Church, led by John Paul II, has shaken my faith more than any other person or organization has ever done. I can stand up to my Mormon nieces and nephews who are misguided yet earnest in spreading the Good News about Captain Moroni to their Catholic auntie. I have no issues with defending my faith against Evangelical Christians, who are hell-bent-for-leather on saving my soul. I can even read an Islamic-conversion pamphlet that the husband was handed by a well-meaning Pakistani security guard whilst he was in Kuwait. Hare Krishnas? Well, they're not too hard to blow off, are they? None of this shakes my faith. Therefore, it's ironic in the extreme that the men of the Church I follow are the ones who have given me many, many bad days about following the Gospels as preached by the Roman Catholic Church.

To keep my faith, as I know it best, with the Church I know best, I had to start picking and choosing what I would listen to them on and what I wouldn't. For that action, I am probably a prime candidate for excommunication. Fine, so be it. At least I should get a trial if they do that and they'll be forced to listen to me, for once. For the heretics out there (and Bless You for making it this far into this post) I am what is commonly referred to as a "Cafeteria Catholic," someone who picks and chooses which teachings they'll follow, like I'm picking between the jello and the salad at a buffet. When someone calls me this, I'm not ashamed. It's been a hard thing to do, coming to this decision. If you think I arrived at this overnight, or that I'm picking the easy path, you're kidding yourself. For someone who was raised in the Church as I was, this is hard, hard stuff. Nor do I think I need to be kicked out of the Church, as some would undoubtedly argue. The way I see it God gave me a brain and He gave me Free Will. I'm using them. If I'm using them improperly, well, I'll find out about it at Judgment Day, won't I?

After that bit of longwindedness, I suppose it's time to explain to what I feel abou Pope John Paul II. And, gracious, I just realized that it's really hard for me not to just blindly type "The Pope," anymore. I can't do that. He was pope for so long, it feels unnatural to not just whip those words out and have it be common knowledge as to just which pope I'm referring to. But, a couple of years from now, someone will come across this post and they'll think "who the heck is she talking about? Which pope?" Tempus fugit, I suppose, works best to describe this, because time is fleeting. The clock is ticking here in the real world, time is fleeting for all of us, and it's time for the clock of the Roman Catholic Church to start ticking again, because it hasn't for the past twenty-six years.

I firmly believe that John Paul II has been a caretaker pope. I know I'm definitely in the minority when it comes to this opinion, but not much has changed over those twenty-six years. His leadership has been steady. His teachings have been reaffirmations of what we already knew. He went back to basics, and given the world we live in, I can see why he would think this a necessary thing. Perhaps it was because of his experience in Communist Poland that set him on this defensive path. He also took his show on the road, preaching to the masses, to make sure they got the message as well. He took care of the Church. He felt that was what God was calling him to do.

This is all well and good. I have no issues with the fact he felt this was his mission. I feel John Paul II was a holy man. I just think he took the Church down the wrong road. I don't claim to have the answers. I don't claim to have anything even remotely near the answers, I just call it like I see it, and from my viewpoint, the Roman Catholic Church has been stuck in 1978. We haven't moved forward. The Church's notion of biology and their views on artificial birth control has proved even more out-of-date in the wake of the HIV/AIDS crisis than it seemed in 1978, when all anyone wanted was a reliable method of birth control. We have lost God only knows how many members because they were told in a big booming voice they had to take it all---the good and the bad---or leave. We have lost too many priests and nuns, people who were devoted to serving God through His Church, because they felt they could serve God better with a different vocation. A pedophile scandal finally came to a head during his tenure and how many young men and women were hurt because the Church would not see the errors of its ways for years? How much evidence do you need to know that while John Paul II was a good man and a good leader and a good and devoted servant to God, he nonetheless took our Church down the wrong road? He was a wonderful shepherd who took a wrong turn.

Lots of people will disagree with me, I am sure, and they are more than welcome to do it. God gave them a brain and free will, too.

What I hope for John Paul's successor more than anything is that he works to make the Church more inclusive, that he doesn't feel the need to be on the defensive all the time so the Church can move forward into the 21st century. I don't think that's a whole lot to ask, do you? Many people don't think the Church will survive if it does move forward, if it stops acting as a bulwark against what it percieves to be the evils of our modern society. I am obviously not one of them. I want my Church to be strong, but I do not find strength in the act of protection; I find it in the act of being brave. In admitting past mistakes and moving on, in becoming more a part of the society we are living in. In perhaps looking at the situation and finding new solutions to problems that are not rooted solely in dogma, but rather in the reality of the world we find ourselves in. This way, I feel, it will be more able to help its members when they have crises of conscience. These members will feel more able to follow the Church's teachings if, like a teenager, they have a support system, rather than a blindly disapproving parent. While many people don't think this is a good way for the Church to follow, I think it's the brave way, it's the way Jesus himself would have taken.

I don't want the next pope to be a radical, obviously, but I just want to move past 1978 and I hope our next pope will help us, those who make up the Roman Catholic Church, to do that.

John Paul II: First in a Series

{ Note: this is going to the first of two posts about John Paul II. This one will be my thoughts about him and his passing. The second will encompass his legacy and my hopes for the future.}

John Paul II was elected when I was seven years old. He has, quite literally, been Pope for most of my conscious life. I don't remember the popes who came before him and it's something of a shock to think that there will actually someone coming after him. It's so odd that he's died. One would have thought he was so strong that he could have actually defied mortality and lived forever.

I vaguely remember when John Paul II was elected. It was on a brilliant autumn Saturday afternoon. The leaves had started to turn in Omaha and we had been outside playing. The morning had been something of a frustration for my sister and I, as our regular routine had been upset: the Loony Toons had been interrupted umpteen many times by "regular reports from the Vatican" where they were electing a new pope. I remember the reporter sounding vaguely exhausted about the smoke that had appeared. This was all well and good, and as good little Catholics, we were happy they were talking about our religion, but for the love of all that was good and holy, they were interrupting The. Loony. Toons. We'd finally given up after a time and had gone outside to play. Hours passed, my father had returned from working his usual Saturday morning hours at the bank and was camped out in the Family Room, watching college football. They interrupted his game with the report that a new pope had been elected. And, to the amazement of all the grownups in the room---meaning my dad---he was Polish.

This, to put it mildly, was a big deal in our household.

My dad's ethnic makeup is entirely Polish. I'm half Polish, half-German, which I've learned in recent years is as unadulterated an ancestral line as you get nowadays. Everyone's got some of this, some of that, but I'm half and half. That doesn't happen too often. God help us when we have kids: the husband is such a mutt that he doesn't know what the percentages are. While my Mom would contribute a bit of this and a bit of that from her German heritage, it was the Polish part that ruled the roost.

This is not to say that we were as obnoxious about our heritage as our Irish neighbors. We weren't. But, after all, with a name like "Zabawa" it's not like you can avoid having people know you're Polish. Particularly in Omaha, which is just chock-a-block full of the descendants of Eastern Europeans. They know you're not Czech, or Romanian, or Bohunk Bohemian; they can tell. But, we lived where all the Irish people lived. Our parish was named "St. Margaret Mary," who, if I remember correctly was actually a French saint, but you didn't bother telling the Irish that. To their way of thinking, if she was French, it would have been "Marguerite Marie." Half of my grade school class had last names that began with "Mc" or "O'" or something Irish. And if they didn't have an Irish last name, well, they had Irish on their mother's side. Red hair was not uncommon. As far as other ethnicities being represented, well, we had some Italians, some Germans, and some mutts of indistinct origin as well, but more Polish kids? Well, you were definitely in the minority of the minorities. As such, we had to suck it up when St. Patrick's Day came around. The vice-prinicpal of our school, Mr. McCormack (see what I mean?), would allow everyone to wear green and we'd get the afternoon off to watch "The Quiet Man" or "Darby O'Gill and the Little People" in the school auditorium. And it rankled. I do believe Christi, my sister, had the guts to wear red on St. Patrick's Day once, but I don't remember what came of it. So, you might imagine, it was a bit of sweet revenge that we had a brand-spanking-new pope and he was Polish.

How cool was that? It was instant revenge for having to endure dumb Polack joke after dumb Polack joke. Jokes that poke fun at the Irish are funny, because they generally poke fun at the fact the Irish are fond of imbibing. Polack jokes are mean because they declare if you're Polish, you're automatically stupid. Like there's something in the water in Poland that makes them and their descendants dumb. After you've been the butt of one too manyof these types of jokes because of your heritage, it was nice to be able to come back with, Oh, sure, you've got St. Patrick, but has there ever been an Irish pope? I don't think so. (I know, it's pretty lame. But this was Catholic school, ok? This stuff was on the brain and a comeback is a comeback.)

And thus entered John Paul II into my life as a Catholic. He was pope before I started taking communion. He was pope before I celebrated the Sacrament of Reconciliation (that's confession for all you heretics). He was pope when I was confirmed. I can't remember a time at mass when the priest didn't say, "John Paul our Pope" during the consecration. The principal of our school interrupted math class when I was in fifth grade to announce over the PA that he'd been shot and that we should all stop what we were doing and pray for him to be all right. I remember why the Popemobile was needed. The rosary I have is one that my father had blessed by John Paul II when he said mass at Living History Farms in Des Moines---a two hour trip from Omaha---a year after he'd been elected. So many people were going to Des Moines that day, they actually dismissed all of the Catholic schools in Omaha for the day. He was pope when I was married ten years ago, and just recently, when our friends Brad and Margo were married last fall, their family had arranged for the priest to unwrap a papal blessing for their marriage during the ceremony. It had John Paul's signature on it---and we're talking real ink here, not his John Hancock from some signing machine. I found out he was our new pope from a grainy, taped satellite feed on TV. I found out about his death from the husband, who had learned about it over "guild chat" in World of Warcraft. I then turned on the tee vee and there was St. Peter's Square, live, the satellite feed perfect in its clarity. Life has changed. Not only my life, but the life of the world. And he was there for all of that. He had to negotiate it. He had to manage it. It could not have been easy to have all of that on his shoulders when there was so much else to worry about.

He's been everywhere in my lifetime and he has surrounded my practice of Catholicism with his presence. This is why it feel so odd that he's gone. He went from being an anonymous presence in the way of larger-than-life people in my childhood to being a human being, a priest and the leader of my church in my adulthood. That he's no longer around, well, it feels like something has gone. I'm having a hard time putting my finger on it, but everything feels different.

I have disagreed with him aplenty. I have wondered what the heck he was doing with this, that or the other action. His words, deeds and his inaction, and the words, deeds and inaction he authorized the princes of the church to enact, have shaken my faith in a way that no other human being or organization has managed to achieve over my thirty-four-year lifespan. I have wondered just how much he was aware of what was going on around him in recent years. All of this aside, though, he was still the pope.

And now he's gone. The book has been closed and placed on the shelf, and a new one will be opened shortly. And I feel as if a chapter in my own life has been closed. It's so odd. I'm no further to discovering when I started this post why it's so odd---given that we all knew he was going to pass on sooner rather than later---that he has actually proved himself mortal after all. Expectations, perhaps? I don't know. I just know that for all his flaws, I will miss his steadying presence.

I Pledge Allegiance...

To The Manolo.

{...}Formerly, the Manolo he had regarded the poncho as merely the benign if ridiculous fashion trend.

Now, the Manolo he realizes that the poncho it is the evil incarnate.

It is the loathsome seducer of the womens. It calls in the sweet voice, “I am the poncho, if you wear me I will help you conceal your flaws. I promise, your hips, they will disappear under my protective cover of man-made fibers. Look, darling, you can even make me yourself for $1.49 in the material. Choose the aqua yarn. It is pretty no?”{...}

Ahem.

The Manolo No-Poncho Pledge

“I, Kath The Cake Eater, swear on the head and/or the grave of my sainted granny to never wear, buy, knit, crochet, or fashion from the old throw rug, the poncho. And if the poncho it is given to me as the gift, I will graciously thank the giver and then, when she has left, put the poncho into the dog’s bed and/or the trash as the case she may be. Only by doing these things faithfully can I help end for the good of the humanity the scourge that is the poncho. So help me Manolo.”

{Hat tip: Fausta}

Moved

Well, the husband and I may not have moved, but Gary and company over at Kennedy v. Dayton, The Blog Formerly Known as Kennedy v. Dayton, KENNEDY V. THE MACHINE have pulled up stakes and moved their shop to a highly spiffy new location.

From Gary's promo email:

{...}As you may know, our blog Dayton v. Kennedy (daytonvkennedy.blogspot.com) underwent a major challenge several weeks ago when our principal antagonist -- Minnesota Democratic Senator Mark Dayton -- decided not to seek reelection.

For the last several weeks we have persevered by calling ourselves 'The Blog Formerly Known as Dayton v. Kennedy' or simply TBFKADVK. In spite of Dayton's withdrawal from the race, we intend to continue blogging the 2006 Minnesota Senate Race from a (Mark) Kennedy-centric perspective. And even with Senator Dayton's withdrawal our readership has continued to grow and we have been highlighted in several national publications.

To that end we undertook to both rename and redesign our blog. A link
to the new site is below. After several weeks we arrived at the name
'Kennedy vs. The Machine' -- the "machine" being the amalgamation of the DFL, Star Tribune, most local TV affiliates and all the national Leftist groups who will bring their forces to bear on Rep. Mark Kennedy over the next 18 months.{...}

Update your bookmarks/blogrolls/whateverthehellyouneedtoupdate and make sure to visit them often.

Blow It Out Your ***Hole...

...is what our ever magnificent Sadie has to say to those who lament the lack of "diversity" in the blogosphere.

You go, girl.

If you don't get that, well, that's not really my problem. She'll get it. And my reign as the "Goddess of Snark" will continue undisturbed.

Well Worth the Wait

Robbo's fourth installment of Fear and Loathing In Disneyworld is up.

Choice quote:

{...}Where normally I would have gone into a Niles Crane-like dance of frustration, here I simply ignored it, putting her on the ground and saying in my best Marty Feldman voice, "Act casual, say nothing."{...}

Go read. Shoo. Be gone.

I will only say this much: you'd better pray, Robbo, that the littlest Llama-ette never finds out that you've chronicled her---ahem---issues for the entertainment of the masses. Because, my dear pal, if she does, Disneyworld will seem like a cakewalk.

Pffft

I am hereby announcing I am taking Saturday and Sunday off.

I know you really don't want or need to hear it; that my time is my own, etc. Yeah. Ok. That's all well and good but I've noticed a curious phenomenon: whenever I tell you I'm not going to post, you still come by anyways and keep my stats from going to hell in a handbasket. If I don't announce anything, you desert me quicker than a rat on the Titanic and I wind up having to make up lost ground (read I am NOT going back to marauding marsupial status!).

You'd think it'd be the other way round, wouldn't you? But nooooooooo. You, my devoted Cake Eater Readers, are a contrary lot. And I wouldn't have you any other way.

To keep you happy in the meanwhile, here's some hot link on link action.

• It's International Children's Book Day. Michele is reminiscing and would like you to join her in a stroll down memory lane.
• Steve-o is wondering why Saturday brings out the weirdos. I haven't the foggiest. Last night someone got here by Googling "how to carve a boob cake." There was another funny one, but for the life of me, I can't remember what it was.
• Ah-bloody-ha! Fausta finally answers the question I've wondered about for a year: why the hell was someone googling in looking for "Zapatero Bean Morph"? Thank God that mystery was solved!

  She also gives good reasoning as to why you should want to bitchslap that little Spanish bastard.

• Ith has a serious list of House spoilers. DO NOT CLICKET IF YOU DON'T WANT TO KNOW. Of course, I clicked and all I can say is Good God, bring 'em on! And I think I'm actually going to have to subscribe to her email list, which will bring me one step closer to stalker status. Eeeew.

  Also, on the actual House site linked above, they've produced a list of "House-isms," which pretty much sums up why I like this show so much. Note that there's quite a few good ones left off this list, too. But you can only find out about those if you watch.

• Via email yesterday, Jonathan told me an incredibly amusing tale which made me laugh uproariously. Sadly, I cannot share the details with you because he has forbidden as much, but go on over to the Galley Slaves and bug him to give up the goods. Because this is really something he should share.

That should keep you happy. But if it doesn't, well, you're screwed I suppose. Sorry, but that's just the way life goes, eh? I suppose this would be the perfect time, though, to tell you to go and scroll through the new and improved blogroll on your right. There's bound to be something good there.

UPDATE: Oh, and before I forget: it's my sister Christi's birthday today. HAPPY BIRTHDAY CHRISTI!

Until November, you're back to being two years older than me!

{Insert triumphant dance of the terminally younger here}

I really am a stinker, aren't I? Heheheheheh.

I've Gone Blind...

...after reading this.

Once can only hope to go deaf, too, lest I actually have to listen to that crap.

Punk'd

Happy April Fools, SUCKERS!

On KQRS (92.5 FM), top-rated morning host Tom Barnard announced that a judge had overturned Hennepin County's smoking ban. The story, complete with quotes from county commissioners, sounded real to Hennepin County spokeswoman LuAnn Schmaus as she listened on her way to work.

"It took me a minute until I realized it was April 1," she admitted. (Another tip-off was Barnard's announcement that the United States would cease to exist by 2007). But Schmaus said after another radio station picked up the story and the county got a few phone calls, it put out an official release declaring the story bogus. For its part, KQRS reminded listeners hourly that it had been a joke.{...}

If one bloody Minneapolis City worker had to answer one phone call about the smoking ban being lifted, I am one happy effin' camper.

Seems only fair. Because, you know, the City Council didn't really allow for dissent when they passed the stupid thing.

Chivalry Ain't Dead!

I'm a wee bit late with this one, but The Wiz has proven there are still some gentlemen out there.

Hmmmm

Glenn seems to be off his game today.

I wonder what's going on over there.

Dumbasses

In the amusing legalese department, we have a libel suit that was thrown out of court. What was the alleged libel? you ask. Well it seems that someone called some city council candidates "dumbasses"; one was a "dead beat dad"; and my personal favorite, "bankrupt, drunk and chewin tobaccy."

Choice quotes from the decision:

{...}``The statement that the plaintiff is a `Dumb Ass,' even first among `Dumb Asses,' communicates no factual proposition susceptible of proof or refutation.''

{...}``denied being an alcoholic, but not that he consumed alcohol to the point of inebriation. . . . Similarly, he used only the present tense in denying that he chewed tobacco; for all the record shows, he might have chewed it in the very recent past, and might intend to chew it again in the future.''

The judges also said no one could determine with provable authority who was a dumb ass and who wasn't. ``To call a man `dumb' often means no more than to call him a `fool,' '' the opinion reads. ``One man's fool may be another's savant. Indeed, a corollary of Lincoln's famous aphorism is that every person is a fool some of the time.''{...}

Snicker.

Hat Tip: Tech Dirt, which is a blog you really should be reading every day.

It's Friday...

So, of course it's Divas Sez day.

The Diva who has answered all of your very important questions this week is Sadie. And this is what she's said.

But, we as we all know, the blogosphere is not really a place that is populated by healthy, well-adjusted people because, let's face it: if we had actual, angst-free lives, we wouldn't be doing this. Hence, Feisty Repartee will conveniently be answering questions for NEXT Friday.

Throw 'em in the email box, which you can find if you clickie on the Divas button on the right sidebar.