Cake Eater Chronicles

Your Chuckle For the Day

If you're not familiar with MMORPG's (Massively Multiplayer Online Role Playing Games), one of the interesting features associated with them is online chat within the game. You can talk to other players, not only to ally with them, but you can also talk to your opponents as well.

Courtesy of the husband (of course. who else do you think sends me this stuff?) we have someone's imaginings of what would be said in the chatroom if WWII had been an online strategy game, instead of an actual war.

A small sampling for your amusement:

{...}deGaulle: **** Hitler rushed some1 help

Hitler[AoE]: lol byebye frenchy

Roosevelt: i dont got **** to help, sry

Churchill: wtf the luftwaffle is attacking me

Roosevelt: get antiair guns

Churchill: i cant afford them

benny-tow: u n00bs know what team talk is?

paTTon: stfu

Roosevelt: o yah hit the navajo button guys

deGaulle: eisenhower ur worthless come help me quick

Eisenhower: i cant do **** til rosevelt gives me an army

paTTon: yah hurry the fock up

Churchill: d00d im gettin pounded

deGaulle: this is fockin weak u guys suck

*deGaulle has left the game.*

Roosevelt: im gonna attack the axis k?

benny-tow: with what? ur wheelchair?

benny-tow: lol did u mess up ur legs AND ur head?

Hitler[AoE]: ROFLMAO {...}

Heheheheh. Go read the whole thing.

And if you have trouble with the Leet Speak, don't ask me.

Public Service Announcement

Just to let my devoted Cake Eater Readers know...

...it's the husband's 35th birthday today.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, SWEETHEART!

Throw This One Into The "Whip Me, Beat Me, Make Me Write Bad Checks" Department

The husband woke me with the news this morning that the IRA had issued instructions for all its members to lay down arms.

Understandably, I had a hard time believing him.

But, apparently it's true. I wonder how much these women had to do with it.

Moderate Muslims would be wise to learn this lesson. I've read speculation that, given the neighborhoods involved, the attack of 7/7 was as much an attack on the British Government via its citizens as it was on the Muslim population of London. The neighborhoods involved are heavily populated by Muslims and this was, perhaps, a way of trying to terrorize them into compliance with the Islamofascists message. I don't know if this is true, and I don't know if we'll ever find out, but it stands to reason that if Al-Qaeda and its minions thought they could kill two birds with one stone, they would. We don't hear much from moderate Muslims about the civil war that is occurring in their religion (Islamofascists vs. moderate Muslims; those who would advocate a return to the stone age and those who advocate civilization) and, again, it's been speculated that it's because these moderate Muslims are afraid to speak up, for fear that the Islamofascists will turn on them.

Well, it appears that six women---who loved a man as a brother and a fiancee---proved to be the straw that broke the camel's back when it came to the IRA. Robert McCartney, a Belfast Catholic, was murdered for no other reason than he was critical of the IRA and had the guts to speak truth to power. When the IRA offered to "take care of the matter" the women who loved him refused, and instead opted to speak out. The IRA is an organization that used as much terror on its supporters as it did the British.

It should be a lesson to those moderate Muslims we only hear from when they're worried about being attacked themselves that only by speaking out and denouncing the Islamofascists acts---by refusing to play the game the Islamofascists way---will they spare themselves an IRA-like rule of terror. They have got to start denouncing these actions now, and they must do it loudly. They cannot only be worried about the racial profiling of their community, but rather must integrate further into their communities. They must learn that there can only be respect for their faith when they are not silent about the acts that some would commit in the name of it. This will spare them a reign of terror like that of the IRA's. Because, if 7/7 wasn't a message to moderate Muslims to get with the program, it should be said that that message is already being played daily in Baghdad. And that's the message we really don't want to be played in the streets of London or New York or D.C.---or anywhere for that matter.

It's past time for them to choose.

Come Here Fido!/Get The Hell Away Fido!

Ah, pets. People do love their pets, don't they? Not like I'd know firsthand as I've never had any pets. No cats. No dogs. No gerbils. No hamsters. No nothing. I was never responsible in my youth for some furry creature. I never dated anyone who had any pets, either. So, you might understand why I'm having a hard time coming up with stuff for the Demystifying Divas and Marvy Men's Club topic of the day, which is, ahem, what do the pets of potential partners tell you about him or her? And how do pets affect the relationship?

See, I'm at a complete and utter loss, so I shall make shit up. Work for you? Ok, good. It's not like you mind, right? Because if you're a devoted Cake Eater reader you're obviously fond of bullshit, so this isn't really a big leap.

Have you seen those commercials for some allergy medication, where a woman is narrating about her woes with allergies? Then, miraculously, once she starts taking this medication her woes are over with. The entire background starts out full of people and things, these people and things disappear (obviously because this woman has allergies) and then once the woman starts taking the medication, all those things that disappeared reappear, replete with a neato popping sound effect. One of the people who disappears is a "boyfriend with cats." Are we all on the same page here? We are. FABULOUS!

What I don't understand is why this dude reappears.

There's two problems here: the dude still has the cats, which apparently affects the very essential ability of the young woman he's dating to take in the air she needs to breathe, and why on earth would anyone subject themselves to heavy duty allergy medication just to get their boyfriend (and his cats) back? The dude apparently wants her, but still wants his cats too. That sounds pretty selfish to me.

Cat allergies are a pretty big deal, of you didn't know. There are varying degrees of sensitivity, but as I'm married to a man who can walk into a place and tell if there's been a cat in the domicile sometime in the preceding five years, I'm just going to assume everyone's like him. (Work with me here, people.) If I had had a cat when I started dating the husband, he never would have become the boyfriend without me getting rid of the cat. And it would have been selfish of me to keep the damn cat when things started getting serious. I can understand not wanting to jettison a much-loved pet after the first date, but come on. This chick in the commercial was obviously beyond the first date. Yet, she apparently loved this selfish cat owner enough to go on daily allergy medication which probably came with the requisite warning advising against heavy machinery while drugged up. How dumb was she, too, while we're at it? This dude is apparently insensitive to the fact she needs to breathe, yet he refuses to get rid of the one thing that causes his girlfriend agony: his cat. And she goes along with it. Duh.

I think that tells you rather a lot regarding this one cat owner and the girls he dates. He apparently likes them willing to do his bidding, to put his priorities and needs first, even if it's not the best option for their health.

Why, I'll even bet he's asked her to clean out the litter box!

The NERVE of some people!

I suppose the lesson of all this is that if the object of your affection has more consideration for the needs of their pets, that means they think their (and we're talking about the pet owner here) needs are more important than that of their signifcant other. Which means they're selfish and you should probably dump them. It's just not going to work.

Ok, so now that I've bloviated authoritatively on a subject which I know nothing about, go and read what the other daring demystifying divas---Sadie, Chrissy, and Silk---have to say. Ruth at Chaos Theory was supposed to be our guest diva today, but since she's occupied with something else, she has, in one fell swoop, shifted the Diva/Men's Club operational balance by---gasp---asking a man to chime in. It's supposed to be five girls to four guys, hence ensuring we always win, but alas this week the boys have a chance at gender equity. If you're in favor of that sort of thing, Men's Libertation, that is, go and visit Tincanman to see what his take on the topic is. And while you're at it, go and visit The Wiz, Phin, Stiggy and the Naked Villains for even more testosterone blogging.

WHAT?

Why is there a sudden plethora of small, red, laser dots on my posterior?

Did I do something wrong?

Sooper Sekret Message to Kathy:

[Insert best craven Jake Blues voice here]

It wasn't my faauuuullltttt!!!!!

YIPS From Kathy: Dude, I'll believe that when pigs start sprouting wings.

THE JOYS OF HOUSE SITTING

To me, the best thing hands down about house sitting is snooping around. Better than depleting the bar, better than running up the pay-per-view charges, better than getting the mail in you underwear, because you just really don't know someone until you get to spend a week in their house, unsupervised, walking around in their slippers and bathrobe.

I always love the ego wall the best---the wall in their house where they have their little slivers from their brushes with fame.

Well, I have to report, ladies and gentlemen, that our old pal Kathy has been holding out on us a wee bit.....

And the forbidden luv keeps getting worse....

DEMYSTIFYING THE DIVA, STARRING STEVE THE LLAMABUTCHER

Coming soon..........

INSERT EVIL WICKED LAUGH HERE!

Kathy's gone to the Twin-Cities, having plumb forgotten that the last time she went on vacation she entrusted the keys to casa Cake Eater to your humble LLamabutchers, hoping we would, you know, take in the mail, feed the cat, water the plants, and not rack up too much charges on pay-per-view for Wrestlemania XXXIV Hillary's Dance of DOOOM! live from Indianapolis.

The problem is, you let your neighbors have the keys, and then you forget about it.

Honey, I'm Home.....

Gone Fishing

This announcement will annoy some people, but hey, I feel the need to brag!

I'm leaving town for the day. WooT! Exciting stuff, no? I haven't been out of the Cities since, well, last October. This is heady stuff for moi. I can't wait.

Anyway, the Cake Eater Sister and her family are out at a lake a couple of hours west of here and the husband and I are going to visit for the day. Hence, you're all SOL as far as blogging entertainment is concerned. I know, you're bereft and all that jazz. Well, all I can really tell you is that you'll live. Maybe not happily, but you'll live nonetheless.

Things should be back to normal on Thursday. Have a great day!

I'd Like To Thank The Husband

...without whom I would have never scored so high. (Although, I think it was the Pong questions that really helped me score the big points!)

This is proof that I know just enough about computers to be dangerous.

{Hat Tip: Robbo, who really is a nerd}

UPDATE: From MRN aka "The Husband"

Where Are They Now (Or Maybe It's Then?)?

A bit of a thirty-five year fast-forward for some of your favorite bloggers.

I particularly like the one about Robbo. Heh. And, in case you were wondering, Sadie's going to dethrone Ann Coulter. {Insert sorts of glee here} Someone needs to show that leggy bitch who's boss and Sadie's just the girl to do it.

Gratuitous Plug

The husband's birthday is on Friday and his sister just stopped by to drop off his present. The kids accompanied her, and since wrapping paper and bows were involved, they insisted the husband open his present up early.

He received an autographed book: Fence Line by Curtis Bauer

Curt is one of the husband's friends from high school. Apparently, they played football together and bonded on their high school's trip to Germany. What's more is that we believe that the "Michael Nelson" listed in the author's acknowledgements is, indeed, the husband. (There are a lot of Michael Nelsons in the world, so it could be someone else, but we don't think it is.)

Pretty cool, eh?

So, if you like poetry and would like to give an Iowa boy a leg up, go and buy his book. Christopher Buckley liked his stuff, so if you need legitimate literary props before you spend money on such a thing, you're covered.

Amusing Tour de Lance Gossip

I'm repeating this just for the sake of repeating it. Because Sheryl Crow's "performance" at the Tour de France on Sunday made me want to smack her upside the head. So, I'm being nasty just for the sake of being nasty. {Insert slapping of hand here. Oooh, that hurt. Rolls eyes.}

Some twelve years ago, I was introduced to one of the husband's fraternity brothers. We'll call him R. At the time, R. was dating a lovely girl who we shall call J. J. and I hit it off instaneously. R. married J. about a month after we got married and we and have been good friends ever since. R. is a cycling fanatic and he's translated that love into a great career working for a world renowned cycling company. Recently, he was transferred from the U.S. to Switzerland. I don't know precisely what his job entails for the company anymore, but I do know that for some of the Tour he got to work support crew, helping to take care of their bikes. I'm assuming this was a dream come true for him, considering that in his spare time he used to assemble bikes from free spare parts. (He actually made an all titanium bike. You could pick it up with one finger! He loves titanium so much that his wedding ring is made out of titanium.) Anyway, R. and J. were in Paris over the weekend, and had some great seats in the bleachers and backstage access to the riders. They also got to ride in the parade with the support crew, just behind their riders. Anyway, to get on to the perhaps not-so-juicy Sheryl Crow gossip, I quote from J.'s email:

{...}After he spoke at the Podium his girlfriend Sheryl Crow's song was played on the loud speakers. It was SO TACKY. Everyone groaned, of course. She wanted some attention too !

His ex-wife and their nanny were the women you saw on the TV next to ol
Sheryl. The rumors all over that day were that Sheryl was flown to Switzerland to a fertility clinic to be artificially inseminated with some of Lance's healthy sperm. Not sure if it true- you back in the States would know more about that tabloid gossip than me ! Anyway, Sheryl wants to get married and Lance is going to take it easy{...}

Heheheheh. I can almost buy it, can't you? Tee hee.

My bad. I know. I'm a horrible person, but I couldn't quite resist.

Come Dancing

Are you feeling the urge on this fine Tuesday morning to twirl around the ballroom with some gorgeous women?

Well, then it would be your lucky day as The Cotillion is up and running. Go and visit these fine sites to get your Rhumba groove on:

Good Tee Vee Recommendation

If you like comedians who don't take prisoners, might I suggest you tune into Mind of Mencia on Comedy Central on Wednesday nights? (That linky there is NSFW, ya dig? Unless you've got headphones. Because it's profane. It's good but it made me, who swears like a sailor, blush. That should tell you something.)

Check it out if you get the chance.

Mach 10 Is Never Safe

Get a freakin' grip!

CAPE CANAVERAL, Fla. (Reuters) -NASA is prepared to waive a flight safety rule so it can launch space shuttle Discovery on the first mission since the 2003 Columbia accident if a fuel sensor glitch reoccurs, managers at the U.S. space agency said on Monday.

The malfunction involving one of four hydrogen fuel sensors forced NASA to postpone Discovery's first launch attempt on July 13. For its second liftoff attempt on Tuesday, NASA is considering changing a rule that all four sensors must be working.

"Any time you talk about changing a launch (rule), that is a big deal," said Stephanie Stilson, Discovery's vehicle manager.

"It's huge. That is not something we would go into lightly, as we should not," Stilson said in an interview.

Officials said NASA was willing to waive the rule requiring all four sensors to be working because it feels there are sufficient safeguards and they are confident the shuttle's safety would not be endangered even if one sensor malfunctioned.

Liftoff of Discovery and seven astronauts on a long-delayed resupply mission to the International Space Station remained on track for 10:39 a.m. EDT (1439 GMT), despite minor damage found on a heat resistant tile on Monday that delayed launch preparations slightly.

NASA spokesman Bruce Buckingham said technicians spotted a "small ding" on one of the tiles that protects the spaceship from superheated atmospheric gases on re-entry into the Earth's atmosphere, and it was "swapped out." Launch preparations were quickly brought back on schedule, Buckingham said.{...}

Sigh. I feel sorry for the poor people at NASA. That they should have to defend the action of waiving a rule that says you have to have four working sensors when three are working is ridiculous. Never mind that the fourth sensor is three times redundant, these poor people have to defend their actions to the utmost, otherwise this could be---ahem---something an astronaut could die from!

Well, far be it from me to point this out, but I do believe these astronauts know what the hell they're getting themselves into when they strap into a machine that's going to slingshot them into space. Nothing in this world is perfect, particularly not with a machine that flies into space. The entire endeavor is not safe. It never has been and it never will be. Figure it out.

What is it with these nannies in the media and in Congress? Ever since Columbia exploded two and a half years ago, I've watched in awe as everyone and their mother has bellyached about making space travel safer. And by that I don't mean they want to make it safe within reasonable expectations. They want the shuttle to be a freakin' Volvo, replete with side airbags and parachutes for the astronauts. They seem to think that if the astronauts had parachutes and a better way of exiting a space shuttle that's---ahem---in the process of exploding at a high altitude, these astronauts would be able to exit the shuttle and pull a rip cord. They would then float safely to earth from 50,000 feet or higher and would live to tell the tale.

Ok, that's a nice thought, but it's not going to happen. Do you remember how quickly both Columbia and Challenger exploded? I believe it took eight seconds for Columbia to explode. That's simply not enough time for the astronauts to undo their restraints and jump out of an escape hatch. Never mind that parachuting from that altitude is generally something only SEAL's do on on a rare occassion. The only reason pilots of F-18's and the like find themselves alive after an accident is because the roof of their plane explodes and they're forcefully ejected from their plane. Nothing even remotely similar was proposed for the Space Shuttle in all of the caterwauling that occurred after Columbia exploded. They simply couldn't remodify the shuttle for such a thing. Which should be a big honkin' clue to the rest of us that the commission meetings were not about making the shuttle safer: they were about making the people on the ground feel better about astronauts dying. They were doing something. Well, that's all well and good, but what did they actually get done at the end of the day? What, exactly, is different on Discovery because of Columbia's explosion? If they'd really wanted to make the shuttle safer, they would have done something about those ridiculous tiles that have been a problem since day one, wouldn't they? Those tiles were directly responsible for Columbia's demise, but they did nothing about them. The shuttle is still lined with them.

Space travel is something we're obviously still working out. The shuttle was a big step toward making a reusable aircraft. What I don't understand is how people could not understand that we don't know everything when it comes to flying into space. We just don't. We're still working on figuring it out. These new Magellans and de Gamas, our astronauts, know this. I have to think that they know precisely what they're risking in this endeavor to learn more. If they're willing to take on that burden, why shouldn't we, the people on the ground, trust that they know what they're doing?

I'm not saying that NASA doesn't have it's problems. God only knows that that organization has its issues. But it's time to go already. They shouldn't have to defend against worthless accusations of not wrapping the shuttle up in bubble wrap.

Nothing will happen tomorrow when---and if---the shuttle lifts off. It will all go smoothly, I predict.

So, stop worrying and light the fuse, already, eh?

How Exactly Does One Coin A Phrase?

Is it one of those viral marketing sort of things, or what? Not that I have a coin to phrase, but rather that I like one that I read about in today's Financial Times. {Ed. If you're wondering why I'm suddenly citing FT articles, well, we recently got a subscription to the paper at the Cake Eater Pad. It's a good deal, too. Six days a week at $100/yr. My fellow Twin Cities residents who are frustrated with the Strib might want to look into this option.} The phrase in question: neo-Croms.

{...}Mr Flatters, chief executive of Future Foundation, the research group, thinks a tendency to take a po-faced attitude to the indulgences of others is on the increase. He has even turned this into a trend: the rise of the neo-Croms - short for neo-Cromwellians, in a nod to the censorious 17th century English statesman.

Neo-Croms support curtailing the consumption of alcohol, smoking, rich foods and some technology on health grounds and patronage of SUVs, budget airlines and mass tourism on environmental ones. To their critics, however, they seem keenest on regulating other people.

Mr Flatters said: "There is a culture out there in favour of restricting other people's pleasures. If you're a smoker but don't drink, then you are quite happy to see regulation on drinking. This is an assault on pleasure and many businesses are likely to see more regulation."

Evidence for the prosecution include calls by neo-Croms for tighter regulation of advertising for fast food and children's brands in European markets; smoking bans in New York, the Irish Republic, Sweden, Norway and Italy; and protests against SUV sales.

The most jaw-dropping claim made by the Future Foundation is that in a poll of 1,000 UK adults, 30 per cent agreed that pregnant women should receive a police caution for smoking in public.{...}

The rest of the article ponders the wisdom of actually gearing marketing towards these neo-Croms. It seems this might just be a fad, instead of a trend. Hence, the backlash could be huge against companies who gear marketing campaigns toward these people.

Which is hopeful, no?

In any case, spread the phrase around. It deserves wider recognition and is much classier than "smoking Nazis."

Kicking Ass For The Lord!

You knew it had to happen, right?

"Left Behind: Eternal Forces" is a real-time strategy game set in New York during the End of Days, which will allow gamers to choose between the angelic Tribulation Forces and the demonic Global Community Peacekeepers in a multiplayer online mode. The game is set to ship before Easter.

Left Behind CEO Troy Lyndon said the books have a diverse loyal reader base of more than 10 million parents, single adults, teens and kids. He said the company, which was founded in October 2001, will invest more money and resources into its first game than any Christian game has ever seen. Lyndon also said his games will be sold at Wal-Mart, which accounts for about 25% of all game sales.

"If only 10% of the readership buys our game, it will be a top hit, selling more than 1 million units," Lyndon said.

Pidgeon said that while a game success on the level of Mel Gibson's "The Passion of the Christ" movie might be possible down the road with a big franchise like "Left Behind," films are still much more accessible to the Christian demographic than video games.{...}

The husband, Mr. MMORPG (Massively Multiplayer Online Role Playing Games) himself has confidently predicted that everyone is going to want to be an evil Global Community Peacekeeper, no matter how much they love the Lord.

{Hat Tip: Steeeeeve-o.}

Sleeping With The Fishes

I present for your perusal an interesting article from this weekend's Financial Times about the hows and whys of the Sicilian mafia's ability to live on in this day and age.

The author grew up in Sicily, but moved to London to start a law practice and has since become a novelist. The anecdotes she shares are startling, if for no other reason than that they show the Sicilian populace's willing participation in the system of "clientelism" that brings the mafia its power. Even if the participation is that of the unthinking variety:

{...}”Mafiosita” lurks within me, and it came out powerfully last summer. I was at our family estate in Sicily. My grandchild cut his hand; while I was holding him in my arms, blood flowed copiously. I rushed to the telephone and called a friend: “Whom do you know at A&E?”, I asked. Had I been in London, I would have gone straight to the local hospital.

I thought long and hard on that episode, and was shamed. Distrustful of the ability of the local health service to deliver services without an “introduction”, I had resorted to the “known ways”: personal contact. My friend is just a friend, but for people less privileged than I, the Mafia is always ready - at a price - to be the “best of all friends”, and it has friends in all places. Sciascia was right: there is “something of the Mafia” in each of us. My father would have been ashamed of me.{...}

Go read the whole thing. It's fascinating.

Ahhh, Summer

...wherein a good fifty people who came to the Cake Eater Chronicles on a daily basis to read said crap have gone on vacation for what seems is the entire month of July.

The little traitors.

What is it with you people, eh? I put out perfectly good content, day in and day out, to amuse/educate/enlighten y'all and you people desert me, like rats from a barge loaded with bat guano, the minute the weather turns nice. Oh, sure. I provide a great escape from your troubles in the winter, but when summer comes around, well, it's a Wham, Bam, I'm Off To the Beach, Ma'am situation.

Pfft.

Get with the program and start pumping my sitemeter back up or I'll export all the labor of this here operation to India. Then I'll sic Lou Dobbs on you. He'll start plugging "The Exporting of the Cake Eater Chronicles" on his newshour. He'll interview me and in reply, when he starts cutting into me for my behavior, I'll say, "Hey, Lou, what do you want me to do? I'm apparently too expensive for my readers. I've got to cut costs somewhere, and labor is my biggest cost. A typing monkey in Bangalore is much cheaper than I am and is bound to attract more American readers, given that their particular tastes run to Asian Lesbian pr0n." Lou will be saddened by the news, but, surprisingly, he will finally get a grip, take things in context and he will understand. In response, he will turn on you my not-so-devoted Cake Eater readers, and it'll be ugly.

So, save yourself the trouble of being flogged day in and day out by Lou Dobbs, my-soon-to-be-devoted-again Cake Eater readers, and get with the program, ya dig?

You honestly don't want to have to wash that hairshirt every day, do you?

Jimmy Hoffa's Spinning In His Grave

Wherever that might be.

Like Martini Boy, I find it particularly delicious that the unions are turning on one another. And they deserve it.

After years of horrific mismanagement, corruption and thuggish behavior, they're trying to find a way to make themselves more relevant in this modern age. Problem is, as Martini Boy pointed out, is that everything they're "fighting for" has now been enacted into legislation, with OSHA and other regulatory agencies fighting their battles for them, ergo they're irrelevant.

They've shot themselves in the foot, in other words, and now they're whining about who pulled the trigger.

The husband's family---his father, in particular---have spent their entire lives working in manufacturing and trucking and some of the stories they've told could and will make your hair curl. What happened to Stephen's uncle, while appalling, is hardly uncommon. One of the husband's uncles worked for Maytag for years---in Iowa, which is a Right to Work state---and, in direct violation of the laws of the State of Iowa, was outed to the entire factory as a non-union member in a union newsletter. Which, of course, led to harrassment on the factory floor. Nothing was ever done about it. Another uncle, in the late sixties, ran a trucking operation out of the Quad Cities. He managed a non-union shop that did runs from Moline up to Chicago. This, if you know the history of the Teamsters, was not a good idea. This particular uncle was in Chicago one time and was "invited" to come and chat with a particular individual. That particular individual turned out to be Jimmy Hoffa himself, who told the uncle, in no uncertain terms, that he'd better start hiring Teamsters to do the driving---and only Teamsters---or there would be trouble. This uncle eventually took another job, but found out some twenty years later that "Mr. Hoffa" had put a contract out on his life. And that the contract was still good, all those years later.

Even the father-in-law has had his own run-ins. An apprentice tool and die maker, he worked at the Rock Island Arsenal when he was just starting out and, partly because of the harrassment he'd seen dished out to his elder siblings, he refused to go union. I believe the fact that the arsenal was a federally run institution saved his bacon on union membership, but I could be wrong. What's particularly interesting in the father-in-law's case was that he eventually worked his way up to management, winding up as the general manager of the first car parts manufacturing plant in America that actually shipped parts to the Japanese. He's moved around in his career quite a bit, but he's still a manufacturing manager and he's never worked in a plant that was union since his days at the Arsenal. He always makes sure his employees are safe and well-paid because he doesn't want the unions coming in. He learned the lesson the unions were threatening and coercing people to learn with their tactics: treat your employees well. The father-in-law did so and he's never had to deal with a union ever again. He may bitch about OSHA's lock-out/tag-out procedures, but he follows the law to the letter: he just doesn't want to have to deal with it, so he works hard to make certain he doesn't have to.

Unions, in this day and age, have painted themselves into the corner of irrelevancy. Most people think them corrupt: which is an image the unions have worked hard over the years to downplay. What I find interesting is that the proof is always and forever in the pudding. When I managed the Caribou, it was located inside a grocery store, which was, of course, union, Minnesota not being a Right To Work state. I cannot tell you how many cashiers worked 39.5 hours a week. These employees were union members, yet the union never stepped up to ensure they could get benefits to go with this full-time employment. They never lobbied the management of the grocery stores to list full-time employment at less than forty-hours a week. I, the manager of a non-union coffee shop, hit FT when I worked 36 hours a week. My employees were elgible for health insurance and the company 401K plan when they worked more than 22 hours a week for three months. This, of course, says nothing of the poor stock and bag boys and girls, who were mostly under the age of eighteen, who were excited to receive their first paycheck and yet were dismayed when it actually arrived. Why? Because a big percentage had been automatically deducted for union dues. Dues for a union they were ineligible to join because they were under the age of eighteen, and, more importantly, a union they had never signed up for membership in the first place. When the story became clear---that they could not work at the grocery store without being a member of the grocery union---they came looking to me for a job. Which I couldn't give them because my store was grandfathered into a verbal agreement wherein the grocery store management wouldn't poach my employees and I wouldn't poach theirs. I felt bad for all of these people. They paid money to a union who took money from their paychecks without their permission and who did absolutely nothing for them when it came right down to the nitty gritty of the matter. Mr. H's dad was a Teamster for years. His trucking company offered him early retirement, in part because the math dictated that it was cheaper in the long run to hire younger, less senior labor, and to put the more senior union members out to pasture than it was to solely rely on the more senior union members for this company's workforce. Mr. H's dad took the deal and retired. Now he's working again, driving shipments of gravel for a nursery who supplies landscapers. Why? Because the cost of his Teamster's health insurance went up. He has to work to be able to afford the union health insurance. I could go on, but I think you get the gist: they've made things so expensive, not only for employers, but for their members as well. There is more of a downside to union membership these days than there is an upside.

You'd think the Unions would slap each other on the back nowadays, telling each other "good job," and then move on to other labor causes in other places. But they don't. They stay in highly developed countries, where in the level of living is high---hence the dues they collect are high---and live off of that, whilst bleating on about a cause that has less and less relevance in said world. After all, it may be the AFL-CIO International but international only means the U.S. and Canada. There are plenty of people in Asia, Central and South America, to name a few places home to the world's sweatshops, that could use their help. These workers are truly underpaid, abused and work in unsafe conditions. But the big unions don't go there and organize the labor. They stay here and cause trouble because it's more comfortable.

Makes you wonder what Eugene V. Debs would think of their behavior, eh?

Best. Comment. Ever.

So, have you seen this beast yet?

It appears some fishermen caught this 1,100 pound bugger off of Martha's Vineyard for a shark catching contest or something like that. Apparently, they didn't win the prize because they were six minutes late getting back into port. Which is a bloody shame if you ask me, but anyway...over at Galley Slaves, where I found this, one astute, yet anonymous, commenter left what I consider to be the Best. Comment. Ever.

I can't believe they are parading Ted Kennedy around like that...

{Insert copious snorts of glee here}

Life Lessons

With a heartwarming tale from his days on a lawn crew, Chad reminds us that, "Stoned, paranoid, and stupid is no way to go through a day at work."

Gas Prices Need To Go Down

Not because they're affecting me other than making me pay through the nose for produce. No sirreee. We could not have picked a better time to go car-less. No, what I am referring to is the new and somewhat unusual habit of everyone and their brother of driving mopeds around town.

This is annoying.

Now, I don't mind the new little Vespas. These are actually cute and they don't make noise. But these Vespas have, it seems, started a trend wherein people are pulling long unused, twenty-year-old Honda mopeds out of their garages and are firing them up for transportation purposes.

It sounds like people are driving chainsaws up and down my street.

Now, I can understand why, with gas at $2.20 a gallon, it would be nice to have an alternative---and cheap---form of transportation with which to accomplish your daily running around. Particularly when the weather is agreeing with the desire to rattle around on a moped. But seriously, folks. If the thing is put-put-put-putting along, you might want to get the engine checked, ya dig? You might also want to---and this is just a suggestion, mind you, so don't shoot the messenger---get the engine checked if said moped is emitting loads of black smoke. You're burning whatever small amount of oil it takes to keep one of those things running and it STINKS.

Also, it might behoove you to learn how to drive the stupid things. Just because you have a small moped and can whiz around with ease, does NOT mean you get to jump a curb and drive along the sidewalk when traffic is heavy. This also means if you're going to turn right on a red, well, don't mow down the people in the crosswalks, thinking we can get out of your way more easily than you can get out of ours. PEDESTRIANS HAVE THE RIGHT OF WAY. Learn this or I will not be held accountable for my actions, ya dig?

Ok, I feel better now.

Let Me Be The First To Announce

I might be a wee bit precipitous in this and I might earn myself a big spanking from my Maximum Leader for the trouble expended, but, it looks as if The Naked Villains FINALLY have completed their site redesign. Looks sweet, kids. Lovin' the gargoyle. (That is a gargoyle, isn't it? We all need more gargoyles in our lives. And particularly in the blogosphere, too. They're a necessary evil to protect us from moonbats.) I sense the fine and accomplished hand of Sadie in all of this.

But, really and truly, what's really important in all of this is that...

AHEM

...THEY FINALLY HAVE COMMENTS!

Let me speak for the entire blogosphere when I say, "Thank 'Effin God." For there was no more frustrating of a blog than the "old" Naked Villainy. All that debate and no bloody way to get in on the action other than to email.

Mortification

In a somewhat Brit-like effort to get along with things, I am commencing my latest Diva essay, despite the news coming out of London.

Today's topic: Most embarrasing dating moments and how to avoid them.

I find myself somewhat at a disadvantage here because, quite frankly, it's been almost thirteen years since I've dated anyone. You, of course, are tut-tutting and saying in a whisper so no one else can hear you talk to your computer, Kath, you obviously remember OTHER incidents from your dating past, no matter how long ago it was, why not this one? Well, you see, here's the deal: I'm very good at blocking out embarrasing things that happened to me in the past. Because there were lots of embarrassing moments when I dated. I experienced much mortification. And I've blocked it out. I've shoved these memories into a trunk, which was subsequently shoved into a back, dusty corner of the attic that is my brain, and, for the most part, has been all but forgotten about. Sorry. You're SOL.

Well, for the most part. An overriding theme comes to mind.

My main problem, it seems, looking back now, was never recognizing when some dude really liked me. I was a clueless heartbreaker it seems. I was always more interested in chasing after the guys I liked, rather than paying attention to the men who wanted me. Sigh. A while back I found a stack of letters a guy friend from high school had sent to me when I was living in Austin, Texas for the summer, nannying for my sister's kids. This being the age before email and cheapola long distance, he'd sent me a letter a week, sometimes twice a week, saying how much he missed me, how much the summer in Omaha was sucking without my presence, etc. At the time, I took it at face value. Even though this guy had previously asked me "to be his girlfriend" in a pathetically sweet sort of way, and I had refused him, I thought he'd gotten over it and was still just being my friend. Nope. I was taking the letters as I wanted them to be, not as they really were. Not surprisingly, he finally took whatever hint I was giving off and moved on.

Another time, in college, I was working at the Econ/Soc Reading Room (which doesn't look as if it exists anymore) and there was this really nice guy, an Econ grad student, Ahmet, from Turkey who patronized the place. I liked Ahmet, because, unlike the Chinese grad students, he washed and shaved, ate food on occasion, and didn't reek of cheap cigarettes or body odor. I liked chatting with him about his country and his experiences going to school on the continent, living in Turkey, etc. Of course, my luck being what it was, he took my friendliness to mean that I had the hots for him. I didn't, of course. This led to one very uncomfortable lunch at the M-Shop in the Student Union. He thought he was taking me out. I thought we were getting together to eat. Whoops. Very uncomfortable that lunch was, because he was offended when I insisted on paying for my food myself.

Then there was Gary, who while a very nice guy, had a lot of notions about what a girl would consider to be romantic. Writing, "Kathy {insert maiden name here} is beautiful" on a chalkboard in the classroom where we met once a week for a seminar on South African politics and then writing "Do Not Erase" on the board next to it, meaning it was up there for entire week before I found out about it, well, was mortifying. But I thought it was just a joke on me. Hahahaha. Funny stuff, eh? Gary was a nice guy and all, but he was really short. About 5'2". I'm 5'6". I stared down at him every time I talked to him. I don't mean to seem like I discriminate against short guys, but...well, I guess I do discriminate against short guys. Sigh. Anyway, he wasn't my cup of tea, and once again, I got blindsided. Turns out his declaration on the chalkboard in Ross Hall wasn't a joke. He showed up one night, a bouquet of flowers in hand, an invitation to dinner at one of the fanciest (and priciest) restaurants in Ames on the tip of his tongue, and I had to let him down gently.

Hmmph. Well, I guess I remember more than I thought I did. Lucky you!

Why was I so clueless? you ask. {Insert shrug here} Beats me. Poor self-esteem? Who the hell knows.

As far as the second part of the essay is concerned, well, I don't think anyone should be asking me about how to avoid being embarrassed on a date. I haven't the foggiest notion. I would assume that you could avoid my mistakes and---ahem---actually PAY ATTENTION to what's going on around you and that might save you some grief in the short term. That might help.

Ya think?

Enough. Now run along and see what the other fabulous demystifying divas have to say on the matter. Make sure to check out what Michele of Meanderings has contributed to the discussion, since she's our guest diva this week. For the male perspective, be sure to visit The Wiz, Phin, Stiggy and whichever Naked Villian is chiming in this week.

UPDATE: The Kid has a couple of stories about drunken fraternity boys and singing cowboys to entertain you all with.

Not Again

I do not like waking up to hear that a city that I dearly love is in the midst of a bomb scare...

...again.

UPDATE: Tim Worstall has more. As does Europhobia. Insty, of course, is on the case, too.

From what little real news I can gather by watching cable news, it seems as if these terrorists either a. had a bad batch of explosives or b. had one seriously incompetent bomb maker in their employ. Whichever it is, thank God for it. This could have been much, much worse than it seems it is.

I also hope that the reporting about what's going down at University College Hospital is correct. If it is, that means one of them is alive and, hopefully, if he's apprehended they might be able to get information from him.

The other observation of the morning is that Christiane Amanpour is seriously annoying. Sheesh. Talk about having a big head. Nic Robertson was doing a perfectly fine job and then Christiane shows up and he gets booted so she can bloviate about how this is because of the UK's participation in Iraq. Sheesh. It took her less than fifteen minutes to bring that up. I suppose you could applaud her for her restraint in waiting that long, but no matter which way you slice it, is presumptous in the extreme. You have a fluid situation, where there is much reporting to be done because no one seems to have the whole story and she injects politics into it. What a little shit she is.

Fun For the Whole Family!

Well, not my family, because guns scare the crap out of me, but Chrissy's family would dig this article, big time.

{Super Sekrit Note to Chrissy: Note that one of the camps is near Vegas. Take your mom. She could get her blackjack and shooting grooves on at the same time!}

Off The Wall

Have you heard about Tom Tancredo? I'd never heard of him until he said this:

A Colorado congressman told a radio show host that the U.S. could "take out" Islamic holy sites if Muslim fundamentalist terrorists attacked the country with nuclear weapons.

Rep. Tom Tancredo made his remarks Friday on WFLA-AM in Orlando, Florida. His spokesman stressed he was only speaking hypothetically.

Talk show host Pat Campbell asked the Littleton Republican how the country should respond if terrorists struck several U.S. cities with nuclear weapons.

"Well, what if you said something like -- if this happens in the United States, and we determine that it is the result of extremist, fundamentalist Muslims, you know, you could take out their holy sites," Tancredo answered.

"You're talking about bombing Mecca," Campbell said.

"Yeah," Tancredo responded.

The congressman later said he was "just throwing out some ideas" and that an "ultimate threat" might have to be met with an "ultimate response."{...}

So, the guy's obviously an idiot, right? You'd think all sane people would agree that he's an idiot. Well, apparently not. LaShawn Barber thinks he's right on the money.

{...}Congressman Tom Tancredo, the only true conservative in Congress and the only politician on Capitol Hill who takes a hard line against illegal aliens, said that if Islamofascists upgraded to nuclear attacks, we could threaten to bomb Muslim holy sites.

Republicans and Democrats are jumping all over him, mischaracterizing his remarks. They believe Tancredo should apologize. He said he won’t, and I hope he doesn’t. I stand behind him 100 percent, even as Republicans and so-called conservatives demand an apology. We need tough talk and tough action on global terrorism, and what Tancredo said was actually mild compared to what Islamofascists have in mind for us.{...}

As Doug says:

LaShawn thinks the billion plus Muslims witnessing such an attack would kick their feet and convert to some more convenient religion once Mecca was nuked? Please. The only certainty is that they'd know who NOT to turn to for security. And that would be the nation that nuked Mecca on the basis of simple religious affiliation. The same religious affiliation they personally hold.

As I noted yesterday, LaShawn's position is morally, tactically, and strategically wrong. She cannot explain the benefit, and she conveniently doesn't even try. Her post is barren of substance. She admires the fact that it "talks tough" to terrorists.

Hey LaShawn - then why not threaten them with blowing up the whole planet, you freakin' pantywaist?! That's even tougher!{...}

I'm with Doug. Ignoring the political and social ramifications of such an action---or even threatening such an action---it's pretty clear that LaShawn doesn't have the props to claim she's a hawk as she's lacking in the few simple notions that govern the strategy associated with nuclear weapons, which is if you have them, you generally don't have to shoot them off. The knowledge of said weapons is, indeed, a weapon in itself. It ups the ante.

This strategy is called MAD---Mutually Assured Destruction and any undergraduate political science student knows what it's about. Two countries have nuclear weapons. Does one country fire their nukes on the other, knowing full well that if they do, they'll be blown up as well? No, they don't. The only option to use a nuke successfully is to use it on an enemy that does not have such weapons with which to retailiate, and that is only going to work if said country has not allied itself with a country which will retaliate for it. This is why we invaded Iraq, but not North Korea. This is why it's crucial that Iran not be allowed to develop nuclear weapons. This is why it's a cause for worry every time Pakistan and India start going round after round on Kashmir. But mostly this is why it's not a good idea to ratchet up the rhetoric in regards to what you will bomb with your nukes. With MAD you have a built-in balance; you shoot yours off? Well, the other guy's going to shoot his off at you and you're going to get it just as bad as they did. It's pretty simple stuff, on the whole. But to make sure MAD works, you have to---ahem---keep your mouth shut for the most part. Nuclear weapons are most effective as a weapon when they serve the purpose of deterrance, ya dig?

One could, theoretically, argue that MAD is not going to work with non-nation state aligned Islamofascists. Continuing that argument, one could say that it was a good thing that Tancredo shot his mouth off about Mecca, to let the Islamofascists know just what was at stake. I disagree: first off, we are a nation-state: we will not bomb a target in a country that is our ally because said target has great meaning for the Islamofascists. Leaving aside the question of whether we can really consider Saudi Arabia to be our ally in the first place, it's nonetheless just plain stupid. We will not bomb a target that has meaning for more people---a billion people---than just our would-be attackers. It's not a proportional or rational response. And the last thing anyone wants in such a situation is an irrational response. Second, according to the principles of MAD, if you shoot your mouth off about targeting a certain city which holds great meaning for your enemy, perhaps, just perhaps, you would be encouraging them in their nuclear activities, so that we would think twice about targeting Mecca. Because, you see, MAD swings both ways: they would want to protect their holy city and they could do that if they had their own nukes and let us know about it.

Have no doubts about it, we are not in the cat bird seat when it comes to a rogue nuclear strike. During the Cold War, we did not shoot our weapons off at the USSR, and they did not shoot their back at us because our capabilities were, roughly, the same. On either side of the equation, the end product would be the same: not only the annihilation of our enemy, but of ourselves. There is much to be made of SAC and our capability to strike back in the event of a nuclear attack, but any way you slice it, the end result was the same. In this situation, we would only be able to retaliate: it's one thing to invade Afghanistan using conventional warfare because they are harboring terrorists; it is entirely another to claim that we would use nuclear weapons on Mecca if we were attacked by rogue, non-nation-state aligned terrorists. It ups the ante, which we've already established is not a good thing when it comes to nuclear capabilities. Leaving aside the rogue Islamofascists for a moment, think about Tancredo's remarks in terms of relations with one particular nation-state we consider to be an ally: do we really want Saudi Arabia, of all nations, to think they need to start acquring nukes to protect Mecca? Is that action going to stop the spread of Wahhabism? Would that bring about the changes we would like to see in the way the House of Saud governs that country? Sheesh. Think about it for a minute. Sticks and stones may break your bones, but words, when employed to throw nuclear threats around, really can hurt you. That's not a "weak" response; it's a sensible one.

So, when it comes right down to it, Tancredo is an idiot who knows absolutely nothing about nuclear strategy. He is playing a dangerous game that has serious ramifications to it. And anyone, LaShawn included, who thinks that "talking tough" to the terrorists on a nuclear level is going to get them to back down, or to mend their ways, is not exactly thinking things through. It's a whole different ballgame. It's simply ramping it up to another level---another level which could mean plenty of people would be killed, and not just Muslims. Furthermore, to make the claim that anyone who's "really conservative" should be advocating such an action is ignoring the example set down by Ronald Wilson Reagan, the man who---ahem--won the freakin' war without blowing ourselves up in the meantime. He did not win the war by using inflamed, Krushchev-like rhetoric (Remember the Cuban Missile Crisis? Remember dear old Nikita slamming his shoe on the podium at the UN? Remember the words, "We will bury you"? Did that cool things down? Hmmmm?); he won it by using MAD to its utmost capability: he bankrupted the Soviet Union. If that's not "conservative" enough for you, well, jeez, I don't know what will or could ever be.

Tancredo should apologize for his ignorant remarks and he should do it on the floor of the House of Representatives. That needs to be in the record, lest someone get the wrong idea about what, precisely, the United States' response would be in regards to a rogue Islamofascist nuclear attack on our soil.

Haven't Done a Screaming Meme in a While

From Miss Sheila, because this is The Cake Eater Chronicles: we're all about the quality filler!

What I was doing 10 years ago: Geez. What was I doing ten years ago? Hmmmm. It's hazy, but I was in Des Moines at that point in time. I worked. I went out. We moved into the last apartment we would live in that Bad Mojo town. The husband and I enjoyed the last of the newlywed sex before our first anniversary that August. You know, the regular.

Five years ago: Oh, the summer from hell. This I remember. The husband was back in Kuwait. Briefly. He'd been there for most of the spring and had returned for about a month. Then he left again. I was unemployed because he'd told me to quit my job as we would be moving there soon. I just had to wait out the time in between. Everything very slowly went to hell with the Kuwait move, and my sweetie was stuck in the middle east in the middle of summer---when anyone who has any sense in their head leaves because it's so freakin' hot---watching all his hopes and dreams crumble around him because of some ambitious backstabbers. He spent a miserable thirtieth birthday alone and I cried because all I could do was tell him happy birthday over the phone. (Not like he knew it then, but I suppose he knows it now. I made up for it the next year by taking him skydiving.) Every day was yet another adventure in hearing about the possibilities of the trip, but wondering about how this one prick would sabotage them next. He finally got back to the states and the cheap-asses had only paid for a ticket into Chicago. I had to borrow money to get him a plane ticket into town because the bastards hadn't paid him what they owed him.

On the upside, this is the summer I finally started writing. I banged out a little novel during his absence, just to see if I could do it. (Yes. I was that bored.) It sucked rocks and I cringe when I read it now (I keep meaning to torch it, but I keep forgetting.) but I still love how I feel when I write, so one day, it will happen.

One year ago: Pretty much the same thing as now. Not much has changed.

Yesterday: I woke up to a wonderful breeze blowing through the apartment. The husband had turned off the AC and had opened up the house. It was almost chilly, which was nice after all the heat. I power walked around the lake, where there were whitecaps because it was so windy. Then I washed the linen and cleaned the house in anticipation of the mother-in-law's visit last night. I cooked part of a pork tenderloin (rubbed with salt, pepper, and rosemary. I cut holes in the fat and stuffed chopped garlic into it. Mmmmm), steamed broccoli, made rice and a salad. Then I sat down and had dinner with my mother-in-law and the husband. When she left I walked down to Walgreens to get a pack of smokes under the light of the almost-full moon, a nice cool breeze floating around me. It was lovely.

Last night, it actually dropped below sixty-degrees and I slept like a rock. The husband said I snored. {Insert blush here} Usually that's his department.

Five snacks I enjoy: I'm not really a big snack person, but here goes... Saltines, 100,00 bars, fudgsicles, cheese (any sort, really. I love cheese.) and Carr's water crackers.

Five songs I know all the words to:

Say Goodbye---Dave Matthews Band
Vienna and Scenes From an Italian Restaurant---Billy Joel (I love The Stranger album.)
Where The Streets Have No Name---U2
INXS---Mediate (It's "Pretty Kate Has Sex Ornate" just in case you were wondering.)

Five Things I would do with $100 million: Not like I've thought about it a lot, but I would...
a. Buy a private island.
b. Go to the highest point on said island, plant a flag in the soil and declare that I'm calling this bit o' land the Republic of Kathyland
c. Hire good lawyers and acquire sovereignty and US/UN recognition for Kathyland. (If the Vatican can do it, so can I. If I do it right, I won't need guns.)
d. Build a data haven in the basement of Kathyland. (Income, kids. Income. Lots of income.)
e. Buy a really sweet throne with built in masssage features from where I might benevolently rule Kathyland for the rest of my days.

Five locations I would like to run away to:

London. The Redneck Riviera. (And, no, that would not be the one in France.) Dubai. The Maldives. Anywhere with a beach, really.

Five things I like doing:

Walking around the lakes, reading, writing, having coffee with Mr. H., staring out the window at the birds and the flowers. The world really is lovely, you just have to take the time to look at it.

Five bad habits I have: Smoking. I bite my lip when I read books. (Don't ask me why, I've done it for as long as I can remember.) I rub my palms together all the freakin' time. I slouch (although, I'm getting better about this since I started Pilates.). I have issues with finishing things I've started.

Five things I would never wear: Hot pants. Anything Versace. A muumuu. A tube top. Bowling shoes outside of a bowling alley.

Five TV shows I like: House, Lost, the original CSI, McCleod's Daughters (totally addicted! the shame of it!), and currently Bridezillas, because I love seeing brides go bat shit loco over flower arrangements and the like. It's good fun.

Five favorite toys: the laptop, aka Wee Bastard, my Braun handblender (Best. Wedding. Present. EVER. Thanks Mr. and Mrs. Heenan!), the DirecTV, the DVD player, and my digital camera.

Today's Item For the Irony Department

Does anyone find it even remotely ironic that Roman Polanski is suing Vanity Fair for libel over "allegations" that he slept around right after his wife's---Sharon Tate---death, yet this is the dude who PLED GUILTY to sleeping with a thirteen-year-old girl and then fled the country to escape sentencing?

Good. I didn't think I was the only one.

I'm somewhat tired of always being told how sorry we should feel for Roman Polanski. He's a genius, his defenders say. He didn't mean to sleep with a thirteen-year-old in Jack Nicholson's hot tub. She looked older than she really was. She seduced him. It only happened because he was so distressed over his wife's death. Yadda, yadda, yadda.

Whatever.

You're either a grown-up and you take responsibility for your actions, even if they land you in the can for a while. OR you have the good sense to shut the fuck up about it. It's pretty goddamned simple, if you ask me. But the one thing you do not do is sue a magazine for libel because they point out the one part of your well-documented sex life that seems disrespectful to a dead woman. You made your bed, Roman, you little slut. Now lie in it.*

pun fully intended

Getting By With a Little Help From Your Friends

Hurricane Dennis may not have wreaked as much havoc as the media was hoping for, but it did wreak some havoc nonetheless.

Go and help if you can.

If you've never lived through a flood, well, I can only say that you should be thanking your lucky stars. It doesn't matter if you live in a flood plain or not---the water can, and sometimes, will find you.

And it's a hell of a thing to try and get cleaned up. And that's only if you can clean it up in the first place. Sometimes homes are condemed and people find themselves without a place to live through no fault of their own.

I lived through the 500 year flood in Iowa in 1993: I've seen this sort of damage first hand and it's not the water that's so much the problem---even though it's not really a joy---because the water will, eventually, recede; it's the muck and mire that the water brings with it that doesn't go away and ruins everything you own. Imagine cleaning out a foot or more of mud and river debris from your home. Not to mention all the creepy critters who like living in mud, no matter where it's located. Yeech.

If you can, help Mary Anne and her husband out. They sure could use it. And if you're a blogger, get the word out or suffer Sadie's wrath.

Yes, I Was A Member of the JCL, Why Do You Ask?

Like Robbo, I must admit this is pretty cool.

ROME, Italy (AP) -- Decorated cups and fine silver platters were once again polished and on display Monday as archaeologists unveiled an ancient Roman dining set that lay hidden for two millennia in the volcanic ash of Pompeii.

In 2000, archaeologists found a wicker basket containing the silverware in the ruins of a thermal bath near the remains of the Roman city, said Pietro Giovanni Guzzo, head of Pompeii's archaeological office.

The basket was filled with the volcanic ash that buried the city when Mount Vesuvius erupted in A.D. 79. When experts X-rayed it, they saw the objects preserved in the ash, which killed thousands of people but kept the town almost intact, providing precious information on domestic life in the ancient world.{...}

Sweet.

To one up Robbo, here's the Latin version of Pliny The Younger's description of the eruption. Scroll down to entries 16 and 20 and you'll get the whole story in the mother tongue.

(And, no, I can't read it either.)

Predestined

For the love of God.

LOS ANGELES - Actor Colin Farrell is suing a woman for allegedly trying to distribute and profit from a sex tape he says the two recorded with the agreement they would never make it public.

The lawsuit filed Monday in Superior Court seeks general and compensatory damages as well as a temporary restraining order and injunction prohibiting the sale and exploitation of the videotape.

Farrell, 29, accuses Nicole Narain of trying to distribute the tape through an intermediary. The two had an intimate relationship 2 1/2 years ago and both agreed that the 15-minute tape that shows the couple having sex would be jointly owned by them and would remain private, according to the suit.{...}

See, here's the thing, Colin. You're a celebrity. You're famous. You're also tabloid fodder because of the way you act. Soooooooo, doesn't it make just a wee bit of sense to you that perhaps, just perhaps, if you don't want a sex tape of yourself running around on the internet YOU SHOULDN'T MAKE ONE IN THE FIRST PLACE?

Jeez. How stupid can you be? Ah, but I'm judging Colin from the mantle of sobriety. He's a boozer. He doesn't see things clearly.

I ask you this, my devoted Cake Eater Readers: are there ever times in this life when you can just see the outcome of stuff, like you're an author and you know how the book is going to end? Can you see it coming? See, here's what I can see for Colin's future. Brilliant, widely acclaimed actor will keep on acting for a while, and he's going to keep on partying hard, too. Women will walk in and out of his life, and the reason they will keep on walking out of his life is because he's a feckin' drunk. An alcoholic if you will. His family works very hard to keep him from imploding, but they will ultimately fail. It's predestined, because everyone who tries to keep a drunk---famous or not---from imploding fails. It can't be forestalled. So, one day, he will drink himself into yet another stupor and...

...here's where you can play with the ending. But logic dicates that there are only two choices because Colin's the kind of guy where it's either all or nothing.

The Sad, Literary Ending: he will choke on his own vomit whilst sleeping it off. Or he could be behind the wheel of a car and will drive off some cliff in L.A. Or, if you want to be ironic about it, he could be killed by a drunk driver as he stands incoherently in the street, disgusted with his behavior, promising to make amends, swearing that last Guinness he drank was his last drink just as the car smacks him. However you want to slice it, he will die an early death and he will be lauded for the rest of eternity. Like an Irish James Dean.

or

The Happy, PR-Friendly, Tee-Vee Movie of the Week Ending: He will realize he's letting his life slip past in a haze of booze. He will check himself into rehab, and two months later, a shaky, but somewhat solid Colin will emerge from the dark to be praised for his courage in overcoming his demons on the cover of every magazine across the world.

I'm afraid that after having lived through this sort of shit, it all becomes rather obvious after a time. I can spot a boozer at ten paces and it's a tedious sort of knowledge, because you see all the talent that's wasted. Colin Farrell is yet another boozer who thinks he's got his shit together and he doesn't. What's sad is that if you've seen Tigerland you know how talented this guy really is. I don't think any of the standard Hollywood fare he's made since has showcased his talent as well as that small film.

I know. I'm getting my knickers in a twist over someone I don't know or really care about all that much. But when you see it happen, over and over again, well, you just want to knock your head against the wall. It's frustrating because you can see it, but they can't. And you can't even tell them what they're missing because they won't believe you until they can see it for themselves. That's just the nature of the beast. I sincerely hope, even though I will despise the fact his face will be plastered all over the newsstands for months, he opts for the PR-Friendly ending.

Shall We Dance?

Ah, yes. It's Tuesday, so it's time to Foxtrot over to these fine sites for The Cotillion Ball.

I'm Sure You're Wondering...

...where the heck I've been.

Well, a couple of factors have played into my absence.

1. The weather was gorgeous yesterday. After more than a week of living in a steam bath, it was beyooootiful yesterday. Highs in the mid-70's with a slight breeze. I had better things to do than try to keep you people from surfing pr0n.

2. The mother-in-law came over for dinner yesterday. I had to clean---again---and get ready for the visit. She will be flying back to Phoenix today, so the Cake Eater Pad will shoot back into its normal state of disarray quite quickly, but never fear, my devoted Cake Eater Readers, she'll be back in two months!

Oh, and she used the bathroom.

WooT!

3. Since I was a slacker yesterday, I did not get around to posting the grand total for the RAISE MOOLAH FOR JAMES' WALK fundraiser. We managed to raise {insert drumroll here} $345.00

WOOHOO!

James (and I) would like to thank everyone who donated or helped to get the word out. You're wonderful people.

The Walk To Cure Diabetes

{This post will stay at the top of the page all week long. Yep. I'm pulling a guilt trip on you. And it won't be over with until next Monday.}

James, despite the red hair and all that it implies in regards to temper, is a normal six-year-old, and some of my readers who were around last summer might remember him. He lives down in Omaha with his mom(my sister), his dad and his two siblings, Colin and Maggie. As he has mastered the joy and wonder that is kindergarten, he will be starting first grade in the fall. James is a wonderful kid. He has a vibrant imagination, a memorable personality, and is a great kid, he still, however, gets into trouble like any other six-year-old. The red hair does play a part in this, I'm sure. He likes toys; running around the neighborhood and wreaking havoc with his friends; he has a particular fasciantion with construction equipment when they pass an earth mover or a crane when they're in the car; and he's got plenty of opinions about the way the world works and just what his place is in all the hubbub. He might smack his little sister when she gets in his way (never fear: Maggie will strike back if the situation calls for it) but he's also very protective of her as well. His older brother might drive him insane at times, producing some very windy, very adult-like sighs of discontent out of James, but he loves him, too. To us, his family, he's a very normal kid. All except for one thing that makes him not quite so normal.

James is a Type I Diabetic. And has been since a week past his third birthday.

I know everyone hears a lot on the news about "diabetics" and how this disease is rapidly becoming a health crisis for this nation. Well, that's somewhat accurate, but they're talking about Type II diabetics, not Type I, or what is more commonly known as juvenile diabetes. The destination is the same---the shutting down of the pancreas, which produces insulin---but the path for Type I diabetics is different than that of Type II sufferers. If you need a refresher biology lesson, you need insulin to break down the food you eat into energy. When your pancreas shuts down and doesn't produce insulin any longer, you can eat and eat and eat, but still not have the energy you need to live. Type I diabetes is an autoimmune disease in which the body's immune system attacks the insulin-producing cells of the pancreas. While the causes of this process are not yet entirely understood, scientists believe that both genetic factors and environmental triggers are involved. Type I diabetes strikes its victims---who can be either children, or adults up to the age of forty---suddenly, making them dependent upon injected or pumped insulin for life. While it's great that insulin is available, and that with proper care Type I diabetics can live long, productive lives, injecting insulin to pick up where your pancreas left off isn't necessarily a great thing, either. There is the constant threat of devastating complications such as kidney failure, blindness, amputations and nerve damage.

This is what James has to deal with for the rest of his life. Since he's very young, I don't think he remembers a time when he didn't have to have his finger pricked to check his blood sugar, or recieve a shot of insulin before he eats. My sister does the math every year: as of this year he's had at least 4000 shots and over 7056 finger pricks. (Think about that the next time you go to the doctor's office and whine about how much those finger pricks sting.) I'm not sure he remembers the time when he could eat anything he wanted, whenever he wanted. His life, while normal in so many ways, is not normal when it comes to this disease. Meals are on a schedule and it's one they must be strict about. Not only must he eat his meals at a certain time, he must also eat snacks on a regular routine as well. This, of course, says nothing of the constant management required of my sister and brother-in-law to make sure James' blood sugar remains constant. They're the ones who must prick his finger several times a day. Based on the information they receive from these finger pricks, they must plan meals and snacks based on what he needs in terms of carb intake to keep said blood sugar at the proscribed levels. This means ignoring the ice cream man when he rings his bell. This means handing over his Halloween candy and receiving a shiny, new toy in return. While his parents have done a fabulous job of taking up where his pancreas left off, it's still not the ideal situation, which would be a life where James would not have to deal with any of this. A life where his pancreas worked and he could snarf candy at any moment in time, like any other kid.

While there are many downsides to juvenile diabetes, a major upside is that wiping this disease out of existence is extremely attainable. It's possible that, because of the fine work done by many scientists, there might be a day in the future that James will not have to prick his finger or inject himself with insulin. There might be a day in the future when James' body will be able to break down his food into the energy he needs to run it without any outside intervention. There might be a day in the future when he would be able to snarf a Snickers any time he wants to.

And that is why I'm pontificating at length today. Because I want him to never have to deal with finger pricks and shots and tightly scheduled mealtimes ever again. I want his body to work the way it should. But most of all, I want him to be able to eat a Snickers any time he wants to.

To work toward this end, James, his family and friends will group together, line up under the banner of "James' Jaywalkers," and will participate in Omaha's Walk To Cure Diabetes on August 6, 2005. From today until next Monday, July 18th, the Cake Eater Chronicles is sponsoring the official RAISE MOOLAH FOR JAMES' WALK WEEK. James' Jaywalkers is looking to raise $4000 this year. Thanks to some very generous donations from my devoted Cake Eater Readers I would like to help the team not only meet that goal, but to exceed it. We raised a few hundred dollars last year with the help of my devoted Cake Eater Readers, and I think we can do even better this year.

I know there are a lot of worthy causes out there. God only knows a lot of people need a lot of help in this world, but if you're inspired to help James beat this thing, you can go here and donate what you can. No amount is too small and every cent is appreciated more than you know. The Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation, who sponsors the walk, is a wonderful foundation and if you're worried about the money raised going to support fat-cat administrators, instead of toward a cure, you should know that you have no need to fear: 80% of every donation made to JDRF goes toward research to find a cure.

We're grateful for any donation you should choose to make, and if you can't make a donation because times are tough, well, that's fine too. We appreciate any support you can offer.

In the immortal words of the Bartles and James' guys: I thank you for your support.

UPDATE: See where we're at as of Thursday, July 14th.

The Devil's Mad At His Wife

For well over a week now it's hit 90+ degrees each and every bloody day.

I realize the folks down south might be laughing a wee bit at the revelation that this is awful weather for us Minnesotans, but, really, we're just not prepared for this sort of hot weather. Nor for it to last so long. Most people don't have air conditioners and if they do, well, in this neighborhood, they're the window variety. The heatwave started last Saturday---July, 9th. They said on the news on Friday night that we hadn't had this long of a heatwave since 1947. Today when I was chatting with Mr. H. he said they'd updated it: they had to go back to the dustbowl year of 1936 to find the last time we've suffered so.

Fortunately, it seems to be over with.

It's currently raining right now and I'm watching the temperature on the atomic clock/thermometer that hangs on the office wall go down, down, down. It was 99 in the shade earlier this afternoon, so this is a welcome relief. I can barely wait to open up the house. It will be so nice to finally have some fresh air blowing through.

Thank God!

As far as the title of this post is concerned, well, it may be raining, but it's also sunny outside. When I was a kid we used to say that whenever it rained and was sunny at the same time. Why, I don't know. I believe the theory went something to the effect that God was happy that the Devil was otherwise occupied, but I'm not sure if I'm goofing that.

Pointy Ears, Thine Art Mine!

Not a big shocker, really. Cate Blanchett and I could pass for sisters.

Really.

Pawlenty is Toast, Redux

I'm not the only one who's ticked off by the "health impact fee."

Pawlenty was on Hewitt last night (Not like I listened. Good thing, too, otherwise I would have called in and reamed them both.) and Hewitt backed up Pawlenty and said:

{...}You know, I actually have no problem with that. I don't care what the anti-tax hard core says, I believe in taxing the heck out of cigarettes because of externalities and [unintelligible]. It's good economics.

Good economics? GOOD economics? What the hell is the matter with you, Hugh? You're advocating taxing the hell out of tobacco products to cover up a budgetary shortfall. How, precisely, do you plan on doing that when people will either quit or will buy their cigarettes online, thereby shortcircuiting your tax. How, exactly, is that action going to bring revenue in? And, do remember, Hugh you're trying to balance a budget here. You have to bring in income because you didn't cut or reduce spending and this is your chosen method of balancing the books. You might want to make sure it's guaranteed before you call it "Good Economics." Because it most assuredly ain't good economics to let the State of Minnesota's checks bounce.

Pawlenty then went on to confirm the reasoning I laid out in this post:

{...}Well, you know, I don't, I'm not a big fan of growing revenues through new mechanisms like this as I hope I've proven as governor but the bottom line was we had a historic government shutdown we had to find common ground and compared to the alternatives of the Democrats wanting to tax everything including income and business taxes and a variety of other things. This was the least offensive. And the good news is other states have done it and smoking has decreased dramatically, and so this has a health benefit as well.{...}

Yep. Let's not piss off big business or raise income taxes or even---GASP!---cut or reduce spending. Let's go with the path of least resistance, shall we? Let's raise taxes on nasty people who do things that disagree with our delicate noses---and yes, Tim, it's a tax. Smoking may be voluntary, but the paying of said "health impact fee" most assuredly isn't---because that's the easy way out. Furthermore, let's claim that we didn't raise taxes when we did! It's PERFECT!

As far as the "health benefit" is concerned, well, geez, Tim, I helped to elect you Governor. I didn't elect you to be my freakin' nanny. If I want to pollute my lungs that's my choice. Not yours. Furthermore I shouldn't be taxed to hell and back to make up for your shortcomings as a negotiator.

King Banian of SCSU Scholars has a fantastic post on this. Money quote:

{...}Last, if the budget deficit was as small as Hugh figures out -- and he's right -- why do both of these smart conservatives go right past the other solution, the one the tax pledge was supposed to produce: REDUCE SPENDING. In a $31 billion budget, you couldn't find $400 million of cuts? Why accept the level of spending as fixed??? And they're not cuts, they are simply reductions in the rate of increase in spending. This budget is for $30.5 billion (to be precise); the 2004-05 budget was for $28.2.{...}

Go read King's entire post. It's well worth your time.

Oh, and Lileks, you're on my shitlist, too, for agreeing with Hewitt.

{...}JL: As much as I like the anti-tax pledgers there are some times when you have to bend and if you want to stomp your feet and run away and read your Ayn Rand again, I mean that's fine, but politics is not about purity sometimes it's about getting things done.{...}

Oh, yes, where's my copy of Atlas Shrugged? It must be around here somewhere. Perhaps there's a chapter in there that I missed about "getting things done" rather than letting the state tax me further up the wazoo when the wazoo is pretty darn deep as it is.

Chad knocks some sense into Hewitt, who seems to believe "I mean...it's normal. You have to tax something, tax smoke"

{...}Not only is raising taxes "normal", we really have no choice because, according to Hugh, "you got to tax something." We do? Why exactly is raising taxes the only possible solution? God forbid if we could possibly have gotten by without increasing spending as much as we did. What would happen to the schools if we didn't pour an additional $800 some million dollars into them? A cynic might ask exactly what this additional educational largesse is really going to get us, but it's all "about the children" so it would be rude and unseemly to demand to see reforms or results, wouldn't it?

I'm trying to think of what other things it would be "normal" to tax at higher rates. You know, things that are voluntary and may have negative externalities. Things like, well I don't know, maybe snack foods. How about a Cheeto tax Hugh? Or a Diet Coke tax? A Docker's tax? The burden would fall chiefly on white, middle-aged men, so why not? How about a tax on crappy folk music? Talk about negative externalities.{...}

Negative externalities, indeed. It's a "fee" when it doesn't affect you. When it does affect you, it's a "tax" and geez, THEN, by golly, they've crossed the line.

The Republic of Kathyland---where I, Kathy, would serve as benevolent dictator for life---is sounding better and better every damn day I live in this state.

Oh, and we've already decided that the ciggies will be duty free in Kathyland.

Le Sigh

The mother in law is in town and will be over for lunch in a couple of hours.

Which means I must forsake blogging for the wondrous activity of cleaning the bathroom which she will, undoubtedly, not use while she's here.

I'm tempted to not clean it. But I know the minute I don't, she'll use it and I'll have points removed from the "good daughter-in-law" column.

Sigh.

UPDATE: Helpful Household Tip For the Day:

The new dishwasher is stainless steel. I didn't have anything in the house to keep it looking nice---everything leaves streaks galore. I was about to go to the store to find some specialty stainless steel cleaner, but I happened to read in a Southern Living that club soda works just as well as some fancy-schmancy cleaner. I was skeptical to say the least, but considering we always have the stuff in the house, I was more than willing to give it a shot.

You know what? It works perfectly. WooT! You'll need to use something, ahem, a wee bit stronger if you get a splatter, but use the club soda to remove all the streaks, etc. Yippeee. I have no more room under the counter for one more specialty cleaning product. I just don't. So it's doubly nice that this is something that's a. already on hand and b. costs $0.79 for a liter.

For The Blog Kid

The Kid has been anxiously awaiting the new Harry Potter book.

So, she'll get a kick out of this, being the hawk that she is.

Ahhhhhhh

For me, when I read a brilliant piece of summation, it feels like I've slipped into a warm bubble bath after a day of mucking about in the mire. All the dirt and the confusion just slips from my body and my brain is much eased because of it.

Thanks to Martini Boy, I just had that experience. He gently hands Sully a brown paper bag to hyperventilate into:

I read earlier this week that, at 42, Andrew has now spent exactly half of his life in America. Maybe by the time he's 63, he'll get it. What I mean is, this is how America once was, and how America is, and how - I hope - America will always be. Let me quote from Walter Russell Mead's "The Jacksonian Tradition":

Indeed, of all the major currents in American society, Jacksonians have the least regard for international law and international institutions. They prefer the rule of custom to the written law, and that is as true in the international sphere as it is in personal relations at home. Jacksonians believe that there is an honor code in international life — as there was in clan warfare in the borderlands of England — and those who live by the code will be treated under it. But those who violate the code — who commit terrorist acts in peacetime, for example — forfeit its protection and deserve no consideration.

You don't have to be a native-born American of Scots-Irish descent to be a Jacksonian American - although it probably helps. However, being a Cambridge-educated Briton living on the East Coast is almost certainly a hindrance. Sully just doesn't get it.

I don't begrudge Sullivan his opinion. It's his, and I've watched him ably create and defend it. However, when he claims that our rough treatment of rough characters "is not the America it once was," he's displaying an almost-willful misunderstanding of America's wartime mores. In WWII, German POWs were accorded proper respect. Those few Japanese who surrendered were largely not.

Why the difference? Germany declared war on us before attacking; Japan didn't. When a German soldier showed the white flag, he usually meant it; a Japanese solider usually didn't. Germany treated American POWs according to the Geneva Conventions. Japan treated American POWs to the Bataan Death March.

Today we're faced with an enemy who never signed onto the Geneva Conventions. An enemy who hides in plain clothes among civilians, who wages war against civilians, and who began this war with a surprise attack. {...}

Martini Boy's right: Sully just doesn't get it. I've often thought that dear Andrew was a bit wrapped up in the romantic notion that is America and is often afraid to look at the hard reality which allows the romantic notions of America to exist: that we are not afraid to defend what is ours when attacked, and we'll do it by any means necessary. Play fair with us, and you'll likely receive the same. Don't play fair, and we won't either. Sully doesn't get that. He just seems to assume, for some strange reason, that America and her soldiers have some obligation to take what's dished out because we're bigger and better than everyone else. It's like we're the rich taxpayer who keeps getting nailed by the IRS: we're expected to pay up and to hand over the cash with a smile on our face. Problem is, this time the IRS isn't just coming to audit us, he's coming to kill us and, if he has his way, our entire way of life, which Sully holds dear, will go the way of the Dodo. Sully, while well-meaning, seems to think that by holding fast to the principles this nation was founded on will alone ensure our victory.

Ummm, no.

That's a nice romantic notion, and I would like to believe it's possible, but it wasn't the thought of "All Men Are Created Equal" that got the besieged 101st Airborne through the Battle of the Bulge. That lovely notion didn't give those men sustenance while they were having the shit shelled out of them in the Ardenne forest. It was the thought that once the weather cleared and they got supplies in, they could go and get the guys who were shelling the shit out of them. See the difference? It's a big difference. Sully would not have us dirty our hands in defense of our nation. He would have us be the bigger, nobler man each and every time and it's not going to work. Sometimes you have to fight fire with fire and, when you do, you can't spend the majority of your time worrying about if you're going to get burned. It's like the enemy is some abstract concept for him, while the concrete is America's principles.

Go read the whole thing. Twice.

Pawlenty Is Toast

The shutdown is over. The legislation has been signed.

And Tim Pawlenty is going down.

Because he's a liar.

No new taxes---oops, it's a "Health Impact Fee." My bad---my ass. What's even better is that he admits he's a liar. Of course, though, it's in the fine print.

Pawlenty also proclaimed the budget package that was completed Wednesday a balanced, bipartisan compromise, saying that "the process was ugly, but the product is good."

He claimed victory in a dozen areas, handing out a checklist of achievements led by "Don't raise taxes" and a status box that listed it as "Done." It also had a footnote in which Pawlenty noted the controversy surrounding the health impact fee.

"Some people call it a tax, some call it a fee, I call it a solution," he told reporters.

{my emphasis}

So, here's what I'd like to know Monsieur Pawlenty---who I consider to be so bad he's practically French---if smokers can't, you know, smoke anywhere in the Twin Cities metropolitan area because smoking's been banned in bars and restaurants, how exactly are you going to fund all these WONDERFUL programs with tobacco taxes?

Hmmmm?

Don't you think that you and your cronies---and yes, I include you in their company because you lobbied to take the entire state smoke-free---sort of pulled the rug out from under yourselves on this one? Because, if you want us to buy cigarettes, we have to have places to smoke. You have to keep us hooked, otherwise, geez, you won't have any state funding.

Whoops! That thar's one heck of a "solution," Tim.

I cannot stand politicians who lie and then try to get away with it. I know this includes pretty much all of them, but you'd think the guy would at least have some shame about fibbing so blatantly. But he doesn't. Not one ounce of burning, red shame for lying. He's covering himself with semantics and he's completely unrepentant about it. He didn't have the guts to cut spending, or even to whip the legislature into the least modicum of shape, and the smokers---because we're bad, bad people---are the ones who have to pay for his laziness and inefficiency. He couldn't get a deal and keep everyone happy, so he opted for the "safe" people to tax. The people he didn't think he'd lose with by taxing them. He didn't want to lose support from big taxpayers, like corporations or people with fat wallets, so he taxed the people he just assumed wouldn't vote for him anyway, if they voted at all. Because, let's face it, most smokers are living on the poverty line: they probably vote a straight DFL ticket anyway.

Interesting how one gets pegged because of one's activities, isn't it?

I hate to say this, but at this stage of the game, I want Jesse back. At least he cared.

Damn Steve McQueen To Hell!

I watched The Great Escape again tonight.

Why is it that every single time I see this movie I,

a. Come in late. I've seen it at least twenty times and I've NEVER seen the beginning of the stupid movie.

b. Always think that Steve McQueen is going to make it over the fence and ride off into Switzerland. I mean, I know he doesn't make it. Yet, every single, solitary time I see this movie, I get to thinking that maybe, just maybe this time HE'S GOING TO MAKE IT! No, no, the Nazi's won't catch him this time. Really, they won't. He's going to make it past those fields of clover and into Switzerland. He's going to jump the second border fence just as beautifully as he did the first and...

...of course it doesn't happen. He winds up in the barbed wire, crashed bike straddled between his legs, with gasoline from the bike soaking his pantleg.

It's just bloody disappointing.

Could someone explain these two things to me? I'd appreciate it.

A Big Fat "Thank You" and Jaywalker Update

Holy Cow! You guys are wonderful!

Through the RAISE MOOLAH FOR JAMES' WALK WEEK we've managed to raise {insert drumroll here} $345.00 so far!

Thank you so very much, you wonderfully generous people! James will appreciate it! As my sister said on the donation page, James is always amazed at how many people show up for the walk. It blows his mind that so many people want his disease to be cured. So, it's going to doubly blow his mind that people he's never met before---people who live all over America and the world----and who would not have known about him without the internet or the blogosphere would help him free himself from this disease. We, truly, live in an age of wonder and it's so nice to be able to make good things happen because of it!

But...

Just like a pledge drive on Public TV, we're not done yet. If you haven't had the opportunity to donate and would like to support James, you can go here and make a donation. No amount is too small and, believe me, every dime is appreciated!

I should probably add that we've had a wee bit of an issue with overseas donations. If you are, perhaps, in the UK, Canada, Australia---or any other country for that matter---and would like to donate, but are having issues with JDRF's American-centric donation page, please email me. There is a solution to the problem. Email me and I'll let you in on it.

Finally, I would like to thank these fine bloggers for helping me spread the word, and for adding wonderful words of their own to help the cause.

Go and tell them what really cool people they are. They deserve it.

Nobody Likes Me, Everybody Hates Me, I'm Going To Eat Some Worms...

Is there anything better than a camp song in the summertime? I didn't think so. Remind me sometime to write out the words to "Magalena Hagalena" one day. I still have that sucker rolling around in my head.

Anyway...

Good Morning Ladies and Gents. It is, of course, Thursday, which means it's Demystifying Divas Day. Our topic this week: the best ways to avoid rejection and to deal with it.

Ahhh. The joys of dating. Another reason why I'm very glad I'm not single. I've often told Mr. H., after listening to his stories of singleton life, that I am ever so thankful I'll never have to deal with the dating world EVER again. And other than the fact that men, apparently, expect different things in bed these days than they did when I was single, rejection is the main reason I don't ever want to be single again.

Because it's not fun, is it? Someone judging you by some completely arbitrary set of standards that you, upon first or second glance, do not meet. I got this a lot when I was single. You want to know the main reason men did not flit my way? The fact that I'm nearsighted and wear glasses. Yep. They're really that shallow. Until their own set of spectacles---ones that magically appeared after a few pitchers of beer---got slapped on. Then, evidently, men really do make passes at women who wear glasses. Then I was fair game.

Now, I moaned and whined about this a bit to my friends and they offered a simple solution: get contacts. No one can see your eyes with those things they said. You look so much better without them they said. Ok, that's fine and dandy. I do look better without them. But, and herein lies the problem: I can't bloody well see without them. I need them. And, at that point in time, with the astigmatism in my left eye, contacts would not have been fun. (Hard lenses---yeesh!) Besides, I have this thing about sticking my finger into my eye. That's gross. So, I decided I'd just have to learn how to deal with the rejection. Because the rejection was plentiful. But there were times when I wasn't rejected because I was nearsighted. There were times when I was walked home by a guy whom I considered to be nice, friendly, and attractive...

...and there were times when I dished out my own form of rejection.

There's this thing that some guys did that drove me absolutely insane and I had a rule about it: if you, a man, decided to take my glasses off when you moved in for the goodnight kiss, you would automatically be rejected. Some guys thought removing my glasses was romantic, that this is what Bogie did in the movies---instant makeover time---so, of course, I would appreciate it. BZZZZZZZZZZT! Wrong! What parting gifts do we have for contestant number one, Bob? Well, we've got a long, lonely walk home without having received a damn thing, Fred! See, the thing is, these guys did not realize they were BLINDING me. They were putting me in a position where I had to trust them, quite literally, with my life and limb right off the bat. So, I generally grabbed my glasses right out of their hands and walked myself home. I didn't feel the need to explain. It was obvious I wasn't good enough, as I was, to them because they removed the one thing I'm very much dependent upon in this lifetime. For me it was the equivalent of taking a wheelchair away from someone who is handicapped, and telling them they'd be ever so much more attractive if only they weren't stuck in that silly chair! Would you want to be with someone who did that to you? I didn't think so.

And therein lies the solution---for lack of a better term---to rejection: for every person that rejects you, you're going to reject someone else. It all comes out in the wash. Hence, I don't think you can go out, looking for a potential mate, thinking if you've got everything under control, no one will reject you. There is always going to be something about you that does not ring right with someone else. Sometimes you will be rejected because you deserve to be rejected (like if you have a big hunk of spinach stuck in your teeth, or you have really bad breath or b.o.) sometimes, you'll be rejected for no particular reason that you can ascertain other than that, apparently, you didn't fit someone's idea of a dream companion. Once you take that into account, and adjust yourself to the idea, well, it makes it a. very easy to find the people with whom you'll probably get along and b. it doesn't sting so very much when you are rejected.

And that's all there is, folks. Now run along and see what the other Oh-So-Fine Demystifying Divas have on offer this morning. The blog kid is up at bat in the Guest Diva game today, so make sure to go over and read what Phoenix has to say. Then, when you're done with that, well, flip the coin and see what the Marvy Men's Club---comprised of Stiggy, Phin, The Wiz, and Our Beloved Maximum Leader---have coughed up.

Hot Damn!

The NHL Lockout has ended!

Your Chuckle for the Day

Go watch it.

{Humongous Kudos to Stiggy for pointing that one out!)

Danger, Will Robinson! DANGER!

Because someone is outgeeking you!

Go read the article and be amazed, once again, at what people will do to fill the hours.

And my time is a piece of wax fallin’ on a termite

...that's choking on the splinters.

No, don't worry. There will not be some overblown bit of discussion about whether Beck is a musical viruoso or if he's just a skinny dork who's managed to con us all into spending money on his records.

I just really like that line.

Carry on. There's nothing to see here.

Useless Knowledge From Childhood

We're having a bit of a heatwave here in the Cities currently.

Today it hit 85 degrees before noon.

When I was a kid, 85 degrees before noon meant we would have only a half-day. This was when schools didn't automatically come with air conditioners.

This was, of course, the first thing I thought of when I looked at the thermometer.

I have no idea why I still have that little factoid running around in my head.

A Post Guaranteed To Make The Husband's Eyes Water Just By Reading It*

This is just disgusting.

From the outside, Ruth Knueven's Mount Vernon home has real charm: a verdant lawn, manicured hedges, flowers blossoming from fresh mulch beds and, near the front door, a garden ornament depicting two playful cats.

But police said that what lurked inside Knueven's two-story home was hardly so delightful. Hidden behind that garden ornament was a house bursting with real cats.

Animal control officers removed 273 creatures -- 86 of them dead -- after neighbors complained vehemently of odors Friday. Cats were still being plucked from the house yesterday, extracted from the walls and from deep within the brick chimney. Traps were set.

"I don't know how they got in there," Fairfax County police officer Richard Henry said of the hidden cats.

Before leaving, officials slapped a bright-orange sticker on the front door, condemning the dwelling on Ludgate Drive that they said was overflowing with feline feces and urine. Knueven, 82, and her husband and daughter were ordered to leave.

Last night, police said, Knueven returned to the house and ripped down the condemnation order. Animal-control officers found her inside trying to smuggle an additional 30 cats out of the home, bringing the total last night to 303. The animals were confiscated, and more traps were set.{...}

Why on Earth would anyone think this is the kind thing to do?

Disclaimer: I've never had pets. The Cake Eater Parents just didn't go for them. Rumor has it we had two cats before I was born, but they didn't make it past day two. (The cats, reportedly, had a love of cars and traffic.) And forget about owning dogs: my ex-farmboy father thinks it's cruel to keep dogs anywhere other than a place with a field attached.

So, while I will admit I have very little experience with pets, I nonetheless have a REALLY hard time understanding why anyone would be so incredibly freakin' selfish as to keep THREE HUNDRED AND THREE cats in their house. And let's face it: this comes right down to human selfishness. This woman, obviously, wasn't worried about the cats as over eighty of them were found dead. She was thinking about herself as some noble rescuer of unwanted beasts even though she did not have the capacity to take care of them properly. I think it should be a big freakin' clue that when you can't keep up with the kitty litter---and the neighbors are complaining about the smell---you probably have too many cats.

I am very tired of people treating animals like they were human beings. Yes, love your dog or your housecat, or your gerbil or whatever sort of pet you have. These are not the animals/people I'm talking about. I'm talking about people who claim to be serious animal lovers, who will do anything necessary to ensure their survival, yet get in over their heads and don't realize it because they're too busy being righteous about their love of animals. A online community I used to frequent had a sort of virtual church attached to the community: people would go there and post about their problems. It was a wonderful place where they could find support because we were an exceedingly friendly bunch of people. (We had no trolls. It was wonderful.) One time one woman posted about how she'd moved cross country to be with this man, who, as it turned out, was abusing her. She would not remove herself from this dangerous situation---even after the bastard put her in the hospital a few times---because she couldn't afford to cart her horse or her five dogs, three cats and god only knows how many small rodents back from whence she came. She was afraid of what her abuser might do to them if she left. So she stayed until she could afford to move all of them, and, of course, she wound up in the hospital one more time because of her refusal to abandon them. She had plenty of friends who wanted her to leave the guy and who offered to shelter these animals, but she refused them: she didn't want to leave without her pets because "her life wouldn't be complete without them." Ooooookay. They're animals not human beings. You are a human being who's having the crap beaten out of her on a regular basis by another human being. Your best option is to leave. You have to leave or YOU MIGHT DIE and you put the animals first? WTF? It made no sense to me then, and it still doesn't make any sense to me now. It was selfish. And what made it even more selfish on her part is that she refused to invoke her right to self-preservation because, apparently, she was willing to martyr herself for her pets.

Now, that's selfish, my friends. And what was worse about the whole situation was that she kept posting about all of this and people agreed with her. They offered her "support to get matters taken care of so she could leave." One other woman and I were absolutely flabbergasted at how her supporters had absolutely no common sense where this woman was concerned. Furthermore, we were verbally slapped at when we told her to just pack up and leave, the animals be damned. Her life was the one that counted. Animals were animals; a human being was entirely something else. But she didn't get it and neither did her supporters. Fortunately, she got away from her abuser, but what would have happened if she hadn't? Would the local media have told her story as one of a devoted animal lover who wouldn't leave without her horse, implying that she'd made the correct, albeit deadly, decision?

It's just wrong to think that because you love your pets their lives have the same meaning as yours---a living, breathing, human being---does. Animals can be wonderful, I will admit, but when you're willling to give your life for theirs, when you're willing to adjust your life around theirs, something is seriously wrong with the way you think. You may claim to be a lover of nature and animals and all that jazz, but you have forgotten about Nature---with a capital "N"---and how Nature doesn't really make allowances for your sort of love.

{Hat tip: Victorino at the Galley Slaves, who has some fun with puns.}

*the husband is deathly allergic to cats and hates them accordingly. To his way of thinking, they hated him first by making it impossible to breathe when they're around so fair's fair.

Don't Turn Into a Pumpkin

Make sure to visit the Cotillion Ball before midnight or you, just like Cinderella's coach, might turn into a pumpkin.

This weeks gracious hostesses are:

Things Should Be Back To Normal...

...around here sometime soon. The polka festival ended with a bang yesterday. The folks are now safe and sound back in Omaha. The sheets have been stripped, washed and put back on the bed. The Cake Eater Pad is straightened up. And I had one mother of a nap this afternoon. (Which was lovely, in case you were wondering.)

So, either tonight or tomorrow, or whenever the spirit moves me, life should get back to normal...until the next set of family arrives.

Which would be my mother-in-law, who is sitting over at the airport right now waiting for her daughter to come pick her up. Then my sister and her family show up at the end of next week.

July's turning out to be a busy month, no?

Good God

I sincerely hope the Llamas redesign doesn't suddenly mean I have to kiss their rings.

Because, despite the fact I'm Catholic and have kissed those of clerical poobahs before, the whole ring kissing thing just doesn't sit quite right with me.

But I don't really want the end product of a horse decapitation in my bed, either, ya dig?

(I should also note that the new Llama site design is courtesy of my good pals Phin and Sadie, who have joined forces in the best Wondertwin fashion to form Apothegm Designs. Wanna spare yourself some CSS hell? Well, then HIRE THEM!)

Of Course You Know This Means War

Tim Pawlenty just lost my vote.

I remember his 2002 campaign for Governor. I remember promises about cutting government spending. I remember promises about no new taxes. I remember these things. I voted for the man. These things were attractive to me then, just as much as they are now.

So, you know, when he can't get the damn DFL'ers (and the Republicans are to blame here, too) in the legislature to stop spending because he's too much of a pussy to strongarm them into cutting spending, what's, apparently, his only course of action?

To raise taxes. Not on corporations. Not on individual income. No, he chooses to raise taxes by raising the cigarette tax by $0.75.

He's calling it a "health impact fee." So it's not a "tax" in his book. It's a "fee."

Despite the fact that the State of Minnesota and Blue Cross Blue Shield settled a lawsuit against the tobacco companies for SIX BILLION---WITH A 'B'---DOLLARS. They sued because of "increased health care costs due to smokers." The problem with this scenario? The legislature can't touch that cash. Why? Because, after they paid off Blue Cross Blue Shield and these guys, the remaining cash is earmarked for SMOKING PREVENTION PROGRAMS. Meaning the legislature can't spend dime one of the settlement. That's gotta sting, don't you think? All that money and they can't spend it. Sheesh. Talk about hell for legislators, eh? Sort of like Paul Simon being stuck in an elevator for all of eternity being forced to listen to Mrs. Robinson on Muzak.

So, there's a budget shortfall. They need cash to make up the difference. And, let's face it, kids, where do you think they're going to go? Why, to the smokers! Tally-freakin-ho! Smoking is eeeevil. People who smoke are pariahs. Why shouldn't they pick up the tab? After all, they're perfectly willing to pay x amount of dollars now...they'll keep paying it. They're addicted. Of course they will. So, you see, we smokers are easy targets. We're---apparently---asking to take it up the ass. And, boy, when state government CAN'T GET ITS SHIT TOGETHER, we're the ones who, of course, have to pay for it all.

So, my devoted Cake Eater Readers, despite the fact I'm a registered Republican, you will perhaps understand why I am henceforth declaring war on Tim Pawlenty. You will understand why I will do everything in my power to mock, ridicule and, in general, screw the man over as much as he's screwing me over because he hasn't the balls to keep the promises he made when he ran for election.

UPDATE: And Pawlenty, reportedly, likes Bloggers so much he invited a bunch of MOB'ers to the Governor's Mansion. I wonder if I'll get invited sometime in the near future. One can only hope!

Car Wreck

Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes: the car wreck you just can't stop yourself from looking at.

{Hat tip: Jonathan}

Well Said

Go read. Really and truly. It's required.

Propaganda

Oh, For Fuck's Sake. Oliver Stone's been hired to direct a movie about 9/11.

{...}NEW YORK - Nearly four years after the collapse of the World Trade Center, Oscar-winning director Oliver Stone will direct a film based on the story of two police officers who were trapped in the rubble on Sept. 11, 2001.

Nicolas Cage, who won a best-actor Oscar for "Leaving Las Vegas," will star as Port Authority police Sgt. John McLoughlin. McLoughlin and fellow officer William J. Jimeno became trapped during rescue efforts after the collapse of the twin towers.{...}

From Ollie The Drink Trolley's press release:

{...}"It's a work of collective passion, a serious meditation on what happened and carries within a compassion that heals," Stone said in a statement Friday. "It's an exploration of heroism in our country — but it's international at the same time in its humanity."{...}

Great. It's international in its humanity. Does that mean Ollie's going to bring a bit of Asian flair to it? After all, it's not really an Oliver Stone film without bisexual Macedonian princes on horses, readying their troops for battle, or pretty Vietnamese women with those funky straw hats, is it? Is his "exploration of heroism in our country" going to show a wonderful buildup to how, I'm sure, he believes we brought 9/11 on ourselves? Because, you know, heroism always has a price attached to it. It makes for better drama that way, doncha know?

{Insert repeated slamming of head on desk here}

We're All Brits Now

Courtesy o' the Llamas

Make Something Good Out of the Bad

The world keeps turning, and even though there is horrible news coming out of London, The Fraters would like you to join them for a beer this evening down at Keegan's to support Soldiers Angels.

What is Soldiers' Angels all about?

Well...

Within a few short months, The Soldiers’ Angels Foundation went from a mother writing a few extra letters to an Internet Community of over thousands of angels worldwide and growing stronger with the addition of new members daily. With more and more merchants donating services, money and items for packages, the Angels reorganized as a 501 c 3 non-profit foundation.

Soldiers’ Angels currently supports thousands of American Service Members stationed wherever we raise our Country’s Flag and the number is growing daily. We also work tirelessly supporting our Wounded Soldiers, with transitional backpacks, personal visits, phone calls, etc. Additionally, we send our thanks via letters and email to the military of Great Britain, Poland and Australia who serve by our soldiers side in Iraq.

Soldiers' Angels are 100 percent volunteer run and dedicated to ensuring that our military know they are loved and supported during and after their deployment into harms way.

A community of Angels volunteer daily to provide aid and comfort to our military and their families. Join the many Soldiers’ Angels to ensure that no soldier goes unloved.

Timely, no?

So go down to Keegan's at eight tonight if you're in the Cities and give them all your cash.

I'd be there, but I don't think my mom is up for barhopping with the MOB. Have fun!

London Roundup

I'm way behind on this one. What can I say? My parents are in town and I had to drive my dad to his polka festival.

Life does, indeed, go on.

Great roundups can be found here, here, here, and in the case of the llamas, well, just keep on scrolling for some of Churchill's greatest hits.

UPDATE: Jonathan has some thoughts that are well worth reading.

I, too, was very proud of President Bush this morning. I was struck, after hearing his remarks, by just how much the shoe is on the other foot this time around.

The morning of 9/11 Bush was flying around the country, dodging what turned out to be non-existent threats. He wasn't around for us at that point in time. We were left to the devices of a hysterical media, who then thought it would be nice to show us the footage of West Bank residents whooping and hollering. (Thanks!) Tony Blair, however, was around. And thank goodness for it. He propped us up when we needed it the most. He had our president's back. This morning the situation was reversed, with Bush giving a wonderful statement while Blair was flying to London from Scotland.

I, for one, am glad it was President Bush who was allowed to return the favor. It seems fitting under the circumstances.

Jealousy

So, an auspicious start to Thursday Diva action, eh? Hmmm.

It almost seems wrong to ponder on something so freakin' trivial as jealousy on such a day,but perhaps, even if I'm not in the mood to write something new, someone needs a pick-me-up and would like to read a golden oldie...sooooo, I'm reposting this bit I wrote back when we had Divas Sez, our incredibly successful attempt at starting an advice column.

What makes a Diva jealous in a good way. What makes a Diva jealous in a bad way. Is there a difference?

Now, personally, given how I feel after I've had a visit from the little green monster, I don't think it's possible there is such a thing as "good jealousy." It's all bad, and as I will explain, even the least likely thing can set me off.

The husband, God love him, is absolutely, 100% secure in our relationship. He doesn't worry that I'm going to leave him for someone who doesn't play MMORPG's. He doesn't worry when I start chatting with males, because he knows that, for the most part, I would prefer to chat with men because they're not talking about, well, men all the time, which is something I find a wee bit tiresome at this stage of the game. So, if we're at a party, he doesn't worry. He has no need to worry. And he goes on about his business, blissful in the knowledge that no man will be able to tempt me away. This, I believe, has something to do with the fact he is the King of Logic. Logic is always the bottom line. Emotions, he would argue, while nice, are a drawback because they get in the way of logic.

I, on the other hand, am a freakin' drama queen. (I am a diva, ya dig? This makes great sense in the scheme of things.) I love my emotions. I feel {insert Tony the Tiger voice here} they're grrrrreat! I feel they're the truth about who we are as human beings and logic, while it has its uses, is pretty goddamn boring. As such, I can get very jealous, at the drop of a hat, and, most of the time, it's for absolutely no good reason other than the fact I have a very good imagination. Picture the a couple at a party, split up, talking to two separate groups of people. The woman (me) notices something might be amiss out of the corner of her eye. He just touched her on the shoulder? What does that mean? Does he think she's hot? She's a blonde, for chrissakes. He doesn't like blondes! Goddamnit! What's she got that I haven't? What makes her so appealing that the husband, who is not mr. touchy feely, just touched her on the shoulder? Aiiieee. He's cheating on me! He's leaving me! I know it. I know it. Well, that's just NOT happening, ya hear? I'd better go over there and intervene!

And all of this is because the husband noticed a spot of lint on her black sweater clad shoulder and, living up to his worst OCD tendencies, couldn't stand to see some small bit of white marring all the blackness.

Jealousy is our insecurities at play in the fields of the Lord. It's the two-year-old inside of you who screams MINE! and starts hitting even though Mommy told them they shouldn't. It's your worst fears, laid out on the table, for all to see, because you're too angry and hurt to pull back and look at things in a rational manner.

Now, I'm not denying jealousy has its uses, because, ultimately, it does tell that special someone in your life that you do, indeed, care enough to send the very best of your own particular brand of insanity, but how healthy is that? Not very, in my opinion. Relationships are hard enough without a little green monster horning in and offering up its two cents worth.

Now, go and read what the other marvelous divas have to say. Make sure you give Divaesque Lady Joan of Seven Inches of Sense a warm "howdy." For the male perspective, please go and read what the marvy men's club---Stiggy, Phin, The Wiz and the Naked Villains---has contributed.

{Ed note: Yes, I did fiddle with the time stamp on this post.}

So, I'm Not On The Ball Today

But amazingly enough, you can find a ball, The Cotillion Ball to be precise, at these fine blogs.

Go read and get in touch with your feminine side.

Conceivably

You want to know why, if you wear glasses, you should always keep a spare pair?

Oh, sure, I know. I don't have to sell you on this one. You know you should have a spare pair. The fright of losing them runs through your mind in a quick rush. Dear God, I can't see without them! I really should get around to getting another pair. I really should. But really, with the availabilty of one hour glasses shops, it's probably the last thing on your mind, particularly when one takes into account how much a pair of spectacles costs these days. If they break, I can get another pair with minimal hassle. Besides, you say to yourself, how likely is it that I'll need a spare pair? After all, that only happens when the worst case scenario comes and visits my life.

My devoted Cake Eater Reader I am here to tell you that, conceivably, it need not be a worst case scenario that would cause you temporary blindness. Provided you're legally blind without your spectacles. Like I am. In something like seventeen states.

Never mind losing your best, most effective pair of corrective lenses in the sea.

Never mind losing your best pair in a car crash.

Never mind losing your best pair on a roller coaster that goes upside down.

Never mind losing your best pair as you run from a mummy---a freshly resurrected mummy, I should add---who's chasing you through Hamunaptra because one of your party had the bad sense to read the Book of the Dead out loud. (Dude! It's small consolation, I know, but pretty soon it won't matter. But you should probably know that your tongue's next!)

Never mind any of those wild rides. Occam's razor, my friend. Occam's razor. The simplest explanation is, most often, the correct one.

Ahem

You could, theoretically speaking, have just washed your spectacles. You could---again, theoretically speaking---be drying them. You could hear a small snap and in your hands you would find that the bridge of your glasses has separated into two pieces, leaving you with a lens and a corresponding earpiece in either hand.

What follows next could, conceivably, be interesting.

You could, conceivably, let out a small yelp of surprise.

Your spouse could, conceivably, ask, "What's wrong?" from the other room.

You could, conceivably, walk into said other room, eyes narrowed as you manuever your way around blurry-looking furniture, saying, "Look, honey, my glasses broke!"

Your spouse could, conceivably, take the two pieces into his hands and he could say, "Oh, I can fix that."

You could, conceivably, nod your head and stumble back into the other room where your spare pair of spectacles awaits their moment in the spotlight. They've been understudying for quite some time, after all. It's time for them to come into the limelight.

Now that you, conceivably, have your spares on your nose after rummaging around your desk for the case, you could, conceivably, go about your business.

Ten minutes later, conceivably, you could find your husband sitting at the dining room table with a lit votive candle, a small tool you're too distracted to notice, and your broken spectacles, looking very much like he's about to perform some voodoo ceremony sans the bloody chicken's head.

You could, conceivably, hold your breath and then say, in a voice loaded with skepticism, "Honey, I thought you were going to glue them back together."

Your spouse could, conceivably, respond, "I thought I'd try this instead."

You could, conceivably, walk away, not really wanting to know.

You could, conceivably, walk back a few minutes later, only to note that the candle has been blown out. It's mysteriously vanished, all except for the lingering smell of smoke from when it was extinguished. Your husband, conceivably, could be pulling himself up from the table, a sheepish smile on his face, and he could, conceivably, say, "Well, that didn't go so well."

You could then, conceivably, turn your head to look at your still-snapped spectacles as they sit on the green placemat your husband's been using as a workstation. When you, conceivably, pick up your spectacles to take a good look at them, you might note that the plastic had been completely torched and melted into something that would now be completely unrepairable by even the least competent glasses technician available.

You could then, conceivably, shrug good-naturedly and say, "It's a good thing I've got the spares, isn't it?"

Apologies Ad Infinitum

Moo knew has been having some issues this morning. Sorry about that, but it's working rather well with my master plan for the day. Which is to get the Cake Eater Pad cleaned up because---ahem---my parents are coming to town tomorrow!

This may not seem like a big deal to you guys, but it is to me. Because we've lived in the Twin Cities for nine years and other than a couple of visits over at el aeroporto when they've had layovers, they've never been to visit us. Which I know sounds rather lacksidaisical on their part until you take a couple of things into account:

• First, we haven't reproduced. Hence there are no grandkiddy functions that it's necessary for them to attend, hence providing an excuse to visit.
• Second, I don't want them driving up here in the middle of winter, and that means the months between November and April are automatically unavailable for visitation. Besides, there's nothing to do here when it's cold. They also generally go to Florida for the month of October and over to Texas to visit my sibilings who live there for part of November, too. Mom's busiest season ALSO is from April to right until they leave for Florida, too. (You did know that September and October are the new June for weddings, right? You didn't? Well, they are.) That pretty much takes care of a whole calendar year right there. And if there was one weekend that was available, well, one my stupid siblings, OF COURSE, had to plan a trip into Omaha and that generally put a kaibosh on the whole deal right there.
• Third, I don't belive my father is really all that interested in coming to the People's Republic of Minnesota. I believe he thinks he's going to be forced to pay our extorbitant tax rate even if he only comes for the weekend.
• Fourth, it's generally easier for us to visit them than the other way round. The Cake Eater Pad not being a huge place.

So, they do have good excuses. But Mom isn't busy with being the bridesmaid couturier with the mostest any more (she's a word of mouth kind of gal and "her circle," as she puts it, is pretty much done with marrying off their kids, hence her business has slacked off.) and she finally blew my other sibilings off, hence they're coming to visit!

Oh, and there's a polka festival this weekend, too.

One of my dad's friends, Big Joe, the friendly and lovable scourge of Sunday mornings when I was growing up, is putting this show on out at the Medina Entertainment Center. Joe is a good guy and he's managed to parlay his love of polka into a show on RFD and he's putting this thing together so he'll have some footage to air on his show. He's also asked my Dad to come and help out with the running of the thing. When I was eighteen, Big Joe hosted a huge festival out at Ak-Sar-Ben (spell it backwards) and Dad helped him run it. Of course, I went out to see what was going on with this thing one night with my mom. Imagine my surprise one day, years later, when we were down in Clear Lake, Iowa for a wedding reception for some friends, I turn on the tee vee where we're staying, the room has Dish Network, and I stumble across the RFD channel to see my eighteen-year-old self dancing with my dad across the Ak-Sar-Ben ballroom. AIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! But I digress. Anyway, Joe trusts Dad, hence he's asked him to come out and help. If you like Polka Music, and you happen to be in the Twin Cities from Thursday to Sunday and would like to partake in some HAPPY MUSIC FOR HAPPY PEOPLE! it's $15 at the door. Ten bands a day for four days! What more could you ask for?

Beer, perhaps, but I do believe they serve it out there. Because a polka festival is just not a polka festival without copious amounts of beer.

(Ok, Dad. There's your plug.)

I don't know which day we'll be out at the festival, but if I happen to know before we actually walk out the door, I'll let you know so, if you happen to be really, really bored, you can come out and meet me.

Anyway, all of this is to explain that posting might be sporadic over the next couple of days.

Now, I'm off to clean the house.

Mmmmmm. Venison.

Wee One ponders the joys of being an omnivore.

Pink Floyd Rules!

Ok, so here's one good thing about Live 8: Pink Floyd was incredible.

And I mean INCREDIBLE!

Watch for them to replay it. Please. You won't be disappointed. David Gilmour is the most underrated guitarist of his generation. He is technically perfect. The sound was incredible. Oh, to have been there! You lucky Londoners! I'm so jealous!

But, and I must insert a complaint here, the m*th*rf*cker at MTV that cut the feed just past the half-way mark of "Comfortably Numb" deserves to be SHOT! Thank God we had it streaming on the internet as well was watching it on tee vee, but if we hadn't...we would have missed the last three glorious minutes!

Pink Floyd---THE Pink Floyd with Roger Waters in tow---gets back together, is performing live for the first time in twenty years and YOU CUT THEM OFF BEFORE THEY'RE DONE? Who the FUCK do you people think you are? One of the GREATEST rock bands of all time gets back together and YOU CUT AWAY BEFORE THEY'VE LEFT THE STAGE? Good grief. You whippersnappers have ABSOLUTELY NO RESPECT for those who came before you. Shame on you!

Goddamn Green Day

So, I'm sitting here in the Cake Eater Office, watching the live feed of Live 8 over the internet.

The husband and I were talking about how freakin' cool this all was. They have managed to throw together huge concerts worldwide to get their message out there. I read that between the internet, tv, mobile phones, etc. something like eighty percent of the world's population will have access to see the concerts. So, even if you don't agree with their message, you still have to admit this is all pretty damn cool, and that they threw this all together in six weeks is extraordinary. It's amazing.

It almost makes you want to believe that it's actually going to make a difference.

One of the things I didn't think they'd be able to pull of was to keep this very large political movement apolitical. But they were going to give it their best shot. Geldof kept saying this isn't about the war, we don't want people Bush Bashing because we want to engage him (and other world leaders) and if everyone keeps injecting their anti-war fervor into it, well, we'll alienate him. He won't listen and he'll have good reason not to listen. And I almost bought it.

Until goddamn Green Day got up on the stage in Berlin---that bastion of Anti-American fervor---and plays their song "American Idiot."

Here are the lyrics:

Thanks for that, kids! Woohoo! You don't think you could have put that one song on hold for the day? I mean if this is all really about justice and ending poverty in Africa, instead of record sales, one would think that you could put it on hold. Just for a day. But you didn't. I'm watching REM right now and while Michael Stipe has some stupid blue mask painted on his face, even he's managing to keep the petty everday politics out of it. I've watched ten other bands perform and they've all managed to keep politics out of it. They've managed to stay on the message Geldof listed out for them. Why couldn't you? Because you're an idiot American in Berlin who's just dying to have their voice heard by people who will UNDERSTAND? You've just clarified it for me. I will not be aligning my voice with these idiots. Because even if they claimed this was bigger than all of us, well, it's obvious that these people hate me, and everyone who doesn't think like they do, so why would I want to? And that they would play that song, on all days, for a German audience? Billy Joe or whatever the fuck his name is just ruined it for everyone. They were shooting for something bigger than petty day-to-day politics, but they had to bring divisiveness into it.

Well done, asshat.

UPDATE: So, I turned on the VH1-MTV feed and they were interviewing Kanye West. Who he is, I have no idea. But he claimed this was a big deal. All of these things were preventable, he said. So far so good, right? Weeeeel, he said poverty was preventable like HIV/AIDS was preventable: that if we'd created all of it, we could end it. He said, and I'm paraphrasing here, that HIV/AIDS was "man made" and had been introduced into Africa. He didn't say why or who had introduced it into Africa, or why anyone would do such a thing, but he was sure that this was the truth, and the inference we were to draw was that it was to "kill off black people." It's the same thing with crack cocaine, he claimed, which had been introduced into the black community to kill people off. He said he knew this "for a fact" because "his parents were activists" and they'd told him what the real truth was.

What a fargin' idiot. He probably wants to Free Mumia, too.

If Geldof had been smart and really wanted this thing to go in the direction he had declared, he should have banned press access to any of the artists performing. To keep them from spouting ridiculous views.

Stop With the Ad Hominem Attacks Already!

{Insert copious amounts of snickering here}

Barkeep, A Trough of Spritzer For My Friend Over Here*

Well, see there's a problem with their recommendation. The nearest bar to me is a wine bar. There's a fancy-schmancy Tex-Mex place three doors down from that, but it's not like I'm going to be able to purchase some Tortilla Tequila there, ya dig? Padrone? Yes. Tortilla? No. And God only knows I need some TORTILLA TEQUILA to lighten the hell up!

It's a requirement.

*bonus points for whomever can identify the quote

{Hat Tip: Doug}

We're Interrupting Your Regularly Scheduled NBC Nightly News To Call "BULLSHIT" on Your Anchor

From Brian Williams' Blog yesterday:

{...}Many Americans woke up to a curious story this morning: several of the former Iran Hostages have decided there is a strong resemblance between Iran's new president and one of their captors more than 25 years ago. The White House and most official branches of government are ducking any substantive comment on this story, and photo analysis is going on at this and other news organizations. It is a story that will be at or near the top of our broadcast and certainly made for a robust debate in our afternoon editorial meeting, when several of us raised the point (I'll leave it to others to decide germaneness) that several U.S. presidents were at minimum revolutionaries, and probably were considered terrorists of their time by the Crown in England.{...}

{emphasis mine}

Bullshit.

No one in England---or anywhere else for that matter---would have called George Washington, Thomas Jefferson or John Adams "terrorists." They would, however, have called them---ahem---traitors, because that's what they were to the average Joe or crown sporting monarch in England. They told King George III to go and do something obscene with said crown because they were fed up and they weren't going to take it anymore. That, generally, will get you labeled as a traitor because Kings, as a rule, don't like that sort of behavior. It makes them testy.

Yet, there's a bit of difference between a traitor and a terrorist. And if you can't see that, well, you're a dolt, Williams. But we already knew that because you're the "managing editor" of the NBC Nightly News, which, let's face it, is not exactly the most taxing form of employment and you only need the IQ of your average zoo-residing chimpanzee to get the freakin' job.

{Hat tip: Martini Boy's Bartender. See also: Doug}