Cake Eater Chronicles

Because I've Got Nothing Right Now

Let's do a little meme-ing. Music meme-ing, no less. Courtesy of Doug, we have this lovely meme: take the list from the year you graduated from high school then strike the songs you hate, bold the ones you love, and the ones left over are the ones you supposedly couldn't care less about.

Okedokey. I graduated in 1989. If you're interested, take the jump.

1. Look Away, Chicago (I can't even remember this song.)

2. My Prerogative, Bobby Brown (It's my perogative! It's the way that I wanna live! It's my per-rog-a-tive!)

3. Every Rose Has Its Thorn, Poison

4. Straight Up, Paula Abdul (I loved this video.)

5. Miss You Much, Janet Jackson

6. Cold Hearted, Paula Abdul(Again. Loved the video. It was HOT!)

7. Wind Beneath My Wings, Bette Midler

8. Girl You Know Its True, Milli Vanilli (Fakers!)

9. Baby, I Love Your Way/Freebird, Will To Power

10. Giving You The Best That I Got, Anita Baker

11. Right Here Waiting, Richard Marx (Not a bad song, per se, but radio killed any fondness I might have had for it when they overplayed it)

12. Waiting For A Star To Fall, Boy Meets Girl (Again with the overplay)

13. Lost In Your Eyes, Debbie Gibson {shudder}

14. Don't Wanna Lose You, Gloria Estefan

15. Heavan, Warrant (I generally despise Warrant)

16. Girl I'm Gonna Miss You, Milli Vanilli

17. The Look, Roxette

18. She Drives Me Crazy, Fine Young Cannibals (I remember driving around Omaha and listening to this guy squeak out the lyrics. I still like it, too.)

19. On Our Own, Bobby Brown

20. Two Hearts, Phil Collins (This was the point in time where someone could have done the world a favor and offed Phil Collins. He'd outlived his usefulness by this point. It's definitely not In the Air.)

21. Blame It On The Rain, Milli Vanilli

22. Listen To Your Heart, Roxette

23. I'll Be There For You, Bon Jovi (I've always loathed Bon Jovi. Well, except for that "Wanted" song. But that's about it.)

24. If You Don't Know Me By Now, Simply Red

25. Like A Prayer, Madonna

26. I'll Be Loving You (Forever), New Kids On The Block (Who?)

27. How Can I Fall?, Breathe (I still have this tape somewhere)

28. Baby Don't Forget My Number, Milli Vanilli

29. Toy Solider, Martika

30. Forever Your Girl, Paula Abdul (Amazingly enough, this is my least favorite of Paula's songs from this album.)

31. The Living Years, Mike and the Mechanics (Who were these people?)

32. Eternal Flame, The Bangles

33. Wild Thing, Tone Loc

34. When I See You Smile, Bad English

35. If I Could Turn Back Time, Cher

36. Buffalo Stance, Neneh Cherry

37. When I'm With You, Sheriff

38. Don't Rush Me, Taylor Dayne (This chick had the WORST.HAIR.EVER.)

39. Born To Be My Baby, Bon Jovi

40. Good Thing, Fine Young Cannibals

41. The Lover In Me, Sheena Easton

42. Bust A Move, Young M.C.

43. Once Bitten, Twice Shy, Great White (Oh, God!)

44. Batdance, Prince (The entire Batman soundtrack really is good. Honestly.)

45. Rock On, Michael Damian

46. Real Lov, Jody Watley

47. Love Shack, B-52's (Tin Roof. Rusted!)

48. Every Little Step, Bobby Brown

49. Hangin' Tough, New Kids On The Block

50. My Heart Can't Tell You No, Rod Stewart

51. So Alive, Love and Rockets

52. You Got It (The Right Stuff), New Kids On The Block (Seriously...who?)

53. Armageddon It, Def Leppard

54. Satisfied, Richard Marx

55. Express Yourself, Madonna (Yeah, so?)

56. I Like It, Dino

57. Soldier Of Love, Donny Osmond (This song sucked so badly)

58. Sowing The Seeds Of Love, Tears For Fears

59. Cherish, Madonna

60. When The Children Cry, White Lion

61. 18 And Life, Skid Row

62. I Don't Want Your Love, Duran Duran

63. Second Chances, .38 Special

64. The Way You Love Me, Karyn White

65. Funky Cold Medina, Tone Loc (heard it the other day. Had to sing along!)

66. In Your Room, Bangles

67. Miss You Like Crazy, Natalie Cole

68. Love Song, Cure

69. Secret Rendesvous, Karyn White

70. Angel Eyes, Jeff Healey Band (Like Jeff Healey. HATE this song!)

71. Patience, Guns N' Roses

72. Walk On Water, Eddie Money

73. Cover Girl, New Kids On The Block

74. Welcome To The Jungle, Guns N' Roses (Excellent head banging music)

75. Shower Me With Your Love, Surface

76. Stand, R.E.M. (I've always hated R.E.M. Always will.)

77. Close My Eyes Forever, Lita Ford

78. All This Time, Tiffany (Tiffany deserves to be hated. Still.)

79. After All, Cher and Peter Cetera

80. Roni, Bobby Brown

81. Love In An Elevator, Aerosmith (How can you not love this song?)

82. Lay Your Hands On Me, Bon Jovi

83. This Promise, When In Rome

84. What I Am, Edie Brickell and The New Bohemians (OVERPLAYED!)

85. I Remember Holding You, Boys Club

86. Paradise City, Guns N' Roses

87. Iwanna Have Some Fun, Samantha Fox

88. She Wants To Dance With Me, Rick Astley (I know. I should be ashamed, but I'm not. The guy may have had bad material, but he had an awesome voice.)

89. Dreamin', Vanessa Williams

90. It's No Crime, Babyface

91. Poison, Alice Cooper

92. This Time I Know It's For Real, Donna Summer

93. Smooth Criminal, Michael Jackson (Yeah, no shit, eh, Jacko?)

94. Heavan Help Me, Deon Estus

95. Rock Wit'cha, Bobby Brown

96. Thinking Of You, Sa-fire

97. What You Don't Know, Expose

98. Surrender To Me, Ann Wilson and Robin Zander

99. The End Of The Innocence, Don Henley ("I've got two words for Don Henley: Joe Fuckin' Walsh! ---Denis Leary)

100. Keep On Movin', Soul II Soul

The Blame Game

I'm assuming most people have seen this, but in case you haven't, courtesy of the Huffington Post, we have Robert Kennedy, Jr. who, apparently, is the tackiest man alive.

In March of 2001, just two days after EPA Administrator Christie Todd Whitman’s strong statement affirming Bush’s CO2 promise former RNC Chief Barbour responded with an urgent memo to the White House.

Barbour, who had served as RNC Chair and Bush campaign strategist, was now representing the president’s major donors from the fossil fuel industry who had enlisted him to map a Bush energy policy that would be friendly to their interests. His credentials ensured the new administration’s attention.

The document, titled “Bush-Cheney Energy Policy & CO2,” was addressed to Vice President Cheney, whose energy task force was then gearing up, and to several high-ranking officials with strong connections to energy and automotive concerns keenly interested in the carbon dioxide issue, including Energy Secretary
Spencer Abraham, Interior Secretary Gale Norton, Commerce Secretary Don Evans, White House chief of staff Andy Card and legislative liaison Nick Calio. Barbour pointedly omitted the names of Whitman and Treasury Secretary Paul O’Neill, both of whom were on record supporting CO2 caps. Barbour’s memo chided these administration insiders for trying to address global warming which Barbour dismissed as a radical fringe issue.

“A moment of truth is arriving,” Barbour wrote, “in the form of a decision whether this Administration’s policy will be to regulate and/or tax CO2 as a pollutant. The question is whether environmental policy still prevails over energy policy with Bush-Cheney, as it did with Clinton-Gore.” He derided the idea of regulating CO2 as “eco-extremism,” and chided them for allowing environmental concerns to “trump good energy policy, which the country has lacked for eight years.”

{...}On March 13, Bush reversed his previous position, announcing he would not back a CO2 restriction using the language and rationale provided by Barbour. Echoing Barbour’s memo, Bush said he opposed mandatory CO2 caps, due to “the incomplete state of scientific knowledge” about global climate change.

Well, the science is clear. This month, a study published in the journal Nature by a renowned MIT climatologist linked the increasing prevalence of destructive hurricanes to human-induced global warming.

{...}In 1998, Republican icon Pat Robertson warned that hurricanes were likely to hit communities that offended God. Perhaps it was Barbour’s memo that caused Katrina, at the last moment, to spare New Orleans and save its worst flailings for the Mississippi coast.

{my emphasis}

Niiiiiiiiiice, Bobby.

Note that this was published on Monday evening. No one had any idea of how bad the damage was, or how many people had been killed in Katrina's wake. No one had any idea about any of this, but Junior, who was safe in New York, just assumed that since the hurricane had passed over, this would be a good time to start banging the climate change gong. That Katrina could have been prevented if only Bush hadn't listened to Barbour and had decided to push Kyoto. Which is complete and utter bullshit and Junior knows it, too. If you want to blame anyone for not pushing Kyoto, blame your good buddy Bubba Clinton, who never submitted the Kyoto Treaty to the Senate for ratification. If only Clinton had pushed Kyoto through, well, why that would have been a few years earlier and that would have given us more time to prevent these horrible hurricanes!

Never mind that good ol' Junior decided to publish this little treatise before the bodies were even cold. Or even until we knew how many bodies there were to be buried---which, I might add, we still don't know. It's all about scoring cheap political points in the wake of one of the largest natural disasters to befall our country. Way to go, Junior. Way to be just another spoiled rotten, Kennedy bastard who assumes the world should listen to you because of your pedigree.

I sincerely hope that Junior is ashamed of himself. But I doubt he is. He's a Kennedy, after all: that family has absolutely no shame whatsoever.

I think it's genetic.

Will Wonders Never Cease?

The marketing department at Blizzard Entertainment is just wishing they'd thought of this campaign.

I guarantee it.

Smackdown!

Hitch v. Jon Stewart.

I'll leave it to you to guess who wins. You won't have to expend a great deal of brain power to figure it out. I promise.

Jon Stewart really is a smartish sort of dolt, isn't he?

{Hat Tip: INDC Journal}

I Almost Missed It

My kid's blogiversary was yesterday. Go over and wish her a happy belated blogiversary!

I'm such a slacker mom.

They've Aged So Well

Sheila would like to wish a very happy 20th birthday to The Breakfast Club.

I was in eighth grade when that movie came out, hence I couldn't go to see it, the movie theaters in Omaha being the only place in the whole frickin' world where MPAA ratings are respected and enforced. I remember renting it about a year later, and I vividly remember my mother BLOWING A GASKET when she saw the rating. Of course this was after I'd watched it five times.

Heh.

It's an incredible movie that finally got the whole high school experience so incredibly right. I can't bother watching any of this crap that comes out nowadays that's meant for the youth of today. I just can't. It's all too happy-go-lucky, high school is the best time of your life, everyone's beautiful---including the unpopular people, that unpopular girl is just one makeover away from being gorgeous, etc. It's just all bullshit. It's someone's representation of how high school should be, rather than what it actually is: four years of being judged upon who you seem to be, rather than who you actually are. Which is very freakin' odd if you think about it, because no one at age fourteen has the slightest clue of who they are and who they will be, but that's beside the point. The Breakfast Club ignored all this and portrayed high school as it is and it's a brilliant film because of it.

Go read.

A Question For the Ages

Skippy or Jif?

For me, it's Skippy all the way. And not the chunky stuff, either.

Tee Vee Chat

So, did anybody else watch Prison Break last night?

I can't decide whether this show is overly clever or is actually pretty interesting. I'm still on the fence about it.

A few observations:

• So, is Dominic Purcell in hock to FOX, still, for John Doe? I have to think he is, given the number of times he keeps popping up on that network's shows. While I really liked John Doe and was sincerely bummed when it was cancelled, he just hasn't impressed me in anything he's been in since. Including this show. He just doesn't have the props to be playing a guy on death row. It's not working for me.
• Wentworth Miller---Hottie McHotHot. Rowr.
• I personally think Oz set the bar higher for all prison dramas and, baby, Fox River Penintentiary just ain't Oswald Maximum Security Prison, ya dig? Fox River seems to me to be the equivalent of a training bra, whereas Oz was a black lace merry widow, replete with underwires, boning, hooks and garter attachments. None of Michael's maneuvers with his fellow jailbirds were a surprise if you'd watched Oz.

  I really do miss that train wreck of a tee vee show. You couldn't be neutral about it: you either loved it or you hated it. And if you loved it, well, you probably hated yourself, like I did, for watching it because it was such a freak show. You just couldn't turn away from it and you felt dirty because of it.

• Is Peter Stormare getting a lot of work these days or what?
• The story set-up happened too quickly for my tastes. There was an awful lot to absorb in the first ten minutes of the show, and I don't know if that's a disservice to the viewers or not. We'll just have to see.

Discuss.

Wal Mart v. Target

JB over at Fraters has posted an interesting little piece:

{...}It is a matter of faith among the left that there is something wrong, if not immoral with Wal-Mart. Much of it stems from a simple elitism that allows them to make high-minded criticisms of a place they consider to be for the proles and the semi-washed. They realize it just doesn't sound right to admit that they hate Wal-Mart because they consider themselves superior to the people who shop there, but saying "I disagree with Wal-Mart's (fill in the blank) policy and therefore I go to Target" allows them to avoid the place (and the people) AND to make what passes in for an intelligent point at the same time.

Even those who aren't lefties and are in fact quite conservative can be heard making the case that Target is superior for this or that sundry reason and would never consider setting foot in a Wal-Mart. In the Twin Cities, part of this is the fact that Target has been around much longer, but the elitism of the left can affect conservatives as well (like people who somehow cannot find one item of edible food on a Friday's menu and moan about "chain restaurants").

I guess it comes down to the fact that Wal-Mart is perceived (correctly) as catering to lower class and lower middle class customers (one woman I work with said it was too "Bubba" for her). By shopping there and by telling (admitting?) others you do, you are positioning yourself with the lower class. For many people, they could care less how they are perceived by others, but for many others, this kind of decision is one of the ways (including the car they drive, their house, their Ipod) they tell society who they are. "Oh, we aren't one of those Wal-Mart families, Target is so much hipper and cosmopolitan" is every bit a part of the psychology of choosing where to shop and as important as rational reasons like location and price of the goods.{...}

JB makes some interesting leaps of the imagination, no? While I don't doubt that JB's got a point about the difference between Wally World and Le Boutique de la Target (pronounced Targhzay), I think, perhaps, he's overthinking it a bit.

To out myself: I am a Target shopper. There was no Wally World in my neighborhood when I was growing up. There was, however, a Target about three miles from the house. We went just about every Sunday, right when the circular came out in the newspaper, and had to fight to the death for a parking spot. We bought our school supplies there. When I was little, my mother outfitted me in Garanimals purchased from Target. Target was where it was at. I didn't know there was such a thing as Wally World. I had no clue that there was a whole league of shoppers in this country who were devoted to buying things from the Walton family. I wasn't introduced to Wally World until I went to college. And even then I really didn't go there because it was the difference of about five miles and an interminable bus ride. Wally World was on the other side of town, near the mall, guaranteeing that you had to take the bus to get there because no one who had a car shopped at the Ames Mall. They drove to Des Moines, instead. You could, however, always catch a ride with someone to Target, which was nearby. I've got nothing against Wal-Mart, it's just never been convenient for me to shop there.

My local Target is here. The nearest Wal-Mart is here. In case you're not from the Twin Cities, this is how you'd get from the Target to the Wal-Mart. Target is much closer to the Cake Eater Pad than Wal-Mart is. Keep in mind that we don't currently have a car and are reliant on public transportation to get around. The bus may not go to either store, but to get anywhere near the Wal-Mart, I'd have to transfer, which is generally not convenient, ya dig, particularly not when you are schlepping bags full of laundry detergent and other products. None of this, of course, mentions that the East Bloomington Wal-Mart is---and how do I put this politely?---skanky. Been there, done that and I am NEVER going back there. The neighborhood Target is nice, clean, well-lit, populated with friendly and helpful employees and the chances of you being raped in their parking lot is much less than it would be if you went and shopped at the Wally World in East Bloomington in the evening. Call me crazy, but I think it's kind of stupid, in terms of a woman's personal safety, to shop repeatedly at a store where the management deems it necessary to have a security guard escort you to your car if you were unaccompanied. Granted, this was a while ago, but this one experience guaranteed I was never going to go back to that store.

While there are suburban Targets, there are very few urban Wal-Marts. Wal-Mart is always and forever on the fringe of cities and you have to drive to get there, as is evidenced by the massive parking lots. This is not to say that Target doesn't have massive parking lots, but is there a Wal-Mart in downtown Minneapolis? I think not. But there is a Target in downtown Minneapolis and it's nice. Wal-Mart is geared toward the suburban market. They need large tracts of land to set up shop and the only place they can get that land is on the outer fringes of cities. Target stores are, in my humble opinion, more geared toward the urban audience because they will work with what space they can get and will set up shop accordingly. While there are any number of Targets in the outer reaches of any metropolitan area, there are also Targets in the midst of the same metropolitan area. Target makes it easy. Wal-Mart, in my humble opinion, doesn't.

If there was a Wal-Mart nearby, I'd probably shop there. I have no particular loyalty to Target in regards to its products. You can generally find the same thing at Wally World for the same price. The only thing about Wal-Mart that bothers me is that they are very choosy about what entertainment products they will choose to sell. Don't get me wrong: they've got every right to choose wisely what products they will put on their shelves, but---and this is a BIG "but"---when they deliberately choose not to carry certain items, like, say, Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas because of concerns over the content, I would say that they're doing their customers a disservice. They're playing the part of the morality police and that bothers me, but I will admit, they're free to do this. It's their business. It's worrisome, given their market share, but--again---it's their business and if that's what they want to do, that's their right.

While I don't doubt there are plenty of people who do shop at Target for the reasons JB stated above, that's not always the case. It could simply be because Target has aligned themselves better in some locations than Wal-Mart has. And that's simply where I live---other people might think differently.

Now if only the local grocery union would lighten the hell up and allow for a SuperTarget somewhere inside the 494/694 ring, I'd be a very happy camper.

UPDATE: The kid throws her two cents in.

It's a Vicious Cycle, Maaaaan

When Christi, et. al. were here at the end of July, they decided the kids would have a treat for dessert one night and that treat was root beer floats. So, along with about five hundred other things that Christi left in my fridge, there was also leftover vanilla ice cream and sugar free root beer (It was James'). They'd taken the good stuff with them. The husband, a true root beer snob conoisseur, stuck his nose up at the sugar free stuff---he prefers IBC---and, since he knows I don't particularly enjoy diet root beer, either, decided the only way I'd drink the stuff (because he sure as hell wasn't going to) was if he put it in float form. He knows I enjoy a root beer float every now and again when we go here. Which was convenient because there was leftover ice cream. And I enjoyed it...but there was still leftover vanilla ice cream when I was done with the sugar free root beer.

So, the husband bought me a liter of IBC root beer, because I'd enjoyed the float so much. Then I ran out of ice cream, but still had root beer left. The husband then bought more vanilla ice cream...and so on and so forth. Everytime we ran out of one, there was still something of the other left and that just demanded the other be purchased. You know, because it just works that way.

Work with me here, people.

It's a vicious cycle, let me tell you. Fortunately, I haven't gained any weight from this month-long root beer float binge, but I just ran out of both root beer and ice cream. The cycle is at an end. Or so one would think. I am free of both products. I have no need to purchase one because the presence of the other demands it. Yet...I am still not done with the floats.

They're just too damn good. So, I'll go to the store tomorrow and will buy root beer and ice cream. I will have another float for dessert tomorrow night, like I've done on a goodly number of nights this August. I can't imagine that these will taste good for much longer, because, you know, fall is just around the corner, but I'm going to enjoy them while the getting is good. The cycle may be vicious, but it sure is tasty, too.

BWAHAHAHAHAHA!

I just wet myself reading this.

{Insert hysterical laughter and a few "nannynannybooboo"'s here}

Sport

As we've already established, the husband and I live in Cake Eater Land. While we love the houses around here, we could never afford one of these monsters. They're gorgeous, but they're pricey. Yet that doesn't stop us from having some good fun while we walk around the neighborhood every evening, looking to see which houses sell and which ones haven't. We also have a good time trying to estimate how much people took out in home equity loans for some monstrous additions some homeowners in the neighborhood have added. It's sport for us. And there's the added incentive to paying attention in that if the real estate market takes a big fat dive, (and we win the smallest powerball lottery) we'll finally be able to afford one of these homes. Right now we would have to win a $20mil jackpot to even be able to afford it.

So, I have to say that I fully agree with Jonathan's hopes/dreams/assessment of the real estate market in this post.

Go read the whole thing.

Now, I understand about supply and demand, but there is no way any of the houses in my neighborhood should be priced at two million plus. Don't get me wrong, it's a great neighborhood. We have good public schools, great wide, streets that are actually plowed in the winter (which, quite frequently, doesn't happen in a certain city coughcoughMinneapoliscoughcough), and a city government which takes good care of the taxpayer. A five bedroom, four bathroom, brick house with ivy crawling along the outer walls may be wonderful. And it may be equally wonderful that it's in a neighborhood with established trees, but when it's on a lot the size of a postage stamp there's NO WAY IN HELL it should be priced that high.

It seems the market here in the Twin Cities is at least coming back down to reasonable levels. That brick house I mentioned up there is not a hypothetical house: it was just for sale in the neighborhood. And it came off the market after what the husband and I assume was a two-month contract with the realtor expired. There are any number of large houses just like it in the neighborhood, that were priced comparatively, that haven't sold, either. In fact, even if you're in the market for a fixer-upper, there's a nice four bedroom colonial in the neighborhood for sale. It has gorgeous, if a wee bit dark, antique walnut paneling in the living room; a formal dining room with a built-in clam-shell shelves in one corner and gorgeous woodwork; and two fireplaces attached to a central chimney. It also has a plumbing system that's all galvanized steel; a roof that looks like it would come off entirely if there was a gust of wind over twenty mph; an electrical system that's only at 60W; rotting clapboards that haven't been painted in years; and a kitchen that would serve the needs of a hobbitt quite well. This house is, reportedly, a bargain at $799,999. The realtor, when we chatted him up and conned him into letting us take a peek at the thing whilst we were on our walk, admitted flat out that it needed work and that it would take about $300K to get it up to snuff. But, really, even then it's a bargain! Well, no, it's not and the fact that it's been sitting there for two weeks---which would have been unheard of a couple of years ago---is not at all surprising. No one wants to spend that kind of money on a fixer-upper right now. Money is not as cheap as it was a few years ago, and the real estate agents have, apparently, yet to figure this one out. As far as we can tell, just from observing, the real estate market here in this part of town is going tits up. And, considering it was never the most reasonably priced neighborhood to begin with, this doesn't bode well for all the people who went debt crazy over the past few years, and---Good God---there were quite a few of those people in this neighborhood. Contractors have made a fortune fixing things up around here. Huge additions, new garages, new wrought-iron fences, new landscaping, new kitchens...you name it, something's been done to the majority of the houses in this neighborhood. I've long thought that people were borrowing too much money here in Cake Eater Land to keep up with the Joneses---we'll just have to see how it all turns out.

Because even if it doesn't help us to live where we want to live, well, it's at least fun to watch.

UPDATE: The discussion continues.

Tales of Wedding Anniversaries, Front Steps and Brothers Who Might Qualify As "Being Silly"

So, it was a pretty uneventful weekend at the Cake Eater Pad. Does that mean I'm not going to get a long-ish post out of it? Nope. I can ramble away about ANYTHING! It's one of my "gifts." So away we go, kids.

While the weekend was calm, I shouldn't really say it was "uneventful" because there was an "event" this weekend: the husband and I celebrated our eleventh wedding anniversary on Friday. But we didn't do it up in great style---we had some steaks, pasta and salad for supper on Friday and we ate them by the light of candles. And that's it. No presents, no big, fancy meals out. Nothing like that. I'm sure you're wondering why we didn't do more, but really, we're cool with it. I think once you get past the first ten years, it's not really a big deal any more. Sure it's a big deal in the sense that you've managed to stay married for one more year and you should celebrate that. Yet, in contrast to The Doctor and ML who just celebrated their second anniversary and who did it up right with all sorts of presents and everything, we didn't do any of that. We didn't feel the need. The husband bought me flowers and they were lovely, but you just don't feel the need to get all, I don't know, excited about it. It's a special occasion, sure, and the meaning of the occasion doesn't lessen the longer you're married, but blowing the roof off the joint every year to celebrate doesn't make as much sense now as it did when we were younger. Perhaps we've gotten over the "Hallmarkization" of anniversaries. Who knows? Anyway, we had a very nice evening.

To jump ahead to one of the other exciting bits of news, the Friday before last, the husband and I were headed out to supper with Mr. H. and as we were leaving we saw a rather large note from the landlord taped to the front door, informing us that he was going to start doing a little DIY on the front steps and could we please use the back entrance? We nodded, turned around, went back up the steps into the apartment, walked through the apartment, exited the back door, went down the back steps and left the house through the garage. (The house is set up kind of goofy, if you hadn't already figured that out.) When we got around to the front, one of the large stones that partially makes up the front steps had been removed, leaving a large gap and showing a lot of sand and other rubble. The front steps of the Cake Eater Pad have long been a source of discontent for us. They're made out of stone and we assume they're original to the house, which was built in the late 1920's. Of course, they're a crumbling mess. Certain stones have been split entirely because of our unique environmental conditions (hot and cold extremes aren't so good for anything made of rock or concrete). The mortar was crumbling, and the steps were uneven, bumpy, and completely disintegrating in a few places---which is not so good when the steps get icy because you can't remove the ice to save your life. The steps were a big concern for us. As we, the tenants of the Cake Eater Pad, were listed in the lease as being responsible for snow removal, we were constantly living in fear that the Great White Hunter landlord would pass off any lawsuits filed by disgruntled, broken-back-owning mailmen or UPS drivers onto us. We kept those stairs as clean as we could for years on end, while constantly bitching at Tweedledumb to do something about it. But, being true to fucking form, Tweedledumb was deaf as a post when it came to listening to complaints and never did anything about the steps. So, last Friday, we're pretty excited that something was finally being done and we went on our merry way for the evening. On Saturday morning, however, we came out and the landlord was whacking away at the pile of the steps and admitted sheepishly that he may have bitten off more than he could chew.

And was he ever right. I believe he was thinking he could just relay the stones so that they weren't quite as dangerous as before, but unfortunately the job got bigger than he had bargained for. The entire base is rotted out and must be replaced.

So, the Cake Eater Pad currently has no front steps. Over the course of the week the landlord has managed to pull out a lot of the stone (it's actually quite pretty and I'm glad he wants to reuse it). He was prying the stones apart with a shovel for the first few days, but on Wednesday he finally caved and bought a sledgehammer. He claimed the demolition was quite cathartic and I believe him. He said he was actually having fun with it. But I think the fun went by the wayside on Saturday, when the entire block turned out to say "hi" and see what was going on. The poor guy couldn't get much work done because he was too busy talking to everyone. Fortunately, everyone seemed to have better things to do on Sunday, when he was out there chiseling mortar off the stones that were to be reused. He's also hired the neighborhood contractor to do the rest of the work on the steps, so things should move quickly from here on in. Currently, there's a big mound of rubble leading up to the door and the...crikeys, I don't know what you'd call them, but things that look like arms where you'd put pots of flowers are entirely gone, but there are wood frames just waiting to be filled with concrete in their place. We'll just have to see what happens.

The landlord's been a busy beaver in the past couple of weeks. I think he's trying to keep himself occupied since his roommate died and that's not an entirely bad thing, on the whole. At least he's got a big project to occupy himself. The poor guy was was pretty ripped up over Eric's death. I also think his girlfriend is either moving in, or is lobbying to move in, now that he's got the space. She's a sweetheart and the husband and I like her a great deal, but she's been a busy beaver over the past week as well and it's making us wonder if she's actually keeping house or is just playing house. I was just down in the laundry room and she's cut up a carpet remnant and has placed that in front of the washer and dryer (which is awesome because it means I no longer have to wear shoes down into the basement! WooT!). She's also been painting and cleaning in the landlord's apartment and it's looking a bit too homey, if you take my meaning, for a bachelor's apartment. So, she's either just helping him out (because pretty much every last stick of furniture in the place disappeared when Eric's girlfriend came over last weekend. The landlord didn't have so much as a chair in the living room when she was done.) to make the place more homey for him, hoping he'll see what a great homemaker she is or she's just biding her time at her old place and is making the place habitable for the both of them. Again, we shall have to see.

Finally, as far as the "brothers who could qualify as being silly" in the title is concerned, well, my brother, Steve, it seems, about gave the Cake Eater Mother a heart attack. Steve is Montana's answer to Donald Trump when it comes to car dealerships. The dude and his partner own the largest chain of dealerships in Montana and in the past year they've expanded their business to New Orleans. Steve worked for a dealership in New Orleans years ago---like when I was in high school---and because of this connection he and his partner were offered a stake in a Chrysler dealership down there last year. The dealership is located on Canal Street.

And the doof was in New Orleans last week---and didn't leave until Saturday afternoon.

You have to understand that Steve, God love him, is the King of Procrastination. He leaves everything until the last minute and then finds himself in the position of moving heaven and earth to get things done the way he wants them done, whereas if he'd just left himself a little bit of time...he would have been fine. But Steve is a stress puppy. He loves stress. He loves that go-go-go lifestyle. He's always flying here or there or anywhere to do this deal, or get that done, or meet with these people. And he's good at it. Exceedingly good. This is how he runs his business. Once you get used to it, it's no big deal. However, the only problem is that not everyone else understands how he can work and live this way. Our mother would be chief amongst these people. She's worried he'll keel over from a heartattack before he hits fifty. I don't think so, because he's in great shape, but moms will worry and if there's nothing to worry about, well, they'll find things to worry about. At least our mom will, and Steve apparently gave her plenty of reason to worry this weekend. According to our sister Christi, who I just talked to on the phone, Mom was worried he was going to miss his flight out of New Orleans on Saturday because he'd leave it to the last minute and would miss his flight. The fact that Mom's a hurricane junkie and a Weather Channel devotee did nothing to ameliorate the situation. But, like I said, this is nothing new when it comes to Stephen. He's always cutting it too close for comfort. But this is a situation where cutting it too close might mean putting yourself in a life-threatening situation and that was enough to freak Mom out. Fortunately he did get out of town. He got to the airport and caught his plane and all is well for the time being. But...

...say a Hail Mary that his dealership doesn't completely get trounced from the storm. Fortunately, it's an in-city dealership, so they don't have an acreage just chock-a-block full of brand spankin' new cars. Hence they managed to get all of the new cars up onto the second level of the dealership, where they have a large showroom, and where they should be protected by the rising water. So, that part is good. Unfortunately, however, they couldn't do anything about the used cars that are on the lot. So, they're just sitting out there, being flooded and pelted with debris. If nothing else happens to the actual structure, they'll be ok: they can handle the loss of a few used cars. But if the structure floods excessively, well... I think you can use your imaginations to good effect on this scenario. Keep your fingers crossed, kids, eh?

And therein ends the tales of the weekend and of silly brothers who shouldn't be scaring their mothers to death.

A Monster

So, in case you haven't been following the news that there is Hurricane Katrina. She's a Category Five Hurricane with sustained winds of 165 mph.

And, as of right now, she's headed straight toward New Orleans and is going to make one hell of a mess as she goes through the city, and moves northward through Mississippi and beyond.

Here's a link to the American Red Cross Online Donations Page.

Please go and give what you can. Direct your donation to the National Disaster Relief Fund, so the money gets where it's needed the most. And if you're a blogger, get the word out.

This is what the National Weather Service has to say about this storm:

EXTREMELY DANGEROUS HURRICANE KATRINA CONTINUES TO APPROACH THE MISSISSIPPI RIVER DELTA...DEVASTATING DAMAGE EXPECTED...

MOST OF THE AREA WILL BE UNINHABITABLE FOR WEEKS...PERHAPS LONGER. AT LEAST ONE HALF OF WELL CONSTRUCTED HOMES WILL HAVE ROOF AND WALL FAILURE. ALL GABLED ROOFS WILL FAIL...LEAVING THOSE HOMES SEVERELY DAMAGED OR DESTROYED.

THE MAJORITY OF INDUSTRIAL BUILDINGS WILL BECOME NON FUNCTIONAL.
PARTIAL TO COMPLETE WALL AND ROOF FAILURE IS EXPECTED. ALL WOOD
FRAMED LOW RISING APARTMENT BUILDINGS WILL BE DESTROYED. CONCRETE
BLOCK LOW RISE APARTMENTS WILL SUSTAIN MAJOR DAMAGE...INCLUDING SOME WALL AND ROOF FAILURE.

HIGH RISE OFFICE AND APARTMENT BUILDINGS WILL SWAY DANGEROUSLY...A
FEW TO THE POINT OF TOTAL COLLAPSE. ALL WINDOWS WILL BLOW OUT.

AIRBORNE DEBRIS WILL BE WIDESPREAD...AND MAY INCLUDE HEAVY ITEMS SUCH AS HOUSEHOLD APPLIANCES AND EVEN LIGHT VEHICLES. SPORT UTILITY
VEHICLES AND LIGHT TRUCKS WILL BE MOVED. THE BLOWN DEBRIS WILL CREATE ADDITIONAL DESTRUCTION. PERSONS...PETS...AND LIVESTOCK EXPOSED TO THE WINDS WILL FACE CERTAIN DEATH IF STRUCK.

POWER OUTAGES WILL LAST FOR WEEKS...AS MOST POWER POLES WILL BE DOWN AND TRANSFORMERS DESTROYED. WATER SHORTAGES WILL MAKE HUMAN SUFFERING INCREDIBLE BY MODERN STANDARDS.

If this thing is as devastating as they're making it out to be---meaning if it lives up to the hype---New Orleans and other affected areas could, quite literally, be back in the stone age by tomorrow night.

Help them now if you can.

No Surprises Here

I KNEW it! HA!

Rosalind Russell You scored 21% grit, 38% wit, 28% flair, and 19% class!

You are one wise-cracking lady, always quick with a clever remark and easily able to keep up with the quips and puns that come along with the nutty situations you find yourself in. You're usually able to talk your way out of any jam, and even if you can't, you at least make it more interesting with your biting wit. You can match the smartest guy around line for line, and you've got an open mind that allows you to get what you want, even if you don't recognize it at first. Your leading men include Cary Grant and Clark Gable, men who can keep up with you. Find out what kind of classic leading man you'd make by taking the Classic Leading Man Test.

My test tracked 4 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender: You scored higher than 30% on grit You scored higher than 70% on wit You scored higher than 20% on flair You scored higher than 40% on class

Link: The Classic Dames Test

{hat tip: Clark GableDoug}

Geek Advice

Phin has some advice for all the coders out there.

In Absentia

This one should help the husband out:

"It's August. Where Is Everybody?"

Insert Beavis Laugh Here

Slash's real name is Saul.

Kinda kills that badass image he's got going on, doesn't it?

Anyhoo...I wish Slash and Duff the best of luck with their lawsuit. If anyone deserves to have the spandex sued off of them, it's Axl.

Random Question(s) For the Day

Don't you just love being jerked clean out of a nice, deep sleep by a booming crack of thunder at five in the morning? Furthermore, don't you just adore the way your heart goes THUMPTHUMPTHUMP!!! during said awakening? I also quite enjoy the sitting straight up in bed part, and the sharp inhale of breath, too.

It's all just so much fun, let me tell you. It's like waking up in the middle of a big loop-de-loop on a rollercoaster. Wouldn't you agree?

That Special Glow

Coo-el.

Let Me Tell You, the Fat Lady's Gonna Deafen You With That Aria

I saw this yesterday, but didn't have the chance to comment because the blog was down. Make sure to follow the link to Jeff's commenter, Sarah.

Leaving aside my wondering what this rebuke would have sounded like if it came from this guy's mouth (new season starts September 13th! WooT!), I will admit to being of two minds on this one. I sympathize with the doctor. He was just telling the truth, and there's certainly no shame in that. However, I also emphathize with the obese woman: in an effort to get her to change her wicked ways, the doctor apparently laid out the worst case scenario and, in the process, insulted her. While I can understand why he did it, it doesn't change the fact that, to a certain extent, obesity is the result of a personal choice. (I'm sorry, but I'm not buying that everyone who is morbidly obese in this country is the victim of a thyroid problem. Sorry, but that's just not going to fly.) This woman is making a personal choice to be fat. And I defend that choice. If she wants to do something about it, fine, but if she doesn't, she shouldn't be insulted by her doctor in an effort to scare her into doing something. It's her choice. But, when it comes right down to it, in America, you are not allowed personal choice when that choice is deemed bad for you by the powers that be.

How do I know this? Well, I'm newly minted ex-smoker, and I can tell you from experience that there was no end the many doctors and dentists I visit wouldn't go to in an effort to get me to quit. There were lectures from my gynecologist, telling me that I was increasing my chances for cervical cancer, colon cancer, ovarian cancer, breast cancer, heart disease and, of course, lung cancer. I'm not even going to go into the dire threats exhorted that I shouldn't even THINK about getting pregnant while I was smoking. The stupid pap smear and breast exam took less time than all the lecturing did. I was told by the same gynecologist that I had to exercise twice as much as a normal person would to keep healthy. Walking five miles a day, apparently, wasn't enough if you're a smoker. I should have been running ten miles a day. I've been told by my opthamologist that I'll be an excellent candidate for cataract surgery in forty some odd years. Clever, no? Then we have the dental hygienist: she, quite literally, bitched aloud about the fact she had to spend more time cleaning the back of my teeth than she would a non-smoker.

The husband has had to deal with the same sort of thing from the same dental hygienist. You see, the poor husband has had SO many bad experiences with dentists and orthodontists that he hates going as much as I do. The man, quite literally, had braces and one of those medieval spreader thingys attached to the roof of his mouth for much of his adolescence. The minute he got all that crap off, his teeth started working their way back to their original spots. (They didn't pull any extra teeth before he had his braces put on.) It did absolutely no good whatsoever, so he has good reason to doubt it when a dentist tells him something. Our dentist, who is good and who we like, nonetheless would like the husband to have his fully grown-in wisdom teeth removed. Why? Because he has too many teeth, a small jaw, and the hygienists can't get all the way back to clean them properly. Did you get that? They want him to undergo an oral surgery procedure that would cost us about two grand (we don't have dental insurance---and even if we did, it probably wouldn't be covered.) because it would make their lives easier. They've never suggested an alternative to surgery. They've never told him, hey, get some Plax or Listerine to keep that cleaned out. They did give him a special little toothbrush and he's used it faithfully, but it apparently doesn't work well enough for their tastes, because they keep on harping about it every time he goes in there. It wouldn't do the husband any good, either, as far as how his teeth look. There's not much benefit for him to have his wisdom teeth removed. Yet, consistently, they harp on about it, even though the husband has, quite bluntly, told them it's not going to happen. They've even come in to hassle me about having his wisdom teeth removed when I've been in the office at the same time. I assume they were working under the assumption that I would start guilting him into it, which isn't going to happen.

Therein lies the main issue, I believe: if you refuse to do things your health care providers would have you do, you're making more work for them, aren't you? They have to keep treating you over and over again for the same thing. They would prefer to stop the problem at the source. I could understand where it would be frustrating to have to treat people who, you deemed in all your infinite wisdom, were being stupid about their health. Furthermore, to have to treat the same things over and over again, well, that would just get boring, wouldn't it? Problem is if you lived your life according to all the studies that are released every day of the week, well, your life wouldn't be very much fun, would it? Not to mention when that information is contradictory. I would assume that every disease is preventable, and with the right amount of information scientists will ultimately come to the conclusion that you'll never get sick if you never bother being born.

I have to say, as one who's been where the fat lady is, I still find this all terribly amusing. I suppose that's bad of me, but it's kind of nice to be proven correct. Years ago, when I managed the coffee shop, my customers would, when they found out I smoked, tell me that they wished I would quit. That smoking was very bad for me. Some of them would leave it at that, and I would thank them for their concern, but there were others who would go further in their pontifications and would say that smoking should be banned entirely because it was a public health menace. That everyone had to pay for smokers behavior, whether it be through health insurance costs or their belief they could catch cancer through secondhand smoke, hence the majority opinion should rule. Ok, I said to them, that's your opinion and you're entitled to it. But, I added as I handed them their cup of joe, don't be surprised when they come after you for drinking coffee. Because we all know caffeine is bad for you. It leads to all sorts of health problems, and when they don't have the smokers to beat into submission anymore, well, they'll need a new target. It's the same, I said, if you're obese. Or if you drink adult beverages. Or if you do any number of things that the people in charge think are bad for you. Public health crusades, I told them, aren't so much about the specific actions individuals choose to make: that's irrelevant. Public health crusades are more about removing your ability to make choices the crusaders disagree with. They want to tell you how to live your life. Those choices could extend to any sort of behavior that causes health problems; smoking was simply the tip of the iceberg. Some of them could wrap their minds around this concept and it frightened them. Some of them couldn't see what the hell I was talking about because they believed the hype.

So, I will admit, I find this amusing. They came for me, a smoker, and people said nothing. Now they're going to come for them and they find it alarming. And insulting. Imagine if it was a smoker who had filed the complaint. Would anyone care? I can tell you from experience that they wouldn't give a rat's ass if a smoker was insulted by the lengths their doctor would go to to get them to quit. Believe me, I've heard worse than what this woman heard from her doctor. But no one cares about the smokers. Soon people won't care about obesity, either. Then they won't care about the caffeine drinkers. It will keep going on and on until life is just one big joyless, choice-free experience.

Have a great time in that world, kids. I'll be in the Republic of Kathyland by that point in time, drinking the wine and eating the brie the rest of the world has outlawed.

Bleech

Just in case you didn't know, the Minnesota State Fair starts today.

{Insert massive full body shudder here}

Just in case you were wondering, no, I'm not going. For many reasons.

The husband would, quite literally, rather die than spend any time at a fair. He played football in high school and in situations where he gets crowded by lumbering idiots who refuse to get out of the way, well, let's just say the urge to put his shoulders down and to push through whatever and whomever is blocking his way becomes overwhelming. Really and truly I'm doing everyone a favor by keeping him at home. You should be thanking me.

I, on the other hand, don't mind the crowds so much, but I can't stand food on a stick. I don't ride rides, either, as they generally make me nauseous. I have no use for ag exhibits, either, I'm afraid. But the main reason I won't go to the fair is because in all my years of living in the midwest, where fairs are common things, I have yet to actually go to a fair. Well, let me correct that. I've been to St. Margaret Mary's Parish fair in Omaha, because that was my church/school and it was expected, but, as far as fairs go I don't believe that counts. I've lived in three states: Nebraska, Iowa and Minnesota, and I've never been to a fair. In the midwest they call people like me "freaks of nature." I've never been to a county fair. I've never been to a state fair. I've got a perfect record and I plan on keeping it that way, thank you ever so bloody much.

So, ya'll have a good time at the fair. Don't eat a corndog for me. I wouldn't want you to do that to yourself.

Some Good News From Iraq

So, in case I hadn't mentioned it, one of my cousins is currently deployed with the Seabees in Iraq.

He's a civil enginerd who was active Navy for quite some time, but now he's a reservist and he's been busy rebuilding stuff since he was deployed in March. He forwarded this along about one of his contractors. (.pdf file) My cousin is the one on the right hand side of the picture and was the contractor's supervisor.

Talk about being determined to rebuild your country! Holy Crap! As Pete said in his email: "One of our success stories. You could not think up some of the stuff these contractors run up against." After all the junk you hear on the news every night about how Iraqis are bickering about the constitution or are killing one another because of any number of reasons, it's very nice to read a story about one guy who is incredibly determined to get his country up and running again.

In The Immortal Words Of Sergeant Hulka

Lighten up, Francis.

Of course, Jonathan knows I say this with great love

Up and Running Redux

Well, that was interesting, eh?

Posting will be limited until I'm sure the server isn't going to crash again. It's my paranoia at play here, not anyone's lack of effort that's leading to this dearth of posting, so no wisecracks from the peanut gallery about moo knew service, eh?

I would like to extend big honkin' kudos to Mr. Pixy Misa, aka God himself, who has been working his tailfeather off all through his night (because he's in Australia, kids) to get things back up and running. I, for one, am grateful.

Up and Running

So, you know your blogging habit is bad when your mother calls and wonders if your blog bill is current because she can't get to it.

Sigh.

From what I and a few other moo knewvians can gather the server was down this afternoon. We don't know why, but we're happy it's back up.

Anyway, here's a few tidbits for you, my devoted Cake Eater Readers, to tide you over until I get the urge to get all windy on you.

• Lists of this, that or the other have officially jumped the shark with this one.

  The fact Madonna showed her navel marked her as a "mainstream provocateur?" Give me a break, eh? It's what marked that she had no modesty. There's a bit of a difference, eh? Not to mention that Keith Richard's liver is listed at #2, but---AHEM---there's apparently no mention made of Mick's lips on this list???

  Hell-LO!

  You're doing a list of the twenty-five most incredible body parts in Rock and Roll and you neglect to mention Mick's lips? WTF?

• "But Mother Superior, it just the Holy Spirt working in mysterious ways! I swear!"
• Has anyone ever considered the fact that Lance can't take performance enhancing drugs because it might not only enhance his performance, but enhance his cancer as well? That's The Doctor's opinion. Any drugs of that nature could, conceivably, bring the cancer back as well, or so she says.

  I think it's sleazy of the French to do this. It seems like sour grapes to me.

• Groom yourself, dude. Bleech.
• Mr. Squeaky Clean, Jonathan, swore in this post! I think that's twice, total. Not to mention he chats about threeways!

  I swear, I almost fainted.

  The Galley Slaves: Goin' for Broke in the Raciness Department!

That should keep you busy for the time being.

Freudian Slip?

Mr. Fabulous himself, aka my dear pal Robbo, has a friendly reminder for all the women out there.

Do the Mashed Potato!

It's Tuesday. Hence these fine blogs are hosting the Cotillion Ball.

Villainous Company
The American Princess
Solidier's Angel
The Bad Hair Blog

Run along now.

A Baldwin Brother Conspiracy

Would you listen to this man tell you what to eat or where to purchase it from?

If Alec Baldwin's a vegetarian, I'm the freakin' Queen of Sheeba.

Alec, no doubt, sneaks down to BK every day and wolfs down a few Whoppers. Quite simply put, you don't get that porky without fast food being involved. It just doesn't happen. Alec could get back to his The Hunt for Red October weight by eating broccoli every day, all day long. And the world of women would be happy, because God only knows Alec was hot when he was thin. He was a veritable Hottie McHotHot. Yet, despite his PETA advocacy, he hasn't lost one ounce. Hmmmm. That's suspicious.

Could it be, kids, that Alec is the beneficiary of a deal with Burger King wherein he stops denouncing them and he gets all the free Whoppers he can eat?

I speculate. You decide.

Being Cut

Suck it up, please.

He arrived 10 minutes before his fate, so Filip Olsson stood outside Severna Park High School and waited for coaches to post the cut list for the boys' soccer team.

Olsson, a sophomore, wanted desperately to make the junior varsity, but he also wanted justification for a long list of sacrifices. His family had rearranged a trip to Sweden so he could participate in a preparatory soccer camp; he'd crawled out of bed at 5:30 a.m. for two weeks of camp and tryouts and forced down Raisin Bran; he'd sweated off five pounds and pulled his hamstring.

Finally, a coach walked by holding a list, and Olsson followed him into the high school. He walked back out two minutes later, his hands shoved deep into his pockets and his eyes locked on the ground.

"It felt," he said later, "like a punch in the stomach."

{...}Because of increased complaints from parents, many high school coaches now strive to make cuts more scientific. Until she retired last season, longtime Eleanor Roosevelt girls' soccer coach Kathy Lacey made her players run 1.5 miles in less than 12 minutes to make the team. Mike Bossom, the volleyball coach at Centennial, scores players with a number -- 1 through 5 -- for each drill and then logs the scores on a Microsoft Excel spreadsheet.

For the first time this season, Severna Park Athletic Director Wayne Mook required his coaches to record running times and player evaluation grades, then hand in that paperwork to him. It is an arduous process that many coaches find tiresome, but Mook instituted it for a reason: After a player was cut from the girls' lacrosse team last spring, the family hired lawyers to meet with the school.

"In this day and age, you have to cover yourself a little bit," Mook said. "When I meet with a parent whose kid has been cut, I need something to show them. I need proof."

{...}While his mom, Annica, waited in the car, Olsson walked out to the school track to find Keough and Malm for his 10 minutes. They told him to work on his speed and his foot skills. They suggested he try a personal trainer.

"They think some one-on-one work would help me, so I'll do it," Olsson said. "I'm probably going to come out again next year. Getting cut hurts pretty bad, but that's what it takes. There's nothing harder than making your high school team."

{my emphasis}

Far be it from me to state the obvious, but---ahem---it's a freakin' high school soccer team. There are plenty of things that are harder than making your high school soccer team. Nuclear fission would be just one of those things, ya dig. Same with balancing the budget. Or, if we're still limiting the discussion to all things high school, well, perhaps getting a decent grade in Chemistry class might be harder than getting on the soccer team.

Oy.

I can understand about working toward a goal. This kid wants to play soccer. That's not a problem. But there comes a time when you have to realize it's simply not going to happen. I admire his perserverance, but I would think after trying out twice, and failing both times, hiring a personal trainer---for a sixteen-year-old!---so he can get on the JV squad is beyond the pale. Give up the ghost, kid. If it hasn't happened by now, it's not going to---particularly when you try out next year, you're going to be competing for a spot against fourteen-year-olds with fresher legs than yours? Do you really want a pity spot on the team? One they handed you because they felt sorry for you? Do you really want to warm the bench the whole time?

Soccer is physically demanding. Anyone can tell you that, and considering I spent a goodly portion of my time growing up attending my brother Mike's grade school, high school and college games, I can tell you from experience that it's cutthroat throughout the entire process, but is particularly nasty in high school---and this was twenty years ago! My brother's school was the Nebraska state champion, year in and year out. It took a lot to make that team, not only because soccer is a demanding sport, but because the coach had high standards. There was absolutely no shame in failing to get on the team. I can't tell you how many of my brother's friends over the years went from playing with him to stopping by to say "hello" to my mom, my sister and I while we sat in the stands at one of his games. We didn't look at them as any less a human being because they'd been cut. No one did. It was all about the team being as good as it could be, and even they understood that their presence might have hampered that.

This kid wants to get on the team. I can understand that. But, as far as I can tell, it hasn't occurred to him what his presence, if he were allowed on, would do for or to the team. It's a personal thing for him, not one where he wants to play on the school's team to help them win games. That, to me, is a pretty significant shift in attitude.

I think this kid would be well-served to go and find an indoor soccer league team he could play on. He'd actually be playing and having fun, instead of subjecting himself to torture over and over again. I also suspect he might learn a little something about being part of a team as well.

Pwned!

Courtesy of the husband, your bit of gaming humor for the day: go here, read post #3 by Brion, then scroll down to post #5 by Faydra.

Heheheheheheh.

BUSTED!

Because Everyone Loves Quirky People

From Sheila and Ith: List five quirks/idiosyncrasies of yours.

Allrighty Then.

1. When I'm coding stuff in HTML for the blog, if I open a tag in lowercase letters, I must always close the tag in lowercase letters. It's the same if I open the tag in capital letters. I will actually go back and change this---even though there's no need to---because the non-uniformity of it drives me batty.

2. Personal products. I am brand loyal to the point of insanity. Even if there's a better product out there, I won't switch over, no matter how many times someone praises a product. Just won't happen. Now, in certain instances, this is justified, because, for instance, there is no better lotion out there than Lubriderm. There just isn't. But, for other things, there's no rational reason for this. This particularly holds true for hair care products. I've been using the same shampoo and conditioner and styling product for, oh, about three or four years now. (In the case of the Aveda Anti-Humectant I use to control frizzies, I've been using that for seven years) I'm LEERY about switching anything up, because that might mean something very bad will happen. When I find something that works, I'm a happy camper. When someone discontinues something that I love (like my old Estee Lauder moisturizer) I practically go postal on the well-coiffed sales rep.

3. I will stay up late, even if I'm exhausted, just because I can. I'm an adult now. No one tells me when to go to bed! I feel like I'm letting down all the little kids who want to stay up late if I take a header before midnight. I'm a grownup...I can STAY UP AS LATE AS I WANT TO! Hence proving to the masses of children out there that there are benefits to adulthood.

This, of course, drives the husband to distraction, because, go figure, he actually likes falling asleep with me.

4. Speaking of bed. I must have my side of the bed, no matter what bed we're sleeping on. If we're sleeping in the twin beds at my parents house (they still apparently don't want any funny business going on in their spare room) I will take the bed that corresponds to the side of the bed I always sleep on. I also will rub my feet together until I fall asleep. I don't even realize that I do this anymore. This comes from living in a drafty old house when I was growing up and having a natural aversion to sleeping with socks on. Then I moved to Minnesota and started wearing socks in the winter. There was no getting around it. I still rub my feet together because, even with the socks, they get very cold.

5. It queers my deal to do laundry in a different order than normal. You see, first it's the whites, then the sheets and towels, then the warm load of clothes, then the cold load of clothes. It's a pretty simple system, and it works well, if you ask me. You get the sock folding business over with at the beginning, so there's no excuse for not sorting the socks. This also ensures the sheets and towels are washed and replaced before we go to bed. But if the husband needs his jeans washed because he spilled something on them, and he needs them right away, this queers my deal. I don't like washing single items of clothing, because it's a waste of water, but more importantly, it's fucking with the order of things!

Anyway. There's my weirdness, out for all to see. Enjoy!

Oh, the Hip-Hop Hubris

How many of the seven deadly sins do we have going on with this little move?

Hip-hop impresario and fashion designer Sean "P. Diddy" Combs wants to make it easier for fans to shower him with adoration -- so he's dropping the "P." from his stage name.

From now on, it's just Diddy.

"We are entering into the age of Diddy. It's a new era," the rap star formerly known as Puffy and Puff Daddy told the syndicated TV show "Access Hollywood" this week.

In a recent round of interviews hyping his upcoming role as host of the MTV Video Music Awards on August 28, Combs, 35, has said he wanted to "simplify" his image and felt that the P. "was getting between me and my fans."

{My emphasis}

I think you can bust "Diddy" on pride, because he's just way entirely too proud. You're supposed to be humble, dude. You ain't humble. You could, conceivably, make a case for sloth, because it's suppposedly easier to say "Diddy" than it is to say Puff Daddy or P. Diddy. But I KNOW we've got Sean dead to rights on vanity...

...because he thinks people actually give a rat's ass about his nickname..

Aloha Redux

I received the most interesting trackback to this post from yesterday. You can find the link here.

The money quote:

{...}For the record, Hawaii's independence is not secession. Hawaii's sovereignty or territory was never legally ceded to the United States, either through the purported annexation via mere joint resolution, or the fraudulent so-called plebiscite for statehood and the admissions act, both domestic legislations without extraterritorial force on the country of Hawaii, which continues to be under prolonged illegal occupation. No cession, no secession. What we are talking about is not secession, but ending the occupation of Hawaii.

Whether you agree with the above or not, it is important to at least understand that perspective, which is held by many.

Ooooooooookay then. "No cession, no secession." Heh. That's a tricksy little bit of legalese, isn't it? I honestly don't see where the heck this gentleman gets that from, given that, according to the WSJ piece, native Hawaiians voted 2-1 for statehood in 1959, but hey, I suppose everyone's got a dream! It appears this gent's arguments are derived from a "creative" workaround of the facts.

See the problem with Mr. Laudig's argument is not the---oh, how should I put this? I'm going to try and be nice, but wow, I just don't see how that's possible.---insanity in it, but rather that he doesn't carry the insanity all the way through. I mean, honestly, if you're going to do it, do it right, eh?

If Hawaii was really under a "prolonged illegal occupation," Mr. Laudig shouldn't recognize Senator Akaka as a "Senator," should he? After all, you can't send representatives to a government you're being "illegally occupied" by, can you? That's not the way it generally works. I mean, what's the point in doing that, from the occupier's viewpoint? If you're going to expend the time and effort to "illegally occupy" a place---particularly for going on fifty years---why on Earth would you give its people access to representative government of the occupier, let alone all the rights and benefits that come with the citizenship you gave them upon entry into the Union? I suppose one could argue that we're taking the "killing them with kindness" path, but, really, why bother if it's just an "illegal occupation"? It doesn't make much sense, on the whole. It seems a wee bit generous.

I could go on, but I think you get the gist.

Isolationism Redux

Doug on the three hundred small bombs that were set off by Islamofascists in Bangladesh yesterday. "Brown people have mothers too."

Go read the whole thing.

Random Observations for Thursday, August 18, 2005

Just some of the stuff that's currently flitting about in my head.

• Is it just the husband or is it a worldwide male thing that necessitates the stuffing of an umbrella back into its condom-like wrapper? Sort of like the way men always declare WD-40 is the solution to most problems, and if that doesn't work Duct Tape probably will?
• Whenever the Doctor and ML ask me to walk their dog in the day because they'll be out of town, it's a guarantee for poor weather. They're in Dee Cee this week and, of course, today it's raining. Last December when they were tooling around the wine country, it was ten below zero. Earlier this summer when they were biking around Minnesota, it was a hundred degrees outside. Just once would I like to walk their dog when the weather agrees with such an activity.

  At least I get out of watering their plants today.

• The husband and I have been watching "The Complete Bond 1962-1989" on AMC for the past week or so. We'll quit after tonight, because the Roger Moore ones go straight to hell after The Man With the Golden Gun.

  A few observations:

  • I adore the way Sean Connery pronounces Pussy Galore's name in Goldfinger. It just makes me smile.
  • Thunderball is still my hands-down favorite of all of them.

    And this chick is the baddest of the bad Bond Girls.

    

    There shall be no debate on this one, either. My decision is final.

  • You Only Live Twice is the last one that has that lovely early to mid-sixties aesthetic sense that just suits the Bond World so well. George Lazenby never had a chance when they stuffed him into a ruffled tuxedo shirt in the opening scenes of On Her Majesty's Secret Service. It was never going to work. They should have known better.
  • The husband commented last night when we were watching Live and Let Die that he really didn't like how Bond conned Solitaire into giving up her virginity. The husband said it was cheating.

    Is the husband correct? Discuss.

  • Why could they not find one Felix Leiter?

• Why do Jolly Ranchers no longer have hard edges on them? Also, why are they exceedingly sticky nowadays? They seem smaller, too.
• Tide with a "Touch of Downy" is a waste of money. By itself it does not cut down on static cling. And if you use a sheet of Bounce, well, your clothes don't exactly come out smelling like Downy, ya dig? Just buy a bottle of Downy along with the regular Tide.

And that's enough of a peek for you, my devoted Cake Eater readers.

I'm Making Myself Dizzy

Because I keep swinging my head around, like I'm a Breck Girl.

The reason for said swinging is because I had somewhere around eight inches of hair whacked off yesterday. Which I believe means, due to the fact I have seriously thick hair, my head weighs about five pounds less than it did yesterday.

It feels sooooooo good. I just can't help myself with the whole swinging thing.

The other thing that I believe is contributing to my dizziness is the fact I had highlights put in yesterday. And...well, how do I explain this? I suppose I must just come out with it. Okedokey---here goes: I'm a blonde.

Well, not really, but since I'm still somewhat new to the world of hair coloring, I didn't think my dark brown hair could go all the way up the scale to whitish blonde. I figured it would stop somewhere around "Light Bozo Orange" from whence the colorist could throw toner in it and it would still come out lighter than it was before. But Don, my hair guru, yesterday declared that he was going for the "sunkissed" look with me, and hence I now have blonde streaks framing my face. The foils just stayed on a wee bit longer than normal and no toner was used.

Surprisingly, it looks fab. I must say I'm quite pleased with the whole thing. I sort of have an early Jackie Kennedy bob going on, only it's a bit shorter and blonder. What's even better about the whole 'do' is that it looks good curly and straight, which is a rare thing.

Now, if I can just stop flipping my head around, I'll be in good shape.

CHIPs: Coming to A Theater Near You Soon!

So, which one's Ponch and which one's Jon?

{Sooper Sekret Message to Steve-o: this just smells like a pshopping opportunity)

Yawn

So, the husband and I are walking through downtown Cake Eater Land this evening, enjoying the weather, hoping that the powerball ticket we just bought is THE ONE while simultaneously knowing that we have a better chance of being hit in the middle of the night, in our bed, on the second floor of our house, by a rogue NASCAR driver. We're cool with it. But to what should our wondering eyes appear at the main intersection?

Protesters. About thirty or forty of them. Standing in front of a pricey jewelry store of which they'd undoubtedly start winging rocks through the windows if they learned they were selling conflict diamonds.

Anyway. One of them had a sign that read: "George W. Bush: Talk To Cindy Sheehan!"

For fuck's sake. It was bad enough before the election. If you weren't dodging stupid little MoveOn.Org employees, registering voters, who never remembered that THEY'D ALREADY ASKED YOU TWICE BEFORE if "you would like to help remove George W. Bush from The White House?", you were dodging the stupid peace protestors who hogged the corners. Then you'd have to wear earplugs to avoid all the stupid idiots who were honking either in support or derision---you rarely knew which.

But then Kerry didn't pull through and all the little nutjobs went away. No more MoveOn twerps. No more Mother Earth hippie types flashing you the peace sign. No more honking. George W. Bush's win last November really and truly was a win for peace---because all the stupid noisy types left the neighborhood and all was well in the fair fiefdom of Cake Eater Land.

So, the last thing I expected to see tonight was these doltish protesters out there again, hogging the corners, blocking the way of pedestrians. I truly thought we were done with this crap. It's just so boring. So yawn-inducing. Geez. If I'm tired of it, you'd think they'd be tired of it as well. But apparently not.

I'm wondering if this was an organized move by MoveOn and their ilk. I'm assuming it was. It's not like you had a Moonbeam there, who whipped out her own protest sign and wielded a magic marker like a light saber. Everyone looked well prepared with homemade signs or those stupid "Support The Troops, Bring Them Home" signs that they'd ripped out of their front yards (where they've been since March, 2003) and were waving them with glee. The problem is I know I'll feel dirty if I click over to their site to fing out.

Anybody want to do it for me?

UPDATE: the full story is here and here

Aloha?

This is disturbing.

The Senate is poised to sanction the creation of a racially exclusive government by and for Native Hawaiians who satisfy a blood test. The new race-based sovereign that would be summoned into being by the so-called Akaka Bill would operate outside the U.S. Constitution and the nation's most cherished civil rights statutes. Indeed, the champions of the proposed legislation boast that the new Native Hawaiian entity could secede from the Union like the Confederacy, but without the necessity of shelling Fort Sumter.

The Akaka Bill classifies citizens by race, defying the express provisions of the 14th Amendment. It also rests on a betrayal of express commitments made by its sponsors a decade ago, and asserts as true many false statements about the history of Hawaii. It should be defeated.

The Akaka Bill's justification rests substantially on a 1993 Apology Resolution passed by Congress and signed by President Clinton when we were members of the Senate representing the states of Washington and Colorado. (We voted against it.) The resolution is cited by the Akaka Bill in three places to establish the proposition that the U.S. perpetrated legal or moral wrongs against Native Hawaiians that justify the race-based government the legislation would erect. These citations are a betrayal of the word given to us--and to the Senate--in the debate over the Apology Resolution.

We specifically inquired of its proponents whether the apology would be employed to seek "special status under which persons of Native Hawaiian descent will be given rights or privileges or reparations or land or money communally that are unavailable to other citizens of Hawaii." We were promised on the floor of the Senate by Daniel Inouye, the senior senator from Hawaii and a personage of impeccable integrity, that "as to the matter of the status of Native Hawaiians . . . this resolution has nothing to do with that. . . . I can assure my colleague of that." The Akaka Bill repudiates that promise of Sen. Inouye. It invokes the Apology Resolution to justify granting persons of Native Hawaiian descent--even in minuscule proportion--political and economic rights and land denied to other citizens of Hawaii. We were unambiguously told that would not be done.{...}

Now, while I would like to pass each of the the fomer senators who authored the piece a brown paper sack to help with their hyperventilating, I don't think they're completely off the mark here. If this bill is passed, not only would racial preferences be put into law, but Hawaii could, conceivably, give secession from the Union a good hard whack. This would be precedent setting for all those other groups of people---African Americans, Native Indians, etc.---who would like special racial recognition and the accompanying reparations, land, etc. from the federal government to "right" past wrongs.

I have to admit, however, that it's ironic it should be the Hawaiians who are on the brink of succeeding with this sort of legislation where so many others have failed. Hawaiians have benefitted quite handsomely from being incorporated into the United States and its citenzery. Other groups have not. That's curious. What, precisely, is their beef? That there's too much tourism?

The Apocalypse Is Upon Us

Then I watched while the Lamb broke open the first of seven seals, and I heard one of them four living creatures cry out in a voice like thunder, "Come forward."

I looked and there was a white horse, and its rider had a bow. He was given a crown and he rode forth victorious to further his victories.

When he broke open the second seal, I eard the second living creature cry out, "Come forward." Another horse came out, a red one. Its rider was given power to take peace away from the earth, so that people would slaughter one another. And he was given a huge sword.

When he broke open the third seal, I heard the third living creature cry out, "Come forward." I looked, and there was a black horse, and its rider held a scale in its hand. I heard what seemed to be a voice in the midst of the four living creatures. It said, "A ration of wheat costs a day's pay, and three rations of barley cost a day's pay. But do not damage the olive oil or the wine."

When he broke open the fourth seal, I heard the voice of the fourth living creature cry out, "Come forward." I looked, and there was a pale green horse. Its rider was named Death, and Hades accompanied him. They were given authority over a quarter of the earth, to kill with sword, famine, plague, and by means of the beasts of the earth.

---Revelations 6:1-8

Yep. It's official. It's just about over with kids.

NEW YORK -Kathie Lee Gifford will join anchor Pat O'Brien on "The Insider" next month as a special correspondent for the syndicated entertainment-magazine show.

Beginning Sept. 12, Gifford will appear at least two days a week to cover "big name celebrity interviews and the Broadway beat," Paramount Domestic Television announced Monday. {...}

The Four Horses of the Apocalypse are upon us. Technically speaking they are known as War, Plague, Famine and Death, but they're more commonly---and respectively---known as Frank, Cody, Cassidy and Kathie Lee Gifford.

Make your peace with God now, kids. It's not going to last much longer.

Marketing Gone Mad

I had a banana for breakfast this morning. As is the norm there was a sticker on the banana.

Everything's fine, right? There are always stickers on bananas. Then I actually looked at it...

What the hell was the thought process here? Did some marketing punk think, "Hey, most kids have bananas with lunch, and statistics show that shoppers go through the produce aisle before they go to the freezer aisle, so we'll put the stickers on the bananas. This will remind people to go to the freezer aisle to pick up our uncrustables for the entire lunch experience."

What utter bullshit.

It should probably be a clue that when you're marketing your product by putting stickers on bananas that you've reached the peak selling potential of said product. If people aren't buying them now, a sticker on a banana surely isn't going to do the trick.

It's just a thought, but, perhaps the reason Uncrustables aren't selling well is because, ahem, unless you're him, most people would think it incredibly lazy to buy pre-made, frozen, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches that have the crusts cut off. Not to mention they're expensive. I looked them up on Simon Delivers. Four sandwiches for $2.99? Or you can get the 18 count for $12.99 What a freakin' waste of money! That's just the epitome of laziness. If you can't slap peanut butter and jelly on two pieces of bread and then cut off the crusts in the time it takes you to defrost one of those things, you have no mad sandwich making skillz. You're hopeless and you are entirely too susceptible to marketing campaigns.

Grow a spine and make your kid a sandwich that doesn't require defrosting.

The Cotillion: A Most Excellent Adventure

{Insert Ted "Theodore" Logan Voice Here}

"Dude, there are babes galore at these parties"

A Mom and Her Blog
Girl on the Right
Mary Katherine Ham
Not a Desperate Housewife

{/Ted "Theodore" Logan Voice}

Apparently there is no word on whether there are any "historical babes" at any of these parties, but I suppose you can clickety on over and see for yourself, eh?

Just a Friendly Reminder From Your Neighborhood Cake Eater

So, it might just be me, but it would seem somewhat iffy to listen to Tom De Lay about "judicial activists" when he associates with some very wacky people. One of those wacky people seems to think quoting Stalin in reference to a sitting Supreme Court Justice is an appropriate thing to do. Even though that particular quote could be construed by some, particularly when taken in context with Stalin's actions, as a death threat.

I'm not trying to tell the Evangelicals how to run their churches, but it would appear that hosting these sorts of "events" and, moreover, being politically active is a great way to lose your tax-exempt status with the government.

But God only knows, if that happened, they'd blame the loss of that rarefied status on "Secularists bent on destroying Christianity and the good folks who follow it." Then they'd probably burn the state tax commissioner in effigy. They might wave a few pitchforks around for good measure.

It gets so tiresome after a while. You almost wish they'd switch it up a wee bit, just for variety.

{Hat Tip: Andy}

The Cake Eater Seal of Approval...

...has been bestowed on Apothegm Designs.

Go and give Phin and Sadie all of your hard earned money to upgrade your blog.

They'll do a fabulous job. Just ask these guys or these guys.

Sixty Years Ago Today...

Hubba hubba, eh?

Emperor Hirohito ordered the unconditional surrender of the Japanese to the Allied forces, thereby ending World War II.

Which, apparently, led to horny sailors playing tonsil hockey with unsuspecting nurses in Times Square.

I suppose if there was ever a time for it, that would have been it.

UPDATE: Go and read about Rob's Uncle Morris, who served in the Navy in the Pacific Theater durng the war.

I'll second Rob's comment: Thanks Uncle Morris!

To Quote Denis Leary...

Ilovetosmoke!Ilovetosmoke! Ilovetosmoke!

I really do. I know a lot of you are saying, "What the fuck is she thinking? Eeeew!" I can understand that. Smoking is a filthy habit. I know this. I have always known this. If you would have asked me when I was a teenager if I would ever smoke, I would have told you in a definitive way that no, I would never smoke. Because my mom smoked---and still does. Oddly enough, it's not the fact she smokes that bothers/ed me: it was her choice of cigarettes that drove me up the wall. Because Mom smokes menthols. If you've ever smoked a menthol, you'll know that it's like lighting up a piece of peppermint candy and trying to inhale it. I hated driving around with her on a winter's day. Even now I can conjure up the conjoined smell of the car heater and her menthols. GAG! She never cracked a window, either, and if you did, well, you heard about it. Bleech. This is why I never thought I would smoke and I made it all the way through high school and most of college without ever trying one.

Now, Mom used to smoke Salems. I remember as kid I would have to go over to the Amoco station to get ciggies for her. She's write out a note that said, "Please sell a pack of Salem 100's to my daughter, Kathy." She'd sign and date the note, give me a dollar and change and I'd be on my merry way. I'd get to the station, I'd hand over the note and the money, whomever was behind the counter would hook me up. I'd run home with the cigs and hand them over to Mom. It was no big deal. Today that sort of activity would get you prosecuted for child abuse, but this was the seventies and things were a bit different back then. I never looked askew at my mom for smoking when I was younger. Lots of people smoked; she was just one of many. But, of course, this period of time was the beginning of the end for smokers. The Surgeon General had gotten his warning on each and every pack. Everyone was talking about lung cancer, and of course, in the schools, they were starting with the anti-smoking propaganda campaigns. Every once in a while you'd get a teacher who would tell you to ask your parents to stop smoking because it was bad for them. They were, obviously, trying to guilt trip people into quitting. Now, I knew better than to do that with my mother. Mom is generally not someone who tolerates people guilting her into anything: she's the one who does the guilting, not the other way round, thank you very much. The only time I ever asked her to quit was when my father pretty much ordered me to. I was skeptical and was afraid I was going to get yelled at by her. But I knew if I didn't, Dad would chastise me, so being stuck between a rock and a hard place, I went into the kitchen and asked her to quit smoking. I remember her pausing for a long moment. She nodded her head slightly, as if to say, I see what you're saying. She then took a long drag and proceed to reply. Her answer, given in a firm, but polite tone, was, MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS.

And that's a pretty good answer on the whole. I've found it very useful over the years whenever anyone tried to guilt me into quitting. Because plenty of people have tried. Smoking is a personal choice and anyone who tells you that the evil tobacco companies are luring children into smoking with their "deceptive marketing" is full of shit. You should know that. This is a personal choice people make and everyone has the opportunity to say no, thank you, I don't want to do that. Everyone and their brother, by this stage of the game, knows that smoking is bad for them. It is and we smokers know it. We take responsibility for our choices, just like you non-smokers do for yours. It's pretty simple stuff, on the whole.

But, unfortunately, smokers are unable to tell people to mind their own business anymore. Because it was one thing when people took responsibility for their actions, and other people chose to live and let live. Nowadays they don't do that. Now it's all about public health. And God help you if you choose yourself over the health of everyone else. You're a bad person for doing this, don't you know? Where's your sense of compassion for the person who doesn't want to breathe your smoke? Gosh, you really should get with the program, shouldn't you? So, while you're not going to give up your habit, yet you remember what it was like to be a non-smoker who didn't like the smoke, in response you become an overly polite smoker. You excused yourself when you're at a restaurant and go to the bar to smoke. When you were at a bar, you asked if the person next to you minded if you smoked and if they did, you took yourself to another part of the bar. You excused yourself and went outside when you were at someone else's home. Even in your own home, you didn't smoke in front of guests you knew didn't like it. When you smoked outdoors, you picked up your butts and disposed of them no matter where you were. You were polite about your habit. You tried not to put anyone out with it. You, of course, pushed back when some anti-smoking zealot went too far, but, again, you were polite about it. But your politeness, apparently, wasn't good enough for some.

You see, when smoking became a public health "crisis" war was declared. And we all know that all's fair in love and war. So the anti-smoking advocates put out faulty and misleading information about the dangers of secondhand smoke in an attempt to get things their way. Really, some of their lies would make Goebbels stand up and cheer for the blatant use of propaganda. Now, no one's saying it's a good thing to breathe in other people's smoke. It is, however, misleading in the extreme to put an ad on a bus that claims "secondhand smoke kills more people each year than murder." I see this ad on a daily basis. I don't know who has paid for it, because there's no credit listed anywhere on the ad. Now, think about that claim for a moment: secondhand smoke kills more people each year than murder. Really? How so? How can you say, definitively, that of all the people who die each year, more of them die from secondhand smoke than from murder? When someone is murdered, we have the statistics because the coroner who examines the body post mortem has to fill out a form. They have to check a little box that says that this person's death was not natural and then they have to say why. Furthermore, they have to be prepared to testify in court as to their findings. Is there a little box on a death certificate which the coroner checks when someone's keeled over, declaring the cause of death to be secondhand smoke? No, of course there isn't and anyone with half a brain knows this. The anti-smoking advocates are playing games with statistics. They can contribute x numbers of death each year to heart disease, lung cancer, etc. And as we know all of these diseases are exacerbated when you smoke. These anti-smoking advocates then make the massive leap of the imagination by declaring that because people are exposed to smoke every day, then, of course, anyone who dies of heart disease, etc. if they didn't smoke must have been killed by secondhand smoke! Not only is that faulty logic, they have no way of proving that fact. There is simply no way they can prove it. But are they called on it? Nope. Because it's for a good cause. They're trying to save lives!

So, if you're a smoker today, not only do you have these anti-smoking advocates hounding you to change your wicked ways for the good of everyone else, you have the added fun of being forced to pay extra for said wicked ways to support everyone else's bad habits. Because smoking is bad for you. It's a vice, hence the government believes they can tax you extra for this vice. Now, this seems a wee bit illogical, doesn't it? I can't be the only one who thinks this way. Every single branch of government, state, city or federal---at the behest of of the anti-smoking zealots---has pretty much declared war on smokers. They pass legislation saying you can't smoke in your workplace. You can't smoke in bars or restaurants or any number of other places, until the only place there is to smoke is one square mile in the middle of North Dakota. They justify this by saying they're protecting the non-smokers, BUT then they also throw out the excuse that, ahem, they're trying to get the smokers to quit as well. Yet, when their budgets don't balance and they need an extra source of income, they automatically tax the smokers and their excuse is always and forever smokers choose to smoke. So one minute smokers are seen as suckers who are being taken advantage of by the "evil" big tobacco companies, yet in the next, we're making our own choices, hence we're responsible for our actions and the government can tax us for it. Well, you know what, people? Make up your fucking minds. I've had it. I'm tired of being jerked around by people who not only want to tell me what to do in an effort to save me from myself, but who also want me to keep smoking to fund their governmental largesse.

So, having had it with being jerked around by a government who can't think straight, today, I quit smoking.

I also quit to piss off Tim Pawlenty, too.

I smoked my last cigarette this morning at midnight. The husband sat with me and we chatted leisurely. I fully enjoyed it. I timed it so it was the last cigarette of the pack and I didn't regret it when I stubbed it out. Afterward, I threw the empty pack away, cleaned out the ashtray for the last time and went to bed. I'm done with smoking. But I'm not done with the nicotine addiction. This morning, when I woke up, the husband helped me put my first patch on. He gets to choose the location every day because you have to place the patch somewhere between your neck and your waist, on non-hairy skin, but it has to be in a different position from day to day. You can't put it in the same place twice for a week. Next week, we'll start the whole thing over again. Today my patch is located on my lower back, on the right side. Who knows where the husband will place it tomorrow. I'll be doing this patch thing for eight weeks, slowly weaning myself off the nicotine.

You see, when I said up at the top of this overly-windy post, that I love to smoke I meant it. I really do love to smoke. If there was a way to be able to smoke and not be addicted to it, I'd love it. Unfortunately, that's not the case. But there really is something so sublime about smoking. Just the act of pulling one out of a pack, putting it in your mouth, then setting fire to it, while taking a long pull is a beautiful thing. It's partly the method and partly just taking the time to complete a small ritual that makes it so sublime. Those of you who have never smoked, I'm sure, are gagging right now and are only focusing on the bit about inhaling. That's fine. I don't like to go camping or enjoy shitting in the woods, either, which I'm sure are some of your favorite things. Potayto, Pohtato. Live and let live, etc. ad nauseam ad infinitum. But if some of you have ever smoked, you know what I'm talking about. Smoking is a calming thing. It's an act wholly unto itself that, if you bother to appreciate it, is a beautiful experience. I won't say it's religious, but it's awfully close. It makes you slow down. It makes you take your time. It helps you to experience pleasure in small doses. It's lovely.

Unfortunately, though, it's also addictive. Which is what I'm trying to rid myself of. The addiction. I've been smoking for ten years and eight months. I've been toying the with notion of quitting for a while now, but it was Pawlenty who got me to quit. Not only is the Governor of the State of Minnesota too chicken to call this health impact fee what it is---a tax---he's funding education spending out of it! Hence, you can't even call it a "health impact fee" because the money is going to education, not to keeping health costs down. This, I think we can all agree, is not fiscally responsible. So, Tim, in an effort to show you what fiscal responsibility is, I quit smoking. I can't afford to keep paying $3.95 per pack---because, of course Phillip Morris took this momentous opportunity to raise prices by $0.30 per pack---so I quit. It's pretty simple: if you can't afford it, you don't buy it. Right? That's what we have to do in our everyday lives. Why shouldn't you have to do the same, Tim?

Now, if you like irony, you should know that the State of Minnesota is paying for my patches. All you have to do is call the QuitLine and tell them you don't have health insurance and they'll rush the patches right to your door. I lied to get them to pay for it. I think it's only fair since the governor keeps lying to me.

Anyway, I suppose I should warn you, my devoted Cake Eater Readers, that I might be overly cranky over the next couple of weeks. This crankiness might result in much meanness, or it might result in hilarity. Who the hell knows what's going to happen? I've never tried to quit before and while the patch is giving off the nicotine I need, I'm having some issues with keeping my hands busy. I'm a fidgeter by nature and the smoking took care of those fidgets. I'm losing that, though, and while I keep taking a break to throw a tennis ball around, I'm somewhat at a loss because I'm losing that thing that always made me slow down and take a look around. So, long story short: look out.

I would also like to add that I'm closing comments on any posts related to my effort to quit smoking. I don't want any email, either. I'm sure a few of you, my devoted Cake Eater Readers, would love to cheer me on through all of this because you're good people and you're thrilled by my decision to become a non-smoker again. Well, thank you for that, but just send me happy thoughts through the ether, ok? I don't know how to say this nicely, so I'm just going to say it: it's condescending as hell when a non-smoker or an ex-smoker tells a smoker who's in the process of quitting that, "they can do it! just keep going! resist the urges! It'll get better, I promise! think of all the money you'll save!" and so on and so forth. I know you don't mean for it to be condescending, but it is. As hell.

You are a non-smoker. The way I see it, particularly right now, this means you're the enemy. Sorry, but if all smokers are the enemy for anti-smoking zealots, it's more than fair for me to lump you in with them. Even if you despise their tactics as much as I do, if you've ever declared that you do so like a non-smoking restaurant that's only non-smoking because they've been forced to go that route by the government, well, you've placed yourselves squarely with the anti-smoking zealots. You've benefitted directly from their actions. I don't see why you should get a pass. Sorry, but that's just the way it goes. Doesn't feel so good to be demonized that way, does it? But fair's fair. You're just going to have to deal with it. I've taken more than my fair share of crap from non-smokers over the years. I've listened to your fake coughing when you've walked past me, where if you'd just had the balls to ask me to put it out, I would have. I've listened to non-smokers whine about the smell of smoke in their clothes after they go to the bars. I've listened to windy lectures about how dirty it is when smokers stub their butts out on the sidewalk and walk on, while deliberately ignoring the fact that outdoor ashtrays are almost an extinct species, and that, ahem, it's generally a bad idea to throw something that's just been on fire into a trash can. I've listened to non-smokers think that the best way to balance budgets is to tax smokers. I've been told I have no right to mind my own business, in other words. You non-smokers have put your nose in my business for years, implying that I didn't know what was best for me, so you were going to take care of it for me. So, I certainly hope you non-smokers will respect it when I tell you to mind your own business and spare me the condescending comments. I'm a non-smoker now. I've gained that right, haven't I? Right now, I feel like I'm crossing over to the enemy and I most assuredly don't want to be patted on the head and told I'm being a good little girl while I'm doing so.

Ok, sorry for that, but it's just the way I feel.

Weary Redux

I'm surprised that this post I wrote over a month ago about being tired of the media bleating on about Natalee Holloway's disappearance is still getting comments. I don't know what I expected when I already knew I was the number three Google referral for "I'm Tired of Natalee Holloway." But still...

...I really didn't expect people to start turning on Natalee's mom. That's fine and I can understand why, but jeez people, I didn't write that post so people who are watching the coverage could bitch about how whacked out Natalee's mom is.

You're somewhat missing the point, eh?

Mmmmm...Bambi.

Yesterday morning the husband and I had the distinct pleasure of having breakfast with a gentleman you, my devoted Cake Eater Readers, will know from the comments section of this here blog as Russ from Winterset.

Russ, as has been established, is a biker. As in motorcycles. Not the sort you pedal yourself. In September he's going to ride from Winterset, of course, to New York for the Iowa State/Army game. Since this is something of a long ride, and as a biker you must have your, erm, ass in shape (read as "toughened up") for said long ride, he's making day trips here and there to get his bum readied for this pilgrimage. His first trip was to the Twin Cities and we met up for some yummy pancakes here.

It was a distinct pleasure to finally meet Russ, who is a very amiable and funny guy. We sat and chatted about Iowa State, our various adventures on campus, blogs, shooting fireworks out of dorm windows and not getting caught, and other stuff until the waitresses were starting to give us the hairy eye, because we'd turned into a pack of campers. Before that, however, Russ bestowed upon us some sausage made from Bambi's remains.

When I asked the waitress for a carrying bag, she enviously eyed my venison. I think maybe she was hoping I'd leave one of the sausages for her with her tip. Didn't happen, obviously. I am so happy Russ made the effort to bring us this venison. When he asked if I wanted any, he said something to the effect, "Don't worry about leaving us short...this is like us having extra tomatoes and giving them away." What I failed to think about, however, was the difficult logistics of getting a cooler strapped onto a bike. Whoops. I used to be pretty thoughtful about this sort of thing, but I'd completely forgotten how much of a pain it can be to haul things via motorcycles. So, thanks, Russ for the making the extra effort to clean out your freezer! We surely do appreciate it the pain and suffering you went through to bring us some Bambi!

For those of you who are wondering if my frosty beer made an appearance at our first meeting. Sadly, I have to report that I did not get to meet my beer, as she would not have fit into Russ' already-full backpack and cooler. (You can only carry so much, eh?) But hopefully she will sojourn to New York for the Army game. Russ made no promises, but I sincerely hope she makes it there. A cross-country trip could be such a fantastic learning experience for my beer.

The Lessons Fairy Tales Can Teach You, c. 2005

BWAHAHAHAHAHAAHA!

My Honor Has Been Avenged

Ahhhhhh. I feel so much better now.

Thanks Bill, you sick, twisted little monkey, you!

UPDATE: I feel I should probably warn people about clicking over. It's a wee bit disturbing. Consider yourselves warned.

The Dangers Of Appeasement

Have you ever gotten around to reading one of those books that you've meant to read for years, but never had the time to read? I know just how you feel. But this week I'm actually doing something about one of my long neglected reads. I'm reading Bodyguard of Lies by Anthony Cave Brown. I dusted a copy of this book at least a thousand times at my parent's house and the title always fascinated me, but I never actually picked the silly thing up and read it. More the fool I. While this book was originally published thirty years ago, it's a wonderfully written account of the intelligence, counter-intelligence and downright deception that was needed to keep the time and location of D-Day a secret. Brown's style is engaging and the meticulously researched material, which could have been as dry as James Bond's martini, is instead fascinating because of the way the author relays it. He takes his time to set up the situation and to introduce you to the players and what their motivations were and the book is all the more fascinating because of it.

Some of the chapters that I've found particularly fascinating describes the motivations and movements of the Schwarz Kapelle---which translates as "The Black Band----who were the main group of German army and intelligence officers opposed to Hitler's reign and who tried to depose him, it turns out, many times before Poland was invaded. Led by Admiral Wilhelm Canaris, the chief of the Abwehr (the secret intelligence and counter-espionage service of the German General Staff), who thought that Hitler would ultimately turn out to be the downfall of his country, they failed mainly because they were wary because Hitler had no problems retaliatiating against army officers who stood up against him and because of a lack of external support from Britain and France.

It's stunning to read this one particular chapter which details Canaris' and the Schwarz Kapelle's movements immediately preceding Hitler's invasion of Poland on September 1, 1939, for it sounds so familiar given the appeasement by certain unnamed countries today during the War on Terror.

If you're interested, take the jump.

First off, here's a little who's who and what's what that might help you to navigate this excerpt:

Oster: Canaris' second in command at the Abwehr
Beck: German general disgraced by Hitler for opposing him, who lost his career, yet remained one of the first and foremost members of the Schwarz Kapelle
Ultra:: Code name for intelligence derived from decrypting German Enigma-enciphered wireless traffic
Menzies: "C" or the head of MI-6
Cadogan: Permanent undersecretary of the Foreign Office and diarist

Part II, The Roots of Conspiracy 1934-1943, Chapter 5: The Outbreak of War. Bodyguard of Lies by Anthony Cave Brown, Copyright 1975. All Rights Reserved.

In trying to asses the purpose of Canaris's activities during the least months of 1938 and the first half of 1939, Britain was confronted with ambiguity from every side. It seemed that Canaris was playing three hands at once. He was endeavoring to infiltrate agents into Britian, or to suborn men and women who might be useful to the Abwehr; his agents sought to inflame the world situation with rumor and counter-rumor; and still more agents arrived in London for the ostensible purpose of building a secret bridge between the Abwehr, the German General Staff and the British government. Only in the afterlight of those furious months would Canaris's true purpose finally emerge.

It was a period of unprecedented tension in the affairs of Britain and Germany. The Germans and the Italians announced the Pact of Steel, and Mussolini appeared ready to invadde the Balkans. In March of 1939 German troops completed the occupation of Czechoslovakia and Hitler proclaimed the "Protectorate of Bohemia and Moravia." Chamberlain accused Hitler of breaking his word that he would not invade the rest of the Czech state; Hitler rejected the Anglo-French protest notes. Chamberlain announced British and French guarantees to Poland and ordered military conscription. The world staggered under the blow and counter-blow of this diplomatic battle of wills. The preparations for war were everywhere, and in London that Easter, the fluctuating, high-pitched moan of sirens were heard for the first time as Britain tested its air-raid defenses.

Although Ultra was not yet operational, the British government was well informed of Hitler's intentions, both through its own intelligence sources and through the continuing stream of emissaries from the Schwarze Kapelle. A procession of Germans with illustrious names came secretly to London at the behest of Canaris, Oster and Beck to try to get Chamberlain and the British government to block Hitler's next move---"Case White," the invasion of Poland---among them the young Major Fabian von Schlabrendorff and Helmuth Count von Moltke, the great-great-nephew of the venerated field marshal who helped found the German General Staff. No state secrets in history were as badly kept as Hitler's that last year of the peace, and the persistent warnings were not ignored. Although the British made no overty military move to oppose Hitler, the Committee of Imperial Defence, virtually Britain's supreme war council, accelerated its preparations for war, including the defense of the realm against air attack. The production of military aircraft was stepped up from 250 to 600 units a month---and that precaution, when combined with the intelligence that derived from Ultra, would cost Hitler the Battle of Britain. Thus Canaris and the other conspirators fo the Schwarze Kapelle had, at least indirectly, accomplished a part of their goal. They would not succeed in preventing a war, but they would help ensure that Hitler could not win it.

The British government was as well-informed about Hitler's moods as about his intentions. In January 1939 Cadogan had warned the goverment that "...Hitler's mental condition, his insensate rage against Great Britain and his megalomania, which are alarming the moderates around him, are entirely consistent with the execution of a desperate coup against the western powers." Moreover, he added, "...the authorities in Germany whom we have consulted including anti-Nazi Germans of sound judgement are agreed that Hitler's orders would be carried out and that no revolt can be anticipated at all events during the initial stages of the war."

Perhaps in response to this appreciation and other warnings of the state of affairs in Germany, the British government considered a scheme to assassinate Hitler. Menzies would later state that he was in sympathy with the plan, which was suggested by General Sir Mason-MacFarlane, the miltiary attache at the British Embassy in Berlin. MacFarlane, a clever man (he would secretly go into Rome to negotiate the Italian surrender in 1943), whose occasional red-faced bluster concealed a natural clandestine's mind, proposed that Hitler should be shot with a high-powered marksman's rifle equipped with a telescopic sight from an apartment overlooking the Chancellery. According to an article in the German magazine Der Spiegel, published in 1971 on the basis of what it described as a note on the proposition found at the Imperial War Museum, MacFarlane's conclusion was that "Hitler's death at that time could have led to the overthrow of National Socialism and that millions of lives could have been saved." But, said the magazine, the British government vetoed the scheme on the grounds that it was "unsportsmanlike," and that there was "antipathy on principle against murder in democratic states." Later, the British government would be somewhat less concerned with scruples.

Soon after the invasion of Czechoslovakia, when, as Cadogan would write, "We were being swept along on a rapid series of surprises sprung upon us by Hitler with a speed that took one's breath away," Canaris attempted another strategy. On April 3, 1939, he planted a report that the Luftwaffe might make a surprise attack on the British fleet. A second such report warned that German submarines were patrolling the English Channel and the Thames estuary. The Cabinet believed these reports and met; that same day Lord Stanhope, the First Lord of the Admiralty, boarded the aircraft carrier Ark Royal. to announce that "Shortly before I left the Admiralty it became necessary to give orders to man the anti-aircraft guns of the Fleet, so as to be ready for anything that might happen." The world reverberated with the announcement. The powreful British fleet was ready for immediate and determined action; war, it seemed, was imminent and unavoidable.

Like an earlier warning, which probably also originated with Canaris, that Hitler planned to bomb London in March of 1939, these reports proved to be false. And in planting them, so it appeared at the time, Canaris had overplayed his hand. UT was generally believed that they were part of Hitler's clever, unending war of nerves, and Canaris was blamed for concocting elaborate rumors and deception schemes to trouble the security of the western powers. His credibility was destroyed. But in the light of his future actions, his campaign of scare tactics might be traced to an entirely different motive. Disappointed by the failure of the British to respond to the warnings of his emissaries, he wanted to frighten them into taking positive action that would deter Hitler. All he succeeded in doing was to make the British doubt his sincerity.

Yet again, the flood of rumors and reports that inundated the British government that spring and summer would eventually work to the benefit of Canaris and the Schwarz Kapelle, and to the detriment of Hitler. Most of these rumors and reportss were found to be, after the fact, quite accurate; the surprises of which Cadogan wrote were surprises only because the British were ill-equipped to assess the truth of the intelligence that they had gathered from a wide variety of sources. Part of the problem lay in the very nature of some of those sources. The emissaries of the Schwarz Kapelle could be considered, at best, disgruntled monarchists and, at worst, traitors----neither a very reliable source of the truth. Canaris himself seemed little more than an agent provocateur. But just as their warnings had induced the British to strengthen their military defenses, so they also led to the strengthening of the British intelligence apparatus. A new organization, the Situation Report Centre, was created and a Foreign Office man, Victor Cavendish-Bentinck, a relative of the Duke of Portland, and a product of Wellington and the Grenadier Guards, was put in charge. Thereafter, the other intelligence organizations would report to him and a committee made up of the directors of the army, navy and air force intelligence services, which would be responsible for the collation, assessment, dissemination of all intelligence, whatever its source. Gradually, Cavendish-Bentinck, a man of exceptional perception and a wide knowledge of Germany, would expand his sphere to control all intelligence work---offensive, defensive, secret, technical, subversive and political; and the Situation Report Centre would be the forerunner of the Joint Intelligence Committee, also headed by Cavendish-Bentinck and the organization with which Britain would conduct its triumphant intelligence operations during the Second World War.

In the final moments of peace, Canaris and his group made one last attempt to avert the looming catastrophe. An officer of the German General Staff was sent to London overtly as a military observer, but covertly to make contact with "officers of the military and of British intelligence." He was Lieutenant Colonel Gerhardt Count von Schwerin, chief of the English section of the department that would become FHW, an important intelligence arm of OKW and, in 1943 and 1944, a major center of conspiracy intrigue between General Ulrich Liss, the chief of FHW, and his friend the deputy British military attache at the embassy in Berlin, Major Kenneth W.D. Strong, the man who would become, for D-Day, chief of intelligence to General Dwight D. Eisenhower, the Supreme Allied Commander.

The count's stay in London was not a secret matter for either the Germans or the British; it was customary even at this moment European history for the German and British general staffs to exchange observers; Liss himself had been in Britain a few months earlier. Schwerin, a panzer specialist, took no pains to disguise himself or his overt mission. He took a flat in Piccadilly and behaved like a German artistocrat. He had calling cards printed and distributed them wherever he went. He was to be seen riding in Rotten Row, practicing the haute ecole of a German gentleman. He appeared at Ascot, Sandhurst, and the Guards' Ball. But few except Strong and the director of naval intelligence, Admiral John Godfre, knew the true purpose of his visit. On March 28, 1939, he had warned the British Embassy in Berlin that "Hitler had decided to push his eastern expansion policy" that year; he was in Britain now to warn that Hitler had decalred on May 23, 1939, that he was determined to "attack Poland at the first suitable opportunity." Under Godfrey's "management," Schwerin met "a careful selection of Foreign Office and intelligence officials and MP's." To all he carried the same message; the only way to prevent the attack on Poland was for Britain to "impress Hitler both with its strength and determination."

On July 14, 1939, Schwerin was a guest at a dinner part at Godfrey's flat in Cadogan Place. Present were General Sir James Marshall-Cornwall, an old MI-6 hand who had been military attache in Berlin from 1928-1932 and was not Vice Chief of the Imperial General Staff, Cadogan, Menzies and the directors of the military intelligence services. There was, Marshall-Cornwall would record in his diary, "a good deal of good champagne consumed," and Schwerin reiterated his message. Marshall-Cornwall would record:

Count Schwerin wanted Britain to make a series of gestures on the Continent. He told us that Hitler would attack Poland but that he might be restrained if, in the first place, Britain made a powerful naval demonstration---something like a squadron of battleships, he proposed---in the Baltic. He also suggested that we should station a group of heavy bombers in France, and send to France the two fully-equipped divisions we had at that time. The next day we forwarded Schwerin's proposals to the various interested authorities, including the Prime Minister, and Schwerin returned to Germany with an expression of cordiality from Menzies to Canaris. But, alas, Schwerin's proposals fell upon poor soil.

Prime Minister Chamberlain and Lord Halifax made it known that Britain would do nothing at this stage; if she did so, the statesmen averred, such demonstrations would serve only to provoke Hitler.

Hitler did not require provocation; On August 22, 1939, the highest commanders of the Wehrmacht were ordered to report for a conference at athe Adlerhorst (the Eagle's Nest), the Fuehrer's eyrie on a mountaintop in the Obersalzburg of Bavaria. Their steam of staff cars purred along the white concrete autobahn through mountain valleys, into the village of Berchtesgaden with its sixteenth-century houses, and out toward the Hohergoll. They climbed up the winding Kehlsteinstrasse until the road ended abruptly in the side of the Kehlstein Mountain. Two great bronze doors opened at the touch of a button from SS guards and, leaving the valleys in bright sunshine below, the procession entered a long, marble-walled tunnel lit by bronze lanterns. The chauffeurs parked the cars in the smaller tunnel to the big, copper-lined elevator outfitted with deep leather seats. They were whisked up a shaft bored through the heart of the mountain for 400 feet, and when the doors opened they found themselves at 6184 feet in the Eagle's Nest.

Hitler kept his generals and admirals waiting for a few minutes in the anteroom where he displayed hyis collection of Nymphenburg and Frankenthal porcelain. Then, at a signal from the blond giant who wa chief of Hitler's SS bodyguard, they entered the Fuehrer's salon for the conference. The view from his wide panoramic window was Wagnerian: the Untersberg, the highest mountain near Salzburg, where the Emperor Frederick Barbarossa, according to legend, awaited the call to rise and restore the glories of the German Empire; the steeples and hills of Salzburg itself, where Mozart was born. The commanders settled themselves into large rustic furniture in a room that was dominated by a massive clock crowned by a bronze eagle and a bronze bust of Richard Wagner. The walls were covered with large oils, including a nude that was said to have been painted by Titian, two soft and haunting tapestries, a landscape by Spitzweg, some Roman ruins by Pannini and a structure by Eduard von Steinle that resembled an altar.

Hitler began to speak: "There will probably never again in the future be a man with more authority than I have. My existence is therefore a factor of great value. But I can be eliminated at any time by a criminal or a lunatic...There is no time to lose. War must come in my lifetime."

Displaying unbounded self-assurance, Hitler then announced that Ribbentrop had signed a Treaty of Friendship with the Soviet Union and that, whereas previously he had believed an attack upon Poland would mean war with England and France, now he was certain there would be no war. "I have," Hitler declared, "struck this instrument {assistance from Russia} from the hands of the western powers. Now we can strike at the heart of Poland. To the best of our knowledge the military road is free."

His declaration drew considerable surprise from his audience. The Fuehrer continued with a statement that he thought no British stateman would risk a long war with Germany while Russia remained out of the conflict. As for France, he said that she had been dragged along against her will by England and could not afford a long and bloody war without the help of Russia; French casualties in the First World War had seen to that. Moreover, he believed that "Our enemies are little worms: I saw them in Munich." And he added, "I am only afraid that at the last minute some Schweinhund will produce a plan of mediation."

Hitler spoke with such great force that all those present were silent. Why must there be war, he asked? "We have nothing to lose; we can only gain." He reviewed the tense world situation and concluded:

All these fortunate circumstances will no longer prevail in two or three years. No one knows how long I shall live. Therefore war is better now. Hannibal at Cannae, Frederick the Great at Leuthen, and Hindenburd and Ludendorff at Tannenberg---they took chances. So now we also must take risks which can only be mastered by iron determination.

With that the gathering broke up for a late lunch. According to an account in a Nuremberg document, Goering, beside himself with excitement, jumped onto the long table in the salon and gave "bloodthirsty thanks and bloody promises. He danced around like a savage." When the conference resumed, Hitler continued his harangue, exhorting his commanders to "Have no pity! Brutal attitude. Eighty million people must get what is their right." And then the Fuehrer announced that Case White was to be put into effect immediately. X-Day was August 26, 1939; Zero Hour was 0430. The object of the operation: "The destruction of Poland."

In the main Hitler's commanders favored this decision; had not the Wehrmacht swept through Austria and Czechoslovakia virtually unopposed? But several men---Halder, Witzleben, Steulpnagel, Fellgeibel, Canaris---kept silent. In their view, war was inevitable if Hitler was allowed to proceed. But how could he be stopped? Once again Canaris saw an opportunity to frustrate Hitler's plans, and he took it. He drove from Berchtesgaden to the Hotel of the Four Seasons in Munich, and there he made some notes and handed them to his deputy, Oster. Oster took the night express to Berlin, and shortly after the train left the Munich station, he met a man in civilian clothes in the corridor outside his sleeper---Major Gijsbertus Jacob Sas, an assistant military attache at the Dutch Embassy in Berlin, who had been a friend of Oster's for many years. Oster gave him Canaris' notes and by the evening of August 23, a report of Hitler's speech was on the desk of Major Foley in Berlin {Ed. British military attache), just as it was on the desks of all the other intelligence services friendly to the Dutch.

The leakage was effective, for it reached both London and Paris. The French reaction was immediate and drasticl Premier Edouard Daladier gave the Alerte, the signal that put the Maginot Line on a war footing. The British government also took precautionary measures. Orders were issued for key parties of the coast and anti-aircraft defenses to assemble, and for the protection of vulnerable points. Telegrams sent to the dominions and colonies warned tha tit might be necessary to enter a precautionary stance for war, the Lord Privy Seal was authorized to bring all civil defense and evacuation procedures to a war footing, and the Admiralty was given Cabinet authority to requisition twenty-five merchant ships for conversion into armed merchant cruisers. The Admiralty issued warnings to all merchantmen, all leave was stopped throughout the armed services, the anti-aircraft defenses were fully deployed, and reservists were called up in large numbers.

Such was the effect of Canaris' warning. On August 25, OKW and army headquarters at Zossen received a signal. Case White was to be postponed. Hitler had been informed that, the Nazi-Soviet Pact notwithstanding, if Germany attacked Poland, Britain and France would decalre war. And to show the Fuehrer it meant business, the British government had announced through the Foreign Office than an alliance had just been concluded with Poland. In Rome, Mussolini, who had recieved his own copy of Hitler's address, declared that Italy could not support Germany in a great war without substantial assistance in war materials and military supplies.

At Abwehr headquarters Canaris and Oster were jubliant. The man who claimed to be the "greatest strategist of all times, a war lord of a new kind," and who had issued orders to attack one minute and canceled them the next, could not be taken seriously by the generals. Oster said there was no longer any reason for a coup; Hitler would now fall through his own actions. And at the Kolonne the little Admiral declared: "Peace has been save for the next twenty years."

It was not to be. Hitler was determined to proceed. He told Brauchitsch at the Reichskanzlei that he was to regard X-Day as September 1, 1939. He would, he said, if he was pushed to it, wage a two-front war---the one type of war that all German strategists in modern history had declared Germany could not win. When Canaris heard the news, he faced the future with a shattered spirit. Across the years to come he saw in prospect the defeat and dissolution of all that he and many of his co-conspirators held dear: the Riech, the existence of the armed forces, the Officer Corpos, power, privilege, position---all would go.

In the predawn twilight of September 1, 1939, 1600 aircraft of the Luftwaffe opened the bombardment of Poland, and at five o'clock that same morning five German armies crossed the frontier. On September 3, the French and British declared war upon the Third Reich.

Interesting, no? Get the book and read more for yourself.

Surprises

He died last night.

The husband and I take a walk around the neighborhood every evening. It's our post-dinner constitutional. As we were walking back into the Cake Eater Alleyway from our walk, we ran into our ex-hippie neighbor, of whom we're very fond, and we chatted about the wild thunderstorm that passed through this afternoon. In the background, I saw that our other neighbor---Eric, the landlord's roommate---was fiddling around with his car, which hasn't been around the house for the past couple of days. Or at least I thought it was him. There was a fair amount of hair on him, and that didn't ring quite right, because the last time I'd seen him, he was completely bald. But, I thought, it had to be him. It was the same color hair, and if you can lose your hair that quickly, well you can get it back at the same rate, right? It seemed logical at the time. We said goodbye to one neighbor and walked up to the house, greeting another neighbor, readying ourselves for yet another neighborly conversation. After all, this is what you do on summer nights when you live in Minnesota. The weather will turn to shit soon enough, and you won't see your neighbors for six months because no one wants to spend any time outside then. We all hibernate here during the winter, so you work on your relationships when the weather's warm.

Well, it wasn't him. And it wasn't the conversation we expected to have.

It was his brother, who looks an awful lot like him. He introduced himself and then and he had the unfortunate task of letting us know that Eric had passed away last night. He'd been in the hospital for the past few days, dealing with complications due to the round of chemo that he was on for the testicular cancer. He'd been doing fine with the chemo, which he started at the beginning of last month. The husband chatted with him last week and while Eric had said he'd had twenty treatments in the last two weeks, he was hanging in there. He was doing all right, that he was going to beat this. He was even going to work every now and again. He worked at a bank and his co-workers had decorated his car with get well messages soaped across the windows, like people do when someone gets married.

The get well messages were still on the car this evening as his brother and his brother's fiancee packed up some of his belongings. Eric's originally from Ohio. I assume that's where they're from as well. It never came up in the course of conversation.

I didn't know him well enough to be upset over his death, but I'm still very sorry that he's gone. He was a nice guy and he didn't deserve to die. I respected him for his upbeat attitude. He wasn't shy about letting anyone know what was going on. The first conversation I ever had with him was a few days before he went in for surgery. We hadn't met yet. At that point, he was just "the roommate," and was, for me---as a person who's lived in this house for more than five years and has seen people come and go---someone I had yet to meet. It was dark outside and I was walking back into the house, and he walked in right after me, startling me because I hadn't seen him. He introduced himself and then he apologized over and over for scaring me. He was so sweet in his earnestness. We found a few days later about his surgery and thereafter every conversation was flavored with information about his cancer. He wanted to let us know how he was doing, in case we were afraid to ask. He wasn't ashamed that he had cancer---and testicular cancer at that, which is not something I wouldn't think you'd want to advertise if you were a man. He was always talking about how he was going to beat it, and while it was apparent he wasn't pleased about some of the treatments he was going to have to endure, he was going to endure them nonetheless. Because, of course, he wanted to live.

It's just so bloody sad that he's died. If anyone had the right attitude, it was him.

The memorial service is on Friday and, of course, we'll go. It's something of a milestone: this will be the first memorial service I will have attended for someone I know in the Twin Cities since I moved here nine years ago. I said when I lived in Des Moines and I attended the funeral of a co-worker's husband that, ahem, it was time to move: someone we knew had died. It was an odd sort of a fringe benefit when you move somewhere new: when you're new in town, funerals aren't a part of your regular schedule of activities. It does take time to meet and make friends with people when you're new to town. If I still lived in Omaha, I'd probably be going to funerals and wakes on a regular basis simply because that's just the way things work in your hometown. You know people all your life, and then they die. You go to either their wake or their funeral, depending upon your closeness, and pay your respects. You look at the obituary section of the paper every day. I can't tell you when the last time I looked at the obits was.

It's a common thing, death. As common as birth. As common as all the happy things that can happen to you in a lifetime. I think we all forget that sometimes.I know I have. It never occurred to me tonight that Eric's brother was going to tell us that he'd died.

I just hope Eric is somewhere happy and that he's free of pain and cancer.

It's Time to Cut A Rug

With the ladies of The Cotilion. Go and visit these fine blogs for your weekly fix.

Darleen's Place
Maxed Out Mama
Baldilocks
Small Dead Animals

A Cautionary Tale

You know, for the husband's birthday, I told him he could go skydiving. This will be the third time he's done a tandem jump, and despite the fact the man has ruptured his spleen doing stupid things on a snowboard in the past (and was two hours away from death, or so the surgeon told me), skydiving doesn't worry me. Why? Because someone else is attached to him and has all the responsibility.

But perhaps it's his other hobbies---specifically his gaming habit---that I should be worried about.

SEOUL (Reuters) - A South Korean man who played computer games for 50 hours almost non-stop died of heart failure minutes after finishing his mammoth session in an Internet cafe, authorities said Tuesday.

The 28-year-old man, identified only by his family name Lee, had been playing on-line battle simulation games at the cybercafe in the southeastern city of Taegu, police said.

Lee had planted himself in front of a computer monitor to play on-line games on Aug. 3. He only left the spot over the next three days to go to the toilet and take brief naps on a makeshift bed, they said.

"We presume the cause of death was heart failure stemming from exhaustion," a Taegu provincial police official said by telephone.{...}

Hmmmmm.

Gratuitous Snottery Alert

Courtesy of Jonathan we have what would have been a wonderfully insightful and informative article by Andrew Ferguson about the current problems and challenges facing the National Mall in Dee Cee if it weren't for the blatant Dee Cee snottery displayed.

IF YOU WANT A VISION of hell, look here: the national mall in Washington, D.C., at noon on a summer's day. Mom and Dad and Buddy and Sis stand on the treeless expanse, baked by the pitiless sun, looking lost. Dad wears a muscle-beach T-shirt stretched over a Cheesecake Factory body, his hair matted in shiny ringlets round the crown of his head. Sweat begins to show at the waistband of Mom's stretch pants. The air is hung with scrims of haze. To one side the Capitol building shimmers in ghostly outline. To the other, the Lincoln Memorial looms in what might or might not be Hellenic grandeur; it's hard to tell through the waves of heat. Both landmarks seem unreachable, impossibly distant, in opposite directions. Buddy's fanny pack won't stay hitched up, and the intense physical discomfort is the only thing that keeps Sis from dying, like totally dying, of boredom.{...}

See, this is how Ferguson starts the piece off. A "normal" family, in from out of town, going to see the Mall. He simultaneously sneers at this family for all their bourgeoisie manners and appearances yet sympathizes that they're being given the runaround because the mall is so poorly kept these days. It's hard to imagine why he's so sympathetic to their plight due his cariacturish description of this imaginary family. You don't know where they're from. You just know they're not from Dee Cee, as if living in the nation's capitol is the benchmark for having good taste. Perhaps they are imaginary, perhaps they're not, the world being overstuffed with fanny-pack, muscle T-shirt wearing Americans, but I have to imagine there are plenty of people who visit the mall whose manner of dress and behavior don't quite offend Ferguson's delicate aesthetic sensibilities quite so egregiously. To be blunt about it: no matter how informative Ferguson's article is, the snotty tone of the opening paragraphs ruin it.

This is what I would like to know: is there some sort of dress code for when people from out of town visit Dee Cee? You see, I've never been. And I haven't considered it to be all that much of a loss, either, I might add. The husband has and he tells me it's a wonderful experience and that when we go, at some distant point in the future, we have to block off at least six days to tour the Smithsonian. But it's hard to imagine why anyone would want to visit the nation's capitol when the residents are such unrelenting snots. One thing I hear over and over again from residents is how inappropriately people are dressed when they visit the monuments. I've listened to people whine on about the horror of the fanny pack. How no one should wear shorts (even in the summer) to visit any of the museums. How if Congress was really Republican they'd ban the wearing of tank tops. Ad nauseaum, ad infinitum. If you Dee Cee residents would like people to dress appropriately, perhaps you should have a fleet of maitre'd's patrolling all the entrances to town, handing out coats and ties to everyone you deem is dressed inappropriately. Otherwise, you should, perhaps, just perhaps, realize the unwashed masses out here in the rest of the country foot the bill for your largesse. And that perhaps, just perhaps, that might mean you should shut the fuck up, eh?

America is a big country. That there are many, many different styles of dress and behavior that are deemed appropriate enough elsewhere in the country. Dee Cee is a very small place. The rest of the country is huge. You're outnumbered, people. Lighten up.

So, It's Monday, Eh?

And I should be back to blogging, no? Particularly since I took the whole weekend off. Right?

Well, I probably will get around to posting something interesting later on in the day, but I had a wonderful, relaxing weekend with the husband and I'm still feeling a wee bit logy as a result. It's nothing to do with you, my devoted Cake Eater Readers. It's got everything to do with me not feeling particularly outraged or interested about/in anything right now. While I'd like to pass along my sincerest condolences to his family on his passing, Peter Jennings' death is not even remotely interesting to me currently.

That says something, no?

Anyway, in the gratuitous announcement department, since the boys are out of town this week, I'll be guesting over at The Butchers until they get back.

Heheheheh. They say revenge is a dish best served cold. And since it's been positively frigid around the Cake Eater kitchen lately, the revenge I have in store for my dear pal Steve-o for his outrageous behavior here, here and here, should be nicely chilled.

Much mayhem and hilarity will ensue shortly.

But first I must start the laundry and go and work some lard off my arse.

We interrupt this program...

Kathy's going to get really mad at me for hijacking the Cake Eater Chronicles like this, but I just need to get this off my chest in a very public manner.

I have finally decided what I believe the problem is with Microsoft Small Business Server 2003 as a whole: It's over-developed.

They've gone to such lengths to be able to accomodate nearly every concievable situation, that the simple, straighforward solutions that most small businesses need become convoluted configuration nightmares.

If I'm building an outhouse, I don't want to have to deconstruct the Sears Tower to do it.

I feel better. I'm sure you're confused. Don't worry. Kathy will probably delete this momentarily.

UPDATE FROM KATH: If this means I don't have to listen to complaints about a software program about which I know absolute SQUAT, the post stays.

Capisce, darling?

Related aside: For a minute there, I thought Steve-o had hijacked the blog again.

Your Helpful Cake Eater Tip For The Day

If you're a guy who is perhaps, ahem, a wee bit heavyset, please make sure you wear a belt if you find yourself bending over a lot.

Any efforts you could make to reduce the amount of crack I have to see would be very much appreciated.

Where's Marko Ramius When You Need Him?

It's not exactly The Hunt For Red October, is it?

VLADIVOSTOK, Russia - A Russian mini-submarine carrying seven sailors snagged on a fishing net and was stuck 625 feet down on the Pacific floor Friday, and the United States and Britain were rushing unmanned vehicles there to help in rescue efforts.

It was unclear whether there was enough oxygen aboard the mini-sub to keep the crew alive long enough for remote-controlled vehicles to reach them from bases in San Diego and Britain.

Pacific Fleet Commander Adm. Viktor Fyodorov was quoted by the Interfax news agency as saying the air supply would last until sometime Monday. However, he earlier told Russia's Channel One television that air would last "a little more than 24 hours."

The Russian sub's propeller became entangled in a fishing net Thursday, Russian navy Capt. Igor Dygalo said on state-run Rossiya television. The accident occurred in Beryozovaya Bay, about 50 miles south of Kamchatka's capital, Petropavlovsk-Kamchatsky, officials said.

"There is air remaining on the underwater apparatus for a day — one day," Dygalo said at about 6 a.m. EDT. "The operation continues. We have a day, and intensive, active measures will be taken to rescue the AS-28 vessel and the people aboard."

Fleet spokesman Capt. Alexander Kosolapov said contact had been made with the sailors, who were not hurt.{...}

Seriously, though. Death by suffocation is one of those things that gives me the heebie-jeebies, so I sincerely hope they manage to rescue those poor men. I'm particularly glad that the Russians learned their lesson with the Kursk accident and asked for help early on. Hopefully it won't be for naught.

Uh-Oh

Wee One's gonna get it when she gets home on Sunday.

I have to admit, if she was my child, I'd be like Chrissy and readying the bad-behavior-breaking boot camp, too. But since she's not, well, I just get to enjoy her. Which I do. Tremendously.

That child cracks me up.

Inept Copycats

So, what exactly is it about Edvard Munch's paintings that encourage theft?

OSLO (Reuters) - Masked robbers stole three worthless copies of pictures by Norwegian artist Edvard Munch from an Oslo hotel Wednesday in a bungled raid, almost a year after Munch's 1893 masterpiece "The Scream" was stolen.

Thieves wrenched the copies off the walls of Oslo's Hotel Continental with crowbars, a Reuters reporter at the scene said.

The thieves struck almost a year after armed robbers stole "The Scream" and another work by the pioneer of modern expressionism from an Oslo museum in front of stunned tourists.

Police were searching for three robbers, two who entered the hotel and one who waited in a getaway car that was found abandoned nearby.

"They both had crowbars and were wearing hoods and masks," Reuters reporter Anne Merete Henriksen said.{...}

You're, of course, asking where the ineptitude alluded to in the title is. I live to deliver you, my devoted Cake Eater readers, the goods, so here it is:

{...}The hotel has 12 Munch originals -- lithographs, wood cuts and an etching.

{...}"The three paintings were copies but we are handling the case as if they had been genuine," Hjulstad told Reuters. He said he did not see any link to last August's museum theft.

So, you've got lots of Munch goodies to steal in this particular hotel, yet these bunglers manage to steal three copies rather than any of the real stuff. Duh.

Which leads me back to my original question: what exactly is it about Munch's work that encourages theft?

I'll admit, Munch is not my favorite, but that's my own deal. It's good art, because it makes you think. But as far as my personal preferences are concerned, well, The Scream is not something I'd want hanging on my living room wall, ya dig? It's just a wee bit uncomfortable for my liking because that's probably what I look like when I scream, and like everyone else, I only want flattering portraits of myself hanging in my home. But, again, that's just me. Apparently Munch is very popular with some people, as they've been following the story of last summer's museum heist rather closely.

I've long wondered if, perhaps, RP's interest has---ahem---a wee bit more behind it...if you get what I'm driving at. Hmmmm? Like he's a litigator by day and Thomas Crown by night?

Hmmmm?

I'll be curious to see if RP has made a trip to Norway recently. Sure he said he was moving. And cleaning off his desk yesterday. That doesn't mean he didn't have something to do with the theft.

He---gasp!---could have been lying!

{Insert any number of conspiracy theories here}

But, really RP. I think you could have at least hired some competent thieves. You know, ones who could distinguish between the real stuff and the fakes. You're taking too many risks with these smash and grab jobs. Or are the smash and grab jobs just a clever diversionary tactic? You know, to keep suspicion from falling on you for the real theft? Hmmmm? Inquiring minds want to know.

Sense, Sensibility and Intellectual Dishonesty

Sadie has a question for you:

Pop quiz time - who wrote the following inarticulate statement?

I don’t think women generally have the sensibilities to run the country. Before you jump all over me, it’s important that you know I don’t care what you think. You’re reading this blog, so you obviously care what I think, so there it is.

Well, folks, in case you were wondering, it's that cutting-edge, I'm-a-big-shot-and-you're-not "Conservative" Blogger, La Shawn Barber.

To be fair (more fair than she is apparently) this is what she wrote in its entirety:

Rice for President: One of my advertisers is a group called Americans For Rice, and I’ve been asked by several people where I stand on the Condi-for-president meme. I wouldn’t vote for Condoleezza Rice for president of the United States. First, I don’t think women generally have the sensibilities to run the country. Before you jump all over me, it’s important that you know I don’t care what you think. You’re reading this blog, so you obviously care what I think, so there it is.

Second, Rice is pro-choice and might be pro-race preferences. No moderate Republican who I know is a moderate will ever get my vote.

So, what we have here is a statement against Condoleeza Rice for President. La Shawn has her reasons for not potentially voting for her. That's all well and good, but to say that "I don’t think women generally have the sensibilities to run the country" is beyond the freakin' pale. Note how she uses the qualifier "generally," as if that's going to keep her from getting into trouble. Then she acknowledges that people might be a wee bit upset about her sexist remarks and makes the most unbelievably arrogant statement I've seen yet: "Before you jump all over me, it’s important that you know I don’t care what you think. You’re reading this blog, so you obviously care what I think, so there it is." (My emphasis.)

You know what, LaShawn, I don't read your blog unless someone points out something inane and stupid that you've written. What can I say? I revel in it when someone who has such a puffed-up sense of self-importance gets slammed. I'm mean that way. Sue me.

I could say an awful lot about LaShawn's blatantly sexist attitude, but Jody does it better. But it doesn't end there. Oh, no. {Insert best Ron Popeil voice here} But wait....there's more! When LaShawn, in a fit of magnamity, deleted Jody's trackback, Beth had a few choice words to say about La Shawn's apparent inability to have people disagree with her.

Apparently, according to a comment La Shawn left at Jody's place and an update to the post linked above, the easiest way to discount someone who disagrees with you is to chalk it all up to jealousy over traffic and Ecosystem rankings.

First, the comment:

Way harsh and uncalled for. What did I ever do to you? Don't envy my ranking. I've worked hard for it. If you apply yourself, you can do it, too. By the way, save yourself the aggravation and don't wander over to my blog anymore. It's only going to get worse, I promise you. I'm starting to care less and less what people of any political stripe think of me, male or female.

Notice how she doesn't bother refuting the merits of Jody's argument. It's all about Ecosystem rankings and how hard she's worked to get where she is. I particularly adore the patronizing tone of the "If you apply yourself, you can do it, too" statement. I'd like to thank all of the little people...

Second, the update:

New/smaller bloggers, I’ve got something to say to you. One day a few of you may become huge. Your traffic and Ecosystem ranking will rise, and your reputation in the blogosphere will grow. Or not. But whatever happens, do me a favor? Don’t forget about or bad-mouth the bigger bloggers who linked to your posts and helped you back when you were smaller or first starting out, OK? It’s bad form. Especially if you asked them to link to your posts.

Sadly, it’s happened to me, and it’s…sad. The bitterness dripping from one such post was…bitter, and I don’t know why it’s there. I’m not a flame warrior, so I won’t link. It really doesn’t matter who it is. Just remember old LB’s advice.

To quote Kevin Spacey's character, Lloyd, from The Ref:

"You know what I'm going to get you for Christmas next year? A big wooden cross. So the next time you feel unappreciated for all the sacrifices you've made, you can climb on up and nail yourself to it."

See, since Jody asked the simple question: "Please someone tell me why she is so high in the ecosystem?" LaShawn could easily chalk Jody's criticism up to jealousy. I'm sure she'll do the same thing to me if she bothers reading this post, even though I don't give a rat's flaming behind about Ecosystem rankings. It's that simple for LaShawn: you don't like what I have to say? Well, since my blog is bigger and better than yours is, I must be bigger and better than you are. Hence your criticism is invalid and I will go along my merry way, spreading my inane ideas across the blogosphere to wide acclaim because no one will know if anyone disagrees with me because I will---ahem---delete their trackbacks and ban them from my blog.

I ask you, my devoted Cake Eater Readers, is that an attitude that represents the best of the blogosphere? Is this an attitude that represents the most intellectually honest position one could take?

I don't think so. Furthermore, I just flat-out love how LaShawn is all about helping the little bloggers. Her post has many little bits flavored with all sorts of advice for bloggers, yet she makes one of the most egregious errors of etiquette you can make in the blogosphere: she deletes the trackback of someone who disagrees with her. The only time it's appropriate to delete a trackback is when it's spam---of either the blogger-generated or pr0n operator variety. That's it. The rest of us humble bloggers see this format as a means of having a conversation. It's a sort of cocktail party, wherein you can chat with many people, gain many different ideas, and, most importantly, make up your own damn mind about whether or not those ideas have merit. LaShawn is anything but humble. She, apparently, is the cocktail party guest who says "SHUT THE HELL UP AND LISTEN TO WHAT I HAVE TO SAY BECAUSE I'M THE MOST IMPORTANT PERSON IN THE ROOM AND THE REST OF YOU ARE PEONS!" Then, if someone has the temerity to speak up, she puts her hands over her ears, in a most childlike fashion and screams, "I CAN'T HEAR YOU! I CAN'T HEAR YOU! I CAN'T HEAR YOU!"

Most bloggers are interested in debate. LaShawn, from what I can gather, is only interested in herself.

I have some questions for all you bloggers/blog readers who read LaShawn's blog: does LaShawn Barber's Corner really represent the best and the brightest of the blogosphere? Does she embody all the promise blogs and the blogosphere present? What, precisely, do you get out of reading her blog? I'm completely serious when I ask these questions. If you think the Ecosystem has any merit to it, you should know that LaShawn is ranked #20 within it. Is her blog better or worse for her ranking? Or am I out of line when I criticize her inability to take criticism simply because I'm ranked #913 (as of today)? Would you judge my criticisms of her "work" as valid---no matter what my ranking---or should I just kow tow to a "big dog" because that's the way LaShawn would have the blogoshpere work?

I'm interested to hear what you all have to say about this one because it really does get down to the heart of what a good deal of us think the blogosphere is about: the spread of ideas. How those ideas are spread is, apparently, an issue of debate itself. Would you rather read a blog that cares about debate? Or are you only interested in blogs that are echo chambers of approval for their authors? The blogosphere, I believe, is all about saying what's on your mind and then listening to what people have to say about it. It's about furthering the discussion.

Is it really interesting to you to read a blog written by someone who only has a mouth, but no ears?

UPDATE: Yeah, LaShawn, we're all really jealous of your ranking!

{...} have reason to believe these people are either envious of my ranking (who cares?) and don’t want me to be there, or can’t figure out why I’m there in the first place. Here’s the irony: because of their boredom/pettiness and links, I’ll rise even higher over the next few days. The ranking is based on links.

Thanks, kids, but I’m not worth your precious time. Contribute something to the blogosphere that doesn’t revolve around what another blogger is doing or writing. It’s boring.

Christ. Could LaShawn's head get any bigger without exploding and splattering stuff all over the place?

The only reason I ask is because I don't want to get any on me.

UPDATE DEUX: Oddybobo has a few choice words for LaShawn and Andy believes LaShawn's second post was actually directed at him for something Intelligent Design related in that massive linkdump---which, quite frankly, could be the case: she's just nutty enough to piss off that many people. Go and read both posts.

Your One-Stop-Shop For Cuban Political Repression and Caribbean Etiquette

Fausta's pissed off at Colin Cowie (I swear, the man wears more eyeliner and mascara than I do!), who apparently had a feature on CBS' The Early Show yesterday about throwing a "Cuba Libre Party." The premise behind this being if you can't go to Cuba, well, bring Cuba to your home with a Cuban-themed party.

This didn't go over so well with Paxety or Val, because it patently ignores the reality of what's going on in Cuba. But Fausta, well, while she agrees with these two, she has a different sort of axe to grind with Cowie:

But Colin's on a roll:

"Instead of a tablecloth, use potato sacking or jute"

This one really got on my nerves.

Colin, let me hold you firmly by both lapels while I heap scorn at your face,

The most humble Caribbean host would rather DIE than use potato sacking as a tablecloth. Hand-embroidered linen tablecloths are de rigeur, and, if it's a sit-down meal, accompanied with matching dinner or lunch-sized linen napkins. If linen is not affordable, or the hosts want a more casual look, tablecoths of the best-quality fabric the budget would allow. Good-quality paper tablecloths are used for outdoor ocassions, such as picnicking. Not potato sacking, you idiot.

The Early Show's show of cluelessness would only be matched by having Colin feature his watermelon napkin rings at an NAACP convention.{...}

Fausta: The blogosphere's Latina Emily Post.

Food For Thought?

From Joan Collins of all people.

{Insert irony bells clanging loudly here}

This from the chick whose finances skyrocketed after she (oh, pardon moi, her character) started beating up Linda Evans on a regular basis in the mid-80's?

While she's undoubtedly got a point, I don't know that she's the best person to be trumpeting said point.

{Hat tip: Martini Boy}

Have They Nothing Better To Do?

In this instance "they" would be the Scottish Police and legal system. They must not because they're prosecuting some guy for cutting the fin off his pet goldfish.

A MAN cut the tail off his goldfish with a pair of scissors because he was "bored" after a day of drinking.

Kenneth Grindlay, 20, launched the vicious attack on his pet goldfish - before tossing it back into its bowl for his horrified mother to find.

Grindlay, of Rosyth, Fife had started drinking after being left alone in the house for an afternoon and decided to cut off the family goldfish's tail with the scissors - left out for him by his mother to trim his beard - because he was "just bored".

He admitted carrying out the cruel attack at a court hearing yesterday but will not learn of his fate until detailed psychiatric reports are prepared.

Dunfermline Sheriff Court heard yesterday how Grindlay's mother Shona returned home to find the bloodied scissors he had used to maim the six-year-old fish out on the kitchen worktop.

She found the fish thrashing desperately around in its tank without its tail. She then called the police - who arranged for the mutilated pet to be taken to the vet.

The practice decided, however, that its injuries were so severe it had to be put out of its suffering. Grindlay pleaded guilty by letter to cruelty and ill-treating the fish and causing it unnecessary suffering at a hearing last month.

The hearing was told by depute fiscal Azrah Yousaf that the fish's injuries were among the worst that the vet had ever witnessed.

She said: "The police were called. When they arrived the fish was still alive but the police had noticed that it wasn't very active in the tank. The vet described it as one of the worst injuries they had ever seen."

When police arrived to interview Grindlay he told them: "I cut the fin off. I was a bit drunk. I was just bored."

He was later charged under the Protection of Animals Act of 1912 and referred to psychologists at Dunfermline's Queen Margaret Hospital. {...}

Yes, that's right. The guy was bored and drunk and cut the fin off his pet goldfish. He "launched a vicious attack" on his pet. He's having to undergo psychiatric evaluations because he did this. While this was not a nice thing to do and while I fully understand that harming one's pets or other small animals is a big alert that someone will become a serial killer, don't you think that perhaps, just perhaps this is a wee bit over the top? Particularly since it was a freakin' GOLDFISH that was maimed? A fish that, ahem, cannot feel pain.

What's the crime rate in Scotland again? Hmmmm. I wonder. Is there, possibly, anything the cops could be doing other than prosecuting people for cutting the tails off their goldfish? Hmmmmm? Could it be that the only reason they prosecuted this guy was because, ahem, he fessed up to his dirty deed?

It makes one wonder, doesn't it, what they'd do nowadays to all those people who used to participate in "how many goldfish can you swallow?" contests?

Au Naturale

Random Pensees is donning his activist suit for a very worthy cause.

Go read all about it.

The Stiff Upper Lip Appears To Be Pissed Off

In the immortal words of Jeff Goldstein: "{This}, my friends, is called throwing down the gauntlet, hard..."

Muslims who resent the British way of life should leave the UK, regardless of whether they are citizens or not, a senior Conservative said last night in comments that have heightened already tense community relations.

Gerald Howarth, the shadow defence minister, last night told The Scotsman that extremist Muslims who see the Iraq war as a conflict against Islam should be considered as treacherous as Soviet sympathisers during the Cold War. His remarkable claim shatters the tri-party consensus which Michael Howard, the Tory leader, sought to make with Tony Blair, the Prime Minister, and the Liberal Democrats.

Mr Howarth said yesterday that he is incensed by suggestions from Jack Straw, the Foreign Secretary, that Britain is "part of the problem" in Iraq - and said that the problem in the UK lies in fanatical Muslims living within our shores.

He is the first mainstream UK politician to suggest that extremist British Muslims should leave for Islamic societies. The government is looking at deporting foreign-born nationals and imprisoning British Muslims who incite or glorify terrorism.

"If they don't like our way of life, there is a simple remedy: go to another country, get out," Mr Howarth said. Asked what if these people were born in Britain, he replied: "Tough. If you don't give allegiance to this country, then leave."

He added: "There are plenty of other countries whose way of life would appear to be more conducive to what they aspire to. They would be happy and we would be happy." {...}

Gauntlet, indeed.

The fact that this is a war against those who would advocate civilization and those who wouldn't is coming home to roost, it seems.

It's too damn bad that it took two bombings---one which, of course, failed---to get that message across.

Related: Gorgeous George Galloway also has been at it again.

Someone needs to slap a burqua on gool ol' George and then we'll see how much he enjoys Muslim "civilization."

Proof Positive!

I have long harbored an animus toward women who deign to use public restrooms, but who simultaneously refuse to slap their fat asses down on the seat when they use them. These women "hover" above the toilet whilst doing their business and in the process splatter all over the seat they wouldn't deign to touch with their butt cheeks. Hence, they filthify it for the rest of us. These women, of course, can't be bothered to wipe up their mess. Which, of course, is disgusting.

The bitches.

The reasoning these hoverers always use is that "they could catch something." I think this is ridiculous. The average public restroom, unless it really is nasty, is cleaned more often than your bathroom at home. At some places it's cleaned several times a day. While I will admit there are shining examples of nasty restrooms everywhere, most are clean. What pisses me off is when you have a perfectly clean bathroom that becomes fit only for swine once these women get done. If the bathroom wasn't nasty before they got there, it sure as hell is when they're done.

But no one ever believes me when I tell them they should just sit down and do their business. Today is my day of sweet revenge. Because I have proof!

Ah-freakin'-ha!

NEW YORK (Reuters) - Have you ever wondered why your teeth chatter when you're cold, or if you could really catch a disease from sitting on a toilet seat?

New York physician Billy Goldberg, pestered by unusual questions at cocktail parties and other social gatherings over the years, puts the public's mind at ease in his book "Why Do Men Have Nipples?" which hits the book stores on Tuesday.

"It's really remarkable how often you get accosted," said Goldberg, 39. "There are the medical questions from family and friends, and then there are the drunk and outrageous questions where somebody wants to drop their pants and show you a rash or something."

{...}During the course of their research, Goldberg and Leyner found reports of gonorrhea, pinworm and roundworm found on toilet seats -- but catching something from it isn't common.

The authors discovered that an office setting might be worse for your health than toilet seats. Charles Gerba, a microbiologist at the University of Arizona, found the typical office desk harbors some 400 times more disease-causing bacteria than the average toilet seat.{...}

{my emphasis}

Get that? Your desk is nastier than the average toilet seat, so, for the love of all that is good and holy, beeeyotches, slap your fat asses down on the seat and tinkle!

You will make me much happier by doing this than when you leave a mess for me to clean up.

The world, and I, thank you for your efforts in this matter.

Weebles and iPods

Because I'm all about linking videos today, here's one with ApplePiePods.

(Say it really fast and then you'll get it.)

And yes, it's hard to dance when you don't have any limbs.

{Hat Tip: Stiggy}

SpamSpamSpamSpammitySpam

I can't say that I enjoy email spam all that much, but there are times, I will admit, when I find the creativity of some spammers interesting. When your inbox is full of penis/breast enhancement spams, it's somewhat refreshing when someone actually puts some effort into trying to rip you off.

Between the husband and I, we've received some interesting variations on the Nigerian Oil Scam Spam in the past couple of days and I thought I'd share.

If you're at all interested, take the jump.

I received the first one from a "Alexander Gusinsky"

Alexander Gusinsky Franchise Owner of Yukos Engineering, EMAIL;lxndrgsnsky@yahoo.co.in Dear Friend,

I have sent you this mail because of the need to opendiscussions with you.I don't want you to misunderstandthis offer in any aspect, if it is okay with you I ask
for your full cooperation. I am Alexander Gusinsky,the Franchise Owner of Yukos Engineering an international affiliate of Yukos Oil and Gas Company
based in Russia. Due to ill Health I have Esophageal cancer, it has defiled all forms of medical treatment and according to the medical experts it is a terminal illness so i do not know how much longer I have to live. I never had any real Friends in my lifetime because I never really cared for anyone but my business.

But now I know that there is more to life than making all the money in the world. However, certain unfolding events has made it very necessary for me to seek your help, my company is fighting investigations and bankrupcy due to the Yukos Oil problems in Russia, most of my assets were seized due to this case.
Recently I received a bulk payment from South Africa Ministry for my last contract there. I instructed them specifically not to send the funds to Russia becauseof the problems,but that the funds be deposited with a Finance and Security company in Europe on hold. A huge cash deposit of Eighteen Million dollars was domiciled with the a finance/Security Company overseas to my knowledge only. This is the last of my assets, now that my health has deteriorated so badly, I cannot do this myself anymore, I therefore need you as a partner because you are a neutral party to help me collect this funds deposited with the security company and disburse it secretly based on my instructions.

Because my time is short I have decided to give most of this money to charity organizations, as I want this to be one of the last good deeds I do on earth. For
all your good efforts you will receive 30% of the Funds and must disburse the rest based on my instructions. I want you to understand my seriousness
in this case and if you can handle the job kindly contact me via this email:alexandergsnsky@sify.com .

I have all the necessary documents on hand, please contact me asap so we can discuss more.

Thank you for your anticipated cooperation.

Best Regards,
Alexander Gusinsky

His esophageal cancer has "defiled" all medical treatments? Wow, that's a pretty mean cancer, wouldn't you say? There's no need to get nasty, Mr. Esophageal Cancer; simply resisting the treatments is enough for most people to get the hint you don't want to go away, there's no need to "defile" the treatments. They're just trying to do their job. You have a job to do, too. They understand that. How about some mutual respect, eh?

Er...anyway I found it interesting how Yukos has been pulled into all of this. Yukos, if you didn't know, was the brain child of Mikhail Khodorkovsky, who was recently found guilty of tax evasion in the Russian courts. As one of the first pre-Soviet era Oligarchs, he wielded quite a bit of power within the country. It's been rumored that Putin told the oligarchs that they could do what they would as long as they stayed out of politics. Khodorkovsky ignored that warning, got involved and unlike Roman Abramovich, did not flee the country with his fortune in tow. Yukos has been mostly reappropriated by the Russian government lately, as a means of not only paying off Khordokovsky's supposed debt, but because the government said the company cheated the state on taxes as well. So this spam does make quite a bit of sense, in the scheme of things.

The next one is just as interesting. This one landed in the husband's email box about a day after I received the one listed above.

From: john morgan smith [mailto:john_morgan_s@walla.com] Sent: Saturday, July 30, 2005 11:10 PM Subject: Be my partner

Dear friend

I am Mr. Tony Morgan Smith a personal treasurer to Mikhail Khodorkovsky The Richest man in Russia and owner of the following Companies: Chairman CEO: YUKOS OIL (Russian Largest Oil Company) Chairman CEO:Menatep SBP Bank (Awell reputable financial institution with its Branches all Over the world).

SOURCE OF FUNDS:I have a profiling amount in an excess of US$100.5M, which I seek your Partnership in accommodating for me.You will be rewarded with 4% of the total sum for your partnership. Can you be my partner on this?

INTRODUCTION OF MY SELF: As a personal consultant to him,authority was handed over to me in transfer of money of an American oil merchant for his last oil deal with my boss Mikhail Khodorkovsky. Already the funds have left the shore of Russia to Offshore Security and Europe Credit Commssion Madrid Spain where it was deposited with a coded name. where the final crediting is expected to be carried out.While I was on the process, My Boss got arrested for his Involvement in politics by financing the leading And opposing political parties (the Union of Right Forces, Led by Boris Nemtsov, and Yabloko, a liberal/social democratic party Led by Gregor Yavlinsky) which Poses a treat to President Vladimir Putin Second Tenure as Russian president. You can catch more of the story on this website: www.yukos.com

YOUR ROLE: All I need from you is to stand as the beneficiary of the Above quoted Sum and I will re-profile the funds with your Name, which will enable the OffshoreSecurity and Euope Credit Commssion Madrid Spain hand over the fund to you. I Have decided to use this Sum to relocate to American Continent and never to be connected to any Of Mikhail Khodorkovsky Conglomerates. The transaction has to be concluded soon and as I confirmYour readinesses to travel to spain for the clearing of the fund from the company.it will be concluded as soon as i confirm your readiness,I Will provide you with the details.

Thank you very much.

Regards
Tony Morgan Smith (Mr.) N/B reply with this email address {john_morgan_s@walla.com }

Pretty sophisticated, no? Fight political repression and get rich at the same time, too! What more could you ask for? I have to say, that's one of the better ones I've seen. And the rate of return is pretty good. 4% of 100.5M US. Four million dollars. It's not better than the 30% of 18M US listed in the first spam, but it's not too shabby.

Leaving Russia's oligarchs aside, here's one that landed in the husband's box today.

From: dwyer007@i12.com [mailto:dwyer007@i12.com] Sent: Wednesday, August 03, 2005 10:43 AM To: dwyer007@i12.com Subject: Urgent Attn:

From Dr. Daley KWAME.
Personal Assistant to Rebel leader, John Garang of Sudan.

ATTN: URGENT ATTENTION

I am The Personal Assistant To The late Rebel Leader JOHN GARANG OF SUDAN,
WHO SAD EVENT TOO PLACE ON THE 31TH OF JULY 2005 ON AN AIRROCULTER CRASH.

MR GARANG DURING HIS LIFE TIME DEPOSITED SOME SEALED BOXES WITH A SECURITY COMPANY IN GHANA WEST AFRICA, THESE SEALED BOXES CONTAINS DIAMOND AND SOME REASONABLE AMOUNTS. TREE (3) OF THE BOXES ARE FILED UP WITH DIAMOND WHILE THE OTHER FOUR (4) BOXES CONTAINS ($73USD, SEVENTY TREE MILLION DOLLARS). MY PLANES WITH MR GARANG BEFORE HIS DEATH, WE TOLD THE SECURITY COMPANY THAT THE BOXES BELONGS TO A FOREIGN INVESTOR WHO IS COMING TO CLEAR THE BOXES. THE DEPPOSIT NUMBER IS XLM/23SD/89EU5/NDF77/JU6/05.

SIR ALL AM TRYING TO SAY IS THAT I NEED YOU TO JOIN ME IN THIS BUSINESS SO THAT WE CAN GET THOSE BOXES OUT SINCE MY BOSS IS DEAD NO OTHER PERSON KNOWS ABOUT THIS CONSIMENT APART FROM ME AND MY BOSS. WE WILL TALK ABOUT THE PERCENTAGE AS SOON AS YOU ACKNOWLEDGE THIS PROPOSAL. SO THAT I WILL TELL YOU THE NAME AND OTHER INFORMATION WE USE IN DEPOSITING THOSE BOXES. AND ALSO PLAN HOW TO COME OVER SO THAT WE WILL GO OVER THE WITH SOME DOCUMENTS WHICH AM WITH TO CLAIM IT.

PLEASE CALL ME ON MY PERSONAL PHONE NUMBER +233 243 558 346 AWAINTING YOUR URGENT REPLY

BEST REGARDS
DR. DALEY DWYER.

That was quick, wasn't it? Garang was killed in a helicopter crash on Saturday, July 30th.

I don't know if I'd be willing to get involved, though, since he doesn't list out the percentage of the Seventy Tree million dollars Garang stashed away before his death. That seems a pretty commonplace thing to know before getting involved in one of these deals, don't you think?

Insert Samurai Yelp Here

This is so freakin' cool. Particularly the slo-mo footage. Note that it took seven bullets to break the sword---and it looks like the sword sliced one of the bullets in half. Talk about a close shave, eh?

If you don't know what a Katana is, go peek at this.

{Hat Tip: John L. at Texas Best Grok}

Say It Ain't So!

Sean Connery, aka "The Big Tam," is retiring from making movies.

And it's not just because he wants to play more golf.

{...}He said: "I'm fed up with the idiots... the ever-widening gap between people who know how to make movies and the people who green-light the movies."

Sir Sean added: "I don't say they're all idiots. I'm just saying there's a lot of them that are very good at it."{...}

I can't fault his logic, but I'm very, very sad about this. Sigh.

{Hat Tip: Fausta}

Oh, The Humanity

If this guy really is a cop, I don't want him anywhere NEAR me.

{Hat Tip: WitNit}

Knock Me Over With a Feather

Amnesty International has come out against the Iraqi "Insurgents."

LONDON - Armed groups in Iraq that oppose the U.S.-led coalition are committing war crimes by killing civilians, taking hostages and torturing and slaying defenseless prisoners, the human rights group Amnesty International said.

Ah, but don't get too excited.

The London-based organization also said it recognized that many Iraqis believe U.S.-led troops also have committed grave human rights violations. But it denounced the Iraqi insurgents for a "failure to abide by even the most basic standards of humanitarian law."

"There is no honor nor heroism in blowing up people going to pray or murdering a terrified hostage. Those carrying out such acts are criminals, nothing less, whose actions undermine any claim they may have to be pursuing a legitimate cause," Amnesty said.

Hey, try not to judge Amnesty too harshly. At least US Troops are now on equal footing with the "insurgents." There's something to be said for that.

Because all terrorists are created equal, no? Now there's a human rights campaign for ya!

Thoughts on Beer

I'm a wine drinker, right?

We all know this.

I adore my Chardonnay. I really do. I'd drink red wine if I wasn't allergic to the tannins, which give me a whopper of a headache the next day if I have more than one glass. Meaning I can have two glasses of red wine and the next day I will be as hungover as W.C. Fields was everyday of his life. I took me a while to figure this out, of course, but once I did I stopped drinking the stuff, except on rare occasion. But I do like a full-bodied adult beverage when I have one. When a cocktail is in order I like a Sapphire and Tonic (lime on the bottom). I refuse to drink Rhine wines or Sauvingnon Blancs. They taste like wine that deserves a good beating. They're the proverbial skinny guy on the beach who gets buried in the sand. Same goes with frou-frou drinks that are blended and come with an umbrella. So, you can perhaps understand why Chardonnay serves my purposes beautifully. It's full bodied, but not so much so that I hate life the next morning, no matter how little of it I actually drink.

These are the things I like when it comes to boozing it up.

It should be said that I generally avoid beer. I'm not in college anymore. I don't have to drink the stuff if I don't want to. And, for the most part, I don't want to. For many reasons. But...there's a bunch of it in my fridge right now and I'm finding myself drinking it as my evening cocktail routine to clear it out.

And you know what? It's not tasting all that bad.

Hmmph.

ML and The Doctor brought some Bass Ale over the other night for dinner, because my brother-in-law is not a big wine drinker. I thought that perhaps, if I was lucky, my sister might take it home with her, but seeing as how she left more than half her temporary kitchen in my permanent one, she didn't. And she even left me one token Corona, too, so I shall have to drink that as well. No, you don't have to worry: I already have lime in the house.

I don't know why, but it's tasting pretty good. Ususally beer fills me up and leaves me feeling guilty when I invariably reminisce about how much of the stuff I charmed off cute Fraternity boys in school. And I charmed a lot of the stuff off of cute boys. Yeah, I know. I was one of those chicks. Take comfort in the fact that I do feel guilty about it. I'm assuming the fact it's tasting good is because it's hot outside, and the weather seems to demand cold beer, but who knows, really, why it's tasting good.

Perhaps it's because the stuff is free?

I'm puzzled.

Yeah, I Was In Showgirls

They just cut all of my scenes out of the film.

My life is rated NC-17.
What is your life rated?

I'm pretty sure it's the smoking thing that shot me out of the "R" category.

{Hat Tip: Phin}

Uncomfortable

So, because of this post yesterday, which got linked by AOL's news service, I'm having a bit of a rush of new customers.

Who are all AOL subscribers.

I somewhat feel like I need a shower.

I'm also fighting the urge to update that post with a little addendum instructing them to get a real ISP. That there's a whole world out there, just waiting for them if only they'd stop being so dependent upon other people, who want to tell them where and how to surf. AOL isn't protecting anyone from spammers or viruses: they're protecting people from finding other alternatives; from exploring the world that is beyond AOL's walls. Which is really sad.

I have willfully restrained myself, however. But damn, it's hard. If I could only get one person off of AOHELL, I might have not only done that person a favor, but have also struck a blow against AOL by denying them that person's monthly protection payment. If only...

Sigh.

On The Brink of Collapse

This certainly isn't good news.

KHARTOUM, Sudan - Violent mobs surged again into the streets of Sudan's capital Tuesday, a day after 36 people died in riots sparked by the death of Sudanese vice president and former southern rebel leader John Garang.

The initial violence Monday was blamed on Garang supporters from the Christian and animist south who blamed his death in a helicopter crash on Sudan's Muslim-dominated government, but both northerners and southerners reportedly staged attacks Tuesday after a quiet morning.

Arab gangs invaded some neighborhoods heavily populated by southerners on the outskirts of Khartoum and attacked people in the streets and raided homes, said William Ezekiel, managing editor of the Khartoum Monitor. He said some people had been shot to death.

"The Arabs are attacking them, entering their houses and looking for southerners," said Ezekiel, whose newspaper focuses largely on southern issues.

"It's a reaction to the reaction from yesterday: `Where is the government? Where are the police?'" he said.

A senior U.N. official in Khartoum said angry southerners from camps outside the capital for people displaced by the long war in southern Sudan attacked the Omdurman area. He said a Muslim imam had been slain.

"The situation is turning religious and that will be even more dangerous," he said, speaking on condition of anonymity because he was not authorized to talk to journalists.

The reports of deaths Tuesday could not be independently confirmed. Officials said Monday's riots resulted in 36 people being killed and about 300 injured.

The government renewed the 6 p.m.-6 a.m. curfew first imposed Monday night, and by midafternoon downtown streets were nearly empty. An occasional siren could be heard.{...}

Oh man.

Sudan's twenty-three-year long civil war between the Northern---Muslim---government and Southern---Christian and Animist---opposition has finally been put to bed with a power sharing deal and it's threatened by this. And make no mistake about it, the peace deal is very much at risk of dissolving with Garang's death. His appointment as Vice President was a very big deal. While I still claim that this decades long civil war was fought more in the name of resources, which are scarce in the North but abundant in the South, religion does play some part in it. And it seems as if that's to be the dividing line once again with this recent violence. The new government has to quash the violence and they have to be equal about it. Any hint of favoritism will blow the peace accord right out of the water: these people are used to fighting; they may want peace, but they know initmately how that peace was obtained and if Bashir, the Northern President, doesn't follow the terms of the deal in relation to quashing the violence, it will be seen by the Southerners as proof that a. they actually did kill Garang and b. they never meant to follow through with the terms of the peace deal in the first place. Even though the SPLM is Garang's organization, and they have denied that the accident was anything other than an accident, it's been reported that they did as much killing of southerners as did the Northern army. If I were a Southern Sudanese, I'd be just as wary of them and anything they had to say as I would be of the Northerners.

Whether or not Bashir will actually do what is needed to salvage the deal is anyone's best guess. It will be interesting to see who rises to take Garang's VP slot. If Bashir appoints a northerner, someone loyal to him, it's a sure sign that's he's going to renege and that the Civil War will flare back up again.

The Ball Keeps Rolling

In case you might not have heard, King Fahd died.

This, I have to admit, is not interesting news in itself. He's been sick for quite some time and has played no active role in leading his country, having handed that task over to his half-brother, Abdullah, formerly the Crown Prince, now the king. Now, Abdullah himself is no spring chicken at 81. King Fahd was only three years older than him and his successor, another half-brother, named Sultan is 77. These are the sons of Abdul-Aziz bin Saud, who founded the Kingdom. And these are only three of his sons: he sired forty-two children that we know about. God only knows how many illegitimate children he fathered.

I think it's safe to say that nothing interesting is going to happen in The Kingdom until Abdullah and Sultan pass on, provided Sultan moves to the "younger" generation---Abdul-Aziz's grandsons---for his successor. If Crown Prince Sultan doesn't move to the younger generation for his successor, well, things could get interesting of their own accord. Saudi Arabia needs younger leadership: Fahd was great for stability, but Saudi infrastructure is stagnating and needs a boost. If Crown Price Sultan sticks with his own generation for his successor, that could create even more problems within an already disenfranchised population. This would give ground to Islamofascists and democracy activists alike: who both want the House of Saud to crash to the ground.

I'm no expert on The Kingdom, but politics are politics: whether it's in the Kingdom of Great Britain circa 1400 or The Kingdom of Saudi Arabia c. 2005. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to know that the House of Saud holds great power, but that said hold is slipping. The only way to keep that power from slipping further is to find a balance between what's good for the House of Saud and what's good for the population of the country and is something they're willing to live with. There's quite a bit to be done within the Kindgom as it stands right now. Unemployment is sky high within the native population (there are plenty of guest workers, including westerners, but educated young men are increasingly frustrated at the lack of employment opportunity within the country); the economy, other than the oil industry, is stagnating; a great deal of the country's wealth is in the hands of a very small number of people, like this guy, (yeah, he's the guy whose money Rudy Giuliani refused for the 9/11 fund) who would prefer to bring in westerners to rebuild the infrastructure of the Kingdom rather than spending his tens of billions of dollars doing it himself. And this, of course, says nothing of that particularly frustrating brand of Islam called Wahhabism that the House of Saud promotes that causes its own bunch of problems.

Whomever gets the reins after Crown Prince Sultan is going to dictate the direction of Saudi Arabia. The country will either go up in revolutionary flames, or it will continue along the same path with what could be considered to be radical improvements. The ball is still rolling in the same direction it was under King Fahd. We're going to have to wait and see what happens to the ball when the younger generation takes power.

Would You Care To Take A Spin Around The Ballroom?

Yes, it's Tuesday, aka Girl Power Day in the Blogosphere, and if you'd like to take a twirl with the fabulous women of The Cotillion, just click on over to these sites:

Sisu
Portia Rediscovered
Ilyka Damen
Kellipundit

Go and take a twirl. It'll do you some good.

Sci-Fi Geek Alert

Go and read this interview with Joss Whedon.

You won't be sorry.

{Hat Tip: Jonathan}

Your Chuckle For The Day

Courtesy of the Taxpayers League of Minnesota and Freedom Dogs:

Heh.

Considering I was actually---genuinely and sincerely---thanked by a teacher last week at Walgreens when I was buying smokes (she was in buying---ahem---SCHOOL SUPPLIES FOR THE KIDS IN HER CLASSROOM WHO CAN'T AFFORD THEM! Out of her own pocket, mind you. She wasn't going to be reimbursed.), these actually go over rather well. Unfortunately, I had to let the teacher down. I told her not to hold her breath (ha ha, aren't I funny?) as I would be buying smoky treats online soon because it would be too expensive when the "Health Impact Fee" kicked in. Not to mention, I did mention, that I had issues with being taxed to make up for laziness and lies of our state politicians. If it was a "fee," I reasoned aloud, wasn't I allowed to ignore said "fee" and exhibit my rights as a consumer to go elsewhere? If the Governor says it's not a "tax" well, then, am I not covered if I don't want to pay it by going someplace I could avoid paying that "fee"? Her face fell and you could see the gears grinding; the thought of future budget shortfalls running like mad through her head. I told her, quite bluntly, to lobby her fellow union members to fire some of their good-for-nothing union administrators and to clean up the local school administration's money sucking bureaucracy to make up the impending shortfall.

She wasn't quite so "thankful" then, I must admit.

{Hat Tip: Bogus Doug}

You Tell Him, Lauren!

I've always adored Lauren Bacall. I adore her even more today:

NEW YORK -Lauren Bacall has a few unkind words to say about Tom Cruise. In an interview in the Aug. 8 issue of Time magazine, now on newsstands, the 80-year-old actress says, "When you talk about a great actor, you're not talking about Tom Cruise."

"His whole behavior is so shocking," she says. "It's inappropriate and vulgar and absolutely unacceptable to use your private life to sell anything commercially, but I think it's kind of a sickness."{...}

BWAHAHAHAHAHAAHA!

"When you talk about a great actor, you're not talking about Tom Cruise." Oh, tee hee. He has been so vulgar. Great word choice, Lauren. You can just hear her saying it, can't you? I heart Lauren!

I cannot freakin' wait to hear what poor excuse Tommy Boy comes up with to blow Lauren off. That should be good. Do you think he'll just brush it off by claiming she was on anti-depressants?

The Lost Weekend

Yeah, I'm stealing the title from Robbo, but hey, I'm still pooped, hence am lacking in creativity at the moment. Sue me.

Anyway, as mentioned on Friday, the husband celebrated his thirty-fifth birthday that day. This momentous date, of course, demanded a party. The husband decided he wanted to cook for his birthday, which can only be considered odd until you take in the fact that I do most of the cooking around here. He likes to cook, so he looked in the freezer, decided to work mostly with what we had (He does like to clear things out on occasion, even if it leaves us with an empty freezer.) and came up with a fabulous, if not overly meaty, meal of roast pork tenderloin, itty-bitty hamburgers, and lightly breaded and spiced chicken breasts that had been pounded into submission, stuffed with crab stuffing and tied up into little chicken packages with leek strings. We had salad and steamed artichokes, too, just in case you were wondering if we were all going to come down with scurvy for lack of greens. Of course, the Doctor and M.L. came over for supper, and then my sister and her husband and three children, fresh from the lake, arrived, just in time to quaff adult beverages and eat the food. Since this was an "adult" dinner party, we threw the kids into the office, toute suite, which conveniently also happens to have a tee vee and a door that closes, to watch The Incredibles. Not a peep was heard from them until it was time to blow out the birthday candles on the tiramisu. Then they all ran back into the office and waited patiently for someone to start the tape back up. (Whoops! My bad.)

Since we had decided to go here on Saturday afternoon, Christi dragged me out for the obligatory "I need to see if the fabric stores up here have something I can't find in Omaha" shopping trip. Fortunately, Christi is well aware of my general loathing of all things fabric store-y and kept the trip short. Phew. My leg only twitched once during the trip, and I swear, it was completely unintentional on my part. Then we came back for lunch and headed off to the pool for the afternoon.

I must highly recommend the Edina Aquatic Center if you're looking for a kiddie friendly afternoon in the Twin Cities on a hot summer afternoon. It's got everything you could ask for: a kiddie playland for the wee ones in the middle of a zero-depth pool; two waterslides; an olympic pool for swimming; two diving boards; and a zip line that drops the hanger-on into the deep end of the pool after sliding them across part of the width, six feet up. It was loads of fun, and not only for the kids. The husband and I had a great time as well. The intertube waterslide is a blast, and if you have more than one adult in your party, well, know that if you squish two adults onto a tube you can fly like the wind down the slide due to the Laws of Physics. Good fun, no?

Later on we came back to the house, rested for a while, and then shot off for dinner and then went back to the Aquatic Center for a bit of evening swimming. When we got back to the house, the kids were completely wiped out (which was the plan, in case you were wondering) but not so wiped out that they didn't want to give Uncle Mike his birthday treat: fireworks. They know Uncle Mike adores blowing stuff up, so they came well prepared with roman candles, spinners, a parachute thingy, fountains and poppers (those little bits of paper with a bit of gunpowder in them that "pop" when you throw them on the ground). The kids had a great time and the quote for the evening came from James, who after closely examining a little paper tank loaded with fireworks that had become somewhat squished in their travels, scoffed at the husband's concern that something might go wrong, and said, "Just light the thing, old man!" After he finished laughing, the husband was so proud of his little protege he was about to burst. Future Pyros of America, indeed.

Once everyone was settled, and we were all about ready to drop, everyone else received the privilege of dropping, but I had to go over to el aeroporto to pick up Mr. H., who spent last week in L.A. on vacation. Oh, my. Needless to say, I was not pleased with Northworst Airlines. They'd printed on his ticket that his flight arrived at 11:10 pm. And I was there, ready and waiting for him a few minutes early in case they caught a tailwind, which does happen quite often with flights coming in from the west coast. I thought I'd be back home and in bed by 11:45. Turns out, however, Northworst had changed the arrival time from 11:10 to 11:37. OY! By the time he got down to baggage claim (they unloaded the plane at the very last gate on the Gold Concourse, which as anyone who's ever flown through MSP International could tell you is about a mile long and takes forever to traverse.) we claimed his bag, and got back to the Cake Eater Pad it was well past midnight and Kathy was a sleepy girl. Mr. H. however had a great time in La La Land and highly recommends a trip to see King Tut at The Los Angeles County Museum of Art if you happen to visit the greater Lou-Lou-Land metropolitan area.

Yesterday, sadly, everyone headed home and the husband and I decided to decamp to the living room to recover from the whirlwind. We watched loads of crap tee vee and napped. Amazingly enough, the kids did not leave one single thing behind! I'm shocked, but fully expect to find a Hot Wheels under the sofa the next time I vacuum under there. I do have a load of food and a half a case of diet Mountain Dew in the fridge. Christi always leaves me loads of food and drink whenever she comes to visit. After a week in a cabin, she always arrives with enough food leftover to feed an army for a day (or two people for a week). She claims she doesn't want to take it home, but really I think she thinks we're starving or something like that, because our fridge just isn't as full as she thinks it should be. I think she completely forgets we're a family of two instead of five, so it's just never going to have as much stuff in it as her fridge does. So, if anyone wants half a case of Diet Mountain Dew let me know and it's yours.

Regular blogging will resume shortly. Like later in the day.

The Cake Eater Chronicles: 60,000 Served Since 2003

If you're interested, today is the second anniversary of The Cake Eater Chronicles.

wOOt!

And one of these days my archives from the old trailer park Blogspot home will magically appear on the sidebar so that I don't have to fend off claims of "bullshit!"