So, the great hope of America, Barack Obama has a virulently racist pastor. And now that said pastor's DVD footage of his sermons has hit the mainstream press, all hell's breaking loose and Obama has been forced to condemn his pastor's statements.

The pastor of my church, Rev. Jeremiah Wright, who recently preached his last sermon and is in the process of retiring, has touched off a firestorm over the last few days. He's drawn attention as the result of some inflammatory and appalling remarks he made about our country, our politics, and my political opponents.

Let me say at the outset that I vehemently disagree and strongly condemn the statements that have been the subject of this controversy. I categorically denounce any statement that disparages our great country or serves to divide us from our allies. I also believe that words that degrade individuals have no place in our public dialogue, whether it's on the campaign stump or in the pulpit. In sum, I reject outright the statements by Rev. Wright that are at issue.

Because these particular statements by Rev. Wright are so contrary to my own life and beliefs, a number of people have legitimately raised questions about the nature of my relationship with Rev. Wright and my membership in the church. Let me therefore provide some context.

As I have written about in my books, I first joined Trinity United Church of Christ nearly twenty years ago. I knew Rev. Wright as someone who served this nation with honor as a United States Marine, as a respected biblical scholar, and as someone who taught or lectured at seminaries across the country, from Union Theological Seminary to the University of Chicago. He also led a diverse congregation that was and still is a pillar of the South Side and the entire city of Chicago. It's a congregation that does not merely preach social justice but acts it out each day, through ministries ranging from housing the homeless to reaching out to those with HIV/AIDS.

Most importantly, Rev. Wright preached the gospel of Jesus, a gospel on which I base my life. In other words, he has never been my political advisor; he's been my pastor. And the sermons I heard him preach always related to our obligation to love God and one another, to work on behalf of the poor, and to seek justice at every turn.{...}

Oh, really? Rev. Wright preached the gospel of Jesus? Point out the section to me in either Matthew, Mark, Luke or John where Jesus goes on about hating America, Americans getting what was coming to them on 9/11, and how "Barack knows what it means to be a black man to be living in a country and a culture that is controlled by rich white people{...} Hillary can never know that. Hillary ain't never been called a nigger." Pushing aside the issue as to whether or not they teach proper grammar at seminary, where, precisely, are these located? I'm not a literalist, but I, sure as hell exists, spent a goodly portion of time during my Catholic education on the New Testament, and I can tell you that, ahem, Jesus didn't spend a lot of time (read never) preaching hate. He did, however, spend plenty of time on forgiveness and taking care of the poor and the sick.

What is this guy preaching? Christianity With a Vengeance?

I'm not buying this particular pre-owned Lexus. I'm just not. Obama himself admits he knew about these inflammatory sermons from the beginning of his campaign, and "made it clear" that he strongly condemned Wright's statements, but since Wright was in the process of retiring, and because his church played a strong part in his life, he wasn't going to throw the baby out with the bathwater.

Bullshit.

If I'm remembering correctly, Obama and his family live in a house on the north side of Chicago. Yet, apparently, they packed it up every Sunday morning and schlepped down to the south side to go to church. If you're at all familiar with the ways and means of transportation issues in Chicago, you know that's quite a ways to go for a church service. Even the most dedicated of parishioners, at some point, when they move away, eventually put the kaibosh on a lengthy church commute and find somewhere closer to home, if they're able, if for no other reason than that it's Sunday and they'd like some time to spend with their family outside of church. The Obamas' dedication to this particular church meant, if I'm doing the math correctly on the commute, that they were probably spending an hour to get there, however long the service took, and an hour getting home---a minimum of three hours, but probably more, what with all the gladhanding that undoubtedly needed to be done. That's a pretty sizable time commitment for someone as busy as Senator Obama is. There's simply got to be more to it than just a fondness for the church community and the pastor. Obama isn't the type to expend energy on anything he doesn't think he'll get something more out of in the long run. I fully understand that Obama isn't the only person to cherry pick his pastor or his church---plenty of people do that---but the difference here is that, I'll betcha five bucks, Obama undoubtedly chose this church and this pastor, and schlepped his family out there every Sunday, because it would be good for his political career. That this was the church to attend, because it would put him on the correct side of certain chunks of the voting populace. And now we're supposed to believe that he wasn't in the pews when the good Reverend preached his words of hate? That he was only made aware of them when he started running for president? I'm just not buying it.

Going to that church was a conscious decision on Obama's part, and I doubt it had anything to do with his faith. If he really had a problem with what the pastor said, well, wouldn't he have gone through a crisis of conscience, like many of us have, when our pastors preached something that went over the line? I had a pastor at my parish in college who was a flaming hippie BIG on the liberation theology and who decided, carte blanche, that we didn't need to kneel during mass any more as recognition of the fact "that we've all been saved by God." If you understand Catholic theology at all, you know that that is a big boo boo. This wasn't a small deal for me. I went through some serious soul searching about this, and, despite the fact that it's technically against the rules, I started going to mass at the other Catholic church in town. It took me years to start going to mass at that parish again. It was only after I met up with this priest's replacement at, of all places, the bar (What can I say? The guy knew his parishioners.) and quizzed him about if he was of the same stock as the previous priest, and found out that he wasn't, that I started attending mass there again. Obama knew what Reverend Wright was preaching. He undoubtedly knew that it could be a liability when he ran for higher office. But I'm sure the benefits of attending church there probably far outweighed the negatives of being associated with a man who preached hate on a regular basis, and were, most likely, something he could easily disassociate himself from.

It's like he's trying to tell me that he didn't know the pre-owned Lexus had a salvage title, when, in fact, he did know, and rather than admitting he fibbed (and in the process admitting he had a weakness), he's instead counting on my good grace to let him off the hook.

I don't think so.

Obama is trying to get away with something here. I don't really know that a person should be held accountable for what their pastor says, but it's his easy disavowal and instant condemnation of someone, who, by all accounts, was influential in their personal beliefs and played a large part of their life that bothers me. That this, apparently, was the plan in case anyone started sniffing around, bothers me even more. If x happens, we'll do this. If x never happens, then we won't bother. Obama is, undoubtedly, happy right now that this was raised in the primary process, rather than in the general election, when more people would be paying attention. I'm sure he hopes he's dodged this particular bullet. The negatives of attending a church helmed by Reverend Wright have become greater than the perceived advantages, hence Obama did what he thought was necessary and threw the Reverend under the bus. It's political survival at its finest. It was a deliberate calculation that a man who claims his faith is as important to him as Obama regularly does, wouldn't have completed, no matter what the consequences.

Posted by: Kathy at 09:41 AM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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Despite the fact he gets paid upwards of $20 million per picture, Tommy Boy Cruise, apparently, has failed to buy the ability to sing in key. Neither will all that money buy one rhythm.

Don't believe me? Watch for yourself.

Do you feel better about yourself after that? I know I do.

{ht: where I usually get these things}

Posted by: Kathy at 02:19 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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So, the government bailed out investment bank Bear Stearns today, with a healthy assist from JPMorgan.

NEW YORK - Bear Stearns Cos., one of the most venerable names on Wall Street, turned to a rival bank and the federal government for a last-minute bailout Friday to prevent it from collapsing.

The Federal Reserve responded swiftly to pleas from Bear Stearns that its coffers had "significantly deteriorated" within a 24-hour period as rumors about the bank's situation fueled the Wall Street version of a run on the bank. Central bankers tapped a rarely used Depression-era provision to provide loans, and said they were ready to provide extra resources to combat an erosion of confidence in America's biggest financial institutions.

Nearly half the value of Bear Stearns, or about $5.7 billion, was wiped out in a matter of minutes as investors felt the bailout signaled that the credit crisis has reached a more serious stage, and now threatens to undermine the broader financial system — and the U.S. economy.

"My guess is by next week, there will be rumors of other large, familiar institutions" that might be in financial trouble similar to Bear Stearns, said Anil Kashyap, a professor at the Graduate School of Business at the University of Chicago.

Bear Stearns, the nation's fifth-largest investment bank, made its fortune dealing in opaque mortgage-backed securities — a strategy that backfired amid the worst housing slump in a quarter century. The bank has racked up $2.75 billion in write-downs since last year, and releases first-quarter results on Monday that could show more losses.{...}

Ok, so riddle me this, joker: a business listed on the stock exchange, made some faulty gambles by buying up mortgage-backed securities and is now in trouble, so they go running to the government to bail them out. And guess what? The government helps them out by floating them some cash.

I have one question: how does this help anyone out in the long run?

I am not an economist. I don't claim to have a good grasp on the wheel-running hamster that is "the market," but I don't see how funding a business which made bad decisions should be bailed out by the taxpayers of this country. Particularly not when, undoubtedly, despite already having written off $2.8 BILLION in losses, the fat cats at the top were undoubtedly well-compensated with bonuses and dividends.

I understand about keeping our financial system working, but, and let's face it kids, it's time to separate the wheat from the chaff. Perhaps Bear Stearns needs to crash, so that the market can be come healthier? Perhaps this might, when the dust has settled, boost the dollar out of the basement and get speculators out of the oil market, so the cost of living can go down and I can stop paying through the nose for things like eggs and milk. I don't know. Again, I'm not an economist. But I do know this much: I'm getting tired, as a taxpayer, of funding businesses who bought securities that were faulty in the first place. Anyone with half a brain knows that ARM-interest only mortgages were a bad idea. Why, gee willikers, sir, you're trying to sell me a loan where I only pay the interest on said loan, and that rate is adjustable, meaning it's just as likely to go up as well as down, in an overinflated real estate market? Why, thank you, sir, but no. If people didn't figure it out, well, sorry, kids. That's just the way the ball bounces. {Insert Mr. Brady explaining the Latin phrase 'Caveat Emptor' here} Why didn't the MBA geniuses on Wall Street figure out that buying securities based, in part, on these mortgages was a bad idea?

I guess it comes down to this: I'm tired of bailing out stupid people. Whether they be your average subprime mortgage customer who got in over their head, or fat cat MBA's on Wall Street, who should have known better than to bet the farm on these securities. I've got the feeling that all this government intervention is just putting off the inevitable.

Posted by: Kathy at 01:05 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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The husband forwarded this along to me today. For Russ from Winterset, of course.

Posted by: Kathy at 11:54 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
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...buy property in the province of Minneapolis. Not surprisingly, however, given the inclinations of the Minneapolis City Council, they want to do just that.

MInneapolis, Minn. — The Minneapolis Advantage is an effort to stabilize neighborhoods hardest hit by the foreclosure crisis. It would pay homebuyers $10,000 to buy properties in certain inner city neighborhoods.

It's not a new concept. Some neighborhood groups have been offering similar incentives for years, and they say the city plan can boost their efforts to encourage homeownership.

The Minneapolis Advantage is still in the planning stages, but if adopted by the City Council later this month, there will be 50 loans available for qualified buyers to purchase a home in any of 18 neighborhoods.

Minneapolis City Housing Director Tom Streitz recently presented details of the plan to members of the City Council. He says the neighborhoods chosen for the program are areas that have high concentrations of boarded and vacant homes.

"We know that investors have come into some of these neighborhoods, and essentially flipped these properties over and over again. They've inflated the value," Streitz said. "They've stripped the equity, and in many cases they've stripped whatever quality materials were left in the house, and left devastation in its wake."

Streitz says the program may not be able to completely prevent a repeat of that scenario, but there are some safeguards.

For example, the loans will only be available to individual homebuyers, not corporations. The homebuyer has to live in the house and commit to staying there for five years. After that point, the loan will be forgiven. {...}

Ok, so not only is the City of Minneapolis considering offering interest-free loans to people whose religion bans them from applying for "traditional financing," they now want to pay people to buy up houses in one of the worst neighborboods in the city. And by "worst" I don't simply mean that the neighborhood is blighted because the houses are old and no one wants to upgrade, I mean "worst" in the sense that this is one of the neighborhoods that regularly earns the city the moniker "Murderapolis." It may be quiet now, but that's only because it's too cold for the crack/coke/meth dealers to go out and shoot one other. As soon as it gets warm outside, the melee will start afresh. And, if one should choose to take the city up on its generous offer, and the bullets start flying because the same city council won't fund the police department adequately, you wouldn't be able to move your family to a safer location because that would violate the terms of said cash payoff.

You might as well as someone to move to Mogadishu and tell them they can't leave when the warlords start rampaging. Again.

Mr. H, who is in the relocation business and knows something about real estate, and I were chatting about these same houses over the weekend, and he said that everything worthwhile in these houses has been stripped, either by flippers, or by squatters and thieves who moved in after the properties had gone into foreclosure. That means there is no plumbing in them, or electrical wiring---both are made of copper, and copper is particularly valuable right now---appliances, windows, furnaces, or wood, even, because if there were salvageable hard wood floors, those were stripped out for use elsewhere. They're just shells, and there's no way in hell that a $15,000 "incentive" renovation loan is going to bring these properties back up to code. Which, of course, the city will fine you for violating.

Then you have to remember that you'd be buying property in Minneapolis, where the property taxes are high, and I'm fairly certain there wouldn't be any sort of break on those particular taxes. Never mind the fact that, in the province of Minneapolis, you pay your taxes and you get squat in terms of city services, like plowing when it snows---and even then, they're more likely to tow your car than to actually get around to plowing the street---or even garbage removal (everyone in the Twin Cities has to pay to have their garbage removed. No one gets a pass on this one.), or even police, because they're strapped as it is stands. What anyone who decides to take the city up on its offer will get, however, is incessant, and expensive, meddling in their affairs. City inspectors will show up and will fine the bejeezus out of these people. They'll have to pay up the wazoo to get any renovation plans approved. And, of course, the property tax bill will, of course, go up when they make renovations and increase the value of the property.

Why would anyone, in their right mind, consider this to be a worthwhile endeavor? You know, other than the city of Minneapolis, that is.

This is just about as predatory as some on the City Council, or elsewhere, would claim the subprime mortgage market was.

Posted by: Kathy at 09:22 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
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I know seemingly everyone is posting this, but it's worth your while to hop on over and read about David Mamet's conversion on the Road to Damascus.

Apparently, the Village Voice's servers are run by aerosol huffing hamsters who are, indeed, out of cans of Ready Whip, but it's the Voice after all: if they manage to do nothing else, they'll keep their junkies afloat, so keep trying.

Posted by: Kathy at 11:36 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
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Everything went fine.

Everything, that is, except that I wasn't scheduled for the procedure I thought I was to have.

See? I told you something wasn't going to go as advertised.

We checked in at the hospital and they set me up in my own room, in a portion of the hospital they call "Care Suites." I've been in there a few times, as a volunteer, delivering the box lunches they order up for the patients. My room, in fact, was right next to the fridge I usually put the lunches in, so I knew precisely where I was. I'm still not really sure what they do there, but it's got something to do with looking after people who have radiologic procedures done (Ya think?), and people who need more monitoring after same day surgery. Perhaps? I dunno. Anyway, after putting on one of those HIDEOUS gowns, they did the standard stuff, vitals, IV inserting, blood taking, running through medical stuff, handing off the remote control for the tee vee, you know, the regular. When it came time for the procedure, a very nice radiology RN wheeled me (yes, I was in bed, and it was, again, very luxurious) down to CT. They got me settled in, and it was then that a problem arose.

The RN started talking about how the procedure was to be done, and when she reached the end of her schpiel, I was a bit confused. She had described how they were going to take some preliminary images with the cat scanner, the radiologist would claim her stake on my lymphocele, then they'd be running me in and out of the scanner in between draining the lymphocele, to make sure they had everything. She asked if I understood, and I said, I did. "So," I asked, "how long do you have to wait before you inject the alcohol?" She looked at me queerly, and said, "Why would you think you were having that done?"
"Because that's what I was told would be happening. That after draining it, you'd put alcohol into it so it would create scar tissue and would shrink up."

"Ok," she said, and went into the control room, to chat with the radiologist.

This is the point where I muttered, "Houston, we have a problem."

The problem being that Dr. Academic's main nurse didn't write up the order for the alcohol procedure, but rather for a simple draining of the lymphocele (or "suspected lymphocele", because they're still not sure that's what it is.). Now, I'm not really sure why, when I talked to her on Friday, and we chatted specifically about the alchohol procedure, she didn't say, "But, Kathy, that's not what you're having. You'll simply have it drained, and we want to do it this way because it might work, and it's less invasive." But she didn't say that. She talked about the alcohol procedure, and that's all she talked about, SO HELLO, that's what I thought I was having. I mean, am I dumb or something, because she NEVER mentioned draining the thing outside the context of this certain procedure. NO ONE in that bloody office who I chatted to about it said ANYTHING about simple drainage, because, and I quote, "Chances are it'll just fill right back up." It sounded to me as if they weren't going to waste their time with that procedure, and Dr. Academic thought it would be better to skip to the step that did work.

So, they ran around the control room for about a half hour, calling Dr. Academic's nurse, then they got a hold of Dr. Academic himself, and he ok'ed the procedure. I just couldn't get my head around why he wanted me to do this, when it had seemed like he'd ixne'd it right off the bat. I was confused and tried to explain to the RN that this is what we had talked about and that this is what I had signed up for. And she didn't doubt me one iota. She said, "You obviously know what you're talking about, but we just need to be clear about this." The radiologist came out and we chatted. She recommended having the procedure done, because it was less invasive and it was going to be more "comfortable" than having the alcohol procedure done. The crux of the matter was this: it was either drain the sucker, or that would be that. My choice. I chose to drain it, but am still bewildered as to why the wires got crossed in the first place.

As far as these sorts of things go, it was pretty easy to bear. In and out of the machine, marking the injection point with a sharpie, in and out of the machine again, then they gave me the IV sedation drugs, the radiologist numbed my belly up with some lidocaine, cleaned me off with iodine, and then did her thing. Then they ran back into the control room and ran me in and out again. Lather. Rinse. Repeat. Until it was over and done with, by which time one of the lymphocele's walls had collapsed, 44cc of supposed lymphatic fluid (it was yellow, that's all I can tell you) was sent off to pathology, and the doctor had put a band-aid on my wound. I was wheeled back to Care Suites, and since I hadn't been allowed to eat or drink for four hours before, devoured a box lunch I am sure one of my fellow volunteers schlepped up there a few hours before.

They let me go about fifty-minutes after the procedure was done, and I was happy to get out of that place. I got a wheelchair ride to the door, and our friend ML picked us up. Then I came home and napped for about two hours.

As of right now, I'm simply sore in that neighborhood. They told me to take advil for any pain. I wish I could take a bath and soak some of the pain away, alas, however bathing is verboten until the injection site is completely healed. Bummer. I didn't think the IV sedation was all that bad, but if I'm up and moving, I'm not really enjoying life all that much. Even now, sitting at my desk, writing this, I'm getting woozy. If I stay down on the sofa or in bed, I'm ok, so that is where I shall be heading shortly.

Thanks for all the well wishes, prayers and everything. I appreciate them. You're a lovely bunch of coconuts, my devoted Cake Eater readers. But now you need to send them Russ and Janis' way, because they've had a rough couple of weeks and it's shortly to be compounded by the fact they're not going to get hardly any sleep for the next few months.

Posted by: Kathy at 09:02 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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My wife's doctors decided during her weekly appointment yesterday that the baby's delivery shouldn't be put off any further, so we're sitting in a maternity suite as I type this. Delivery might occur this evening, and I'll post the vital information as soon as I have time. Hopefully, our procedure and Kathy's procedure go smoothly.

As far as the name goes, we're fairly certain of what we're using (sorry, "Robbo Steve (from Winterset)" didn't make the final cut).

AND WE HAVE A BABY UPDATE

It's a boy. Moses Glenn. 3lbs. 5oz. 16.5 inches long.
Mom and baby are just fine. I'm sure Russ is shitting his pants right about now, but that's nothing out of the ordinary.

(And, just for the record, no, I'm not pissed off that Ace got the exclusive. Nope. Not hurt at all. Juuuuuuust Fine.)

Now, let's commence with a communal awwwww.

Posted by: Russ from Winterset at 04:04 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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As I mentioned, I've been having some medical problems. Again. Sigh. When will this long national nightmare be over with? I haven't the foggiest, but hopefully it will be soon. As in, it might end tomorrow.

Because, my devoted Cake Eater readers, I'm going back into the hospital. And not to volunteer, either.

The deal is this: the lymphocele is causing more pain. I called in about it last week, and Dr. Academic's office called back on Friday, and instead of moving the CT scan up, like I thought was going to happen, instead they recommended that I go through the procedure where they drain the lymphocele and then fill it with alcohol to create more scar tissue, so it didn't fill back up again. Dr. Academic's main nurse is finally back from maternity leave, and it's a good thing too, because she was able to explain the procedure well enough to get me to sign on. See, I wasn't crazy about going from having a tennis ball-sized, fluid-filled sac in my pelvis to having a tennis ball-sized, scar tissue-filled sac in my pelvis. I mean, what's the point? I explained this to her, and she said, "Oh, no, that's not entirely correct. Yes, the alcohol will create scar tissue that will keep the lymphocele from filling up again, but it will also shrink it down to almost nothing." "Really?" I asked, somewhat confused. "Dr. Academic didn't mention that at all." "Well," said she of the knowledge, with a light laugh, "That doesn't surprise me." {insert rolling of eyes and a massively painful slap to the head here} I should have known he would, in his general state of rushing around like a chicken with its head cut off, forget to tell me something essential. I told her I needed to chat with the husband, and she said she'd write up the order for the procedure, and if I decided to go ahead with it, I was to call the scheduler and they'd set it up for me.

After im'ing back and forth with the husband about it for about a half-hour, we decided to go through with it, and I put a call in to Dr. Academic's scheduler to get the ball rolling. After about four phone calls with the scheduler, I am tentatively scheduled to have the procedure tomorrow.

The reason it's "tentatively" scheduled is because I've been on ibuprofen therapy since November for the neuropathies, as well as Vitamin E. I've been taking 600mg of Advil, three times a day, and one Vitamin E capsule per day, and since both are blood thinners, they generally have a five day wait rule in place, as it takes that long to get the crap out of your system so that your blood will clot normally. This would have put the procedure on Wednesday, but, alas, the hospital did not have any open slots on Wednesday, and as Dr. Academic told the scheduler that Thursday would be too long to wait, they pencilled me in for Tuesday. I now am waiting for the hospital to call me back, to confirm that the radiologist who will be performing the procedure, has signed-off.

Fortunately for me, the procedure is outpatient. Phew. That was another concern of mine, but, fortunately, Dr. Academic was wrong when he told me that I'd probably have to stay overnight after the procedure. (See, it really is a GOOD thing that the main nurse is back, because she ALWAYS has more---and better---information. Bless her.) Neither will I have to go to the different hospital, but can have it done at the one I was at last year. The procedure, I believe, is called "alcohol scleropathy," but basically what will happen is that it's a CT guided procedure, and when the radiologist gets the lymphocele on the screen, he/she/it will inject a big honkin' needle into it to drain it. Then they'll insert the alcohol, and will shift my inert body around to make sure the booze hits all the high points within it. Fortunately, I shall be, blessedly, out of it for this part. When that's over and done with, they'll keep me for a few hours for observation, and barring any goofs or complications, I should be able to go home. If you're curious about this procedure, go here and then scroll down to the portion on lymphoceles and you'll be able to see (yes, kids, there are pictures!) what will happen to me. Fortunately, while I will be out, I won't be knocked out via general anesthesia, which is good because I didn't react so well to that last time round. Neither do I have to clear out the intestines with Colon Blow (aka magnesium citrate, which is not the nicest of laxatives), but rather have to simply refrain from eating or drinking for four hours beforehand.

Surprisingly, I'm not all that nervous. I suspect that might change, though, as the time draws closer. I came to the conclusion last night, as I was trying to fall asleep, that I just really needed this one to go right---or at least for it to go precisely how they told me it would. God willing, it will, but let's face it, kids, if something was bound and determined to go wrong, it will go wrong with moi. I wasn't supposed to have ovarian cancer, and I did and I lost everything that day. I was supposed to breeze through chemo, because I was young and healthy, but I didn't. This is supposed to be no big deal in the scheme of things, but, like I said, if something's bound to go wrong, it would be just my luck for it to follow through. {Insert long windy sigh here} It would seem that millions of people around the world, enter hospitals and medical clinics every day of the damn week and get out relatively unscathed. I haven't been one of their number, and I wish it were otherwise. Tomorrow will be another test to see if I can join them in their normality.

Let's hope this is uneventful, because if I wind up back in the hospital, in one of those HIDEOUS gowns, for an extended stay, someone's head is going to be roasted on a spit and will, eventually, wind up on a platter, garnished with vegetables and greens, and a Granny Smith apple jauntily placed between their upper and lower mandibles.

UPDATE: We're on for tomorrow.

Posted by: Kathy at 09:50 AM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
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My dear pal Robbo is currently in the process of converting to Roman Catholicism. He's long been frustrated with the Episcopalian Church's new, pc friendly line, that's light on condemning sin, is heavy on being a one-stop shop for everything new agey, and hence has decided to swim the Tiber. I wonder if he's still going to want to go through with it after reading this:

VATICAN CITY (Reuters) - Thou shall not pollute the Earth. Thou shall beware genetic manipulation. Modern times bring with them modern sins. So the Vatican has told the faithful that they should be aware of "new" sins such as causing environmental blight.

The guidance came at the weekend when Archbishop Gianfranco Girotti, the Vatican's number two man in the sometimes murky area of sins and penance, spoke of modern evils.

Asked what he believed were today's "new sins," he told the Vatican newspaper L'Osservatore Romano that the greatest danger zone for the modern soul was the largely uncharted world of bioethics.

"(Within bioethics) there are areas where we absolutely must denounce some violations of the fundamental rights of human nature through experiments and genetic manipulation whose outcome is difficult to predict and control," he said.

The Vatican opposes stem cell research that involves destruction of embryos and has warned against the prospect of human cloning.

Girotti, in an interview headlined "New Forms of Social Sin," also listed "ecological" offences as modern evils.

In recent months, Pope Benedict has made several strong appeals for the protection of the environment, saying issues such as climate change had become gravely important for the entire human race.

Under Benedict and his predecessor John Paul, the Vatican has become progressively "green."

It has installed photovoltaic cells on buildings to produce electricity and hosted a scientific conference to discuss the ramifications of global warming and climate change, widely blamed on human use of fossil fuels.{...}

See it's one thing for Pope Benny to scatter solar panels across the various roofs of Vatican City; it's entirely another to make littering a sin. What's missing here is guidance from the dear red beanied one about whether creating environmental damage is a venial sin or is of the mortal variety. See, most Catholics are familiar with the fact that genetic manipulation---i.e. stem cell research---is absolutely verboten. This is absolutely nothing new in the scheme of things. But environmental damage? Could you, conceivably, be on the hook if your garbage contractor dumps the waste in an illegal fashion? What about if your city's water treatment plant screws up and lets loose raw sewage into pristine streams? As a Catholic, I know that I'm not supposed to even invest in a biotech firm that fiddles about with stem cell research. Am I supposed to follow the same line in choosing our garbage contractor, or otherwise I might be scheduled for some time roasting on a spit in hell? It's a bit murky if you ask me. And it might cause Robbo to think twice.

He's got a little over a week to decide. {insert wiggling of eyebrows here}

UPDATE: Steve-o and I are thinking along the same wavelength.

spoooooky

Posted by: Kathy at 08:42 AM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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Is it just me, or is anyone else getting the faint whiff of Stalinism every time Barack Obama opens his mouth?

Posted by: Kathy at 11:59 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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So, the little troll won Project Runway.

Sigh.

The master of the super fantastic, The Manolo, has the wrap-up that you should go read.

Honestly, I was surprised when he won. I thought Christian had shot himself in the foot when I saw his line. Just about everything was black, and was entirely derivative of other projects he'd done throughout the season---particularly the last challenge. If this had been a different season of Project Runway, and if Christian hadn't been so impressive throughout, he would have been reamed by La Nina and the Kors, from here to Poughkeepsie and back again, for not showing them anything new. I'm not denying that the troll has talent; its overflowing from five gallon buckets that he, undoubtedly, could not pick up and carry to save his life---but undoubtedly $100,000 will pay for a sherpa to do so. I simply think that, when it comes right down to it, the competition was his to lose, and the judges obviously didn't want him to lose. His talent is exceptional. Yes, it's very obvious that he's worked for Alexander McQueen and Vivienne Westwood. Yes, the clothes were exceptional. But were they wearable? No. In fact, I'm having a hard time seeing how they could be watered down into Ready to Wear at all, which is the only reason Couture still exists in any sense whatsoever. It's like the judges couldn't get over how fantastic it was to discover a Picasso, never to realize that most people would never hang his work on their wall in the first place. It would have been obvious to a blind man on a galloping horse that Rami and Jillian had to step up, and do so in a miraculous way. In a sense they were destined to lose, which is a shame, because after all of Kors' and La Nina's bleating about making clothes that keeps in mind the shape of a woman's body, they completely chose to ignore the lines that did just that.

Posted by: Kathy at 01:24 PM | Comments (3) | Add Comment
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I vented my spleen a couple of months ago at Garrison Keillor for suing his next door neighbors for blocking his view of open space. Well, he found a solution to the problem: he's moving.

The star of "A Prairie Home Companion" and his wife, Jenny Lind Nilsson, listed their house in the Ramsey Hill Historic District with a real estate agent this week. The asking price: $1.65 million, according to www.realtor.com.

Keillor and Nilsson sued their next-door neighbor, Lori Anderson, in January to stop her from building a two-story garage-and-studio addition to her house, saying the project would "obstruct the access of light and air to [their] property."
But the dispute isn't the reason Keillor and Nilsson are selling their house and buying another, said real estate agent Mary Hardy. Keillor wants a large, airy first-floor studio where he can work, she said. Keillor and Nilsson made an offer for a house in the 200 block of Summit Avenue that has about 4,000 square feet more space and sits on a half-acre lot on a bluff. While its listing price is no longer public, the house's taxable value was listed at just under $1.6 million.

The lawsuit that Keillor and Nilsson filed was settled through mediation about a week later, but terms were not disclosed.

Since then, however, new drawings have been submitted to and approved by the city, said Robert Humphrey, assistant to the director of the city's Department of Safety and Inspections. The new plans, Humphrey said, call for the addition to be built away from the property line. Otherwise, the project is essentially the same.
On Tuesday, it appeared that construction was underway.{...}

{my emphasis}

So those poor people went to all that trouble to try and satisfy Keillor and his wife---and undoubtedly had to pay a lot of money in legal fees, architect fees, and planning fees---and now he's moving?

Jackass.

If were them, I'd pull the old "flaming bag of dog shit" trick on his doorstep. Every day. Until he moves. He deserves it.

Posted by: Kathy at 12:08 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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There's this elderly gentleman who works the same volunteer shift at the hospital that I do. He's a nice enough guy, probably in his early-eighties, is a WWII vet, and is a retired mortician. He loves being assigned to work with teenagers, because they invariably ask him questions about what happens to the bodies of the dearly departed, and he has a good time scaring the hell out of them when he answers them, because he's got some good stories to share. I've got nothing against the guy. He works at the hospital three days a week, to keep himself active, and has been volunteering there for years. Everyone loves him, and more importantly, knows him. Most of the hospital staff like all of us volunteers enough, because we save them a lot of time and hassle, but they take their time warming up, because they just assume you'll be gone soon enough, so why bother? But the staff all love this guy, and go out of their way to help him achieve his tasks. It takes me a half-hour to flag someone down when I need them. But him? Five seconds flat. So, we've established that he's a good guy, with good intentions at heart. But there is one thing he does that drives me nuts: he steals cookies from the hospital's oncology clinic.

The clinic is in another building (the same one Dr. Academic's office is in) and we gophers have to run over there a couple of times a day to pick up specimens for delivery to the lab. I feel sorry for those patients, because they have to wait for us to come over, pick up the samples from two different offices, and schlep them back to the hospital's lab---which takes about fifteen minutes to a half-hour, all told, and that's before the lab does its deal. At Dr. Academic's office, the lab was in the office, so you didn't have to wait, but because the hospital has a perfectly good lab in the hospital, the samples have to be schlepped over and these people do have to wait. These runs always have priority over others, but no one understood why until I told them that the patients had to wait for those results to see if they were going to have chemo or not that day. Now everyone puts on winged shoes for these runs. All except for this one gentleman: he's in a hurry all right, but he's in one because he raids the cookie tray they keep in the lobby. Now, to be fair, he never snakes the cookies to eat himself: he takes them and offers them to everyone else, as a treat. He can't eat them because he's a diabetic. He offered me one, one day, and I refused. Now he thinks I'm kind of snotty.

Undoubtedly you're thinking I should just take the cookie, right? That the kind thing to do would be to accept this man's hospitality. The thing is, they have those cookies there for a reason. People go through icky treatments, which a goodly part of the time causes stomach upset, and perhaps, a cookie would help settle their tummies. Also, people on chemo need to snack, because that's the easiest way to eat when you're on these treatments. Anything that can boost the calorie count of a person who's going through a treatment that makes them lose weight is a good thing. There's always a full complement of snacks available in the waiting room at Dr. Academic's office, and people do take advantage of it (and I was one of them. For some strange reason, those Keebler fudge cookies taste good after enduring a carboplatin drip.), but they never take advantage, and always leave something for someone else in case they need it. Despite the number of elderly people at Dr. Academic's clinic, and knowing the propensity of some of their number (Ahem. I think we're all familiar with the ways of some of the "Geritol Express.") to fill up their handbags at all-you-can-eat buffets, I've never seen anyone take more than one cookie or a piece of candy. They, too, know that the food is there for a reason. But this guy, God bless him, doesn't get it. The people at the oncology clinic know full well what he's up to when he raids the tray, but because he's older, they don't say anything. I tried to explain to him, very kindly and very patiently, that the cookies were meant for the chemo patients, to get them to eat, but he just shrugged it off, saying there was plenty to go around, because the tray was always full.

Sigh.

What would you do if you were me? Would you lighten up, and just take the cookie, to smooth things over with someone as universally loved as this gentleman appears to be? Or would you again try to get him to understand that he shouldn't be taking them in the first place? Or would you just leave it be?

Posted by: Kathy at 11:41 AM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
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I told you I didn't think all that bacon was a good idea.

Seriously, though. Prayers and happy thoughts to Russ and Janis---as they're going to be making more life adjustments than just the one they were counting on.

I can only imagine how badly it's going to suck for Russ to have to be careful about his diet. Sigh. He's an Iowa boy. Iowa boys don't like being told what to eat. Let me tell you. I'm married to one and I had to wage a seven year battle just to get him to eat something as measly as a salad. Janis, my dear, my prayers are with you.

Yet, in good news, that means more venison for us! {insert evil chuckle here}

Posted by: Kathy at 10:34 PM | Comments (3) | Add Comment
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So, the thing I hear a lot from my sister and other parents I know is how picky their kids are when it comes to food. Sometimes, even, their eyes become all misty and they wish aloud for a kid who would eat what's put in front of them, let alone for one who's adventurous in the food department, and doesn't solely rely upon nourishment gained from mac and cheese and hot dogs.

This is that kid. Can you imagine how green this kid's grass is to other parents?

On a visit to Boston last summer, just before our sonÂ’s birthday, my wife and I gave him the gift he most desired: we allowed James to eat his first raw clam, thus ending three years of simmering frustration for him.

True, he was only turning six, but that meant he had spent half his life pining for a taste of uncooked bivalves. His reaction, when the moment finally arrived, was unsurprising: he loved the clam, so much so that he proceeded to help himself to the five others on my plate and declared that henceforth I would need to order double the number so that he and I could each get our fair share. Between slurps, he reiterated his determination to eat that other long-forbidden fruit of the sea, raw oysters.

We had held him off raw shellfish out of health concerns, which in retrospect was probably silly. We were certainly guilty of inconsistency. When James was three, we let him try sushi, and ever since he has been ordering his own sashimi (early on, he decided he had no use for the rice and wanted the fish straight up) whenever we went out for Japanese. Were raw clams and oysters really any riskier than raw tuna? We had also given in to his pleadings and allowed him to eat unpasteurised cheese, and it was not as if raw-milk Camembert – his favourite, although he is also fond of Époisses, Comté, and Langres – was without potential hazards. And if we were worried about polluting his young body, we certainly would not have permitted James to get in the habit of taking a sip from my wine glass every night.

On the other hand, all that sniffing and swilling has served him rather well. He has become a very able blind taster, with a particular knack for identifying Burgundies and Beaujolais. He has a good nose for herbs and spices, too, and can often pinpoint specific seasonings in dishes. It probably helps that he now keeps his own herb garden during the summer, which he very much enjoys. He would doubtless be even happier if we bought him a lobster trap, built a pond and stocked it with sturgeon, and filled the yard with ducks and geese; James has a prodigious appetite for lobster, caviar, and foie gras.

{...}there were indications that he was to the table born. At 10 months old, he sat through a long lunch at a three-star restaurant in Paris without so much as a moment’s fuss, astonishing us and the wary waiters, too. Barely out of the womb, Tiger Woods was mimicking his father’s golf swing; James was jealously eyeing my mille-feuille. The greatest athletes come by their talent naturally, and it seems reasonable to assume that the greatest eaters do, as well. Great eaters, like great athletes, possess a certain ruthlessness. James loves his pet goldfish and hopes to have a dog. But for him, animals exist mainly to be consumed. On a visit to an aquarium when he was two, he startled me and the people nearby by pointing to one tank and asking: “Can we eat them?” A few months ago, watching a documentary about giant squid, James turned to me and said: “I’m getting kind of hungry. You, too?” (He was disappointed to learn that giant squid is not very tasty; he adores squid and octopus and orders them whenever possible.) Last year, his kindergarten class read Charlotte’s Web. One evening, when we were two-thirds through the book, I asked James if he was worried about what might happen to Wilbur the pig. He shot me an incredulous look. “Of course not; if Wilbur dies, that means we get hot, juicy bacon,” he said, elongating the last three words to underscore his delight at the thought.{...}

Too bad he's only six, because a kid who can read Charlotte's Web and instantly think "hot juicy bacon" would undoubtedly grow up into a man I could love.

Posted by: Kathy at 10:27 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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