That’s what this idiot, Stuart Shepard, asks 1 million times in 2 and a half minutes- all to try to drown out (har har) Obama’s acceptance speech in Denver.
And yet, I cannot get this thing out of my head. It will no doubt shock you to discover that the schmuck is one of James Dobson’s pet crazies.
He says he doesn’t want anybody to die by getting hit on their heads with “canned ham” (wha?), and that his needs are simple.
He only begs the Lord for world peace. Oh, no, sorry, that’s not it. What he wants is “just good old, swamp the intersections rain…network cameras can’t see the podium rain.”
Because, apparently, God loves parlor tricks.
And hopefully (just this once, please, please, please) the Saints.
We traveled, and hosted travelers. Read much, wrote some. Geared up for the political season. Got stood up by Mayor Nagin. Toured vaunted institutions of higher education pretending to be mature so as to fool the admissions people into thinking she comes from people of class and allow her to attend.
Along the way I took nearly 1,000 photos, so they’ll have to suffice as the rest of my Vaca Essay.
We’ll start by introducing the newest member of the family:
I still miss my Zulu terribly, but there’s such a world of difference between an abused bird and a baby who’s known nothing but love and safety.
After much backing and forthing, he was dubbed “Pratchett.” (I’d already chosen Havelock Vetinari, but he’s just too sweet to be a despot.)
Somebody who doesn’t have a name yet is this little guy, 5 weeks old in this pic and safely in his breeder’s hand:
Alison also got her way, and our new Senegal should be ready to fledge in the next week or two. Baby hadn’t been sexed yet, and the saints alone know what she’ll want to name it, but I’m sure it’ll all be most interesting.
“You can purchase anything off the Internet except common sense,” Harrison said. “A venomous snake isn’t a pet. You don’t play with it. If you do, you’re an idiot.
Yesterday, Nancy came into work shaking her head in confusion and with the start of a whopper of a headache. Foolishly she’d begun her day with the radio on, listening to Bush’s press conference. I’ve mostly given those up because I’m really not attractive when I’m purple with rage, screaming at the radio regarding both the content and delivery.
Regardless, since he rarely deigns to speak to journalists it’s not usually an issue.
Still, Nancy tried, good citizen that she is, to listen to our president. She was a little vague, trying to explain what he’d said but given that Bush doesn’t know what he’s talking about, Nancy can hardly be blamed for not being able to be the explainer for our decider.
So I did some homework and tracked down a transcript .
Look, he’s not a banker, right? I get that. So when he tries to explain the mortgage mess, I can sort of, almost, kind of semi-forgive this sort of waffling:
First, let me talk about Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac. A lot of people in the country probably don’t understand how important they are to the mortgage markets. And it’s really important for people to have confidence in the mortgage markets and that there be stability in the mortgage markets. And that’s why Secretary Paulson announced the plan this weekend, which says that he needs authorities from the Congress to come up with a line of credit for these institutions, if needed, and that he ought to have the authority to invest capital, if needed.
And so the purpose was to send a clear signal that, one, we understand how important these institutions are to the mortgage markets, and two, to kind of calm nerves. The truth of the matter is, by laying this out, it is — makes it less likely we’ll need to use this kind of authority to begin with, which, by the way, is temporary authority.
Well, thanks for clearing that up, Mr. President!
Let’s see…it’s important. And I should have confidence. And you might have just assumed (yet more) new powers to uh…temporarily give them money, but you probably won’t have to do that?
I now know EXACTLY how Fannie/Freddie work! (Actually, I do, because I spent 10 years working in mortgages but had to get out of the industry because I could feel my soul being sucked from my body. But that’s a story for another day.)
Doing the ol’ soft shoe number on banking is one thing. But you’re an OIL MAN, fer godsakes! Okay, true, not a good one. But you should still know that the price of oil is what determines the price of gas, not the other way around…
Honestly! If this man is going to sound confident and well informed about ANY topic in the entire world, shouldn’t it have been this one?
Well, judge for yourself. I’m going to have an adult beverage and wait for it to be over:
Alison’s off in DC attending the Presidential Classroom, her chosen topic being Global Heath & Environment. In one week she’ll have met many more official honchos than I have in my life.
And she’ll handle it just fine- that’s not my concern. She was even elected Executive Director of her class, and will have to be the point person in the presentation/debate at the end of the week before members of the CDC, EPA & WHO. She’s not sweating it.
My worry here is that I received a form asking who our rep was so they could arrange a breakfast with him. Mary Landrieu popped into my mind, but of course it wasn’t rep but Rep they meant. House, not Senate.
That means my daughter is having breakfast with Dollar Bill Jefferson. Ol’ refrigerator man himself, who she’s studied both in school and by hearing me and mine bitch endlessly about his entire family.
And this is a child whose idea of being subtle is starting a critique with “Don’t take this the wrong way, but…”
Well, who knows. Maybe she’ll wrangle that “reasonable explanation” he’s been promising us for years now.
This story about the ‘whistles of death’ caught my eye…and ear:
If death had a sound, this was it.
Roberto Velazquez believes the Aztecs played this mournful wail from the so-called Whistles of Death before they were sacrificed to the gods.
I’ve never heard anything in a movie that sounds half so evil as some of these.
So let me get this straight…the sacrifice is the one who blew these whistles? Calling death unto to himself? So he could pass into an afterlife that he thought sounded like that? Wow. And this happened 20,000 times a year.
Granted, we’re talking about a civilization that killed the winners of ball games. But still.
So today I realized that we have exactly one month before our friends arrive from France…we’ve always got somebody visiting, but this one’s different- I haven’t seen them since 2002 and Charlie’s never met them.
You’d never know it, though- he’s the one sweating over the plans. I think he’s determined they need to have absolutely the best visit ever so they can go home and tell them we’re not all idiots.
So while he’s laboring over maps and schedules, they’re laboring over a huge show Christine is having just before leaving (not to mention the one she has as soon as she gets home):
How cool is that? She’s always been an amazing painter, but a starving one, so she teaches* as well, though she’s gaining popularity and has gone to part-time with the kids.
They’ve just built Christine her own studio and built her a website, so I guess I need to start collecting her pieces before she gets too expensive for me and her head swells so she won’t talk to us peons anymore! ;P
*which makes her “my English-speaking French friend who teaches Spanish”…whereas I barely have control over one language…:::sigh:::
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Last week was a tough one for the entire household. Last minute trips to New York, driving permits to be obtained, loading the kid off to her dad’s, plumbing issues, air conditioning issues, doctor’s visits, blah blah blah.
But only one of us had actual body parts removed… followed by the indignity of the doggie cone. He’s either really resilient (Charlie’s interpretation) or too dim to even notice it (my take), but he’s still wrestling toys to the ground and taking flying leaps onto Kassie’s head.
Suicide was against the law. Johnny had wondered why. It meant that if you missed, or the gas ran out, or the rope broke, you could get locked up in prison to show you that life was really very jolly and thoroughly worth living. — from Lords & Ladies
