Keep Talking

Thanks for the Memory to Gullyborg at Resistance is Futile!

I've been watching with amusement/bemusement the series of adds being run by the Mannix and Saxton campaigns, assailing each other on a series of issues. What amuses me is the fact that most of the accusations are accurate. So why should I vote for either of them if all that is true (and it is)?

On the other hand, I'm bemused because the closest either has come to aiming an attack at Jason, let alone making it stick, is a vague reference to "career politicians". Why aren't they attacking him? It can't be because they aren't threatened -- the latest polls make it a close three-way race. Unless, of course, they underestimate him. The only other conclusion I can reach is that they don't have anything on him.

I'm further amused that Jason has refrained from joining into this little mudwrestling match. He's maintained an upbeat campaign with a positive message -- we CAN fix Oregon.

If you love this state as much as I do, if your as proud as I of our natural beauty and rugged heritage, then join me in voting for Jason Atkinson in the Republican primary, and later in the general election.

A Reasonable Argument

Thanks for the Memory to The LlamaButchers.

The camelloids link today to an article at NRO addressing ther latest NSA kerfluffle. Go read it before you form an opinion on this issue and the Fourth Amendment. Interestingly enough, I popped into the comments at the LB's and made a comment myself, before reading the NRO article, only to find it makes the same argument I do. In fact, I have been surprised all along that so many people have overlooked Smith v. Maryland (1978) regarding the wiretap issue in general.

Whether you agree with the scope of the data collection or not, it is irresponsible of senators to go on TV screaming about violations of the Fourth Amendment when it is clear this data does not commit such a violation. The NRO article concludes with the following, and I can't agree more:

Of course, the fact that a government action is legal doesn’t settle the case: There may still be ample room to oppose it. But there is a rush among broad sections of the Left to declare illegal any Bush-administration policies with which they disagree without being troubled by such trivialities as what the actual, settled law says. Here, this reflexive reaction appears dead wrong.

Quote of the Day

Thanks for the Memory to Ken S at It Comes in Pints?

"If God wanted us to believe in global warming, he wouldn't have made Al Gore the messenger.

- Steve Milloy on the KSFO Morning Show.

Feel the Burn

For some time I've been a big big fan of both the Maximum Leader and Smallholder at the blog Naked Villainy. That's why it saddened me when recently they dropped out of the top 5 blogs I go to first thing in the morning. They're still good guys, but their posting has been... lackluster, to say the least.

That's why it pleased me so greatly to read the latest post by Maximum Leader. Go read it, it's a barnburner, chock full of ranty goodness.

Your Weekly Dose of Steve Taylor Lyrics: Installment #5

Well, at least I'm back in time for this. This week's song is off of Steve's second album, Meltdown. This one has been stuck in my head for a while. I hope you enjoy.

Hero
From the album "Meltdown"

When the house fell asleep there was always a light
and it fell from the page to the eyes of an American boy
in a storybook land I could dream what I read
when it went to my head I'd see
I wanna be a hero

chorus:
Hero
it's a nice-boy notion that the real world's gonna destroy
you know
it's a Marvel comicbook Saturday matinee fairytale, boy

Growing older you'll find that illusions are brought
and the idol you thought you'd be was just another zero
I wanna be a hero

Heroes died when the squealers bought 'em off
died when the dealers got 'em off
welcome to the "in it for the money as an idol" show
when they ain't as big as life
when they ditch their second wife
where's the boy to go?
gotta be a hero

(chorus)

When the house fell asleep
from a book I was led to a light that I never knew
I wanna be your hero
and he spoke to my heart from the moment I prayed
here's a pattern I made for you
I wanna be your hero

Helplessness

Thanks to everyone who offered their snarkiness sympathy to me and my family yesterday over our sudden illness. To repay you, I thought I'd share with you how my day went. Just to warn you, it ain't pretty. If you have a weak stomach at all, just move on and ignore this post.






You've been warned.





Of all my commenters, bobgirrl came closest to guessing the problem -- but it was a flu bug, not salmonella. How do we know it was the flu and not food poisoning? Because the Lad had it too, and he hadn't eaten the same food as us in days. Lay of with the garlic powder jokes, or I know what I'm getting you for a new kitchen warming gift.

This all actually started on Tuesday, when The Lad threw up three times over the course of the day. I know, babies throw up -- but not this kid. Or at least, not that often. Before this week, I could cont the times he's gotten sick like that on one hand. So we knew somehting wasn't right. Wednesday, he seemed to be doing better. He had diarrhea, but no more vomiting. That is, until late Wednesday night. He'd gone to bed before TFR got home, but woke up and fussed a bit around 9:30 or so. I suggested we let him go back toi sleep, but TFR wanted to feed him a bottle and rock him back to sleep. I decided to take a shower and turn in.

About halfway through the shower, I was startled to hear TFR shouting my name in a panicked voice. I shut off the shower, stepped out of the tub, and opened the bathroom door to find TFR standing there holding The Lad, both of them covered in what had at one point been milk. Thinking fast, I used my towel to cover most of it. I too The Lad off her hands, and while she cleaned up the mess, I took him to the tup, got him out of his PJ's and diaper, and showered him clean. After he was dressed, TFR put him back to bed while I finished cleaning up and then finished my shower. All in all, a pretty good tag team performance.

Less than an hour later, it had hit both of us as well. First me, then within minutes, TFR. Neither of us could sleep more than an hour without having to get up and suffer. By 4 AM, I knew I wasn't going to work yesterday. Yesterday proved to be one of the worst days of my life. So what was the thing that made it so bad?

Was it the fact that I had something the color and consistency of the Mississippi at New Orleans gushing out of my arse with the force of a fire hydrant? Or the joint aches that made it hurt to twitch, let alone move? Or was it the fact that my beloved wife, besides suffering the same symptoms, was serving as High Priestess of the Porcelain God, offering up her prayers to Ralph?

No. Those were all sheer misery. But the worst part, the part that broke my heart, was the fact that our level of incapacitation made it difficult, almost impossible, to care for The Lad. TFR couldn't get out of bed for more than enough time to perform her "call to prayer", and I was stove in like an arthritic octegenarian -- that is, when I wasn't doing my best to overload the city sewer system. Because I was in slightly less misery than she, I took over the childcare duties most of the day. It was all I could do to stay conscious well enough to watch him, and at one point, we had no choice but to put him in his playpen with some toys and PBS SProut playing 6 feet away (bad, bad parents!) while we both delt with our symptoms. It got so bad that by noon, I started depserately calling anyone we knew in town to see if someone could take him off our hands for the day. The fact that I had no luck whatsoever merely compounded my sense of helplessness, loneliness, and desperation. Eventually, I collapsed, and TFR had to muster the strength to take one shift while I took a hot bath and fell fast asleep.

In the end, ironically enough, what saved our bacon was the fact that he was as sick as we were. He would only stay awake for about 30 minutes at a time, just enough time to get some juice and pedialyte into him, then he'd start acting fussy and tired, we'd put him to bed, he'd cry, and then sleep for hours. his early afternoon nap was long enough that we were able to really rest, and by 3:30 I was able to enjoy a hearty meal of Nilla Wafers and Powerade.

By the time we woke up from his last nap of the day, we were both functioning, if still miserable. By this morning, I actually felt alive again, though I still don't want to look at food. Yesterday at my worst, I had to drag my butt to the grocery store to buy powerade, nilla wafers, and pedialyte. Do you know how much like food a grocery store smells? You don't even pay attention to it normally, but when you're that sick... it was like running a gauntlet.

It really was a lonely feeling not having anyone to fall back on. I don't regret the decision we made to move to Oregon -- this is where we belong. But it would be nice to have family and good friends close by.

Under the Weather

Brian and his family are all under the weather today. Please keep them in your prayers and join us in wishing them a speedy recovery.

Musical Geography Question for the Day

Oh, who the heck am I kidding? It's his now.

Update:
If you insist, Ken.

If you're hanging in the sky a long time, from where and to where are you en route?

Where's My Tent?

Night before last, we had an unseasonal cold snap -- I awoke yesterday morning to frost on the car. By noon it was back up in the 60's. It wasn't that cold this morning.

The weird thing was, that minor little weather phenomenon evokes some very specific, very vivd memories for me. Here's why:

I'm out the door before 6 AM. At that time in the morning, especially in a small city like Springfield, it's still very quiet. This time of year, thanks to the approach of summer, the days are long, and it's already light out by that time. But it's almost never that cold. In winter, it's cold out when I leave, but it's still dark. There's one set of circumstances where I'm used to it being that cold, AND quiet, with the sun up: camping in the mountains.

Last summer The Lad was too small to camp, and the summer before that, TFR's hyperemesis got in the way. But three or four years ago, we had a chance to camp at Diamond Lake, just across the lake from Mt. Bailey. I remember the morning I awoke at dawn (not unusual even for a morning hater like me. When I camp, I wake up early, stay up late, and nap midday. It's a natural rhythm I fall into). There was a light mist hovering just above the surface of the lake, through which a flight of mallards was making its way for a landing. The sinrise was painting the glaciers and eastern slopes of Bailey a fiery, vivid pink. There was no sound except my own breath and the occasional bird.

Dang, I need to air out the camping gear.

Quote of the Day

Regarding The DaVinci Code:

"I'm just sad they took Leonardo and turned him into some kind of Tom Swift and his Amazing Jesus Repelatron Skyway Retroscope!... "

- Keith in Silicon Valley, in the comments at It Comes in Pints?

Code Red

Thanks for the Memory to On the Other Foot (a blog I just discovered today).

Apparently there's another shocking revelation from the art world that will rock Christian theology to its foundations. See for yourself, if you dare.

Signs and Wonders

Thanks for the Memory to Wuzzadem via the LlamaButchers.

Signs, signs, everywhere signs....

Me and the Little Red Hen

Cowards. All of you.

Just over two weeks ago, I offered a new recipe for you all to try. It really was, in my mind, a good idea for a recipe. But all I got was "It's too complicated" and " The garlic and onion powder frighten me." It's a good thing R. Lee Ermy isn't a chef, he'd be kicking your BUTTS! [/tongue in cheek]

So I decided to try it myself. and like the little red hen, it was I who enjoyed the results, not my wimpy readers.

I did make some minor changes to the recipe, which I've noted in the original post. Let me just say this about the results: Gentlemen, make this dish for your ladies. Unless you are abstaining, you will get sex. It's that good.

Call for Mr. Priapus

Since it seems he responds more quickly to posts on my blog than to comments on his own:

Dude, months ago, maybe a year, you posted a recipe for a brisket marinade in the comments on my blog. Do you still have that recipe?

A Conundrum

Thanks for the Memory to Bobgirrl at 1 Girl, 4 Martinis.

Which to protest? The War for Oil or the High Gas Prices?

Decisions, decisions....

Musical Geography Question for the Day

UPDATE: Facts fixed thanks to commenters

This is one for all you Roger Miller Kris Kristofferson fans (though Janis Joplin, Roger Miller, and Charley Pride afficionados should get it too):

If you're feeling faded as your jeans, where are you broken down busted flat?

Yo Ho Ho and a Bottle of Rum

Thanks a lot for the Memory to Gullyborg.

And I had a rum and coke last night.

Your Weekly Dose of Steve Taylor Lyrics: Installment #4

Not feeling so hot today, I'll probably be going home early, so I thought I'd get down to business and share with you the Steve Taylor song that's been on my mind this week. It addresses the idea that faith, or belief in God, is a crutch. Taylor rejects the notion, and observes that it often requires more fortitude to continue believing when you don't see an immediate return on your spiritual investment. He borrowed the title of the song from a letter written by a mid-twentieth century poet who had a mystical streak to her Christianity (though the name of the poet escapes me):

Harder To Believe Than Not To
From the album "I Predict 1990"

Nothing is colder than the winds of change
where the chill numbs the dreamer till a shadow remains
among the ruins lies your tortured soul
was it lost there or did your will surrender control?

Shivering with doubts that were left unattended
so you toss away the cloak that you should have mended
don't you know by now why the chosen are few?
it's harder to believe than not to
harder to believe than not to

It was a confidence that got you by
when you know you believed it, but you didn't know why
no one imagines it will come to this
but it gets so hard when people don't want to listen

Shivering with doubts that you left unattended
so you toss away the cloak that you should have mended
you should know by now why the chosen are few
it's harder to believe than not to

Some stay paralyzed until they succumb
others do what they feel, but their senses are numb
some get trampled by the pious throng still they limp along

Are you sturdy enough to move to the front?
is it nods of approval or the truth that you want?
and if they call it a crutch, then you walk with pride
your accusers have always been afraid to go outside

They shiver with doubts that were left unattended
then they toss away the cloak that they should have mended
you know by now why the chosen are few
it's harder to believe than not to...
I believe

Now I've seen it all

Thanks for the Memory to 1 Girl, 4 Martinis.

I have no words. Just go see for yourself.

A Paltry Poultry Recipe

On Sunday, Professor Chaos issued a challenge to me regarding the complexity of my recipes. I replied yesterday with a 1-2 punch of Carne Asada and Arroz con Pollo, issuing in turn a challenge of my own -- to both Professor Chaos and myself.

The good professor has not let me down. And so, true to my word, I ovver the following recipe in return. As promised, it contains a meat of my choice, 1 ingredient from Prof. C's cupboard, one from his fridge (go ahead and drink the beer, sir, it's safe for now).

Oven-Fried Chicken
4 boneless skinless chicken breasts
1/4 cup mayonnaise
2 cups italian bread crumbs

Preheat oven to 325 F. Lightly coat chicken breasts with mayonnaise, then coat with bread crumbs. Place on a cookie sheet, bake for 15 minutes. Turn over, continue baking until the coating is golden brown.