Take the Banned Book Challenge

Pelham Library is issuing a Banned Book Challenge to all. Simply put, commit to read a certain number of books between February 26 (yesterday) and June 30, 2007. For clarification, Pelham Library does not ban books, but has provided a list of books that have been banned in other places. You are free to choose any books that have been banned anywhere, whether listed or not.

This is a healthy thing for our minds. Let's all meet the challenge. I'm personally committing to 20 books. Look for reports in the months to come!

Scorsese gets his due

Yeah, that's right, my man Marty took home the little bald statue for his outstanding work as a director in The Departed. Anybody got a problem with that? No, I didn't think so. Actually, even the other directors who were nominated didn't seem to have a problem with it. That movie kicked ass, and Scorsese has been given the shaft for years.

Bonus points go to whomever had Best Director presented by Francis Ford Coppola, Steven Spielberg, and George Lucas. Obviously they did it because they knew Scorsese would win, but I also enjoyed the little moment in which George Lucas pointed out that he was the only guy up there who hadn't won an Oscar for Best Director. Yeah, that's because your movies suck now, George. Also, because you can't move on beyond the Star Wars saga. And you just keep selling differently tweaked versions of the same movies over and over and over, which you've been doing for at least twenty years.

I seem to remember that last year, the Oscars had a newish category, Best Comedy or Musical. What happened to that? Oh, wait, that was the Golden Globes. How exactly do comedies and musicals get lumped into the same category? Do we just laugh at musicals because they're unnatural? I nominate Godspell for a posthumous Golden Globe. You have to love Young Jack Bristow as the Jesus Clown.

In case any of you are trying to e-mail me, Yahoo Mail is giving me a problem today. So if you don't get a reply, it's not because I don't love you.

"And now, a word from the president"

Damn it feels good to be a gangsta
Getting voted into the White House
Everything looking good to the people of the world
But the Mafia family is my boss
So every now and then I owe a favor gettin' down
Like lettin' a big drug shipment through
And send 'em to the poor communities
So we can bust you know who
The Voters of the world keep supportin' me
And I promise to take you very far
Other leaders better not upset me
Or I'll send a million troops to die at war
To all you Republicans that helped me win
I'd sincerely like to thank ya
'Cause now I got the world swinging from my nuts
And Damn it feels good to be a gangsta

--Damn it Feels Good to be a Gangsta, Geto Boys,

This song was first popular when I was in junior high, maybe high school. I remember my cousins and I thought of the last verse as the comments that a black man from the ghetto might make if he were elected president. (Oh hush, there were lots of songs to that effect back then, including one that suggested painting the White House black.)

What we didn't understand, what I just didn't think about until today, is that those lyrics were meant to describe President Bush Sr. In fact, I'd say they do a superior job of describing President Bush Jr.

America's government is supposed to be a system of checks and balances. In theory, Congress is supposed to represent the Will of the People. The president can't just declare war of his own accord; Congress has to vote on it. And Congress did indeed vote to approve the US invasion of Iraq.

But why haven't they voted to pull our troops out?

I know it was right to hunt down Saddam Hussein; the man was deliberately hurting his own people. But what good are we doing there now? The Iraqi people don't want us there anymore. And, try as he might, Bush can't just install democracy somewhere.

The American people are calling for Bush to bring our boys home. Even the Republican citizens are getting sick of this crap. With so many constituents screaming to bring the troops home, why isn't Congress doing it? Does the will of the people not actually mean anything?

(I think we know the answer to that. The will of the people only means something at election time.)

I'm probably oversimplifying this. Obama and H. Clinton are duking it out right now over who has the better plan to withdraw troops. How much do you want to bet that when it comes to a vote, it's split along party lines, rather than based on what the constituents have asked for?

In the meantime, President Bush is planning to recall 40,000 troops back to active duty. I'm talking about people who already served four or five years of active duty and have returned to civilian life. Yes, it's true, that's part of the contract when you swear in: the committment to return to active duty if it becomes necessary. But please, explain to me, why is it necessary?

Who does our President answer to? He's not answering to me or my congresswoman. He's just doing what he wants, sending our people to die for someone else's country. All the hell he raised about the U.N. not forcing Hussein to answer for his actions, but is Bush being made to answer for his own? The world really is hanging from his nuts.

In Case of Emergency

Here's something you need to know if you're living with very old people:

They don't know that they're supposed to call 9-1-1 immediately in a medical emergency.

I'm probably overgeneralizing. Maybe it's just MY grandparents, because they grew up as migrant farm workers with very little formal education. Maybe it's generational (no phones when they were kids, no 911 when they were raising kids), maybe it's because when they were young only rich people could call medics to come to the house, maybe it's just that they're senile.

Just please, explain this to them, and not just once in a while, I mean weekly: if there's a medical emergency, call 911 immediately. Don't try and revive the person yourself, don't wait a while and see if he gets better, don't half-assedly attempt to wake up someone else in the house, don't call the neighbors or the relatives and ask THEM to call an ambulance. Grandma, if something is wrong, don't wait. Call 911, and do it fast.

Grandpa will never be the same. His arm is dead, his leg is partly paralyzed, his face is stuck, he falls asleep for fifteen minutes and thinks a whole day has passed.

Late night with Chef Sleepless

At night I can't sleep
I toss and turn
Candlesticks in the dark
Visions of bodies bein' burned
Four walls closin' in getting bigger
I'm paranoid, sleepin' with my finger on the trigger

--Mind Playing Tricks on Me, Geto Boys

That's right, it's nearly 3 AM and I can't sleep, thank you so much Excedrin Migraine with extra caffeine. However, since my paranoia is not nearly so bad as that of Scarface, Willie D, or Bushwick Bill, I don't actually have a gun in my hand right now. Which is fortunate, because how else would I be able to type for you? My two readers get a post.

Today, folks, you get a recipe. Since the weather is warming up (in my part of the country, anyway), here's a dish that's easy to make, requires no oven use, and tastes good served cold.

Tuna and White Bean Salad
(Stay with me, this really is good.)

Drain 2 cans of tuna packed in water. Drain and rinse one 14 oz. can white kidney beans (also called cannellini or alubias) and 2 tbsp. capers; add these to tuna. Core and dice 4 Roma tomatoes (a.k.a. pear tomatoes) and add to tuna. Add 2 minced cloves of garlic and 1/2 cup lemon juice. Drizzle with 2-3 tbsp. olive oil. Add 1 cup roughly chopped parsley or cilantro. Season with salt and pepper. Toss. Serve on toasted bread OR serve on green salad OR toss with cold pasta.

Yeah, I know, there are lots of sour ingredients. Look at it as an incentive to drink more water, which you need to do anyway in this heat.

(Seriously, that Excedrin killed my headache within ten minutes. But I'm UP.)

Where's the beef (from)?

Did you ever wonder why any fish, shrimp, lobster, etc. that you eat is called seafood, but beef and pork are NOT called landfood? Nor are chicken, duck, goose, or turkey called skyfood?

Obviously, you're saying, we don't need a term like "landfood" because it's already obvious where cows and pigs come from, and anyone ordering pork or beef just tells you what kind of meat they want. And why should we say "skyfood" when fowl and white meat are already acceptable dining terms?

Okay, I'm with you on the skyfood-is-fowl thing, even though ostrich meat is served in steaks. But why should landfood not be put to use? Sure, we could just say "red meat," but the Council for the Promotion of Pork (or whoever) is doing all they can to convince us that pork is The Other White Meat (even though it's not). I like to know where my meat comes from.

You're crazy. Landfood is unnecessary. If you want steak, you go to a steakhouse, not a "landfood restaurant." Landfood could mean anything from venison to veal.

So by that logic, restaurants should specialize in types of seafood. This one serves only fish, that one serves only squid, the other serves only shellfish...

No! No! No! No restaurant could be THAT specialized and still stay in business. Just like steakhouses serve chicken, seafood restaurants serve all kinds of animals from the sea.

Yeah, about that. How exactly do fish caught in lakes and rivers qualify as "sea" food?

Because they're fish!

But not from the sea. They're not even from a salt-water bog. They come from fresh water.

But they're fish. Maybe it's a misnomer in some cases, but seafood is just a general term for fish and shrimp and other animals that come from the water.

So how do we classify alligator meat? It's born on land, but spends a significant amount of time in the water. It has four legs, but it swims.

That can be called red meat.

But that isn't a description of where it comes from. Besides, it's not red, really. Every time I order it, it looks white, and it tastes like fowl. Even if pork looks like white meat but isn't, it still doesn't TASTE like white meat.

Fine! It's white meat!

But do we order it at a seafood restaurant, or a landfood restaurant (excuse me, I mean "steakhouse").

We order it at... um... Cajun restaurants!

First of all, Cajuns aren't the only ones who serve alligator. I used to buy my gator meat served in a gyro (which is Greek). Second, Cajun is a distinction of PEOPLE and their CHOSEN METHOD OF FOOD PREPARATION. It is not a classification of animal type or it's natural habitat.

Fine. It's swampfood. Are you happy?

So does that mean crawfish are swampfood instead of seafood?

What?!

I'm just saying, why can gators be swampfood but cows can't be landfood?

@#%$!!

Who's your old man?

The English language, especially where it concerns American expressions, always finds a way to throw me off just a little.

If a male refers to someone as "my old man," he is talking about his father.

If a woman refers to someone as "my old man," she is talking about her boyfriend or husband.

If a man refers to someone as "my old lady," he means his girlfriend or wife.

A woman never refers to anyone as "my old lady," or at least no straight women do that I know of. I wonder if a lesbian says it, does she mean her girlfriend or her mother?

Why I've finally switched to the new version

You know what sucks? When you carefully type out a very long post, ruminating on a topic in detail, making a passionate argument for your case, and then the whole thing disappears when you click on the spell-check button.

Kiss my butt, old version of Blogger.

New Growth

Today I finally found a store that sells lavender plants (other than the Butterfly Center at the Museum of Natural Science). I was so excited, I bought eight pots.

Now I just have to find room to plant them all. Oh, except for one pot, which goes to Grandma.

I also found an unusual species of tomato called Mr. Stripey. I'm not sure what it'll taste like, but I hope I can grow it.

When I told Bizarro Dad about what I bought, he said, "Is it planting time already?" When I assured him that it was, he said something about cold weather. "But honey," I said, "you turned on the air conditioner today."

Yes, that's right, spring is in the air. The birds are chirping, the leaves are slowly budding on the trees, and the breeze from my air conditioner signals the start of growing season.

Random movie opinions

• Tim Allen needs to be a little more selective about the scripts he chooses. I realize that he's found a niche in "family friendly" movies. But dude, can't he pick scripts that are good?
• Patrick Stewart is sexy. Yeah, that's right, I said it! And every time he does voice work for animation, I get a little shiver.
• I do love the Harry Potter movies, but I have to say that the ending to Goblet of Fire was disappointing. Why? Because they try to end on a high note, with Harry all smiley and joking around with Ron and Hermione. No. Not the proper tone. It makes no sense because 1) Harry was all depressed about Cedric Diggory dying and full of self-blame, so don't tell me he recovered that fast, 2) how are we supposed to believe that he was all happy at the end of Year 4 and suddenly teen angsty at the beginning of Year 5?, and 3) there are not really any political overtones, which would properly set the stage for 5.
• Jennifer Garner's new movie, Catch and Release, is out this month. Kevin Smith is in it, prompting me to wonder how Kevin Smith is always involved in projects with Ben Affleck and/or his significant others. Then again, that's what friends are for. In any case, I'm glad Jennifer Garner is working again. She's got talent, that's for sure, and I hope to see her in many more projects that showcase her range.
• Speaking of Catch and Release, this movie is promoting itself with the phrase "From the writer of Erin Brockovich." It's a trend now to promote your movie by bragging that it was made or written by the same people who worked on other movies that did well. I find this disturbing. Seriously, am I supposed to be more impressed that a romantic comedy was penned by the screenwriter who adapted a true story (a drama at that)? I remember when Princess Diaries was first released, and the big promo was "from the director of Pretty Woman." Yeah, I know, it was the legendary Gary Marshall, and it was a G movie, but please explain to me how invoking a movie about a prostitute was supposed to make parents want to take their twelve-year-old daughters? I suppose it pays off if it gets more butts in the seats. But I sincerely doubt Date Movie is any funnier just because I know it's from two of the six writers of Scary Movie; for all I know, those are the two writers who wrote the penis-in-the-ear joke, and that just wasn't funny.

Happy Birthday Dr. King

Thank you, Dr. King.

I am grateful for you, and all you did to make our country a better place.

Harry Potter and the Over-Zealous Nerdy Fans

Let me start by saying that I love the HP series. They're funny, they're moving, they are wonderful escapist entertainment. Great stuff. I'm not picking on the books, nor am I picking on the folks who dress up for Midnight Release parties. (Those people are having fun, and if I didn't have two little ones at home, I'd happily join them.)

My comments today are concerning a specific section of the popular HP fansite, mugglenet.com. This site overall is laid out nicely, with sections on the books, the movies, the actors, the author, etc. Again, great stuff. But there's one thing that's driving me mad: the Theories.

I like to amuse myself with theories about random things, and I don't see anything wrong with the practice of forming theories about a book that has sparked so much discussion. But when I try to read theories for Harry Potter 7, oh boy, do I get a wicked migraine.

Go in there and read ONE theory about whether or not Harry Potter is himself a Horcrux. The theory is developed by making assumptions, or by attempting to disprove someone else's assumptions (with, you guessed it, other assumptions). They talk and talk and talk in circles, until I'm so confused that I don't remember whether I was reading a proof or a disproof. (I know disproof is not a word, but you get what I mean.)

I know, I know, if it bothers me that much, I should just not read it. I don't read the theories very often, but sometimes I come across one I haven't read before, and the caption misleads me by saying "well-thought out." The problem is not that the writer hasn't thought out his/her argument; the problem is that the idea has been overthought and written in such a way that I almost can't bring myself to finish the article. After so many paragraphs (long ones), I finally have to exit the page or pop an Excedrin. Always, I leave the articles convinced that what's really going on here is "mental masturbation" (a term coined by my sociology prof) moreso than intelligent discussion.

Then again, I can't say I haven't been guilty of the same thing in the past. Y'all are lucky you didn't see my Alias days, back when the show was in it's prime and I had only one kid who took three naps a day. I was spitting out theories (or rebuttals to other people's theories) left and right. But at least we got a new episode to dissect once a week. Rowling is letting, oh, two years go by between HP books, sometimes more. All the fans get in the meantime are occasional Q and A sessions with the author, or an update to the Rumors section on Rowling's site. I almost can't blame the Theorists for concocting such long-winded essays.

Almost. People, READ OTHER BOOKS! Rowling's not the only fantasy writer out there. Hell, fantasy isn't the only genre out there. There's military fiction, sci-fi, romance, mystery, comedy, true crime, chick-lit, historical fiction, and an endless array of nonfiction categories. If you can imagine it, somebody probably wrote about it. Why not read some of those instead of just dwelling on the last, unfinished book of one series? Better yet, write your OWN stories instead of just writing about someone else's stories. This isn't a lit. class, where you have to hand in a complicated paper explaining what you think about someone else's work.

Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go check the Excedrin supply. I think I just gave myself another headache.

2007, Here I Come

I hate making New Year's resolutions, for no other reason than calling my goals "New Year's Resolutions" make them all guaranteed to fail. Seriously, it's like giving them a holiday-inspired title is like permission to slack off. "Oh, who cares, it's just a New Year's resolution, nobody keeps those."

So, my goals for the year 2007 are:

1. Get on that treadmill three times a week. But first, I should plug it in.
2. Spend more time playing with and teaching the kids and less time doing my own thing while they watch the same movie four times in a row.
3. Register my daughter for kindergarten EARLY, not at the last minute, so that she can be in Ms. C's class, just like her cousins on her father's side were.
4. Not let anyone else move into the house who I didn't give birth to. (Seriously, if one more sibling tries to slide in here...)
5. Enroll in college and see if I can work toward finishing my degree (if we have the money).
6. Attend my 10 Year high school reunion and NOT feel ashamed that I didn't do more with my life. Because really, I think I've done okay. You try making babies as pretty as mine and serving them HOMEMADE BABY FOOD.
7. Figure out my digital camera, including how to make it work with this dang computer.
8. Ease up on the swearing.
9. Make some baby blankets for some pregnant friends of mine. Preferably before they give birth.
10. Get us on track with the bills so my dad can buy a house and move out like he wants to and get married in his new house to his nice girlfriend. (I wonder if Gina will be a flower girl?)
11. Not be so mean. (Except when I'm yelling at the TV. That'll be my outlet.)
12. Take down the Christmas tree and other decorations before the end of January.

2006: The Year in Review

I was reading one of those Myspace surveys, and the question was asked: What was the most memorable thing that happened to you in 2006?

I realized that nothing actually happened to me that was all that memorable. Stuff happened to the people around me, and I got involved. Some of it was sad and/or drama-filled. But if I had to pick something that was about me and not a friend or relative, I'd say it was the day Bizarro Dad and I finally got our own room, after sharing a bedroom with the kids for sixteen solid months. Yeah! Sex whenever we want, without having to sneak into the living room and hoping no one else walks in!

Secondary memorable event: all the new kitchen appliances. No, I'm quite serious. This year my house opened it's doors to the following:
Breadmaker
6 Qt Crock Pot
Gas oven
Deep freezer

We celebrated the arrival of the oven by having Thanksgiving in May. And it was freakin' awesome.

*******
Sleepless Mama's Literary Awards for 2006

Most Ironic Book to be Banned
Fahrenheit 451, by Ray Bradbury, a book about book banning, which some New Caney hick tried to have banned from his teenage daughter's school curriculum. During Banned Book Week.

Best Page-Turner
Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, by J.K. Rowling. Possibly ousting Prisoner of Azkaban as my favorite HP volume. I've read it two or three times this year, and I'll probably re-read the whole series before the next movie premieres in July. Seriously, what is it about HBP that drives me through the pages? Superior writing? Sharp wit? Mysteries to unravel? Quidditch? Maybe Rowling cast a spell on her books...

The next one gets two awards:
Best Compendium of Pop-Culture Knowledge
and
Most Uses of the Word "Shadenfreude" in a Book Not Written In or About the German Language
Television Without Pity: 752 Things We Love to Hate (and Hate to Love) about TV, by Tara Ariano and Sarah D. Bunting. I use the word "compendium" loosely, since this book is not exactly brief. But damn, is it hilarious. It's arranged like an encyclopedia of wackiness, really. There are entries on everything. Some samples, just to give you an idea: Cosby Sweater (with illustration); Friends, Failed Clones of; Chia Pet; Smurfs, The; Wardrobe, Endlessness of; Moriarty, Michael, Bonkers-osity of; "As Seen on TV" Products; Shatner, William, Legendarily Awesome Saturday Night Live Appearance of; and "In the Butt, Bob." How can you be a TV-watcher and not want to read this book?

Most Awesome Graphic Novel (a.k.a. "Comic")
V for Vendetta, by Alan Moore and David Lloyd, DC Comics. For shocking imagery, for horrifying social commentary, for sheer kick-assery. Read it. Love it.

********
2006 Sleepless Mama Movie Awards

Best Animated Feature
Cars. Hands down. I want a bigger TV so I can try to recreate the experience of seeing this in a theater. A 25" television just doesn't do it justice.

Most Gratuitous Footage of Nerds in Action
Wordplay. It makes me feel better about my lifelong nerdiness, and even drives me to be a little nerdier than I've been in recent years.

Biggest Load of Crap
Pretty much anything with Tim Allen in it. Shaggy Dog, Santa Clause 3, you name it, it sucks.

Most Overrated, Overhyped Piece of Drivel That Made Ridiculous Amounts of Money at the Box Office but Was Actually a Suck-Fest
It's a tie between DaVinci Code and Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest. What? I'd have been better off waiting for them to come to DVD. Special Features tend to distract you from holes and contrivances in the plot.

The children are laughing and asking Mommy to play, so I'll conclude my rant for the year. Please have a safe holiday celebration and a prosperous New Year. Thanks for reading.

Memory Lane

Strange, is it not, how a simple drive to the grocery store can recall the oddest memories.

Some would say I have a long memory for the trivial, and to those people I would say "Remember that time you scratched my wrist with a stick AND hit my pelvic bone with your head while on the trampoline on the SAME DAY? Why yes, that was 10 years ago, but what's your point?"

Today while driving a stretch of road to one of the cheaper grocery stores, I happened to pass by a Dairy Queen tucked between the Fas Mart convenience store and Chala's Resale Shop. Neither of the other two stores mean anything to me, but for whatever reason the Dairy Queen caused a synapse to fire in my brain and remind me that when Bizarro Dad and I were first married, I used to drive his mother around, and she'd tell me stories about her family's life.

Once, when we passed the DQ in question, she was in the process of telling me the tale of how her other other son's girlfriend came to live with them. Apparently Girlfriend's parents were from Mexico, and as such had different beliefs about disciplining children than we do here in the US. They believed that it was the responsibility of the oldest son to provide the guidance and punishment for the younger children. This did not result in leniency, or even in gentle but firm guidelines, I'm sad to say. Instead, Girlfriend was beaten black and blue by her brother (probably for getting pregnant), and the parents condoned it completely. My mother-in-law did not feel this was a safe environment, and allowed Girlfriend to move in with her and the rest of the family. Sadly, her stay was not permanent, as Girlfriend proved to be every bit as violent as her brother and tried to attack a member of the family.

Yeah, I got all this from a Dairy Queen.

Oddly enough, driving down the same stretch of road on the return trip brought back different memories of the same person. On the opposite side of the street there's a Shipley's Donuts (the most awesome doughnut chain in the world, screw you Krispy Kreme). This reminded me of the story in which my then-pregnant mother-in-law had a fitful craving for doughnuts, and sent her husband and 11-year-old son (Bizarro Dad back when he was Bizarro Boy) out to retrieve the desired pastry in the dark at some ungodly hour. To Shipley's they went, because they knew that no other place in town would have decent doughnuts that would satisfy the demands of a pregnant woman. Poor Bizarro Boy, having to tap on the glass and hope the shop was open. But then, he was the only child in the house who was excited about the new baby, so it seems fitting that he'd be the one to go out for comfort food.

My mother-in-law tells the best stories.

I really shouldn't drive down that street to often. You should hear the stuff that flits through my brain the further west I go. We're talking junior high boyfriend, summer job, and that time my grandma got held at gunpoint by a mugger, only to grab him by the throat and flag down a passing cop. (She won't eat at that restaurant anymore, since none of the staff bothered to come outside and see why a strange man was pressing up against the little old lady who regularly came alone or with her husband.)

The most awesome, GUILT-FREE chocolate cake EVER!

Chocolate Torte
(recipe provided by a cooking show I can't remember the name of on PBS and BYUBroadcasting)

In a pan, melt 1/4 cup semisweet chocolate chips with 1/4 cup canola oil, stirring until smooth. Remove from heat.

In small bowl, whisk 5 Omega-3 eggs. (No, seriously, get the Omega-3's. They have less cholesterol and sodium and more healthy stuff in them.)

In a large bowl, combine 1 cup sugar, 1/2 cup whole wheat flour (cheaper than you think), 1/2 cup cocoa, and 1/4 cup shredded coconut. Whisk the eggs into flour mixture, then pour in melted chocolate and stir.

In a 9-inch springform pan (butter and sugar the inside instead of using grease and flour), pour in batter and smooth the top. Bake 35 minutes at 350 degrees. Cool and place on platter (cake will be very thin, like a brownie). Sprinkle with powdered sugar. Top with raspberries and fresh mint leaves.

One serving will contain 240 calories and 4 grams of saturated fat. This dessert is very rich (all that sugar), so serve thin slices.

Please note, I have not tried this recipe with a sugar substitute. Anyone who does, please come back and tell me how it came out. I want to know if this can be adjusted for diabetics.

Discriminating Santa

My daughter's love watching that old stop-motion movie Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. I have to admit, it is pretty cute, and I'm glad they are still able to be impressed by something that didn't cost $80,000,000 to animate. That being said, the more I watch this movie, the more something about strikes me as wrong.

Will someone please tell me what the hell is Santa's problem with "different?" The first time he sees Rudolph's red nose, he issues a warning. The second time he sees it (when Rudolph is a yearling with a better flight take-off than any of the other young bucks), Santa immediately turns to Rudolph's father, Donner, and says "You should be ashamed of yourself." He doesn't stop the other bucks from making fun of Rudolph, and he allows the Flight coach to ban Rudolph from any further training (Reindeer Games).

Furthermore, you are not going to make me believe that Santa doesn't know about the Misfit Toys. Surely some of them came from his own workshop. But does Santa care? Does it matter to him that there are toys in need of a home but can't find one because they're odd?

And really, why is he so completely unconcerned with Kirby, the elf who wants to be a dentist? His foreman is concerned only with making toys, which makes sense in a toy factory, but he goes from trying to force conformity to simply writing Kirby off as a freak. And Santa? Does not give a flying rat's tail.

I think we need to analyze just what type of guy this Santa was before Rudolph and Kirby ran away and forced him into a guilt-driven epiphany. Was he the type of Santa who didn't give toys to kids with disabilities or unattractive birthmarks? Did he not like the nerdy children? Did he give them fewer toys? I understand the whole Naughty and Nice division; that makes sense. But clearly he treated his reindeer, toys, and elves better or worse in accordance with their appearance and/or conformity. Why are we expected to believe that he treated children any better before Rudolph taught him the lesson of tolerance?

Face it, people, the Santa in this film is a prejudiced bunghole! DOWN WITH ANIMATED JERKY CLAUS! LONG LIVE THE REAL SANTA, WHO HAS COMPASSION FOR ALL!

Rogue Santa

So there's this mall we love, my relative has got on good speaking terms with Santa and Mrs. Claus. (No, seriously, the wife was standing in the parking lot and introduced herself as MRS. CLAUS.) They're a popular Claus couple, and have been visiting this mall for years. They sometimes walk around the mall between picture sessions, talking to people and holding hands. *sigh* Love...

Anyhoo, one day Santa has a doppelganger usurping his Santa-ness, and I don't mean there are two Santa photo stands. Second Santa is sitting on a little chair RIGHT IN FRONT OF Real Santa. With a video camera. Making a little movie for his own personal use, NOT making videos to give/sell to parents. Real Santa calls Management. Management calls Mall Security.

Mgmt: Security, we have an unauthorized Santa sitting around taking video of kids. Go get him.
Security: Oh, we're ON that shit. Idiot Newbie, you hold down the fort, we've got a freak to catch.
Idiot Newbie: Whateeeeeever...

Security (two guys in uniform) walk toward the Santas. Fake Santa sees them coming and heads for the book store, as does another person who was with him. Security follows them into book store. Santa and Sidekick start running to the exit.

Security Dude #1: (rolls eyes) Oh shit. Now we've gotta run. (begins running)
Security Dude #2: (sighs in frustration) Damn it. (begins running too)

Security chases the Santafied Wierdos through the store, out the door, and halfway across the parking lot. Security Dude #2 shouts at them to stop. Santa Freaks come to a stop, but sidekick hides behind a car. Security is having none of that, and gets them both into view.

Security Dude #1: Why'd you get up and leave?
Santa: 'Cause I saw you coming.
Security Dude #2: Why'd you run?
Santa's Little Helper: 'Cause we knew you were gonna kick us out.
Security Dude #1: So you ran instead of explaining yourselves?
Santa: What's the big deal?

Santa Nutjobs think it's all fun and games until local cops show up.

Santa: This is public property! I can film people! We were just getting footage for a Christmas montage! Constitutional amendments! It's harmless! I swear!
Cop: This is PRIVATE property, dumbass. No one can take pictures unless they're doing it as part of their mall job. That means the portrait studios and the REAL Santa Claus, not fake Santas with no permits and no proof of what they're filming for.
Santa: (Starting to realize what he did) Look, watch the video. See for yourself.

Cops watch video. Nothing disturbing is found. Cops determine that Fake Santa is telling the truth, but he still can't just film people at the mall whenever he feels like it. Cops decide not to arrest Faux Santa or his plainclothes elf. Mall Security, on the other hand, bans the Santa Perps for one year each.

Security Dude #1: Fools made me RUN. You better believe Santa got banned.
Security Dude #2: Hell, they made us both run. They should have got two years.
Idiot Newbie: I don't see what's wrong with a guy dressing as Santa and taking pictures of children without their parents permission or a permit from the mall. Surely such a case would be innocent. Or, you know, whateeeeever.
Security Dude #2: Dude, how many times do I have to tell you to SHUT UP?
Security Dude #1: Bastards made me RUN, man...

Let us hope that Santas everywhere will soon recover from the shame of it all, and that the REAL Santa at this mall will not be the subject of foul gossip. He remained at his post, cheering up children and accepting wish lists like a good Santa should.

Long Live the Real Santa Claus!

Shhhh...

Can you keep a secret?

I am sick of Cub Scouts. I have my own problems right now, many of them, and I don't want to deal with a bunch of ungrateful little snots this month. I just can't make myself care.

But I guess I will have to do it anyway.

I seriously am ready to throw in the towel, though. It's not like these kids can't transfer to the dens at their schools.

Friday night

Approximately 10:45 PM
Living room
Sounds of idle tapping on keyboard, mouseclicks, and kids DVD.
Gina and Sleepless Mama are in living room. Sia is asleep in her bedroom.

Sound: quietish "pop" originating from up the block. Suddenly three louder consecutive "POPs" from directly in front of our house

Me: Get down! (Grab Gina and pull her to the floor)
Gina: Mommy? What is it?
Me: It's a gun, baby. Stay down! (Carry her into hallway and run to back of house, into kids' bedroom)
Gina: Mommy! They shooting?
Me: (Laying Gina on floor) Yes, baby. They're shooting. (Grab sleeping Sia and sit on floor cradling her) Stay down, do you hear me? Stay on the floor.
Gina: Mommy, I scared! They shooting at us!
Me: Me too, baby. Stay on the floor.
(Minute passes. Place Sia back on bed.)
Me: Stay back here in your room, kids.
Gina: Mommy!
Sia: I scared!
Me: It will be okay. (Step into my room, next to the kids' room. Grab shotgun and release safety. Walk back into hallway) Stay in your room. (Close children's door.)
Kids: Mommy!
Me: (Slowly advance to front of house. Listen. Peek out window. No cars, no people. Return to hallway. Engage safety and carefully place shotgun in hallway, within reach of children's door. Open door and hug kids.)
Gina: Mommy, you shoot them?
Me: No, baby, I didn't shoot them. They ran away.
Gina: You gonna shoot those bad guys?
Me: No. The police will chase them.
Gina: You gonna help them? You help bad guys?
Me: No, sweetie. We have to take care of our family.
Gina: Those police guys chase those bad guys?
Me: (pause) Yes. Those bad guys ran away because they are scared of the police.
Gina: You gonna shoot you gun?
Me: No. We only shoot when the bad guys come into the house. And we have to be nice to the police.
Gina: (pause) We have to be careful.
Me: Yes, baby. We have to be careful.
Gina: Mommy, I scared.
Me: I know. But the bad guys are gone.
Gina: They shooting our house?
Me: No. Sometimes stupid bad guys shoot in the street. But they're gone now.
Gina: I want to go eat. (She means in the living room.)
Me: Not yet. Now Gina, when we hear a gun, we have to get down on the floor. Understand? When you hear a gun, you get down, just like this. (Demonstrate. Repeat instructions and physically lay child on her floor.)
Gina: Mommy?
Me: Yes baby?
Gina: You be careful with you gun.
Me: Yes, Gina, I promise.