Having time to kill this morning before a doctor’s appointment, I made Husband go on a little sidetrip to visit the National Shrine of the Immaculate Conception (or, as we call it, Basillica Joe’s) to see the church all decked out in Christmas finery. We (ok, I) lit a candle for my brother and then wandered about admiring the big holy shininess of it all. We only had time for the upper Church – the crypt, and Nuns in America, will have to wait for another day.
As we left, Heathen Husband pronounced, “That’s a whole lot of One God.”
Now might be a good time to mention that the Bunny got us the 2005 nuns having fun calendar for our kitchen.
I thought the headline on the new issue of In These Times was “People vs. Vampires.” I thought that for several days before it struck me as odd and I looked more closely, revealing that the actual title is “People vs. Empire.”
Chapter One, wherein, within 90 minutes of beginning their 7,000 mile journey to Seattle, Skarlet has already completely lost her mind and is actually beginning to wish she was back at the airport where a woman spent a half-hour berating she and her mom, in Norwegian, for reasons understood only by the Norwegian woman.
See you next week.
Oh yeah, one more thing – and any interest in a pre-holiday dcblogger happy hour gathering at Atomic on Dec 17th?
28,000 Texas schoolchildren are being electronically monitored. That’s good. That way school officials know everything about them and can learn their habits, figure out when they’re alone, stuff like that. We all know kids are waaaay more likely to be grabbed and/or molested by strangers than an acquaintence, so this should work great. (before anyone pompously writes to explain that’s not true, let me explain slowly and carefully so you can understand it: that was sarcasm).
As a value-added feature, I bet they’ll find a way to harvest marketing-data out of this little experiment…
Usually I encounter the evangelicals stumping for Bush at the Metro. Yesterday, they came to our door to explain about how Kerry wants to outlaw the Bible and how the demonic jews and muslims and buddhists are ruining the country. Now, don’t be thinking the Jews aren’t useful – we need them to guard Israel until Jesus shows back up and breaks their lease. They aren’t keeping their part of the bargain though. We gave them Israel but they won’t all skeedaddle. There’s still too damned many of the bastards skulking about on our precious American Soil.
After I learned all about the evil Jews, got my Republican voting guide, and promised never to sacrifice goats in my yard, they asked me to pray with them for W.
I had a better idea.
While they were still trying to figure out if I was kidding about the goats, I asked them to pray over my house and yard. There was a Jew living here, I explained. I failed to mention that part about how this wasn’t past tense. (I certainly didn’t want them coming back)
They were happy to accomodate. They sang and prayed, prayed and sang for the rest of the afternoon. All over the yard, wailing away for Baby Jesus and George W Bush to deliver my dwelling from the taint of eeeeevil. I certainly wasn’t letting them inside, and with most of the windows shut I could tune them out when I wished. Oh, I have to admit every once in a while I sat at a window and drank coffee and watched the show. They didn’t care.
Then their car picked them up and they left. I’m sure the neighbors think I’m completely out of my mind, but I’m equally sure they’ve thought that for years.
My thinking was, if they’re exorcising my yard, they aren’t bothering anyone else with their bigoted horseshit. It’s like community service.
Works for me. Plus, now I can be assured that all of my earthworms have a place at the right hand of the Lord. That’s a big relief, I gotta tell you.
Last night Husband and I tossed around the idea of cancelling cable. Not for long though, because even thinking of being without
Keith Olbermann cable fills me with feelings of terror. The kind of terror that strikes when I think about hiking in the sheer snakiness of my mom’s neighborhood. Serious terror.
Husband: But if we cancelled cable I could make more progress on my New Year’s Resolution.
Me: What was your resolution?
Husband: Play more videogames.
I’ve been doing crazy amounts of stuff that have been keeping me running around like, well, the crazy-woman I am. I don’t have the stomach for community organizing, I’ve learned (read: enduring threats and learning what overt racism exists in dc-metro area). I prefer being knee-deep in artomatic organizing, which is hard work but lots of fun. And much less scary.
Tomorrow, I will of course pause to light a candle for imprisoned freedom fighter Martha Stewart.
In the meantime, in lieu of more interesting content, here’s a roundup of some of the more entertaining random encounters with strangers from the last few weeks:
ladies room, lemur lounge, 3 weeks ago
drunk woman: “That vampire look really works for you.”
Metro train, last week
young woman: “You look like a goth Marilyn Monroe!”
(stranger still, others agreed)
Sephora, Pentagon city mall, sometime in the last few weeks
woman with lipgloss tester in her hand: “Does this smell like pee?”
coffee shop, today
woman with sandwich in her hand: “Do you think this will give me gas later?”
(which reminded me of the time Husband and I were checking out books at the library and the librarian randomly announced to Husband, “I love brocoli, but it gives me gas.”)
Today’s lesson: You can work from home, but you can never escape.
Proof there’s a market for everything.
I don’t even know where to file this one. I should go back and see what I filed the posts about neuticles and doggles under, but instead I’d rather just go take a long walk and mumble to myself.
This morning I’m trying to tame my inbox. As I was triaging my email over that first cup of coffee, I had a near-fatal giggling fit at this Onion article: “Matchbox Twenty Finally Finishes Watering Down Long-Awaited New Album”
Executives at Atlantic Records announced Monday that multi-platinum recording artist Matchbox Twenty, which set sales records in 2000 for its mega-hit release Mad Season, has finally finished watering down tracks on its long-awaited new album Beige.
“Everyone here at Atlantic is thrilled about what’s sure to be the biggest-selling, least-rocking record of the year,” Atlantic public-relations spokeswoman Janet Cosgrove said. “It’s been a long wait, but the incredibly boring results speak for themselves. Beige is bigger and blander than anything Matchbox Twenty has ever done.”
“Grab a chair, America!” she added. “The most uninteresting band in formulaic, corporate radio is back!”
[read the rest]
I really don’t like Matchbox 20.
This morning I picked up the Washington Post to find that my neighborhood has gone from “cozy Mayberry to nasty Peyton Place.” I didn’t get that memo. Where was I?
Me, I’m still busy worrying about the epic battle between God and Satan. I had no idea just how much was at stake this election! (as documented by the Bunny)
I’ve been hiding under my bed having Catholic School flashbacks ever since I saw the ad in the City Paper for an exhibit called “Nuns in America” at the Pope John Paul II Cultural Center.
Can’t make this stuff up. Just can’t.
Maybe someone who isn’t an alumna of St Martha’s School for Girls Who Were Raised by Wolves can check it out for me and report back.