You realize, by the way, that since Osama poked his head up out of his hole last week we're gonna get another 6 weeks of President Bush justifying his blatently illegal (can't be illegal - I'm the king, whoops I mean President) domestic spying program.

I didn't get any sympathy note from the White House about the death of my cat. Apparantly I'm still flying under the radar... or that's what they want me to think.

A Photo Tribute to Frank

Frank was crafty...
Our dog Honey raised Frank as her own - literally.
Frank could be devious...
He also had an appreciation for the arts.
I'll never forget you, Frank. (Note: he was about twice this size when he died yesterday. He'd been enduring that last big growth spurt of kittenhood and eating like a horse.)

Frank Kaetterhenry
May 2005-January 22, 2006

Frank did not come home last night. We stayed up until well after 2 am checking the front and back doors for him every few minutes. I even went across the street in my nightgown and slippers in the 26 degree cold because my husband saw a couple of yellow cats over there. They were not Frank. When my son and I were leaving for school I told him I couldn't find Frank. He happened to look in the neighbor's yard, and there was something yellow and furry stretched out there. We were already running late but I just had to know. There was Frank, stretched out as if asleep, just the same way he was on my carpet only yesterday. I touched him, and he was cold. He didn't move. I carried him to my porch so my husband could look him over. He wasn't too messed up, just a little blood around his mouth. My husband thinks he got hit by a car, but not by a tire. Just clipped a little, maybe a head wound. Maybe the driver got out and laid him on the grass, or maybe Frank tried to make it home and just couldn't.

Frank was a good mouser and a good companion to our dog Honey. When we first brought him home as a kitten, Honey raised him as her own, even nursing him. Frank wasn't a cuddler (and I didn't want to spoil him too much as I wanted him to have that killer mouser instinct). Sometimes though he would let you love on him a little. He loved watching water in the bathtub and drinking it out of the toilet. He loved to eat first thing in the morning. And he loved to play with the dog.

I know you're probably thinking that it was just a cat. And he was, all that and more. It will be a long time before I can take a bath without thinking of him perched on the rail of the tub, trying to figure out how close he could get to the water without getting wet. He left pawprints all over my heart as well as my toilet seat.

St. Peter, you're getting the best cat ever. If you have a mouse problem in paradise, Frank will take care of it for you.Just make sure you feed him first thing in the morning, because he can get cranky.

I love you, Frank; and I'll miss you.

One more quickie for now

I found something terribly funny in Vanity Fair today (last month's issue). It said there are bumper stickers out there that say:


Will someone please give this man a blow job so we can impeach him?

Frank, the Awfully-Smug Cat

I got sick last night. I laid in bed and was almost to sleep when a huge wave of nausea hit me. I was immediately and fully awake. My beloved dog Honey was curled up in a ball by my left (the escape) side. I laid there debating whether this was just a queasy feeling or whether something would actually come of it. A few moments later and I decided it was no false alarm. I tried to carefully crawl over the dog to get out of bed (she didn't even look up), rushed to the bathroom and knelt before the john. When round 1 was over a few minutes later I heard something behind me. I thought it might have been my loving and caring dog, coming to see whatever was wrong with Mommy. Nope. It was Frank, my orange tabbycat. And he had this look on his furry little face. I can't read my cat's mind most of the time but that look laid his thoughts perfectly bare: "And you always shoo ME off when I have my head in the toilet bowl. I TOLD you that was the very best water in the house. See?"

My response to the cat was "You WOULD think this is funny."

I went back to bed, crawing back over my beloved, ever-concerned-about-my-well-being dog who had not moved one centimeter but was snoring now. And I drifted off, only to repeat a few hours later.

This morning my body was racked with aches. The nausea is still coming and going. The dog is still curled up on the bed, sleeping away. And Frank, when he chooses to grace me with his presence, is looking at me with this knowing smile and the assumption that I will never again pull him off the commode. (He's wrong.)

New Years Resolution update:

Weight 147
Pages written: 30 by hand, single spaced on notebook paper.
Steps last week: 73885
1 box half-filled with magazines for the recycler.

Look out boys, it's Bridal Fair season!

Whomever decided to schedule the local bridal fairs on the last two weekends of the NFL playoffs must either love men or hate them. On the one hand it is a great way to keep the little woman occupied while you and the boys watch the big games. On the other hand, it's a tortuous time for those sell-outs who would do anything for their girl.

I often see men who are engaged. How do I know that's the situation? They are being drug into the bookstore (usually pulled along) by an excited an determined young female who comes straight to the information desk asking for the wedding planning books. At this point the guy usually tried to look away and put his hands in his pockets if he can pry them away from his fiancee. We point, she grabs his arm and pulls him away with her, going on about colors for her bridesmaids dresses or table centerpieces. It makes me laugh inside. I also quietly pray for the man to grow a pair and regain a little dignity.

Men, I know. Your lovely fiancee says she wants to plan your special day together as a couple. She values your input. She wants it to be a special day for the two of you that you can remember the rest of your lives. Hogwash. Men, she may truly love you, but please remember: she has been planning this wedding in her mind since she was four years old. The only real reason she needs you there is because you're a necesary part of the package. If you aren't there in a nice crisp tux, then she has no excuse to get her hair and nails and makeup done and wear a $1500 dress in front of her best girlfriends. You, my friend, are an accessory, just like her satin pumps.

Now if you've gotten to the stage where you are actually planning one of these events, you have realized that when she wants your honest opinion about something, she doesn't really mean it. She wants you to agree with her, to validate her vision. That is the groom's true job.

Many times your bride will go to the bridal fairs with her mom or her best friend. She understands that you would not be interested and that you'd really rather go have a root canal. You have found a treasure. Go along with whatever she wants, because she's a keeper. Then you get those other brides, the ones who want to make the wedding a truly couple (this means she plans, you validate) event. She has scheduled your Sunday afternoon without asking your opinion about it and subtly implied that your presence is required or else you'll be living like a monk for the next six months. You picture a life with no booty calls and you give in. Suddenly you find yourself in a room filled with women and tulle and more women and rings and even more women. Wait, there's a car you can go check out. Bummer, a limo. And SHE wants to see the passenger area, not check under the hood. You've just crossed into the seventh plane of hell, friend, and she's at the tux booth, picking out what YOU'LL be wearing. (You can choose the cufflinks, honey, so long as you pick the gold ones with the pearl inset. They'll match my earrings.)

If I were to have a booth at a wedding fair, I wouldn't be hawking flowers or DJ's or catering. I'd have a corner booth out of the way. I'd charge an extra five bucks to enter it. Inside would be a man-haven. A big screen TV with the playoffs, a keg of cold beer and plenty of pizza. And as many sofas and recliners as I could fit in there. A place where the whipped grooms could retreat to regain their manhood. I'll bet it would be the most profitable booth there, too.

And a note to my woman friends. Don't delude him by taking about "our special day." It's your day. If your man is pretending to be interested, he's doing it for your benefit. He just wants to know when and where to show up. He's not wrong for that. He's a man. It's a good thing (as Martha would say.) Cut him some slack. You'll be happy when that day comes and everything is perfect. He'll be happy a few hours later, when it's over.

While we're victimizing white male red-state evangelical Christians...

I was googling some sites for my son the other day when I stumbled upon the little feud between Billy O'Reilly and Jon Stewart. http://www.crooksandliars.com/2005/12/07.html

I hate to inform Bill (because apparantly his research department didn't clue him in) but Jesus Christ was not born on December 25. How do I know this? The Bible, HIS Bible, says so. Of course it doesn't come right out and say it, but it's there if you read carefully. I could quote scripture here because I have at least five Bibles on my bookshelf, but someone else did a fabulous job of that already. http://www.revneal.org/Writings/jesusbirth.htm
I found an even better page the other night but I can't find it now. It spoke to climate conditions in late December in Israel being too cold and boggy for large numbers of people to be travelling by beast and on foot many miles to be counted for the census. The Romans would not have taken the census during a time of year when they could not expect people to turn out. Also, the Bible clearly states in the gospels that shepherds were out in the fields watching their flocks by night. This would not have happened this time of year. The sheep would have been kept in a corral close to town. Back then no one cared when someone was born anyway. Date of death was far more important. Yet Good Friday's date changes every year. (Must not have been that significant huh?) The date of December 25 was chosen by a Roman emporer who wanted to convert pagans to Christianity because it was the close to the holiday celebrating the solstice (the rebirth of the Sun). Take out the re- in rebirth and change the u in sun to an o and presto! It's Christmas!

Let me ask you this, Mr. O'Reilly. Did you have a Christmas tree? Holly? Mistletoe? Most Christians do. What does this have to do with Christmas? Were their firs and pines in Bethlehem? I can't say as I've never been there, but my guess is no. So what's the tree all about? It is brought into the house for Yule (winter solstice) to signify that the Holly King's reign over the earth is finished and that the earth will soon be green again with flowers and crops. See, you couldn't have been celebrating Christ's birth in December because he wasn't born in December. That would be silly, like celebrating Martin Luter King Jr. Day in September or Independence Day in April. Congratulations, Mr. O'Reilly, you've celebrated Yule! Welcome to paganism. (Was it good for you?)

Holy Cow! Satan plays poker?!

I read this today in the letters to the editor of the Lincoln (Nebraska) Journal-Star:

Letters, 1/11: The devil’s game
I was disturbed and appalled to see the Lincoln Journal Star headlining the World Series of Poker. As a Christian, I protest your promotion of gambling.
The leaders in Lincoln had the forethought to stamp out smoking and Wal-Mart, and I call upon these leaders to protest the advertisement by your paper of the devil’s game.
David Thomas Cap, Lincoln

I always read the letters to the editor because it is generally the funniest section of our paper. (Doubt me? Look at http://www.journalstar.com)
Since when is the World Series of Poker gambling? Obviously he was just torqued that our paper promoted something with poker in the title, and poker can be a form of gambling. Therefore the paper promoted gambling. The WSOP is a "sports" event. None of those players are actually bringing their own money to the table. Like golf, there is an entry fee that a player either pays out of their own pocket or secures sponsors to pay for them. Money from entry fees and advertising revenues makes up the prize pool from which the players are paid according to how far they go in the tournament. The WSOP represents the highest level of a game of skill. Much like chess, one advances by using psychology and body language to guess what another player's cards might be and what that player might do with them. They can then send their own signals to try to influence the other player to either fold (a stronger hand) or bet more (a weaker hand). Sure the chips are named after money, but since there is no real money involved in the actual course of play they could also name the units strokes or points. It would be more cumbersome, but it could be done.

My question is: does this Christian guy ever put a buck into the office pool when The Beloved Cornhuskers play? That's gambling, illegal in Nebraska, and against NCAA rules I think (not sure on that as they have SO many rules). My guess is: yep.

I guess this is just another example of the victimization of white male red-state evangelical Christians. (BTW, people still smoke in Lincoln, we just can't do it in the bar when playing the free poker tournaments thanks to jerks like this who never go to bars in the first place. And we have two Wal-marts in existence, neither with gigantic bootprints on their roofs.)

A little research please?

New Years Resolutions 2006

We all hate making New Years Resolutions because they never stick more than a few weeks. I generally don't bother because I know I am not the sort of person to keep my promises to myself (though very loyal to everyone else).

I decided this year to be different. It has (obviously) talen me ten days to get to this point. I spent that time trying to feel out what I would be motivated to do this year. I've come up with a few things:

1. I'm 32. It's time to start taking a little better care of myself. I got a pedometer and a George Foreman grill for Christmas (which by the way is the most AWESOME kitchen invention after the microwave). I started using the pedometer just to see how busy I really am at work (17000 steps a day busy). So I will log 80000 steps a week if I make an effort to move on my days off. I am also using that nice anti-wrinkly stuff on my face and trying not to sleep in my makeup anymore. I will also practice my yoga twice a week. Target weight: 125.

2. I will get halfway serious about my writing. I will blog at least three times a week (sorry folks) and write at least one page of my great American novel 5 days a week (aiming for 8 pages a week total). Once a month I will "assign" myself a freelance article to research and write (probably not for potential publication). I think in twenty years it will be interesting to go back and read that stuff.

3. I will lessen the amount of crap in my house. A monthly trip to Goodwill and the recycler will help with that. I will also set up a more routine schedule for housework with Flylady's help. (www.flylady.net)

4. I won't start any artsy project I do not plan to finish within a month.

5. I will get to 10 million neopoints (yeah I am addicted to a computer game based on the premise of taking care of imaginary pets.)

Todays weight BTW: 152

Essay Time

My 14 year old son is trying to write an essay. He's in WAAAY above his head. We discussed many different topics he could write about and he actually is running with one for which there is a wealth of information out there. (I always used to pick interesting topics that NO ONE else ever researched.) In fact there might be too much information out there.

He's writing about the damage Wal-mart is doing to the American economy. I googled it for him and emailed him about ten different articles from which he could glean information. I should have sent him two, because he is overwhelmed. He doesn't know how to go about it. I described the process to him: statement, supporting facts, conclusion. I gave him too many facts not realizing that he doesn't have the skills to skim and pick out the important stuff. He's confused and down in his little cave now. Maybe we should have just written about pizza.

The Big Town with the Small Mind

Lincoln Nebraska. Population 250,000+, 49 or so state senators, 3 institutions of higher learning (4 if you count the community college), and ONE MOVIE THEATRE. There's public transportation if you need to go somewhere Monday-Saturday 6 am to 7 pm (of course all 20 or so routes except one go through downtown so if you need to go from the north part of town to the northeast part of town it will take over an hour because you must go south and west to make that downtown loop.) Driving is fun, too; because only two of the major arterials are 4+ lanes throughout the length of town. The others all drop to two lanes with a center turn lane or even narrower. You can't smoke in restaurants or bars because most of the people who haven't been in a bar in 20 years voted for a smoking ban. Property taxes are going up and up (but not by raising the tax rate because that's too obvious. They raise the value of the property.) Businesses, even large ones with 100+ employees, are closing and moving elsewhere. New businesses come here to look around and then build a plant near but not within Lincoln. There's one phone company. One cable company. One newspaper. The airport is served by only two (bankrupt) airlines. And every day there's trash in my yard. Welcome to the good life.

My frustration with this backward little burg began long ago but came to a head tonight. I wanted to go see Memoirs of a Geisha with my husband tonight since he is leaving again tomorrow. This movie is only two weeks old in Lincoln, since it opened on Dec. 23, the regular national release date, not the big-city date of Dec. 9. I tried to go online to check the one movie company's website. It said no results were found at all for any movie in Lincoln Nebraska EVER. So I tried calling. And calling. And calling. On about the 20th try I finally got through. I checked the non-downtown theater closest to me (10 blocks south, 40 blocks east). They have King Kong on 2 screens, Narnia on two screens, Cheaper by the Dozen 2 on 1 screen and something like Wolf Creek on 1 screen. I tried to back through the menu to check the next closest non-downtown theater (about 5-6 miles away). It cut me off. Several attempts later I got through again. No Geisha on their 6 screens. The only other non-downtown theatre is 11 or 12 miles away and on our tiny little arterials would take about 45 minutes to drive to. I didn't try them. After several more attempts I once again got into the system (the website is still malfunctioning) to check the (shudder) downtown theatre (14 screens). They have Geisha, but only three screenings and no convenient free parking since the university, the broadway-tour-bus-capable theatre, and the bars are all surrounding it. Thirty-some years ago the City Council of Lincoln, in their Most Infinite Wisdom, enacted a law that there can be no movie theatres of more than 6 screens outside of downtown. Another movie company wanted to come in and build a megaplex on the furthest outskirts of town away from downtown to give the local company (financed by the city no less) some competition and to give consumers a choice. No dice. The city said they could only build 6 screens maximum. They said that no one build a 6-screen theatre anymore. City Council said tough. Other company said screw you. So I guess I'll go see Geisha on Wednesday during the day when I might be able to find parking, but I'll have to go alone. Or I'll wait till it comes out on DVD.

Lincoln sucks.