Listening to: Zeke’s running commentary on The Empire Strikes Back
Daddy, why is he hanging from that tree? Ooooh, he cut his arm off.
Oh, I don’t like that (as Hans Solo cuts Luke from creature) – Zeke sticks his fingers in his ears.
“Nerf Herder” – Shut up, Princess Leia, you’re making me crazy!
Daddy making Darth Vader sound in his hands – DADDY!!! DON’T SCARE ME!!!
I don’t like Darth Vader, I only like Aniken
Daddy, I can kill those robots, those things with the shooters (making gestures at his face).
Is de sote de set det dar? (no translation available, despite numerous attempts).
I don’t like worms (denying dad’s offer of microwave taquito and dad’s claim that taquito was a fried worm).
He parked it right there (as Luke crashes into the swamps of Dagobah)
Heh heh – siwwy oh Yoda
Yeah, you won’t be a Yedi master!
As Leia and Han kiss – “Are my hands tween?” (wriggling fingers – no translation available, figures he’s not keen on kissing scenes).
I wike Yoda but sometimes he woozes Jedi (he having seen Part III)
Remember when he falls of his bed? (RE: Yoda – I have no clue; “uh huh” I say)
Creature on windshield of Millennium Falcon “Oooooh, it’s a baby Yoda!”
“Shoot! Bad bats!”
Why did Luke Skywalker put on his pants? (really, I don’t know – did it have something to do the the dark side of the force?)
Yoda lifts Luke’s ship from the swamp: I have the force daddy, look! (wriggles his fingers)
I feel the force around me – because it’s HOT
Capt. Neidar is dead – Whoo Hoo!!!
Don’t kiss Capt. Han!
Attempting to stand on his hands; daddy holds him up to stand on his hands; daddy stands on his head and impresses son to no end – “Daddy, how did you do that?!?!” Daddy, I LOVE you!!! I sense he believes the force runs through me.
Uh oh, he’s (C3PO) gonna get shot! He (Chewbacca) is gonna carry all his pieces (C3PO’s) pieces on his back
He’s putting his head on backwards!
Leia: Why is he doing this? Zeke: Why is he doing that?
Dad with hands over mouth, etc. Zeke tries to spread hands, “I know who you are, daddy!”
Son hangs tight onto daddy for the remainder of movie.
Afterword: He’s soooo bummed that Aniken became Darth Vader and still insists that Aniken Skywalker is NOT Darth Vader – “I saw a new Darth Vader!”
Thursday, December 29, 2005
Wednesday, December 28, 2005
Ding, Dong, the witch is lame
Listening to: Kathy’s awesome holiday mix
As 2005 winds down and whizzes itself out like the final sputters of 4th of July whirligig, this intrepid wannabe blogger would like to indulge in the well-worn tradition of putting inconsequence into sets of tens and boring you with my pontification on those things. And had I not had a few brews which gave me over to severe apathy, perhaps I’d have done the deed I’ll not do now. Instead, I’ll just laugh at people more stupid than me.
So yeah, another of my usual posts.
Just recently, a conservative, Christian judge ruled that the proponents for Intelligent Design:
lied to cover up their religious motives, made a decision of "breathtaking inanity" and "dragged" their community into "this legal maelstrom with its resulting utter waste of monetary and personal resources."
I have no problem with ID, per se – I like how God-things make me feel warm and fuzzy and assured that, at the end of the day, I’ll get handed a harp and have a set of wings slapped on my back. Nonetheless, I find it interesting that a judge (his qualifications previously stated) found that these so-called Christians “lied”.
Hmmm… I thought lying was a sin. Interesting how some Christians pick and choose their sins. Don’t abort that kid, we need him to molest. And if that kid turns out to be gay, we’ll lie about damn near anything in order to deny he’s worth a shit. Roll the Screwtape, Jeebus.
Not that anyone should be surprised. Back in the early 90’s, James Dobson and his army of nitwits attempted to create a discriminatory law against gays in Colorado and in fact, had the voters of Colorado that it was a good law. Problem was, well, they lied. They convinced the law was to give gays special rights when in fact, it was a law to deny gays basic civil rights. The voters won, the courts over-ruled and in almost 15 years since, the lying, gutless fucks of Focus on the Family have yet to adequately challenge the decision. Ultimately, the lawyers for FotF knew Dobson and his yapping clams had lied with all the aplomb of my three-year old.
Like I said, I love to laugh at people more stupid than me. People so stupid they don’t even have the intellectual wherewithal to create viable lies.
Holly shit – doesn’t that sound like the Bush administration?
Afterword (via Alicublog):
SHORTER CONSERVATIVE MOVEMENT 1994:
"I'm from the government, and I'm here to help you."
HAW HAW HAW! AW HAW HAW HAW HAW! Thassa good one! Yee-haaa!
SHORTER CONSERVATIVE MOVEMENT 2005:
"I'm from the government, and I'm here to spy on you and perhaps indefinitely detain you without charges."
That sounds reasonable.
Fucking morons. If you manage to see some twit still stupid enough to sport a 'W-04'' sticker on their car, spit on them. Please.
Sunday, December 25, 2005
Coal for Christmas
Listening to: Hank's killer holiday(?) mix
If visions of sugarplums danced in the heads of the munchkin mafia, I heard nary a word of it. While X had the lil's Christmas Eve, I sat in a bar drinking 5 Barrel Pale Ale, listening to an ostensible "rave" DJ spin stale vinyl and looking at how many low-slung sets of jeans revealed satin thongs. My own visions of sugarplums much less tasty, agreed?
My stocking ended up with no digital camera. A bit disappointed but considering that extent of my gift giving amounted to toilet paper rolls with GW's face on each sheet, I should have expected as little (I will, however, post pics my GW-fan folks shot and, I hope, saved).
The kids got what the ether deemed was theirs and they never waned in their enthusiasm, of course. The day was spent ripping Barbi from some marketers version of bondage and Thomas the Tank Engine's version of cheap Chinese finger puzzle. The children's version of heaven amounted to my notiom of hell, with with me building this and chopping that out of its wired up cardboard dungeon, me tring to figure out how to fit 'Slot A' into 'Figure B' while they rolled around in cardboard boxes giggling and oblivious.
Christmas can be too much. As night fell, we wandered up to the zoo for the "Electric Safari" and dammit, had Marlin Perkins been there to shoot my little ones up with a tranquilzer dart or two, I'd have bought him a drink. I eventually had to negotiate with the wee ones that they'd go straight to bed if they got what they wanted (a ride on the merry-go-round). That seened to be sufficient but it doesn't hurt to have some dude with a rifle loaded with tranquilizer darts in your corner.
Not that I needed that card in my hand: by the time we got back here, they were all passed out, the day's excitement all the tranquilizer I needed. In that regard, Santa had served me well.
Unfotunately, as far as Santa was concerned, my name was in the 'bad' column when it should have been in the 'dad' column.
To be fair, the delicious and saintly (and soon to be sainted - I carry a lot of weight in the Catholic church, shee-it) Mamacita sent me gorgeous handmade stockings, Christmas disks, lots of love, and a copy of Jasper Fforde's The Eyre Affair (which I've been dying to read) while another latest crush (and oh, what a huge crush!) sent me a copy of Orhan Pamuk's, Snow, ticks off my Amazon Wish List that will satisfy me until February (my birthday).
I keed, I keed - I am grateful, so grateful for my internet friends.
If Santa had considered screwing me, it was do to some lip-service from Jeebus do to this, the 2nd disk Melina got (goddamn, I apologize my sweet):
Thurl Ravenscroft, You're a Mean One, Mr. Grinch, he was the voice of 'Tony the Tiger' singing one of the coolest Christmas songs, a song I forced my band to cover. From the cartoon, not the sorry-ass Jim Carrey movie.
The Vandals, Christmas Time for My Penis, because we all know how much my penis deserves a good Christmas.
Fear, Fuck Christmas, a negative song by the most negative hardcore band, hands down. I was never a Fear fan and I'm not inclined to give them any slack at Christmas.
Mr. Hankey's Christmas Classics, Merry Fucking Christmas, so un-PC it simply must be sung at every Kindergarten pageant.
Bad Religion, The First Noel, also un-PC but in a different way; what did you expect from a band with this name? Are you loopy?
Stiff Little Fingers, White Christmas, the best Irish punk band rocks out on a song that needs rocking.
Bob Rivers, I Am Santa Claus, I play this song to scare my kids which, during the Christmas season, is as useful as Nembutal in milk.
Jimi Hendrix, Little Drummer Boy/Silent Night, if anyone thinks Jimi was an angel, they need to listen to the wretched knock-off High, Live and Dirty and give up their illusions of Jimi's sainthood. He wasn't fucking around on this.
Patti Smith, We Three Kings, scary, truly scary, which is what I think Patti had in mind - prior to becoming a mush-mouthed Nader apologist.
Dandy Warhols, Little Drummer Boy, simply weird and the song that turned me onto the Dandy Warhols.
The Who, Christmas, by far, the most brutal song on this mix and I'll do time in Purgatory simply for including it; I assume Pete Townsend* has done his bid.
Ween, Suzy Snowflake, a truly twisted, paranoid nightmare of a song (what else would you expect from Ween?) but no worse than, "he sees you when you're sleeping, he knows when you're awake, he knows when you've been bad or good, so be good for goodness sake." In these dark days when our rabid cur of a president can wipe his ass with the Constitution, a topical little tune.
Trans-Siberian Orchestra, Dance Of the Sugarplum Fairies, you know, not that fucking bad but it rocks so... so what, merry fucking Christmas, asshole.
Yellowman, We Wish You a Reggae Christmas, dude, if I'd received a sticky green bud of killer ganja as a gift, this rant would be soooo much more mellow.
The Singing Dogs, Jingle Bells, utter fucking genius. For anyone who has had to strip away essentail muscle in order to undo absurd anti-theft wires or dig up unavailable batteries to make shit hum or attempt to follow directions from half-literate sadists, this song makes total sense.
Elvis, Merry Christmas, Baby, yeah, OK, it was on my other mix, sue me, I was probably drunk.
Chuck Berry, Run, Rudolph, Run, I think the intent was there to make a decent Christmas song (and the Rolling Stones covered it thinking the way I did) but it sounds like you're giving Rudolph a ten-second head start before you pull the trigger on that AR-15.
Sonny Boy Williamson, Sonny Boy's Christmas Blues, blues songs are the best for creating bad Christmas karma; "Lord, I tried to trust religion, but the devil won't let me pray; that's why i got to stay drunk boys, all Christmas day;" mmmmm hmmmmm.
Amos Milborn, Let's Blame Christmas Merry, Baby, "I want to slide down your chimney, baby, fill you stockings full of toys" - nuff' said.
The Chipmunks, We Wish You a Merry Christmas, see the Singing Dogs; annoying is annoying.
P.D.Q. Bach, A Consort of Christmas Carols, if you don't get P.D.Q. Bach, I must assume you only get me on my slapstick level. Fair enough. Merry fucking Christmas.
Yeah, you'll get pics of my kids, big-eyed and happy, if I can get my tech-challenged parents to trust me with their digital camera
--------------
* I'd change that assessment had I included The Residents, Santa Dog and/or Skinny Puppy, Tin Om on this disk.
If visions of sugarplums danced in the heads of the munchkin mafia, I heard nary a word of it. While X had the lil's Christmas Eve, I sat in a bar drinking 5 Barrel Pale Ale, listening to an ostensible "rave" DJ spin stale vinyl and looking at how many low-slung sets of jeans revealed satin thongs. My own visions of sugarplums much less tasty, agreed?
My stocking ended up with no digital camera. A bit disappointed but considering that extent of my gift giving amounted to toilet paper rolls with GW's face on each sheet, I should have expected as little (I will, however, post pics my GW-fan folks shot and, I hope, saved).
The kids got what the ether deemed was theirs and they never waned in their enthusiasm, of course. The day was spent ripping Barbi from some marketers version of bondage and Thomas the Tank Engine's version of cheap Chinese finger puzzle. The children's version of heaven amounted to my notiom of hell, with with me building this and chopping that out of its wired up cardboard dungeon, me tring to figure out how to fit 'Slot A' into 'Figure B' while they rolled around in cardboard boxes giggling and oblivious.
Christmas can be too much. As night fell, we wandered up to the zoo for the "Electric Safari" and dammit, had Marlin Perkins been there to shoot my little ones up with a tranquilzer dart or two, I'd have bought him a drink. I eventually had to negotiate with the wee ones that they'd go straight to bed if they got what they wanted (a ride on the merry-go-round). That seened to be sufficient but it doesn't hurt to have some dude with a rifle loaded with tranquilizer darts in your corner.
Not that I needed that card in my hand: by the time we got back here, they were all passed out, the day's excitement all the tranquilizer I needed. In that regard, Santa had served me well.
Unfotunately, as far as Santa was concerned, my name was in the 'bad' column when it should have been in the 'dad' column.
To be fair, the delicious and saintly (and soon to be sainted - I carry a lot of weight in the Catholic church, shee-it) Mamacita sent me gorgeous handmade stockings, Christmas disks, lots of love, and a copy of Jasper Fforde's The Eyre Affair (which I've been dying to read) while another latest crush (and oh, what a huge crush!) sent me a copy of Orhan Pamuk's, Snow, ticks off my Amazon Wish List that will satisfy me until February (my birthday).
I keed, I keed - I am grateful, so grateful for my internet friends.
If Santa had considered screwing me, it was do to some lip-service from Jeebus do to this, the 2nd disk Melina got (goddamn, I apologize my sweet):
Thurl Ravenscroft, You're a Mean One, Mr. Grinch, he was the voice of 'Tony the Tiger' singing one of the coolest Christmas songs, a song I forced my band to cover. From the cartoon, not the sorry-ass Jim Carrey movie.
The Vandals, Christmas Time for My Penis, because we all know how much my penis deserves a good Christmas.
Fear, Fuck Christmas, a negative song by the most negative hardcore band, hands down. I was never a Fear fan and I'm not inclined to give them any slack at Christmas.
Mr. Hankey's Christmas Classics, Merry Fucking Christmas, so un-PC it simply must be sung at every Kindergarten pageant.
Bad Religion, The First Noel, also un-PC but in a different way; what did you expect from a band with this name? Are you loopy?
Stiff Little Fingers, White Christmas, the best Irish punk band rocks out on a song that needs rocking.
Bob Rivers, I Am Santa Claus, I play this song to scare my kids which, during the Christmas season, is as useful as Nembutal in milk.
Jimi Hendrix, Little Drummer Boy/Silent Night, if anyone thinks Jimi was an angel, they need to listen to the wretched knock-off High, Live and Dirty and give up their illusions of Jimi's sainthood. He wasn't fucking around on this.
Patti Smith, We Three Kings, scary, truly scary, which is what I think Patti had in mind - prior to becoming a mush-mouthed Nader apologist.
Dandy Warhols, Little Drummer Boy, simply weird and the song that turned me onto the Dandy Warhols.
The Who, Christmas, by far, the most brutal song on this mix and I'll do time in Purgatory simply for including it; I assume Pete Townsend* has done his bid.
Ween, Suzy Snowflake, a truly twisted, paranoid nightmare of a song (what else would you expect from Ween?) but no worse than, "he sees you when you're sleeping, he knows when you're awake, he knows when you've been bad or good, so be good for goodness sake." In these dark days when our rabid cur of a president can wipe his ass with the Constitution, a topical little tune.
Trans-Siberian Orchestra, Dance Of the Sugarplum Fairies, you know, not that fucking bad but it rocks so... so what, merry fucking Christmas, asshole.
Yellowman, We Wish You a Reggae Christmas, dude, if I'd received a sticky green bud of killer ganja as a gift, this rant would be soooo much more mellow.
The Singing Dogs, Jingle Bells, utter fucking genius. For anyone who has had to strip away essentail muscle in order to undo absurd anti-theft wires or dig up unavailable batteries to make shit hum or attempt to follow directions from half-literate sadists, this song makes total sense.
Elvis, Merry Christmas, Baby, yeah, OK, it was on my other mix, sue me, I was probably drunk.
Chuck Berry, Run, Rudolph, Run, I think the intent was there to make a decent Christmas song (and the Rolling Stones covered it thinking the way I did) but it sounds like you're giving Rudolph a ten-second head start before you pull the trigger on that AR-15.
Sonny Boy Williamson, Sonny Boy's Christmas Blues, blues songs are the best for creating bad Christmas karma; "Lord, I tried to trust religion, but the devil won't let me pray; that's why i got to stay drunk boys, all Christmas day;" mmmmm hmmmmm.
Amos Milborn, Let's Blame Christmas Merry, Baby, "I want to slide down your chimney, baby, fill you stockings full of toys" - nuff' said.
The Chipmunks, We Wish You a Merry Christmas, see the Singing Dogs; annoying is annoying.
P.D.Q. Bach, A Consort of Christmas Carols, if you don't get P.D.Q. Bach, I must assume you only get me on my slapstick level. Fair enough. Merry fucking Christmas.
Yeah, you'll get pics of my kids, big-eyed and happy, if I can get my tech-challenged parents to trust me with their digital camera
--------------
* I'd change that assessment had I included The Residents, Santa Dog and/or Skinny Puppy, Tin Om on this disk.
Saturday, December 24, 2005
The playas, screw the hatas, please, screw me
Listening to: Melody's delicious mix
Reagrding my listening choice this evening - it comes from the uber-goddess Melody who not only makes rockin' mixes (oh, you need to go check and see her playlist sistas and bruthas) but sends her mixes with ART. Real honest-to-god ART, stuff you can hang on your wall and get your friends asking "who did that?" and feel cool because you have friends with actual talent.
Needless to say, Patriside has another huge crush. But I digress (and regress and de-evolve and turn into a worthless horny male) and need to wipe the drool from my chin to present the list, playas, in no particular order:
Matt
Ben
Hank
Kathy
Evil Mommy
Nat
Shari
Chuck
Sterfish
Melody
Deb
Kimberly
Mamacita
Melina
Easy handed me the tragic news that he had to put an end to his blog and so, I'll post his list (and comments) here:
I'm bummed that easy had to kill his fine blog (and more bummed that the news slipped under the wire during this holiday madness) - he'll be missed.
I need to come clean on a couple of things regarding this month’s mixmania! and how I manipulated my own match for this mix. It was purely selfish, I concede, and beyond the pall but hey, it’s been my party up to this point and I decided I needed to give myself a little Christmas present for hosting this little soiree.
I have been following Melina’s blog for some time now and have adored her taste in music, figured we had a lot in common, music-wise. Previous mixmania! rounds had been split up with the help of Lu but that was impossible this time do to her time-constraints and, um, obvious other issues (I assure you, all amicable). So this time I did all the mixing-and-matching by myself and figured, hey, I might as well treat myself to some mutual satisfaction. No, not in that way you pre-verts (in the words of the inimitable Col. Bat Guano), although Melina is certainly very easy on the eyes. RRRRrrrrowrrrrr. Hell, she’s a fricken’ Goddess, gorgeous; but I digress - down boy, down - I digress, regress, de-evolve and I need to be spanked. Please, I really do need to be spanked. I'm a baaaaaad boy.
Reagrding my listening choice this evening - it comes from the uber-goddess Melody who not only makes rockin' mixes (oh, you need to go check and see her playlist sistas and bruthas) but sends her mixes with ART. Real honest-to-god ART, stuff you can hang on your wall and get your friends asking "who did that?" and feel cool because you have friends with actual talent.
Needless to say, Patriside has another huge crush. But I digress (and regress and de-evolve and turn into a worthless horny male) and need to wipe the drool from my chin to present the list, playas, in no particular order:
Matt
Ben
Hank
Kathy
Evil Mommy
Nat
Shari
Chuck
Sterfish
Melody
Deb
Kimberly
Mamacita
Melina
Easy handed me the tragic news that he had to put an end to his blog and so, I'll post his list (and comments) here:
I took a different approach to Mix Mania this time.
The theme was to do a holiday mix, but I've honestly
got a load of these lying around. For Christmas, I
just pop in 6 discs and set the CD player to shuffle
them.
So instead I got out the calendar and selected a song
for each holiday that came up, as well as a few that
aren't really holidays, but I felt should be observed.
The reason behind each song selection should be self
evident, even if they are stretching things a bit.
Disc 1
New Years Day
New Year's Day - U2
Martin Luther King Day
Pride - U2
Chinese New Year
China Cat Sunflower (live) - Grateful Dead
Groundhog Day
I'm Your Weatherman - Delbert McClinton
St Valentine's Day
Can't Get Enough Of Your Love - Barry White
Presidents Day
Dead Presidents - Curtis Mayfield
St Patrick's Day
Bugger Off - The Tim Malloys
April Fools Day
What a Fool Believes - The Doobie Brothers
Opening Day
Centerfield - John Fogerty
Tax Day
Taxman - Stevie Ray Vaughan
Easter
Egg Man - Beastie Boys
Arbor Day
Trees - Rush
Mothers Day
Tie Your Mother Down (remix) - Queen
Memorial Day
I've Known No War - The Who
Flag Day
US Blues - The Harshed Mellows
Fathers Day
Daddy Don't Live In That New York City No More -
Steely Dan
Disc 2
Independence Day
Justice and Independence '85 - John Mellancamp
The Real Christmas?
Christmas In July - Brave Combo
Labor Day
Finest Worksong - R.E.M.
Columbus Day
Columbus - Burning Spear
Halloween
Werewolves Of London - Warren Zevon
My Birthday
Birthday - The Beatles
Election Day
Elected - Alice Cooper
Veteran's Day
Walking On A Thin Line - Huey Lewis & The News
Thanksgiving
Alice's Restaurant Massacree - Arlo Guthrie
Chaunnukah
Chaunnukah Song (part II) - Adam Sandler
Christmas Eve
Santa Claus Is Coming To Town - Frank Sinatra & Cyndi
Lauper
Christmas Cheer
You're gonna be Santa - Paulie - (The Sopranos)
Christmas Day
Christmas Is - Run D.M.C.
New Year's Eve
What Are You Doing New Years Eve - Harry Connick, jr.
I'm bummed that easy had to kill his fine blog (and more bummed that the news slipped under the wire during this holiday madness) - he'll be missed.
I need to come clean on a couple of things regarding this month’s mixmania! and how I manipulated my own match for this mix. It was purely selfish, I concede, and beyond the pall but hey, it’s been my party up to this point and I decided I needed to give myself a little Christmas present for hosting this little soiree.
I have been following Melina’s blog for some time now and have adored her taste in music, figured we had a lot in common, music-wise. Previous mixmania! rounds had been split up with the help of Lu but that was impossible this time do to her time-constraints and, um, obvious other issues (I assure you, all amicable). So this time I did all the mixing-and-matching by myself and figured, hey, I might as well treat myself to some mutual satisfaction. No, not in that way you pre-verts (in the words of the inimitable Col. Bat Guano), although Melina is certainly very easy on the eyes. RRRRrrrrowrrrrr. Hell, she’s a fricken’ Goddess, gorgeous; but I digress - down boy, down - I digress, regress, de-evolve and I need to be spanked. Please, I really do need to be spanked. I'm a baaaaaad boy.
Merry Christmas! My holiday mixmania! list is here
Listening to: My match's wonderful Christmas mix
Merry Christmas to one and all. I have waaaaaaay to much to get done and so I'll keep my list comments brief. I tried to give this disk a mix of the untraditional, traditional, and the obscure. Anyway...
Vince Guaraldi Trio - Linus & Lucy, Traditional, obviously, it entered our collections over 40 years ago and has stayed there ever since.
Rosemary Clooney - Come On-a My House, Traditional at my house, come on-a my house, baby...
Mabel Scott - Boogie-woogie Santa Claus, a nice little novelty number from the golden age of R&B.
Bob Marley & the Wailers - Sound the Trumpet, a beautiful reggae Christmas song from the day when Leslie Kong was the reggae producer.
Dr. John - Il Est Ne, Le Divin Enfente, a taste of New Orleans for Christmas as is...
Fats Domino - Frosty the Snowman, no wonder Frosty melted.
Harry Conick, Jr. - Sleigh Bells, smoothe as a Hurricane.
Ella Fitzgerald - Let It Snow, more smoothness from the lady who defined "smoothe".
Eartha Kitt - Nuthin' for Christmas, a naughty take on a song about being naughty.
The Soul Stirrers - Christmas Means Love, some people who read my blog might think I'm anti-Christian which would be a sad miscalculation; I just despise how the fuckwit whiny ass cocksuckers of the Christian Right have approprated the voice of most Christians and have given the majority of Christians a bad name. The Soul Stirrers were one of the greatest gospel groups ever and this song defines what real Christians (not scum like Bill O'Reilly) know about Christmas.
Mahalia Jackson - Oh, Holy Night, another gospel great - this version gives me shivers.
Kiri te Kanawa - Ave Maria (Schubert), I think you could point to this song (and this singer) to argue for the existance of a God without having to stoop to the intellectual dishonesty of "Intelligent Design".
John Fahey - Oh Tannenbaum / Angels We Have Heard on High / Jingle Bells, amazing guitar work from the master of "Joe Blind Death".
The Roches - We Three Kings / Good King Wenceslas, if there are angels, they sing like The Roches.
The Beach Boys - Christmas Day, since I listened to "Smile" far more than any other CD in 2005, I had to include this.
The Crystals - Santa Claus Is Coming to Town, the sassiest version of this song, EVER.
Stevie Wonder - Someday at Christmas, probably the best Christmas protest song.
Al Green - Silent Night, I don't think I could make a Christmas mix without including the Rev. Al, no way.
Elvis Presley - Merry Christmas, Baby, Elvis had his sneer going with this one.
James Brown - It's Christmas Time, not a frantic JB but a subdued, JB; incredible restraint and oddly beautiful.
Blind Lemon Jefferson - Christmas Eve Blues, oh, mama, if you've never had the blues on Christmas, BLJ will tell you how it feels.
Enrico Caruso - Cantique de Noel, I remember being a kid and listening to this on a 78, thinking "Wow, wow, wow... how does he do that?!?"
Renata Tebaldi - Ave Maria (Bach/Gounod), Tebaldi is, to me, one of the greatest singers of all time, someone whose voice can move me to tears because of the sheer beauty of it. I worship her.
Judy Garland - Have Yourself a Merry Christmas, Why isn't this one of the greatest Christmas songs of all time? I mean this version...
Diana Krall - Christmas Time is Here, she had the good taste to do a killer version of this song and marry Elvis Costello, so you gotta figure the woman's got substance.
Louis Armstrong - White Christmas, couldn't think of a better way to end this mix than this version of this song.
Merry Christmas!
Merry Christmas to one and all. I have waaaaaaay to much to get done and so I'll keep my list comments brief. I tried to give this disk a mix of the untraditional, traditional, and the obscure. Anyway...
Vince Guaraldi Trio - Linus & Lucy, Traditional, obviously, it entered our collections over 40 years ago and has stayed there ever since.
Rosemary Clooney - Come On-a My House, Traditional at my house, come on-a my house, baby...
Mabel Scott - Boogie-woogie Santa Claus, a nice little novelty number from the golden age of R&B.
Bob Marley & the Wailers - Sound the Trumpet, a beautiful reggae Christmas song from the day when Leslie Kong was the reggae producer.
Dr. John - Il Est Ne, Le Divin Enfente, a taste of New Orleans for Christmas as is...
Fats Domino - Frosty the Snowman, no wonder Frosty melted.
Harry Conick, Jr. - Sleigh Bells, smoothe as a Hurricane.
Ella Fitzgerald - Let It Snow, more smoothness from the lady who defined "smoothe".
Eartha Kitt - Nuthin' for Christmas, a naughty take on a song about being naughty.
The Soul Stirrers - Christmas Means Love, some people who read my blog might think I'm anti-Christian which would be a sad miscalculation; I just despise how the fuckwit whiny ass cocksuckers of the Christian Right have approprated the voice of most Christians and have given the majority of Christians a bad name. The Soul Stirrers were one of the greatest gospel groups ever and this song defines what real Christians (not scum like Bill O'Reilly) know about Christmas.
Mahalia Jackson - Oh, Holy Night, another gospel great - this version gives me shivers.
Kiri te Kanawa - Ave Maria (Schubert), I think you could point to this song (and this singer) to argue for the existance of a God without having to stoop to the intellectual dishonesty of "Intelligent Design".
John Fahey - Oh Tannenbaum / Angels We Have Heard on High / Jingle Bells, amazing guitar work from the master of "Joe Blind Death".
The Roches - We Three Kings / Good King Wenceslas, if there are angels, they sing like The Roches.
The Beach Boys - Christmas Day, since I listened to "Smile" far more than any other CD in 2005, I had to include this.
The Crystals - Santa Claus Is Coming to Town, the sassiest version of this song, EVER.
Stevie Wonder - Someday at Christmas, probably the best Christmas protest song.
Al Green - Silent Night, I don't think I could make a Christmas mix without including the Rev. Al, no way.
Elvis Presley - Merry Christmas, Baby, Elvis had his sneer going with this one.
James Brown - It's Christmas Time, not a frantic JB but a subdued, JB; incredible restraint and oddly beautiful.
Blind Lemon Jefferson - Christmas Eve Blues, oh, mama, if you've never had the blues on Christmas, BLJ will tell you how it feels.
Enrico Caruso - Cantique de Noel, I remember being a kid and listening to this on a 78, thinking "Wow, wow, wow... how does he do that?!?"
Renata Tebaldi - Ave Maria (Bach/Gounod), Tebaldi is, to me, one of the greatest singers of all time, someone whose voice can move me to tears because of the sheer beauty of it. I worship her.
Judy Garland - Have Yourself a Merry Christmas, Why isn't this one of the greatest Christmas songs of all time? I mean this version...
Diana Krall - Christmas Time is Here, she had the good taste to do a killer version of this song and marry Elvis Costello, so you gotta figure the woman's got substance.
Louis Armstrong - White Christmas, couldn't think of a better way to end this mix than this version of this song.
Merry Christmas!
Tuesday, December 20, 2005
WWJT?
Listening to: Sterling's wonderful holiday mix
This Tuesday night group is beginning to organically bond. A strange phenomena, how groups evolve and begin to mesh, find common ground with each other and a comfort level that allows them to share what tingles beneath the surface. With this group, I’m beginning to see true cohesion emerging, empathy expressed, eight souls beginning to grasp that there’s something bigger than themselves and sharing that realization, with glee.
This group had an intense start and took awhile to find its soul, to recognize the reasons to come back every week and talk about what really matters, to grasp the hands of others and feel the vibration that moves us and binds us. However, within the last month, the clients began to place themselves on the line, take risks, gripe and moan and disclose their innermost thoughts, feelings, and pain.
An intense beginning to an awfully insouciant topic that follows - mea culpa. Foregrounding this, though, seemed essential to dealing with something that needs to be addressed "outside of group".
One of the clients of the group is working his way through college as a server/bartender, much the way I did, with the same gripes I had when I busted my ass smooching the great brown asterisk for a few extra shekels. Seems he’d had a big top (sixteen or so) of church-going Christians and they tipped him a piece of paper asking him if he’d been saved.
A $90 tab, whiny kids and demanding shits and for his trouble he got a piece of paper, a piece of paper, essentially, because who the fuck is going to see your point of view when instead of honest remuneration (about $18) you give a worthless flap of scold?
WTF? WWJT? At the last supper (Hey, one has to figure it was at restaurant or at least catered), after all the plates were cleared and Christ announced someone would betray him and the whole movement, he at least left something besides a pose. It’s difficult to imagine that the server who finished and cleaned up didn’t walk away whistling that hey, that was an awesome party, a little depressing but it paid well.
Church folk seem to imagine that scripture states “And the Lord stiffed the staff and Lo, the waiters walked from the table with much mumbling because they had not spit in the salads.” Christ, I don’t pretend to be someone who spews chapter and verse but I’m pretty sure “Screw thy server” isn’t anywhere in the Good Book.
So, for you witless hillbillies, let me give you a clue. A (as in, “A, B, C, D, etc., the alphabet, you know), servers make TWO FUCKING DOLLARS AN HOUR which is shit, of course, and they really make their money off tips – TIPS, you dipshits, the money you don’t leave. Got it? The money you don’t leave is pretty much what hat server needs to pay rent and such. B (Made the connection yet? Yeah? Ain’t you clever?), the server brought you food and managed not to put the tray on your flat head. C (See the pattern here? No? You illiterate shit, no wonder you can’t work out percentages.), people bringing you food are the last people you want to piss off because, let me tell you, those aren’t really sausages on your plate.
In the 21st Century, as opposed to the 15th Century or whatever it is where you born-again Taliban live, 1% is insufficient, 20% is the norm and no one wants to see your idiotic pamphlet. 10% if the service really sucks but you have to wonder that if the service is less than adequate it might be due to the blinding effect of your double-knit suits (and polyester children).
If you’re interested in winning converts to your starched out cult, being cheap cheese dicks is probably a bad start. Ponying up with decent tips is probably a much better strategy; a 25% tip (and a lack of laughable haircuts) might have made me give a second thought to the merits of your blood cult. However, even the born-again zombies who worked with me when I was waiting tabled acknowledged that Christians were shitty for tips and were loathe to wait on those assholes. “Yeah, I tell everyone at my church,” they’d apologize, “but they don’t seem to get it.” And in the spirit of good Christian charity, they’d attempt to palm a table of holier-than-thous off on any sucker around.
If there’s any Christian types reading this, A) why?, B) Are you really getting the sense of this whole alphabet thing? And C) why are you so goddamn CHEAP?!?!
Tonight’s group has been grilled on the dangers of seeing The World As It Is though a “filter”, how our filters are deleterious in operating objectively. Yet, it’s impossible for me to gainsay the “Church-going Christians are cheap” preconception because, hey, they’re their own stereotype, a consistent thread throughout the universe.
Servers of the world would love to prove me wrong but it’s not up to them. It’s up to those folks who would ask, “WWJT?"
This Tuesday night group is beginning to organically bond. A strange phenomena, how groups evolve and begin to mesh, find common ground with each other and a comfort level that allows them to share what tingles beneath the surface. With this group, I’m beginning to see true cohesion emerging, empathy expressed, eight souls beginning to grasp that there’s something bigger than themselves and sharing that realization, with glee.
This group had an intense start and took awhile to find its soul, to recognize the reasons to come back every week and talk about what really matters, to grasp the hands of others and feel the vibration that moves us and binds us. However, within the last month, the clients began to place themselves on the line, take risks, gripe and moan and disclose their innermost thoughts, feelings, and pain.
An intense beginning to an awfully insouciant topic that follows - mea culpa. Foregrounding this, though, seemed essential to dealing with something that needs to be addressed "outside of group".
One of the clients of the group is working his way through college as a server/bartender, much the way I did, with the same gripes I had when I busted my ass smooching the great brown asterisk for a few extra shekels. Seems he’d had a big top (sixteen or so) of church-going Christians and they tipped him a piece of paper asking him if he’d been saved.
A $90 tab, whiny kids and demanding shits and for his trouble he got a piece of paper, a piece of paper, essentially, because who the fuck is going to see your point of view when instead of honest remuneration (about $18) you give a worthless flap of scold?
WTF? WWJT? At the last supper (Hey, one has to figure it was at restaurant or at least catered), after all the plates were cleared and Christ announced someone would betray him and the whole movement, he at least left something besides a pose. It’s difficult to imagine that the server who finished and cleaned up didn’t walk away whistling that hey, that was an awesome party, a little depressing but it paid well.
Church folk seem to imagine that scripture states “And the Lord stiffed the staff and Lo, the waiters walked from the table with much mumbling because they had not spit in the salads.” Christ, I don’t pretend to be someone who spews chapter and verse but I’m pretty sure “Screw thy server” isn’t anywhere in the Good Book.
So, for you witless hillbillies, let me give you a clue. A (as in, “A, B, C, D, etc., the alphabet, you know), servers make TWO FUCKING DOLLARS AN HOUR which is shit, of course, and they really make their money off tips – TIPS, you dipshits, the money you don’t leave. Got it? The money you don’t leave is pretty much what hat server needs to pay rent and such. B (Made the connection yet? Yeah? Ain’t you clever?), the server brought you food and managed not to put the tray on your flat head. C (See the pattern here? No? You illiterate shit, no wonder you can’t work out percentages.), people bringing you food are the last people you want to piss off because, let me tell you, those aren’t really sausages on your plate.
In the 21st Century, as opposed to the 15th Century or whatever it is where you born-again Taliban live, 1% is insufficient, 20% is the norm and no one wants to see your idiotic pamphlet. 10% if the service really sucks but you have to wonder that if the service is less than adequate it might be due to the blinding effect of your double-knit suits (and polyester children).
If you’re interested in winning converts to your starched out cult, being cheap cheese dicks is probably a bad start. Ponying up with decent tips is probably a much better strategy; a 25% tip (and a lack of laughable haircuts) might have made me give a second thought to the merits of your blood cult. However, even the born-again zombies who worked with me when I was waiting tabled acknowledged that Christians were shitty for tips and were loathe to wait on those assholes. “Yeah, I tell everyone at my church,” they’d apologize, “but they don’t seem to get it.” And in the spirit of good Christian charity, they’d attempt to palm a table of holier-than-thous off on any sucker around.
If there’s any Christian types reading this, A) why?, B) Are you really getting the sense of this whole alphabet thing? And C) why are you so goddamn CHEAP?!?!
Tonight’s group has been grilled on the dangers of seeing The World As It Is though a “filter”, how our filters are deleterious in operating objectively. Yet, it’s impossible for me to gainsay the “Church-going Christians are cheap” preconception because, hey, they’re their own stereotype, a consistent thread throughout the universe.
Servers of the world would love to prove me wrong but it’s not up to them. It’s up to those folks who would ask, “WWJT?"
Saturday, December 10, 2005
Dodging the bullet, for now
Listening to: The final version of my happy Holiday mix for the zillionth time
We were supposed to traipse out in this uncharacteristically civilized weather to sit on Santa's lap. Unfortunately, Marni is a miserable little elf with fever and congestion so the visit with Santa was postponed. Scant chance of getting smiles with Santa when one of the munchkins is so sick.
Marni christened my new ride yesterday. Nice how easilly vomit wipes off of leather. Needless to say, she's been on a diet of broth and clear liquids, with the occaisional electrolyte-replacement popsicle. With the popsicles, Zeke sees some value in being sick.
"I tick," he announced, stressing his canard with a little fake cough, "But a pop tit toe would make me feel better."
"Tick" and "Pop tit toe" is, of course 'sick' and 'popsicle' with his inversion of C's and S's with T. Translation can be tricky, even for dad, and at times a little disconcerting. For example, this exchange the other night:
"When I gwo up I gonna be a Top."
WHAAAA?!? A "Top"? WTF? Where did he learn that? For those of you ignorant of the parlance of gay culture, a "top" is the partner in a gay couple who plays the male role.
I was a little reluctant to press him further but as a father, I felt obligated to press him for information. Hey, if my son is gay, I have no problem with that but I think he's a little young at three-years old to be determining what role he'll play in a gay coupling. "Why do you want to be a Top?"
"Tuz', tops have duns and help people"
It took a moment but I realized the D/G inversion which brought me back to the T/C inversion, deductively concluding that he wants to be a 'cop' when he grows up. Don't know if 'cop' is any better than 'top' if slightly more ambitious.
Dodging bullets all day. Someone has a busy 'dun' and one of these days, I'll have to bite the bullet.
We were supposed to traipse out in this uncharacteristically civilized weather to sit on Santa's lap. Unfortunately, Marni is a miserable little elf with fever and congestion so the visit with Santa was postponed. Scant chance of getting smiles with Santa when one of the munchkins is so sick.
Marni christened my new ride yesterday. Nice how easilly vomit wipes off of leather. Needless to say, she's been on a diet of broth and clear liquids, with the occaisional electrolyte-replacement popsicle. With the popsicles, Zeke sees some value in being sick.
"I tick," he announced, stressing his canard with a little fake cough, "But a pop tit toe would make me feel better."
"Tick" and "Pop tit toe" is, of course 'sick' and 'popsicle' with his inversion of C's and S's with T. Translation can be tricky, even for dad, and at times a little disconcerting. For example, this exchange the other night:
"When I gwo up I gonna be a Top."
WHAAAA?!? A "Top"? WTF? Where did he learn that? For those of you ignorant of the parlance of gay culture, a "top" is the partner in a gay couple who plays the male role.
I was a little reluctant to press him further but as a father, I felt obligated to press him for information. Hey, if my son is gay, I have no problem with that but I think he's a little young at three-years old to be determining what role he'll play in a gay coupling. "Why do you want to be a Top?"
"Tuz', tops have duns and help people"
It took a moment but I realized the D/G inversion which brought me back to the T/C inversion, deductively concluding that he wants to be a 'cop' when he grows up. Don't know if 'cop' is any better than 'top' if slightly more ambitious.
Dodging bullets all day. Someone has a busy 'dun' and one of these days, I'll have to bite the bullet.
Wednesday, December 07, 2005
Snow day
Listening to: Ohio Players, Gold
Beastly cold; not early December cold but a February cold that kept us inside as if stepping outside would flash freeze flesh and leave it for dog kibble. Except, the dog wasn't so stupid to linger long enough to seek out any bits that dropped off had we been dumb enough to venture into the weather.
Our high today was six frikkin degrees, fahrenheit.
So, school closed and too cold to go anywhere, the four of us stayed indoors, punching one another, bouncing toys off of each other's skulls, pigging out on Pop Tarts and Fritos, seeing who would be the first to fire up the chainsaw and make it a real party.
My son was entrenched into a Star Wars movie marathon and knew what he needed to make the whole thing doable:
Zeke: Daddy, do you have any hot chaw quat?
Me: Yes, I do.
Zeke: Because I NEED some, because I'm full of juice.
Hot chaw quat made the rounds and while Zeke enjoyed his movies (waving a flourescent straw around as his "light saver"), I spent time with the girls, playing art teacher and pretending to lose at Candyland.
Everyone eventually got out of their PJs and we sped across town so I could work. Reality hit us in the face like chill air. The day with dad in the small house was over and we needed to move on, And moving on is the coldest cut of all.
Beastly cold; not early December cold but a February cold that kept us inside as if stepping outside would flash freeze flesh and leave it for dog kibble. Except, the dog wasn't so stupid to linger long enough to seek out any bits that dropped off had we been dumb enough to venture into the weather.
Our high today was six frikkin degrees, fahrenheit.
So, school closed and too cold to go anywhere, the four of us stayed indoors, punching one another, bouncing toys off of each other's skulls, pigging out on Pop Tarts and Fritos, seeing who would be the first to fire up the chainsaw and make it a real party.
My son was entrenched into a Star Wars movie marathon and knew what he needed to make the whole thing doable:
Zeke: Daddy, do you have any hot chaw quat?
Me: Yes, I do.
Zeke: Because I NEED some, because I'm full of juice.
Hot chaw quat made the rounds and while Zeke enjoyed his movies (waving a flourescent straw around as his "light saver"), I spent time with the girls, playing art teacher and pretending to lose at Candyland.
Everyone eventually got out of their PJs and we sped across town so I could work. Reality hit us in the face like chill air. The day with dad in the small house was over and we needed to move on, And moving on is the coldest cut of all.
Tuesday, December 06, 2005
Little piggy needed something new/nothing can stop me now
Listening to: Cream, Wheels of Fire
RE: my last post; the story has somewhat of a happy ending.
After the minivan was hauled off, I contacted my younger brother, the one who’s a General Manager at one of the huge car dealerships here in town (obviously, the brother I still talk to) to see if there was any way he could help me out. Desperate for any transportation, I was willing to take whatever he sent my way.
The first offer he made was a 95’ Chevy Astro, a real POSV*, with a clunking transmission and jittery brakes. Also a gas hog, the thing was a real lemon and hideous. When it was obvious the thing would be a money pit (the service department flushed the transmission to no avail), I turned it in to see what else he could get me.
There were a couple of options, he told me, a 97’ Ford Escort. Uh uh. It was when I saw the second option that I immediately fell in love. A 1995 Audi Quattro A6, fully loaded, smoky-gray with leather interior and an accelerator that screams to be pushed to the floor.
And, oh – I notice that I get noticed. The Audi gets me 100 times more double-takes per mile than the minivan ever did. Damn, I love driving it**, it’s beautiful.
I was talking to a friend about the car I'm driving, she laughed, "boys and their cars."
Her take is that my perception is determined by what I drive, that maybe I'm a bit more confident because I'm behind the wheel of what I think is a bitchin' machine. My take is that yeah, I'm probably deep in my pimp stroll because of my ride but ya' gotta' admit, the ladies like a dude driving something other than a minivan.
My evidence in this argument has been the double take. When I was driving the minivan, I’d look over at a woman and she’d shoot back a sneer of derision like, “Go away, you old pervert.” But oh yes, the double take. There’s nothing that makes a guy’s day more than having an attractive woman briefly check him out and then follow it up immediately with a longer check – and a smile. Puts a lift in my step, a deep breath of “Oh, yeah,” to whisk me breezily through the rest of my day.
The other night I stopped at a local coffee shop to get a tall cup before my group. I parked the Audi in front a local tanning salon. Inside, two orange-skinned, blow-dried blondes were manning the front desk. The older, taller of the two took notice with the double-take I talked about. Again, the same thing when I returned to the car, with a long follow-up third take as I pulled out. Not that I have any illusions that she’d be anything close to “my type” but, hey, I’ll take an ego-boost when I can get it.
Boys and their cars, indeed.
* Piece of Shit Vehicle
** Except the damn radio is shot and a friend tells me this model is very delicate with the electronics. Any suggestions?
RE: my last post; the story has somewhat of a happy ending.
After the minivan was hauled off, I contacted my younger brother, the one who’s a General Manager at one of the huge car dealerships here in town (obviously, the brother I still talk to) to see if there was any way he could help me out. Desperate for any transportation, I was willing to take whatever he sent my way.
The first offer he made was a 95’ Chevy Astro, a real POSV*, with a clunking transmission and jittery brakes. Also a gas hog, the thing was a real lemon and hideous. When it was obvious the thing would be a money pit (the service department flushed the transmission to no avail), I turned it in to see what else he could get me.
There were a couple of options, he told me, a 97’ Ford Escort. Uh uh. It was when I saw the second option that I immediately fell in love. A 1995 Audi Quattro A6, fully loaded, smoky-gray with leather interior and an accelerator that screams to be pushed to the floor.
And, oh – I notice that I get noticed. The Audi gets me 100 times more double-takes per mile than the minivan ever did. Damn, I love driving it**, it’s beautiful.
I was talking to a friend about the car I'm driving, she laughed, "boys and their cars."
Her take is that my perception is determined by what I drive, that maybe I'm a bit more confident because I'm behind the wheel of what I think is a bitchin' machine. My take is that yeah, I'm probably deep in my pimp stroll because of my ride but ya' gotta' admit, the ladies like a dude driving something other than a minivan.
My evidence in this argument has been the double take. When I was driving the minivan, I’d look over at a woman and she’d shoot back a sneer of derision like, “Go away, you old pervert.” But oh yes, the double take. There’s nothing that makes a guy’s day more than having an attractive woman briefly check him out and then follow it up immediately with a longer check – and a smile. Puts a lift in my step, a deep breath of “Oh, yeah,” to whisk me breezily through the rest of my day.
The other night I stopped at a local coffee shop to get a tall cup before my group. I parked the Audi in front a local tanning salon. Inside, two orange-skinned, blow-dried blondes were manning the front desk. The older, taller of the two took notice with the double-take I talked about. Again, the same thing when I returned to the car, with a long follow-up third take as I pulled out. Not that I have any illusions that she’d be anything close to “my type” but, hey, I’ll take an ego-boost when I can get it.
Boys and their cars, indeed.
* Piece of Shit Vehicle
** Except the damn radio is shot and a friend tells me this model is very delicate with the electronics. Any suggestions?
Monday, December 05, 2005
Here, pig, pig, pig, pig, pig, PIG
Listening to: Ministry, The Land of Rape and Money
About a month ago, I had my minivan repo'd, the swine that finances vehicles sent lesser-swine to go take it away and charge me $70 to get carseats and the rest of my shit out of the blocked-up and towed car. Lilly was particularly disturbed by this since she'd arranged stickers and such on the wondow that was "hers" and there was no getting it back.
She asked, "What are you going to do about those people who stole are van?"
Whatever their karma is, they'll find out, I answered, and then had to explain what 'karma' is, a concept she's far too young to comprehend. In a 7-year old's universe, people don't do mean things unless they're a Disney villian.
There's your concept of the devil: a 7-year old's concept of someone who'd repo a van.
My own concept of the devil goes like this:
This idiotic exchange has been in perpetuity since I was a little kid (I'm waiting for conservative shitheads to provide their calculus and provide the canard of economic distribution as a bad idea; I know that, if I get a thing, it will be wind).
I mention this because, if there is a Satan, he likes it when rich people fuck poor people; as I read the various Gospels (of the Buddha, Jesus, Mohammed, et al), it's the rich who are fucked. Call me a loony leftist but that's how all those scriptures play out.
Back to my idealistic daughter and her wondering how her dad who works too much could have his van "stolen"; honey, I can only tell you that the most important lesson to learn in life is, Life ain't fair.
About a month ago, I had my minivan repo'd, the swine that finances vehicles sent lesser-swine to go take it away and charge me $70 to get carseats and the rest of my shit out of the blocked-up and towed car. Lilly was particularly disturbed by this since she'd arranged stickers and such on the wondow that was "hers" and there was no getting it back.
She asked, "What are you going to do about those people who stole are van?"
Whatever their karma is, they'll find out, I answered, and then had to explain what 'karma' is, a concept she's far too young to comprehend. In a 7-year old's universe, people don't do mean things unless they're a Disney villian.
There's your concept of the devil: a 7-year old's concept of someone who'd repo a van.
My own concept of the devil goes like this:
- Conservative shithead: "We're sick of the chaos you peace & love dopeheads tried to get across in the 60's, it's just not working for us!"
- Lilly Liberalheart: "We just wanted to validate everyone.... isn't that the ultimate goal of your so-called 'culture of life'?"
- CS: "Fuck you, you Communist whore! No one matters unless they're making a lot of money! If they're not filthy rich it must be because it's because they haven't taken personal responsibility for their moral vagrancy!
- LL: "I'm sorry but simple calculus should tell you that, in light of finite resources, some people will do really well and most will not; it has nothing to do with 'personal responsibility' and everything to do with how finite resources are allocated."
- CS: "God will provide, you worthless cunt, just have faith!"
- LL: "I don't know, calculus is fairly sound and I've seen how it works, but God's never shown his/her face."
This idiotic exchange has been in perpetuity since I was a little kid (I'm waiting for conservative shitheads to provide their calculus and provide the canard of economic distribution as a bad idea; I know that, if I get a thing, it will be wind).
I mention this because, if there is a Satan, he likes it when rich people fuck poor people; as I read the various Gospels (of the Buddha, Jesus, Mohammed, et al), it's the rich who are fucked. Call me a loony leftist but that's how all those scriptures play out.
Back to my idealistic daughter and her wondering how her dad who works too much could have his van "stolen"; honey, I can only tell you that the most important lesson to learn in life is, Life ain't fair.
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