Pictures of Stacey's Communion

Here are some pictures of my niece's First Communion Mass.

My sister, Stacey's Mom:



LuLu and Ginger in the pew.



My niece and her friend



Great Aunt Mabel



My sister K:



Some random hottie, with YaYa in the foreground.



My nephew. Let's not even begin to talk about the hair.



My Mom





People's Sexiest Man Alive 2029:



My Pop



Yeah, I looked like poop. I needed a haircut. And eight hours of sleep. And to learn how to smile on camera. But otherwise, A-OK.



The crowd before the event



My niece (the little blonde)



Despite appearances, she did actively participate in a surprise dance the kids put on.



Man I needed a haircut. Stacey with her Godparent's





Two funny moments at the Mass: the priest was splashed in the eye by the Holy Water, eliciting a laugh, and the following exchange during the introductory dialogue of the Eucharistic Prayer. At Easter/Christmas/formal events there's a noticeable hesitation in the actions of the crowd. It's not just an influx of people who are casual church-goers and may be stumped; it's also a bunch of family and friends from around town who know each church runs things a little different. During the following you should rise to your feet.

Priest: The Lord be with you.

All: And also with you.

Priest: Lift up your hearts

All: We lift them up to the Lord

Priest (smiling): I don't know what you're lifting, since you'll all still on your knees.

And one touching moment: when we went up for Communion YaYa went with us, and as usual received a blessing from the Priest. As we walked back to the pew I told her "That's the last time that'll happen. After tomorrow, you'll be with the grown-ups." Oh man, you should have seen the pride on her face.

Lastly, here's Ginger on the way home. Oh, she might look peaceful here, but in the pew she was wild and carefree. She once whipped a sippy cut three rows back, nearly smacking a guy in the face.

Some very well dressed kids (for a change)

Saturday May 2nd was our niece/Godchild's First Communion. Here are some photos of my kids in the lead-up to the event (LuLu had already joined her cousin en route to the church). In the hour before the Mass, YaYa took it upon herself to walk Ginger up and down are block to keep her busy. A rare volunteer moment for our oldest, but one that was greatly appreciated as we struggled to get out the door.

Man they're cute!

How did they get on the show?

I'm still a huge Match Game nut (and a growing fan of Charles Nelson Reilly) but I also have fond memories of The Joker's Wild, another after school game show treat from my childhood.

I watched some clips of it today on Youtube, and it holds up well. It's not as good as The Match Game, but then nothing is.

If you have a few minutes take a look at this clip, in which two players battle it out for the title of "Least Effective/Most Ignornant Contestant in Game Show History." Check out Jack Barry's frustration at the pair of them. At least (contestant) Daphne Palmer was hot, so she had something going for her.

Enjoy!




BTW - late condolences for the loss of the great Bea Arthur, an actress with great comedic timing and a biting wit. It was a big enough event in my world for my sister to text me the news at work. As a fan of The Golden Girls (one of the best written, best acted sitcoms of the era), I'll miss her.

Bobs, Fishies, and Funerals on the Front Porch

What a weird day. After I returned from work Lisa immediately left for her own job, and I took a whack at cutting the lawn for the first time in 2009. Let me tell you, that ol' push reel mower gave me a workout. My legs burn a lot more than they would after a half hour bike ride. I don't know if that means I'm that much (more) out of shape, or if I need the blades sharpened. Probably both.

YaYa, who went to play with her cousin after school, then called and started pleading with me to take her for a haircut. She's wanted a bob for over a year, but we refused to do it before the Commmunion. Now she called in her markers, and I agreed if a) I called her Mom and she gave the ok b) she got my sister to babysit and c) if she got home at a reasonable time.

With all three criteria met, we went for the haircut. The stylist had a great personality and YaYa kept up a steady stream of chatter, mainly about the communion. The cut turned out longer than she wanted, but YaYa was so ecstatic afterwards it was nuts. She was grinning, jumping, skipping, you name it. "Are you happy?" I asked. "What does it look like?" she said.

The whole way home all she could talk about was her hair and the two goldfish she'd bought with her First Communion money. Nicknamed Betsy "Bess" (the big one) and Anne (the small one), she was instantly fascinated with them. She even wrote a note to herself on her dresser, identifying each one by size and warning herself to "feed them only when I go to bed."









We were home maybe thirty seconds before YaYa screamed and chaos broke loose, with one kid after another flying down the stairs. "He killed him!" YaYa yelled, "Smiley got into my room and killed Betsy!"

"Smiley is that true?!" I said.

He gave me a panicked deer-in-the-headlights look and shook his head no. I went up to her room and found Betsy upside down in the bowl, surrounded by a heapin' helpin' of fish food.

"SMILEY!!!" I yelled.

We'll skip ahead a few minutes to keep this civil. YaYa was in tears, LuLu was putting her arms around her and trying to comfort her, Smiley was in his room crying, the baby had no clue what was going on and was wailing, and my sister hurried to put on her coat.

"See ya," she said and walked out the door. Lucky devil.

I scooped the fish out and told YaYa we'd have a funeral for her in our backyard, right there in the moonlight. We went outside and picked a spot and were all set to bury the fish when YaYa decided she wanted to write a farewell letter to her. So she went back to her room and I was left holding a dead fish.

The text, which was followed by a drawing of Betsy, read:

Dear Betsy. I loved you. I loved you more than Anne, even thow [sic] I had you for a day. [Smiley] got into my room and killed you. We love you and I love you. [YaYa} + the [Slapinions]

Change of plan: instead of the backyard I'd bury her in the planter on the front porch, then plant our normal summer flowers in it as a 'memorial' to Betsy. Imagine the scene: YaYa, bawling, falling to her knees on the porch in prayer. LuLu, trying to comfort her, asking me if we could "maybe, like, buy one of those round stones with her name on it" to put over the grave; Smiley, no longer crying but staying inside watching through the door; and an endless parade of items to be donated to the grave, from the letter to a cloth tulip to a tiny rabbit statue and a piece of a Mr. Clean Eraser.

"Enough already," I said. "It's a goldfish. Let's keep this in perspective." And with that, surrounded only by the letter and the paper tulip, Betsy was laid to rest.



It turns out Smiley was at fault. Earlier in the day, while I was at work, a visitor (Faith) happened to walk by the bowl and notice Betsy on the floor. Smiley had taken her out to pet her, and then left her on the floor. She survived, but apparently was greatly weakened by the ordeal.

What a day.

Some writing news

The Milwaukee Journal-Sentinel's book editor just answered a query letter of mine with a positive 'send it in'. Which means that she'll look over some book reviews of mine and *potentially* publish them in the paper.

That's a big deal to me, bigger even than the columns. The columns are, by the requirements of the job, Milwaukee themed and unlikely to sell elsewhere. A book review can be sold and resold to any market, and with a published review in the Journal I'd have a solid track record to reference.

Small money, small sucess, sure - but hopefully another step in the right direction.

I'll keep my fingers crossed.

Let it all hang out

This should make you all feel better about your day:

I went to work this morning dressed for success in a new pair of slacks, freshly polished shoes, and silk shirt. Hey, I'd enjoyed resurrecting the ol' shirt and tie for the Communion, and I wanted to carry it over to the workplace. After all, dress for the job you want, not the one you have.

At work a friend was standing on a windowsill as he tried to lower a sign that normally hangs about ten feet off the ground.

"You're an idiot. Why don't you get a ladder?" I asked.

"I don't need a #@$% ladder, that's why. Get up here and lend me a hand."

I walked beneath the sign and was able to grab a corner as he lowered it, taking some of the weight off of him. It wasn't good enough.

"Dude, get up here and hold this while I grab the wire."

Here's where catastrophe set in. I took a step up onto the windowsill and heard what my buddy later called a "cartoon sound effect".

I'd ripped my pants from the knee to my belt, leaving thigh, crotch, and ass hanging in the breeze.

Cue riotous laughter around me.

I'll say this for me: somewhere along the line, in a lifetime full of humiliation and social miscues, I lost the ability to be embarrassed by such horrific scenes. Really. I reacted with detached fatigue. I let the laughter carry on for a minute.

"Are you going to help me here, or are you going to keep staring at my ass?" I asked.

"What the hell am I supposed to do? I'm not holding that together."

"Grab me the tape a**hole."

I wrapped a few pieces of packing tape around my leg and proudly marched across a crowded store at a leisurely pace. I walked into the office, told the boss I had to leave, and strolled back the way I came, then out and across a parking lot.

Somewhere along the first leg of that trip the tape gave way, and for much of the walk I grabbed what I could and tried to muster some dignity.

Yes, I eventually returned to work. My theory was that if I failed to return I'd never live it down. As it is it was a rough shift, let me tell you.

"What did you tell people?" I asked my friend.

"Nothing. Well, Debbie asked why you left so fast."

"What did you tell her?"

He laughed. "I said you had to go home and change your pants because you had an accident."

Great. So the people who didn't see my butt now think I crapped my pants. Only to me folks, only to me.

MEG: Hell's Aquarium - Info Wanted

No, I haven't read Meg: Hell's Aquarium, I'm just looking for information.

When I saw this on the shelf at Barnes and Noble I was reminded that one of my readers won a contest to have her name appear as a character in this novel. The problem is I can't remember who that was. So if it's you, or you know the answer, let me know.

Oh, and congratulations :)

Swine Flu and Communion Wine

If nothing else the swine flu is sure creating memories for YaYa. It's the weekend of her First Communion (a mere 11 hours away now) and it's affected a score of things in Milwaukee. Knowing most kids, in twenty years time the only thing she'll remember about this weekend is that it coincided with the outbreak.

The most stunning example of its impact was at my niece's Communion Mass today. Before it began the Priest announced that, following 'suggestions' from the State and Archdiocese, the communal wine would not be offered at Mass. This was the First Communion day for dozens of kids, and they would not be receiving the wine.

Man, the shock hit my chest like a sledgehammer. I'm serious. Forgetting even the theological implications, its a massive blow to the protocol and tradition of the event. I can't come up with an equivalent example. A marriage ceremony where the exchange of rings is banned? An inauguration where the swearing-in is prohibited? A baseball game where the home team doesn't get a chance to win it in the ninth?

I'll give the Priest credit. He was a witty and charming man, and he denounced this all as paranoia. So he presented an option: the congregation wouldn't be offered the wine, but the kids receiving their First Communion would have the opportunity if the parents so chose. I don't know how many parent's vetoed it, but I'm thinking the number was zero.

Anyhow, I have no idea how YaYa's church will handle it tomorrow. We'll have to see.

* there are some nice pics from today and I'll *try* to post them at a later date*

After Mass we ditched three of the kids and took YaYa out alone to finish off some last minute Communion details. We also had some fun. We went to a rummage sale at a Methodist Church, where a lady presented YaYa with a free cross necklace in honor of her upcoming event (and I picked up a copy of Robert Penn Warren's Remember the Alamo! for less than a quarter). We also hit an estate sale, got myself a haircut, stopped at Half Price Books, and went out to eat, at YaYa's choice, at Carrabas Italian Restaurant (not a great meal for the $; we won't be going back.)

I did ask her at the bookstore if her love of books was genuine or just a means of identifying with me. She looked at me like I was crazy and pleaded with me to buy her a chapter book.

She thrives when she has alone time with us and it was a blast.

Anyhow, time for bed. Some more swine flu notes for posterity:

* Today the number of cases here has jumped from five on Friday to twenty-seven(probable) cases.

* A handful of public schools have closed, but MPS is warning all parents to make alternate arrangements for Monday. The rumor is all public schools will be closed until further notice, and the Catholic versions will follow suit.

* Some of the south-side Catholic schools with overwhelmingly Hispanic student bodies, including my old elementary school, have shut their doors.

* On Thursday night LuLu and YaYa's school was completely disinfected and sprayed down, whatever that means.

* At work a manager wasted an entire day disinfecting our computers and keyboards. This is a pointless task, given we're always mixing with the public and would have no real hope of avoiding it if it strolled through the door.

* I cleared my throat at work and a customer backed away saying "Are you sure you're not ill?". I think she was joking.

* A local store has a sign on their door saying "Avoid the swine flu - buy hand sanitizers here!"

The Bridge

Do a quick search on the net and you'll find pictures of a horrific car accident that claimed the life of a teenager in California. The pictures are real and were leaked by a California Highway Patrol officer. The family is suing the CHP, and for good reason. They they show the victims near-decapitated body as it sits in her crumpled Porche, her head nearly unrecognizable as that of a human.

I am not part of the group of people who would have leaked the photos, posted them on the dead girl's MySpace page, emailed them to her family, or posted them on a blog and captioned them with snarky commentary (all of which occurred).

But being human, with all the morbid curiosity of death that keeps my fear of it at bay, I followed a link and viewed the shots. They are revolting, but I 'x'ed out of the site more disgusted with myself than with the photographs.

The Bridge, a documentary about suicide on the Golden Gate Bridge, leaves you wondering to which group the filmmakers belong.

In 2004 The Golden Gate Bridge averaged a successful suicide attempt every fifteen days. Over the course of that year the documentary was able to capture, start to finish, several of those deadly jumps on film.

Mind you, it isn't a snuff film and the suicides themselves consume a relatively short amount of film. In the rest of the movie we're introduced to the family and friends of the deceased. We learn their stories - sometimes from childhood on - and not only try to grasp what led to that final decision but examine the impact it had on loved ones.

It is an astonishingly depressing and morbid film. I can handle that, if there was a point behind its creation. I have to assume the filmmakers went into the project believing they would honor the dead and explore the effects of suicide, and perhaps discourage someone from doing the same. They failed on all counts.

Jumping - an action one interview labels theatrical by its very nature - is made into a sad but almost poetic end to a life. While the friends who are interviewed are almost universally aghast and view the suicide, sometimes angrily, as a cop out, the family members are oddly accepting. Perhaps they are seeking to assuage their own guilt, or are worn out by a lifetime of dealing with the deceased. Either way it is disconcerting to hear a parent seemingly brush off the death of a son. One father assures his child, as they discuss his desire to die between attempts, that suicides are not judged harshly by God and that sometimes the pain of life is just too great. One woman tells her nephew only to make sure to say goodbye before he kills himself, and later tells the camera that it was an act that might have been predestined from birth. And so on.

Judge those people, don't judge, it doesn't matter; what matters is that in a film like this, whatever the reason behind their statements, it reeks of a big 'OK' for viewers to accept the idea of killing themselves.

In addition, The Bridges's focus on the Golden Gate is a farce. For the jumper there is no significance to the bridge except as a convenient means of finishing a life that would have been ended by other means in Denver or Portland. What I perceive as the true relevance of the bridge in the movie is this: it's the only place they stood a chance of capturing the act of suicide on film. Period.

I have a greater problem with the fact that these weren't abrupt, spur of the moment acts. Most of the deaths follow the same routine: they begin with a pensive, pacing individual who hesitantly climbs over the rail but then lets go with a resolute quickness.

The camera catches this all, and at some point the cameramen became very adept at spotting a future jumper. They zoom in on an individual and follow them for an astonishingly long time, even focusing in on the last horrid minutes as the jumper stand on the ledge debating his end.

There is an endless amount of time for the filmmakers to pick up a phone and alert the police to a potential jumper. The San Francisco cops certainly seem used to the task, as the film shows them questioning people that linger on the bridge.

To ID a suicidal act and sit idly by is reprehensible. This lack of action is a passive contribution to the deaths and a black mark against their artistic and literal soul.

View it and see if you feel the same way.


p.s. - I don't believe the state has a responsibility to actively safeguard it against suicide, but I do question why, if the act is so prevalent they don't stop wasting time and resources and just erect a railing higher than four feet?

Smiley at the park - Easter Sunday

After Easter dinner at my parents house the kids were divided up among the grandparents/aunts and only Smiley returned home with us. If you remember, it was sunny but cold - a winter coat but no hat day - but the sun was too good to pass up. So I took Smiley for a late afternoon adventure to a nearby park.

There were other kids and parents there at first, all visiting nearby houses for the holiday, but within a half hour or so we had the place to ourselves. Smiley had found a lost tennis ball on a nearby court and made a game of tossing it up a slide and then trying to catch it on the fly as it richocheted down the chute.











He played that game FOREVER, or at least until I told him it was time to go home. On the return trip we cut across the tennis courts and came upon an empty wire reel (I think it may have stored the newly stretched tennis nets for the winter). For no good reason other than it seemed like fun, we decided to make this our toy.



We rolled it back and forth across the court, running it into the fence at one end and the net on the other (allright, I stopped it just shy of the net to avoid damage. But only because I'm a dorky scaredy-cat.)

Quote of the Day

While we were riding home from school YaYa announced she has a new crush, and said the boy wanted to meet me.

"Why?" I asked.

"Because I told him all about you. He's just as gross as you are so he thinks you're cool. He even picks his nose like you do!"

LuLu chimed in with skepticism. "Uh, does he pick his nose with his pinky?"

"Yup," said YaYa.

LuLu laughed maniacally. "Then he is like Daddy!"

* * * *

Once again, I had my Escort back for 72 hours before it broke down again.

This time it appears to be - with the operative phrase being "appears to be" - just a cracked sparkplug wire. To answer all the cries of "Why don't any of these repair places give it a once-over?" I say: the exhaust place wasn't going to go poking around the engine, anymore than the regular mechanic could have forseen something cutting the brake lines while I drove. It's a stretch of bad luck, and I'm not going to chastise anyone for not being Edgar Cayce.

* * *

BTW, The Spirit was an awful movie, not even worth a full review. Skip it.

Cloudy X-Rays but Sunny Skies

I had some good news Tuesday. Or rather, a lack of bad news, which in this case amounts to the same thing. After taking those x-rays a few weeks back I scheduled a follow-up with my physician for mid-May. Two days later the office called and said that the doctor wanted to move the appointment up a significant amount of time. Naturally I asked why.

"I don't know sir," the receptionist said. "He just said he wanted to see you as soon as you were able."

There was more back and forth, and in the end the doc objected even to the new date and moved it up some more. These were x-rays of my back, and while I tried to remain logical, 40% of my brain was convinced they'd found either a tumor or a spot on my lungs. Other than Lisa I told no one and kept it to myself.

Tuesday I waited for an hour in the office before being seen. First things first, the doctor said the x-rays showed arthritis in my neck and throughout my back, with the worst of it in my neck. He asked if I had any pain that extended below the waist, and said if I did he would send me for an MRI and further tests.

I don't have back pain, other than the occasional ache everyone gets, and if they hadn't taken the X-rays I'd have gone twenty more years before suspecting a thing. To my mind, this was/is an irrelevant condition. I vetoed the MRI.

Then he wanted to know if I had ever experienced trauma to the region behind my forehead. That threw me. No, I replied.

"Any surgery, accident . . .anything metal? Shrapnel perhaps?"

I laughed. " Unless aliens kidnapped me and implanted something, the answer's still no. What's this about?"

The doctor looked confused. The x-rays had showed cloudy matter in that region but according to the reports it could not be identified because the shots were blocked by metal shards in my forehead.

WTF??

"Let me see that," I said, and he handed me the one page report from the hospital staff. Yup, he had the gist right. That wasn't good. I read on and was surprised to learn I had been admitted to the ER after an assault. I was even more surprised to find out I was a 24 year old female.

The doc turned red.. "I am sorry, the hospital must have left a page of this woman's report in the fax machine when they sent yours. I apologize, this is a horrible breach of privacy."

Pshff. Fine by me. Bad for the lady with the cloudy brain pic, but gravy baby for me. No need to apologize.

"So do I still have arthritis, or is that her's too?"

Sadly, no go on that. That one's all mine.

All kidding aside, it sucks to spend 40% of your time wondering if you're on the way out. Will the kids remember me? If they do, will I be some idealized notion or a real person to them? Ah, man, if Lisa remarries she'll probably get more years in with him than with me; I should at least have gotten the lion's share. Why didn't I push past the writers block and get a book published? Crap, I hope I don't die before the Lost series finale. Etc. Etc.

Knowing me all this was for naught and I'll continue treading water. But at least in theory it's inspired me to set some things right and get my ass in gear. We'll see if it sticks.

* * * * *

I took a bike ride late Tuesday. It was a cold day, but you always see hippies cruising around on such afternoons. I assumed they had discovered that your body heat keeps you comfortable in that situation. I wore a jacket as I headed out, but was convinced I'd have to shed it soon into the ride.

Bulls**t. F'ing hippies.

It was cold. Damn cold. And you know what? It feels twice as cold when you're cutting through the air at a decent speed. I was an icicle by the time I got home.

F that. I'm sticking to warm days. Period.

Great Smiley News!

The Little Man got off the school bus and ran into the house brandishing a note from his teacher. It read as follows, with each 'bold' word being underlined twice in the teacher's handwriting:

[Smiley] said his own name today correctly with the "k" sound!! (I was so happy, tears came to my eyes!) Ask him to say it for you - emphasize the "k" for him! It was an awesome day!!

Ms. Heidi

Hot dog! Way to go little guy!

You should have seen how happy and proud Smiley was with the reaction he got. Oh, it would warm your heart. What great news!

Swine Flu Forces Closure of Milwaukee Public Schools

A friend of ours just got an automated call from MPS saying her daughter's school was "closed until further notice". According to the Milwaukee Journal, four schools have been ordered closed because of swine flu, with two confirmed cases in the city and a third in the state. Details are sketchy, but I'm sure it will headline the paper tomorrow.

I don't think that the swine flu is the end of the world, or a guaranteed repeat of the 1918 Influenza horror, but it's going to cause some damage before it's through. Not only is there a case at a school down the block from my house, but at the school our friend's daughter attends. Lovely news. The stomach illness that took me, Lisa, and YaYa out for part of last week was awful enough; I can't imagine getting hit by that strain.

Let's hope for the best, and a quick recovery for those stricken with the illness.

April's Last American Idol

I'm trying to figure out the math here. Ryan said it's three weeks until the finale but there are five contestants left. One goes home this week, one the next, so doesn't that leave three left to duke it out? I must have misheard him, because I can't imagine they're going to change the format at this point in the show's run.

Moving on, it was Rat Pack week and overall the quality of the show was high. With only five "boys and girls" left, this review won't take long.

* * * *

1. Kris - He's definitely moving up into striking range of the finals. I enjoyed the song, but it wasn't mind blowing. I imagine him with one or two moderately successful pop hits in the future, just not with 'Season Eight Winner' on the album cover.

2. Allison - I disagree with the judges. I had trouble understanding any of her lyrics, and I watched it twice AND had the closed captioning on. To me, it reinforced her as a one-trick pony. I think she's in trouble.

3. Matt - Love the guy, enjoyed the song, still think it was on the weaker end of tonight's performances.

4. Danny - surprisingly good version, surprisingly good posture, surprisingly snappy apparel. Well done. A nice return to form.

5. Adam - way too theatrical, indulgent, and dramatic for the needs and intent of the song. I suppose, like Simon said, that it's like complaining that a cow moos. Vegas drama is what Adam is about. The vocals were good but I think Danny trumped him tonight.

* * * *

So who goes home? My bottom two are Allison and Matt. I think America will toss Allison in there, but will debate putting Matt or Kris in that second chair.

At the end of the show, Allison goes home. I hope.

How I spent my weekend

Well, some of it you can deduce by my answers in the 'Game of Eight' in a previous post. But here's the full scoop.

Saturday we had the First Communion retreat for YaYa, who will celebrate her big day next Sunday. It was a very nice time - no really, it was - involving a brief practice, a 20 minute talk from the priest, a fine potluck, and a creative art project: designing a pillar candle for use in the ceremony.







Note all the sequins and whatnot in this photo. When all was said and done Lisa told me to sort out our pile and place them back in the correct slot in the craft box. I agreed, put one away, and then stuck the mess in my pocket. Who's gonna sort out 50 different sequins, ya know? But Lisa caught me and the job was completed as requested.











I think it was a good idea to send her to Sunday School classes at our parish. You may recall there was pressure to join one of the 'cluster' parishes and participate with members of her everyday class. We decided against it, and I think we made the right choice.

A) We like the priest a lot, even if his sermons are 4000X better than his brief and clumbsy attempts at instruction B) she is free of any of the cliques (sic?) that plague her school C) she gets to meet new people and start fresh; heck, start with an edge, as she is well versed in many of the religious topics that are taught.

Plus the Sunday school teacher is very inventive and puts a lot of effort into the job. Case in point, a Powerpoint slideshow of the kids school year that was shown on Saturday. (when YaYa appeared on screen for the first time the kids yelled out "[YaYa]!" - but if you listen to her she's never had a friend here, there, or anywhere in her life).

YaYa admitted it was a good decision and out of the blue thanked us both for sending her there for the classes. And you could tell she relished the one on one time with us. Awwww!

* * * *

Much of the weekend was devoted to preparing for the communinon (although we both went to work Saturday shortly after the retreat ended).

Some time ago we decided to combine the parties for YaYa and my Godchild, as their First Communions are a mere day apart. As such, a month ago we sat down to work on the combined invites. Printed at home on some very nice invitation stationary Lisa got at a great discount, it was a true family affair.









Later in the month Lisa and my sister got together and melted chocolate into coin molds decorated with religious symbols - hands together in prayer, a chalice, and a cross. Sunday night, with Lisa at work, my sister and I sat down to finish the project.

We melted more chocolate, then skewered double-stuff Oreos and dipped them in the bowl, coating them completely. When dry we 'painted' the back of the coins with wet chocolate and 'glued' them to the Oreos. Lisa was pleasantly surprised that we managed to hammer out 70 more or less decent Oreos in the four hours she was gone; she then proceeded to finish the last (perfect) thirty in less than forty-five minutes. *@#$#



Sorry about the poor camera-phone quality of these next few; I'll get good pics at the actual party.







To be fair, the four hours I devoted to the project were interrupted by the kids announcing that the basement was leaking. Right on the heels of the sunny, 70 degree Friday weather we two straight days of torrential downpours. It shouldn't be a big deal - after all, our fine city has paid billiions to redo the sewers - but, uh, oh yeah, they did a crappy job. Every time it storms the streets in the neighborhood flood and if you give it time, that water has to go somewhere - and it's usually in the basements around here.

I got off easy, with a scant 15 gallons or so making its way inside, but I was soooooo ticked at the kids. They were no help at all, and at one point I yelled out: "This ain't your first rodeo, you know what to do! Get over here and give me a hand or you can go to bed right now!"

Ugh.

Where was I? Oh, today we bagged the Oreos, which will serve as a party favor at the Communion.

* * * *

Despite the trouble it brings, I love rain. Not *just* because it ensures that the kids will be inside and in sight, although that does assuage my paranoia. No, I just generally love a rainy day with a hint of cold in the air.

Sunny and warm is fine. But there's nothing so comforting as finding that patch of warmth as you come in from the cold, or the security of a roof over your head when you get out of the rain. And at night, with wind pushing against the window, puddles in the street dancing with rain, and a little jazz on the radio . . . perfect.

The Game of Eight

Estella went ahead and tagged me with the Game of Eights, and I'm happy to play along. The rules seem simple: mention who drafted you, complete the lists of 8, and pass the game on to eight others online.

8 Things I am Looking Forward to:

1. Having the day off tomorrow
2. Buying some new clothes for the communion party
3. Going to sleep tonight - I'm tired :)
4. Watching the 'latest' Match Game as soon as I complete #5 on this list
5. Finding the TV remote
6. Seeing my tulips bloom
7. Not having to rely on others - or the bus - for rides with my car in the shop
8. Lisa's return from work tonight

8 Things I Did Yesterday:

1. Pumped water out of my basement
2. Dipped oreos in melted chocolate
3. Posted a few comments on BadgerBlogger
4. Went to HalfPrice Books with Smiley. He was very patient, holding my hand and only occasionally asking "Now Dada?"
5. Bought Smiley a gold hula hoop from Dollar General
6. Bought parchment paper and a yard of fabric from Joann Fabrics
7. Took Ginger, Lisa, and our friend Chris to The Olive Garden
8. Paid my speeding ticket from October the day before it was due

8 Things I Wish I Could Do:

1. Get my printer to work with our desktop PC
2. Find my slippers
3. Find the TV remote
4. Lose some weight
5. Scrape up the guts for a vasectomy
6. Clean the house
7. Find a better job
8. Travel in space

8 Shows I Watch:

1. Match Game
2. Lost
3. American Idol
4. Whatever, Martha
5. Twilight Zone
6. Trading Spaces
7. Naked Science
8. Seconds from Disaster

* * *
Thanks again Estella! As far as tagging eight others: whoever would like to pick up the torch by all means run with it, but I'll leave the decision to you.

Enjoy!

Pics of Lump's First Haircut. Sorta.

A few readers (and let's face facts, that's all I have, God luv 'em - a few readers) have asked for pictures of Lump/Ginger's first haircut.

It aintagonna happen, because Papa Slap was at work when the event took place and Lisa is fond of saying "Forget the camera. Record it in your memories". Well and good, but memories alone don't make a blog post, so you're all out of luck. Sorry Future Lump/Ginger.

But I did scrounge up some pictures of YaYa's first ever haircut, taken with an antique digital camera way back circa 2003-2004. The exact date is documented in print editions of her baby book.

Close your eyes and pretend it's Ginger. I promise I won't tell people you cheated.

Milwaukee was lucky to have Dolan - text of my column in Good Friday's Milwaukee Journal-Sentinel

If you were born in Milwaukee in the '70s and grew up Catholic, as I did, then the Mass had more than the usual amount of consistency during your lifetime. I was nearing 30 before the intercession to help "John Paul our Pope, (and) Rembert our Archbishop" - a routine I learned in kindergarten - no longer applied.

Logically, I should follow that line of thought with a few lines talking about how awkward it was in 2002 to accept Timothy Dolan as Milwaukee's new archbishop and about how the process of acceptance took time and patience.

I could write that, but it would turn this from a column into a work of fiction.

With no disrespect to those who have held, or will hold that position, Dolan was born for the role. Here was a guy of Midwestern stock, who seemed to embody all the positive attributes of the stereotype: He's a hard-working, down-to-earth man with a respect for tradition and a great sense of humor.

In a lot of ways, Dolan seems less like the imposing, powerful man of the cloth he is than a friendly and gregarious neighbor. If there was ever an archbishop you could imagine playing with on a tavern league softball team, Dolan is your man.

That's not to say his tenure didn't have its share of problems, many of which he inherited. He arrived in Milwaukee to a Catholic community besieged by allegations of sexual abuse, lawsuits and a growing distrust of the clergy. Questions about the role and integrity of the church were rampant, and a financial crisis loomed.

Seven years later, have all those problems been solved? No, but Dolan tackled them head-on, meeting with abuse victims, effectively closing a $3 million budget deficit in 2008 and restoring a sense of purpose and respect to the local Catholic landscape.

He has his share of detractors; no one with that much authority can avoid that burden. In his native Missouri, he was criticized as being too lenient on abusive priests, while others accused him of acting too harshly. In Milwaukee, he's correctly seen as theologically conservative. Those who view that as a negative are quick to point out his opposition to efforts to change the church's position on celibacy in the priesthood or his polite but public objection to the University of Notre Dame's decision to give President Barack Obama an honorary degree.

None of his critics have dented his popularity. My wife, a lifelong Lutheran, counts herself as a fan of the archbishop. So do most people I know, both in and out of the Catholic faith. The announcement of his impending installation as archbishop of New York was no surprise for me; I knew Milwaukee was too small to retain a rising star like Dolan for very long.

Our loss is New York's gain, and I wish him well. If the past seven years are any indication, Dolan will win New York's heart in no time.

Scott Walker News!

Milwaukee County Executive Scott Walker announced via Twitter that he has filed papers to challenge Jim Doyle in the next Governor's race.

I met Scott Walker in DC back in '05, and he seemed like a genuine and likeable guy. He's the lone Republican to hold office in the Democratic stranglehold that is Milwaukee. That means in a statewide race he's got a chance to contend in an area that's usually a 'given' for the blue. He's also got a track record of doing what he thinks 'should' be done, regardless of whether its politically wise at the time. Case in point, turning down stimulus money this year. A political ploy? Statewide it might work in his favor, but locally it wasn't the most popular notion. I'm inclined to believe he thought the stimulus plan was a bunch of hooey and acted accordingly.

Hey, if you ran the desiccated remains of Rudolf Valentino against tax-happy Jim Doyle he'd win my vote. But I think Scott Walker has the opportunity to take the office and do some good with it. He has my support.

So if you're in Wisconsin say the word. I'm more than willing to hit the pavement for Walker, and I'd be proud to have you along to keep me company.

hat tip: the great guys at BadgerBlogger

Boring family stuff

A good day today. I didn't eat a single calorie, depriving my stomach of any opportunity to rebel, which allowed me to make it through the work day in relative comfort. A good thing that, as I had the opportunity to speak with a 91 year old customer,born in 1918 - "Nearly ninety-one," she was careful to correct me. "My birthday isn't for awhile yet." She's still driving her own car, writing out her own checks and living life on her terms.

"You sure don't look ninety-one," I said.

"Well, I wouldn't feel it either if I hadn't broken my damn hip last winter."

After work I took advantage of a beautiful 80 degree day to don shorts and break out the bikes. Sadly a leak in the shed led to my bike getting a few spots of rust over its first winter. Still, she did me proud on a 10 minute ride around the neighborhood with YaYa and Ginger. [Lu and Smiley were scattered among the grandparents] The ex-Lump had no recollection of the bike trailer and sat bewildered the whole time, but she'll be a happy passenger in no time.

Now I'd been texted at work with news that the backyard was overrun with gnats. I found this to be a slight exaggeration, but there does seem to be a bit of an issue. So I broke out the ol' standby, a bowl of sugar water with a coating of cooking oil across the top. Bugs come to taste the sweetness and get trapped by the oil.

Once again, despite a decade of experience in the field, people rose up to naysay. To which I respond: folks, by nightfall the dang bowl had more bugs in it than Windows Vista.

After a dinner with Lisa on her break at work, the kids and I hit a local church's basement rummage sale. For ~$4 total we picked up a mass book, a Scrabble dictionary, three decks of cards, a wooden turtle from Jamaica, a clothes steamer, a book light, a wooden jewelry box, a 3-D Titanic puzzle, a Brain Quest trivia game, a childrens book, a wooden frog that you can make croak by rubbing a stick across its spine, and a great camera case worth about $30 alone.

What a deal!

From there we returned home and YaYa and I watched Call of the Wild on DVD. Call of the Wild was one of the first (abridged) classics YaYa read.

"Will you watch it with me Daddy?"

"I really don't want to."

"Why not?"

The real reason was I was tired and sweaty and yearned for a shower. But what I said was: "Because I never finished the book and I don't want to ruin the ending. Someday maybe I'll finish it."

"You can read my copy upstairs."

"Naw, I want to read the adult version."

"Hrumph. Well, it does have 107 pages you know. But I guess that doesn't count."

Checkmate. So we watched Call of the Wild, which turned out to be a sequel called "Foxfire" anyhow. It was ok, and I certainly enjoyed cuddling with YaYa.
Afterwards, when Lisa got home, she quizzed YaYa on the BrainQuest questions and YaYa aced darn near all of them. I gave her a big kiss on the forehead.

"Truly, you are my daughter." I said.

"Half your daughter," Lisa said. "She's much too cool to be your clone."

Wah wah and boo hoo

I don't want to become Gloomy Gary or Sad Sammy here, but a good 25% of my life seems to be comprised soley of bad luck in recent days. Thankfully the wife and kids continue, even in the moments when I can't stand 'em, to more than balance out the scale.

* * * *

It's been less than 48 hours since discovering my mortgage payment would soar because of local property taxes. Today the Journal reports that despite an influx of $100 million of Obama's stimulus money, MPS (Milwaukee Public Schools) will be asking for an addtional double-digit increase in the property tax levy.

If you follow the link you'll see note a reference to a recent audit of MPS, one that identified numerous black holes in their budget. Memo to the school board: maybe you could close those gaps before you take more $ from my wallet and throw it away.

* * * * *

I got my Escort back from the shop tonight. The verdict: both brake lines had been severed in the area around the drivers seat. The cause? Flying road debris, rust, Lisa getting inventive - who knows?

Anyway, I had the car back twenty minutes before the the exhaust system fell apart. All was quiet one minute, and the next I'm driving in a car making enough decibels to burst your eardrums. It's well and truly undriveable in its current condition. If I drove across town (again) I'd get a ticket in a second.

Sigh.

* * * * *

Smiley missed school today for a required check-up at the Ear/Nose/Throat doctor. His left ear tube has fallen out, which was more or less expected, but in its absence fluid has again returned to plague his eardrum. He'll be put on a prescription and if it doesn't clear up, look for a return to the operating room for more tubes.

* * * *

I was talking to a couple of the guys from work today when they asked me when I was going to go drinking with them.

"Probably when someone asks me to," I said.

"We just did" came the response.

Regretably, I had to say no, not because of my legendary social phobias but because I already felt hungover by the time they asked, courtesy of a damn strong stomach virus.

I last called in sick to work in August of 2000, when I had compacted wisdom teeth pulled out. I should have broke the streak today. I was miserable. Instead I slugged it out and made it through the day, but if things don't improve I'm pulling the trigger and call in Friday.

American Idol and other Schtuff

Allright, first off I'm having a lousy coupla days here folks. I'm fighting off a mean stomach flu, I'm broke, and my mortgage just went up 16.5%. Oh, I don't have an ARM, in fact I have a nice, very low fixed mortgage. But the city bumped up my taxes last year and apparently looks to again, and so the adjustment of my escrow will all but bury me.

Congrats, you dunderheads in City Hall. As with all the good neighborhoods in Milwaukee, you will soon tax families out of home ownership and drive them to the 'burbs. Within a few years Ritchie Riches from Pewaukee and Whiteman's Bay (er, I mean Whitefish Bay) will own all the houses here and use them as rentals. After a few more years of ignoring their upkeep the area will go to hell, leading to a fallow period before good people step in to 'renew' the block and we'll start the dance all over again.

But at least the taxes go for something good, like . . . yeah. I don't even have a good punchline.

* * * *

On to happier news, a review of last nights American Idol.

I don't know if it was because they unexpectedly had to find time for a 7th contestant or because of format complaints, but I appreciate hearing from all the judges. All we lost in return were the hokey video introductions before each song.

1. Lil - enough America. Send her home. And please, no more excuses on stage and no low-brow opinions yelled out from the audience.

2. Kris - an excellent peformance and an innovative approach. One notch against him in my book is that he and Adam seem to skirt the spirit, if not the letter of the rules. Make Disco or Country or Metallica night all your own, natch, but shouldn't the end result sound something vaguely like the genre it purports to represent? As good as it was, it wasn't disco. It was Kris sampling the lyrics of a disco song.

3. Danny - very solid vocals. He did well, but I do wonder why he must perform hunched over so often. On stage Danny looks like he's trying to mime the letter 'C'. Mayhaps he and I should get an 'All Danny' discount on scoliosis treatment together.

4. Allison - that outfit was too old for a 16 year old, but her vocals were fine. I thought the arrangement was off and as always it all sounded Joplin-y, but whattayagonna do?

5. Adam - Much better than last week, although I think he was indulgent for a second in the middle of the song. Did anyone else think it appeared to end abruptly? Anyhow, well done, but see my Kris comments regarding the arrangement.

6. Matt - I love the guy and his performance was good, but it was the polar opposite of the Kris/Adam sytle. While faithful to the original, it just didn't work.

7. Anoop - Vocally he was pretty good, but the arrangement was off (for me). I also think he dresses a whole lot like the 5th Doctor (Who) Peter Davidson. That's great on the cricket field, but not so wonderful for an American singing competition.


Ok, two go home tonight. My picks: Lil and (sob) Matt. America's picks: Lil for sure, and either Anoop or Matt, with Allison a dark horse.

I say Lil and Matt go home.

Watchmen

Watchmen is proof that being a literary pioneer is a mixed blessing.

The graphic novel has earned numerous accolades, and deservedly so, for its mature and inventive re-imagining of the superhero concept. Unfortunately, it was so innovative that it changed everything in the field that followed.

The idea that America would regulate and ban masked heroes is now old hat, having been used in everything from X-Men to The Incredibles. Want to see angst ridden superheroes that resemble Sam Spade more than Superman? Superhero love triangles? Discussions on the nature of a 'hero'? Amoral vigilantes with no qualms about killing? Thanks to Watchmen you can see it all, in the form of a hundred inferior clones created in the last twenty years.

What was original is now cliche, and I fear many young people will read Watchmen and be left wondering what all the fuss is about.

Watchmen tells the story of a group of masked heroes who retired in the wake of a government ban on their profession. Only a rogue vigilante remains on the loose, and it is he alone who investigates the murder of one of their own. Soon a conspiracy to eliminate the group is uncovered and they must all once again don their costumes and seek an end to the threat.

It remains a powerful and thoughtful piece of literature, 'comic book' be damned. This is a hefty novel that requires thought, one I couldn't finish in a single night. But while I stand by my praise and unequivocally recommend the novel, I want to point out that Watchmen is not, despite everything, a book that raises the graphic novel to par with standard prose literature. It is in truth a hybrid, deriving a fair portion of its character and plot development from prose chapters scattered throughout its length.

As I said, I unequivocally recommend this; if you haven't read it already, you need to pick up a copy. Today.