The Post about the Name change that made MU fans say FU May 6th

On Wednesday Marquette University changed its nickname from the Golden Eagles – a lame and almost universally hated moniker – to something fresh and new.

Ladies and gentlemen, just in time for Marquette’s entrance into the Big East, I present to you the Marquette Gold.

Yes, you read correctly. Gold.

As in the color, the metal, dental caps, pansies, Dial soap, and the last name of 30% of the world’s porn actresses.

Gold.

In the interest of full disclosure I have to point out that I’m not a big fan of Marquette. I’m an alumni of UWM, a cross-town university who’s basketball team actually qualified for the NCAA tournament (and made it to the Sweet Sixteen to boot).

I thought their wish to permanently close downtown Milwaukee’s busiest street - for the sake of a school common area -was pretentious and arrogant, and I despise the way they jaywalk in rush-hour traffic as if they own the world.

I don’t owe Marquette any allegiance.

But on the flip side, I will state that their women are pretty hot.

None of that matters now. Fan or rival, this name change cannot stand.

This whole thing is a freakin’ embarrassment to the city.

The old nickname, the one they earned a national championship under, was the Warriors. I have to agree, group that name with a mascot named Willie Wampum and you’re pushing the limits of good taste.

Willie was dumped in the early seventies, and the name lived on.

Then in 1993 the university decided, on strictly PC grounds, to change the name of the team. Introducing the Golden Eagles, and a decade of alumni and students asking for a return to the Warriors.

Bowing to pressure, the university leadership caves in and dumps the Eagles – for the before mentioned Gold.

Alumni reaction has been scathing, local talk show and radio hosts have ridiculed it, and the Milwaukee Journal-Sentinel, while endorsing it in an editorial, also spent considerable time thinking up gold-related puns for its headlines.

Marquette, for it’s part, has said the decision is final and not open to debate.

[Guess it’s okay for them to drain your wallet before and after graduation; just don’t dare ask for your voice to be heard. ]

I know about Syracuse, Stanford, and the handful of other schools associated with a color. Fine forthem. Not fine for a university where more than 60% of the student body identifies with the name Warriors twelve years after a name change.

Personally, barring any hokey/stereotyped mascot to go along with it, I think Native Americans should be proud of their association with the term ‘warriors’. At least they get some recognition.

What do my fellow Poles and I get? Meathead on All in the Family, that’s what.

After hearing that nickname for thirty years I’d applaud a team named the Polacks.

Of course, that’s not my call to make. It’s not my race up there on Marquette’s marquee, and so I’ll bow to the Native American’s point of view.

So here’s an idea. Disassociate the Warrior nickname from its Native American past. Throw a European on the logo, or Xena, or any generic figure that moves the logo away from a Native connotation.

The Belgians might object, but screw ‘em.

Or better yet, it’s a Catholic University: why not put an Archangel on the logo? Not only is it true to the warrior image, it’s biblical and therefore bypasses any hint of conflict with the university’s philosophy.

It’d solve the problem and save Marquette hefty loses from their alumni backers.

But I repeat: anything’s better than Gold.

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More boring Daddy blogging

A minor miracle this morning.

I fed and changed Parker, dressed both girls, gave them their vitamins and the youngest her medicine, packed a lunch for YaYa and put her hair in a ponytail (but botched a braid), made girl #2 her breakfast, had the girls play on PollyPocket.com, took them all with me to drop YaYa off at school and then to my Mom’s house to complete a favor for her.

All in a day’s work for the Mrs., but a primo accomplishment for me.

And (drum roll please) . . .

When I noticed her overnight diaper was dry I asked my youngest daughter if she wanted to go pee on the potty. She said yes, and after one false alarm FILLED the training potty, proudly marched it in to show her sleeping momma, then back to the bathroom where she herself flushed the toilet and waved ‘bye bye’.

You know, if I read this on someone else’s site I’d gag.

Fortunately, my kids never seem to bore . . .

The swingset continues to be a hit. The kids ask to use it before school, after school, in the dark, the rain, and the cold.

They’d use it in a tornado if I’d let them.

Also, I sense a nickname coming for Parker: Baby B.

I wanted to make its source known because I’ve been disputed on these things before.

My youngest daughter’s name for her sister is “Ya Ya”. I’ve heard talk that this is some corruption of her name, or maybe a mispronunciation of ‘sister’.

Wrong.

When we had our station wagon I’d load the kids from the passenger side. Inevitably my oldest would hem and haw with some excuse for not sliding over.

“Yeah, yeah. Move over,” I’d say.

And the name was born.

Yesterday afternoon I fed the baby outside while the girls played on the swingset. The almost two-year old, with her mothering instincts, rushed over to help me.

I was fine with it for a minute, but when she tried to take over Parker started crying.

“Let baby be, “ I said, annoyed.

And it dawned on me how often I say that to her.

Look for more adventures of YaYa, Baby B, and their (as yet un-nicknamed) sister in the days to come.

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The Post where I waste an afternoon defending Paula Abdul May 5th

Last night was this couch potato’s dream day. A brand new episode of Lost, and American Idol, and to top it off, the hour-long Primetime Live special on Paula Abdul, “Fallen Idol”.

The special accuses Paula of having an affair with a former contestant, Corey Clark, who in addition to more biblical rewards received special coaching, cash, and a cell phone.

Now I could waste 700 words on why, even if true, this didn’t affect the result of the show. Corey Clark had enough talent to make it to the top ten by his lonesome, viewers do the actual voting from that point on, no one listens to Paula’s too-lenient judging anyway, and ‘twas nobody that was about to outlast the tag-team of Reuben and Clay.

Of course that doesn’t change the fact that in theory, the show’s integrity was breached.

I don’t know if the allegation is true, but if it is, I didn’t see the proof of it last night.

For starters, Corey’s motives are pretty transparent. He has a CD coming out and managed to con ABC into showing him in the recording studio more than a few times. He has a beef against the show (he was kicked off after it was revealed he’d lied about his arrest record), and has stated he’ll refuse to aid any Fox investigation. One minute - one minute - after the show ended his tell-all book appeared for sale online.

So he’s an opportunistic creep, and at best a not very trustworthy lover.

But is he a liar?

Five years ago I’d have had more faith in the research of a major network, but after Rathergate those days are past. Remember, AI is burying the other networks (like ABC) in its timeslot.

Long on story but short on evidence, with leading questions and cheap theatrical stunts, it reminded me more of Inside Edition than anything put out by ABC News.

The facts, as presented in the story:

Phone records from Clark’s home to a number purported to be Paula’s Whether it was her phone number or not was never mentioned; I guess we’re supposed to assume they checked into that.

A cash receipt from a clothing store. Yikes, that’s the nail in the coffin.

A clerk(s?) at a Sprint PCS store, never seen on camera, alleges that Paula accompanied Corey to activate a phone. Corey says numerous times the affair was top-secret, and that no one could know they were seeing each other. So why risk it all for something as simple as getting a phoneturned on?

With AI’s exclusive contract with Sprints competition, why did/would Paula bother with a different company when odds are she had phone service for free? Remember, Corey implied she had Sprint prior to getting his phone - not to avoid detection.

(personal note: as a Sprint customer, let me just say: I trust the word of a typical Sprint clerk as much as I do, oh, that drunk on the corner who swears the money he’s asking for will go towards a good meal)

A liquid prescription bottle with Paula’s name on it. Assuming he didn’t go dumpster diving, I’d like proof it was hers. I can go to a clinic and get a prescription in the name of Genghis Khan if I pay in cash.

[And what was with those seven AI cast-offs that were brought it and nudged and prodded towards embarrassing themselves on TV? Note to crybabies: you lost because you weren’t as good a singer as the rest, not because of any scandal. Geesh. Their self-pity and inflated egos match, well - my own.]

Maybe the thugarific Corey, his equally thuggish friends, and his fine upstanding family (who agreed to ‘cover up the affair’ but allege they were dead-set against it from the start) are telling the truth.

Maybe they are. It’s possible - it may even be probable.

But 60 minutes of poorly done fluff did nothing to prove it to me.

ABC should be embarrassed.

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Idiot of the Day

Ugh. How embarrassing is this: I was all pumped up to see a Vatican art exhibit at the Milwaukee Public Museum.

I drove my daughter to school, went across town to pick up my sister, braved horrible downtown construction to find a parking spot, blah blah.

I get to the ticket window and hear "I'm sorry sir. That exhibit is next year."

Yup, it runs from Feb to May of 2006.

Why they've had flyers and ads out since New Years is beyond me, but yes, I qualify for 'idiot of the day'.

Parker Smiles!

As promised, here's two pics of the future Hall-of-Famer as he grins at his Mom and Dad!

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An Email From the Wife

I came home from work to see this awe-inspring list in my mailbox. It's gonna be a busy summer to say the least. :)

This summer I want to...  

take Grace to Great America

...take the girls to the zoo...maybe twice ..

.take the girls to the children's museum, at least four times .

..take the girls to IKEA, get breakfast and buy something ..

.take the girls to a water park WITH YOU ..

.go to Friday night flicks down on the east side again ..

.go to state fair ..

.childrens fest (maybe) ..

.be in the fourth of July parade with kids with a kick ass decorated stroller or wagon...

 ...watch fire works downtown, AND somewhere else ..

.visit my g'grandpa or invite him over

go to lots of parks

grill outside a lot

start working out again

take walks around the neighborhood when the sun is setting with you and the kids  

 hmmmm...I guess that's it....  

what do you want to do this summer?

  xoxo, me

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A Testament to my Songwriting Skills

To entertain the troops in the car I've composed a little ditty to the tune of Yankee Doodle Dandy.

Fear not, I'll post new verses as they come to me:

Mustard and boogers on a breadstick

tastes so dan-dy

I think it just might be

my favorite type of candy

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The Post with The Exorcist, Roots, and The Godfather May 2nd

As we're a 'mixed' family - I'm Catholic, the Mrs. is Lutheran, and most of our friends fall in one camp or the other - a few folks asked me what to expect at my son's baptism.

"It'll be like the end of The Godfather," I told them, "but in English and minus the killing."

But it started out a little more like Miracle on Danny's Street: we retrieved our daughters from their sleepover at Grandma's, dressed everyone in their Sunday best, and made it to the church with a half hour to spare.

Even with that head start we got there after Lisa’s brother and sister-in-law, the Godparent’s to be, both of whom seemed excited and honored.

There we discovered that one of the associate pastors would be leading the mass. This was fine by us; he’s a friendly, entertaining priest who, to continue the movie theme, has more than a passing resemblance to Fr. Karras from The Exorcist.

He introduced himself before the mass and asked that we all accompany him to the sacristy. There he completed the naming ceremony in private and gave us some instructions.

"Don't worry about the choreography," he said. "I'll take care of that. We’ll do the ceremony after the homily. You follow along, and when it's over I’ll hold Parker up like Kunta Kinta and introduce him to the congregation. Simple."

It was simple, and at the risk of being sappy, it was beautiful. Throughout the mass Fr. referenced Parker, offering prayers and best wishes for his future. His homily centered on the idea that Parker was now a brother to everyone in the church, and would never be abandoned or alone with Christ.

And then it was time for the ceremony itself. Throughout the blessing Parker, as he had throughout the mass, was alert but quiet. He showed a little concern when the priest poured water on his head, but kept his cool.

“Good boy,” said Father. As he stepped forward to bless him again, my son sneezed in his face. The congregation laughed, and Father recovered nicely. “God bless you,” he said. “And how appropriate that is.”

Then, as promised, Father took Parkerand held him aloft. “I’d like you to meet Parker, the newest member of our church.”

I couldn’t suppress a smile when the whole church applauded.

Afterwards we headed to the hall. There was a dilemma over the food we’d ordered; either someone would’ve had to skip the ceremony to pick it up, or we’d grab it after mass.

We decided on the second option. Lisa went to get the food, and I went to the hall to greet the guests.

I guess we’d dallied too long at a short pit stop, because the place was packed when I got there.

Oops.

To make matters worse, I was now the sole host to fifty very hungry people who expected at least a smidgen of hospitality from me.

Let’s be clear: I’m not a social butterfly. I tried , and I think I did okay, but I all but bowed to the Mrs. when she finally walked in.

The party lasted most of the early afternoon. Lisa’s family showed up in full force, as did the usual roster from my side. Some of my friends and co-workers showed, as did Gracie’s teacher.

And, brother, we are breeders: there were a half dozen kids there under the age of four and three more under eleven. We’d thought ahead and brought a kid sized picnic table, a bag of toys, and coloring books. Even so I’m thankful to Lisa’s aunt, who thought to buy each of my girls a toy - which naturally became their favorite of the day.

It wasn’t Six Flags, but it was a fun and enjoyable afternoon. Not even an overcast and rainy day could change that.

And try as I might, I can’t remember Parker crying once all day.

Now if the bugger would just sleep more than an hour or two at night . . .

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Daddy Blog Update (regular post below)

Some items of note in the ol' homestead:

While he's been giving us hints and glimmers for a week now, it is offical: Parker can, on cue, give you the biggest happiest smile you've ever seen.

(now if I can only capture it on camera, I'll post the proof here, so check back)

My youngest daughter, four days shy of 22 months, has gone #2 twice in the potty but still shows an affinity for her diapers. Her speech has improved dramatically though: while her vocabulary still consists mainly of "Me?" "Yeah!" and "Yay!", she gave us two complete sentences in the past week.

"Me go with you." and "Me want wear this".

And the elder stateswoman of the bunch has learned a new ditty at the knee of her mommy:

Boys go to Jupiter to get more stupider

Girls go to college to get more knowledge

She was also estatic when her teacher gave her a gift for being good this week: a jar of putty called "body noise" that lets out a fart when you stick your finger in it.

Glad to see her tuition is paying off.

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The Post about Hitler and Saigon April 30th

Sixty years ago today, as the Russian army closed in on Berlin and the war in Europe was nearing its end, the man responsible for six years of bloodshed took his own life.

Deep within the air raid bunker that had been his home since January, Adolf Hitler sat alone with his bride of two days. He had been urged to flee the capital for refuge in the Alps but refused, convinced the end was inevitable.

In the weeks to come his countrymen would face the wrath of Stalin's army, with thousands killed in retribution and perhaps as many as a million women raped.

Hitler would not share their fate.

The Fuhrer swallowed cyanide capsules that had been tested on his own dogs; for good measure, he also shot himself with his own service pistol.

Three decades later - thirty years ago today - another invading army closed in on a capitol.

After ten years of American involvement, at the cost of 58,000 American and 3 million Vietnamese lives, the war in Vietnam was drawing to a close.

With a hostile Congress refusing to meet American promises of intervention, the North Vietnamese launched a new campaign in March of 1975.

They sliced through their neighbors to the South at an alarmingly rate. Pleiiku and the Highlands fell, as did Hue and Da Nang. By April 27th the NVA encircled Saigon itself.

Three days later NVA tanks rolled onto the grounds of the Presidential Palace, and the war was over.

Neither anniversary is worthy of celebration. Hitler's death didn't stop the war, and it denied the world the chance to see justice served at Nurenburg. Vietnam's capitulation was a victory for communism and the harbinger of 're-education camps" that stretched the horrors of the war past its official end.

Of course, we can go on about the lessons we learned from both. From WWII we learned that intervention wasn't only wise but humane; a stronger stance at Munich might have prevented the disaster that shaped a century. A quarter century of military adventures were spawned from that argument.

Conversely, from Vietnam we took away the lesson that intervention was fraught with peril and uncertainty - for some, even immorality. For another quarter century we balked at the idea of stepping overseas.

Because of those two moments in time we are who and what we are. On one hand we area nation dedicated to a quest to disable our enemies before they have the chance to hit us (again). On the other hand, we are a country that endlessly debates the wisdom and morality of that stance.

It's no secret I'm more comfortable with the former.

I can't recall a single case in history where weakness or indecision worked for the benefit of a nation - especially a country already marked for destruction because of its very existence. Better to strike first then endure another 9/11, and better to wage a war on foreign soil than on our own.

That being said, I'm not displeased that the issue is up for debate.

Not because of any lovesick nod to the Constitution, but because the debate makes me more confident. Confident that we aren't going to trip blindly into every argument between nations, confident that we aren't going to commit ourselves with one hand tied behind our back, confident that if we are in the wrong, the American people are going to let the government know.

Future generations will draw on the lessons we craft from this era. May they find the results more hopeful than those we learned in Saigon and Berlin.

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BAK

It seems I was silent longer than I realized. Fear not, I'm still around. I've been busy with a slew of (routine) doctor visits, preparation for my son's baptism party, and a fierce debate in the comments section of ColdHearted Truth's American Idol Blog (for the record: Constantine deserved to go. Good riddance).

I dread the idea of following up a post about suicide with one about . . . well, another suicide. But it's the 30th, and for all intents and purposes the post's subject expires (no pun intended) after today.

I'll catch up on the mandatory daddy-blog stuff later this weekend.

Ciao

 

Dan

The Post about Suicide April 24th

I was feeling pretty blue today, and my mind drifted to the idea of suicide.

Not my own, mind you, or even that of anyone in particular. Just a general, sobering thought that a person has to be experiencing something God awful - a hundred times what I felt - to even contemplate such an act.

That, in turn, brought to mind a conversation I'd had maybe ten years ago. While it might seem a bit out of character, the truth is I thought rehashing it might do someone in trouble a bit of good.

Yes that right: welcome to my first (and probably last) Public Good Deed.

A long time ago, when the world was new and I still thought the future held riches and fame (but should have known better) I had a pretty decent job.

One of my co-workers, an aspiring architectural student, was involved in a motorcycle crash that temporarily put him in a coma with head injuries.

When he woke up, he no longer wanted to be an architect.

He also no longer wanted to be a man.

All this was before my time, but recent enough that fellow co-workers still gossiped about how he left for vacation a man and returned a woman.

I always questioned the decision. Not just for the obvious reasons, but because I wondered how much the crash had affected his reasoning.

Certainly it still played havoc with her life, as she was often sidelined with severe headaches.

I doubted life was very easy for her, and one day she admitted it.

After telling me her life story - but omitting any reference to gender - she told me she contemplated suicide on a daily basis.

She was lying; she thought about it far more often.

Not long before that I'd taken a friend to the hospital following a suicide attempt, and the subject still hit close to home.

So I asked her what stopped her from going through with it.

It was out of line she had every right to tell me to go to hell.

Instead, she told me some very good advice.

"Every day I woke up and wanted to kill myself," she said. "And every day I said no, I can't. And it didn't help, and sooner or later I was going to do it."

"So finally I gave myself permission to go ahead," she said. "I said to myself, just shut up and do it. But first I had to meet one condition."

"I had to go a week - seven whole days - without thinking, not even for a split second, that I wanted to live."

"A lot of times I'd go five, six days before I had to start over. Once I made it six and a half, and I thought 'this is it'."

"But it never happened. I'd see a movie preview and think 'I'd like to see that', or laugh at a dumb joke, and I'd be angry that. I'd have to start over"

I asked her how long this 'contract' had lasted.

"I'm at three and a half days right now," she said.

Without question, someone in a similar situation needs to seek medical help. Yet I think there's a kernel of genius in her approach.

In the course of a week - 168 hours - there has to be something - anything - that proves that life is worth living.

An upcoming episode of a TV show, the onset of spring, a good meal - whatever it takes.

Because life is too precious to waste on one bad decision.

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What's your opinion?

Ok, back on the 6th? my oldest took her spring pics at school, and on Wednesday she returned with a whole packet of this picture. We didn't order them; turns out they were given to her by mistake, and yes, they were returned.

(I suppose, given that it sidesteped the need to buy them, I shouldn't have scanned the pic either. Ethics and all.  But what's the point of being Catholic if you can't take advantage of confession and sin with impunity once in awhile?)

Anyhow, so far everyone - including both the Mrs. and her teacher - hate the pic, saying my daughter looks mean and smug.

I'm not sure the reduced-for-the-web copy of the picture gives an adequate looksie, so peer carefully.

I agree she looks a little Teresa Heinz Kerry in the photo. So what? It's about the polar opposite of her best pictures, but I still dig it. Who says you have to have a big grin in every photo?

Care to give me your two cents?

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Family Update

Normally, I post a commentary every two or three days and try to fill the gap with casual, light hearted fare I find on the web.

That, or I resort to the dreaded "mommy/daddy" school of blogging.

Well, I wanted to post this yesterday but held off because (theoretically) two employers will be checking the site in the near future for proof of my writing skill.

But I can't resist any longer.

Yesterday I took my walking tax deductions in for a checkup and came back with some nifty numbers.

Parker, at just over six weeks old, has gone from 7#,10oz and 20.25 inches long to a mammoth 10 pounds 8 ounces and 21.5 inches long.

Told ya he's been eating - and he's still 12 ounces less than I weighed at birth.

His oldest sister  - at almost exactly three and a half years old - is 34 lbs and 40 inches tall.

The last little rugrat, at around 23 months old, is 25 lbs and 32 inches tall.

Aside from a small iron defeciency in the 23 month old the kids are in great health.

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The Post about the Swingset April 19th

So today being payday, and with all the benefits of direct deposit fully in place, I woke up to discover my wife had gone shopping.

"Come and help me carry this to the backyard" she said.

'This' was a seven-foot box containing four metal legs, a support beam, a trapeze bar, two swings, a teeter-totter, and a slide.

In short, a swingset.

It wasn't much of a surprise, as my wife had been pushing to buy one for weeks. I admit I didn't see the need as we're two blocks away from a park and a mere block from a playground, but hey, it could've been worse.

She could have bought it the day after I threw out my back.

Oh, that's right. She did.

[personal note: I could boast of injuring myself in a manly motorcycle wreck, but the truth is far more Dannyesque. I threw out my back at a rummage sale. While picking up a tricycle. A pink tricycle.]

Fortunately, once the box was in the backyard my obligation was at an end. My wife's long since given up on me being any use when a problem calls for tools. Instead she called my family and asked for help.

From my sister.

[personal note #2: If you believe this in any way bothers or shames me, you're wrong. Pride, you'll remember, is one of the seven deadly sins.]

I was perfectly content sitting on the back porch, directing their efforts and enjoying having two kids away at Grandma's, when the whole thing turned ugly.

The neighbors to the right came out into the backyard. The folks to my left did the same. My daughter's friends showed up.

Suddenly the project was an episode of Extreme Makeover: Home Edition and Ty Pennington was sitting on his keister letting his wife and sister take the credit.

Share the limelight, I cannot do.

Naturally, the assembly was a mess. The hardware came in one large bag, devoid of any parts list or order. The instructions were 20 pages long, held together by a staple in the corner, and conveniently printed out of order.

Nowhere did they tell you what tools were required; I didn't find out I needed a hammer until Step 7 finished with 'hammer in place'. I stared blankly at some pages until I realized they'd included instructions for optional equipment.

Toilet Paper comes with more detailed instructions.

Not good.

And then came the Danny moments. I lost the bit for our electric screwdriver and misplaced the be-all-and-end all Allen wrench (recovered when I bribed my daughter to crawl across the lawn searching for it.). I installed the legs backwards, voiding an hour of work.

At one point I ran like a ninny when a bumble bee stumbled onto the construction site.

I say again, pride is a sin.

After four hours of this I volunteered to take my daughter to dance class. From their waiting room I called my wife to say that, with gas prices being what they are, it just wasn't worth going home for an hour.

But you keep plugging away hon.

[personal note #3: Say what you will, what I lack in skill I make up for in pure cane Sugah. Before we went home I stopped and bought my wife a CD, which my daughter gave her as a thank-you.]

Six hours after we started it was done, and for all the trouble, the kid seems to love it.

All that was left was to throw out the packing materials.

And the leftover pipe, washers, and screws I'd hidden in the box.

 

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ps. Thanks to my sister Katie for helping the Mrs. tackle that monster.

Just for kicks

I'm a big Led Zeppelin fan, and as we all know I also put a lot of stock into my faith. To some this looks hypocritical, and a few friends have questioned how I can call myself christian and still listen to a band with [alleged] satanic ties. Well, the answer is simple:

Zep rocks baby!

Seriously, I don't buy the urban myths, and I don't care if Jimmy Page once dallied with the occult. That was thirty years ago, and folks mellow and change. For Pete's sake, thirty years ago I was in diapers and craving my mother's milk. 

Sure, I never got over it, but most people do . . .

Which leads me to this site, which along with other songs plays Zep's Stairway to Heaven backwards to transcribe a famous diabolical message.

http://jeffmilner.com/backmasking.htm

I still think it's bogus.

A) I've played it backwards and not heard a thing at home, so it might be a case of someone messing with the track for the site 

 B) really, what would be the point of putting any message out there that requires you to play a song backwards to hear it?

 If that's the best form of communication the Dark Side can come up with, the good guys should have KO'd  'em a long time ago.

And just wait 'til you hear what Britney Spears has on her record . . .

 

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The Post about the Archdiocese Sex-Abuse Policy April 16th

The Catholic Archdiocese of Milwaukee took what appears to be an extraordinary step against pedophiles last week.

The new policy covers more than 500 members of the clergy and subjects them to searches, travel restrictions, and monitoring if a church official is known or suspected to have engaged in 'inappropriate activity".

Included among these restrictions:

• Suspect clergy are subject to unscheduled home searches 24/7, including areas like closets and desks not in plain view.
• They are required to get approval for travel, and must be accompanied by a person approved by the program managers
• They may be forced to move to a residence chosen by the archbishop
• They are forbidden to own a computer and restricted in the use of one. All computers are subject to search.
• They are required to keep a mileage log that includes their destination, a list which will be checked against the odometer regularly
• The names of offenders will continue to be made public

There are more restrictions, and they don't pertain solely to suspected pedophiles. Clergy suspected of drug or alcohol abuse, gambling, and those involved in consensual relationships after taking a vow of celibacy are also included..

But it doesn't take a biblical scholar to identify the true target.

For too many people it's a case of too little, too late. Years of silence on the subject not only destroyed the lives of survivors, it's tarnished the reputation of the Church more than memories of the Crusades or the Inquisition ever could.

Milwaukee certainly wasn't immune to the problem. A handful of local priests, including one from a nearby parish, were identified as predators - some of long standing.

In the late '80's there was a beloved student counselor at my high school, one I ran into several times.

A role model to many as one of the few African-American priests in the diocese, he was adored for adopting several young boys from third world countries.

Years later it was revealed he was a serial abuser, one with even less shame than others of his ilk: he once stood accused of molesting a boy who turned to him for guidance while his mother lay dying. ****

Even the previous Archbishop was engaged in scandal, albeit of a different nature.

In 2002 it was revealed that the Archdiocese had paid nearly a half a million dollars to a man who accused former Archbishop Rembert Weakland of assaulting him while a graduate student. Judging by contemporary letters the affair was in all likelihood consensual, but it shook the faithful of this area to their core.

Will the new policy make sure these errors aren't repeated? Advocacy groups have reacted with surprise and approval, although one group hinted it went too far in treating all clergy as if they were guilty.

"The Patriot Act of the Milwaukee Archdiocese," said Terry Ryan, founder of Voice of the Faithful, a group formed because of the abuse scandal.

Perhaps it does unfairly punish the innocent by painting pedophiles and alcoholics with the same brush, but I would argue that with a few tweaks it's worth it. Certainly it can't be the biggest sacrifice involved in devoting oneself to the Church.

And if it helps weed out those who hurt the flock and help restore faith in the Church, then it deserves their support.

Personally, I would go one step farther. Excommunicate anyone wearing a collar who is found guilty of harming a child, Christian forgiveness be damned.

After all, is there any greater corruption of Jesus' name than to use it to hurt a child?

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**** Although he was found 'not guilty' by a trial jury, the Milwaukee Archdiocese reviewed claims against Fr. Marv Knighton and found that there was a "preponderance of evidence" that Knighton committed sexual abuse. Normally, I would bow to the jury's decision and not name the accused, but because of the Archdiocese's ruling I have chosen to go ahead with the information. http://seattlepi.nwsource.com/local/186956_priestlitany19.html

Read the complete documents at: www.jsonline.com/links/priests

For Jonah, Napoleon Dynamite's biggest fan

News of this has been circulating in blogdom. The last - but not the first - time I saw a link to it was on Coldhearted Truth.

And no, I couldn't get it to look any prettier without spending waaay too much time on a throwaway post.

Behold, the work of the lawful rulers of Idaho:

                                                                                                                        
                                                                                        
      Be It Resolved by the Legislature of the State of Idaho:
                                                                        
         WHEREAS,  the  State of Idaho recognizes thevision, talent and creativity
      of Jared and Jerusha Hess in the writing and  production  of  "Napoleon  Dyna-
     mite"; and

  WHEREAS,  the scenic and beautiful City of Preston, County of Franklin and
      the State of Idaho are experiencing increased tourism and economic growth; and
      

WHEREAS, filmmaker Jared Hess is a native Idahoan who was educated in  the
    Idaho public school system; and
       

WHEREAS,  the  Preston  High School administration and staff, particularly
   the cafeteria staff, have enjoyed notoriety and worldwide attention; and
       

 WHEREAS, tater tots figure prominently in this film thus promoting Idaho's
   most famous export; and
      

WHEREAS,  the  friendship  between  Napoleon  and  Pedro   has   furthered
    multiethnic relationships; and
      

WHEREAS,  Uncle Rico's football skills are a testament to Idaho athletics;
   and
       

 WHEREAS, Napoleon's bicycle and Kip's skateboard promote better air  qual-
   ity  and  carpooling  as alternatives to fuel-dependent methods of transporta-
    tion; and
       

 WHEREAS, Grandma's trip to the St. Anthony Sand Dunes highlights  a  long-
   honored Idaho vacation destination; and
     

  WHEREAS,  Rico  and Kip's Tupperware sales and Deb's keychains and glamour
    shots promote entrepreneurism and self-sufficiency in Idaho's small towns; and
     

   WHEREAS, Napoleon's artistic rendition of Trisha  is  an  example  of  the
   importance of the visual arts in K-12 education; and
      

 WHEREAS,  the schoolwide Preston High School student body elections foster
    an awareness in Idaho's youth of public service and civic duty; and
       

 WHEREAS, the "Happy Hands" club and the requirement  that  candidates  for
    school  president  present  a  skit is an example of the importance of theater
    arts in K-12 education; and
       

WHEREAS, Pedro's efforts to bake a cake for Summer illustrate the positive
    connection between culinary skills to lifelong relationships; and
       

 WHEREAS, Kip's relationship with LaFawnduh is a tribute to e-commerce  and
    Idaho's technology-driven industry; and
      

  WHEREAS,  Kip  and LaFawnduh's wedding shows Idaho's commitment to healthy
    marriages; and
       

 WHEREAS, the prevalence of cooked steak as a primary food group pays trib-
    ute to Idaho's beef industry; and
      

  WHEREAS, Napoleon's tetherball  dexterity  emphasizes  the  importance  of
    physical education in Idaho public schools; and
       

 WHEREAS,  Tina  the  llama,  the  chickens with large talons, the 4-H milk
          cows, and the Honeymoon Stallion showcase Idaho's animal husbandry; and
      

  WHEREAS, any members of the House of Representatives or the Senate of  the
    Legislature  of the State of Idaho who choose to vote "Nay" on this concurrent
      resolution are "FREAKIN' IDIOTS!" and run the risk of having the "Worst Day of
     Their Lives!"

         NOW, THEREFORE, BE IT RESOLVED by the members of the First Regular Session  of the Fifty-eighth Idaho Legislature, the House of  Representatives  and  the Senate concurring therein, that we commend Jared and Jerusha Hess and the City of  Preston  for  showcasing the positive aspects of Idaho's youth, rural cul-
    ture, education system, athletics, economic prosperity and diversity.
       

 BE IT FURTHER RESOLVED that we, the members of the  House  of  Representa-
    tives  and  the  Senate  of the State of Idaho,advocate always following your3    heart, and thus we eagerly await the next  cinematic  undertaking  of  Idaho's
   Hess family.

And lest you fear this is a waste of money: FISCAL NOTE There is no fiscal impact to the general fund.

 

More Proof of My Dorkdom

Never before in history has a man of my beauty been so prone to nerdom.

Ever since I was five or six years old I've thought about going around Milwaukee, photographing all the remaining billboards painted on the side of brick buildings.

For all I know this is a universal phenomenom, but they've disappeared in the last quarter century here.

My goal, therefore, was to record them for all time in a coffee table book before the elements destroyed them.

As it is, this is the only one I've ever shot, taken today while driving with the girls.

Parker Update April 13th

Here's a pic of Parker, age 1 month 6 days, as he held his head up long enough for me to find the camera, turn it on, and shoot four or five pics before getting this one.  Not bad for a kid his age.

He's also eating a whole lot more than his sister's ever did. Tuesday he chugged 32 ounces over the course of the day. Yikes.

And here's a pic of me sleeping with him - don't worry, he spends most of his naps in his crib.

 

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One of those forwarded email gimmicks

My Mom, of all people, sent me a cool 'FWD:' email today. 

Nothing all that grand about it, but if you enter your birthdate in the pop up window that appears when you follow the link you'll get an interesting little summary of who's older and younger than you in the world.

http://www.frontiernet.net/~cdm/age1.html

Disgustingly, Alanis Morissette is two months younger than I am. Aside from her millions, she has what - five albums? - under her belt. 

I should have fudged my birthdate.

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Congrats to Tre

On this fine Wisconsin day I'm pleased to extend congrats to my good friend Tre, who just received word that he'll be moving on to a bigger and better job.

Best of luck!

The Post about Women's Hygiene April 12th

After years of careful study I've identified the segment of the media that works to inflict the most damage on our view of women.

It isn't rap videos, and it's not The Bachelor.

It not those miscast sitcoms with the fat, homely husband and the hot young wife.

It's women's hygiene commercials.

Say there's a strapping, handsome young man - just for convenience we'll call him Dan, because it's so true to life - and somehow he's never had close contact with a female of the species.

Sadly, also true for most of my life.

Dan sits down and watches some television. In only a few hours he sees commercials for:

Assorted tampons, maxi-pads, panty liners, panty liners with wings, seven, three, and one day yeast infection cream, birth control pills, the birth control patch, feminine deodorant spray, pregnancy tests, ovulation tests, menopause treatments, perimenopause treatments, bladder control aids, osteoporosis medicine, and good old fashioned Sure deodorant.

The poor guy probably thinks women are a sickly, jumbled, smelly mess.

Why would the media want to portray a half-truth like that?

[And that's without bringing in the big guns - the constant Valtrex commercials where the attractive actress is proud to announce: "I don't let genital herpes get me down."

You go girl.

And good luck picking up a date.]

Men, on the other hand, are represented only twice: when the world's scientists make a major breakthrough in shaving technology (like, you know, adding aloe to shaving cream) and in ads for athlete's foot medicine.

I'm not too keen on imagining John Madden with an itchy burning rash, but at least the only gooey cream involved comes from a pharmacy.

Now to be fair things are out of balance. There should be a score of men's hygiene products on TV, from a patch for plumber's crack, undies immune to racing stripes, or little floating targets that give us a sporting chance in the bathroom.

[from the TMI file: forget the floating targets; the bowl cleaner on the rim of the toilet does the job just fine. It's like getting two products for the price of one!]

It's not just about numbers though. It's the way women's products are presented.

If I were to wake up one morning and find things out of sorts you-know-where, I would not ask a friend for product advice over a warm cup of tea. I would not consult my parents, my clergy, or my alderman.

Frankly, unless there was a danger of amputation, I would be loathe to tell a doctor.

You can chalk this up to male pig-headness all you want. You can say that men are not comfortable with their body, or that they are emotionally inhibited and incapable of true friendship.

Well I'm plenty comfortable with my body - after all, no one else wants it - and I know the meaning of true friendship,

It means I'd slap any friend who told me about the wonders of new odor-free Stayfree.

Frankly, women are too comfortable discussing this stuff. What focus group thought to invade a grocery store and ask women about their feminine odor? Who are these people, and why are they massaging a maxi-pad during my dinner?

I've been married a long time. I've been sent out to buy enough of these products to keep an all-girls school stocked for a semester. With two daughters I know it'll only get worse.

What I ask, I ask not for myself, but for the image of women everywhere:

If you have to advertise the stuff, can you do it when I'm not watching?

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Okay, I goofed

I think I screwed myself. A few days ago I tinkered with my journal and  made it 'private' for all of maybe an hour. 
 
Thatmishap ended any automatic feeds that were linked to the journal through AOL itself. 
 
If I'm wrong, or if you never had one, then ignore this post.

But if you once received email updates from Slapinions, you'll have to sign up all over again.

Sorry

 

Update from AOL

In my earlier post about AOL Journals I mentioned an AOL-Staffer's website that skirted one of AOL's ugliest features. I wrote this member asking how to do it myself.

Here's her answer:

Good afternoon, Dan. Thanks for your email. This was a unique Journal we did specifically for the NetGirl blog. AOL is working on the product so that members like yourself can add more "personality" to your Journal. More information should be available at KW Journals in the upcoming months. If you have any more questions or comments feel free to email me.   Sincerely,   -----  

Okay, so I was wrong. But I'm sending her a link to my post to get my input heard by the powers-that-be.