It ain't all pizzas and cream

Can we move on now, please?

A recent Associated Press AOL poll asked approximately 1000 respondents to name the biggest villain of 2006, an honor taken easily by George W. Bush with 25% of the vote.  Bush handily beat second-place finisher Osama Bin Laden, who garnered a mere 8% of the vote.  Satan himself finished back in the pack (as, ironically, did Hugo Chavez).  Does anyone smell sulphur?

But take heart, Bushies!  Our fearless leader also won in the "biggest hero" category, tho he took only 13% of the votein that category.

My vote for biggest villain...?   The idiot who came up with the survey.

Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas!

Just a quick post to wish all a happy and safe holiday!

For my father, who would have been 74 Christmas Eve

Ask anyone who has taken a bullet

and heard the doctors say it’s too dangerous

to remove and you’ll know that grief too

is an uneasy marriage, lacking in courtship

or permission.  It digs in, nestles beyond the reach

of scalpels and the kind intentions of friends,

becomes a second pulse, ticking there.   

At night, when the world turns slowly

in its dreams, you can feel it, an echo.

But this is not all bad. Sometimes

when it rains, there is the soothing clink

of piano keys, like ice in a glass

swirling just beyond the heart.

Gastricus Monstrositus

Sorry for the long absence, but the entire family's been sidelined with a severe bout of stomach flu.  Trust me when I say I have not been this sick since I quit drinking.  And for anyone who remembers my drinking days, you know I wasn't shy of bottles or bars. 

The cause was apparently what is called a "norovirus," named after an outbreak of stomach flure in Norwalk Ohio, about 30 years ago, and the pathogen most commonly associated with cruise ship cases of widespread gastritis.  Unlike most viruses, which must be present at a rate of 10,000 parts per million to cause disease symptoms, norovirus requires only 100 parts per million.  So basically, if you're even in the same room with someone who says "norovirus," you're probably already infected. 

Fucker.

The only good news is that because Cecily got thew bug first, the baby had the benefit of Cecily's antibodies and so seemed to fight it off in less than the 72 puke-filled hours it took me.  We're all on the mend now, and can hopefully enjoy the holiday with friends and family.

OK,  enough.

___________________________________________________________________________

And on to today's quiz question:

Why has President Bush chosen not to reveal his plan for Iraq until after the Christmas holiday?
(a) Because he doesn't want to ruin everyone's Xmas by telling thousands of reservist families that the U.S. will increase its military presence in Iraq by at least 30,000 troops.
(b) He's still looking up the correct spelling of "retreat".
(c) Plan?  What plan?  We don't need no stinking plan!

Castaway Cat

Remember the Tom Hanks film Castaway? He's a  FedEx worker missing for 4 years on a deserted South Pacific island after the plane he's on crashes in a storm.  Then he's suddenly rescued from a home-made raft and must reintegrate himself into society, even tho his fianceé has married the family dentist. 

OK, now make Hanks a chubby and inept cat and replace the desert island with a quiet suburban community of driveways and azalia bushes, and you've got what happened to our cat, Dylan (a.k.a. Dilly, a.k.a. Titus Dillo [after the character Titus Pullo in the HBO series Rome]...don't ask).

He wandered off from the backyard (honestly I don't know how he managed to squeeze thru the chainlink fence) on the night of October 7th.  I put up signs in the neighborhood but got no response.  I even asked the mailman if he'd noticed a fat white-n-gray cat who walks with a limp (tho that description sounds more like Sydney Greenstreet in the Maltese Falcon).  But no luck (finding Greenstreet or the cat).

After awhile, Cecily and I just came to believe that old Dillo had wandered into traffic (he's not what you'd think of as a survivalist), and some homeowner had strolled out one morning to get the Sunday paper, found the cat squashed along the curb, and set the old boy out with the next day's trash.  And slowly we began to think of ourselves as a two-cat-one-dog household.  After a month or so, we threw out Dillo's litter pan,  and I even made up a little song about his disappearance (sung to the tune of Groucho Marx's "Captain Spalding")...

His name is Titus Dillo.
He might just be roadkill.  Oh,
I cry into my pillow
Every night 'n' day.

His name is Titus Dillo.
He's gone off to Boot Hill.  Oh,
I'm weeping like a willow
Since he went away.

Then yesterday a neighbor told me he'd seen a poster for a found cat that looked alot like my description of Dilly.  Sure enough, when I investigated, it was him.  A bit thinner and more haggard than usual, but definitely Dillo.  So I called the number and spoke with a very nice lady named June who told me she'd been feeding him outside on her back porch for 3 weeks and that he'd been holed up in an abandoned garage nearby.  Now for a cat I had not credited with many survival skills, 60 days in the wilderness is not too shabby. 

So yesterday afternoon, with baby Tori in tow, I went to pick up Dilly.  He seemed not to know me at first, and when I called him by name, he seemed, well, offended (as in, that is my slave name, you will not speak it).  But I piled him into the carrier, gave June a few bucks for her trouble, and took the old boy home. 

He's been sleeping under my desk most of the time since then, making the occasional sojourn to the food and litter room.  I'm not sure he's happy to be back.  As for the other pets: Hammer couldn't care less (I don't think he noticed Dylan's absence) and Annie (a.k.a. The Kitten) has protested Dillo's return with two major craps, one in the kitchen, the other in the baby's room.

F Troop back to normal.

The only thing I don't know, is how to amend the song.

"Postwar magic"

So lately I've been collecting clocks, more specifically, Telechron electric clocks. Couldn't resist this recent ofering on eBay at $15.01.  This version of the "Glamour" as it was called (Telechron had a fondness for giving each of its many ecclectic styles catchy names) was first produced in 1947.  This particular example is in fine shape for its age, and has received a bit of TLC (including a new cord) in its lifetime. 

Anyone curious about Telechron clocks can click the link to learn more, and be sure to browse Pappy's complete photo roster and buyer's guide.  A word of caution to anyone thinking of collecting vintage electronics -- beware of fakes and Frankenstein chop-jobs.  There are alot out there. 

This one's a true Telechron, and will probably go into the baby's room, because of the "starry night" design. 

But they never tell you the good stuff...

There's a strange phenomenon that seems to surround new parents.  To illustrate, try a little experiment...announce to a crowd of strangers or casual acquaintances that a new baby is on the way, and listen to the responses. 

Here are a few I got:
"Oh your life's gonna change forever." [and not in a good way]
"Forget about sleep for a few months."
"Get used to staying home...forever."

And if you already have a newborn, you might hear:
"They'll run you ragged."
"Wait'll she starts talking back."
"Has she learned to say 'no' yet?"

It's like these people have all been sentenced by their children to Devil's Island and can only find joy by increasing the scope of their unhappiness.  Who are their kids anyway, Godzilla and Rodan?

Oddly, family and real friends NEVER say these things.   They say:
"How wonderful!"
"Congratulations!" ...and...
"Let me know if you need a hand."

But over the years I let myself become frightened of parenting by the sighs and headshaking of the Devil's Islanders.  And I could kick myself for listening to them.  For not shoving a gasoline-soaked sock in their mouths.

Because one belly laugh from my little girl can make every dull, painful, sad, or torturous moment I've ever experienced melt quicker than icecream in the sun.  And if any prospective parents ask my opinion, here is what I will tell them:  That each time I look into my daughter's face it is like seeing the ocean for the first time.