13 June 2005 (#36), (and before ...)

Can't we all just get along?

Well my precious preciouses, apparently not.

Perhaps we don't really want to.

First of all, just as you will be shocked to know that I am not in a coma, I was determined not to let a year go by between entries.

I have considered the blog-sphere. However, I am adverse to traditional shapes such as spheres and boxes. Now talk to me about the blob-sphere and perhaps I'll order you a drink too.

Christenings in South Carolina where I was called upon to be the god-parent to one of my twin nephews. As I don't currently hold a certificate of compliance with my local diocese, the other god parent was required to prove their mettle - luckily she was 15 so she hasn't fallen prey to the rebels yet.

Gracious, what a dreadful film.

Back to beatitudes, the show opened with the priest giving a 5 minute lecture on remembering all the undead on the anniversary of Roe versus Wade.

What an odd choice to precede a christening, puts a little dampness on some of the frivolity as well as a few foreheads.

My brother-in-law - or beau frere as they say in France which sounds so much more familial, he stared right at Mr. Monsignor and stood up (we were in the front row) all 275 pounds and walked out. Meanwhile I wondered if the priest was distracted enough for me to make a grab at the sacrificial wine.

And the poor dear, priest not brother, asked later all innocence and pearls, if he had said something to offend the beau frere.

"Oh no darling. He always cries at weddings."

"But this was a christening."


What do they teach them in the Vatican? Obviously manners doesn't rank high.

Then the yearly trip to Seattle for the yearly dinner with the yearly attorneys.

Then an odd trip to South Padre Island. Abattoir and I visited the precursors. Everything was strained but calm until one evening in the smoking section of a rather recalcitrant seafood restaurant.

There was a full page in the wine list explaining why they would never sell french wines again, with the picture of the cemetery at the beached in Normandy.

I hit le toit! We managed to get through a few bottles of the last of their french wine (I insisted) and then staggered off to the car where I am told I managed to evoke the images of September 11th as a Disney extravaganza exploited by the rest of the country in a rather parking-lot piercing tone.

Then I launched into a mess about the proposed Freedom Tower and stumbled off to their condo with shoes in hand.

However, the visit went generally well, despite the fact that some of my family doesn't share my opinion. The parents do so enjoy spending time with people half their age (they are quite a bit older) but they really aren't the $5.95 all you can eat crowd. So a visit from their favorite product usually entails high level dining where you can't wear baseball caps in the dining room, there are usually at minimum 4 pieces of silverware in the correct place at the table and the waiters don't ask you what you ordered when the serve you.

Take it while you can get it dearies, it's going to disappear soon.

So I'll sign off with false promises to be more true and coherent and vigilant and verbose, and you'll just shake you head and sigh with a tinge of pity and desire.