A toast

"I drink it when I'm happy and when I'm sad. Sometimes I drink it when I'm alone. When I have company I consider it obligatory. I trifle with it if I'm not hungry and drink it when I am. Otherwise I never touch it. Unless I'm thirsty."


--Madame Lilly Bollinger, on champagne




But that's not the toast referred to in the title of this post. No. Here's the toast I'll be saying tonight:


"Here's to a kidney stone of a year: painful as hell, and we're glad it's passed."


Happy New Year. I hope tonight finds you surrounded by people you love, and who love you back.

Back to normal

Yep.

The tiki bar outing was splendid, and it's a good thing that people far more articulate and entertaining than I am memorialized it for the ages. People like Coaster Punchman, Johnny Yen (great pictures!) and GKL of Two Minutes in the Box.

Because once I returned to work the next day, it was back to normal. Oh yeah. Normal.

The parents of the girl who decided to casually mention that she was raped as she went off to the psych hospital after a domestic with her parents (she claimed she was raped by her boyfriend, and then went to the mall and walked around with him after they showered together, and decided to report it 2 weeks later when her parents got mad at her) no longer want us to investigate. Believe it or not, we have another, similar, case from about 2 weeks ago, and that victim has not contacted us either (she also disclosed her assault on the way to the psych ward after a domestic disturbance with her mom).

Another sexual assault investigation, involving a 90 year old dementia patient, continues, and hopefully we'll make some progress with it this week. What started as a great lead in an armed robbery we were investigating (a person matching the description of our robber checked into a nearby hotel 20 minutes after the robbery, paid cash for the room, and was on parole for robbery) ended with me yanking the guy off a toilet, naked after he sat there pretending to take a shit as he flushed the dope we didn't care about in the first place, and then realizing he had nothing to do with our robbery. The idiot informed us he had hepatitis C after coughing all over us during the encounter. And did I mention he wasn't our robber?

I spent a good part of this evening standing in a room at a local SRO hotel with the body of a 39 year old man who died some time after Christmas. He was kinda blue-ish and marbly-looking, but not ripe enough to burst yet. We were lucky enough to leave before he had to be transported, so if he popped and oozed when they bagged him, at least we weren't around for it. I got to inform his estranged wife that he had died--he'd been living in this flophouse since they separated pending a divorce. I felt bad for her--she had to break the news to their kids. A little while later I had to reach out to another agency, and some poor cop got sent to his parents' house to tell them their son had died. At least I remembered to wear my raid jacket to the death scene, so I didn't have to go home with my winter jacket smelling of human decomposition.

_____________________

One of the things I do, in between the other stuff, is to look at the crazy letters that come to the department. Some of them are anonymous, some are not. You know the letter is crazy when it arrives--I don't know how to describe this, but the crazy letters just look different. Sometimes it's the extra-tiny handwriting, sometimes it's the typewritten address with no return address on the envelope. It depends.

So, you get one of these letters, and if there's a name or return address you check it out, try and determine if the person poses any threat to anyone or is just one of the legions of the harmless crazy obsessed.

Here's the latest. It was a handwritten screed about an encounter at a local restaurant that somehow seemed to trigger an attack of blisters and boils in the armpits of the writer. He thoughtfully included copies of a typewritten letter he wrote to another police agency 10 years ago by way of reference. Just so we'd understand the severity of this new incident. He also attached photocopies of two photographs. They appeared to be self-taken photos of a man wearing some type of bra. The flash in the mirror, and the poor quality of the photocopy prevented me from figuring out exactly what I was looking at.

Read on:








So, readers, what do you think? Should we go out and meet this "magic dancer" or just file the letter and do nothing else with it? I'm leaning toward filing it.

Well, it's Monday now. First day of the week, last day of the year. Oh boy.

I am a lousy Santa

Let me explain.

Recently, courtesy of Doctor Monkey Von Monkerstein, I signed on to participate in the Zaius and Monkerstein's Simian Secret Santa. I thought it sounded like a swell idea, and I threw my name in on December 22nd when I was full of Christmas vinegar. I was excited to draw the name of one Germaine Gregarious, whose blog I've only just started reading. For that matter, I had only recently taken notice of Zaius Nation, and boy, do I got lots of catching up to do...

Well, I may not be a writer or a strategic sales executive, but I do know how to procrastinate. And doggone it if December 25 didn't come and go without me bestowing a single gift on my target, Germaine Gregarious. I was somewhat relieved when I found out that Ms. Gregarious was my secret Santa, and she was also stylishly late with the gift-giving. And oh, she was something else--she made it through the dogs and concertina wire, past the trap guns, and managed to get into the Compound tiki bar to fix us up a batch of Mai Tais!

But then the paralysis set back in, and I wasn't able to do my Santa thing.

Until tonight.

And really, what does it matter? The days between Christmas and New Year's Eve are the least productive of the year (except around here when we're celebrating Guy Fawkes Day) so being a few days late, hopefully, won't unduly piss off the beautiful and apparently lethal Ms. Gregarious.

_____________________

Well, I know Ms. Gregarious has a thing for pink pistols, and I'm a certified Glock armorer, so I thought the first thing I'd get her, simply as a little lagniappe, was a custom Glock pistol with a nifty tactical light attached:


Then I thought some more. While her Nefarious Lair has plenty of pink pistols already, they seemed to me to be lacking in longer-range firepower. The obvious choice was this perky Hello Kitty .223 carbine:

Then another thought occurred to me. Maybe the fabulous Germaine Gregarious was tired of pink firepower. Maybe she'd appreciate a little something different. Maybe a bright, summery lime green assault rifle, courtesy of the folks at DuraCoat:

I almost regifted, being sorely tempted to help Germaine protect her lair with my own Operation X-500 Rocket Launcher and Defense Base:


But my kids said no way, and I kept the X-500. I mean, come on--wouldn't you?

Finally, as I got to the last few million dollars in my budget (that X-500 is one cost overrun after another) I came up with something fun and practical for Ms. Gregarious.

I decided that I would furnish her with a personal staff, and pay their salaries and all expenses through the next election cycle. And believe me, these gals don't come cheap.

I got her a personal secretary

A research assistant who specializes in doing opposition research

And finally, a highly skilled night nurse, for mending wounds and conserving fighting strength when those secret missions get rough:

Merry Christmas Germaine Gregarious!

Came in late Friday Random Ten

Because the night ended with having to drag an ugly naked man off the toilet, and yet another exposure to hepatitis C. And it wasn't even the right guy. So after washing my hands up to my elbows for a half hour or so, it was time to go out for a drink after work.

Home of the Blues—Johnny Cash

Domino—The Cramps

Ball and Chain—Social Distortion

Downtown—Tom Waits

Alone and Blue—Little Milton

Detroit City—Tom Jones

Jungle Hop—The Cramps

Whip It—Devo

Ace of Spades—Link Wray

I Need Your Lovin' Kiss—Harold Jenkins

Every word of this is true

• I detest smoky bars in general, and tiki bars in particular. Worst places ever for socializing.
• I have a visceral dislike for, and fear of, guns.
• A disastrous home distilling experiment left me with no sense of smell.
• The personal feature of which I am most proud is my ripped washboard abdomen.
• I am a proud conservative and frequently rail against the nanny state.
• I would never lie to you.

You can thank Splotchy for this little exercise in seven untruths.

Today's the day!

It's December 26, and you know what that means.


Happy Boxing Day!


It also means that tonight is the night for all of us in the Chicago area to get together at the fabulous Hala Kahiki Lounge in River Grove, Illinois. MizBubs and I will be there around 7pm, but the lavish awards ceremony for this year's Drysdale winners kicks off some time after 8.


I don't know about you, but I'm hoping I get to sit next to Charo.

You can find directions and more info in this post here.

Merry Christmas baby...

Swag?

Check.

Belly full of food?

Check.

Family?

Check.

Peace on earth, goodwill toward men?

...Well, at least for now, in this little corner of the world, yeah.

Merry Christmas.

Helpful last-minute gift ideas for children

For those of you who have put off shopping for your nieces or nephews, here are some clever last-minute ideas. Each of these is meant to encourage and expand a young person's interest in science; these gifts are thrifty AND educational! All of these items can be had at whatever Walgreen's or Jewels is open late on Christmas Eve.

Give them a big bottle of Diet Coke and some Mentos. Watch what happens.

Give them a big bag of marshmallows, and instructions on how to cook them in their parent's microwave oven. If you're feeling really generous, give them that old microwave oven that you keep down in the basement.

Give them a box of baking soda, a bottle of vinegar and some red food dye. It's volcano time!

Believe me, their parents will thank you!

Merry Christmas!

December 26 post-holiday choir practice

Remember folks, December 26 is right around the corner, and that means:

• Deep discounts on Christmas decorations, gift wrap and greeting cards!
• Special day-after-Christmas sales at your favorite stores!
• Back to work, you.
• It's time for a lovely informal gathering of all your favorite bloggers!

Chris at Some Guy's Blog has featured this event, and this year Mr. Grant Miller of Grant Miller Media will be hosting a lavish award ceremony to recognize this year's Drysdale Award winners.

This year we'll be meeting at the fabulous Hala-Kahiki Lounge at 2834 River Road in River Grove. The Hala-Kahiki is the oldest tiki bar in the Chicago area, and features a wonderful assortment of reasonably-priced exotic drinks, as well as your standard beers and hard liquors for the less adventurous.

MizBubs and I plan on arriving around 7 pm, but it looks like most of the really cool kids won't get there until closer to 8pm. The lavish award ceremony is scheduled to kick off then.

For those of you taking public transportation, it looks like you could take the 331 PACE bus from the Cumberland Avenue El stop. You can see the CTA System Map here. Metra's Milwaukee District West line stops at River Grove, .8 mile away from the Hala Kahiki. You can see the station on this map:


View Larger Map

If anyone needs a lift to or from the Metra station, email me and let me know.

Hope everyone gets through the next couple of days healthy and happy. See you Wednesday night!

Baby it's cold outside

Best way to keep your honey warm? Pour it into a mug full of hot tea, lemon and bourbon to fight off the cold you're coming down with...

Santa Claus is back in town

Just ask Elvis. Here he is to tell you all about it:

Wish You a Nice Weekend

I know it's not holiday-themed, but I still think it's a nice thought.

I must make amends

I was in a dark and troubled place when I subjected you all to those scary Santas.

Please allow me, in the few days I have left before Christmas, to make amends. You know, like when Ebeneezer Scrooge buys a goose and runs around making merry, only I'm getting started before Christmas Eve. I don't need ghostly visits to make me get my act together. No sir.

Allow me to begin with a Santa who's altogether more pleasing to the eye:

Enough with the scary Santas...

It's morning now, and the days will be getting longer. The long night of the Santas is over.

I just found out that there's a good collection of Santa pictures over at the Chicago Tribune web page. That's where this morning's bug-eyed Uncle Fester Santa came from.

Most of the earlier photos came from the Scared of Santa Gallery from the South Florida Sun-Sentinel web page. The Scared of Santa Gallery features, in my humble opinion, a better collection of Santas. Of course, it's a Florida paper, so they should know scary.

It's just about time to head in for work. Only two more days to go. I hope nothing else comes up between now and Christmas Eve.

My Christmas spirit took a beating this week, but fought back hard, and I think with a little cookie baking, present wrapping and bourbon-soaked eggnogg I should recover ok before the holiday.

Enjoy the weekend!

Longest night of the year

One time there was this horrible Santa who would try and entertain the children by showing them his fake wooden eye.

Longest night of the year...

Keenan Wynn was a disaster as Santa Claus.

Longest night of the year

Motel lounge Santa smells like Ron Jeremy.

Longest night of the year

There's always one kid in the bunch who tries to pretend that nothing is wrong. You know the type.

Law Enforcement Quote of the Week: Yuletide Edition

"It's a good thing he didn't wait around, because I think Santa would have laid him out."

--Sgt. Travis Welsh, Missoula Police Department, referring to Clint Westwood, after Westwood was arrested for throwing a pie at a mall Santa.

More SUPER # 1 Santa Whale Photo for making Christmas Joy!

Santa Whale makes Christmas joy by kissing pretty girl scientist!



Here Santa Whales have holiday fun together!

Santa Whale big in Japan!

Freak of the Week: Yuletide edition

It's time for a new freak of the week, and Australia has obligingly provided an excellent yule season candidate.

"It is believed the man was harassing neighbours and passers-by while parading around in female underwear and a Santa hat," Victoria Police spokeswoman Senior Constable Cassy Stone said.

It did not end well for the unnamed cross-dressing Santa. He was pepper-sprayed by the police and then jumped to his death from a 14th floor balcony.

Runners-up:

21 year old Tan Wen Zhong of Singapore gets points for wearing a pink bikini and for having a collection of 46 pairs of women's underwear, discovered when police searched his residence. Mr. Zhong pled guilty to "outraging the modesty" of the woman who shared the lift with him and "fraudulent possession of women's underwear".

He fell short, however, having not worn any festive Christmas-related headgear during his offenses.

33 year old Sandrama Lamy of Danbury, Connecticut was apparently trying to work out some daddy issues when she groped a 65 year old Santa at her local shopping mall. The initial report to mall security was that the mall Santa "had been sexually assaulted." Police located and identified Ms. Lamy quickly, as she was on crutches. She gets points for being a woman (women are notoriously under-represented in freak of the week) but loses points for not making any wacky statements to the media.

_____________________

There's a difference between being a freak, and just being an asshole. Mr. Clint Westwood, a 22 year old drama student at University of Montana, was arrested for throwing a pie in Santa's face as a girl sat in Santa's lap. Westwood was filming the prank for a documentary film he's making titled "My Crazy Life", and also planned to include footage of himself urinating while seated on Santa's lap. Westwood says he took up acting because his name is so similar to Clint Eastwood's.

Uh-oh

Wake me when it's over...

I don't really mean that. But kind of, I do.

Wake me when it's Christmas morning, all groggy and excited. Hey, at the very least, wake me day after tomorrow, because tomorrow is a day I'd rather sleep through.

I'm supposed to do an 8 hour defensive tactics class, followed by a shower and a quick change into party clothes for our annual detective unit party, which, this year, I'd just rather not go to. I just don't feel like it. Don't feel like getting up at 5:30 am to teach, don't feel like having to run home to clean up and change, don't feel like socializing with my coworkers. But I will.

Today disappeared.

Seriously, I woke up early enough and thought I had everything under control, and it just disappeared. Cooking, laundry, and 5 hours of trying to get video editing software to work so our youngest can do an extra credit project for her Spanish class. It's a damn good video, from what I've seen--it involves dinosaurs speaking Spanish at the intersection. Sadly, nothing worked, and so after a whole afternoon spent wrestling with the computer, and MizBubs, girl dynamo, running out to Best Buy to buy the newest version of software, we got nothing.

At least we had a good dinner: chicken breasts stuffed with prosciutto and swiss cheese, cabbage braised in red wine...tasty.

And we have a Sunday afternoon cocktail: the Caipirinha. We visited Binny's Saturday afternoon and bought our first bottle of Leblon Cachaca; they even threw in a recipe book and a muddler. The Caipirinha is a simple drink, muddled lime and sugar with Cachaca. Delicious.


Splotchy left for New Orleans today, to build houses for New Orleans Area Habitat For Humanity. He's doing good works, and I wish I was going with him. Hopefully, this year, the person sleeping next to him in the dorm won't be another FartMaster 3000. He had the misfortune, when we were down there last year gutting houses, to be stuck next to a guy who was both the most flatulent guy in the tent, as well as the loudest snorer. I dubbed the guy "FartMaster3000" and after a couple of days none of us could remember his real name any more.

Anyway, think about Splotchy this week, and if you want a charity to throw some money at this holiday season, seriously think about New Orleans Habitat For Humanity.

I'm hoping Splotchy makes it out on December 26. He's one of the best people you'll ever meet, and his wife is a sweetheart. Don't get me started on how cool their kids are.

It's funny, I got Splotchy heading off to do good deeds in my favorite city, and I been reading Jin's and Katy's accounts of their jaunt to Las Vegas. I'm suddenly struck with a case of travel envy.

Well, that's all for now. Hope everyone had a good weekend.

I'm running out of personal information, 5 facts at a time

There are few things that people don't know about me any more. After responding to a number of memes/tags like this one I feel like there's not much more to reveal. But...when a monkey wearing a fez--especially a monkey doctor wearing a fez--makes a request, you do your damnedest to honor it.

Here goes:


1) At one time in my life I wanted to be a Civil War reenactor. I was always kind of a history geek when I was a kid, I loved acting, I lived in close proximity to historical sites back east (for a while we lived about 2 miles from where Washington crossed the Delaware) and I was 10 years old before I found out the south lost the Civil War. I used to see reenactments and think how cool it would be to do that on weekends. Now, in some goofy way, I suspect that my participation in my department's honor guard might be some kind of compensation for never having done this.

2) For a short period of time I had nearly shoulder-length hair.

3) I partied with Cindy Crawford in her underwear.

Well, really, I saw her in Sears maternity underwear when I was a photographer's assistant and she was in the early stages of her modeling career. I worked for a studio that did catalog work for Sears. For a while I had a Polaroid of her in that outfit (we shot on large format cameras, and took a Polaroid to check exposure and lighting) but one of the merch boys glommed it.

4) I act like sentimental idiot when I'm talking to my dogs, and like to hold scraps of food in my mouth and let them take it.

5) I convinced my youngest daughter that she would be carried off and raised by badgers if she misbehaved. She believed this until she was about 4 years old, when MizBubs took her to Brookfield Zoo and she saw real badgers for the first time.

I tag anyone who feels like doing this, because I've learned that some folks are irritated by being tagged, but I can't remember who they are and I don't want to risk pissing them off. Me, I don't mind being tagged because I'm a blowhard.

HOLY CRAP IT'S FRIDAY

When I realized it's the weekend already, and only 11 days to Christmas, I felt a lot like the kid in this picture.

HAY SUP indeed.

_____________________

You know, it seems like as good a time as any to get back into posting Friday Random Ten selections. So, here's mine for today:

Peace In The Valley—Elvis Presley

Bonaparte's Retreat—Willie Nelson

Rockin' & Rollin'—Curley Langley & His Western Allstars

Saving All My Love For You—Tom Waits

On The Road—Tom Waits

This Year's Girl—Elvis Costello & The Attractions

Done You Wrong—Danny Mote

Sleeping In—The Postal Service

Crawdad Song—Hal Moore

Swamp Fire—Martin Denny

I love this. The first song, appropriately enough, is from Elvis, and it's one of my favorite gospel tunes of his. Johnny Cash and June Carter do an awesome version too, but I think I lean toward Elvis'. Nice to hear at this time of year.

_____________________

Finally, a question for all my Canadian readers.

Do all Canadian cops assume cool names when they join the police service? Are the names assigned to them by the department, or do you have to have a cool name to begin with before you even apply for the job?

I saw this quote from an article about the Royal Canadian Mounted Police arresting some middle school students for bullying (!?)

"In general, if there is an alternative solution to judicial action available we'll exercise that," said Sgt. Law Power. "But in this particular case arresting these males was in the best interest of the victim and the school."

I was just wondering, is all.

Totally unimaginative gift ideas

How 'bout a clip-on tie for the man in your life?

The clip-on tie was invented on today's date in 1928.

How Bettie Page saved Christmas

I had an abbreviated work week--only 4 days, and today (Thursday) is my last day. Then it's 3 days off, then I work 7. My normal work schedule is 6 days on and 3 off, but sometimes we move our days off, either by choice or by the demands of work. Anyway...

The holiday shopping season is in full swing, and the town I work for has a lot of retail stores, and that means that every boosting, wallet-stealing, purse-snatching, identity thieving, check-writing, forging, scamming, credit card swiping asshole in the greater Chicagoland area is out doing his or her thing.

We went out tonight trying to find a woman who stole about $20,000 from her employer; the case is several months old but we just got her bank records this week. No luck finding her tonight. Another of our detectives followed up a lead on a wallet theft when he found out that someone used the victim's credit card at a mall in a neighboring town. When he went to that store to view their security video tonight, who do you think walked into the store to do some more shopping? That's right--his offenders, children in tow. Always a treat. Another one of our guys had to attend two autopsies this week, and I can tell you that the chemical tang of the morgue is no way to wake up in the morning.

The domestic disturbances always take on a different tone at this time of the year, ranging from sad to surreal to tragic. Two nights ago I took a call from a neighboring department. Their officers went on a domestic involving a mom and her teenage daughter. The family are repeat customers, and when the officers arrived daughter was on the floor, screaming and out of control. She and mom were arguing over the daughter visiting a friend that mom doesn't approve of (the friend is a coke user according to mom). The daughter called mom around 11pm asking for a ride home; because of who she was with, mom expressed her disapproval by telling the kid to get home on her own. This happened the night before the domestic, and for whatever reason mom and daughter didn't start up with each other until the next day. Eventually the kid was taken to the hospital for a psych evaluation, and somewhere in all this she blurted out that she was the victim of an attempted sexual assault while she was walking home (thanks mom!) The officers determined that it happened in our town, so they called us. We went to the hospital to talk to the girl, and there were some big gaps in her story--we couldn't pin down an exact address. We asked her if she'd be willing to get in the car with us and retrace her route so we could pinpoint the address where it happened, and she agreed. Along the way we also learned that she'd been the victim of sexual assault before--at the hands of her own father, for roughly 7 years. The girl was admitted to a psych ward and our investigation is on hold until she's released.

No Christmas trees have been hurled through the front windows yet...give it a couple of weeks.

_____________________

So, what do you do? How do you keep your spirits up in the face of all this? I'm not big on religious platitudes and "God's will" type reassurances, so that's out. I do believe in prayer, and I do that as well as I can. My prayers all take one of two basic forms: "thank you", or "please help me/please help (fill in your name here)". I focus on my family and friends, and I literally count my blessings several times a day. I run for no particular reason. I read your blogs, and I am entertained and encouraged. I look forward to socializing with some of you later this month. I work hard to remember that the world is full of good people who do good things.

And I think about Bettie Page.

See, there's a few different kinds of Christmases:

1) There's the traditional religious Christmas, the birth of the Christ child. There's some awesome symbolism there, but frankly that's beyond my ability to truly comprehend or talk about in any kind of articulate or intelligent manner. I really wish I had the faith and knowledge to do so.

2) There's the truly awful and overwhelming CHRISTMAS HOLIDAY SEASON, a vulgar blend of the worst sentimentalism, religiosity and corporate bombast. Oh, and patriotism, too, because God loves our nation best at Christmas time. It's Christmas music being piped in above the din of the slot machines in Las Vegas casinos, it's the endless chain emails showing the wreaths at Arlington cemetery with some mawkish "prayer" tacked on to the photos and some waving American flag animations attached because the simple imagery of the tombs at Arlington at Christmas isn't enough, it's all that shit Charlie Brown and Linus Van Pelt warned us about way back in 1965.

3) Then you've got the vaguely spiritual, well-meaning "holiday season", the idea that, for Christian, Jew, Muslim and everyone else, this is some special time of year when we all try and do just a little better, when we all try and behave just a little more kindly to our fellow man. It's the mercy and good works and redemption without the heavy religious baggage. It's war movies where the soldiers stop fighting and meet with each other in no-man's land for few short hours in December. It's the sense that we're all in this together. It's heartwarming stories about mysterious strangers dropping $100 coins in the Salvation Army buckets. It's George Bailey.

I've been trying to inhabit a slightly different holiday season. It acknowledges #1 without being strident about it. It veers dangerously close, at times, to # 2 but never crosses the line. It's got a lot in common with #3 without being bland or wishy-washy. It's the holiday season of doing a few good deeds, of being thankful for family and friends, of forgiveness, it's the holiday season of cocktail parties plain and swanky, of decorating Christmas trees, enjoying simple pleasures like freshly-baked cookies and homemade candy, of acknowledging that the newest and shiniest is not always the best. It's kind of retro. It's hokey at times, but in a good way. It has faith but doesn't shove it in your face. It avoids cynicism. It's about doing your best, and trying to make others happy. It's playful. And it keeps me going.

Like Bettie Page in a Santa hat.

Christmas time in Florida II

It is unfair to make sweeping generalizations about an entire state.

While it is true that many Floridians do observe the Christmas holiday by setting up futuristic manger scenes in their front yards, and others feel compelled to drive over their neighbor's decorations before shooting them with large caliber handguns, not all Floridians respond in this manner.

Some church-going folks throw themselves into producing touching, heartfelt pageants celebrating the birth of the Christ child. I know I spent more than one evening in my childhood standing on stage in church auditoriums, dressed in desert robes made of bedsheets.

The church-going folks at the First Baptist Church of Fort Lauderdale mount a Christmas pageant that costs $1.3 million to produce, has a cast of 600+, and runs 2 & 1/2 hours.

According to this article from the Associated Press, linked on the church's website:

"Fireworks explode through the air, women dressed as angels "fly" to herald Jesus' birth and camels make their way to the nativity scene with the three kings.

At the First Baptist Church of Fort Lauderdale's $1.3 million Christmas Pageant _ more Broadway extravaganza than local production _ hundreds of men, women and children dressed as ancient residents of Jerusalem dance, skip and sing their way into the aisles. There is simulated snow, a horse-pulled sleigh, a kickline of dancers and a jazzed-up version of "Joy To The World."

The article goes on to describe the auditions, computerized lighting systems and the "controlled pyrotechnics at the end of the first act." In the second act

"...a bloodied Jesus carries his own cross to the stage, where he is beaten by Roman guards and then crucified. He is then shown lying inside what looks like a tomb and then resurrects, ascending over the stage using cables."

In recent years the role of Jesus has been played by Les Chevelydayoff, who portrays Jesus at the Holy Land Experience in Orlando, Florida. In this article, Chevelydayoff talks about the responsibility of portraying Jesus:

"It’s just a whirlwind of emotions when kids come up to you and people wave at you from their cars. You’re constantly being watched."

"...It’s been an eye opener for me," Chevelydayoff said. Easily identifiable with long hair, penetrating eyes and a beard, he said he is very conscious of making sure he doesn’t reject children or even adults who want his attention. Off stage during the interview, he breaks away slightly to pat a child on the head, to smile and nod at another toddler staring over his mother’s back."I have no idea how He did it," he said of Jesus Christ. "The eyes of the world are always watching."

I'll leave the last word to Senior Pastor Larry Thompson, who is the pageant's executive producer. In this ABC News story, Thompson says

''I think Jesus would come to the show [and say], 'Authentically you got it right.'"

25 years ago in one-hit history

On December 11, 1982, the ultimate cheerleading pop song Mickey hit number 1 on Billboard's Hot 100 chart.

Christmas time in Florida

While most residents of Florida are busy preparing for Christmas by setting up vaguely futuristic and disturbing nativity scenes made from mannequins, other Floridians find themselves stressed out by the holidays.


Like Matthew P. Lankford of Winter Haven.

Mr. Lankford's sister, Audra, got in some kind of a beef with a neighbor, Douglas Sheldon, while Mr. Sheldon was parking his truck. Audra called Matthew and told him about it.

Matthew must have been having a rough day. Maybe the $179 worth of lottery tickets he bought didn't pay out; maybe his pit bull got eaten by an alligator. Perhaps his inflated sense of family honor kicked in and he couldn't bear the idea of anyone disrespecting his sister. Who knows.

What we do know is that, shortly after getting that call from his sister, Mr. Lankford drove through Douglas Sheldon's yard, running over all of Mr. Sheldon's Christmas decorations. He even decapitated a snowman.

Mr. Sheldon responded by running over to Mr. Lankford's house, where, according to this story in the Orlando Sentinel, "an argument ensued between the men and several other people." (**Note: white trash neighbor disputes are a prized form of entertainment in certain communities, and frequently draw good crowds.)

Well, this madness had to come to an end eventually. So Mr. Lankford produced a .45 handgun and shot Mr. Sheldon a couple of times to prove his point.

Mr. Sheldon underwent surgery and is recovering. Mr. Lankford will spend Christmas in jail; a holiday meal of turkey loaf and pruno is a small price to pay for defending your sister's honor.

Seasons Cheer

A simple holiday wish from Sprawling Ramshackle Compound and the beautiful Bettie Page.

It's Monday, and I'm back to work this evening after a glorious 10 day break. I need to keep some pleasant holiday images in mind, and I think Bettie works wonders in that department.

There's a bug going around...

OK, it's my turn to take a crack at this viral story that Splotchy started. Well, Splotchy started it, but I was infected by Chris at Some Guy's Blog.

I should've worn a mask and washed my hands. Here goes:


I woke up hungry. I pulled my bedroom curtain to the side and looked out on a hazy morning. I dragged myself into the kitchen, in search of something to eat. I reached for a jar of applesauce sitting next to the sink, and found it very cold to the touch. I opened the jar and realized it was frozen. (Splotchy)

My first idea was to put the applesauce in the microwave. Hey, I was still tired. Could I scoop some out and put whipped cream on it? No, too solid. Why was it so damn cold in here? I walked over to the thermostat and saw that the heat hadn't clicked on all night and the temperature had dropped substantially overnight. Now, tired and hungry, I opened the access panel on the heater. There's the problem: why was someone cooking a duck in here? (SamuraiFrog)

I bent down and scooped up the uncooked duck carcass. There was no way I was going to let it go to waste, especially considering I had applesauce on hand. I placed it in a roasting pot and went back to reset the heater. As I continued to wake up, I realized that my roommate had spent the night at his girlfriend's place and couldn't have put the duck there. "How the hell did it get there?" I wondered. Just then, an already odd situation became even stranger. The lifeless duck animated, flapped its featherless wings, and began to speak. (Some Guy)

Ahhh Christ. Another tear in the continuum, and now I gotta listen to some talking duck carcass? Fuck that. I throttled that slimy featherless freak creature and tossed it right into the garbage where it belonged. I needed a drink. The bitter slap of Malort would've gotten the memory of talking duck carcass right out of my mind, but I was out. It would have to be black coffee and absinthe. Yeah, that should do it. The morning pot was full, and I knew I had a bottle of the green fairy here somewhere...

No time for sugar cubes or ice water. Nope. Time to slurp and guzzle, and get a grip.

There. Yeah. That's the ticket. Let the booze numb and the caffeine innervate.

What's that rustling sound in the garbage can? Oh no...

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I tag MizBubs, Dena, Johnny Yen, Doc, Skyler's Dad and anyone else who wants to wrestle with this.

Las Vegas Slideshow

I just put together a little slide show from our Las Vegas Marathon trip.

You can check it out here:

Las Vegas and Hoover Dam

and here:

Las Vegas Marathon Running Elvi

Hope you like it.

Saturday morning coffee

It's time to make the transition from Las Vegas Bubs to Holiday Bubs, and so far I think it's going smoothly. It helps that we now have a tree in our dining room--I ran out Friday afternoon and got a nice little balsam from the tree lot across from the liquor store. They guys who run it are from the U.P. and real friendly; we've gotten trees there for several years now. So, now, the entire dining room smells piney fresh, which is nice. We'll decorate it tonight, and the baking starts today. Mmmm...

Our household is about to take on a unique holiday smell. It's kind of a medley, a steady undercurrent of pine thanks to the tree, with an interweaving of strong coffee, roasted pecans (around this time of year I have to fight the urge to throw roasted pecans into everything) and cocoa, with occasional strong notes of freshly-peeled oranges, crisp bacon, roasted garlic and caramelized onion. There's cinnamon, of course, and frequently the distinct aroma of bourbon whiskey or mulled wine, or, even better--glogg. Right now the smell is pine tree/coffee/fresh orange/maple cinnamon oatmeal. It's comforting.

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Part of the reason I'm so enthusiastic about my household smells is that, as part of the transition from LV to holiday season, I need to get the Las Vegas smells out of my head. What are the Las Vegas smells you ask? Well, it depends on where you're at and what you're doing. There's always the smell of unwashed foreign tourist that can grab you at any moment; likewise the over-cologned 20-something party guy or gal. You're never far away from smelling a good cigar, either, or some good cooking smells. While Las Vegas does not offer the riot of smells that New Orleans does, there's still a lot to experience:

• Wonderful casino smell--a pleasant combination of vanilla, coconut and some floral notes. It's usually accompanied by a cool or refreshing sensation in the air, and you really notice it when you walk into the swankier casinos like Mandalay Bay, Mirage, Bellagio or Wynn. There's always just a hint of cigarette smoke in the background, but not much. The best casino smell ever was at the Desert Inn. I've gone to great lengths, at times, to reproduce this smell in my own home.
• Good casino smell--you still get those pleasant notes when you first walk in, especially near the hotel registration desks, but it's less noticeable throughout the casino. The smoke smell is stronger, and you can start to detect the scent of human desperation along with it. The Luxor and Monte Carlo have this smell, along with most of the other big casinos on the strip. The air does not seem quite as cool as in the top casinos.
  
• Bad casino smell--the classic example was the old Westward Ho, torn down a year or two ago. It was a combination of cigarette smoke, stale alcohol and chili dog onions, making you want to sniff your own armpit occasionally to make sure you weren't smelling your own B.O. The worst example is found at the Gold Spike downtown, where the funk of human fear and hopelessness almost overpowers decades worth of ashtray stench. The high end of bad casino smell can be found at places like O'Shea's and Casino Royale on the strip. They still have the heavy beer/smoke medley, but the smell of raucous human party time sweat is not entirely unpleasant.
• Double Down Saloon smell--now this is in a category all its own. The place is a cool dark haven, the happiest place on earth, truly. No matter what time of day or night you go there, it looks the same. You can only tell if it's day or night when someone opens the door. If it's daytime, you can see the people sitting along that side of the bar wince and recoil from the sunlight. We bought a couple of tee shirts to replace our old ones, and when we went to pack them up Tuesday morning we realized they absolutely reeked of smoke and some other, indefinable, something...whether it was the fabled Ass Juice or bacon martini, I couldn't tell.
• The weird sewer smell that you get at odd intervals along the strip from the Planet Hollywood south to the MGM Grand. We also noticed it in the Miracle Mile shops at Planet Hollywood. At first you think the tourist in front of you ripped one, but then you realize it's actually much more than that.
• On this visit I also experienced runner smell, made all the more unique by the fact that the race expo and pre-race Elvis assembly was held at the Mandalay Bay. Morning runner smell is a combination of sunscreen, mint/menthol (from all that pain cream on everyone's knees and legs), shampoo and arousal. Post-race runner smell (especially hundreds of them together in a confined area) is something else altogether, and I won't describe it here.
  

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Another thing that's really got me going is food. I mean, even more than usual. When we first started visiting Las Vegas we'd visit different restaurants and always treat ourselves to a couple of really good meals while we were out there. When we first visited there were a few celebrity chef restaurants, and they all offered an excellent value for the quality of food. It seemed that you could afford much better food than you could in other places, because to some extent the gambling still subsidized the food and drink. Over the past ten years though, that's changed.

There are many more excellent restaurants, many bearing celebrity chef's names (Wolfgang Puck, Emeril Lagasse, Bobby Flay, Todd English, Michael Mina, etc) than there were ten years ago. There are also buffets at places like the Paris and the Bellagio that offer an astonishing variety and quality of food. So that's nice.

In the past people went to Las Vegas because middle class folks could get a level of service and entertainment that they couldn't afford in their home town. The problem is that food and entertainment now make up a much bigger percentage of hotel/casino income; the casinos have all realized that people are much more willing to pay more money for food and drink. The days of the cheap buffet/prime rib dinner/$5.99 steak, at least at the nicer places on the strip, are long gone.

A new ethic has arisen among visitors to Las Vegas, particularly younger visitors. Instead of viewing Las Vegas as a destination where you get more for your money, Las Vegas has become a destination where people expect to spend far more than they normally would. It has become a place dedicated to conspicuous consumption. Visit message boards like Open Vegas and check out the comments. You'll hear people say things like "I went to X club, and spent $50 cover for two of us to get in, and we got bottle service for $400, but what the heck, it's Vegas, right?"

So, if you stay at a nicer property on the strip, expect to pay $6-$8 for a bottled beer like MGD or Lite. Expect to pay $10-$14 for a mixed drink or for name brand booze. Sometimes it's ok to spend more for quality booze, like if you want to sit somewhere really swanky like the Red Square at Mandalay Bay and drink cocktails containing 3 shots of high-end booze off a bar made of ice. The only problem there is after you have too many drinks and stick your tongue to the ice bar on a dare and have to be removed by the staff. I'm just saying.

Expect that if you visit a place like the Luxor Steakhouse you'll spend $175 for two people on the same quality steak dinner you'd get at Wildfire for about $50 less.

Needless to say, food had become less important to us over the past few visits. It just didn't seem worth the effort. This time, though, I wanted to find something special and have a really good meal.

We had the best meal of our lives at Rosemary's on Sunday night after the race. Rosemary's is run by chefs Wendy and Michael Jordan. They both have roots in New Orleans (Michael worked for Emeril Lagasse) and their restaurant reflects a distinct southern influence, but with some really unique flair.

On Sunday night they offer their wines at half price. We each had the prix fixe dinner ($50) which allowed you to choose 3 items from the menu (entree, and an appetizer, salad and/or dessert). The food was amazing, the service was amazing, and the restaurant was just perfect. The bill, including two stiff bourbons, a bottle of wine and the prix fixe dinner for two came to about $200, tax and tip included. We spent about 2 1/2 hours there. I've never experienced service that was this good without being intrusive or pretentious, and I've never had food this complex and well-prepared that wasn't fussy.

Here's what we had:

an amuse-bouche of whitefish salad on a crispy tortilla,

a nice Tinto Fino Spanish red wine,

Beef & Maytag Blue Cheese Carpaccio
Arugula & Granny Smith Apple Salad, Candied Walnuts & Port Wine Drizzles,

Hugo’s Texas BBQ Shrimp
Maytag Blue Cheese Slaw,

Wilted Spinach Salad
Port Wine Shallots, Goat Cheese Cake, Spiced Pecans & Sherry Mustard Dressing,

Seared Sea Scallops
Parsnip Potato Puree, Apple Cider Beurre Blanc, Crispy Prosciutto & Fried Parsnip Strips,

Grilled Veal Tenderloin
French Green Lentils, Apple Smoked Bacon & Sherry Mustard Butter Sauce,

Dessert was a coconut bread pudding, which was served as a timbale and was actually the weakest part of the meal, but still pretty damn good. After dessert they brought out a little dish with truffles, lemon bars and peanut butter balls that was like a second dessert in itself. I can't say enough good about Rosemary's. If I lived in Las Vegas I'd weigh 300 pounds and be broke.

I wish I'd taken pictures of my food, but I didn't want to look like a total rube. All I managed was a surreptitious camera phone shot of MizBubs' Vegas cleavage. That was classy.

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Enjoy the weekend you crazy kids!

It's that time

Time for scary Santa.

The girl, her intuition far more developed than her hapless brother's, stares straight ahead in a silent plea for help.

December 26: Here's an idea

What would people think about maybe having our December 26th get-together at the fabulous Hala-Kahiki Lounge? It should be pretty roomy on a Wednesday night, and I've been there with parties of 10 or 12 people on short notice with no problems. The drinks are cheap and strong, and there's beer and straight liquor for the unadventurous.

The Hala-Kahiki is in River Grove, on River Road between Belmont and Grand Avenue. It's pretty easily accessible from I-90, I-294 and the western suburbs. It's easy to get to from the north side of Chicago as well. Here's a map:


View Larger Map

Just thought I'd throw that out there. I'm happy in pretty much any old gin mill.

Peroxide and wrestling

And what the hell peroxide and wrestling has to do with anything, I have no idea. I just know I found a cute pic of a hot dame and a snowman, and it's wintertime and it's three weeks until Christmas and I got snow all over my yard...so there. There's your winter pinup.

Enjoy.

Dam