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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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...

______________________

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