Rev. Erudite Redneck, B.S., B.S., M.A., M.Div.

Uno. The loud fans are gone, the adjuster has been here finally, and -- tada! -- we're going to get new carpet throughout the whole front of the house and in both hallways. Awesome. Plus a little drywall work. Plus my soaked clothes dry-cleaned. Yay.


Two-o. Last night, I fixed softshell crab sandwiches, for the first time, for supper. I wonder if Jambalaya and Etouffe, my hermit crabs, felt a disturbance in the force?!?


Tres. Preacherman took off this morning on an article he saw somewhere that referred to someone as a "practicing Buddhist." His main point: Most Christians in this country aren't "practicing."

To which I say "Amen," and "guilty." Events of the past week or so have taxed me to the point that I've been even louder and more impatient and judgmental and, well, meaner to those closest to me than usual, so that, yet again, I've embarrassed myself.

Sigh. It ain't easy bein' Jesusy. In fact, it's a daily grind sometimes. The Scripture reading this morning comprised a short list of the least we who wear the name "Christian" can do: Romans 12: 9-21.


Prayer of Confession today at church:

Lord of Life,, it is easy to assume that if we believe the right things we will do the right things. But believing and doing are not the same, and faith is a matter of deep trust and incarnate grace. We know that when we talk a good game, but act in ways that are selfish and arrogant, the beloved community suffers. When we do not live up to our call to be resident aliens in the world, the world never changes, it just gets noisier. Help us to be, not just Christians, but "practicing" Christians. In the name of Jesus our Teacher and Lord, we pray, Amen.

--ER

In recognition of the rebeginning of football season, enjoy this blast from the past, which was all over the place 24 years ago this fall when I started college at Oklahoma State.

Long version:


Different, shorter version:


Oh, and GO POKES! Oklahoma State just whupped Washington State 39-13 in Seattle to open the season! GO POKES!
--ER

Uno. The photo is of Sarah Palin and husband and new child. This is CHOICE, which is why, while I'm generally against abortion -- and would personally encourage anyhone I know not to have an abortion -- I'm generally pro-choice. The government did not force her to have this baby. No one besides her -- not even her husband, in my opinion -- should have the right to make her.

Two. Does Sarah Palin speak in tongues? (Not that there's anything wrong with that.)

--ER

Right-wing grown nephew No. 1 (RWGN1) e-mailed me just now:

Sarah Palin?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?

THAT'S IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

WE'RE DONE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Allow me to be one of the first to offer my congrad's on your November win.

Holy mother of God! Sarah Palin for real? I said weeks ago if McCain wanted to win he should put Clinton on his ticket.
My party has lost touch & I'm loosing faith in my party.

IDIOTS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

He wrote. LOL. I couldn'ta put it better myself. And I replied:

LOLOL

Que Sarah, Sarah! Hoo hoo hee hee ha ha. Hear that? It 's the last gasps of the last hopes of the GOP.

Come on over to the Dems, bud. The water's fine. We do have some conservatives, ya know. Google "Blue Dog Democrats."

What a great day!

--ER

The few! The proud!

Oklahoma Rednecks for Obama!

You know, I have shifted from wishing the campaign was over to wanting the next era to begin! Holy God Almighty, deliver us from the GOP and the sustained punch-drunk reaction to 9/11.

Time to ACT, not REACT!

And the fact is, a yellow dog would MAKE a better president than anyone from what's left of the Republican Party. Poor things.

--ER

They're coming to take me away, ha ha

GET THESE LOUD FANS OUT OF MY HOUSE!!!!

They're coming to take me away, ho ho



LALALALALALALA -- ARRRRGH -- CAN'T. TAKE. MUCH. MORE!

They're coming to take me away, ha ha, ho ho, hee hee



THE DEHUMIDIFIEDR IS AS LOUD AS MY TRUCK AND THE FANS ARE LOUDER!!!

... to the funny farm where life is beautiful all the time -- they're coming to take me awwwwaaaaayyyyyy!!!!!!!!!!

--E-lalalala-R

Billy said, at Lee's place: "As for theology, how do you go about determining who is right?"

ER said: Truth is in the search for it. God is. Christ was/is. I am. Anything much beyond that is debatable, and no one is "right," but some are close and others are closer -- but no one who is looking, or even willing to "see," is very far off.

I believe, however, that any "place" where God and Creation are in communion, Christ is. By definition. Whether His name is known or not. Of course, I could be wrong.

I trust God anyway -- that God IS, not that God DOES, or WILL DO this or that particular thing.

The Jewish tradition has it that God said God's name was I AM. A nicer turn of phrase, one with all kinds of implications, theological, philosophical, physical, is God is the Ground of All Being. Which isn't a particularly theistic concept.

Discuss.

--ER

Oh, hi. This isn't fun, or unusual, or different, anymore.

I want my house back!

It's damn near enough to drive me to drink.





Bailey says "Howdy!"

--ER

The other day in Nederland, mountain town up northwest of Denver, I picked up an Indiany lookin' alpaca wool purse die-rect from Peru for a surprise for Dr. ER (read a little bit about The Alpaca Store and More, and a little about Nederland), and around the corner I bought the following books at a combination used-book store and ice cream parlor:

Dorothy O. Johansen, "Empire of the Columbia: A History of the Pacific Northwest" 2d ed. (New York: Harper & Row, 1967), which looks like it probably used to be a standard regional history textbook.

and

William H. Rehnquist, "Centennial Crisis: The Disputed Election of 1876" (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 2004), which interests me for two reasons: Uno, I've brushed up against that election and the last gasps of Reconstruction in the South as a distant backdrop to the reaction of the country in general, and American Indian newspapers specifically, to Custer's debacle at the Little Bighorn that summer; and, two-o, there's a street in Wichita Falls, Texas, called Tilden, in a part of town where the streets have presidents' names, because the city fathers back in the day just couldn't accept the fact that Samuel J. Tilden lost to Rutherford B. Hayes.



BTW: The best thing about having seven industrial fans blowing and a big heavy-duty dehumidifier going in the house is that I can't hear Bailey bark. Ha ha. I see him outside my kitchen window here, and he's staring at the window, and wagging his tail, and I see his mouth opening and closing and it looks like he's coughing or something -- but I caaaaannnn'ttttt heeeeeaaaarrrrrr hhhhhhiiiiimmmmm!!!! Ahahahahahahaha! Peace in our time! :-)

--ER

UPDATED YET AGAIN

Wholly cow! There are seven of these things now sittin' around my house. Turns out most of the water went into my closet in our bedroom. Everything in the floor, which was more than half of everything in the closet, was soaked!


Look at the top of that pile! My dadgum Nocona boots are SOAKED! Rurnt!

Sigh.

Plus, because of the excitement, I've missed the talk by the HOTTEST potential first lady in my lifetime: Michelle Obama! Somebody will have to fill me in.


Blowing sounds ... making me drowsy ... time for bed. ... Cats safe under Dr. ER's care in a spare room ... G'night.



UPDATED UPDATED WITH ART UPDATED UPDATED

Don't this just beat the hell all, y'all?

It took 21 years, but a copper hot water pipe to the front bathroom bathtub finally had enough peaceful coexistence with the part of the slab it had been peacefully coexistin' with and finally got pinhole, which, Saturday, decided to grow into a real leak.

The water was so hot, as it accumulated in the space between the tub and the wall, that it caused these soda pop cans, on the floor against the other side of that wall, to explode.



It cost $350 to fix the leak. ServiceMaster is now 26 minutes late, but is supposed to be on the way. The carpet is wet as far as five feet out from the pantry (shown, with plumber).



END UPDATE


Insurance company called. Check.

Plumber called. Check.

ServiceMaster called. Check.

God to be honored. Check -- whaa-a?

ServiceMaster, from Wikipedia:

Religion

ServiceMaster strives to be perceived as a Christian-oriented company. Representatives explain that the name ServiceMaster comes from a Christian concept called "service thy master".

The company asserts that their Christian leanings are evident in their stated objectives:

"Honor God in All We Do"
"Excel with Customers"
"Help People Develop"
"Grow Profitably"

Who knew?

I'm cool with that. Every little bit helps.

CNBC video on origins of the name ServiceMaster.

Dr. ER en route from motel in Hays, Kan. Now, to unload the Baby Truck.

--ER

One stillborn dream down. Who knows what to go? ...

Man. People remain unbeaten-up, and I remain unjailed, today because we did not sell our house and I did not quit my job.




At right is the front door to The Hole. I figure on pullin' up to the waterless, catful house about midnight Oklahoma time. Ice-T and Eames will have lots to say, considering the excitement and all the strangers in the house last night.



At left is Erudite Bear, an early Valentine's gift for Dr. ER. He is 12 and a years old. I gave him my real name for a first name and Bear for a surname. So, here, he is Erudite Bear. He lived on top of Dr. ER's icebox in The Hole.





We're all heading home today, me in the Baby Truck with Erudite Bear ridin' shotgun, Dr. ER in her car.

She might get a room between here and there, yesterday's work having laid her low. Not me. I got a mess to inspect and cats to listen to (not that I'm a cat person).

--ER

... which was supposed to be a "good news" account of today, wherein we got Dr. ER's lil place in Boulder, which she christened "The Hole" because it was so small, empty, cleaned and her minimal things loaded into the smallest truck U-Haul rents out, which I'm calling Baby Truck, and that we were back to the hotel in Westminster, on the northwest side of Denver, looking forward to the trip back, especially me, since the Baby Truck is still bigger than ary a personal car or truck and it's fun to drive, but ...

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo.

The friend I asked to come by and feed our livestock just called and said that the reason the Coke cans in our pantry had exploded and bumped the pantry door open and soaked the carpet was because we got a hot water leak in the bathroom that abuts the pantry and the heat caused the Cokes to explode, which is a NOTHING problem compared to the ^&*^$^ water leak itself, since SHEETROCK -- and the trademark cops can kiss my ass -- the SHEETROCK brand gypsum fricking wallboard will wick that water up into the wall so fast it ain't funny, which means the whole &*^$^ wall will have to be torn out and replaced, plus there's the plumbing work, plus the &*^&$^* carpet, and perhaps plus even the ^(*&*%* tile in the kitchen if the water damage went that far.

And, I am so sorry, as often as I drop the bomb, to my embarassment and sometimes shame, in the real world, I very, very rarely do so in the sacred space of the ER Roadhouse.

But, I just have to say:

FUCK!

That is all.

--ER

!!!UPDATED UPDATED UPDATED!!!

Look at this bullshit from THE ASSOCIATED PRESS masquerading as "analysis." Hey, hey, ho, ho, RON FOURNIER needs to go. Washington AP bureau chief? He's a goldarn Arkie who came up hating Clinton and he's a Karl Rove ass kisser. I am ashamed of The AP.

Grrrrr. Now, off to load a U-Haul.

--ER


This just in, via e-mail:

(Dr. ER) --

I have some important news that I want to make official.

I've chosen Joe Biden to be my running mate.

Joe and I will appear for the first time as running mates this afternoon in Springfield, Illinois -- the same place this campaign began more than 19 months ago.

I'm excited about hitting the campaign trail with Joe, but the two of us can't do this alone. We need your help to keep building this movement for change.

Please let Joe know that you're glad he's part of our team. Share your personal welcome note and we'll make sure he gets it:

http://my.barackobama.com/welcomejoe
Thanks for your support,

Barack


P.S. -- Make sure to turn on your TV at 2:00 p.m. Central Time to join us or watch online at http://www.BarackObama.com.

-----

Can't think of a better choice for veep. Joe Biden was my first choice for prez in '88; then I went with Gore after Biden got sick.

Biden a loose cannon? Fire away, Joe! Aim low! The Repubs think they're the cavalry, but they're ridin' stolen Shetlands!

Obmama-Biden in 2008! O'Biden!

Now, Dr. ER and I, bad backs, sundry OTC and other meds and all, are off to pack and load a U-Haul.

--ER

It's very rare for me to want to repeat visit an eatin' joint, but The Fort beckons this evening.

Been there, done that, but it's too cool not to return. The menu.

Last time, I had for an appetizer:

Roast Bison Marrow Bones -- A crown of bones simply roasted and served with a port-bison reduction, Hawaiian red salt and sourdough crostini's

And for an entree:

Scout Jim Baker's Mountain Man Steak -- 20 oz. Bone in Buffalo Ribeye - full of flavor for the mountain man in us all! Served with shallot-cheddar mashed potatoes and seasonal vegetable.

This time, I've narrowed my choices down to ...

Appetizers:

Bison Eggs -- Pickled quail eggs wrapped in house made buffalo sausage. Served with a raspberry-jalapeno jam. Our version of a "Scottish egg."

Or

Rocky Mountain Oysters -- Small bites battered and fried to a golden brown and served with a tangy "cocktail" sauce.

Or

Braised Bison Tongue - A Historian's Treat -- The 19th century's finest gourmet meat served with Fort toast and caper aioli.

I think I'm going with the tongue.

And entrees:

Smoke House Buffalo Ribs Platter -- Buffalo Ribs, slowly braised, smoked and smothered with our own tangy Jack Daniels BBQ sauce. Served with historical BBQ heirloom beans and seasonal vegetable.

Or

Elk Chop St. Vrain -- 14-ounce bone-in Rocky Mountain elk chop, grilled to perfection with wild Montana huckleberries. Served with white cheddar mashed potatoes and seasonal vegetables.

Or

Washtunkala Cast Iron Kettle -- Tender tips of Buffalo Tenderloin in a rich buffalo demi-glace with roasted green chiles, pearl onions, fresh thyme, fire-roasted corn and sunflower seeds. Just like the campfire! Served with Fort potatoes.

I'm totally torn on what to get for the entree.

--ER

(First, just for Geoffrey: All about Slapout, Okla.!)

Now ...

Uno. Somewhere between about all that ever was of Slapout and all that's left of Hardesty, Okla., oncoming traffic started flashing headlights and goin' beyond the usual one-finger-off-the-wheel wave in what we assumed was the universal warning that either a roadblock was ahead or a trooper running radar or something.

So, I backed it down to 65 and kept my eyes peeled. Then, a few miles later, "Hey, those cows look a little close to the road. Hey, those cows are out. Holy crap, all of somebody's cows are out!"

None was in the highway, but there were cows all over both sides of the highway, maybe 50 head -- more than I've ever seen out at one time, and I have seen more than a few bunches of cattle on the roadway. I scattered a small herd that appeared around a curve once in West Texas, and nicked one on open range 10 summers ago in New Mexico.

Between Slapout and Hardesty, I'm thinking either somebody's electric fence failed, or, somebody had cattle grazing in a place no cattle had grazed for years, so there was no need to keep the fence in shape.

Cattle raisers in the Oklahoma Panhandle, which is in a severe drought despite last week's rare deluge, got emergency permission to let cattle graze land they've set aside in the Conservation Reserve Program. CRP fences probably aren't kept up like other fences.

Or, Hardesty bein' where it is, those bovines mighta been ghost cows from the Jones & Plummer Trail!


Two-o. Jesus is moonlighting at a muffler shop in Guymon, OK. The sign at the Midas listed the specials, and at the bottom it said, "Ask for Jesus."

Now, I know the Hispanic population has exploded in the Panhandle, but ... Jesus. Shouldn't there be an accent over the U or something to designate when its Hay-Soose and not Gee-Zus? :-)


Tres. In the restroom at the McDonalds in Lamar, Colo., just as I was wondering, "Where the hell are the urinals?" an older woman stepped out of a stall.

Road-weary and clown-eyed, I sort of heard her say, politely, "Sir, this is the ladies' room." "I don't think so," I actually said, as she opened the door and the skirt on the stick figure, and the "WO" in the word WOMEN, which I'd missed, flashed past my stupor and into my head like lightning.

I rushed out to see a young woman holding fast to her young daughter, saying, "I *thought* I saw a man go in there!" I just darted into the men's room and the situated dissipated. But, gah!

A few minutes later, the older woman told me while we were in line at the counter that I was perfectly legal all the time, since Colorado apparently recently made all public restrooms unisex. Gah, nonetheless.


Four. We drove most of the way with the radio off, enjoying the rare silence, although Dr. ER did watch some DVDs with earphones on. But outside Kit Carson, Colo., with me nodding off again after the excitement of storming the ladies' room at the McDonalds in Lamar like a dang prevert, and digesting a double-cheese and fries, I was nodding off again, so Dr. ER popped in "Dead or Alive" by bon Jovi.

After it finished, I softly started singing "Wike a cowboy, on a ste-ul haws I wide, I'm wanted, dead or awi-i-iive" a la Elmer Fudd, where upon Dr. ER, who loves Jon bon Jovi like no other star, threatened to whomp me. Now, all I have to do to get a yelp out of her is softly sing, "Wike a cowboy ..."


But other than that, it was an uneventful 12-hour drive from one side of the Great Plains to the other. :-)

--ER

Ugh. -- ER

Hey, hey, hey! Hi, y'all! Hey, hey, hey! My Dampa ER is busy, busy, busy today at work! Busy, busy, busy! So he and my Dama Dr. ER can take off tomorrow for Colorado! Hey, hey, hey! Look at me! Hey, hey, hey! Dampa ER said I could blog for him today! Hey, hey, hey! SO what do y'all want to talk about? Huh? Huh? Huh? Hey, hey, hey! Somebody pet me dang it.

--Fenway

In a dream, I dreamed ...

Someone was grilling me over the pluralistic, y'all-ALL-come approach I have regarding the church and God and stuff, which was always nascent but only fully bloomed with the epiphany that came courtesy of the UCC's infamous "Bouncer" ad.

Havin' been a bouncer, havin' turned people away and havin' helped toss people out of a dancehall, it hit me hard. I wept over the notion that I could possibly have any inkling about any other human bean's relationship with anyone else, let alone God and 42.

And I repented, and I profess today that I continue to repent, of judgmentalism -- although I am obliged to admit that I still carry some of the trappings of the culture in which I grew up.

In other words, put me in a place where I am the only person like myself and I will be uncomfortable. But being uncomfortable is not wrong. Acting out because of it can be.

In the dream, someone challenged me: "What if, because of you, someone, some homo, goes to hell because you failed to warn them of their sin?"

And in the dream, I said: "My actions or words can no more condemn someone to hell than they can send someone to heaven. My responsibility as a Christian is to BE, to LOVE, and to be as honest as I can be about everything -- what I believe, what I used to believe, the fact that I may very well believe something else eventually, and my belief that beliefs don't really have that much to do with one's relationship with God or others. What matters is one's relationship with others, which is the only really practical way we can worship, praise God, commune with God or do much else that matters."

The someone said: "But what about the Great Commission? How else will souls be saved? How will they believe unless they hear? How will they hear unless there is a preacher?"

And I said: "I think we're saying the same thing: I HAVE to hold open the door to church and God to ALL. That IS my witness. Besides, whose soul do you think is being saved, healed, strengthened by the execution of the Great Commission? The hearers? Sure, to an extent, as God wills. But the main blessing comes to the one willing to stand and be counted, to strive to live faith, not just talk about it, to try to let God's love touch others through oneself -- by helping, giving cold cups of water, hugs and friendship in Jesus's name, acceptance of those who are different, also and especially in Jesus's name, and so on -- and to be honest in all things, especially doubts."

Discuss. Or not. It's what I dreamed.

PRAYER OF CONFESSION at church, the church home of "Free Tibet" protestor Kelly Osbourne.

Lord of Life, sometimes we think we have everything figured out, and that we are just a little smarter, and a little better than the "other guys." We take our enormous blessings for granted, and forget that when we put others down, we betray the gift of faith itself. There but for the grace of God go all of us. Help us to come together and to value one another for the gifts we all possess, and the worthiness that is our true birthright. In Christ's name we pray, Amen.
--ER

*Quoth Tommy, Rugrat

"I think you're the dirtiest cook in Oklahoma County. Maybe west of the Mississippi," Dr. ER just said.

Yeah. But I cook. Tonight: a wok full of bell peppers and onions and garlic and pasta and leftover steak and cherry tomatoes. Eh. It was OK. It saved a leftover steak.

"There are cans of white (boiled) potatoes within my line of vision," Dr. ER just said, reminding me, again, that sheh hates canned taters.

Beeyotch! :-)

Actually, it means she's feeling good enough to give me a hard time. That's good.

Myself, I did nothing this weekend but work (work work, too, not "me" fun history-type work), and cook supper last night and tonight, and make some trips to the store.

Oh, I did go to church this morning, and, as usual, I'm so glad I did. It's like plugging in to a power source without which I just wilt.

Ugh. Had to work this weekend to take off Wednesday-Friday, to make a trip to Boulder to load a small U-Haul truck and bring stuff back. Bittersweet trip.

Forgive the whimpering of late.

And now I must away to the Rolaids and the 5mg Melatonin bottle and to the bed de bye.

--ER

Turns out I can wash 'em, pat 'em dry, flop 'em into flour, dredge 'em in egg-and-milk, shake 'em in bag of Zatarain's and make 'em in Crisco in a woc on the stove here at the house as good as I can buy 'em.

With hushpuppies. Cole slaw bought at teh Wal-Marts. And Lone Star beer.

(Urp.) That is all.

--ER

What a great travel piece about Oklahoma City! Not a condescending word or a haughty sniff in it -- and trust me, I can smell that kind of stuff a mile away.

Now, I can take you to some war zones in town. But this is a travel piece, not a news story. And it's a good 'un. It nails Oklahoma City at present.


By FINN-OLAF JONES
The New York Times
Published: August 8, 2008

IT took approximately a day for the song -- and who doesn’t know that song? -- to clear my head once I’d arrived in Oklahoma City. This revitalized metropolis does seem to have a constant wind that comes sweepin’ down the plain, but the windfalls from its booming economy have brought enough new grand urban projects, gleaming museums and sophistication so that one suspects the only folks tempted to yell “Ayipioeeay” are visitors.

Read it all.

--ER

Every person I have ever known who hasn't died is still alive.

My back is a little better, but still messed up. Dr. ER is in tremendous pain of her own. There could be legal action in our future, as a result. Don't know what she'll be doing for a living this fall. I'm still paying 2006 taxes, and we're fixing to seek another deferment on dealing with 2007 taxes. Random debts are inching up.

Life is gettin' harder. And I have plenty to get me down, if I wanted to let it. But I don't. So, I won't.

A grown man almost cried when I was interviewing him on the phone the other day because his financial situation had gotten so bad he dang near lost it all, including his family. I got choked up, too.

Life is gettin' harder, but it has a long ways to go before it gets unbearable -- and I think we can coast a long time on previous good fortune.

And this morning, the Lord gave me this flash of insight: No matter what else has happened to them, whatever life has dealt them,

Every person I have ever known who hasn't died is still alive.

--ER

Here. This will help get the bad taste out of y'allses' mouths fron the previous saccharine post about Obama's and McCain's canned, candy-ass lists of favorite songs.

The Bulwer-Lytton Fiction (Bad Writing) Contest Awards!

Here's the runner-up, and frankly, I think it should've been the winner!

"Hmm . . ." thought Abigail as she gazed languidly from the veranda past the bright white patio to the cerulean sea beyond, where dolphins played and seagulls sang, where splashing surf sounded like the tintinnabulation of a thousand tiny bells, where great gray whales bellowed and the sunlight sparkled off the myriad of sequins on the flyfish's bow ties, "time to get my meds checked."

See them all, direct from San Jose State University.

--ER

Obama's and McCain's favorite songs.

--ER

... have things in common.

Discuss.

--ER

Barry Switzer is bigger than ou football, so even I, a diehard Oklahoma State Cowboy, was tickled to see him play himself on "Saving Grace" last night.

Here's one of two clips, this one showing Grace genuflecting and hailing the Wishbone. Not over the top. I, my own self, was somewhat atwitter when I met Switzer on a work thing, but then I met Toby Keith at the same time at the same thing -- and yes, I got their dang autographs so sue me.



:-)

Embrace your grace.

--ER

It's official. Hayes Carll is my new favorite songwriter. Here's "Willing to Love Again," which I, myself, offer as a prayer to the Lord God His Own Self, followed by a different take on "I've been Everywhere."



--ER

Just had a McDonald's supper. Rare for me to eat McDonald's food. Just got burned out on it. But when I found out the American Family Association has a pitiful little boycott goin' on, I just had to.

McDonald's offense? Not "remaining neutral" in the "culture wars."

Boycott McDonalds site.

Boycott McDonald's reader comments.

Now, here's something to wash that fundamentalist bad taste out of your mouth, from a seminary-trained, white-haired Southern Baptist:

God Made Me Gay.

Peace out, dawgs.

--ER

If this gets out, my reputation will be shot: Mamma Mia! is a GREAT movie. (Interesting backstory).

Very estrogeny. Chickiest chick flick I've ever seen. Ever. Intergenerational chick flickness. Amd it's a dang musical. Everybody shamelessly threw themselves into the singing, whether they could sing well or not. But Dr. ER and one of her girlfriends and I laughed hard.

And, I have a whole new respect for Pierce Brosnan. Totally. Takes a man confident in his manness to pull off what he pulled off in this flick of chick.

Just don't tell anybody I said so.

And now to don manly footwear and jeans and drive to Oklahoma City to see Southern-rock-hillbilly band the Turnpike Troubadours and drink many beers and whiskeys. Aroo!

--ER

(Yes, I own Abba music. On 8-track.)

It's never the crime. It's always the cover-up.

Have you ever cheated? Do tell, if you can. Some of y'all go first, then I will.

--ER

Oh, man. Next time this guy plays anywhere I can get to, I'm gonna get to it.

Hayes Carll.

I'm sure that y'all, the Erudite Redneck Anti-Republican Guard, know what a "Driveway Moment" is. Well, that's how I heard about Hayes Carll, on NPR's "All Things Considered." (The show).

But I'm callin' it more of a Dirt Road Moment.

I got his latest CD. Great stuff. Hayes Carll kicks honky-tonk ass. Perfect timing and set-up for tomorrow night: Going to the local shot-and-a-beer-for-five-bucks place, the Blue Note Lounge, to see the Turnpike Troubadours, the guys I went and saw in Tulsa awhile back.

Hayes Carll, "She Left Me for Jesus":



--ER

Very, very cool.

But the new Dodge Challenger still has my redneck heart. Lordy! Those power-jackin' shots! Be still my britches!

Hey, my first magazine subscription was to "Hot Rod."

--ER

Need your blood boiled? Read this story, imagine it's you, your loved ones and your pets.

Mayor wants Justice Department investigation of raid.

The stupid bastards shot his dogs! Labs!

If anything like this ever happens to me, I'll be in the news, too, but it won't be at a press conference.

Cops do NOT get the benefit of the doubt. Cops ARE the front line of defense of our constitutional rights. No-knock warrants DO suck.

Screw an apology. The county sheriff's department in this case should part with lots of cold, hard cash.

Cops have been raking it in -- proceeds from drug busts, both proper and improper -- for almost a generation. It's high time the sumbitches cough it up -- and cough it up bloody and hard -- when they do sh-t like this.

And no, I don't care that they "put their lives on the line" or that "they deserve a little slack." No, OUR lives are on the line whenever we have any encounter with any cop anytime, anywhere. They have the guns. We, usually, do not.

If the world actually ever does go to hell, the LAST call I'd make would be to the cops or sheriff's department.

--ER

Non-sequitur:

"As Obama Fatigue Sets in, Webcast Offers Pro-Family Perspective."

And: What fatigue? FOTF is making crap up again. Oh, wait. They never stopped or slowed down; I just forced myself to ignore 'em for awhile.


False cause (cum hoc ergo propter hoc):

"As marriage declines, church attendance falls."

Is there nothing FOTF won't twist to its own nefarious ends? And it dares pretend it occupies some high ground! Spin is sin, Dr. Dobson, and you can pretend to stay above the fray all you want: But this stuff is going out in your name.

--ER

AND -- ;-) -- a late breakfast at one of the best Meskin eatin' joints in Oklahoma City: San Marcos Restaurant.

The one on the Southside, on SW 59th. The one on the north side, on North May Avenue, is a little uppity -- they scoffed once when I asked if they served menudo: "No! Only on the Southside!"

Pbhth on that. When I want Mexican, I want Mexican, dang it.

Today: huevos y chorizo con jalapenos, con frijoles, y cafe. Con (como se dice?) rice. Y flour tortillas.

Soy sated

--ER

The White House lied, Suskind says.

I'm beyond caring. Impeach Bush. Then impeach Pelosi and impeach Reid, for not impeaching Bush.

--ER

Stop Crocs now.

(If Dr. ER finds out I posted this, I'm dead meat.)

--ER

(Written tongue in cheek. ... Wait ... Crocs don't have tongues ...)

Please join me in extending best wishes to the presumptive Democratic nominee for president of the United States, Barack Hussein Obama, today, on the occasion of his 47th birthday.

Thank you.

--EHR

Break Now the Bread of Life

Break Thou the bread of life, dear Lord, to me,
As Thou didst break the loaves beside the sea;
Beyond the sacred page I seek Thee, Lord;
My spirit pants for Thee, O living Word!

Bless Thou the truth, dear Lord, now unto me,
As Thou didst bless the bread by Galilee;
Then shall all bondage cease, all fetters fall;
And I shall find my peace, my all in all!


Prayer of Confession at church:

Lord of Life, we cannot seem to get it straight. In your eyes, we are all the same; in your heart, we are all precious; in your economy, we are all of equal value. This is not how we have lived, and this is not how we have worshipped. Take us by the hand, lead us from fear and superstition, hatred and ignorance, to the Promised Land where all God's children have a chance to be healthy, happy and grateful. In Christ's name we pay, Amen.

--EHR

(Tip of my Resistol to Babalon)

Catholic Charities of Boston, and Focus on the Family, choose dogma over placing orphans in loving homes.

Surprise.

Not.

--ER

Not that I'm a cat person or anything, but if I had the time and resources, I might would take my poor Ice-T to a cat shrink.

All he does is mope around the house. And he's gotten so fat! He's growin' like a steer on corn. Which isn't far off, since he's been denutted and we can't keep him out of Eames' baby food.

Sigh.

Actually, he is going to a non-psych doc in the morning. He's frowing up again.

--ER