We don't carve pumpkins anymore... We glitter 'em.
Friday, October 31, 2008
Photo Friday.....
Two hours and twenty-eight minutes left of Halloween... (on the west coast)
We don't carve pumpkins anymore... We glitter 'em.
We don't carve pumpkins anymore... We glitter 'em.
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Meeting Your Meat
The dialogue I incited about hunting (my cross-post of the essay on “Better Terms” drew comment from a real live professional hunting blogger…) has had some surprising consequences. It’s a topic that has, like religion and politics, a lot of passionate feelings on both sides of the issue. Who knew the right to kill would be so fiercely defended by its adherents? And who knew I would be branded some kind of heretic for hinting condemnation of the practice?
Yes…passions ran high. Vehement, valid points were made by both sides. And I think perhaps part of the answer is that when the passion—or the compassion—goes away, as Silverdoe pointed out, it’s time to hang up the gun.
As well, I think there needs to be more passion, even compassion, associated with going to the store and buying a piece of pre-butchered, plastic-wrapped meat. Forget intending to make some kind of connection to the animal we’re about to eat; we have a hard enough time connecting to a human being in the meat department. As Cynthia pointed out, where we used to at least have skilled, knowledgeable tradesman standing behind the meat counters at our grocery stores, we now have glorified stock boys. Where we used to be able to ask the in-store butcher to cut and wrap a specific size or piece meat for us, we now have the choice of picking some “mystery cut” off the counter and hoping it will suit our needs, or just skipping it altogether. We invariably end up buying more than we need, just in order to make sure we have enough. (I’m sure that is no accident on the grocer’s part…)
I challenge anyone to walk into a Wal-Mart, Safeway, Albertson’s, or whatever the Huge Grocery Chain is in your area, and pick up off the shelves the exact cut of meat called for in any higher-end cookbook. And if you want to buy a small amount of something, like two chicken breasts or a four-ounce steak, you are going to pay through the nose. Again, it’s no accident that the bigger the package, the cheaper the meat. They tout it as a money-saving package for large families…but it really is a ploy to boost the ticket totals. They’re probably even hoping the remaining meat will sit in your freezer until it gets so old you’ll throw it out. Or they’ll really hit the jackpot if you use what you need out of a large package and forget to deal with the rest before it goes bad. How many times has this happened to you?
We have become a nation of mindless consumers, of meat as well as just about every other commodity in existence. We don’t know or care where it comes from, we just have to have it. We don’t think twice when a retailer forces us to buy more than we need in order to make us think we’re actually saving money. We don’t miss the image of half a cow or plucked chickens hanging from the ceiling at the butcher shop. It’s so much easier, much less “gross,” to pay $14 a pound for a little blob of red stuff tightly wrapped in neat, sterile-looking plastic. With the paper towels and hand sanitizer located conveniently above the rows of shiny packages of mystery meat.
When we first moved to Oregon, we scoffed at what we considered the out-dated, latent “hippie” culture in Eugene. We roared with laughter when a teacher at the community college told her class (of which hubs was a member) that her Thanksgiving meal was going to include a turkey, but it was going to be locally, organically grown, and butchered “with full respect for the animal.” After the self- examination I’ve experienced since posting my anti-hunting essay, I don’t find that funny at all anymore.
It’s only taken twenty-five years to finally get that message…
Yes…passions ran high. Vehement, valid points were made by both sides. And I think perhaps part of the answer is that when the passion—or the compassion—goes away, as Silverdoe pointed out, it’s time to hang up the gun.
As well, I think there needs to be more passion, even compassion, associated with going to the store and buying a piece of pre-butchered, plastic-wrapped meat. Forget intending to make some kind of connection to the animal we’re about to eat; we have a hard enough time connecting to a human being in the meat department. As Cynthia pointed out, where we used to at least have skilled, knowledgeable tradesman standing behind the meat counters at our grocery stores, we now have glorified stock boys. Where we used to be able to ask the in-store butcher to cut and wrap a specific size or piece meat for us, we now have the choice of picking some “mystery cut” off the counter and hoping it will suit our needs, or just skipping it altogether. We invariably end up buying more than we need, just in order to make sure we have enough. (I’m sure that is no accident on the grocer’s part…)
I challenge anyone to walk into a Wal-Mart, Safeway, Albertson’s, or whatever the Huge Grocery Chain is in your area, and pick up off the shelves the exact cut of meat called for in any higher-end cookbook. And if you want to buy a small amount of something, like two chicken breasts or a four-ounce steak, you are going to pay through the nose. Again, it’s no accident that the bigger the package, the cheaper the meat. They tout it as a money-saving package for large families…but it really is a ploy to boost the ticket totals. They’re probably even hoping the remaining meat will sit in your freezer until it gets so old you’ll throw it out. Or they’ll really hit the jackpot if you use what you need out of a large package and forget to deal with the rest before it goes bad. How many times has this happened to you?
We have become a nation of mindless consumers, of meat as well as just about every other commodity in existence. We don’t know or care where it comes from, we just have to have it. We don’t think twice when a retailer forces us to buy more than we need in order to make us think we’re actually saving money. We don’t miss the image of half a cow or plucked chickens hanging from the ceiling at the butcher shop. It’s so much easier, much less “gross,” to pay $14 a pound for a little blob of red stuff tightly wrapped in neat, sterile-looking plastic. With the paper towels and hand sanitizer located conveniently above the rows of shiny packages of mystery meat.
When we first moved to Oregon, we scoffed at what we considered the out-dated, latent “hippie” culture in Eugene. We roared with laughter when a teacher at the community college told her class (of which hubs was a member) that her Thanksgiving meal was going to include a turkey, but it was going to be locally, organically grown, and butchered “with full respect for the animal.” After the self- examination I’ve experienced since posting my anti-hunting essay, I don’t find that funny at all anymore.
It’s only taken twenty-five years to finally get that message…
FOOD FOR THOUGHT
According to George Will's column this morning, Americans spend more on potato chips in one year than the combined spending of all the candidates running for president and the congress in the last two years. I wonder if that's just potato chips or all chippy type snacks? Still boggles the mind though.
Just to put things in perspective when folks complain about how much money the Obama campaign has raised (and spent). And what the McCain campaign probably wished they had to spend.
Just to put things in perspective when folks complain about how much money the Obama campaign has raised (and spent). And what the McCain campaign probably wished they had to spend.
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Making the Right Choices for Kids...Or Not
There are parents out there who think they are responding to a real threat to their children’s health by NOT having them immunized, citing incidents of children becoming ill and even dying after getting their shots.
Mothers have hissy-fits about inappropriate books in school libraries, but let their kids sit for hours playing violent video games…
We have experts writing books about the dangers of allowing gay individuals to adopt children or teach in public schools…
And then there’s the guy who thought it would be wise to give his eight-year-old son a crack at handling that Uzi at the gun club…
Parents are called upon to make vitally important choices on behalf of their children. Always with that paralyzing thought echoing in the back of their heads… "What happens if I f*** this up?"
In this country, though, we seem to have a talent for screwing things up. We really hurt our kids with the poorly informed choices we make.
Sometimes, the result is that children die of diseases that were "eradicated" in the 1950’s.
Or that bigotry is passed from generation to generation.
Or that we make such urgently, tragically stupid choices that our kids don’t get a chance to grow up.
Get your kids immunized. Monitor what they read and play. Let them interact with people different from themselves.
And don’t let them play with guns.
Mothers have hissy-fits about inappropriate books in school libraries, but let their kids sit for hours playing violent video games…
We have experts writing books about the dangers of allowing gay individuals to adopt children or teach in public schools…
And then there’s the guy who thought it would be wise to give his eight-year-old son a crack at handling that Uzi at the gun club…
Parents are called upon to make vitally important choices on behalf of their children. Always with that paralyzing thought echoing in the back of their heads… "What happens if I f*** this up?"
In this country, though, we seem to have a talent for screwing things up. We really hurt our kids with the poorly informed choices we make.
Sometimes, the result is that children die of diseases that were "eradicated" in the 1950’s.
Or that bigotry is passed from generation to generation.
Or that we make such urgently, tragically stupid choices that our kids don’t get a chance to grow up.
Get your kids immunized. Monitor what they read and play. Let them interact with people different from themselves.
And don’t let them play with guns.
Monday, October 27, 2008
Food ethics
Lisa's wonderful post on sport hunting, and the dialogue in the comments has really had me thinking. It doesn't help that I recently read Animal, Vegetable, Miracle A Year of Food Life by Barbara Kingsolver. (I highly recommend the book to any nonfiction reader, any foodie, any gardener or any environmentalist. Everyone in Kingsolver's immediate family contributed in some way to the book, and as a family tale, it's interesting in that aspect as well.)
What are my food ethics? One of the oldest cliches that I can think of is "You are what you eat." Follow the implications of my food choices, and what does that really mean. Every woman who's ever put dinner on the table for more than herself knows that food choices can be complicated, but it also speaks reams about how we are as citizens and stewards of the world.
There is more than one ignored elephant in every dining room, but the biggest issue of all is that for anything to become food for our bodies, it has to die. Vegetarians, that applies to your food too. That bowl of rice is no longer absorbing sunlight and water in a field or paddy. That organic tomato isn't sucking down nutrients while someone carefully picks aphids of its vine. When I told this to my vegetarian daughter, she said, "...but plants don't have feelings." My response was that we really don't know now, do we. It's still a life, and it's still ended. I know that argument slides way out onto the ridiculous fringe. I'm not going to worry about cutting short the cozily nestled underground life of my carrots and not allowing them to fulfill their true carrothood.
Here is where the other elephants start trumpeting though. I will be concerned about the chemicals they've absorbed meant to kill weeds and insects, the genetic alterations used to make them more marketable, not necessarily more nutritious or tasteful, the fairness of the treatment the labor involved received, the cleanliness of the plant used to process them, and how much energy was consumed to get those carrots from the field to my home. I'll wonder about how the companies stand on Fair Trade. All that happens before I dig the glasses out of my purse to read the label and see just how many preservatives, and how much high fructose corn syrup and sodium have been added to the can in my hand. That's a whole lot of concern over a can of sliced carrots, and it all has to happen in the rush hour between leaving work and someone asks, "What's for dinner?"
It's even harder for carnivores. We ignore our big dead elephant in the room even harder, carefully and literally washing the blood from our hands. This is our choice. I love meat and won't give it up as a part of my diet. I once had the opportunity to professionally visit a meat processing plant. I was given an extremely limited tour of the facility, and it wasn't one of the nightmares described in Fast Food Nation, another gripping read about the food industry (that is definitely not for the weak stomached). I know there was a lot that I didn't see, and quite frankly, I saw enough to be grateful that I didn't see more. I do know that I want the meat I consume to have died a humane death. I want it to have lived as an animal should, not in a contained environment that does not allow for movement, fed an unnatural diet (cows are not cannibals and other than the occasional bug or worm, aren't even carnivores), and essentially trapped in its own excrement. The deer killed on some hunter's fun, mindless weekend excursion led a better life than that poor trapped cow.
After reading Kingsolver's book, I did ask the butchers at three of the grocery stores I use what they could tell me about the meat. At one, it just came from the warehouse. The butcher was essentially a very polite and wanting to be helpful stock person, not a true butcher. He didn't know if any of the meat was free range or not. It just came in on the truck. At the next, the answer was basically, our company does its best to purchase from the safest and cleanest suppliers. They couldn't tell me if the hamburger originated in a feedlot cage or every body's mental image of a farm. It was only at the truly local store that the butcher who cut his own chops and steaks and made his own sausage could tell me the source of most of the meat he sold. Some of it was truly locally raised by people he knew. Some came from CAFO (contained area feeding operations) meat suppliers. It was only by consuming on the most local level that I even had the choice to try to eat with respect for my ethics and principles. It's also important to note that organic or free range meat is also more expensive. For some people, a cruelty free meal isn't a realistic financial option.
I've made conscious choices to shop my ethics on other things. It's not easy. I quit a gym I really liked because their corporate parent is heavily committed to funding anti-choice groups. I look for union labels in clothing, but almost everything I see comes from a country where sweat shop labor is the norm. I refuse to use a certain delivery pizza chain. I do feel guilty every time I walk into Wal-Mart. Some people say I'm oversensitive. I think I'm just trying to be responsible and make my dollars count. If everyone refused to eat CAFO raised meat, it would fade from the marketplace.
Sometimes I just want to eat without thinking about it. I don't want to always take the time to express my gratitude, figure out how many miles were driven to get the hot dog and bun together and determine how deep my carbon footstep is for each meal. I just want to eat. I'm getting to the point where I just can't ignore the elephants anymore.
What are my food ethics? One of the oldest cliches that I can think of is "You are what you eat." Follow the implications of my food choices, and what does that really mean. Every woman who's ever put dinner on the table for more than herself knows that food choices can be complicated, but it also speaks reams about how we are as citizens and stewards of the world.
There is more than one ignored elephant in every dining room, but the biggest issue of all is that for anything to become food for our bodies, it has to die. Vegetarians, that applies to your food too. That bowl of rice is no longer absorbing sunlight and water in a field or paddy. That organic tomato isn't sucking down nutrients while someone carefully picks aphids of its vine. When I told this to my vegetarian daughter, she said, "...but plants don't have feelings." My response was that we really don't know now, do we. It's still a life, and it's still ended. I know that argument slides way out onto the ridiculous fringe. I'm not going to worry about cutting short the cozily nestled underground life of my carrots and not allowing them to fulfill their true carrothood.
Here is where the other elephants start trumpeting though. I will be concerned about the chemicals they've absorbed meant to kill weeds and insects, the genetic alterations used to make them more marketable, not necessarily more nutritious or tasteful, the fairness of the treatment the labor involved received, the cleanliness of the plant used to process them, and how much energy was consumed to get those carrots from the field to my home. I'll wonder about how the companies stand on Fair Trade. All that happens before I dig the glasses out of my purse to read the label and see just how many preservatives, and how much high fructose corn syrup and sodium have been added to the can in my hand. That's a whole lot of concern over a can of sliced carrots, and it all has to happen in the rush hour between leaving work and someone asks, "What's for dinner?"
It's even harder for carnivores. We ignore our big dead elephant in the room even harder, carefully and literally washing the blood from our hands. This is our choice. I love meat and won't give it up as a part of my diet. I once had the opportunity to professionally visit a meat processing plant. I was given an extremely limited tour of the facility, and it wasn't one of the nightmares described in Fast Food Nation, another gripping read about the food industry (that is definitely not for the weak stomached). I know there was a lot that I didn't see, and quite frankly, I saw enough to be grateful that I didn't see more. I do know that I want the meat I consume to have died a humane death. I want it to have lived as an animal should, not in a contained environment that does not allow for movement, fed an unnatural diet (cows are not cannibals and other than the occasional bug or worm, aren't even carnivores), and essentially trapped in its own excrement. The deer killed on some hunter's fun, mindless weekend excursion led a better life than that poor trapped cow.
After reading Kingsolver's book, I did ask the butchers at three of the grocery stores I use what they could tell me about the meat. At one, it just came from the warehouse. The butcher was essentially a very polite and wanting to be helpful stock person, not a true butcher. He didn't know if any of the meat was free range or not. It just came in on the truck. At the next, the answer was basically, our company does its best to purchase from the safest and cleanest suppliers. They couldn't tell me if the hamburger originated in a feedlot cage or every body's mental image of a farm. It was only at the truly local store that the butcher who cut his own chops and steaks and made his own sausage could tell me the source of most of the meat he sold. Some of it was truly locally raised by people he knew. Some came from CAFO (contained area feeding operations) meat suppliers. It was only by consuming on the most local level that I even had the choice to try to eat with respect for my ethics and principles. It's also important to note that organic or free range meat is also more expensive. For some people, a cruelty free meal isn't a realistic financial option.
I've made conscious choices to shop my ethics on other things. It's not easy. I quit a gym I really liked because their corporate parent is heavily committed to funding anti-choice groups. I look for union labels in clothing, but almost everything I see comes from a country where sweat shop labor is the norm. I refuse to use a certain delivery pizza chain. I do feel guilty every time I walk into Wal-Mart. Some people say I'm oversensitive. I think I'm just trying to be responsible and make my dollars count. If everyone refused to eat CAFO raised meat, it would fade from the marketplace.
Sometimes I just want to eat without thinking about it. I don't want to always take the time to express my gratitude, figure out how many miles were driven to get the hot dog and bun together and determine how deep my carbon footstep is for each meal. I just want to eat. I'm getting to the point where I just can't ignore the elephants anymore.
Monday Morning Musings
I was puttering about the Internet looking at this and at that. I finally came up with this:
"America is a country that doesn't know where it is going but is determined to set a speed record getting there."
Laurence J. Peter
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Laurence_J._Peter
"America is a country that doesn't know where it is going but is determined to set a speed record getting there."
Laurence J. Peter
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Laurence_J._Peter
Sunday, October 26, 2008
BLESS YOU
This is an adaptation of a Celtic prayer that I found in the book KNITTING INTO THE MYSTERY.
May the blessing of light be on you,
light without and light within
and light inside the darkness within.
May the blessed sunlight shine upon
you and warm your heart 'til it glows,
like a great peat fire, so that strangers may come
and warm themselves;
and that friends may come.
And may the light shine out of the eyes of you,
like a candle set in the windows of a house,
bidding the wanderer to come in out of the storm.
And may the blessing of the rain be on you--
The soft, sweet rain.
May it fall upon your spirit
so that the seedlings of light
in you shadow may spring up,
and shed their sweetness on the air.
And may the blessing of the great rains be on you,
that they beat upon your spirit and wash it fair and clean,
and leave there many a shining pool, and sometimes a star.
And may the blessing for the earth be on you--the great round earth
who carries all; the great round earth
whose suffering has already become radiant.
May you ever have a kindly greeting for people
you pass as you are going along the roads.
And now may the Lord bless you,
and bless you kindly, your kin and all creatures.
There wasn't much to take pictures of in the yard this weekend. It's the putting to sleep time of the year. About all that's blooming is the heather and while it's pretty, it doesn't show up very well. There was a bright crescent moon in the sky Saturday morning as I brought in the papers. So bright against the dark sky. Almost no stars and the sky just beginning to show that almost white blue of early dawn.
May the blessing of light be on you,
light without and light within
and light inside the darkness within.
May the blessed sunlight shine upon
you and warm your heart 'til it glows,
like a great peat fire, so that strangers may come
and warm themselves;
and that friends may come.
And may the light shine out of the eyes of you,
like a candle set in the windows of a house,
bidding the wanderer to come in out of the storm.
And may the blessing of the rain be on you--
The soft, sweet rain.
May it fall upon your spirit
so that the seedlings of light
in you shadow may spring up,
and shed their sweetness on the air.
And may the blessing of the great rains be on you,
that they beat upon your spirit and wash it fair and clean,
and leave there many a shining pool, and sometimes a star.
And may the blessing for the earth be on you--the great round earth
who carries all; the great round earth
whose suffering has already become radiant.
May you ever have a kindly greeting for people
you pass as you are going along the roads.
And now may the Lord bless you,
and bless you kindly, your kin and all creatures.
There wasn't much to take pictures of in the yard this weekend. It's the putting to sleep time of the year. About all that's blooming is the heather and while it's pretty, it doesn't show up very well. There was a bright crescent moon in the sky Saturday morning as I brought in the papers. So bright against the dark sky. Almost no stars and the sky just beginning to show that almost white blue of early dawn.
Saturday, October 25, 2008
On The "Sport" of Hunting
This morning, I left for work just after dawn. I poked my head out my front door, and was greeted by the staccato pop! pop! pop! of shotgun fire from across the channel: Sportsmen taking potshots into the great flocks of game birds wintering in the wetlands on and surrounding Sauvie Island. That sound never fails to grip my heart and squeeze.
I hate guns.
My dad owned a pair of pistols and a rifle. They weren’t loaded, they weren’t kept at the ready in case some hoodlum broke into the house in the middle of the night intent on murdering us in our beds. In fact, the pistols were locked up in a metal strongbox.
Dad was brought up with guns; he grew up in a small town in Oregon where guns and hunting were part of the culture. He spoke proudly of earning enough money on his paper route to buy his first rifle when he was twelve years old. He treasured his guns as a connection to his roots, a memento of a time and place far away and fondly remembered.
But he respected their potential to create mayhem in the wrong hands…knew they really had no place in the sleepy, mid-century exurbs of Chicago. Dad’s guns lived in the back corner of my parents’ bedroom closet. We girls were sternly threatened never, ever to touch, look at, or interact with those guns in any way. Ever. So sternly that I don’t remember even being tempted to burrow into their hiding place to look at them. So began my hate affair with guns.
I’m no longer that frightened little girl, totally cowed by the demonic presence hiding in the dark reaches of her parents’ closet. But even in adulthood I have not acquired any love for or acceptance of the role of firearms in 21st century society. “Guns don’t kill. People kill.” Small comfort, really, when you think about it.
Today, with the sound of shotgun fire echoing in my ears, I wondered about mankind’s fascination with guns. And with killing.
Killing the animals over which, the Bible says, we were given dominion. And killing each other. For the hell of it.
What is wrong with us? Why must we kill? Why are we the only species on earth that has constructed such an elaborate ritual around the senseless killing of other animals? We call it “hunting.” We do it for sport. Not because we need the food. Not because these animals are capable of, or interested in, killing us if we don’t kill them. They don’t come looking for us. We take it to them.
We kill because we can. Because we want to. Because it gives us some kind of perverted feeling of power.
How sick is that?
Fall is my favorite time of year to walk on the dike. I go to see those stunningly huge flocks of birds flying in shifting waves across the marshes to the island. I go to hear their chaotic barking and honking. That sound always stirs up something wild and restless in me.
And when I think of some idiot dressed in camo with his designer dog at his heel, pointing a blunderbuss into those great wild flocks and blowing the life out of bird after bird for sport…for the fun of it…
I wonder where to hand in my resignation from this race that is truly beyond hope.
Friday, October 24, 2008
Friday Photo(s)
Gone south for the winter I suspect.
The cool nights and warm days have had a lovely effect on the hydrangea.
A pleasant surprise while out walking the other day.Thursday, October 23, 2008
Are We There Yet???
This afternoon, I was sitting in front of my manicurist, in the salon across the street from the café. She was tending two of my acrylic nails that had begun to lift off (could this have something to do with the fact that I cannot keep my hands out of water for more than five minutes on any given day?)
A commercial came on the radio that started out, “Are you beginning to tire of all the political messages…?”
Manicurist and I looked each other in the eye and declared at the same time, “Hell yes!”
I’m done. I’ve had it. I don’t want to hear any more about how much the RNC has spent on Sarah Palin’s clothes, or about the Obama-bashing robo-calls targeting voters in key states, or about how John McCain is making a last-ditch effort to save his campaign by finally coming out strongly against the Bush Administration.
I don’t want to hear about Congressional Republicans trying to pin our current economic mess on Barack Obama (WTF!!??!?!?). Or about how McCain is planning to concentrate all of his advertising money into Florida, Ohio and other “purple” states possessing large numbers of electoral votes, in an effort to carry the election even in the (likely) event that he does not win the popular vote.
I don’t want to hear about how our local kids are going to go to hell in a handbasket if I don’t vote myself a $400 per year property tax increase so the school district can level our existing school buildings and build new ones.
I just want to vote and get it over with.
So, on my day off (Sunday) I’m going to sit down with my ballot and my Voter’s Information Pamphlet and do the deed.
And try to stay away from the television, radio and all other forms of hyperbolic media for the 9 remaining days of the campaign.
I’ve been thinking about building that lead-lined bomb-shelter under the house to use for just such occasions…
A commercial came on the radio that started out, “Are you beginning to tire of all the political messages…?”
Manicurist and I looked each other in the eye and declared at the same time, “Hell yes!”
I’m done. I’ve had it. I don’t want to hear any more about how much the RNC has spent on Sarah Palin’s clothes, or about the Obama-bashing robo-calls targeting voters in key states, or about how John McCain is making a last-ditch effort to save his campaign by finally coming out strongly against the Bush Administration.
I don’t want to hear about Congressional Republicans trying to pin our current economic mess on Barack Obama (WTF!!??!?!?). Or about how McCain is planning to concentrate all of his advertising money into Florida, Ohio and other “purple” states possessing large numbers of electoral votes, in an effort to carry the election even in the (likely) event that he does not win the popular vote.
I don’t want to hear about how our local kids are going to go to hell in a handbasket if I don’t vote myself a $400 per year property tax increase so the school district can level our existing school buildings and build new ones.
I just want to vote and get it over with.
So, on my day off (Sunday) I’m going to sit down with my ballot and my Voter’s Information Pamphlet and do the deed.
And try to stay away from the television, radio and all other forms of hyperbolic media for the 9 remaining days of the campaign.
I’ve been thinking about building that lead-lined bomb-shelter under the house to use for just such occasions…
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
SILK PURSE?
From Jim Morin courtesy of Go Comics.
I see on AOL news this morning that the Republican National Committee has reportedly spent over $150,000 dressing up Sarah Palin. Words ........ fail me. That is a lot of lipstick.
Oh, and the national hockey mom didn't spend any of the money at Wal Mart.
Oh, and the national hockey mom didn't spend any of the money at Wal Mart.
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