Because it really is personal…

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Illinois Teen Shouting for Jesus Dies When Police Taser Him

JERSEYVILLE, Ill. — Authorities are investigating the death of a 17-year-old boy who died after officers in this St. Louis-area community shot him twice with a stun gun while he carried a Bible and cordless telephone, shouting “I want Jesus.”

Roger Holyfield died Sunday night at a St. Louis hospital, a day after the former Jersey Community High School’s confrontation with police.

In a statement obtained Tuesday by The Associated Press, police in this community about 40 miles north of St. Louis said Holyfield would not acknowledge officers who approached him, continuing to yell “I want Jesus.”

Now then…My guess is that the ACLU and other Civil Rights organizations won’t do much about this. I dearly hope I’m wrong, but I don’t think I am.

“DENVER — Drug agents broke up an aggressive northern Colorado ring that shipped methamphetamine hidden in Elmo dolls and other toys, authorities said Wednesday.”
FoxNews

Now that’s just Wrong. Let’s just take the most innocent and irritatingly cute of creatures and turn it into a drug mule. Next thing you know, Elmo will be sporting a tribal tattoo around his left arm, and will have a biohazard sign shaved into his hairy little back.

You know, I’ve thought I would be the most effective drug runner alive, if I wanted to. I drive either the most anonymous vehicle on the planet (a tan minivan) or the cutest, most girly one (Little Martha, a powder blue Beetle Convertible). If I got stopped for speeding (that hasn’t happened since 1993), all I have to to blush and stammer and accept full responsibility for driving too fast. That’s what worked last time. The Officer let me go with a warning. “Be careful, there’s people out there who aren’t as nice as you.” he said to me. And, I normally drive quite the speed limit.

I don’t get why these runners use either 30 year old rusted out station wagons (hello! Warning bell! Why would that car be on the interstate? How could it go 110 from Miami to D.C. without a hopped up engine? Who does that to a 1975 Buick SkyWagon? Drugrunners! That’s who! I know for a fact because I have a 2nd cousin in jail right now for just that!) or brand shiny new black Navigators or Pearl White Escalades. DUH!

And now, apparently with a fair amount of efficacy, Elmo’s getting stuffed with meth. What next? Zoe wearing jewelry made from crack?

Sunday, I made some vague comment about how I needed more white clay and maybe I’d get an 8 lb box instead of a 2 pound one. So Sweet Daddio offers to drive me to Savannah to get some! Wow! I wasn’t fishing for a trip, just making a comment. Then he asks if there’s other stuff I need, wasn’t I wanting some specialty glitter or something?

The upshot is, we drove to Savannah and he treated me to a raspberry filled KrispyKreme and a cup of coffee, then we went to Michael’s and I bought $60 worth of glitter. Basically. Microfine glitter the consistancy of baby powder, embossing powders, and these teeny glass beads smaller than seed beads and without the holes. Fabulous! And special glue! And more clay! and a little fall thingy to put in Little Martha’s vase featuring a bird and a pinecone. I’m telling you, Nirvana to me is a Michaels Store and a credit card with no limit. The only thing I didn’t find that I wanted was a snowflake cookie cutter. I use them to make Christmas ornaments out of the white clay, then I’ll use the teeny beads and embossing powder and special glue to decorate them. I’ll put up a picture of one soon.

These are great things for kids to make- get the white sculpey clay, and roll it fairly thin (1/8 inch)and cut it out with the cookie cutter. Bake it at 250 for about 15 minutes and let it cool. Then decorate any way you please- glitter and glue, or those shimmery fabric paints, sequins and beads, whaaaatever!

The clay is extremely easy to work with, and doesn’t harden until you bake it, so if you make something and don’t like it, just smoosh it up and start over. Kids love it. The clay costs about $10 for a 2 lb box, and you can get 6 large ornaments, give or take.

I should get some kind of renumeration for product endorsement. It really is an incredible product. I started messing around with it about 15 years ago, and now I make stuff all the time, for gifts or whatever.

Anyway…back to the trip. We went to the Mall where I talked SD into buying this dark purple shirt- the kind where the warp is purple and the weft if black so it looks either purpledy black from on direction or blackeldy purple from another. He remains dubious, but I think he’ll look great in it. I know Lori, his secretary will hoot at him about it. She is the Arbiter of Good Taste for that plant.

We went to Best Buy to get information about the new WII game system, and I found myself looking at cameras. Sony has taken over Minolta, and their higher end digital cameras now have removable lenses compatible with the Minolta AF lenses..,Which I have a 35mm Minolta AF w/ extra lenses that I never use because digital’s just easier and all. So I looked and pondered and SD looked at me sideways and reminded me it was his turn for a new toy. Just as well, even though the new ones are 10.2 megapixels and interchangable lenses COMPATIBLE with my old camera, they don’t do the twisty thing that makes it so easy to photo teeny stuff on the ground, and that is my just about favorite feature on my existing camera. Plus my camera’s paid for and the new ones run $1500. Then we looked at GobStopper printers- this fabulous one that prints up to 13×48. Man. And it’s Epson which is my favorite photo printer because it’s fabulous and looks like film prints. *sigh*

We went to Target, because sometimes they have snowflake cookie cutters, but it’s too early yet. I love Target, it’s like Stuffmart with class.

Next thing on my agenda: Plan Thanksgiving dinner. I am going to smoke a turkey with my own special honey-ginger-orange glaze, fix some sweet potatoes somehow, maybe make a cold broccoli salad of some sort, dressing of course, and this cranberry ginger sauce I heard about. Yeast rolls, some other stuff. I’ve got to go to Epicurious and see what I can find. Or maybe Fine Cooking. I’m open to suggestions. Except not for Green Bean Casserole. I refuse to make that. My parents will be coming, and I have yet to talk to our friends…must do that. Maybe today.

A statement of belief

Here’s what I believe, with explanations so you won’t throw things at me.

1.I believe abortion should be made obsolete. I am not so naive as to think it will go away, but I think this world should be such that it is no longer considered necessary.

2. Homosexual, heterosexual, pansexual…eh. Pick your relationships based on compatibility, not on location of private parts.

3.Feminists are all hairy-legged dykes. *SCREEECH* ok I threw that one in to get your attention. Feminists come in all shapes and sizes and orientations. Just like everyone else. I’m still not real sure I qualify as one.

4. I DEEPLY resent being called a breeder, especially by the very demographic that shouts loudly about reproductive rights and how poor women have every right to 9 kids they can’t afford, yet, because I’m an upper middle class conservative Christian with 4 kids, I am labeled a “breeder”. That sticks in my craw. I CHOSE to have 4 kids. One of them was not “planned” and yet, I CHOSE to have him. I CHOSE to have my tubes tied, even though many people in my demographic believe I was trying to play God and that it’s my obligation to give birth to as many people as possible. Dang it! I can’t please anyone!

Have you noticed how so many of our issues today, whether is sexual orientation, the mutilation of little girls genitals, abortion rights, whatever, all boils down to sex. It seems to me, the easiest way to solve this problem is to eliminate sex entirely, except for reproductive purposes maybe 3 or 4 days a month. Yeah. If only people who could care for their children at a certain pre-determined level were allowed to have sex, problems solved, right? And since I am a Conservative Christian W/Minivan, I will determine the criteria. Because I have *Gawd* on my side.

Criterion The First: Income level >$50,000/ yr (because people making less than that can’t afford a house with 2 bathrooms and a fenced yard…oh wait…SD was making $14,000/ yr when #1 was born, and $24,000 w/#2, and $35,000 w/#3. I guess we’ll have to give them back.) Ok. Scratch that.

Criterion the Second: Potential parents (note…2 parents, not 1, no sperm bank recipients need apply, nor homosexuals no matter how much they earn) must pass a carefully designed psychological evaluation, guarenteeing mental stability and an unselfish attitude. Oh…wait….I’m manic depressive and have a bad habit of hogging the cookies. Oh well. Might as well let gays have kids, too. Everyone knows they make more than anyone else.

Criterion the Third: This goes along with the income level and general suitability. Potential parents (note the plural) must be over 25 and employed in the same job for more than 3 years. It is advisable, though not required, that one parent work and the other (preferably female) stay home and be a Mommy. Dang…there I go again. I was 22 when #1 was born, and SD changed jobs when #1 was 6 months old. Er… and I worked. Outside the home. For pay. I’m a baaad baaaad Mommy.

Well. Maybe I’m not so qualified after all. I guess I’ll just go an watch a Soap Opera and do something selfish…. Oh…rats…that makes me a Bad Christian Mother. If I were a Good Christian Mother I’d have my days so filled with catering to the whims of my husband and children that there’s be no time for Soaps! In Fact! I’d get up at 4 am for Devotional Time, and stay up til Midnight knitting afghans for orphans. But only Christian Orphans, who would appreciate them. None of these icky ethnic types that smell like curry. But, since I am NOT a Good Christian Mother, I’ll drink a martini to relax and read a book with heaving bosoms and rippling pectorals on the cover. But just for tips, not because I actually enjoy that stuff.

Saturdays are supposed to be specialish. Don’t ask me why, maybe it’s because when I was growing up Saturdays were the days we did interesting things. We’d drive an hour north to a Bluegrass Festival, or a juried arts show where Mom and I would dress in late 18th century peasant’s clothes, and do a schtick about spinning wool and cotton. We would, once a month or so, go to Jack’s to shoot guns and eat his stellar cooking.

Saturdays also meant I didn’t have to go to school. No one picked on me on Saturday. I could sleep late and spend the day in the woods with Daisy and a backpack of sandwiches. Sometimes we’d go to a movie (rarely, but it was known to happen). When I was in my teen Saturday was at a friend’s house, having spent Friday night there after a football game.

Now, it’s my kids turn to make their Saturday traditions. Frequently (like right now) #’s 2 and 3 will go into to town, to Goodwill for bargain-hunting, or to Walmart for Lord Know’s What. #4 is too young for such expiditions, so he gets to watch whatever came via Netflix earlier in the week. With popcorn!

For me, Saturdays hopefully mean Sweet Daddio has the day off (not today. The range is running and he’s got to be there 7 to 4). Sometimes we go for a drive into Low Country. Sometimes we do yard work, where he can dig out the chainsaw and make manly noises. Today, since he’s working (fie on Mike for making him work 70 hour weeks! Anyone who thinks upper management just sits around and lets the little man do all the labor better take that back…70 hour weeks and *he’s* the one who does the maintenance and repairs.*He* does it. Because he won’t ask any of his employees to do anything he isn’t willing to do. 70 hour weeks. 6:30 to 6:30 mon-Fri and 7 to 4 on Saturday. Yeah. Upper management steppin’ on the labor. Bullshit. And YES I’m a little sensitive about this.) Where was I…oh yeah. since he’s working, I’m watching Netflix movies and eating popcorn as well. I just finished up SIxteen Candles (Molly Ringwald, classic ’80′s teen angst movie) and will move on to Strictly Ballroom in a minute.

So that’s Saturday in the Toot household. Movies and popcorn and children driving around town pursuing their various nefarious activities.

Sometime I’ll write about management vs labor and how it really isn’t always what the Unions want you to think it is, but that’s for a time when I’s well lubricated and the words flow freely.

Well, the final chapter in my son’s epic adventures as Homecoming Prince(ess)has taken place.

He was disqualified because he was male. Not because he was *male* but because he is a heterosexual male. The administration told him only homosexual males can be in the Homecoming Court.

Discrimination!

Well, now we don’t have to worry what he should wear. His teachers were disappointed. One even bought him a crown.

Oh well.

It’s 7am and raining, which means still dark. Crazy.

You know, I’m constantly embarrassing myself. I get manic and think I have marvelous ideas then I act on them. Then I come out of the mania and go “Oh dear Lord, what have I done?”

No, I haven’t done anything more than mildly humiliating recently. That’s because I haven’t done anything much at all.

Anyway, I have this theory that one should move to a new town every 4 or 5 years. It lets you start over. We lived in the old town for 9 years. That’s longer than I have ever lived anywhere my enitre life! I learned that moving was a New Start when I was in high school. The summer between my junior and senior year we moved from Georgia to Alabama, with a 4 month stop in the Caribbean between.

It was a New Start. I learned that one’s reputation was not stamped on one’s forehead, and one could be reinvented to some degree.

I think part of my reluctance to get involved here is the fear of doing something stupid. Another part is not so much reluctance, but the fact that I am unknown, and so even though I sign up for committees and such, no one calls me, because I’m not kin. This is a very close knit town, and everyone is related to everyone else. I admire and envy that, but I also resent it. People are nice enough, it’s just easier to ask their cousin to make a chicken pie than a complete stranger with an unfamiliar last name.

I suppose I’m complaining. Maybe it’s some sort of divine reciprocity, for ignoring a new person in the past. I think I’ll give El a call today, see if she’d like to eat lunch with me. She’s new too, and Ethiopean, so she doesn’t mix well with white folk nor black. She’s also very funny, and we are thinking of asking her and her husband (who works for SD) and their nanny and kids over for Thanksgiving Dinner.

yeah…Rootie’s steppin’ out! Adventure!

#3 came home from school a bit ago. He was all excited because….He was voted 9th grade member of the Homecoming Court. An honor typically bestowed on some rich girl who’s daddy buys her stuff.

My son, the Homecoming Princess.

He got the most votes…143. A couple of weeks ago he was all in a lather for being nominated.

I told him he could borrow a dress if need be.

He wants to wear his work boots and this huge cowboy hat his great-grandmother bought him. Maybe he should wear a denim skirt. I have a pretty western style shirt that has big roses on it.

*sigh*

My son, the Homecoming Princess.