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December 24, 2017



Merry Christmas to all my JOM friends.



Jim Eagle

Gelukkige Kerstmis., Merry Christmas, Joyeaux Nöel.

So hard to catch up. Played golf today for the first time in 2.5 years. Not bad, not good. Chipped well, putted poorly and had a hard time finding my tempo. My Belgian nephews played from the tips and were booming 300+ yard drives down the center cut. Impressive.\

But then one of them has his sights set on the tour, so who knows.

Funny Christmas this year. Did presents in Southampton before we drove down and now will do presents here but no tree, no stockings, no nuttin. At least we have mass tomorrow. Very strange Christmas for us. Usually we have a large decoration up but not this year under more renovation.

Merry Christmas to all. And as much as I would love to see all the crazy speculation on 4chan and Reddit happen, I am resigned to the fact that the monster protects itself at all costs.

Jim Eagle

BTW, this is how you can track Santa. Share with your kids, grandkids and great grand kids.


How NORAD tracks Santa. When I was crewing our buffer I did a Christmas Eve track and call back to NORAD one year while we running the race track over the north pole to make sure Santa stayed safe.

Man Tran

Watching low clouds with snow embedded slowly working their way east. Supposed to start dropping later. I think it will be the first time since we were first here in 94 that what little snow we get would coincide with Christmas.

Merry Christmas to everyone. Glad to see you check in, Elliott.


The 60 lbs of Christmas? A modern Christmas story?

Why there they were, great-uncle Patrick Sunzoom Zanzibar and his wife Barbara in their mushroom fueled Prankstermobile on the 420 run, truckin' on down I-80 to Grandma's house mindin' their own bidness when Schwarze Peter in his black & white swooped in from behind like the nasty, funbustin law enforcement Grinch he was.

And when great uncle Patrick had to walk the line they knew they were done for.


Merry Christmas! If we were in the Maine woods,we'd have a foot of snow in the morning! I'm happy with sitting at an outdoor restaurant patio with the daughter and son-in-law,which we did today in the beautiful Florida sunshine. Love and Blessings to JOM!


Bibi Netanyahu Calls Israel ‘A Country That Says Merry Christmas’

I’m very proud to be the Prime Minister of Israel. A country that says Merry Christmas, first to its Christian citizens, and to our Christian friends around the world! I’m proud that Israel is a country where Christians not only survive but they thrive, because we believe in this friendship for all people.

Man Tran,

It was about 10 degrees last night here on this side of the state..ugh! About 4 inches of snow here and I'll bet lyle's getting that or more since he's South and East of here.

Snow tomorrow so it's time to suggle up with hot toddies :-)

Running ganja when you're eighty years old, you say? I'll bet they were just suplementing their retirement.. ;-)


Oh they left that detail out, the computers are in china?


Jim Eagle

Down here on the First Coast of Florida it is a balmy 75F today and now sitting out on the upper terrace, I am feeling the warmth of all the JOM tribe and the coming of a special Christmas.

For the first time in over 8 years, I believe my country is feeling relief and good tydings from the release of progressive oppression. It is the Christmas we have waited for and finally we have.

Now we are going to open our Florida presents with our Belgian nephews. Back later.


Merry Christmas all, one for mom


Ignatz Ratzkiwatzki

Had to post this image of a Bertuzzi shotgun with its sideplate open. Right click for the full jewel;

Dave (in MA)

Well, that's not going to help with the whole image thing.


Keep an eye out for CA's Ted Lieu. I see him being boosted in all the fashionable Dem places. Though he stepped in it on this one.

Ignatz Ratzkiwatzki

Progs continue their, let's face it, deliciously comical descent into the hellish maelstrom of their own political dementia;
How Trump and the Nazis Stole Christmas To Promote White Nationalism.

Ignatz Ratzkiwatzki

Nikki Haley pranked by a couple of Russkie comedians.
Assuming it's her I could barely understand about every third word the Russkie said so who knows what she heard.
Read the ZH comments at your own peril. Pretty bad, even by ZH's subzero standards.


Between services. The other soprano and I decided to cut the descant next service on one of the hymns to the last verse--we sing a lot--lot--and those As and so on are rather a trial! Have a Christmas G&T and a roast beef sandwich to fortify me for the 10:30. Love all the little children at the 5:30. They are probably greedily thinking of the delights of the morn, but they are still very cute.

Am envying Marlene and Jack in Florida, but there are at least four pretty inches of snow on the ground to please the sentimental (that would include me).

Re The Last Jedi--I should say that the animal rights undertone was very annoying. Chewbacca is shamed out of eating some sort of justly caught piece of S. Atlantic poultry by the outraged eyes of whatever that very cute big-eyed bird/mammal sidekick he picked up in the last movie. Thank God it seems to be okay in Jedi-land to eat fish--on which Luke in his hermitage seems to subsist). Fish are of course by Biblical precedent totally okay, both OT and NT (does not the risen Christ fry some up for his disciples?). So Biblically, at least fish, bread, wine, and olive oil and (to follow at least the spirit of one of the parables) fatted calves should be A-okay. If fatted calf, then rib roast and Yorkshire pudding, so tomorrow should be also okay. Merry Christmas, all.


Merry Christmas eve!

daddy at LuLu's

I hope Santa brings me one of these:

Real life Happy Feet! Hilarious moment a penguin bounds across the road in New Zealand to say hello to a local man

Cute video at the link.


Heh catsmeat, one of the amusing tropes is how clumsy and irresponsible rey is, in a reverie her blaster damages the native fishbeings home, and in another instant she wrecks their cart.

Rian or whoever his screenwriter does contemplate what 40 or 40 years of conflict would do to a galaxy, and the precarious stance that this republic remnant finds it self in, something kirshner didn't weakly consider in empire


Who would even shoot that thing, Ignatz?

Captain Hate

The Hate family is all together for Christmas for the first time in a long time, and the Hater tots seem to be un jet lagged. Younger Hatette's boyfriend will be joining us in four days and he sounds refreshingly goofy so perhaps the gelding shears will remain untouched

Teddy is flummoxed by the Hater tots. He knows they're part of the pack and accepts them as such, but their movements being so herky jerky and random keep him by the back door along with Sailor, who wants no part of them.


Merry Christmas Eve, JOM! Best night of the year IMO. :) Thank you all and thanks to our wonderful host for another amazing year in this best corner of the web.


And narciso, worse, those beings with the cart are basically Jedi nuns and she takes out important stuff (no one really harmed, but still, the nun-like ladies are not happy). Are they going to turn Finn into a Rose-lover and leave Po for Rey? That won't please the race-conscious among their audience (silly asses). End of thinking about this movie, for now--it's Christmas Eve!

Jim Eagle

In our English family tradition it is Roast Beef, Yorkshire pudding and Christmas pudding tomorrow. I brought my pudding down with the Beagles. It is in the wine room waiting for me to take it tomorrow and put a measure of Hennesy in it before steaming it up.

Have a 3 rib 5 lb roast off the ribs and tied. Potatoes, celery and onions to accompany it.

The boys are walking the Links course tomorrow and after that we serve the dinner.

Next the most famous Welsh rendition of Christmas by Dylan Thomas.

Captain Hate

ZH illustrates the downside of a completely unmoderated blog. Definitely a good example of what "I have to laugh to keep from crying" means.

Jim Eagle

A Child's Christmas In Wales - Poem by Dylan Thomas

One Christmas was so much like another, in those years around the sea-town corner now and out of all sound except the distant speaking of the voices I sometimes hear a moment before sleep, that I can never remember whether it snowed for six days and six nights when I was twelve or whether it snowed for twelve days and twelve nights when I was six.

All the Christmases roll down toward the two-tongued sea, like a cold and headlong moon bundling down the sky that was our street; and they stop at the rim of the ice-edged fish-freezing waves, and I plunge my hands in the snow and bring out whatever I can find. In goes my hand into that wool-white bell-tongued ball of holidays resting at the rim of the carol-singing sea, and out come Mrs. Prothero and the firemen.

It was on the afternoon of the Christmas Eve, and I was in Mrs. Prothero's garden, waiting for cats, with her son Jim. It was snowing. It was always snowing at Christmas. December, in my memory, is white as Lapland, though there were no reindeers. But there were cats. Patient, cold and callous, our hands wrapped in socks, we waited to snowball the cats. Sleek and long as jaguars and horrible-whiskered, spitting and snarling, they would slink and sidle over the white back-garden walls, and the lynx-eyed hunters, Jim and I, fur-capped and moccasined trappers from Hudson Bay, off Mumbles Road, would hurl our deadly snowballs at the green of their eyes. The wise cats never appeared.

We were so still, Eskimo-footed arctic marksmen in the muffling silence of the eternal snows - eternal, ever since Wednesday - that we never heard Mrs. Prothero's first cry from her igloo at the bottom of the garden. Or, if we heard it at all, it was, to us, like the far-off challenge of our enemy and prey, the neighbor's polar cat. But soon the voice grew louder.
"Fire!" cried Mrs. Prothero, and she beat the dinner-gong.

And we ran down the garden, with the snowballs in our arms, toward the house; and smoke, indeed, was pouring out of the dining-room, and the gong was bombilating, and Mrs. Prothero was announcing ruin like a town crier in Pompeii. This was better than all the cats in Wales standing on the wall in a row. We bounded into the house, laden with snowballs, and stopped at the open door of the smoke-filled room.

Something was burning all right; perhaps it was Mr. Prothero, who always slept there after midday dinner with a newspaper over his face. But he was standing in the middle of the room, saying, "A fine Christmas!" and smacking at the smoke with a slipper.

"Call the fire brigade," cried Mrs. Prothero as she beat the gong.
"There won't be there," said Mr. Prothero, "it's Christmas."
There was no fire to be seen, only clouds of smoke and Mr. Prothero standing in the middle of them, waving his slipper as though he were conducting.
"Do something," he said. And we threw all our snowballs into the smoke - I think we missed Mr. Prothero - and ran out of the house to the telephone box.
"Let's call the police as well," Jim said. "And the ambulance." "And Ernie Jenkins, he likes fires."

But we only called the fire brigade, and soon the fire engine came and three tall men in helmets brought a hose into the house and Mr. Prothero got out just in time before they turned it on. Nobody could have had a noisier Christmas Eve. And when the firemen turned off the hose and were standing in the wet, smoky room, Jim's Aunt, Miss. Prothero, came downstairs and peered in at them. Jim and I waited, very quietly, to hear what she would say to them. She said the right thing, always. She looked at the three tall firemen in their shining helmets, standing among the smoke and cinders and dissolving snowballs, and she said, "Would you like anything to read?"

Years and years ago, when I was a boy, when there were wolves in Wales, and birds the color of red-flannel petticoats whisked past the harp-shaped hills, when we sang and wallowed all night and day in caves that smelt like Sunday afternoons in damp front farmhouse parlors, and we chased, with the jawbones of deacons, the English and the bears, before the motor car, before the wheel, before the duchess-faced horse, when we rode the daft and happy hills bareback, it snowed and it snowed. But here a small boy says: "It snowed last year, too. I made a snowman and my brother knocked it down and I knocked my brother down and then we had tea."

"But that was not the same snow," I say. "Our snow was not only shaken from white wash buckets down the sky, it came shawling out of the ground and swam and drifted out of the arms and hands and bodies of the trees; snow grew overnight on the roofs of the houses like a pure and grandfather moss, minutely -ivied the walls and settled on the postman, opening the gate, like a dumb, numb thunder-storm of white, torn Christmas cards."

"Were there postmen then, too?"
"With sprinkling eyes and wind-cherried noses, on spread, frozen feet they crunched up to the doors and mittened on them manfully. But all that the children could hear was a ringing of bells."
"You mean that the postman went rat-a-tat-tat and the doors rang?"
"I mean that the bells the children could hear were inside them."
"I only hear thunder sometimes, never bells."
"There were church bells, too."
"Inside them?"
"No, no, no, in the bat-black, snow-white belfries, tugged by bishops and storks. And they rang their tidings over the bandaged town, over the frozen foam of the powder and ice-cream hills, over the crackling sea. It seemed that all the churches boomed for joy under my window; and the weathercocks crew for Christmas, on our fence."

"Get back to the postmen"
"They were just ordinary postmen, found of walking and dogs and Christmas and the snow. They knocked on the doors with blue knuckles ...."
"Ours has got a black knocker...."
"And then they stood on the white Welcome mat in the little, drifted porches and huffed and puffed, making ghosts with their breath, and jogged from foot to foot like small boys wanting to go out."
"And then the presents?"
"And then the Presents, after the Christmas box. And the cold postman, with a rose on his button-nose, tingled down the tea-tray-slithered run of the chilly glinting hill. He went in his ice-bound boots like a man on fishmonger's slabs. "He wagged his bag like a frozen camel's hump, dizzily turned the corner on one foot, and, by God, he was gone."

"Get back to the Presents."
"There were the Useful Presents: engulfing mufflers of the old coach days, and mittens made for giant sloths; zebra scarfs of a substance like silky gum that could be tug-o'-warred down to the galoshes; blinding tam-o'-shanters like patchwork tea cozies and bunny-suited busbies and balaclavas for victims of head-shrinking tribes; from aunts who always wore wool next to the skin there were mustached and rasping vests that made you wonder why the aunts had any skin left at all; and once I had a little crocheted nose bag from an aunt now, alas, no longer whinnying with us. And pictureless books in which small boys, though warned with quotations not to, would skate on Farmer Giles' pond and did and drowned; and books that told me everything about the wasp, except why."

"Go on the Useless Presents."
"Bags of moist and many-colored jelly babies and a folded flag and a false nose and a tram-conductor's cap and a machine that punched tickets and rang a bell; never a catapult; once, by mistake that no one could explain, a little hatchet; and a celluloid duck that made, when you pressed it, a most unducklike sound, a mewing moo that an ambitious cat might make who wished to be a cow; and a painting book in which I could make the grass, the trees, the sea and the animals any colour I pleased, and still the dazzling sky-blue sheep are grazing in the red field under the rainbow-billed and pea-green birds. Hardboileds, toffee, fudge and allsorts, crunches, cracknels, humbugs, glaciers, marzipan, and butterwelsh for the Welsh. And troops of bright tin soldiers who, if they could not fight, could always run. And Snakes-and-Families and Happy Ladders. And Easy Hobbi-Games for Little Engineers, complete with instructions. Oh, easy for Leonardo! And a whistle to make the dogs bark to wake up the old man next door to make him beat on the wall with his stick to shake our picture off the wall. And a packet of cigarettes: you put one in your mouth and you stood at the corner of the street and you waited for hours, in vain, for an old lady to scold you for smoking a cigarette, and then with a smirk you ate it. And then it was breakfast under the balloons."

"Were there Uncles like in our house?"
"There are always Uncles at Christmas. The same Uncles. And on Christmas morning, with dog-disturbing whistle and sugar fags, I would scour the swatched town for the news of the little world, and find always a dead bird by the Post Office or by the white deserted swings; perhaps a robin, all but one of his fires out. Men and women wading or scooping back from chapel, with taproom noses and wind-bussed cheeks, all albinos, huddles their stiff black jarring feathers against the irreligious snow. Mistletoe hung from the gas brackets in all the front parlors; there was sherry and walnuts and bottled beer and crackers by the dessertspoons; and cats in their fur-abouts watched the fires; and the high-heaped fire spat, all ready for the chestnuts and the mulling pokers. Some few large men sat in the front parlors, without their collars, Uncles almost certainly, trying their new cigars, holding them out judiciously at arms' length, returning them to their mouths, coughing, then holding them out again as though waiting for the explosion; and some few small aunts, not wanted in the kitchen, nor anywhere else for that matter, sat on the very edge of their chairs, poised and brittle, afraid to break, like faded cups and saucers."

Not many those mornings trod the piling streets: an old man always, fawn-bowlered, yellow-gloved and, at this time of year, with spats of snow, would take his constitutional to the white bowling green and back, as he would take it wet or fire on Christmas Day or Doomsday; sometimes two hale young men, with big pipes blazing, no overcoats and wind blown scarfs, would trudge, unspeaking, down to the forlorn sea, to work up an appetite, to blow away the fumes, who knows, to walk into the waves until nothing of them was left but the two furling smoke clouds of their inextinguishable briars. Then I would be slap-dashing home, the gravy smell of the dinners of others, the bird smell, the brandy, the pudding and mince, coiling up to my nostrils, when out of a snow-clogged side lane would come a boy the spit of myself, with a pink-tipped cigarette and the violet past of a black eye, cocky as a bullfinch, leering all to himself.

I hated him on sight and sound, and would be about to put my dog whistle to my lips and blow him off the face of Christmas when suddenly he, with a violet wink, put his whistle to his lips and blew so stridently, so high, so exquisitely loud, that gobbling faces, their cheeks bulged with goose, would press against their tinsled windows, the whole length of the white echoing street. For dinner we had turkey and blazing pudding, and after dinner the Uncles sat in front of the fire, loosened all buttons, put their large moist hands over their watch chains, groaned a little and slept. Mothers, aunts and sisters scuttled to and fro, bearing tureens. Auntie Bessie, who had already been frightened, twice, by a clock-work mouse, whimpered at the sideboard and had some elderberry wine. The dog was sick. Auntie Dosie had to have three aspirins, but Auntie Hannah, who liked port, stood in the middle of the snowbound back yard, singing like a big-bosomed thrush. I would blow up balloons to see how big they would blow up to; and, when they burst, which they all did, the Uncles jumped and rumbled. In the rich and heavy afternoon, the Uncles breathing like dolphins and the snow descending, I would sit among festoons and Chinese lanterns and nibble dates and try to make a model man-o'-war, following the Instructions for Little Engineers, and produce what might be mistaken for a sea-going tramcar.

Or I would go out, my bright new boots squeaking, into the white world, on to the seaward hill, to call on Jim and Dan and Jack and to pad through the still streets, leaving huge footprints on the hidden pavements.
"I bet people will think there's been hippos."
"What would you do if you saw a hippo coming down our street?"
"I'd go like this, bang! I'd throw him over the railings and roll him down the hill and then I'd tickle him under the ear and he'd wag his tail."
"What would you do if you saw two hippos?"

Iron-flanked and bellowing he-hippos clanked and battered through the scudding snow toward us as we passed Mr. Daniel's house.
"Let's post Mr. Daniel a snow-ball through his letter box."
"Let's write things in the snow."
"Let's write, 'Mr. Daniel looks like a spaniel' all over his lawn."
Or we walked on the white shore. "Can the fishes see it's snowing?"

The silent one-clouded heavens drifted on to the sea. Now we were snow-blind travelers lost on the north hills, and vast dewlapped dogs, with flasks round their necks, ambled and shambled up to us, baying "Excelsior." We returned home through the poor streets where only a few children fumbled with bare red fingers in the wheel-rutted snow and cat-called after us, their voices fading away, as we trudged uphill, into the cries of the dock birds and the hooting of ships out in the whirling bay. And then, at tea the recovered Uncles would be jolly; and the ice cake loomed in the center of the table like a marble grave. Auntie Hannah laced her tea with rum, because it was only once a year.

Bring out the tall tales now that we told by the fire as the gaslight bubbled like a diver. Ghosts whooed like owls in the long nights when I dared not look over my shoulder; animals lurked in the cubbyhole under the stairs and the gas meter ticked. And I remember that we went singing carols once, when there wasn't the shaving of a moon to light the flying streets. At the end of a long road was a drive that led to a large house, and we stumbled up the darkness of the drive that night, each one of us afraid, each one holding a stone in his hand in case, and all of us too brave to say a word. The wind through the trees made noises as of old and unpleasant and maybe webfooted men wheezing in caves. We reached the black bulk of the house. "What shall we give them? Hark the Herald?"
"No," Jack said, "Good King Wencelas. I'll count three." One, two three, and we began to sing, our voices high and seemingly distant in the snow-felted darkness round the house that was occupied by nobody we knew. We stood close together, near the dark door. Good King Wencelas looked out On the Feast of Stephen ... And then a small, dry voice, like the voice of someone who has not spoken for a long time, joined our singing: a small, dry, eggshell voice from the other side of the door: a small dry voice through the keyhole. And when we stopped running we were outside our house; the front room was lovely; balloons floated under the hot-water-bottle-gulping gas; everything was good again and shone over the town.
"Perhaps it was a ghost," Jim said.
"Perhaps it was trolls," Dan said, who was always reading.
"Let's go in and see if there's any jelly left," Jack said. And we did that.

Always on Christmas night there was music. An uncle played the fiddle, a cousin sang "Cherry Ripe," and another uncle sang "Drake's Drum." It was very warm in the little house. Auntie Hannah, who had got on to the parsnip wine, sang a song about Bleeding Hearts and Death, and then another in which she said her heart was like a Bird's Nest; and then everybody laughed again; and then I went to bed. Looking through my bedroom window, out into the moonlight and the unending smoke-colored snow, I could see the lights in the windows of all the other houses on our hill and hear the music rising from them up the long, steady falling night. I turned the gas down, I got into bed. I said some words to the close and holy darkness, and then I slept.


Btw tried the goose island, torpedo is better.

James D.

Merry Christmas, JOM!

Jim Eagle

And from of my favorite writers of all time, a Christmas sentiment:

May all my enemies go to hell,
Noel, Noel, Noel, Noel.

/Hillaire Belloc

Beasts of England

So glad to hear that, Momto2!!

~ ~ ~

The Christmas Chicken is part of the animal flock at the manger. I don't remember any yard bird sightings by the three Magi, but I'm willing to let it slide based entirely upon the cuteness factor.

~ ~ ~

Nice gun porn, Ig! I'm with Extraneus - fire it, heck; I wouldn't even take it out of the case. :)

Ignatz Ratzkiwatzki

--Who would even shoot that thing, Ignatz?--

Presumably, the same guy that takes his immaculately restored Hispano Suiza H6B out for a Sunday drive.

Ignatz Ratzkiwatzki

Hillaire Belloc was a wonder, JiB.

Beasts of England

This thread reminds me that no one asked for my Magic Ganache Brownies recipe. They're famous!! Okay, maybe next year... ;)

Jim Eagle

Mrs. JiB are up on our upper terrace looking across the expanse of the 18th fairway listening to Christmas music in 70F weather. Nay a ripple on the ocean. Beautiful night which is mean't to be.

Jim Eagle


He wrote a book, that I have, very rare, that disputes the alingment of the Roman road from Chichester to London Bridge. It passes through my ancestral home in Westhampnett, Sussex and allowed me to understand how even the military engineers of the British army could get it so bad.

Great mind.

Beasts of England

Sounds really peaceful, JiB. :)

Jim Eagle


Even better with 3 nervous Beagles walking about as we drink and bring it all in. Off to bed. Waiting for Santa.

Happy Christ

Jim Eagle


daddy at LuLu's

Has anybody asked Rosa Parks for a comment yet?

United Airlines took my seat and gave it to Dem Politician Shiela Jackson Lee

I dont know about you guys but "Get in the back of the AirBus" ain't a good line for Civil Rights Icons in my book.


I want to reach out to all those who feel this Tax Bill is an affront to
their sensibilities. I'm willing to take it on the chin and take off your hands any possible refund .. I'll even send you a stamped envelope.
Don't let Trump determine how much more money you will keep.

Tell your friends ... please


Merry Christmas! I agree with narciso on Torpedo vs Goose Island.

Just back from dinner with entire family (18 of us plus one future). Lovely weather, but I miss the 3” of White Christmas that fell at home.

Ignatz Ratzkiwatzki

And finally an unNoelly sentiment perhaps but it wouldn't bother me one bit were the entire Star Wars franchise, from the get go, to disappear down the memory hole.
I kinda hate it.

Captain Hate

Btw tried the goose island, torpedo is better

Good judgement.

My Hatettes wanted wine with dinner tonight so I said pick something out of my broken wine fridge. I think they didn't want to touch some of the better stuff, which would have been fine with me (I'm not gonna live forever and this would be a great time for it) so they picked a Clos La Coutale 2014 Cahors Malbec/Merlot blend which someone gave me and I just put it away for the future.

The Platform Panic Switch barley wine was a slightly better choice. Platform is a Cleveland brewery that takes a lot of shots from the Beer Advocate mavens for throwing too much against the wall trying to make it stick, but isn't that part and parcel of what craft brewing is supposed to be about? I stopped by their brewery before a recent concert and their barrel aged Esther Christmas ale was outstanding. So consider me a fan.

Tomorrow I'll toast the memory of Jim Rhoads with some Corsendonk Christmas ale; he took my advice and enjoyed it. Also when I first met jimmyk the bar south of Columbia (I never can remember it's name but daddy's been there) had it on tap after Thanksgiving a few years back.

daddy at LuLu's


Love your 08:02. That is great. Nice to see the Daily Caller's Luke Rosiak dish it out to that deserving scumbucket Ted Lieu. Luke Rosiak ought to be in the running for the Pulitzer. He has done wonderful service this year by keeping the Awan/DWS affair alive, regardless how har rhe amSM tries to smother the thing.

James D.

Daddy @ 9:06

Lovely story, isn't it? And Lee dispenses with any doubt as to precisely how loathsome she is with her statement:

“Since this was not any fault of mine, the way the individual continued to act appeared to be, upon reflection, because I was an African American woman, seemingly an easy target along with the African American flight attendant who was very, very nice,”

Ignatz Ratzkiwatzki

Anyone who hasn't read Belloc's The Path to Rome is missing out. The Introduction is justly famous by itself.
He could be very funny. from wiki;

He was at his most effective in the 1920s, on the attack against H. G. Wells's The Outline of History, in which he criticised Wells' secular bias and his belief in evolution by means of natural selection, a theory that Belloc asserted had been completely discredited. Wells remarked that "Debating Mr. Belloc is like arguing with a hailstorm". Belloc's review of Outline of History famously observed that Wells' book was a powerful and well-written volume, "up until the appearance of Man, that is, somewhere around page seven."


Checking in from in-law central: my snooty SIL and her hubs brought a '11 Leonetti Cab that I drank half of. Boo-yeah. I'm still on best behavior, though. All my smoked turkey breast is gone. Finito.

Captain Hate

United deserves to be raked over the coals for enabling Sheila Jackass Lee to bump regular citizens off their flight and then act like the original holder of the ticket was the trouble maker.


Lola, bellic did have a rapier wit, how did a scam like Darwinism take hold, daddy points out re that mcalman tome that it was the triumph of promotion over scientific validity, but ultimately it is the kind of thing a certain reptile would find useful, along with Freud who postulated that sin is the necessary and desired state (which suggests the real objection to hallmark that it is more about romance and courtship, than mere lust fixations) and Marx who enshrined envy as science, that our world lost its way.


Captain, the bar was George Keeley's on Amsterdam Ave. Still has a good selection.

Miss Marple the Deplorable

Back from the family Christmas. I discovered my grandson has about 2 grand in Bitcoin, more in stocks and bonds. That kid is going places, to have saved up that much and invested.

Depauw granddaughter is doing well with grades. High school freshman daughter got all A's on her exams, including a perfect score in bilogy. They are all doing great.

My retired teacher sister had 2 cats of her own and then took in my nurse sister's 2 cats when she dwonsized, and NOW has her daughter's cats while she is away on vacation. SIX cats in a small 3-bedroom house! She wrote a funny song about it and performed it tonight. I will get the words to it and post them later this week. She got a huge round of applause.

Jack - Thanks for posting the Dylan Thomas piece. It's been years since I read it and it was nice to read it tonight.

It's very cold here - down to 21. Icy streets and walks. I doubt if I go anywhere the next few days unless absolutely necessary.It started snowing again as we drove home.

daddy at LuLu's

it wouldn't bother me one bit were the entire Star Wars franchise, from the get go, to disappear down the memory hole.


As long as you don't include the Mos Eisley Cantina I'm OK with your memory holing.

Miss Marple the Deplorable

I really only liked the first Star Wars film. It was brand new. We took my son to see it - he was 9 years old.

I decided we would go see it based on nothing more than the newspaper ad, which was radically different from anything I had seen for a science fiction movie. (I had always loved reading science fiction, but the movies were abysmally made and full of monsters and such.)

They got me with the opening with that huge ship coming in from overhead. I loved it. I even noted the nod to Frank Herbert's "Dune" with the skeletons of sandworm-type things on the planet.

The sequels never measured up as far as I was concerned. I think the first one had the element of surprise and magic the others lacked.

Still, my son remembers seeing it to this day.


Well canto bligh was a shinier version of that or cloud city, some likened it to Dubai, the casablanca of this era.


I saw the original about three years after it came on laser disk at a friends house. All subsequent films including force awakens not at that template but with diminishing effect.


Friends from Roseville near DrJ are staying with us. Having recently returned from OR they brought some local pale ales,Caldera and Trail Beer.
It's a Golden Age for American beer, that's for sure.

Miss Marple the Deplorable

Donald J. Trump
‏Verified account @realDonaldTrump
5m5 minutes ago

People are proud to be saying Merry Christmas again. I am proud to have led the charge against the assault of our cherished and beautiful phrase. MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!!!

daddy at LuLu's

When Harry Met Sally Theia Met Gaia.

Has the mystery of how the moon was formed finally been solved?


Ignatz Ratzkiwatzki

Are you laughing out loud 9:40 narciso, or calling me Lola?

If the latter, just for the record I don't drink champagne that tastes like cherry cola or walk like a woman.

At least no one has ever told me I do.

Clarice Feldman

I;ve been cooking all day--tonight I made an elaborate orange, cranberry nut bundt cake which had a zillion ingredients and survived the hazardous feat of getting it out of the pan in one piece. Tomorrow it gets covered with drizzles of white chocolate frosting which are covered with sprigs of sugar dusted cranberries and rosemary branches to look like a wreath. My work is done.


Shirley you can't think that, the former.

daddy at LuLu's

Boo-yeah. I'm still on best behavior, though.


Do u think there's any chance Vincent was merely shaving his ear hairs?


i dont know where Columbia is but I'm thinking either Keeley's or McSorley's, or at the furthest, Fraunces Tavern. Those are the only regular bars in that town I'm familiar with.

Clarice Feldman


Clarice Feldman

A $285 million reduction and a warning that we're auditing how it's spent.

Miss Marple the Deplorable


Your bundt cake sounds like it will taste wonderful and look lovely!

On top of that, you brought news of the creeps at the UN getting their budgets cut!

Certainly a festive touch for this lovely time of the year! Thanks!

Miss Marple the Deplorable

Joe Trippi is leaving Fox news. Just saw a note from him answered by Greta.

I think it was not his decision.

Captain Hate

Captain, the bar was George Keeley's on Amsterdam Ave.

Yes, that's it. For some reason I can never remember it; like Christopher Walken only a place's name.

daddy at LuLu's

It's a Golden Age for American beer, that's for sure.

Grudgingly but willingly giving credit where it's due.

How Jimmy Carter Sparked the Craft Beer Revolution

And from the comments: A Craft Brewer is just a Home Brewer that got tired of his friends drinking for free


I am plopped on a bar stool at LuLu's sipping a Lagunitas. Did a double espresso at the Starbucks downstairs to give me the energy to climb the stairs to LuLu's, then one of their excellent Bloody Mary's as a starter, and now coasting into the sunset on Lagunitas IPA. Beasts would be envious of the talent behind the bar:) Also worth mentioning that the company gives us authority to charge $60 on the company credit card for Christmas dinner anywhere in the world we are, but will not pay for alcohol, only chow. How do u find $60 worth of chow in Waikiki? That's one heck of a lot of chicken wings!

Clarice Feldman

Thanks, MM--I hope so.

Miss Marple the Deplorable

Well, I am pretty tired so am calling it a night.

I am going to leave you with this video of the President and First Lady talking on the phone to kids calling NORAD about Santa.


Merry Chistmas to all of you wonderful people!

Ignatz Ratzkiwatzki

Just think Vince might not have offed himself if only someone had been thoughtful enough to slip one of these in his Christmas stocking;

daddy at LuLu's

What's the feminine equivalent of the name 'Ignatz'?

Indira Gandhi?

daddy at LuLu's

I;ve been cooking all day--tonight I made an elaborate orange, cranberry nut bundt cake which had a zillion ingredients and survived the hazardous feat of getting it out of the pan in one piece.


April Ryan says she doesn't believe you.


Unlike India which Dorset serum to kmoe where their bread is:





Seem to know where their bread is buttered


I'm speaking of this:


daddy at LuLu's


Winner TK, Winner!

daddy at LuLu's

Imelda Marcos?



Merry Christmas all!

Rolauden and Knodel for us tonight.


I do wonder if the UN diplomats always vote as their country wishes. After all, it is to late to change after the vote has been cast.


Fantastic TK.

Captain Hate

It's only right that I point out when Jake Tapper takes the high road:


Frau Steingehirn

TK - Frohe Weihnachten!

You forgot an Umlaut but are forgiven.
GUS was calling out for Rouladen. Did you make extra?


Interesting detail:



Merry Christmas to all of my JOM family.


You forgot an Umlaut but are forgiven.

GUS was calling out for Rouladen. Did you make extra?

I knew I would get busted on the Umlaut.

Gus, there is never extra. Next time we will set a plate for you. ;-)

Dave (in MA)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vJoGWCQtwRQ Damn, I could use some of that chowder right now.

Dave (in MA)

I guess the JOM night crew is helping the guy with the sleigh.

mike in houston

OK I just settled down for my long winters nap when all of a sudden I heard the boom of the Christmas fireworks outside. Then came the creaking of the bedroom door as the fearless Scottish Terrier, Maggie came bounding into the room for comfort. She has an aversion to fireworks and lighting, which always puzzled me as just the other day she was playing with a Great Dane who was obviously playing second fiddle to her. Well anyway she is now at the end of the bed warming my toes. Merry Christmas to all and to all... I think I'll give the merrymakers till 1 AM and then I'll make some noise of my own .


my snooty SIL and her hubs brought a '11 Leonetti Cab that I drank half of. Boo-yeah

Hey lyle, you're drinking wine from my country. Know the Figgins of Leonetti fame some. Have been to their winery a few times. And photographed their vineyards more than a few times :-)


People are saying Merry Christmas everywhere, even in my lib town. You can tell they are loving it. Trump is right.

I made my first fruit cake a couple of weeks ago. Really a Christmas cake as it's a British recipe with a full kilo of dried fruit. Minimal orange zest and no candied fruit or peel, just the dried stuff. I used plum eau de vie and Madeira.

I think it tastes pretty good. Weighs over five pounds in the vintage fruit cake tin I got for $1 (and had seen on eBay for $20).

Merry Christmas, JOM! :)


Santa just finished filling stockings -- a tradition accompanied by the Pope’s Midnight Mass.

Watch it every year. Love the service. Found what the Pope said overfilled with SJW cant.

Still a nice service.

LOvely dinner for 10 with 12 pounds of Roast cut from the bone but tied to it. Exchanged presents with close family by the fire.

Merry Christmas. And God bless us everyone.

$28 a Month? Huh?

Merry Christmas to ya'll. Stay safe and remember.......policy wise there is barely daylight between us.

Corporate media and the political class make their money off of division!


I made my first fruit cake a couple of weeks ago. Really a Christmas cake as it's a British recipe with a full kilo of dried fruit. Minimal orange zest and no candied fruit or peel, just the dried stuff. I used plum eau de vie and Madeira.

I think it tastes pretty good.


Like Climate Change, I don't think a Fruitcake can be properly evaluated until a century has gone by:

'Almost Edible' 106-Year-Old Fruitcake Found In Antarctica

I will happily try a slice in 2123.

Miss Marple the Deplorable

Donald J. Trump
‏Verified account @realDonaldTrump
5h5 hours ago




Short video at the link.

Miss Marple the Deplorable

Donald J. Trump
‏Verified account @realDonaldTrump
5h5 hours ago




Short video at the link.

Miss Marple the Deplorable

Well, that's a new record - double links in a double-posted post.

I swear to you guys I had no eggnog!

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