Angels We Have Heard
Are High

angelic kitsch...from Hell

Cavalcade of Bad Nativities
it came upon a midnight weird

The Passion of the Tchotchke
holy week kitsch-o-rama

Stations of the Kitsch


I am not responsible for the content of the above ads, which are often hilariously mis-matched.


Monday, November 28, 2005

she does not shut up about that cat

Big MWAH! to whomever sent the anonymous Peet's gift cards to the entire staff at St. Ned's. There shall be coffee, and it shall be good.

I've actually come to the whole coffee thing kind of late; I'm more of a Diet Coke in the morning girl. But it is good to have a standing favorite, as coffee is kind of a form of currency and communication around here. You rock, therefore I bring you coffee. But it's an expensive habit and I'd just as soon not get too far into it.

I think we can declare Gracie fully settled in. She had a cold all weekend, which is the way of the former shelter kitties. She slept a lot and had the cutest little sneeze - she sounds like a party favor. Dennis and I barely left the house, so she was able to pick a lap, spend some time there, and then switch. I sewed on Saturday and she camped out on the bed and watched.

Unfortunately, I think this whole leisurely long-weekend thing gave her a distorted view of what our lives are like. It was back to work today, and Dennis is dealing with a very put out little kittengirl who wants him off the computer. She understands that he works from home; she just doesn't understand that he doesn't work for her. They're trying to work it out. She makes a disgruntled wookiee noise if she feels the keyboard is interfering with her snuggling.

I'm in the home stretch on the sweater I'm knitting for Dennis. It's a simple polo-collared pullover made from Noro Kureyon. I just have to finish the second sleeve. I'm very happy with it, and will post photos when it's done. Probably with Gracie laying on it, since she seems to enjoy that.

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Saturday, November 26, 2005

in which we find out that Sara has a weird thing for elves

I haven't really started the Christmas decorating around here, mostly because I want to give Gracie a little more time to settle in before I bring in the Shiny Spinning Tree.

One of this year's acquisitions that I am excited about is the incredibly bizarre wheel of elf tree topper, which won't actaully be on top of my tree because you can't put electric stuff on aluminum trees. Mostly because of the disaster and death that would ensue, plus the cord would get all tangled from the spinning.

Yeah. It's pretty much either Snap, Crackle or Pop, decapitated, placed in the middle of a pentagram, and surrounded by chaser lights. "Our dark lord stays crunchy in milk!" Further proof that I will bid on just about anything that involves these pixie elves when I'm on ebay in a certain mood. Although even I was surprised by how bizarre this one is in person.

This does not explain why last night I felt like I needed to make this, after deciding that there should be a loteria card for my elves:

I made a bunch of magnets and buttons out of it and will convert them to Christmas ornaments in some way that I haven't quite figured out yet.

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Wednesday, November 23, 2005

Dude! Black shirts!

Cafepress has finally let my people go made a black t-shirt, which means my signature wtfwjd? shirt is now available in black, just in time for your holiday shopping. Whee!

Gracie says, "The best thing about black shirts is that my fur shows up really, really well on them! All proceeds go to buy me the gold-plated litterbox I deserve!"

The second part of that statement is a lie, but I will let it stand because typing around her when she is settled in as laptop#2 is hard enough.

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Tuesday, November 22, 2005

It's almost Advent...

Starting this Sunday:

A collection of angelic giftware...from hell.

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Eventually, we hope that Gracie will warm up to us...

Seen here doing gymnastics to be sure that Dennis pets the whole kitty. She has been velcro-ed to his lap all day today.

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Sunday, November 20, 2005


The slightly irregular kitty has a name! She is Sister Mary Grace, aka Gracie. Or Sister Mary Graceless if she turns out to be a klutz.

We're so excited about picking her up tomorrow. We got her a new carrier today (I left Clyde's carrier behind at the vet's, because I just couldn't walk out of there with an empty carrier), along with a brush and the biggest poop scoop I've ever seen. If I thought she could read, I'd write Not A Challenge To You on it.

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Saturday, November 19, 2005

Manos: Kitten of Fate

We went to the Huge Cat Adoption Faire at a local cat rescue today. Following the standard jokes about the size of these huge cats, we went in to just, you know, see what sorts of kitties they had.

They had cages upon cages of tiny fluffy kittens, engaged in various activities of cuteness. We were thinking about a pair of kittens, so this was great. They showed us around the room, and while we walked past one wall of mostly older cats, I noticed Dennis wasn't with me. He was in front of one of the cages, with his fingers through the bars.

Inside was a cat called Star, who was head-butting Dennis' hand with great enthusiasm. I put my hand in and she smacked her head into it until the door shook. I am a sucker for the head-butt. She was a really pretty color and super-soft in that Gund bear way that Clyde was, and she was going back and forth between our hands, getting as much love as she could.

We asked to take her to a private room (I feel like the next line should be 'for a lap dance') to get to know her, and she was only shy for a minute or so before she was snuggled right up to Dennis, purring away while I petted her. And then we realized we had our kitty.

We can pick her up on Monday, and then she needs to go back a week later to get spayed, but that's just a day and she'll come home in the evening with a big satellite dish collar of silliness. Cats love that.

She's probably 9 or 10 months old, but that's just a guess by the vet at the rescue. They pick up cats from the local shelters who need medical attention or are in danger of being put down for space reasons, and also are a home for unwed cat mothers, which is probably how they get most of the kittens. They always have some slightly irregular kittens, which I guess includes our kitty because check out the paws:

The rescue people called her Star because they thought her divided paws were a bit Vulcan, but she didn't really come with a proper name. So now we need to come up with one. At first we were thinking Crow, after Crow T. Robot, because she's kind of goldish, but it doesn't quite fit. So we'll keep working on that this weekend.

So, we ended up with something different than what we were thinking of, but I really think she's the right kitty for us. Dennis asked me afterwards if I thought we should have checked out the other kittens more, but I really can't imagine what another kitty would have had to do to top Star.

I didn't really capture her tail well in any of the pictures I took; her tail is stripey and fluffy and mighty.

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Wednesday, November 16, 2005


I sometimes feel like I'm at the beginning part of a movie, where everything is really great and there is all this visual shorthand to show how in love and blessed and happy the main characters are.

You know, right before the zombies show up.

Part of me is sitting around waiting for the zombies, because that reptilian section of my brain believes that the goodness in my life can't be real, it has to just be a setup for some giant catastrophe. So I'm always holding back slightly.

I realized over the weekend that I'm still living as though I'm in my adorable little Christian phase, one I'll be free to step out of whenever the mood strikes me. Still holding back a little, just in case this all falls apart. You know, just in case they figure out who I really am and then there's all that unpleasant burning at the stake.

Yah. Like I'd be worth the kindling. My heresies are boring and unoriginal in the grand scheme of things. It's fun to think of myself as provocative and dangerous, but it's impossible to maintain for long without giggling.

I don't really know what I'm going to do with this, except that whole pondering in my heart thing.




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Christian Living: Full of Awkward Moments

This was in my inbox:

Is the chick on the left a mannequin? If not, could she be more bored by whatever the chick on the right is saying? Clearly, neither of them wants to be there. Are they discussing feminine hygiene issues or something?

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I hear the roar of a big machine

I'm probably more amused by this than I should be, but one of the subject lines in my inbox this morning was:

Get Free Shipping and celebrate Christ's birth

I bring you tidings of great joy - and SAVINGS!

In the I Am Very Old category, my high school/college CD collection is now a freaking novelty record.

Now I need to go put on the Sisters of Mercy and bop around for a while. Or mope around for a while. Or something.

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Tuesday, November 15, 2005

scenes from the courtyard

This morning, outside St. Ned's Nursery School, drop-off time.

We open on a small child, whipping the trees and plants with a length of rope.

Sexton Dennis, who is responsible for said plants, sees this.

Sexton Dennis: Please don't hurt the plants.

Child continues to hit plants. Sexton Dennis does a few things around the courtyard, then comes back.

SD: Stop hurting the plants now.

Asshat Parent, who has been ignoring the actions of her child, now runs over.

Asshat Parent: People like YOU shouldn't be talking to my child.

[Sexton Dennis then delivers a righteous smackdown, including:]

SD: Would you let your child do this in your front yard?

AP: Uh, no...

SD: Well, this is my front yard. It's hundreds of people's front yard, and your child doesn't get to destroy it.

Asshat Parent does not apologize. Not surprisingly.

Sexton Dennis is somewhat emboldened by this, and notices that another parent - let's call him Asshat Parent #2 - is there with two children who are throwing trash on the ground.

SD: Could you please ask your children to pick up that trash?

Asshat Parent #2: Isn't that for people like you to do?

SD: Maybe if you don't care what kind of people your kids grow up to be.

[Following Righteous Smackdown #2, Asshat Parent #2 picks up the trash instead of getting the kids to do it. Which means his children will probably still become asshats of the future, but at least it's something.]

This kind of thing is quite typical with the nursery school parents. Parishioners who send their kids to the school know Dennis, so they're cool and chat with him and generally treat him like a human being. He's pretty much invisible to the rest, unless he's in their way somehow, or unless they need someone to carry something for them. St. Ned's is just another paid service provider to cater to their needs.

It's kind of fun to be part of the servant class sometimes; you get to see things in a different way, and see people as they really are. It can also, of course, be really fucking depressing when you realize that most people don't see their own elitism and giant sense of entitlement as a stumbling block to be overcome.

It's going to take all different kinds of people to build the kingdom, and some of them are going to be in charge of the celestial garbage and printing up the angel's hymnbooks (ideally this will not be me, as I won't be able to resist making certain, uh, edits for my own amusement).

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Monday, November 14, 2005

surprised by showing up

The women's retreat this weekend was awesome, but really intense. I took a nap when I got home yesterday because I was just so wrung out. Damn, we cried a lot.

The theme of the retreat was Surprises Along the Way, and there were big banners up everywhere with things like Surprised by Love and Surprised by Grace and Surprised by Joy, so of course we spent the weekend continuing the meme. Surprised by French Toast! Surprised by Parking! My roommate was Surprised by Underwear beause she forgot to pack any. The whole projector and sound thing fell apart on me at morning prayer on Saturday, so I grabbed a sharpie and someone's worship booklet and made a sign that said Surprised by Technology and held that up.

I wasn't really sure that I was going to make it to the retreat. This would have more dramatic effect if I hadn't said the same damn thing every year; I never want to go. I think we should just put it into the schedule that we send out to everyone. Friday, 1:30 p.m.: decide you're not going to the stupidy stupid retreat.

But then I'll go, because I've signed up to lead a retreat or whatever, but decide that I'm sure as hell not staying around after that. Ok, I'll leave before Eucharist on Sunday. Uh...I'll leave after Eucharist, but before lunch. And then I'm one of the last people out of the retreat center when it's all over.

My crafty Anglican Rosary workshop was fun and went well, even though most of the big beads escaped into my trunk Friday night on my way up to the retreat center. I scooped up all I could see, but when I counted I was still missing half of them. I went back out in the parking lot in the dark trying to find them, and eventually figured out that the missing ones had rolled under my spare tire. Which is secured in place by a big bolt. Never mind how long it took me to figure that out. Anyway, I managed to locate almost all of them and had enough to do the workshop. I brought along some highlights of my Tacky Jesus collection and made a little display of them. So now more people have seen the Glorg of God. Sorry, the glorg Of god. Surprised by Random Capitalization!

There was a surprise party Saturday night and I got tipsy on pink champagne, which was only slightly embarrassing, since it looked like something Barbie would drink. Suprised by Perky Pink Intoxication!

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Tuesday, November 08, 2005

Cavalcade II: Electric Boogaloo

Dennis says I need to stop using Electric Boogaloo for everything that's a sequel. I say, if it works, why mess with perfection.

So, I'm gearing up for another Cavalcade of Bad Something this Advent, and I'm wondering what it should be. I have some fine nativities, thanks to contributions from readers, but I don't have that one horrible item that makes it all worthwhile at this point, and I don't want to do a bad sequel. How about a series of Angels We Have Heard Are High? Or is mocking stupid angel-related giftware too easy?

Help me out here. I have mocker's block.

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Monday, November 07, 2005

as you always suspected

I'm trying not to think about the fact that the altar over in the church is currently piled high with candy from yesterday's Candy Tithe haul (the kids bring 10% of their trick-or-treat candy, which we send to the food bank/kids' programs at our diocesan inner-city ministry). I should probably go over and take a picture of it. Yes, that's it. Take a picture.

If anyone reads this blog hoping for evidence of the evils of religion, here's one: I'm about to commit an act of premeditated SweeTart snatching. Snatching candy away from poor children, that's what I'm all about.

God's Creation Blog

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Friday, November 04, 2005

nice hat

Today in my small group, we were discussing Matthew 23:1-12, which includes

They do all their deeds to be seen by others; for they make their phylacteries broad and their fringes long.

So we talked about how phylacteries were prayer boxes worn tied to the forehead. Jesus was of course objecting to them being used to show how very, very holy the wearer was, as opposed to being a reminder to keep God foremost in the mind. Anyway, it somehow got twisted around so that in the middle of making a point, someone referred to 'prophylactics tied to your forehead' - at which point we all totally lost it.

The next question on the bible study was, "In what way should the faithful stand out?"

We're the ones with prophylactics on our heads, obviously.

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Tuesday, November 01, 2005


I had the flu all weekend, which meant that I missed PumpkinFest, Ryan's annual carving extravaganza, for the first time in years. There was much pouting about this, because I did not want to be sick. I wanted to be carving pumpkins.

I also missed diocesan convention on Saturday. It's hard to get that choked up about it, but I also missed the one in January because I had pneumonia, so I'm starting to suspect a conspiracy. A viral conspiracy. Convention is mostly fun because of the knitting and the grousing. St. Ned's sends an entertaining delegation.

I consoled myself by knitting at home, wedged into my corner of the sofa. I am about halfway done with a cute zippered hoodie for the fairy godchild. It has cute little cables and a fair isle pattern along the hem, and I added a little ruffle to the bottom because I'm crazy that way. It is also, shockingly, not pink. I decided it was time to knit her a not-pink sweater and hit the rest of the crayons in the pack. I think this one is blue-green. Or maybe green-blue. It's Nature Wool by Araucania, which is a really nice variegated wool I got at Commuknity.

I got some awesome new knitting porn: 440 More Knitting Stitches. Page after page of cool pattern stitches and cables. I've hit the cable crack pipe in a big way. Before I started the hoodie, I was just working on cable swatches. They're fun and involve math. But I really need to break down and start using a row counter already.

My new favorite blog

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a box of Clyde will ease the pain and love will see you through

But it's just a box of Clyde
or a ribbon for your hair
Such a long long time to be gone
and a short time to be there

Dennis picked up Clyde's ashes from the vet today. I was surprised to find out that they're in a little wooden box with her name on it. I was expecting something more like the cardboard boxes that we've gotten human remains in at St. Ned's. The first time the guy from the mortuary left a box o' cremains on my desk, I was by myself in the office and spent a good ten minutes staring at it and trying to figure out what to do with the surprisingly small package. Awkward. Since then, I've gotten smoother about it and just take the deceased over to the church until they can be put in the wall in the memorial garden.

So, now we have a Box of Clyde, which is amusing because we used to make up new lyrics to Box of Rain about her when she would hop into a box. She liked boxes which were, technically, too small to hold her.

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