Saturday, December 24, 2005

Family Responsibilities
On Christmas Eve, visions of sugarplums tend to distract the American family from its usual viewing of cable TV and the Internet, so it's too bad the New York Times picked today to publish a story saying that the scope of information-gathering through warrantless wiretaps apparently was far, far broader than has been revealed, or admitted by the White House, so far. The Poor Man has a guess on how the wiretaps worked--and although I don't understand all of it, I'm with Steve Gilliard in believing that sooner or later, it's going to come out that people like Cindy Sheehan or Joe and Valerie Wilson were targeted. What we've learned about the wiretaps so far, says Steve is "the tip of the iceberg." "When we get finished, we will be nostalgic for Nixon."

"Will be"? That ship sailed from this dock a long time ago.

Recommended Reading: In the first of a gazillion year-in-review pieces I will likely be pointing you to, Media Matters is out with their list of Most Outrageous Statements of the Year. The list (which they tried to limit to 10 and just couldn't) is a who's-who of conservative dumbitude, with all the usual suspects, but my favorite statement is from Tim Wildmon of the indecency-fightin', Ford-boycottin', much-much-better-than-you American Family Association: "Liberals 'don't have the kind of family responsibilities most people have, and certainly not church responsibilities.'" (So if you're a liberal and you are scrambling to get ready for a house-full sometime this weekend, relax. Nobody expects you to get it right.)

Five minutes around the table with Cintra Wilson's family would likely kill a guy like Wildmon. Wilson, last spotted as an embedded member of the White House Press Corps, tells her family Christmas tales at Salon. Her family is a mixed bag of new-agers, Scientologists, Muslims, and Episcopalians--but they all find time to go to church together:
On Christmas Eve, we all, including the Muslim contingent, go to Mark's boyfriend's service at Grace Cathedral in San Francisco, but not before taking several swigs from my father's flask in the church parking lot. Last year Dad got the last laugh by filling his flask with a homemade habanero vodka scorching enough to make my mother involuntarily weep throughout the service. My brother-in-law perceived this as divine retribution, since, being a Muslim, he resented having to listen to an Episcopalian service delivered by homosexuals.
Next time I have to go to church, I'm going with them.

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