The deep question that keeps philosophers up at night, sipping green tea laced with schnapps and smoking large pipes, can be simply stated: When a holiday (aka Christmas) falls on a Monday, is Monday still part of the weekend? This question is not trivial. Consider its effect on your intrepid (does anyone know what "intrepid" means? — love the word but too lazy to look it up) reporter: If today is part of the weekend, I can't do a weekend edition because the weekend isn't over. If today is part of the week, I can. This is truly a mind twister and I hope those stoopid smart guys figure it out soon.
Of course, the question is complicated because Christmas is a Christian holiday. To Jews, Muslims, James, Hindus, Baathists, and Lithuanians, it's just a time to visit their favorite Chinese restaurant because it won't be crowded. It gets worse: If they say, "Yup, Christmas Monday is still the weekend for all Christians," where does that leave me? Jews have to work, but work, at least here, is covering what the goyim do, which would violate their weekend. Who needs this kind of angst, and I haven't begun to do the news. Well, God'll forgive me either way… I hope.
Dateline: Abeline, Monday, December 25, 2006
- From The Vietman Files: British military forces raided a Basra police station and arrested lots of policemen. The operation made it clear how closely tied the police are to the militia and terrorists and how difficult it's going to be to hand over authority anything in the next 57 years. Oh yeah, and 57 people died in Baghdad. The really interesting number, though is, that we're just one dead soldier short of the record set by the Twin Towers disaster. You know how little bits of a complex puzzle can start to add up until it's no longer a puzzle, but a giant reality with a very large mouth, screaming, "You've totally screwed this up, you pissant." Too bad about those Iraqis though — the way they keep getting blown up. I don't think that's what Bush et. al had in mind when they set out to… when they launched the war to… when they decided… oh hell, who knows what they were up to, but I'll bet it was to kill lots of innocent Iraqis.
- From The It's Great To Be An American Files: Gays ignore state-wide lucre bans on marriage in droves, getting married in places as odd as Richmond, Virginia, North Carolina, Georgia, Vermont, and other odd states. And these aren't back-of-the-truck, quickie marriages. These boys — and girls — are spending a bloody fortune. It's hard to estimate exactly how much is passing hands, but some estimate it's about $1 billion. Dang, that is one large parcel of money. And I'm sorry, what a stupid waste. Spending all that money on one day, lots of frills and leather, pictures, booze, and, the next day, you'll have no memory of half of what happened. Within a month, that'll be 10%. Better to have a cheap wedding and spend the money on a long trip to Aruba. (Editor's note: The reporter has no knowledge of Aruba, never having been there. He just likes the sound of the word.)
- Ain't No Humor Here department:
Now, stand up, raise your arms to the sky and sing out "I Feel Good." His friends talked as much about the man as his music. "His thing was, 'I never saw a person I didn't love'," said friend Charles Bobbit. "He preached love from the stage." The Godfather is somewhere else now, but I believe he's just as energetic, just as soul-ful, just as full of love there entertaining and making people feel good.
- If you've always suppressed a secret admiration for Sigmund Freud, don't read anything further. After years of intense work, examining sheets in B&Bs across Europe, investigators are now ready to claim that Siggy did wiggly with his wife's sister. You wouldn't believe how many long-winded, analytic, multi-syllabic word explanations there are of what this means for Freud's legacy. Your intrepid reporter didn't read any of them, but he thinks the general conclusion is that "he was a horny mother."
There was a whole bunch of other stuff that went on this weekend, but it looked so boring that I didn't read any of it. I continue to trust in the inspiration captured in that loving phrase:
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