Saturday, January 24, 2009

Grab your torches and pitchforks!

Today I surprised myself by winning a baby shower game. I didn't even know that I had it in me. It was one of those affairs involving tasting baby food, an experience which (though a blast) helped open my eyes to a cruel injustice being done to infants all around the world; the injustice of feeding babies baby food!

When did I come to this startling realization? I think it was somewhere in between tasting "Banana-Peach-Rice" and smelling the nauseating "Spinach-Carrot" mixture. The memory is branded on my tongue. I'm still convinced that the "protein" in baby food is just dog food ground up and mixed in.

Why do we force these frightening concoctions down our poor, unsuspecting infants' throats? Ihonestly have no idea. There is no mention of children eating mushed up veggies in Hebrews 14. They eat "milk" or "solid food." I don't believe baby food falls into either of those categories.

So what can we do to right this wrong? I tell you; we are going to rise up and storm Gerber inc. with pitchforks and torches! Then we'll force "butternut squash 'n fresh corn!" down the CEO's throats until they beg for mercy.

Okay, so maybe not. Violence is perhaps not the best way. We'll all dress in flowing white and link arms to form a barrier around the baby food section in shopping markets.

But maybe we should do nothing because what would baby showers be without some baby food to taste? Watching ladies, with eyebrows scrunched in concentration, crowd around seven bottles of baby gunk, sniffing and tasting, is priceless. So, infants of America, you'll just have to grin, bear it, and eat it. (And knowing the inherently messy nature of babies, wear it.)

Friday, January 23, 2009

From the ol' bulletin board.

Last year as I was reading our local paper, I found this report:

On February 4 at 7:45 a.m. on the blahblahblah block of blahblahblah, a male teen, upset that he could not locate his nail clippers, was confronted by his father due to his behavior. The incident escalated to the point where the teen threw the nail clippers at his father, striking him in the face. The teen was forced outside where he kicked the door and broke a potted plant. The teen was booked into the Youth Center for investigation of Assault, 4th degree, Domestic Violence; and Malicious Mischief 3rd degree.
It's been on my bulletin board ever since because I think it is hysterical! Does anyone else think so? Anyone? Anyone?

Thursday, January 22, 2009

Alphabets Behind the Scenes

After we finished our "charming" film of the Alphabets, we headed to the bathroom to wash up. We tried everything*: about three different kinds of soap and olive oil. We scrubbed our poor, suffering faces none too gently either. I loved mom's response when she walked in the door:

"Are you girls okay? You're eyes look really irritated." Bracie and I just looked at each other and laughed.

(*At our house, more than two people can be "everybody" and more than two things can be "everything.")

Wednesday, January 21, 2009

The Latest to Today Show #2: The Alphabets

Alright, gentle readers, I am going to force, (whoops, I mean treat) you to watch another episode of the Latest to Today Show. So, uh, hang on to your seats.

A couple of things before you watch:

We officially apologize for the instruments: the flat piano and the sharp guitar. Our piano's sound board or whatever, (How would I know the anatomy of a piano?) is split down the middle so it is un-tune-able. Oh, and we named the guitar "Tuneless Tina." Let's just leave it at that.

And I would make apologies for being so weird, but I can never shake the feeling that is presumptuous. Because after all, no matter how strange you are, there's always someone moreso. Besides, we aren't being weird, we are only acting weird. And "weird" is completely relative.

But I still can't believe I'm posting this!

Monday, January 19, 2009

The Reluctant Dragon Fan Club #3.5

Before you read this, read the first, second, and third, or this won't make any sense.

Mr. Barnaby Franklin Ankycra walked in to McDonald's with a chip on his shoulder. Nothing was going to get in the way of his Big Mac. He actually smiled as he endearingly muttered, "Two all beef patties, special sauce, lettuce cheese etc." Those ingredients were "nectar and ambrosia," to his poor, disillusioned taste buds. He noted that there were no other customers in line, and that the cashier was just standing there waiting. Nothing WAS going to get in the way. He walked up to the counter.

"I'll take a Big Mac," he stated authoritatively. No answer. "Ahem! I'll take a BIG MAC!" Still no answer. He took another look at the cashier. One arm was crooked strangely and her eyes were very... vacant. Then, her lips twisted into a goofy smile, and she began to wave: slowly and kinda like a rodeo queen or something. Mr. Ankycra hmphed, but then spotted a small silver bell on the counter.

Ophelia stands proudly on the stage. Someone hands her about three dozen roses. She smiles and waves graciously at her crowd of adoring fans. They scream wildly, but then fall silent as she opens her mouth to speak. Pearls of wisdom and hilarities fall from her lips. The audience sits, enraptured. This is the fourth meeting of the Reluctant Dragon Fan Club.

Ding! DingdingdingdingdingdingDING! Ophelia is pulled back to earth by the sound of a bell. A disgruntled old man frowns at her. She is once again wearing a McDonald's tie and one of those stupid visor that McDonald's makes their poor employees put on.

"You listen to me young lady, I want one Big Mac right NOW!"

"Yes sir, of course, sir, right away sir." Ophelia mumbles sadly. "That'll be $3.53." She does a quick mental calculation: $12459.72 -$3.53

Sunday, January 18, 2009


Joh 1:4 In him was life, and the life was the light of men.
Joh 1:5 The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.

Saturday, January 17, 2009

The Third Chronicle in the Adventures of Miss Penelope Faulty

Also known as "Adventures in Logical Fallacies"
The first Chronicle
The Second Chronicle

Penelope: (disdainfully) "You already asked me that question! I do believe you are going round in circles in your arguments."
Inspector: (indigantly) "I'm going round in circles? It is you who is confusing me."
Penelope: (matter-of-fact-ly) "I never take people around in circles. I infinitely prefer squares. With squares, you can corner people's words or back them up against a wall, and that is physically impossible with circles."
Inspector: (snappishly) "What about rectangles? Ha! You can't find a problem with those!"
Penelope: (haughtily)"You underestimate me, Inspector. Anyway, everyone knows that rectanglar gems are the most unattractive cut possible because they are usually emeralds. Peridots are vastly superior to them and besides, are almost always circle cut."

Inspector: (confusadly) "Wait, I thought you didn't care for circles!"

Penelope: (brightly)"You live entirely too much in the past, dear inspector."

Inspector: (Angrily) "Argh!" Lays head down on table for several seconds "Alright, where were we?"

Penelope: (sweetly) "We were speaking of the past."

Inspector: (stiffly) "Ah yes; the past. Where were you on the 23rd, around 7:00 P.M.?"

Friday, January 16, 2009

The Latest to Today Show #1

This is the first airing of the fantastic new show, "The Latest to Today Show." The Latest to Today Show exists to show you the very latest in music today. Surprise! (Hope you caught the sarcasm there and don't forever write me off as a repetitive writing writer.)
As Seventhhand Serenade: Ophelia
As her voice: Bracie
As the camera crew: Bracie

P.S. This video very well may have a distinct flavor of parody. Bracie heard fragments of this song on the radio and was struck by its... brilliance.

P.P.S. I have plenty more of these episodes up my sleeve, (Featuring New -and- Exciting Artists!) that is, if anyone so desires to see them.

Thursday, January 15, 2009

a guest post from bracie...

And now, the moment you haven't really been waiting for but will still enjoy...


Will ya'll PLEASE comment. If not for Ophelia, do it for me (I'm looking at you with bambi eyes, right now). PLEASE! Libby, your wonderful commenting efforts have been seen and appreciated (I polish her halo).

Brother Giles just told me I should put a picture on this post, because nobody ever looks at blog posts unless they have pictures. So here are a couple for all you wonderful blog readers--

This is Oliver North.

Here is his lovely and heroic secretary, Fawn Hall. She shredded some important documents at the order of her boss during the Iranscam(aka Cuban Missile Crisis...wait wait wait...not Cuban Missisle Crisis. [Grace feels sheepish and brushes up on her current US History.] ...Iran Contra afffair.)
And these are some random pictures of Disney's Tarzan as a wee babe, with his parents.

I feel so exposed.

I just opened up, for the whole world web web to see, the entire contents of my-gasp!- computar folder labeled "Grace's pictures." My secret life as a computar nerd (not to mention US History geek) is now no longer underground.

Please COMMENT and tell me that my exposure was worthwhile.


Wednesday, January 14, 2009

A Post on Hair

We ladies at my house dedicate much time and effort to the perfection of our lustrous and beautiful locks.


Hair is a pain, a trial, and a great tribulation around here, for all of us. Today as I did my schoolwork, I could here Milo screeching while Mom cut his hair. Giles' haircut is going on at this very moment; his face is drawn in an expression of anguish. Last night, I attempted to brush my hair; a venture which resulted in nothing but frizz and screams of agony.
On the particular day this picture was taken, I thought it would be "fun" to try and see what my hair looked like straightened. The (very, excruciatingly painful) process took nigh over an hour. It was, to put it mildly, not an experiance to be repeated. So now I never straighten my hair.
During the summer, I once on a Saturday put my hair in French braids and then I went swimming. Big Mistake! I couldn't get those nasty braids out until the next Friday. So I don't French braid my hair.
My main problem is that have a very tender head. The slightest stroke of a brush produces bellows enough to rival those of a howler monkey.
What do I do with my hair? I wish we were all born bald. Perhaps in Heaven we will be. Can you imagine having to brush hair out of your eyes while you bowed in homage to the King of kings? I don't think so. Or maybe in Heaven hair will never tangle and I'll only have half as much as I do now. That would be a blessing.

Ophelia, the car-jacking hoodlum

The only known picture of Ophelia in a Beanie
is one where I am attempting to look like my non-existent cousin "Asher." The only other times that I wear beanies are when it is below 30 degrees or I am working away at my job: Alpaca Pasture Maintenance. "But why?" You, gentle reader, ask, "Why has Ophelia come up with this unbreakable fashion rule of no-beanies-in-public?"
I'll explain. One morning last March, having an I-don't-care day, I slapped a beanie on my crown and jumped in the car as we were running errands on that particular day. Like usual, I wore a pair of comfy, faded blue jeans. The air had a bite to it, so I pulled on my well-broken in grey hoody. I stayed in the car most of the time, but when Mom approached the coffee shop, she told me to hop out and take Ava to the bathroom while she went through the drive-thru. I did as asked, and then I walked round to our van, which was at the last window of the drive-thru. I opened the car door to put Ava in her car seat when I heard a startled gasp.
"Ma'am! The cashier said shrilly through the window, "some person is trying to get into your car!"
Mom turned around, slowly, slowly. "That person," she stated, "is my daughter." Then, I got in the car, and we drove away, quickly, very quickly.
Since that fateful day, I have never worn a beanie at a public place.

Monday, January 12, 2009

And you thought you didn't like classical music!

Such talent, such skill, it nearly brings tears to my eyes.

Saturday, January 10, 2009

An Introduction to my dogs...

I was considering the possibility of an opening sentence like, "Dogs, you just gotta love them," or "Here we see man's best friend," or something else cheesy and cliche like that. However, luckily for you, I have decided against it. Instead, I will start with...

Uhhhhhh, what am I going to start with? Anyway, the dog above is Sergeant displaying his most striking military pose. Here's Kipper. He won't sit still for the camera. As you can see, he's extremely unphotogenic.

These two mutts are especially beloved, but not especially well-trained.To be precise, they can perform two "tricks" between the two of them; Sergeant can sit, and Kipper can come.
Although this is technically an introduction, I am afraid that for rather obvious reasons, (Example: Me: "So Sargent, what do you think of blogging? Serge: "Bark" ...that wouldn't quite make the cut.) I was unable to conduct the interview in accordance with tradition.
Well, there you have it folks: my dogs, if you were interested in knowing. I am not entire certain why I am posting about them, but I know that one of these days a really, really funny story will turn up about them.

Friday, January 9, 2009


Gentle readers, I am posting to call your attention to the my new poll. Actually, I'm not, and there isn't any new poll. It just so happens that I am in the mood to write one up. However, the difficulty is that I am uninspired. That is to say: I haven't a clue what query to make. So, if you think polls are jolly, suggest a question! (As if that made any sense.)
If not, ignore this post, don't comment, and feel your self to be superior over the poll-loving-masses.
Wait, are there any poll loving masses? Maybe the idea of voting on something only appealing to people before they are eighteen, and when they reach that grand old age, the joy of voting on something is tarnished. How sad. Perhaps I am the only person in the world who actually enjoys voting, and my impressions of the poll-loving-masses are misguided because the masses don't love polls.
Nevermind folks, you don't have to comment: I have just decided what to do a poll on.

Thursday, January 8, 2009

A Pedantic Pedagoge instructs his Puerile Pupil

"Miss Finston, I am afraid I shall be forced to report your infraction of the No-Gum-in-School policy," said the new teacher, punctuating his nasally voice with wheezes. "And Master Fitzs-Williams, you shall remain after class to discuss your work with me."

The children, excepting the unfortunate Fitz-Williams, rushed out the classroom eager to escape the presence of the exacting Mr. Dagogepe.

"You wanted me?" asked the sturdy lad whose father, possessing an innate sense of humor, named him Fritz Fitzs-Williams.

"I wish to discuss your utter lack of regard for the rules that I have taught and those which I have set for this class. Your complete inattention to the i-before-e-except-after-c rule has led me to mark down your grade! This composition, entitled, "Freind or Feind" is a disgrace. And look here; you wrote "decieved" instead of following the rule which correctly renders the word, "deceived." And you begin the story, "On the 31st day of june" which violates both the 30-days-past-September-April-June-and-November-all-the-rest-have-31-except-for-February-which-has-28-and-on-leap-years-29 rule and the always-capitalize-the-name-of-a-month rule. What do you have to say for yourself?"

"Sorry sir, about my spelling and what-not. Father says it comes with time," Fritz mumbled. Then he brightened. "But isn't it a grand story? I think it's just smashing. Surely you can look over a couple blunders."

"There you go again! Disregarding my every word. Was it not just yesterday that I clearly instructed the class only to use the word, "couple" when referring to a group of two. And I specifically pointed out four blunders," interrupted Mr. Dagogepe, with something like a gleam of triumph in his eye.
Fritz, however, was not to be put out. "Well, sir, four mistakes then. Still, I spent an awful long time writing it, and I do think it's good, especially the part where the cowboy pulls out his six-shooter and says-" Fritz paused to give the aforesaid cowboy's words a dramatic entrance.

It was just enough time for his teacher to squeeze in another criticism, "And how many times, how many time a day do I ask you to stay on topic? Heed my words!"

"Okay. But sir, you have really got to remember how long it is. I did four extra pages. That's one to cover every mistake. Think about it, sir, four extra pages!"

"I have thought about them, young man. You didn't obey the guidelines I set out when I gave the class the assignment. I clearly stated the requirement that the composition be 5 pages long. You must not be so careless. And blah blah, there are seven extra commas blah, blah blah blah blah blah"

Fritz looked out the window at the green slope. If he tried hard enough, he could just ignore the teacher, Mr... Mr... Oh forget it. He noted what a wonderful place it would be for a gun fight. That line that the cowboy said in that one part, that was pure genius... Fritz ran the words through his head...

Several minutes later, Fritz's daydreams were broken by an especially loud wheeze.
"So in the future, you must pay more attention to what I say. You are dismissed."
Alrighty, this post has a challenge attached: see if you can invent a stunning dramatic line for the cowboy to say, "just as the cowboy pulls out his six-shooter."

Wednesday, January 7, 2009

My Mother, the Hoarse Whisperer

For a whopping 10 days, me pooor mither (pronounced with a heavy brogue) hadn't had her voice. She could only whisper. This was right before Christmas, and one evening as we sat around the tree Mom decided to treat us with a sample of singing without a voice.

Bracie is lip-synchronising for her because like me, mom is camera shy. The only difference between us is that she is mom and can order us not to take her picture. *Sigh*


If you have ever seen Pixar's A Bug's Life, perhaps you can recall a short clip at the beginning in which an old man plays chess with himself. He alternates from player to player, switching chairs in turn.
In such a way did I play scrabble last night. Why? Because we had finished a family game of scrabble, and though MY enthusiasm was not in the least diminished, the other members were very ready to move on.
I lost. Did you know that I only received 16 points for the word, "sixteen?" On second thought, I guess that's fair.
I won. Did you know that it is possible to get 22 points for the word EGGS?

And I think I am finally going bonkers; solitaire scrabble indeed.

Sunday, January 4, 2009


At the present moment, I am blogging to try and forget about the piles and piles of thank you notes that I am supposed to write. Don't get me wrong: I love to write letters, I love writing, and I am very, very thankful. Yet I still hate thank you notes.
Why? Because all they ultimately say is "thank you." "If you don't write a thank you, they'll never know you're thankful," is the thought behind thank you notes I guess. However, when I give a gift, I take it for granted that people are grateful. So, either I'm incredibly assuming, or there is something wrong with the rest of the world that they have to write notes to be thankful.
And that brings me to another problem: What if you aren't grateful? Isn't it lying to write a thank you note? However, we will not go there; this is not a problem for me because I'm never ungrateful. Ahhhh, I am always such an angel.
P.S. If I actually wrote thank you notes to everybody I should, I'd get blisters and carpal tunneling. Wait, can you get carpal tunneling from writing?