All posts by stacy

Westboro Baptist Hate-Mongers

rage

Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances. First Amendment to the Constitution of the United States

This same First Amendment that allows us to gather on the National Lawn, or criticize our elected officials, or even take our government to court, also allows jackasses at the Westboro Baptass Church to protest the funerals of dead servicemen and women with signs that say, “GOD HATES FAGS” and “THANK GOD FOR DEAD SOLDIERS”  … Or at least it does right now: The Supreme Court is considering the case of Snyder vs. Phelps, where Albert Snyder, the father of a fallen marine, sued Westboro Imperial Wizard Fred Phelps for harassing his family at his son’s funeral.  There are some limits to free speech: The First Amendment does not allow us to yell “FIRE!” in a crowded theater, and so the Roberts Court gets to decide whether “GOD SENT THE SHOOTER” is appropriate to shout at a memorial service.

I am torn in this regard because I am a true believer in the First Amendment, having been employed as a sportswriter (pseudo-journalist) for seven years. I may not like what the Klan has to say, but I defend their right to say it. And in that spirit, I’d like to exercise my right to free speech in regards to the Supreme Grand Cyclops of Westboro and his klavern…

Continue reading Westboro Baptist Hate-Mongers →

Day of Stacy, Chapter 39 – Shortness of Arms

adventure
Rockin' the prescription eyewear in my 39th year

Today I am 39 – entering the final year of my fourth decade – and I’m falling apart. It’s enough to have the antenna-field of gray sprouting from my noggin, but now I’m faced with a life-altering diagnosis: Shortness of Arms.

So I’m rocking the prescriptive eyewear for the official affliction of Presbyopia. I thought it only happened to Presbyterians, but apparently it strikes lapsed Methodists as well. The heartbreak of farsightedness, caused by loss of elasticity in the eye with onset in middle age, knows no religious bounds. It strikes with random fury. Now I’m wondering what other parts may fail before the 40-year warranty expires.

Actually, 39 is a cool birthday – not as momentous as most of the decade-markers, but beating all the speed-limit birthdays ending in 5 and coming in a close third or fourth to 21 and 18. 39 beats 20, but shares with it the thrill of anticipation: There’s something cool to look forward to next year – the big 40-ounce year of awesomeness.

I revel in 39ness – as 38 carried with it no cachet – it was just another number, a milepost on the highway of age. 39 is the product of two prime numbers and it is the reverse of my anniversary date 9/3, as well as the reverse of my Texas A&M graduation class ’93 and Pat’s racing number #93. 39 is also the last exit before the Year of Reckoning. 39 is the year where I say, ” Well, I only have 365 days to achieve everything I said I was going to do before I turned 40 – TIME TO GET BUSY!”

So among those things still on the list…

Continue reading Day of Stacy, Chapter 39 – Shortness of Arms →

Thanksgiving Day Turkey Gumbo – Now, with Bacon Grease

food
Behold, Pat's Triple-X Death Batch: Spicy

Keep stirring.

One hour and 45 minutes after I began stirring one cup of flour into one cup of bacon drippings on medium-low heat, we finally dumped the holy trinity of onion, bell pepper and celery into our roux. Today we made our annual Thanksgiving Day Turkey Gumbo – it’s a once-in-a-year gumbo of epic proportion, and really, it’s the only way to properly dispose of the leftovers. As Hank Williams Jr. would say, “It’s a family tradition.”

I think our Thanksgiving guests prefer the leftovers to the actual feast – though Pat’s turkey is heralded far and wide as the best. In fact, he has usurped my own father as the official roaster of the official turkey when we’re back home in Louisiana. He brines it overnight and then flips the bird four times during the roasting process to keep it from drying out.

The result is succulent on the Thanksgiving Day table – and epic in the gumbo thereafter.

Continue reading Thanksgiving Day Turkey Gumbo – Now, with Bacon Grease →

Los Verdaderos Hombres de Genio

adventure

What would you do for $5?

My 27-year-old cousin Ross is, well, 27… and Saturday, he drank Bud Light Chelada, 24 fluid ounces of Bud Light and Clamato with Salt and Lime – The Perfect Combination™.

Pat had called to say he was stopping by the store on his way home and asked if we needed anything for our weekend entertainment? Ross asked him to pick up some beer, which we now understand (but have always known) to be anything but a giant, soulless, corporate brew. Ross prefers something in a bottle and derived from an earnest microbrewer toiling in service to his precious craft – something that usually costs $5 per bottle instead of $5 per six-pack… and that’s $5 he doesn’t really have right now as a lowly advertising intern.

Pat showed up with a can of Chelada – a 24-ounce tallboy of Bud Light Beer with Natural Flavor and Certified Color.

Continue reading Los Verdaderos Hombres de Genio →

The Birds

adventure
The Deluxe Apartment in the Sky

Our home is being terrorized by Little Birds.

It started a little over a year ago when “Little Bird Family” moved into our free-standing, stainless steel patio heater. It was late summer when these hardy cactus wrens began unloading the tall grasses, random twigs and bits of plastic that were their worldly possessions into this de-luxe apartment in the sky.

When you think about it, the free-standing, stainless steel patio heater is the penthouse of avian condominiums – especially when compared to the outhouse of birdie living: the multi-family dwelling in a random tree, shrub or buckhorn cactus. The patio heater sits under our porch, protected from the rain and sun; it’s tall and slippery enough to deter climbing predators; and it’s owned by two big-hearted sapsuckers that couldn’t bring themselves to incinerate a pair of fine, upstanding examples of the State Bird of Arizona and their fledgling family – especially since it was 104 degrees out and the property was essentially vacant.

Continue reading The Birds →