Take two thick slices of Noonie's day old bread, smear Honey Cup honey mustard
liberally over both. Cover both slices with green leaf lettuce. Then on one slice only lay smoked turkey on the lettuce,
a tomato slice on the turkey and sprinkle it with shredded carrot. Then on the lay a slice of provolone cheese over the
carrot then a green pepper ring on top of the cheese. Sprikle with sprouts. Cover with the other slice, lettuce side down.
The letuce should be stuck to the bread with honey mustard so it doesn't fall off when you turn it upside down to cover the
sandwich. Slice sandwich in half with a knife. Wrap in tightly in plastic wrap. Use too much wrap. Tape on label. Tadaaa!
Weighs one pound. Costs Four Bucks.
"Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses
yearning to breathe free, The wretched refuse of your
teeming shore, Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed,
to me: I lift my lamp beside the golden door."
The right of the people to be secure in their persons, houses, papers,
and effects,
against unreasonable searches and seizures, shall not be violated, and
no warrants shall issue,
but upon probable cause, supported by oath or affirmation, and
particularly describing the place
to be searched, and the persons or things to be seized.
Ethan Allen Tower
"During the 1992 campaign, Bill Clinton
sometimes spoke of a 'twofer' (two for the price of one) presidency,
implying that Hillary would play an important role in his
administration."
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consequat eget, tristique nec, auctor quis, purus. Vivamus ut sem. Fusce aliquam nunc vitae purus.
Whatever things
Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetuer adipiscing elit. Duis ligula lorem,
consequat eget, tristique nec, auctor quis, purus. Vivamus ut sem. Fusce aliquam nunc vitae purus.
Obama for President
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Obama vs. McCain II: You can never go home again.
"Ask not, what Obama can do for you. Ask what you can do for Obama."
I'll still be voting for Ron Paul in March, and I'd still have to bet on Hillary to win, but screw it. Deep down I'm rooting for Obama. We can put Bill Clinton back in the White House, but it won't be the nineties again, will it? We have to be brave and go forward. I'm telling you what my heart is telling me. I have no reason to lie.
I was doing my radio show yesterday morning on The Radiator (WOMM-LP 105.9 FM Burlington), looking for content on their iMac when I thought I'd search Flameapeby Gregory Giordano. Of course I quickly noticed there was no link to BurlingtonPol. Almost as quickly my interest was piqued by a fascinating link called "Burlington Lebowski." I clicked on it and was taken to BurlingtonPol. HA! That's awesome. I guess at some point I must have mentioned loving The Big Lebowski. Or maybe I remind Greg of The Dude. Either way, I was tickled. I think I did an ok show. I got a call from a 9-11 skeptic out in Essex with a Burlington based blog to add to my Burlington Blogroll. Speaking of 9-11...
Then what? I went to the dump on Pine Street like I do every Saturday. I went home. I dropped spaghetti on the floor. I'm broke so I still had to eat the spaghetti even though it got all kinds of hair in it in from the carpet. Yuck! Then we loaded up the kids and went to Healthy Living, but on the way there we stopped at that job fair on the waterfront. I gave a demand democracy bumber sticker to Burlington Pol Bernie Sanders. Later I went to Hannafordand bought oranges and baloney. At the store I ran into Shay Totten and he said he saw me on the Matty and Stech Variety Hour (featuring Josh Bridgman and a cast of thousands) and told me has to go to White River Junction twice a week to work for Chelsea Green Publishing. Then Obama won South Carolina. That morning Bill Clinton was reminding people that Jesse Jackson won South Carolina. That night after he Hillary lost big to Obama, he was reminding people he has an office in Harlem. Jeez. Ok then. If there was any doubt left before Saturday, it should be gone now. Bill Clinton was the third youngest president and the second to be impeached. He was the first president from Arkansas. He was not the first black president. And there you have it.
Looks like they couldn't 'roll up' enough support. The council voted 7-6 Tuesday not to put any questions relating to pot decriminalization on the ballot. That kind of thing always fails by one vote. The Burlington Free Press reports...
The measure, sponsored by Ed Adrian, D-Ward 1, and Tim Ashe, P-Ward 3, failed 7-6.
Those supporting the resolution were: Adrian; Ashe; Clarence Davis, P-Ward 3; Russ Ellis, D-Ward 4; Joan Shannon, D-Ward 5; and Andy Montroll, D-Ward 6.
Opposed were: Sharon Bushor, I-Ward 1; Jane Knodell, P-Ward 2; Kurt Wright, R-Ward 4; Bill Keogh, D-Ward 5; Barbara Perry, I-Ward 6; and Paul Decelles and Craig Gutchell, Ward 7 Republicans.
Hmmm. Barb Perry didn't vote with her party. Anyway, now the council can focus on fixing dangerous intersections and parking lots. They could start where North and South Prospect streets meet. That intersection sucks. So does the City Market parking lot. It needs to go two ways. Open it up to Union Street already. What's the problem?
My friend Ari is in India. If you like to travel, go via Strange Blue Planet.
There are no doors, so people run on and off the train while it's still moving (same system for the buses BTW), but because it's so crowded they need to take a running start to build enough momentum to create enough of a dent that they get in! It's hilarious... lots of yelling, it's an absolute stampede...
Remember this? So stupid, it's funny. Click the Pic for the original post.
Although now that I think about it, maybe the pseudonymous blog I stole this from was a Bernie shill, and this gag was Bernie's. Was it the Tarrant campaign vandalizing its own sign and trying to pin it on Bernie...Or was it the Bernie campaign vandalizing a Tarrant sign and making it look like the Tarrant campaign vandalized its own sign and tried to pin it on Bernie? I know what I thought in the heat of the election, but I'm not so sure now. The pseudonymous blog I stole this picture from has since disappeared. When pseudonymous/anonymous political blogs disappear after the election, I'm always skeptical.
"...Some of you may say, “But I use NyQuil, and it gets me to sleep.” Of course it does. NyQuil is 50 proof alcohol (whiskey is 84 proof) mixed with Doxylamine succinate, an antihistamine/hypnotic. It’s good old Thunderbird and downers in a socially acceptable and convenient package. To paraphrase the advertising slogan, its the cheapjack-wino-garbagehead-junkie-so-you-can-sleep-in-a-box-in-an-alley medicine..."
Today is my thirty-fifth birthday. I can't believe it. Today would have also been my mother's seventy-first birthday had she not passed away five days ago. Her gift to me today is that we get to spread her ashes down at Willowbrook Cemetery (weather permitting, of course) greet our relatives and be finished with the ceremony of it. That will be good. My gift to her is this blog post, I guess. All it is is electrons and ether, but I've never been big on materialism.
I want to approach how I blog about my mother's death carefully. It's very personal for everybody involved, including the dying person herself. At first I wasn't sure if I should, but I wrote to the blogger king, and he said I could do anything.
Monday I woke up with a hangover and wrote my mom's obituary. Then I jotted down the timeline of my activities from Thursday January 10th at 5:30pm until Sunday January 13th at 2:08pm. I think if I just write out this timeline, and fill it in a little, that will do. I won't have to keep talking about this. If I don't write about what happened at all, I'll have to keep talking about it for the rest of my life in repressed, indirect ways. See?
Background- My mother went to the emergency room the morning of Monday January 7th from home. They moved her up to Shep 4 that afternoon. Her room was on the east side of the Sheppardson Wing's 4th floor at the hospital with a window overlooking the original Mary Fletcher. She was there one week. I visited every day, but here's where it got intense...
Thursay 5:30pm- We drop off the kids with my wife's parents. She's going out with her friend to Sweetwaters and I'm dropping off cake at the new Healthy Living. Her friend drives her home and I meet her there. We go pick up the kids. On the way home from Colchester I start having a strong sense I should go to the hospital. I hadn't planned on leaving that late, but Poopsie let me go and I got to my mom's room on Shep 4 at 9:45pm. She was sleeping. She did not look comfortable. I was afraid to touch her or make any noise because I didn't want to wake her. I sat near her facing the door to the hall. On the wall outside was a black rectangular plaque given to the nurses by a patient. I watched my mom laboring and intense sadness started washing over me in waves. Boiling tears streamed down my face as I struggled not to make any noise. Finally at 10:00pm I decided to hold her hand. It was colder than I would have liked to have felt. I stayed like that until 10:05 and I went home.
That night I did not sleep. I blogged. I watched TV. I ate cereal. I took a shower. I made coffee. I went back to the hospital. No sleep.
Friday 6am- I arrive back at my mom's room not knowing what to expect. I'm happily surprised to be greeted by my mother's blazing blue eyes. She seems alert at first and I'm grateful to have her another day. But there's something up. She's upset at the nurses for doing something to her. She wants to get out of here. She whispers "How could you do this to your mother?" in a way that sends chills up my spine. "What did I do Mom?" I whimper, terrified. She complains of pain in her back. I call the nurse. The nurse tells me she's not in pain. I tell her she just said she was. Nurse gets a doctor. My mother tells the doctor her back hurts. They kick up the pain meds. The pain gets better. My mom is experiencing delirium. She tells me to bring her water over and over again. She tells me the water isn't the water. I call upon all my experience dealing with people whacked out of their minds on drugs in my efforts to work with her. I discover that if I walk across the room with the water and bring it back, she'll accept it. My father and younger brother arrive and we all go through the water routine with her, except with washcloths this time. It's exhausting. The doctor tells us this behavior could mean she's transitioning toward an event.
One of my mother's brothers visits her that day. I stay until 8:30pm, and go home to take a shower. As soon as I get in the door, Koko asks for gummy worms. "You get me gummy worms?" Oh. Damn. Poopsie did ask me to pick him up gummy worms in one of the many conversations I had with her on my cellphone. I try to "worm out of it." I get in the shower. Koko is in hysterics. I promise him I will go to the store and get them. I get dressed and go to Rite-Aid. Damn. It's closed. I go to Hannaford and buy two bags of gummy worms, a snickers, a bag of chips and a bottle of Coke. I go home and ask if Koko would like to send a gummy worm to Grandma. He does the right thing. That's my boy.
I pound the junkfood in the car on the way back to the hospital. It is superior to any of the schwagg available in the Fletcher Allen compound. The food they sell is designed to keep you there. What's up with that?
Friday 10:00pm- Arrive back at my mom's room. My brother has to take my poor old man home. He's been there fourteen hours. That's a lot for a man about to turn ninety-nine next month. It's my job to keep the vigil. My older brother and his wife are on their way from Kansas but won't arrive until Saturday afternoon. Friday night I'm alone with my mom, and I'm scared. In one of her few wakeful moments my mother says "ok let's go. let's get dressed. let's go." And motions weakly to uncover her bedsheet, mimicking the act of getting up.
I'll be honest here. I've never seen anyone die before. I was scared. The nurses let me keep the door open. I sit on the side of the bed near the door and watch my mom in the pale light. I'm getting sleep deprived. The shadows are playing tricks on her face. Out the window behind her I see the superstructure atop the original Mary Fletcher Hospital. The two windows of the little room are aglow while the rest of the old hospital below it is dark. I am literally seeing before me a little room with a light on in the sky.
"The black rectangle in the hall, the room in the sky with a light on, the little angel doll someone left here...Get it? Get it?"
I go have a talk with one of the nurses. She talks to me about what to expect. This comforts me and steadies me quite a bit. All of the nurses and doctors and staff up there are heroes. I can't say enough about how caring and professional they were. All of them. They all looked like kids. No joke, twelve-year-olds with clipboards and lab coats- but they must age backwards like Mork, because these people were wise and good.
After a couple of hours my younger brother comes back and we spend the rest of the night in these weird uncomfortable recliners they got up there. I sleep about four hours, but very badly. I go get coffee at about 6:00am on Saturday morning.
Saturday is a blur to me. I was there all day until about 10:00pm. My mom's two other brothers came and said goodbye. My older brother and his wife and daughter all arrived. Other friends, relatives, kids, Poopsie even made it up thanks to her parents always being so helpful. We sang Amazing Grace and a Pastor came down from Saint Albans to pray. I rocked my mother like a baby. And speaking of amazing grace, even in her weakened state, my mother still covered her mouth every time she coughed. We all cried and held my mom's hand. I shared stories with my cousin Ann about childhood Christmases at our grandmother's trailer in Sudbury. In short it was a party. And basically my mother was able to give some sign or reaction of recognition to everyone. I went home around 10:40pm.
When I got home at 11:00, both kids were still up. I take a shower and get dressed again. Poopsie asked if I had any energy left to rock the baby to sleep. You've got to be f*cking kidding me. I rock the baby to sleep. My little Yanna Louise. She was born in March. Even though I'm beyond tired, rocking the baby gives me energy. Anything having to do with my normal life was preferable to the insane death-vigil hospital room, bad food purgatory I was in a hurry to get back to. Of course I'm only human. I needed sleep, which I got in my clothes on top of the covers from about 1am to 5:30am on Sunday. I knew I'd make it if I got there by dawn. My mom is a morning person, so I knew she wouldn't die at night. I went back to the hospital.
Sunday January 13, 6:00am. I arrive back in my mom's hospital room. The stragglers who crashed overnight at the party were my mom, my dad, my older brother and his wife, my younger brother and his girlfriend. The room was pretty funkified. Everybody shuffled out and went home. The place was a mess. I guess you could say my mom was too. I had no doubt that would be her last day. There were now four of those weird recliners in the room. I pushed them neatly to where the other bed would go had my mother had a roommate, and set about cleaning up the cups and the candy wrappers, et cetera that littered the room. I know my mother likes things clean and neat like me, so that was the first thing I did that day to help her (and me) prepare.
Then I was alone with her for hours. I knew she was with me because whenever I got up to pee or call a nurse, she would squeeze my hand slightly. I talked to her all morning. Holding her hand and wiping her nose. Coaching her. You can go Mom. You're free. There's nothing to worry about. There's nothing left to do. I'm going to be fine. Dad's going to be taken care of. I have a wonderful wife and she will take care of me. I don't need you any more. I'll be successful. And by the way, you might want to think about moving this thing along before this place turns into Grand Central again... listen, I'm going to pass you over to Grandma and she's going to walk you the rest of the way... Grandma's going to come pick you up. I called on the spirit of my grandmother who died in 2000 to come get her daughter. I sang "History Will Teach Us Nothing" by Sting. I sang Happy Birthday to my mom in advance of today. I told her Heaven had an all you can eat buffet of the most delicious foods and she could eat forever and never gain weight. I told her she didn't need her body any more. I told her her soul was safe. I told her I was a priest. In that moment I was. I said "Let's get dressed Mom. Let's get dressed."
All the while I was watching her deteriorate by the hour. I could could to five-one-thousand between her breaths in the morning. As her pain increased, only to three-one-thousand. I had the nurse kick it up a notch twice on the meds. I know my mother wanted me to. Monty Python kept going through my mind..."always look on the bright side of death...just before you draw your terminal breath..."
My father in law came in for about half an hour around noon. I told him I was watching the life fade from my mother's eyes like a cigarette ember burning out slowly in a snowbank. Then my sister-in-law came. Then my older brother. Then my younger brother, his girlfriend and our dad arrived.
By 1:30pm on Sunday, the inner circle was in place. We read a short hand out on what to expect. At one point there was a very pregnant pause as we all stood there waiting for her to die. "Well she can still hear us," I said, and we all kept talking. Telling her how good it will be for her to reunite with all her old friends and relatives including her second husband. How she can let go of the pain now, et cetera.
I was holding her arm and rubbing her back as she went. "You're doing great Mom." I said. It felt a lot like coaching a birth.
So my mother died peacefully. She died gracefully, and she died with dignity. Of course we all cried, but the first thing I said was "This is the happy part. Her pain is over." And it was. And I was exhausted. My older brother suggested I write the obituary and I agreed. I called my mom's brothers and I called my wife. I kissed my mom on the head and bolted.
I went home and ended up in a fight with Poopsie, which gave me a great excuse to go to the OP and toss back a few. Well seven, actually. And fast. Hey- I think that's normal, don't you? You miss a week of sleep and watch your mother pass away, you go out and get drunk. Am I wrong? I went out and watched football ate popcorn and enjoyed everything about not being stuck in a hospital room and everything about being still alive. Smells, sounds and tastes were extra delicious at the OP that night.
So I've been up all night writing this. I've gotta go do this last thing in a few hours and it will be time to move on. The main thing about this experience is that is taught me how strong and brave and good I actually am. I feel a lot older today than I did at the beginning of last week. I'm brittle and I'm slight and I'm growing a beard. But I am a great person. I helped my mom into the afterlife like a champ and I don't have any regrets.
I'm comfortable with the post I've just written. My mother would have liked it. It's an important story and I'm proud to share it. It helps me to share it. I need to heal. I'm in shock. I'm sad. I'm in pain. But life goes on, and I feel good about myself.
(Burlington Free Press 01/15/2008) LOUISE BEDROSIAN BURLINGTON ≈ Louise Bedrosian of Burlington died peacefully Sunday, Jan. 13 in Fletcher Allen Hospital after a long illness. She was 70. Louise was born Jan.18, 1937 to parents Benoni and Vivian (Dodge) Griffin of Sudbury. The oldest of four siblings, Louise grew up on her father's Rutland County farm and attended Castleton State Teachers College after graduating from high school in 1955. After college, Louise began a storied career as an educator that culminated in nearly thirty years of teaching children to read at Wheeler and Barnes elementary schools in Burlington. A voracious reader herself, Louise especially enjoyed books about unexplained phenomena, mysteries of the universe, science fiction and fantasy. Louise was a doll-house and miniature enthusiast, an observer of politics and generous supporter of many good causes and charities. In later years Louise researched and wrote a series of books detailing the history and genealogy of her family in New England. In 2007 she joined the Vermont Society of Mayflower Descendants, having documented her direct relation to the English Pilgrim Thomas Rogers who landed at Plymouth, Massachusetts in 1620. Louise is survived by her husband of 36 years, GrischaBedrosian; her three sons Greg, Haik and AramBedrosian; her grandchildren Crystal, Zoe, Tigran and EmilianaBedrosian; and her three bothers, Benoni Jr. and Tom Griffin of Sudbury, and Allyn Griffin of Brandon. Louise was a kind and generous spirit who touched the lives of everyone she met. She was dearly loved by her family and many friends and will be greatly missed. A graveside service will be held on Friday, Jan. 18, at 12 p.m. in Willow Brook Cemetery, Sudbury. Visiting hours will be held on Wednesday, Jan. 16, from 11 to 1 p.m. at the Ready Funeral & Cremation Service North Chapel, 934 North Ave., Burlington. Visiting hours will also be held at the Miller & Ketcham Funeral Home, 26 Franklin St., Brandon, on Friday from 10:30 to 11:30 a.m. To send online condolences to the family please visit www.readyfuneral.com. In lieu of flowers contributions in Louise's memory may be made to the National Education Association, 1201 16th St. N.W., Washington D.C . 20036-3290.
Burlington Democrats caucused Thursday and nominated city council candidates Tamara Strauss for Ward Two and Loyal Ploof for Ward Three... more details to come.
For me to personally go get information about the March elections is going to be harder than ever this year. Expect spotty, incomplete coverage from BurlingtonPol this cycle. Information I don't have to work for is always welcome. Any tips, literature, meeting dates, gossip or shameless promotions you share with me are most appreciated. Just email haikbedrosian@yahoo.com. I'm not going to guarantee I'll publish everything I get, but I do guarantee I'll appreciate getting it.
And a word to Councilor Decelles- Paul I'm sorry I haven't written up our interview yet. My attention has been diverted for reasons I'll share some other time. I've still got the notes, and I'm still going to do it. Kirstin didn't wake you up for nothing that day- I promise. In the meantime, readers can divert their attention with this.... The Star Wars Guide to the Presidential Candidates.
Thanks my friend John in New York City for that link. John, like me, will turn 29 for the seventh year in a row this month. Looks like we're about halfway home John. Can you believe how mercilessly short life really is?
Yeah I know it happened several months ago, but I just got the urge to blog it. Josh may have used some Junior Defender money to trade up his classic black trenchcoat for a slick new tan one.
Kevin Kelly fabricated a phrase out of whole cloth and attributed it to me in a story about PolitickerVT.com. From this week's Seven Days...
"...The anonymity of its editor in chief does raise credibility issues, insists Haik Bedrosian, a Burlington political activist who blogs on burlingtonpol.com. “Any website that’s produced anonymously should be scrutinized very carefully in regard to its accuracy,” he says. The content of all political blogs should in fact be regarded with skepticism because their producers are generally not professional journalists, Bedrosian adds, cautioning that politickervt.com thus demands “extra-skeptical” reading..." (emphasis added)
I told Kelly that anonymous blogs should be read with skepticism. Then he asked me "shouldn't all blogs be read with skepticism?" I said yes, but there's a big difference between a blogger you can just call and talk to on the phone, and one you can't contact and whose name you don't know. I said you should be "extra-skeptical" of anonymous blogs.
I never said anything about being skeptical because bloggers "are generally not professional journalists." Kelly, a supposedly professional journalist himself, made that part up.
Anybody see the irony in this? Professional journalists aren't all that. In fact, anytime I've ever been quoted by one, he or she has almost never gotten it exactly right. Maybe the pecking order should be this- If the blogger uses their real name: be skeptical. If the blogger is anonymous: be extra-skeptical. If it's a professional journalist: take it with a grain of salt.
Anyway. It's not like I care very much, and it's nice to get some ink and a link. But I thought I should clear that up.
Rejected again. This time by the Temple Sinai in South Burlington. I had an interview Monday to be their administrative assistant. I guess I screwed it up like I always do. Tell me if this qualifies as a Larry David moment:
I'm sitting there talking to the rabbi- one thing leads to another and I end up mentioning that my father was in a Nazi concentration camp in World War II. "The Nazis were evil people." said the rabbi. After a thoughtful pause I responded "...Well, they didn't have the right idea."
Poopsie thinks I blew it right there. "You're talking to a RABBI!" She said later, exasperated. "You're supposed to say "Yes! They were totally evil." You're supposed to talk about how evil they were!"
But I just can't do that. I'm with Anne Frank in believing that deep down people are really good. Yes, their deeds were evil. Yes, their ideas were evil. But to say a person himself is evil is ultimately to write off his soul forever, and I don't think that's the right thing. Things are not so simple. Most Nazi's were normal Germans swept up in a horrible circumstance. I'm sure that under similar pressures, a LOT of Americans would behave like the "good Germans," but through the good fortune of being born in a different time and place, they will never be considered evil by anyone. Also, there was definitely a German soldier or two that slipped my dad food when he was their prisoner, and later when he was their slave. They kept him alive when they could have killed him. I don't think it's ever as simple as "they were evil."
Anyway, the guy at the temp agency that sent me there said they hired someone "with previous synagogue experience." So I'm probably just projecting the reasons for my failure to get hired. But shit. If an Armenian son of a Holocaust survivor with two college degrees and lots of clerical experience can't get hired as an temporary administrative assistant at a synagogue for $10/hr, then I pray Rita Markley saves a cot for me and my family in the homeless shelter. Unemployment benefits only last six months and I'm three months into it.
When someone tells you who they are... Believe them!
Kevin Kelly from Seven Days called me to see if I had any information on who runs "politickervt.com." I didn't when he called, but I do now. It only took a little investigation to figure out it's run by The New York Observer. Google is awesome.
Aside from noting that The Observer hosted the column on which Sex and the City was loosely based, Wikipedia says :
The New York Observer is a weekly newspaper first published in New York City on September 22, 1987, by Arthur L. Carter, a very successful former investment banker with publishing interests. The Observer focuses on the city's culture, real estate, the media, politics and the entertainment and publishing industries. It covers the rich and powerful of New York with an unusual depth of coverage although has been criticized for its narrow focus on Manhattan and its liberal political perspective.[citation needed]
I thought that little politician character looked a lot like Rich Uncle Pennybags from Monopoly!
Anyway Carter had been running the paper at a loss of two million dollars per year, but he sold The Observer to this kid Jared Kushner a year and a half ago for just under ten million. Man, look at how young this guy is.
Hey Jared, thanks for the link! You looking to buy any other publications? BurlingtonPol is available for just over one million dollars.
Breaking News: Marijuana Decriminalization Study Proposed for Burlington
Friday, January 04, 2008
There is a draft resolution circulating among Burlington city council members that could eventually lead to possession of small amounts of marijuana becoming a civil, rather than a criminal offense, punishable by fine much like a traffic violation. Councilors Ed Adrian (D-W1) and Tim Ashe (P-W3) are seeking support from other councilors to place a question on the March 4 City Meeting ballot for consideration by voters. The ballot measure would ask voters whether they they think key city officials and the state attorney's office should study decriminalization.
The Democrats: 1) BarakObama 2) John Edwards 3) Hillary Clinton 4) Bill Richardson The Republicans: 1) Mike Huckabee 2) Mitt Romney 3) Fred Thompson 4) John McCain
And then Sam Kinison looks up and says "Good answer." But I think the real winner tonight was Rachel Maddow for her retort to Chris Matthews' idiotic statement that two-thirds of the voters counted at that point had voted against Hillary Clinton. "If it's a three-way tie, then two-thirds of the voters will have voted against all three candidates. That's the point of a three-way tie." Zing.
It's 12:29am on January 3, 2008, the day of the Iowa Caucuses. With zero precincts reporting BurlingtonPol now projects the following results:
The Democrats: 1) Hillary Clinton 2) Barak Obama 3) John Edwards 4) Joe Biden The Republicans: 1) Mike Huckabee 2) Mitt Romney 3) Ron Paul 4) John McCain
And then Sam Kinison looks up and asks "Is she right?"
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.
Click Sticker to get one.
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Amendment VII
In suits at common law, where the value in controversy shall exceed twenty dollars,
the right of trial by jury shall be preserved, and no fact tried by a jury,
shall be otherwise reexamined in any court of the United States,
than according to the rules of the common law.
"Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses
yearning to breathe free, The wretched refuse of your
teeming shore, Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed,
to me: I lift my lamp beside the golden door."
-Emma Lazarus, 1883
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Church Street Energy System
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Junktique's New Site
Junktique's Old Site
Jessica Sklar
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