K-Lo Goes To Confession

VII Mission: Impossible

K-Lo: Bless me Father for I have sinned. It has been three days, ten hours, six minutes and forty-nine--fifty--fifty-one---.

Father: (interrupts) Do you have a new watch, Kathryn Jean?

K-Lo: Yes, Father. My father gave it to me for my birthday. It has a stopwatch and a calendar and Mary's face is on the dial. Look, her arms are the hands; one is holding Baby Jesus and the other is holding an American Flag. See, it looks like she's waving it when it moves.

Father: That sounds very patriotic. Do you have a sin for me today, Kathryn Jean?

K-Lo: It's been kind of quiet lately, Father, so I'm short of sins this week. I'm sorry. Oh! I did covet my neighbor's wife.

Father: Uh, Kathryn Jean, don't you mean husband?

K-Lo: I mean Mrs. McCain, Father. She looked so sad yet strong, and real pretty too. I wanted someone to look at me that way, Father. Sad and resigned, yet always smiling. Like the way Mama looks at Daddy.

Father: I see. Yes, we all long for someone to be close to, but I know you hold Jesus close to your heart and will always turn to him as well. Okay, next sin?

K-Lo: ...

Father: Kathryn Jean?

K-Lo: (rapidly) Father, I gave up on marrying "Mittens." It Was Not To Be, just like in that book I confiscated from a girl on the bus.

Father: Did you take her book, Kathryn Jean?

K-Lo: It was my duty, Father. The cover had pornography on it and it was called "Love's Throbbing Desire."

Father: So then you read it?

K-Lo: It was my--

Father: --Duty, yes.

K-Lo: In the book a girl discovers that her boyfriend is just pretending to be nice when he's really mean and makes fun of her. So she meets another man instead, a dashing naval captain with a mad wife in the tool shed. Then the wife falls on a pitchfork and dies, and the girl and sea captain live happily ever after.

Father: K-Lo, you wouldn't happen to have bought a pitchfork lately, have you?

K-Lo: No Father.

Father: Thank the Lord.

K-Lo: I bought a RonCo earth tiller, as seen on tv. I can just prop it up out of the way during a townhall rally, and let nature take its course.

Father: Kathryn Jean, I think you should come to see me at the Parish hall tomorrow, about 8:oo. A very nice support group for singles meets there, and you can make some friends and learn a little about relationships. I'd also like you to meet a friend of mine, a doctor who specializes in, uh, talking to people with problems.

K-Lo: I appreciate that Father but I need to keep my schedule open until the election. And tomorrow I'm going down to the docks to meet some sailors. Maybe they'll tell me what a sailor likes in a girlfriend.

Father: No doubt, no doubt, my dear. Well, I won't try to argue with you. By the way, could you run to my office and fetch my rosary? I seem to have left it on my desk.

K-Lo: Sure, Father. Uh, shouldn't I say a Hail Mary or two?

Father: Of course, of course. Now run along, dear. (beeping noises) Operation Bernadette is a go. Repeat, Operation Bernadette is a go!

Run Away, Cindy

It deeply grieves me to report that Kathryn Jean Lopez might be a fickle little tramp. After swearing undying love loyalty to "Mittens" Romney, her wandering eyes have lighted upon the unwary John McCain.

I've always thought you can always tell a lot about a campaign through the eyes of the loving wife of the candidate. One Super Tuesday night in Boston, I was feet away from the Romneys as he talked about taking it to the convention. He was telling you the truth, he hadn't decided to drop out yet. But you knew, even if he hadn't made the call yet, that he'd not be in the race by week's end. You could see it in Mrs. Romney's eyes.

Right now I'm watching John McCain in Wisconsin. Cindy McCain has intense worry in her eyes. I wish we could all take the weekend off as a country and come back Monday ready to have a serious election. I bet Mrs. McCain would agree.

That reminds me of a song....

When I look in your eyes,
I see the wisdom of the world in your eyes
I see the sadness of a thousand goodbyes
When I look in your eyes

And it is no surprise,
to see the softness of the moon in your eyes
The gentle sparkle of the stars in your eyes
When I look in your eyes

In your eyes, I see the deepness of the sea
I see the deepness of the love
The love I feel you feel for me

Autumn comes, summer dies
I see the passing of the years in your eyes
And when we part there will be no tears no goodbyes
I'll just look into your eyes

Those eyes, so wise
So warm, so real
How I love the world, your eyes reveal.

Short Items

When you look at the number of days Bush has spent traveling and on vacation, and all the useless speeches he's given over the years, you realize that Cheney didn't choose himself for vice president---he chose George W. Bush.

Cindy McCain tries to distinguish herself versus the elite Obamas by dressing down. Interesting idea, but she's still a thief (of pills and husbands) with impulse control problems.


Republicans who like the idea of Bush as Batman should read what James Howard Kunstler has to say about the movie.

The most striking thing about the new Batman movie, now smashing the
all-time box office records, is its emphasis on sado-masochism as the animating
element in American culture these days. It must appeal to the many angry people
in our land who want to hurt others, even while they themselves feel deserving
of the grossest punishments. In other words, the picture reflects the extreme
depravity of the current American sensibility. Seeing it all laid out there must
be very validating to the emotionally confused audience, and hence pleasurable,
in all its painfulness.

The rich symbolism in this spectacle represents the tenor of contemporary
America as something a few notches worse than whatever the Nazis were heading
toward around 1933. We like nothing better than to see people suffer and watch
things get broken. The more slowly people are tortured (including the movie
audience) the more exquisite the pleasure derived from the act. Civilization
offers no consolation. In fact, its a mug's game. Thus, civilization is composed
only of torturers and their mug victims.

Gotham City, the setting for all these sadomasochistic vignettes, is a
place devoid of comfort. (The suburbs are missing completely.) Even the personal
haunts of "the Batman," a.k.a. zillionaire Bruce Wayne, are hard-edged
non-spaces. His workplace (cleverly accessed via a dumpster) is an underground
bunker the size of about three football fields with a claustrophobic drop
ceiling and a single furnishing: the megalomaniacal computer console that is
supposed to afford him "control" of the city, but which appears to be, in fact,
a completely impotent sham piece of techno-junk, since it can't even outperform
a $300 GPS unit in locating things. By the way, Hitler had a brighter sense of
decor in the final days of the bunker. Bruce Wayne's personal apartment is one
of those horrid glass-walled tower condos beloved of the starchitects, which, in
its florid exposure to everything external practically screams "no shelter
here!"