Tuesday, April 29, 2014
Meet the Mitford Girls! They were John Kerry before he learned to love Ketchup!
"The English have no notion of the Jewish danger. Our worst Jews work only behind the scenes. We think with joy of the day when we will be able to say England for the English! Out with the Jews! Heil Hitler![ P.S. please publish my name in full, I want everyone to know I am a Jew hater." Hon. Unity Mitford
"I'm sure he (Hitler) was to blame for the extermination of the Jews . . ."I'm sure he (Hitler) was to blame for the extermination of the Jews" The Hon. Diana Mitford, Lady Mosley
The Hon. Diana Mitford, Lady Mosely and her Sis Unity Mitford
Secretary Kerry said that Israel could become an Apartheid State. Apartheid is a Dutch word that means ‘separateness,’ and has come to mean any damn thing. John Kerry, in my C student's opinion, is a dope, not real bright, short of smart and pretty much a dim bulb. Elected and appointed public office is the warehouse of limited. There are some exceptions to this canard, but not a whole hell of a lot. Secretary Kerry is smarter than Dick Durbin of Illinois and much dumber than Seator Al Franken of Minnesota. So there you have it.
Now, John Kerry s fronting for the Valerie Jarrett White House. Valerie Jarrett is the Cardinal Richelieu of President Barack Obama's Louis XIII. Valerie Jarrett is the judge of our National Who's Got Progressive Talent and has selected Samantha Powers, Susan Rice and past mistresses of mayhem as Desiree Rogers and Anita Dunn to chart the path for America. The trouble being, America has hit a dead alley in a bad neighborhood and the hillbillies behind us have a stalled garbage truck.
Kerry mouths platitudes dispense by people much smarter than Ketchup John, like Noam Chomsky and Cass Sustein. Sustein is married to Irish OXFAM queen of the United Nations Samantha Powers.
The Chomsky Sustein variety of smart guy, equates Israel's steadfast defence of democracy to facsism, because that plays well in Europe and Europe is really, really, really tired of hearing about the Holocaust and 'blah, blah, blah, get over it already!' The systematic and diverse European murder of Jews in the 1940's is now intellectually and socially as interesting as that stupid and boring Potato Famine. Get over it, Paddy! Have you seen Twelve Years a Slave?
However, there is a real balance in the universe that should make Al Sharpton as accountable for his words and deeds as any owner of LA Clippers, but that is not how some demand things wag. Me? I know for a fact that at the very least Six Million Jews* were murdered by diverse continental with Europeans more than a nod from the British Isles including Eire in 1940's. I also know for a fact that more two million of my ancestors were starved to death and buried in mass graves like Skibbereen** - been there. The same mentality allowed Paddy and Hymie to the charnel house are parsing policy today.
The same creeps with inflated resumes and college transcripts who managed to help many Romanian, Ukrainian, Lithuanian, Estonian, French, Austrian and Arab people get their Jewish neighbors shot, gassed, looted, starved and tormented in the 1940's - people like Edward Duke of York, retired Kind and Duke of Windsor and of course Diana and Unity Mitford - the Der Sturm cover girls.
I recall the wonderful indictment of Leftist Progressive ( John Kerry et al) anti-semitism by the Dutch writer Leon De Winter. It was when idiots in Chicago like Kevin Clark and Andy Thayer were ginning up support from Palestinian Gaza Gang in prelude to the Illinois Gay Marriage legislative push that De Winter challenged the OXFAM ACLU Peoples Law Office anti-Semites with this - Gaza is not occupied by Israel - it is Judenrein! That's Jew Free, don't you know. The left ignores facts in arguments and increases the volume of howlers in its bleachers.
Anti-Semitism is fashionable because Progressive is fashionable, or Salonfahig, as Goebbles used to say to the charming Mitford sisters.
By Bob Goldsborough
Special to the Tribune
7:48 a.m. CDT, April 28, 2014
The four-bedroom, raised ranch-style house in west suburban Glendale Heights where Smashing Pumpkins founder and frontman Billy Corgan spent much of his preteen and teenage years has been listed for $175,000.
One of the most successful rockers ever to come out of the Chicago area, Corgan, 47, now lives in a massive vintage mansion on Lake Michigan in Highland Park.
But for close to a decade -- from 1977 until he graduated from Glenbard North High School in Carol Stream in 1985 -- Corgan hung his hat in his family’s 1,531-square-foot house in Glendale Heights.
Corgan’s father, blues and rock guitarist William Corgan Sr., and stepmother, Penelope, paid $49,000 for the house in 1977, according to public records. After the couple divorced in 1983, Corgan, his brother and his half-brother all continued living in the home with his stepmother, according to court records.
After graduating from high school, Corgan moved to St. Petersburg, Fla. for a brief stint before returning to Chicago and proceeding to form the Smashing Pumpkins. In 1986, Penelope Corgan sold the house for $80,000 to . . .
I deserve a big old spank for not giving Chicago rock retiree and celebrity pain-in-the-ass his props, yesterday! Well, I was busy and that is certainly no excuse. The Chicago Tribune posted the above article on the front page, because Billy Corgan's "childhood' home is on the realtor's block.
How about that? Well, did you know this ?
Driving home from Leo High School yesterday, I took a turn west through the old neighborhood along 76th Street. I noticed a for sale sign on former the home of Terry "Barks" Coleman. Barks was the son of button accordion genius Maurice " Mossie" Coleman who immigrated to Chicago during the Irish Civil War from northwest County Kerry.
Mossie Coleman was a pathologically taciturn gentleman, who closely kept his own counsel, but otherwise spoke volumes when his huge fingers danced on the buttons of his vintage Salterell Le Bouebe with like of Joe Shannon, John McGreevy, Eleanor Neary, James Keane,Sr, Frank Thornton, Jimmy Neary, Maida Sugrue and the great Terry Teahan at Hanley's House of Happiness on 79th Street, AOH's Cannon Hall on Halsted and at every Ceile in Chicago.
Mossie worked as a stationary oiler/fireman at the old Audy Home which was a very good trade and bought the Georgian two-story home at 76th & Wood Street in 1955. Mrs. Coleman worked as a waitress at the Beverly Woods Banquet Hall in Morgan Park on the weekends and raised the four boys Terry, Austin, Brice and Maurice, who later went by Maurey eschewing the Turkey bird*cognomen.
Terry was my age and pal'd it up all through grammar school and into high school. Terry became "Barks," in 6th Grade when he came to school each day with a nasty chest-deep cold and emitted massive Barks when he coughed and annoyed the perpetually annoyed Sister Doralese, RSM. " Barking, Barking Barking Terry Coleman! Ye'll bark yer last on the next go round, my fine man! No room in the TB home for the likes of ye?" She was as pretty as she was nice.
Barks has that name, like every young person who grew up on the south side and a handle attached by dint of signal flaw, physical, ancestral, or moral to his/her presence on earth. Barks fit Terry Coleman like a glove, or cheap pants. He will carry that name into eternity.
Barks learned button accordion from his father and transferred his talents and skills to the Farfisa Mini-Organ in 1966 and played with a local garage band at dances, block parties and beer summits in the abandoned house Ronnie Graff and Al McFarland discovered over by Lindbloom High School. Barks Coleman was in demand as a musician and was picked up by Cyrcul Jerques -
Five neat guys from Little Flower, Tommy More and St Sabina's parishes - That's Barks at the keys in the greaseball shades.
Barks could do all the requisite organ and piano riffs to the best tunes of 1960's. He could Paul Revere, Young Rascal, Wilson Pickett, Vanilla Fudge, Kingsman and Steppenwolf with the best of them.
His old house is up for sale, just like Uncle Fester of Smashing Pumpkins.
* "In the South side of Chicago, the term "turkey bird" is often used to describe a person who was born in Ireland. Although both my parents were Irish American, my father was a "turkey bird," while my mother was born in the United States. My siblings and I often affectionately referred to our father and his Irish-born friends as "turkey birds." Neither my father nor his friends ever took offense to this term and, in fact, used the term themselves to define a person’s exact roots. Recently one of my brothers was at a family party and started to discuss the origin of this term with a nephew (whose father also was born in Ireland). A woman, who is not of Irish heritage herself, but whose husband was born in Ireland, overheard the conversation and took great offense to the discussion. From where did this term originate? Is this term used throughout the United States? Has the nature of this term changed? Is it now considered offensive? Was it always offensive and my father and his friends just had thick skins?" Kathleen Klinger
Friday, April 25, 2014
Wednesday, April 23, 2014
Sometimes there's nothing for it but to grab hold of nearest sharp object and introduce that implement to one of the ocular orifices. Yes, sir, nothing beats a poke in the eye with sharp stick for calling faux miseries to attention.
I was asked if I would care to attend a group Hootenanny at a Unitarian Church in my neighborhood to celebrate our Mother Earth. I gave this offer some careful consideration, knowing that my acquittance* who dresses like Pete Seeger and speaks like Senator Elizabeth Warren was drawing me out with his suspicions that I am not in fact an Irish Catholic Democrat of the old stripe, but plutocratic fascist in wolves clothing and immediately replied, " Nah."
The jungle hat with the excessively long chin strap launched to nape of his thin neck, " Why not, might I ask?"
Having somewhat composed himself, he arranged the satchel containing plastic water bottles and styrofoam cups gathered along his daily journey among the unwashed who still use those beverage containers, to show HE meant business.
I paused abit before answering, " I'm Sixty-plus years old with a long life ahead of me. Big Plans," I replied using the script from the AARP commercial with hot GILF walking through an autumnal glade.
Side Note ( She's smug and vacuous to be sure, but I'd take a run at her.)
" You play guitar and banjo!" accused my Progressive Pharisee who added, "What's wrong with you?"
The simple answer would have been "Plenty, Donny, " but I must plunge.
"This is a community's celebration of doing good and turning hands and hearts to our planet's needs."
" I choose to have my gums scraped, Donny. "
" You don't care."
"Who would break a butterfly on a wheel,Donny?"
" I don't understand you."
* In my world, there are great people who make every moment a joy(99% by my gesstimation) and the 1% who suck all of the joy right out of atmosphere (.05%) are Mean People vicious animals to be avoided at all possible costs and the balance I must categorize as
Mean-Well People - sincere, not very bright, self-important, intrusive and bad -tipping social parasites . . .politicians, editorial board members, academics and people you can not avoid, because THEY MEAN WELL.
Tuesday, April 22, 2014
"Every child deserves a childhood" Can't argue with that any more than that old saw " Every adult deserves an adulthood."
In time-honored tradition of slapping platitudes on rampant failure, Mayor Rahm Emanuel invokes " Values."
Chicago became a thug-comfort zone, because the platitude paper-hangers wanted power, dominion, votes and most importantly cash. It became very important to the platitudinarian politicians during the second term of Richard M. Daley to divorce law enforcement from City Hall. Cops were tossed to the wolves of media and the ambulance chasers. Wrongfully became the watchword for all aspects of policing and prosecution. It worked better than Henry Tudor's many honeymoons. Cops got their heads placed on pikes and Thugs got 2/3'd of the millions paid to G. Flint Taylor, Locke Bowman and the Loevy Boys. Chicago Values!
Those are the values that Alderman Proco Joe Moreno spoke of when he blasted Chick Fil A for opening in Chicago. Mayor Rahm agreed whole heartedly. Remember?
“Chick-fil-A values are not Chicago values,” said Mayor Rahm Emanuel in a statement to the Chicago Tribune. “They disrespect our fellow neighbors and residents.”That was power and dominion at work. A cynical person, like me, might say that Proco Joe and Mayor Rahm are merely pandering to the wallets of Fred Eychaner and the votes of evolved Progressives, because that is what they do. Yet, they decried the values of the Cathy Family, owners of chicken franchise, the Catholic Church and millions of Chicagoans. Chicago values the silence of the lambs.
Emanuel was vowing his support for Alderman Proco Moreno’s announcement that he would block construction of a Chick-fil-A restaurant in his district.
“If you are discriminating against a segment of the community, I don’t want you in the First Ward,” he told the newspaper.Chick-fil-A is privately owned by the Cathy family. The company president, Dan Cathy, drew the wrath of gay rights advocates and supporters when he made recent statements that some have alleged are anti-gay.
"Man is wolf to man," or so a political animal might suggest. Wolves need prey and lambs are tasty prey.
Over the weekend another slaughter took place in all of the zip codes all too familiar with wolves, political and armed. In yet another, heart-tugging platitude post-up Rahm Emanuel called on all of Chicagoland to dig deeply for " Values."
Those values include the right of women to slaughter the unborn, redefine marriage, biology, spend us out of debt, over turn convictions of murderers and return them to the agonized zip-codes of Chicago, shut up and vote.
Devalue your values and value your Value-Makers.
Can't argue with that - not allowed.
Posted by pathickey at 3:55 AM
Tuesday, April 15, 2014
I was watching the recent "Comfy Chair" Debate between Bruce Carhartt Rauner and Governor Pat Quinn when it became very clear to me that the Governor of Illinois, a practiced Shapeshifter, is now Alister Sim*
Governor Alsietr Quinn!
*.Capable of being creepy and comic at the same time, Sim came to epitomise the eccentric British buffoon for a generation of cinema-goers: a man forever bewildered as fate dealt him one cruel blow after another, but whom it was impossible not to like.
Wednesday, April 09, 2014
I woke up a different man. I'm Frank Ballinger - M Squad. M stands for Metamorphosis. This is Chicago -my kind of town.
I went to bed Pat Hickey and woke up Frank Ballinger. Yeah, I woke him up. He was staying with me. That's how come I woke up a different man. See?
Maybe it was being in the Flatiron District, - Bucktown, of Chicago - you know the concrete streets packed with guys wearing sandals, cotton strides, goatees and straw fedoras, all looking for that next kick whether to themselves or the old guy in chinos, Thomm McCann's and really bad mood. All the female talent he pipes on cool April sidewalks and cooing from the open-air gin mills on Milwaukee Ave. are tattooed and pieced and maybe that sets his V-8 in neutral and over-works the radiator. . .I don't know. Maybe, it was the fact that he had to wait for the lady with the baby smooth skin and that frame that could lure Thomas Merton out of monk convention in Tibet. Maybe.
Yeah, that might have it.
No, the fact is that he knew he'd been made an A Number One chump not eight hours ago.
Yeah, me. Patrick Francis Thomas Aquinas Hickey - Chump Gold Card Member. That's who hit the sack last night anyway. He'd pieced together all the clues. He'd been set up by "Drew." Yeah, me. Mr. Street Wise - not the fine $2 paper sold by members of Chicago's Homeless Community, no not that Street Wise -got taken by a thirty something hipster and his late model black Chrysler SUV plate number Illinois R 64-3592.
I was parked in the 1800 block of West North Avenue - the pathway to hip and the playground to the cool. My turf is square. This turf is triangular and a square within a triangle is trapped - like this: That's me N and B is some other guy out of his element. N is me on North Ave. between Honore and Walcott.
I'm parked, like I said, on North Ave . . .the 1800 block of West North Avenue . . .what am I boring you, Princess? Yeah, I guess I am at that.
I had business with a lady on the south side of North and that's none of your business. Business was good. Me? Not so much.
I'm parked like I said. When business is over I walk the chic chick to her car parked on Hermitage just north of North Avenue. When business is over and I shed myself of the heart breaker and her pleas for me to stay just bit more, I hike it back to North Avenue where I'm parked and my ticket has time to spare on my dash board so I don't need to pay Mayor Coon Eyes any more of my earned loot.
I have less than a foot or so to back up, because a late model black Chrysler SUV has insinuated itself dangerously close to the bumper of my 2008 grey Malibu. There's room to spare ahead of me and I have been know around the south side as ONE SWING MAN adept. I eased back, nevertheless erring on the side of caution . . ., when shouts of " How does this????" interrupted by bangs on the passenger side of my blitz interrupts my maneuver.
" Hey, Man! You hit my car! Don't even think about leaving!"
Never crossed my mind. I slide out and assess. There is damage to SUV, but nothing to show from the laws of physics on my coupe.
" We better exchange information," shouts the tall, handsome thirty-something who claims to have been on the sidewalk of 1800 W. North Ave. he had golden Lab in the back of the late model black Chrysler SUV plate number R 64-3594.
I gave the tall guy my license and insurance card. He I-phone snapped pictures of both and handed them back to me. I asked for his information and he said, that his name was " Drew!" He got in his SUV and drove off.
Yeah, that stuff dripping from my whiskers comes from chickens. Some chump. " Wait," I shouted like the grammar school class twerp who has had his Harry Potter magician hat grabbed by the regular guys and thinks that " Give it Back!" will solve any unhappiness. Yeah.
Pat Hickey went to bed and woke up Frank Ballinger. Frank Ballinger ain't happy. Frank Ballinger will check in with CPD District 14 about the events on the 1800 block of west North Avenue at approximately 6:45 PM.
Tuesday, April 08, 2014
This trio reminds me of the three generations of dweebs who disturbed my sauna with three KGB agents in 1989 They were pan-generational creeps sharing some bad DNA. All fit, all health conscious, all self-important and gold-plated assholes to a man.
The three KGB agents of whom I spoke were . . .how shall I say this? . . .busting out of Boys Huskies and squeezing into Portlies - Thus!
They were fun, funny and fearless gentlemen. We got along.
Good genes make for . . .good genes. . .? Well, who am I to judge? Allow me.
I have a very disciplined and healthy regard for the human condition so long as the character/personality thermostats of the individuals encountered happen to be set just to my liking and considered judgment.
I delight in the company of my fellow man, so long as he conforms to the rigorous, but indefinable virtues which make us brothers, regardless of race, religion, culture, income, level of education, sexual preferences or political point of view.
I once took a steam and a dip in the old McCormick Inn hotel pool with a trio of delightful pre-Fall of the Wall KGB agents. It was 1989 and my father-in-law owned, edited and published the Will County Farmers Weekly Review and a wonderful portmanteau came into my vocabulary - Due Bill. Quite simply, my wife, kids and I could stay at either the McCormick Inn or the Essex Hotel on Michigan Ave.and pay only the taxes and parking. Shipwrecked 1907 Heidseick purchased with a Red White and Blue wallet. We booked a suite at McCormick Inn while on some winter school break. The Bolshoi was jigging up a storm at the Aire Crown Theatre in McCormick Place; hence the KGB guys. My daughter Nora had just turned 4 and I took her for an indoor swim. We were dog paddling along when a Tsunami drenched us - actually it was three endomorphic Russkies in speedos. Now, I am no chiseled and sculpted Steve Stunning myself, but I'd hang around shirtless with these three any day. They were far from harmless lard-asses.
Nora chirped, "What's that in their trunks Dad? Candy bars?"
Wedged snugly in the 'crack' in the back of each was a weapon. A knife. This was affirmed by each of the three - " Yezz iz knife bud dunt waree Dahdah. Iz Ogay." Each of three Godless Commies commenced to spalsh Nora and she them.
My wife came down and toweled her off for the trip up to our suite. I introduced the lovely redhead to the beet-eating coppers and they were charm in troika. Mary had the foresight to bring a mini cooler full of Augsburger beer and dragged Nora from her new Slav-nik buddies upstairs to dress. We four round -mounds of renown repaired to the sauna with a cooler full of high-end Hubers.
We talked Perestroika, Pedagogy and Puskin. They had all fought in the Afghan War. They all three loved Ronald Reagan and could not understand why I did not vote for him. They all agreed that things would change -"VahRee Fest, Frund Patschu." They did. But, that was at the end of 80's and dawn of this current age of NPR-addicted loud-mouths. This is The Age of People who obsess over other people and how they live their lives, think, eat and pray.
Russians smoke ( cigarettes) up a storm and the three agents ( 'proDeKding DainZers') had the sauna steam a nice Shanghai Yellow with cooked Virginny tobaccy! Ween'Stones
Into our happy sauna arrived a shit heel, a douche bag, in a non_Portanteau, a dweeb, his Prep-ily long-haired son and the Thomas Gainsboprough stand-in grandson, aged about twelve. Pater was a Saltine-chested WASP dandy ( most guys do not wear neck-kerchiefs from Abercombie & Fitch in a sauna - most guys in here at the time) who sniffed assessed and Grandee'd in pissy little voice " Are you PEOPLE smoking in here? What is WRONG with you! Haven't you heard C. Evert Koop? Second Hand Smoke! Get it?!???!!!!! Oakes, ( fils) go for the manager! Sit here with me Cameron.( petit-fils").
Cameron opined, in the pissy voix de la famille, on the looming proximity of three cancer diagnoses. Too much 'me-time' for young Master Cameron at Warfield, it seemed.
I mentioned that the three gentlemen were security for the Bolshoi and Cotton Mather* held up his talons, " I supposed you are feeding the beer."
I went South Side-Lite( no obscenities) for a second, " Hey, calm down, Pal."
The three KGB gentlemen eye-brow signalled me, " We're outta here."
Before we parted the biggest of three big guys whispered in my ear -"ESS-howls." I replied, yes they are all that and then some. He continued, " We hev meny such et howum. Sem Wurld!"
The KGBig Boys invited the Hickeys to the Bolshoi that night. It was glorious! In fact they sat us next to Mr. T. Mr. T was a delight as well and wowed a four year old girl already wowed by the Bolshoi and her KGB pool playmates.
They were three gentlemen. Mr. T is a gentleman.
Most folks are great, but assholes can really suck the oxygen out of our planet.
* Cultural observation: Rich WASP's seem to live on the cheap more than any blue-collar slob i ever met - why else were these Puritans camping at the McCormick.
Wednesday, April 02, 2014
Paying tuition is an obligation parents assume when they want their children educated in America. Public schools are paid for by tax payers, including the families who send their children to non-public schools - they pay twice; once, for every one else's children and again for their own.
Private education comes in several forms. There are what are known as Tier One schools - elite schools endowed and patronized by wealth. Schools such as University of Chicago Lab Schools, Latin School, Frances Parker, Lake Forest Academy and North Shore Country Day are Tier One schools - some rooted in a Mainline Protestant denomination past, or purely secular. These schools tend to have the highest tuition rates and are exclusive.
Then there are Parochial schools of which Catholic schools are the most prominent. There are Dutch Reformed, Lutheran, Jewish and Muslim schools. These schools operate on tuition and gifts alone for revenue and some are becoming almost as costly as Tier One schools. Catholic schools have always depended upon the support of the parish, or a religious congregation. Today, parishes struggle to maintain enrollment numbers that match tuition paying families. Due to the decades of lost vocations to religious orders, Catholic schools are more often than not operated and managed by Catholic lay persons. Tuition support comes from lay operated foundations like the Big Shoulders Fund and private foundations.
Public Education outlaws Vouchers which would allow genuine, fair and reform inducing competition via its threats to and campaign financing of members of both political parties in the Illinois legislature and local governments. That is how it is.
Catholic schools in America were founded by Irish immigrants very much familiar with "School Choice" policies in Ireland. Catholic schools educated millions of Americans with standards that remain today in most Catholic schools.
Families continue to sacrifice for their children and students themselves are no strangers to the burdens placed on their parents, often working off tuition in the schools themselves. They carry the turf.
Elected mediocrities (Durbin, Quinn, et al.) who benefited from a Catholic education* are the most strident foes of School Reform. They have selective memories linked only to pious platitudes mouthed at a St. Paddy's Day breakfast, or in a hall full of Hibernians. Memory is the first thing annihilated by tyrants, frauds and mediocrities.
Tuition is the turf you carry.
Irish hedge school heritage
The hedge schools in Ireland were founded under the penal laws in Ireland in the 17th century. No Catholic could teach, no building could serve as a school, underpenalty of law.
So it began that outlawed teachers taught children and traveling "strangers" in the open air. One child might serve as a lookout for the authorities. The teacher might get paid in butter or with a few shillings.
Classes taught included Latin, Greek, Arithmetic, Reading and Writing. Originally it was all done in the Irish language. The Irish language was one thing that theauthorities wanted to eradicate.
The end of the schools
As time went on, laws would allow for a school building, and the Irish actually got their own schools in the 19th century. Some hedge schools continued, but theyfaded from view and disappeared for the most part by the time of the famine.Student responsibilities
If necessary, each student was required to carry a brick or two of turf to school when it was cold outside. The turf would then supply heat during the school day for everyone.
*School/Choice and Vouchers in Illinois3/1/2014 8:00:00 PM By Mike Yurgec -Contributor
As a parent of a child in Catholic school, every year I am faced with the same thing the rest of the parents face - the property tax bill. I am very troubled with the fact I pay for a public school system I never use. My child will never darken the doorstep of that building and yet, more that 60% of my property taxes go to fund that project. For us and many others, that is several thousand dollars a year going to a public funding project we will never use.We all know why we send our children to Catholic school. The reasons are many. But the underlying fact is we pay extra to send our children there in addition to funding a public school system our children will never use. This is "taxation without representation". If you recall, there was a revolution started over this in 1776.
I have heard other parents say, "I can't afford to send my child to Catholic school." The facts are these; YES - you can afford to send your child to Catholic school if you were allowed to spend the tax money confiscated from your bank account to fund a public school to pay for your child's tuition! You see, if we were allowed to spend our tax dollars to fund our child's education in a Catholic school system, there would be more funding for that system, more children in that system, and better results from that system. We could fund better schools and better pay for our teachers and administrators.
We need all of the Catholic parents across this state to stand up and be counted. If we all took the stand of "No School Choice - No Support" to our legislators, the law will change. It would have to change. According to the website Catholic-Heirarchy.org, there are over 165,000 Catholic parents, grand parents, aunts, uncles, brothers, and sisters in the Springfield Diocese alone. In Illinois, there are over 4,950,000 Catholics. The politicians have to listen to us at the risk of their own political peril!
Ask your local, state, and federal legislator this question, "Do you support school choice?" If not - why not?! And be sure to tell them your vote is vested in their position to support school choice. Please - do it now!
Tuesday, April 01, 2014
"Sorry, Borman, there'll be no left-overs on this meal spinning in te Amana!"
I am a pretty good journeyman cook - not a chef mind you. I can whip up a very tasty skillet full of wholesome goodness and plate up treats for the kids that will have them howling for seconds.
Smoking meats and fish, grilling and the peanut oil boiling of birds have been paths upon which I trod and loosened the leggings of delighted guests with modest to wild success.
Now, following this winter of our discontent and seepage in the basement with its attendant mold, Spring calls dryer methods to mind.
My Dryer. My Dryer will serve to remedy the hunger that the hoary days of these last four months roil in our tummies. My Peoples Gas bill is paid up, so let's get cooking.
First, La omellet de démarrage d'un ouvrier avec des oignons, de l'ail, fromage irlandais et polonais saurkraut et saucisse mexicaine par Hickey!
One dozen eggs
1- pound of good Bobaks Polish Sauerkraut
1-pound of Kerry Gold Irish White Cheddar (shredded)
1- pound of Cacique Chorizo
1-White Onion chopped
1-Red Onion chopped
1-Vadalia Onion chopped
1-Stalk of Celery Whole
1-Bunch of Cilantro chopped
9- cloves of pealed garlic
One pair of good of Red Wing -Irish Setter Work Boots ( L&R) new if possible.
A good stout plub 5" in diameter
Standard gas operated Domestic Dryer. Pre-heat to Real Hot.
Duct Tape -la seule chose qui va faire!
In a large bowl break, add and beat the dozen of eggs. Salt and pepper to taste and add a splash of water, milk, or cream. I like to add paprika, but that is just me. Toss in the onions, cilantro and garlic. Hold the celery.
Pour the egg mixture evenly into each boot, tie up the laced and cap with a good stout plug of some sorts and duct tape any and all openings.
Toss in the boots and the big old stalk of celery. Autoriser L'Omelette roulée!!!!!
You should have pretty good idea about when it's done. Eye balling the job, never hurts.