The Donegal Express

The calling of the Rosary
Spanish wine from far away
I’m a free born man of the USA

Location: Santa Fe, New Mexico, United States

I am the most wanted man on my island; but I'm not on my island. More's the pity.

Saturday, January 08, 2005

It Is Good To Hate The French

--Al Bundy

I'm browsing around imdb and I find this link, complete and unaltered:

Scorsese and DiCaprio Receive Highest French Honor


I have no idea what the article is about (I include the hyperlink because that's the kind of guy I am). Give me the subtitle to this article, just based on the above. Post 'em in the comments section! Some examples...

...Officially surrender to Hollywood Icons

...Allow French people to speak English to duo.

...Order waiters to refrain from spitting in their food.

...French women shave armpits in screen legends' honor.

Go with it, people.

UPDATE: The link was moved, so I removed it.

It's a UNIX system! I know this!

-- Lex Murphy

I'm really not liking Best Practical's Request Tracker. It's like, the closer to getting it compiled and configured I get, the more mind-numbing the problems become. The documentation could be better, as well.

Word to the wise, if you're thinking Nagios might be a bit difficult to set up, run far away from Request Tracker. Far away. I mean, I breezed through that one. It took me a few days, sure, but those days were spent making modifications and additions to check for the right stuff on the right servers. I knew what I was doing all that time. This help desk app..well, at least it had cpan so I could automatically download dependencies for my dependencies for my dependencies. That was nice.

Oh well, I've joined the mailing list, and will be asking for help. I'm probably about fifteen minutes away from getting it running too.

Friday, January 07, 2005

What happen? Someone set up us the bomb!

--Zero Wing

For the folks who may have visited today, the last few hours were not a minimalist exercise. For some reason, my template blew up, rendering my posts unreadable.

Special thanks to Cao for letting me know the site was down. She spun me right round baby, right round like a record baby, right round round round.

Bring out yer dead! *Bong*

--The Dead Collector

Dead voted in governor's race -- King County investigating 'ghost voter' cases.

Dead people voted in King County, and there were more votes cast than registered voters.

Wait for it...

"These are not indications of fraud," said Bill Huennekens, King County's elections supervisor. "Fraud is a concerted effort to change an election."

And people voting who aren't supposed to be voting, or who vote using dead people's names, exactly what are they trying to do? Not change an election? I get it, they alternated! "This fake vote for the Republican, and this one for the Democrat." That's how it worked, right? I mean fake votes can't be an indication of fraud, right Bill?

This reminds me of that scene in Stalag 17, when the one prisoner of war gets a letter from his wife. Inside she tell him basically, "You won't believe this, but I found the most darling baby! And you won't believe it, but it has exactly my eyes and nose." And the guy's sitting there, in deep denial. "Why does she keep saying I won't believe it. I believe it......I believe it."

There's no indication of voter fraud. I believe it....I believe it.

The story contains a few quotes by people who voted for their dead wives/husbands. You know, I could see it, although I honestly can't imagine my last wish being, "Cast my ballot!" I think it would be more like, "Make sure I have clean underwear for the funeral." And the guy that gets the biggest play is the one says his wife wanted him to vote the /Republican/ ticket for her. Nice implications.

And there's this air of, "I knew it was wrong, but I was willing to do this out of a sense of love, regardless of the consequences."

Ok, cool. I respect that. Now get fined. And please, I'm not being cold. Each case like that should get hit with the minimum amount of monetary damages. If they would gladly face the consequences, give 'em some. It makes for a more romantic story.

And did anyone else enjoy all the "found" ballots coming out of King County? I wish I had some extra time, I would have set up a pool. I could have made a ton! How many ballots will be "found" on which days?

That was so predictable, it reminded me of an exchange from that chick baseball movie, the one with Tom Hanks.

"What if at a key moment in the game my, my uniform bursts open and, uh, oops., my bosoms come flying out? That, that might draw a crowd, right? "

"What if at a key moment in the election, we open a closet door and, uh, oops., a thousand ballots come flying out? That could tip an election, right?"

Honestly, there was no fraud, just astoundingly bad management and oversight. Gotcha. So Bill Huennekens is going to be recalled or dismissed right? I mean, his people were just throwing hundreds of Democrat ballots into closets and drawers to get out of counting them. Every third day we heard, "Sorry, another mistake. Here's ten trillion more votes we found." They're going to break him off Donald Trump style, with the cobra-flick and everything, right?

I believe it....I believe it.

Thursday, January 06, 2005

I've got plenty to be thankful for
No private car
No caviar
No carpet on my floor
Still I've got plenty to be thankful for

--Bing Crosby

Lunch time rolls around, and I figure "Hey, I'll go find a Bank of America ATM. That way, I won't have to go to that one burrito place that takes your card, but adds a dollar charge to your bill. That will make the wife happy, I'm being budget conscious! So I pull up BofA website, and find the nearest ATM.

"0.32 miles. Ok, that's not so bad. I'll get a bit of walking in. A little exercise. That's a second good thing I've done today (besides being an exceptional and productive employee). Yay me! Tomorrow, I think I'll treat myself to a nice McDonald's steak egg and (gah!) nevermind."

And away I toddle, missing a street, meandering up and down the street, until I finally find the exact spot on which the ATM sits. I stretched that .32 into a solid half mile.

And that's when I realize my ATM card is on my desk.

Nice. Just nice. So I hump it all the way back to the office, then back to the ATM. And that's when it happened, something that I always enjoy.

Some guy was collecting signatures for some leftist cause. I think he had a petition to save public school abortions for endangered species on death row from being taken over by Halliburton. (Did I miss any "activist causes" in that last sentence?)

Now the enjoyable part wasn't seeing this guy, the good part came when we made eye contact. I need to thank God more often for giving me that aura of "I will make your petition collecting hell if you even /think/ of pestering me with your neo-hippie blather". Just reading on his face, "Yeah, I'll skip him. That's not going to go anywhere." That's just good stuff.

When I was in college, I had some help with it. A friend of my father's had given me a CIA baseball cap before I left for school. I wore that puppy nearly everywhere. Right on Forbes Ave, outside The "O", the Nation of Islam used to distribute their newspaper. I'd go out of my way to walk down Forbes when they were recruiting.

"My brotha! My brotha! " *thrust newspaper at passerby* "Learn how the man is keeping you in bondage!" "My brotha! My brotha!" *eye contact* "Oh, uh, good afternoon sir."

I never understood that. If the system was so all prevalent and pervasive, how on earth do these guys think they can stand on a street corner and give away their rag?"

On warm days, I'd stand across the street for at least an hour, and talk into the lapel of my jacket. One day, I had a Pittsburgh cop come up to me, in tears of laughter, and ask me to just go home so there wouldn't be trouble.

Now, I don't need the hat. Like the kid in Animal House said, "Thank you, God."

There is a big, nappy hair in my sundae.

--Morgan Spurlock

I dearly miss my true love, the McDonald's steak egg and cheese bagel. After that "Eat a Big Mac a Day" documentary, Mickey D's felt the heat, and abandoned the bagel sandwiches and the "Super Sized" option. Great. I'd treat myself to a steak egg and cheese bagel once a month. Just a nice little "yay me" thing. And some overbearing busybodies rip that small pleasure from my soul.

Thanks overbearing busybodies!

Also, I have two kids. I used to be able to roll up to the McDonald's drive thru, and order the two cheeseburger meal "supersized". I'd also ask for a glass of water.

I'd pay the girl, dump the water, and split the soda between the two kids. Then each would get one cheeseburger and half the supersized fries. Do you know how much money that saved? Now, thanks to the same overbearing busybdies, my budget is shot.

Thanks again, overbearing busybodies!

Wednesday, January 05, 2005

The sky is blue, the grass is green. Get off your duff, and join the Marines.

-- John Wayne

For those of you who can't join the Marines but can quilt up a storm, I pass on the following from Res Publica 2005:

Here's the info: Marine Comfort Quilt Group is a not for profit ministry whose objective is to provide a memorial quilt of comfort to the next of kin of our fallen military. Our quilts are made from thirty quilt squares, each containing an inspirational message from it's donor or another serviceman. Our quilts are stitches of love from those who want so badly to bring comfort, but don't know how to help. Our Marine Comfort Quilt Group has now decided to take on a greater project. With the War on Iraq, we have lost many Marines. Our initial project was to make one quilt for each family of a fallen Marine, but we have since expanded this project to include all members of our Armed Forces that gave their life in this war. We are praying that soon these quilts will no longer be needed, but until then, we will not stop stitching until each family has been provided a small gift of comfort. Here's a link to their web site:

Be a man. Quilt for a Marine.

Sanctus Johannes Neumann, Ora Pro Nobis

Today is the feast of St. John Neumann, Redemptorist and Fourth Bishop of Philadelphia. An excellent biography of the Saint can be found here.

I've made the pilgrimage to the shrine of St. John Neumann a few times, which isn't so hard when you grow up in Philadelphia. Making the pilgrimage is, in my opinion, an heroic act of faith as the Shrine is located in a war zone. Be very careful where you park, and keep a straight line from your ride to the church.

I believe the body of the Saint at one time was located under the main altar of the church. Nowadays, it is under the altar of the lower chapel. It's painful, actually, seeing a Saint's mortal remains in one of those monstrous post-Vatican II designed chapels. Is there anything more tacky and unpleasant to the eye as abstract stained glass? Then again, at least they haven't tossed his body out of the church, like St. Vibiana in Los Angeles. Yes, yes, I know. Roger Cardinal Mahoney is going to reinter the Saint in the new cathedral. Well, has it been done yet? Why not?

In case you can't tell from the picture, the Saint was a little fellow. I'm guessing he was maybe 4'10"-5'1". He collapsed on the streets of Philadelphia, dying of a stroke. The pavement on which he expired was ripped from the street, and can be seen at the shrine.

When I was very young, I remember seeing the Saint under the glass altar and thinking he was going to pop out from under there, like in a zombie movie. Years later, I realized how silly that was. Years after that, I realized I was right all those years ago. He will pop out from under there, but not like a zombie movie. We look for the resurrection of the dead, and the life of the world to come.

I still have a first class relic packed away somewhere from my last visit. A few months afterwards, we learned the wife was expecting our second child. Her doctor ran some tests (she knows all the names and numbers better than I do) and explained to her that she was most likely experiencing a miscarriage. As he explained to my wife, that what she had inside her was most likely a "mutation" or a "deformed group of cells", she started to cry. I simply asked, "So, when you say that my child has a mutation, is it possible he could turn out like Spiderman or Wolverine? Because that would be cool."

After five hours of cold silence, my wife finally asked how I could dare make a joke at a time like that. I explained to her my options were make a joke, or smash my chair over the doctor's dome. I thought option A was the smart move.

That night we started placing the relic on her stomach before bed, during prayers. This continued all through her heavy bleeding. Finally, the bleeding stopped, and at her next checkup a stunned doctor informed my wife that whatever numbers they look at had gone off the chart, showing a perfectly normal pregnancy. It was January 5, the Feast of St. John Neumann. In September, we had a boy. His name is Sean, which is the Irish variant of John. Thank you, St. John Neumann. She wouldn't go for John Neumann as his name, so I hope Sean works for you.

Good and gracious God, You called St. John Neumann to labor for the Gospel among the people of the new world. Just as his ministry strengthened many others in the Catholic faith, we ask, through his intercession, that the faith grow strong in this land. Grant this through our Lord Jesus Christ, your Son, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit one God forever and ever. Amen.

Tuesday, January 04, 2005

Look at that fat man on TV with the bomb strapped to his chest.

--Ted's Wife

Jonah Goldberg called it the most disturbing video of the year. I call it a celebration of life. You decide.

This guy /has/ to be Romanian or Eastern European, if he's from Europe. Look closely, see the joy with which he moves. He is a /big/ man, but does that inhibit him? Do you see cynicism? World weariness? No my friends. /That/ is honest exuberance, and you don't find that in "Old Europe" any more. So mock the big man if you will, but I bet God is smiling on him.

Don't you guys have a website called "MoveOn"?


Just saw this snippet from the Columbus Dispatch, via A Nickel's Worth of Free Advice:

The 176 Democrats who sit on Ohio's 88 county election boards pondered their jurisdictions' results, accepted their subordinates' good work, and are turning their energies toward the future. Are they all dupes in some Machiavellian Republican scheme? Or do they simply have a firmer grasp of reality than that displayed by the two of you and a handful of unrelenting zealots still ranting in the January rain, eight weeks after the November voting?


I'll try to use small words, so you can understand. The Election ended in November. It's January. Your side lost. Now, go back to the drawing board and try again in 2008.

Go home now. Nothing to see here.

The parole board got me into this halfway house called the Brewer, and a job bagging groceries at the Foodway. It's hard work, and I try to keep up, but my hands hurt most of the time.


Classic. She lost a decorating contest. To another group of inmates. If Martha Stewart can walk out of prison with her head held high, and her dignity intact, she is one hell of a tough woman. I mean, it's on. She's been taking shots for what, over a year now? I can't even imagine being in that situation.

Monday, January 03, 2005

There ain't been no hippies around here for centuries, man.

--Corporal "Stitch" Jones

I listen to the Jungle. Heck, I even pony up for streamlink so I can catch Jim Rome at work. The show really is more than just sports, it's a pop culture festival. It's something you have to "give a week" to be able to appreciate.

Anyways, an emailer to the show wrote in about Cal getting toasted by Texas Tech "go back to the beach, hippies."

At that point, Rome takes the emailer to task, informing him:

A. Berkeley is not near a beach.
B. There haven't been hippies around there for thirty years.

It's well known that Jim wants to have as little to do with "No Cal" as possible, so I can excuse his ignorance.

No hippies in Berkeley?

My man, that's their only export. The place could be stuck in freaking amber it's so unchanged. I've been there. I've walked the streets. I've seen the hemp clothes and revolutionary bookstores. There are hippies aplenty around the Cal campus.

Oh, and they could take a nice ninety-minute drive to Santa Cruz to catch some waves. From what I remember of /that/ town, I'm sure they do.

You like me! You really really like me!

--Sally Field

Kathryn Jean Lopez actually posted my email on The Corner!

It would have been nice to have the blog linked, but oh well. You have to start somewhere.