Truffle Update

Truffle has made a full recovery. Thank you to all those who have asked about her health. The pictures are from most recent (top) to early puppy (the last being her "parvo" picture period at 8 weeks of age.)


Heath Ledger and the Westboro Antichrists

“Thank God Ledger is dead,” it begins, “Heath Ledger is in Hell. Lord willing we will preach at his funeral.”

For those who are unfamiliar with the mindless ranting of the Horse’s Ass of the Apocalypse, Fred Phelps and his faithful band of antichrists (Westboro Baptist Church) have declared yet another soul as targets for their hatred. God has no punishment set aside that would be as drastic as what Fred Phelps as in store for the victim, for not even God Himself is incapable of judging a man with the same precision as Phelps.

Phelps tenderly explains his reasoning behind this latest hate crime by stating,

“Heath Ledger chose to promote the vile sin of sodomy in defiance of God's law. No one made him play a faggot cowboy in Brokeback Mountain. No made him kiss another man, in a flagrant attempt to further desensitize not only americans but Bible-illiterate fools the world over to the filthy depravity that is faggotry. He chose to do that all on his own. He could have used that bully pulpit he has to promote the cause of God and truth instead. God has repaid him to his face for his filth. Thank God for His Justice. All who flaunt God's law can expect the same. Amen.”
Do they make muzzles his size? I’m certain that they make Depend adult diapers his size and I’m equally certain the man utilizes those adult diapers every time he reads about yet another “foul beast of Satan” actor or soldier who has died.

I digress.

“It is plain to the servants of God, that America is taking a blood bath in Iraq because America is busily persecuting WBC [Westboro Baptist Church] for preaching the Word of God to this evil nation of perverts. God hates America. Her end is near, and approaching fast.”
Let me understand this fully. Because the average American (Christian and non-Christian alike) refuses to buy into Phelp’s hate speech, and because the average American finds his doctrines distasteful, and because there is now the looming threat of making speech of this magnitude a hate crime, surely God has declared that we are to take a blood bath in Iraq in atonement of our ignorance to Phelp’s message?

The ranting lunatic justifies his stance by adding the following:
“And, as Christ warned doomed Jerusalem, even so WBC -- warns doomed America: "O America, America, thou that killest the prophets, and stonest them which are sent unto thee (translate: thou that persecutest WBC), how often would I have gathered thy children together, even as a hen gathereth her chickens under her wings, and ye would not! Behold, your house is left unto you desolate." Matt. 23:37-38.
Verily I say unto you, within my KJV I could not findeth where the passage readeth “thou that persecutest WBC”. I did tryeth. My NIV and St. Joseph’s editions likewise were berift of all reference to WBC. More glaring was that there is not a single bible in the world that contains the passage, “America, America, thou that killest the prophets, and stonest them…” Jesus Christ, save me from your fanatics.

I suck in a deep breath and click on “Enter

The first thing that catches my eye (other than the glaring PR for Phelps and his glorious message) is a misquote from Sen. Ben Nighthorse Campbell (whom I loved dearly whilst living in Colorado) and a picture of flag-draped coffins.

The caption reads, “This is the picture that America deserves. Get used to it! You worship at the fag altar, you get boxes draped in your fag flag coming home!” Phelps proclaims that 3803 soldiers have already died in the war; he hopes and prays that all will die.

(The true horrors of his movement have been outlined by Wikipedia should you not have the strength to read his filthy websites: Westboro Baptist Church - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia)

Regardless of all that past history, Phelps has set his sights on Heath Ledger’s funeral. In a press release WBC states,

“Yes. WBC will picket this perverts funeral, in religious protest and warning. Heath Ledger thought it was great fun defying God almighty and his plain word; to wit; God hates fags! & Fag-enablers! Ergo, God hates the sordid, tacky bucket of slime seasoned with vomit known as 'Brokeback Mountain' - and He hates all persons having anything whatsoever to do with it. Heath Ledger is now in hell and has begun serving his eternal sentence there - besides which, nothing else about Heath Ledger is relevant or consequential.”
There is a flyer stating that a picket will be held today, at 3:30PM at the Los Angeles Shrine Exposition Center (700 West 32nd St., Los Angeles, CA.) Their flyer, which can be found here, states: "they are trying to hide the dead body of Heath Ledger, so that the WBS cannot picket the affair. Shame on them. It is a great privilege to have the servants of God present to spread a little Gospel truth, and warn all mankind of the evils of “Brokeback Mountain”." (Further picket schedules here. Site will take time to load.)

So what is the big deal about Brokeback Mountain?
Brokeback Mountain tells the story of Ennis Del Mar (Ledger) and Jack Twist (Jake Gyllenhaal), two young cowboys who meet on a sheep herding job in the mountains of Wyoming in the summer of 1963 and fall in love. The film follows their lives over the next two decades and documents their continuing but complex and secret emotional and physical relationship, which continues even after they each marry women and father children. Often, they are only able to stay in touch by sending each other postcards of Brokeback Mountain. Through it all, Ennis and Jack strive against society and themselves to fulfill the love that captured them both during their first summer together on Brokeback Mountain.” (Wikipedia)
In my opinion, the movie does not glorify homosexuality. It does show the angst felt by many gay men. Annie Proulx, the 72-year-old Pulitzer Prize winning author, is not some glorified Hollywood diva with an ax to grind.

According to Entertainment News,

“In 1995 Proulx, who lives in Wyoming, visited a crowded bar near the Montana border. She says the place was noisy and packed with attractive women, everyone was drinking and the energy was high.

She recalls: There was the smell of sex in the air. But here was this old shabby-looking guy ... watching the guys playing pool. He had a raw hunger in his eyes that made me wonder if he were country gay. I wondered, What would've he been like when he was younger? Then he disappeared, and in his place appeared Ennis. And then Jack. You can't have Ennis without Jack.

Proulx didn't think her story would ever be published because the material was too risky; it involved a love story between two men that made very explicit the physical attraction between them. And they were not just any men, they came from the wide expansive west that gave us John Wayne and the Marlboro Man – and this world was described as chilly and oppressive, against this novel kind of love.

The story was eventually published in The New Yorker magazine in 1997, and screenwriter Diana Ossana read it one night and sold the idea to her writing partner, Larry McMurtry (‘The Last Picture Show’, ‘Lonesome Dove’). Proulx had never considered ‘Brokeback Mountain’ to be a cinematic possibility because it pushes too many buttons and challenges too many norms. But three months later, Ossana and McMurtry sent her their screenplay, a faithful rendition of the story.”
There is more to Brokeback Mountain than two men kissing.

Which brings me back to Heath Ledger. Shall we picket every actor for playing a roll that we don’t agree with? He was not gay nor did he try to pass himself off as gay. He was an actor. He chose to play the part in a film that threw aside the curtains and showed the world a different sort of “gay world” – a world closer to reality. His role did not portray him as a comic “drag queen” (think To Wong Fu) nor as a limp wrested fop. It taught the world that gay men are just like straight men, with only their orientation setting them apart.

The fundie world needs to wake up: there are gay people out there, and they live normal lives, even if you don’t approve of it. Gays pay taxes and eat dinner. Gays fall in love. Gays have bad dreams and get the flu. Most gays hate long lines, being put on hold whilst on the phone, flat tires during rainstorms, loss of signal during important calls, cold coffee when it’s supposed to be hot, food service employees who screw up their fast food orders, being cut off whilst driving, and waiting in doctors offices past their scheduled appointment time. A lot of gays love the first touch of winter snow on their cheek, the honest laugh from a baby, new car smell, finding a $20 bill on the ground, good food, good friends, a pat on the back for a job well done, winning the lottery, and being told that they are loved.

The raw evil is not Ledger or the movie, nor is it the gays. The raw evil is this antichrist proclaiming himself as a man of God. The raw evil is Fred Phelps and his inbred clan of neo-Nazi followers. All those who would follow him are those who perish first in the fires of hell for their act of Blasphemy against the Holy Spirit while preaching their message of hatred.

God bless Heath Ledger’s family.


The Words for Snow Question Answered

Inuktitut words for snow

aaniuvak 'perpetual snow patch
aksakaaqtuq 'snowball'
aluiqqaniq 'overhanging snow'
alutsiniq 'deep snow hollow'
aniu 'snow for drinking'
apijuq 'covered with snow'
apigianngaut 'first snow'
apilraun/apilraut 'firs layer of snow'
apun/aput 'snow on the ground'
apujjaqsuqtuq 'digs it out of the snow'
aputainnaruuvuq 'has much snow on clothes'
apusialukpuq 'covered with a lot of snow'
apusimatiqtuq 'snow storming'
apusimiriikkusijuq 'has placed it on top of snow covered'
apummiungujut 'tent on snow'
aputisiut ;used for snow/snow-probe/knife'
aqilluqqaq 'soft under crust snow'
atairranaqtuq 'squeaky snow'
autturunniq 'snow pressed melted frozen'
aujaqsuittuq 'eternal snow'
auviq/savuujaqtuaq/qulluaqtuq 'snow block'
igluvijaq 'snow house'
ijaruajuq 'snow in the eye'
ijaruvak 'new soft snow (which has packed)'
illaujait 'dark ice'
illaujiniq 'candle'
illiti 'vertical snow house wall'
immiugaq 'ice water'
immiuqtuq 'ice melts'
immiugainnaatuq 'snow water'
ivrarniq 'moderately soft snow'
ivunrit 'piled ice'
ivvuit 'rough ice'
kakkikulivuq 'wind blows snow'
kanangnaq 'snow wind'
kapuqqalukpuq 'look for snow house'
kapuraq 'test the snow'
kalirraq 'sound of sled in snow'
kaniqtuq 'ice crystal fall'
kavisilaq 'roughened snow'
kijjiqpuq 'snow house drips'
kiniq 'viscous snow'
kiniqtaq 'viscous mixture of snow and water'
kusugaq 'icicle'
kuvvisiq 'sprinkles new snow'
makkaq 'snow house dome'
mannguktuq 'melting snow'
mannguuktiqtuq 'stuck in melting snow'
manngumaaqsijuq 'walk in soft snow'
makpattuq 'snow becomes flat'
maqpakitigaq 'snow blocks cut horizontally'
masak 'slush'
matsaaq 'half melting snow'
masangnaqsijuq 'wet snow'
maujaq 'deep snow'
mimiqpaaq 'knob on rod to search for snow house snow'
misaliraq 'snow and water mixed'
muranaq/muruiniq 'soft ground or snow'
murjuniq 'mixture of water and ice'
naannguaq 'snow mound'
nataqqurnaq 'sleet'
natiruviaktuq 'ground drifting'
nilak 'freshwater ice'
nilaruvak 'snow marbles'
ninniq 'pile snow'
niummak 'deep soft newly-fallen snow'
nutigiikkut 'something to prevent the snow from getting a burnt taste'
patuktuq 'ice crystal'
piiqsiliqtuq 'beginning to snow'
piiqturiniqtaataq 'ligh snow'
piqsiqtuq 'snow blowing/blizzard'
piqtuluk 'blowing snow'
puikkangajuq 'salt on snow'
pukaq 'uniformly soft snow'
pukak 'sugar snow'
pukajaaq 'granular/crystallized snow'
pukaingajuq 'harder but breakable snow'
qairniq 'flat ice'
qaniktuq 'SNOW/falling snow'
qanikkuk 'wet falling snow'
qaniaraq 'light falling snow'
qaniut 'fully snow/on the ground snow'
qanniapiktuq 'snow flurry'
qanniqtuq 'snow fall'
qannitaijaqtuq 'snow removed'
qaquviraq 'snow house roof'
qarruaq 'soft snow'
qilaktittuq 'soft snow
qilatirinaq 'snow house roof hole'
qillaaniq 'sparking snow'
qimugjuk 'snow drift/shaped snow'
qingainnguq 'brilliant ice crystals falling'
qiqirrituq 'snow squeaky once'
qiqumaaq 'snow with frozen surface'
qiqsuqaq glazed snow in thaw time
qiqsuqaktuq 'Snow crusted'
qukaarnaqtuq 'Light snow is made of small flakes or crystals of snow'
quasaq 'glare ice'
quna 'slush ice'
saligaq 'fashion snow blocks'
salittutuq 'thin block for snow'
sapgut 'rod with rounded end for testing snow for snow house'
sapgusaqtuq 'test snow with snow rod'
siiminnasiuqtuq 'sled catches on hard snow'
siku 'ice'
sikuliaq 'youngest ice'
siqumniq 'ice pan/broken ice'
sikuuttuq/immiugaksaq 'freshwater ice'
sisuuq 'avalanche'
sisaguqpaa 'compress snow'
sitilluqqaq 'harder packed snow'
taluaq 'snow screen'
tammaaqaaqtuq 'new snow house (and feels cold)'
tiluttuut 'snow rod'
tugaliaq 'ice house'
tugu 'shore ice'
tukiqsinilijuq 'harden snow into ice'
tullaaliuqpuq 'make snow house with trodden snow '
tuvaq 'ice floe/shorefast ce'
tuvaruqpuq 'ice is thick'
turuuq 'ice chiseler'
uqalujaq 'snow lump'
uqaluraq 'tongue-like snow drift'
uqqusiiqtutuq 'flurry of hail/snow'

The satirical list of words written by Phil James for the online ezine, Word, entitled “The Eskimos’ Hundred Words for Snow”.
tlapa powder snow
tlacringit snow that is crusted on the surface
kayi drifting snow
tlapat still snow
klin remembered snow
naklin forgotten snow
tlamo snow that falls in large wet flakes
tlatim snow that falls in small flakes
tlaslo snow that falls slowly
tlapinti snow that falls quickly
kripya snow that has melted and refrozen
tliyel snow that has been marked by wolves
tliyelin snow that has been marked by Eskimos
blotla blowing snow
pactla snow that has been packed down
hiryla snow in beards
wa-ter melted snow
tlayinq snow mixed with mud
quinaya snow mixed with Husky shit
quinyaya snow mixed with the shit of a lead dog
slimtla snow that is crusted on top but soft underneath
kriplyana snow that looks blue in the early morning
puntla a mouthful of snow because you fibbed
allatla baked snow
fritla fried snow
gristla deep fried snow
MacTla snow burgers
dinliltla little balls of snow that cling to Husky fur
sulitlana green snow
mentlana pink snow
tidtla snow used for cleaning
ertla snow used by Eskimo teenagers for exquisite erotic rituals
kriyantli snow bricks
hahatla small packages of snow given as gag gifts
semtla partially melted snow
ontla snow on objects
intla snow that has drifted indoors
shlim slush
warintla snow used to make Eskimo daiquiris
mextla snow used to make Eskimo Margaritas
penstla the idea of snow
mortla snow mounded on dead bodies
ylaipi tomorrow's snow
nylaipin the snows of yesteryear ("neiges d'antan")
pritla our children's snow
nootlin snow that doesn't stick
rotlana quickly accumulating snow
skriniya snow that never reaches the ground
bluwid snow that's shaken down from objects in the wind
ever-tla a spirit made from mashed fermented snow,
popular among Eskimo men
talini snow angels
priyakli snow that looks like it's falling upward
chiup snow that makes halos
blontla snow that's shaken off in the mudroom
tlalman snow sold to German tourists
tlalam snow sold to American tourists
tlanip snow sold to Japanese tourists
protla snow packed around caribou meat
attla snow that as it falls seems to create nice pictures
in the air
sotla snow sparkling with sunlight
tlun snow sparkling with moonlight
astrila snow sparkling with starlight
clim snow sparkling with flashlight or headlight
tlapi summer snow
krikaya snow mixed with breath
huantla special snow rolled into "snow reefers" and smoked
by wild Eskimo youth
from a portable radio
by Johnny Depp
trinkyi first snow of the year
tronkyin last snow of the year
shiya snow at dawn
katiyana night snow
tlinro snow vapor
nyik snow with flakes of widely varying size
ragnitla two snowfalls at once, creating moire patterns
akitla snow falling on water
privtla snow melting in the spring rain
chahatlin snow that makes a sizzling sound as it falls on water
hootlin snow that makes a hissing sound as the
individual flakes brush
geltla snow dollars
briktla good building snow
striktla snow that's no good for building
erolinyat snow drifts containing the imprint of crazy lovers
chachat swirling snow that drives you nuts
krotla snow that blinds you
tlarin snow that can be sculpted into the delicate corsages
Eskimo girls pin to their whale parkas at prom time
motla snow in the mouth
sotla snow in the south
maxtla snow that hides the whole village
tlayopi snow drifts you fall into and die
truyi avalanche of snow
tlapripta snow that burns your scalp and eyelids
carpitla snow glazed with ice
tla ordinary snow

Thank you to Shelly and Dean for the picture and Inuktitut list. I have no idea who took the picture. If anyone does, please let me know.


The Chickenman

He hath arrived, the Chickenman. He emerges from the depths of the tunnel system and prowls the hospital campus subterranean corridors, guided by his flattened nose. The waft of cooked food causes this behemoth to present itself for inspection under pale neon lights; his eyes seek only the dark golden brown of fried meat poultry and haven’t a glance to spare for any people in the vicinity. It is not as if the creature were blind, although one would suspect some visual impairment as they attempt to locate the eyes, which themselves are small, watery and partially concealed behind hillocks of flesh surrounding the ocular opening.

He slips between steam tables like a Hummer H2 easing into a compact car parking spot. Small salt and ketchup packets maintain their geocentric obit around his mass before being thrown briefly out of trajectory as a meaty fist swats them away. Food service workers slowly curl their fingers into their palms, in much the same way that a zookeeper would protect stray digits from the maul of a carnivore. Small children, sensing imminent danger, fly to the safety of their parent or grandparent, and survey Chickenman warily as he makes his way to the chicken counter.

The Chickenman is not to be trifled with. 6’ 5” and weighing in around the same as a VW Bug, his size intimidates other canteen patrons. He grunts and snatches a large Styrofoam take-out container in one hand and a large plastic dinner plate in the other. He assaults the stainless steel “dark meat” chicken bins, leaving only crumbs in his wake. It is nothing short of chicken brigandage.

Into the container go every last moist and tender thigh and leg. It is packed beyond capacity, bulging in protest to the unnatural amount of cooked carcass parts encased therein. Onto the plate goes the same, and the plastic moans ominously under the hefty burden.

Chickenman waddles to the cashier, who seems apathetic toward the (daily!) event and she rings him out to the tune of $40. VAMC Canteen chicken is slightly less expensive per piece than the average gumball at your local convenience store. Chickenman rummages through his pockets and locates a thick was of cash, neatly peels a few tens from the roll, and fumbles once again to pocket his valuable money.

Chickenman ambles towards a booth and squeezes his mass between table and bench. His generous frontage, be it man-breasts or displaced belly meat, mounds over the lip of the small Formica table. His breath comes in grunted puffs as he situations himself, rolling left to right in an effort to situate the bulging rolls of fat on his thighs and buttocks. The bench creeks ominously and then Chickenman rests, the lower portion of his gut overlapping his kneecaps and the upper portion taking up too much space on the table top. Chickenman doesn’t care.

He sets upon the plate of chicken. He eats at an alarming rate, dark lips and yellowing teeth pulling breading and flesh from bone and sucking them into a cavernous hole. The air is peppered by wet smacking and slurping sounds, and small food particles scatter across the table. Chickenman finishes a thigh, carefully gnawing the last vestiges of cartilage from the ends of the bone, and then dabs each greasy finger on his tongue. He starts on a leg. The activity is indecent.

In less than twelve minutes the carnage has come to an end. Twenty stripped bones lay bare on the plate as Chickenman noses about for anything that might have made a bid for freedom. A fat finger presses down on crumbs, forcing them to stick to the end of the digit so that they might be easily lifted to the mouth. Satisfied that nothing edible can be had from the bones, Chickenman’s shoulders lean back and he proffers a growling, gritty belch of chicken-flavored air.

He heaves himself out of the booth and departs, clutching the carryout container possessively as if daring Frodo Baggins to snatch it away from him and throw it into the cracks of Mt. Doom. Back into the darkened tunnel system he goes, taking refuse in the crumbling underground network connecting all the buildings on campus.

This is his existence, this phantom of the canteen, this freakish creature of Highland Drive. I see him depart and I take inventory of my own fingers and toes, and vow to only consume salads from this day forth.

A Sad Tale

Every now and then I stop to read the news. I chastise myself afterwards; it seems that the world is filled with horrific circumstances that only seem to validate my decision to remove myself from the bustle of a major city.

Teen Charged in Bizarre Missing Dog Case is one such tale (I caution my kind-hearted readers to skip this article.) My heart breaks for this gentleman. The worthless teenager will most likely receive a slap on the wrist. No punishment will bring back the beautiful dog.