And now for something light 'n' fun.

Mini Sushi Bracelet

Note to the Dixie Chicks: Yes, some of us Red Staters actually do know what sushi is.

Dissin' the Chicks

A choice bit of hagiography from the Telegraph:

Telegraph Entertainment How the Chicks survived their scrap with Bush

I thought their "scrap" was more with country music fans than the prez himself, but I digress. Here are some snippets (with inevitable commentary by yours truly):

Will it be the salmon teriyaki with organic greens, or asparagus tempura and tuna sashimi? As the waiter hovers with pencil poised, the Dixie Chicks debate the menu with the practised air of professional restaurant critics. The Chicks have traditionally been branded a country band, but clearly it's some time since their diet consisted of ribs, tacos and pancakes.

Oh, puke. Here we go again. Once again, the Eurosnobs show their ignorance. "The only thing country music fans (read: Red Staters) eat are chitlins, grits and pork rinds." Give me a break.

Sisters Emily Robison and Martie Maguire project a polished Fifth Avenue elegance, and vocalist Natalie Maines is a vision of sculpted cheekbones and smoky eye-shadow.

And looks like a punk Leprechaun in the photo accompanying the article. And I've never seen her with a decent hairdo.

Yet within days [of Maines' comment in London about George Bush], their music vanished from the charts and the airwaves, apoplectic rednecks crushed piles of their CDs with tractors, and the FBI was feverishly monitoring death threats against the trio.

Now, death threats are beyond the pale, but notice the "rednecks" comment! All you guys who found Maines' comments insulting and made a little theater out of it are rednecks! Oh, the horror of being called a redneck by the Telegraph. I might have to go lie down.

"It was the bullying and the scare factor," shudders banjo and guitar player Robison. "It was like the McCarthy days, and it was almost like the country was unrecognisable."

Excuse me while I wipe coffee off the computer monitor. Yeah, right. You guys were hauled in front of Congress, it got so bad. (BTW, McCarthy was right about Communists infiltrating the government, according to declassified Soviet cables, but that's for another post.)

"A lot of pandering started going on, and you'd see soldiers and the American flag in every video [by other country performers]. It became a sickening display of ultra-patriotism."

And you weren't pandering to the London crowd by slamming your own country in front of a foreign audience?

"The entire country may disagree with me, but I don't understand the necessity for patriotism," Maines resumes, through gritted teeth. "Why do you have to be a patriot? About what? This land is our land? Why? You can like where you live and like your life, but as for loving the whole country… I don't see why people care about patriotism."

This is precisely why you couldn't predict that your slamming the president before a foreign audience would ignite such a brushfire back home. And you apparently still cannot put 2 and 2 together, which perhaps explains why you wore that hideous plaid skirt and Leprechaun tights onstage.

There can be no rational explanation of how Maines's remark came to drive a red-hot poker into America's divided soul ...

The Telegraph is equally clueless.

Early concerns about the premature demise of the Chicks' career subsided when the furiously unapologetic single Not Ready to Make Nice became the most downloaded track on iTunes, despite a lack of radio airplay.

No mention of their canceling concert dates left and right. :)

This is so wrong. On so many levels.

Connie Chung bids farewell after the cancellation of her and her husband's television program on MSNBC.

"Thanks for the Memories"

Roseanne's rendition of "The Star-Spangled Banner" was worse. But not by much. Nice evening gown, tho'.

And your point is?

I'm still trying to figure out the point of this editorial, on the Fox News site, of all places:

FOXNews.com - Ahmadinejad and Bush: The Nuclear Shadowboxers - Iran

The author, John Moody, draws all these "parallels" between Bush and Ahmadinejad -- like they both talk about "God" a lot. I don't know if he's trying for some sort of moral equivalency, but this quote is telling:

"In the U.S. and much of Europe — in short, the traditional center of the Christian world — Ahmadinejad comes across as an out-of-control anti-Semite who wants Israel destroyed and who would risk his country’s survival on a gamble that the world will not and cannot stop him from producing a nuclear weapons arsenal."

Cough ... sputter ... excuse me? Comes across as? That's like saying Al-Zarqawi came across as a homicidal maniac.

If only they came with mute buttons

There’s a little keychain gadget you can buy on the Internet that will turn off almost any TV set. If only they made one for turning off kids. I don’t know when parents decided it was charming to subject strangers to indiscriminate blasts of decibels from their progeny, but I’m getting tired of kids who are louder than 747s.

Rich and I were at Buffalo Wild Wings on Saturday for lunch. Granted, BWW isn’t exactly an intimate bistro, but our conversation was stopped dead several times by shrieks from a table of kids six feet away. Saturday night, we were at a Chinese buffet. The evening was punctuated by ear-splitting screeches from a couple of kindergarteners. I hope the parents were embarrassed when the entire restaurant fell silent and glared.

Kids are exuberant; I know. I also know there is “inside voice,” “outside voice” and “banshee howl that is best reserved for kidnappings and grizzly bear attacks.” Last summer, I regularly heard blood-curdling screams from the neighboring condo complex – often after dark when the little monsters should have been in their jammies. They were playing in the pool. If I hadn’t known that, I would have called 911.

Yeah, I know. I don’t have kids. But I once was a kid and was not allowed to behave like that. Parents, if people stare at you in public when your kid decides it’s time for a hollerfest, they’re too loud. When strangers can’t tell the difference between a playful shout of glee and a scream that says, “I’m being eaten by fire ants,” it’s time to have a sit-down with little Jason or Ashley.

And when they finally do make a gadget that mutes a screeching kid, don’t blame me when I use it on your little brat.

A grape night!

Yesterday's beastly date -- 6/6/6 -- didn't bother me none.

It was Rich's and my "semianniversary" (or, if you will, "six-month-a-versary"). Yep. It was Dec. 6 of last year when Rich walked his handsome Teutonic-ness into Sumo and we spent two-and-a-half hours enjoying exquisite sushi and discovering that we had practically everything in common.

Last night, we spent the same amount of time in leisurely goodness at The Grape. There are two locations in Birmingham -- The Summit and Five Points South -- and if you haven't tried it, I highly recommend it. Rich, being the wine conoisseur that he is, steered us through four courses and a sampling of about seven different wines right into gastronomic Paradise. Course #3 was cheese. The aged Gouda was to die for. Course #4 was chocolate fondue with a Vignonier (sp?). Whiffs of apricot and honey. Unbelievable.

Unfortunately, the GGB came down with another @#$% migraine on the 45-minute drive home. (Dadgum 280 traffic.) I laid on the couch while my sweetie un-decorated my Christmas tree. (I know. For shame. It's June and the damn tree is still up.) But that, my friends, is Real Love. Putting up with a migraine-y female while you unload a crispy evergreen at 11 o'clock at night.