Last night I decided, after listening to good old Pastor Wright and Obama's comments or lack of comments about Wright's latest diatribes, that Pastor Wright wants to run for President and Obama wants to be a pastor.

Wright has to be the single most toxic and obnoxious connection to Barack. He doesn't get it that Americans don't want a black president or a female president or even a senior citizen president - we want a president that will represent us all and any adjectives connected to our presidential candidates have to be in 8 pt type.

Wright shouts BLACK day in and out making me wonder if his light skin has caused him problems in this world. Maybe his connection to Obama is that Obama has also been accused of not being black enough - not skin color, in this case, but having lived an Ivy League/arugula/latte kind of life. Is this the link between these two men?

Wright is so taken with himself, his witticisms, his so-called erudition (I'm not seeing it if he's promoting ebonics...I thought we were through with that one?)

We all have to live in this world. We all have to learn to adjust and adapt every day to new ideas, technology, and we can't just excuse our difficulties and challenges to being different. Perhaps Pastor Wright has forgotten each and every one of us is different. We all have differences in spirituality, learning styles and differences in expression: this is not just in the black community.

It's amazing that Obama throws his grandmother under the bus for Wright, who then throws Obama under the bus for his own ego.

Talk about disloyalty!

It is a glorious day in CT or at least in my part of CT. Sunshine, nice breeze, budding trees -- even my neighbor's radio that I can hear (always on FAN) reminds me of summer and fun. Kids are outside more now and I also love the sound of children playing: the basketball thumping, the skates screeching down the street. Oh yes, and there's been a new addition to the neighborhood - a meow.

Remember how much I wanted a Maine Coon cat? Well one just appeared in the neighborhood last week. My neighbor and I have been feeding, grooming and petting this poor little girl - so thin you could feel her back bone and every rib - but that was last week prior to her consuming tons of good food between the two houses. I think she has chosen her family, and alas, it is not us. I think my dogs bark too loud and too often for her refined taste so mostly she stays with my neighbor. On the good side, the neighbor is going to take her to and pay for a vet visit next week. I did get to name her and I named her Fiona as I thought if she chose me, I wanted her to have a name that went well with Finbar.

I just donated money to Hillary's campaign. She's fought so hard and did so well in the last primary where she was outspent 4 to 1, I wanted to help her out. Since in my own circle of family and friends we've had some people switching from Obama to Hillary, I wonder if it's nationwide - if so, I think the primary process should continue.

Carpe Diem!

Dear women of the Texas crazy-ass, polygamist compound....ahem...how do I tell you this?

That pompadour thing on your head is atrocious. It must stem from one especially sexy wife who had overly fluffy bangs or maybe it was copied from the beloved Cockatiel of your husband's 97th sister's uncle's grandfather.

I am purposely not commenting on your dresses. Fine if you like them. If they were white, they'd look like you copied the pope's frock, but you tend to muted colors...cool. I won't pick on your clothes, but I warn you, stay inside if you see a van that is lettered, What Not To Wear -- they will capture you and unwash your face and cut your hair and dress you in primary colors. Horrors!!

Seriously though, that hair roll to heaven that you have suspended against all odds on the top of your collective pates um -- that silly skull sculpture, those twisted tresses, --they really must go.

Yours truly.
Pompadourless in Connecticut

One of the greatest feelings in the world is when I have a pile of books and DVDs waiting for me to read or watch. A glut - I love it.

I also love super-sized jars of pickles or olives; large plastic containers filled with pretzel sticks or chocolate chip cookies. Love the large sizes of just about anything. It makes me feel rich. So does buying 10 pounds of potatoes rather than five -- how extravagant!

Not sure why I felt the need to share this, but probably because I want to stop by and say hello but I have nothing much to say.

What I do have is tons of housework so rather than bore you about my fetish for things large ;-) I will grab my handy dandy Ostrich-feather duster and earn my keep. TTFN

I told you so. I told you so here.

Good old whiny Joe Lieberman accused the Ed Lamont campaign of crashing his website during the August 8th, 2006 primary election. The talking heads went crazy implying that the Lamont campaign had done some dirty tricks against immaculately clean and holy, Joe-Lie.

Well after an exhaustive and expensive investigation guess what?

It was Joe-Lie's campaign that screwed up the website. Now was this on purpose or not, we won't know. But the crash cast doubt on Lamont, and I'm sure, sent sympathy votes to Joe-Lie -- although not enough to win.

Life could have been a bit different in Connecticut but the dim-witted voters of my state decided to vote for Joe-Lie in the general election and that's why we have a Republican toady as our Democratic senator today.

Frustrating!!!!!

Just finishing up Ian McEwan's book Atonement - only 20 pages to go and I need to pause and put the book down because in only a few minutes it will be over and I'll miss this book. Funny how some books are so good you must stay up all night to finish them, others are good in another way - you want them to last - to dissolve slowly on your mental tongue.

Today was glorious -- sunshine, sweet spring air, birds chittering and singing -- buds everywhere. I'm ready now for sun and fun - not that I don't have fun in the winter, but most of it is indoors. I'm ready for outside fun.

And hot dogs. I'm ready for hot dogs, the ultimate treat, crispy-skinned, grill lines, toasted rolls and a slathering of mustard and I'm in heaven. Hummels with natural casings is the way to go and please do not tell me what's in them or on them, I just want to eat them with my ignorance unsullied.

My only worries right now are when the ants will descend. They come every April and flock to the counter by my kitchen sink -- a counter that has no food on it or near it. I then have to wage war, attempting to use natural deanters like bay leaves and red pepper, but I'm not above using a can of Raid if need be.

Finbar's digging spring because a big fat khaki colored moth has kept him in ecstasy for hours. I never knew a moth could be so strong or Finbar to be so gentle - either way the moth has been the best play toy Finbar's ever had and last I looked the moth seemed fairly unfazed -- perhaps a limp and maybe not able to fly too high, but alive and kicking (one leg.)

Ok, I'm ready now to finish the book. Hope the weather's good tomorrow!

Once upon a time there was a very large crock pot that got filled up with hand-cut cubes of top round (which had been browned to a mahogany color along with a slew of yellow onions), carrots, potatoes, beef broth, red wine, bay leaves, herbes provencal, Kosher salt and cracked pepper and left alone to simmer all day on the counter until voila! -- a superb French style stew was born. A small amount of thickening slurry and some frozen green peas in the last five minutes finished off the creation and then the multitudes came.

I couldn't believe how many people could be fed from that one pot. Sure I made a tossed salad and we had delicious old-fashioned salt sticks warmed up in the oven and ready for dipping into the dark brown gravy in which the vegetables floated happily bobbing up and down when I stirred the massive pot.

I felt like jesus and the loaves and the fishes. More and more people came, all hungry, all not planned on and yet the crock pot kept yielding huge bowls of steaming hot stew. Oh yes, and nary a person had a single bowl, all wanted seconds. I am guessing that there were 24 servings of stew in that pot.

Unfortunately, unlike jesus, I was unable to turn water into wine. So we did run out of wine! Thank heavens for beer is all I have to say.