Rev. Robertson FAIL

I can't even begin to describe the ridiculousness that is Rev. Pat Robertson's comment on the Haiti earthquake, so I'm going to let this letter from the Minneapolis Star-Tribune say it for me:

Dear Pat Robertson, I know that you know that all press is good press, so I appreciate the shout-out. And you make God look like a big mean bully who kicks people when they are down, so I'm all over that action. But when you say that Haiti has made a pact with me, it is totally humiliating. I may be evil incarnate, but I'm no welcher. The way you put it, making a deal with me leaves folks desperate and impoverished. Sure, in the afterlife, but when I strike bargains with people, they first get something here on earth -- glamour, beauty, talent, wealth, fame, glory, a golden fiddle. Those Haitians have nothing, and I mean nothing. And that was before the earthquake. Haven't you seen "Crossroads"? Or "Damn Yankees"? If I had a thing going with Haiti, there'd be lots of banks, skyscrapers, SUVs, exclusive night clubs, Botox -- that kind of thing. An 80 percent poverty rate is so not my style. Nothing against it -- I'm just saying: Not how I roll. You're doing great work, Pat, and I don't want to clip your wings -- just, come on, you're making me look bad. And not the good kind of bad. Keep blaming God. That's working. But leave me out of it, please. Or we may need to renegotiate your own contract.
Best, Satan
LILY COYLE, MINNEAPOLIS

Lily Coyle, whoever you are, if I lived in the frozen hinterlands you would totally be my BFF. Sarcasm WIN, with a tip of the hat to C.S. Lewis's The Screwtape Letters.

She's Tidied Up, and I Can't Find Anything!!

I have to say DH totally won the Christmas present sweepstakes. For the past several major events (anniversary, birthday, etc.), he's asked what I want. Jokingly (not really), I've been telling him I want a house elf. You know, my own personal Dobby who will keep things tidy and bring me a sammich when I'm having a snack attack at midnight. Amazingly, he found someone. Her name is Wendy.

She doesn't have pointy ears or magic, but she definitely knows how to tidy. She and her daughters arrived this morning, and when I came home from work, blam! My house is freakin' clean. Of course, there are stacks of things everywhere--books, boxes, and whatnot--but that's my fault. Surfaces are clean, floors are clean, bathrooms are clean. She even left fresh flowers on the table! Couldn't believe it. Still adjusting to the fact.

Obviously, Wendy and crew can be so efficient because they don't have an emotional attachment to our stuff. They move at will to get the job done. The one unfortunate thing is that nothing's where I left it. Which is fine--I can move stuff back--but my tiara is missing! This is the Queen of Writing World Tiara that I bought with the Puffs some time back, and it is a vital talisman for the writing. A must-find. Methinks a text to our house elf is in order.

That, and huge thanks. It's hard to admit that I really can't do it all. I know what to do, but making it happen is often another thing entirely. God bless the Wendys of the world, who can.