Guilty. Twenty years in prison, no possibility of parole, mother’s parental rights terminated.

I write this way about these articles because I can’t bear to write more. I can hardly bear to read about it, but people should pay attention to what some adults are capable of doing to children.

Delta and Northwest to merge.

Death penalty.

Mmhm.

Me, upon being told by son’s teacher that they talked about presidents 14-19 today: “So who was the fourteenth president?”

Son: “Franklin Pierce.”

Me: “Wow! Very good! Who was the fifteenth president?”

Son: “I don’t want to talk about that. One president is enough to talk about.”

Anwyn’s note: I wrote this, posted it, thought better of it, and took it down within about 10 minutes–not something I do with any frequency. But in that time a splog picked it up. I hate those things, and I hate to have posted something, deleted it, and then have a partial record of it somewhere else. So here it is for whatever it’s worth.

***

Santa and Rudolph and Frosty and Christmas trees with presents under them and turkey or roast beef dinners and lights all over the houses ought to have been devices enough by which to separate themselves from the Christ in Christmas. How many people grew up observing only these trappings of the holiday and never giving a thought to the Christ? Many, I’d bet. But they didn’t bother to stop saying “Merry Christmas” though they no longer contemplated the Christ. Why should they? The holy day had expanded to include those who do not believe in holiness; it took them into a time to be with their loved ones without insisting that they observe the love of God. Yet somehow now the very word Christmas is an offense, an accusatory remonstrance and insistence that they acknowledge the Christ. Whose fault is that? Mine, as a Christian well-wisher? Or yours, hating to be reminded that you’ve already separated the Christ from the Christmas? What do you think I care if you separated it? I haven’t, and that’s all that I’m permitted to judge.

Is that what you meant when you said “Merry Christmas” growing up all those years before you decided to take offense? Did it mean you were pushing an unknown Christ on unsuspecting passers-by and fellow well-wishers? Of course not. Then why can’t you go on with the presents and whatever else is tradition for your family without blustering about the literal meaning of a word that grew beyond its origins to include traditions well away from the celebration of the shock and awe of the birth of the Son of God in a stable?

In an age that insists on plurality, surely Christmas could have been construed already to have enough.

Alas.

Daggone, it has been a long time since I heard “My Heart Will Go On.” I guess I can go ahead and admit this to a couple hundred of my best internet friends: I cried buckets through the entire last half of Titanic and I liked this song just fine. It sounds good after a hiatus of about ten years even though Celine’s accent annoys me just as much as ever. Cheryl Burke and Mark Ballas dancing rhumba pretty much makes me forget about the accent, though. Nice.

This finale worries me. I’m afraid Marie has some crazy fans who are going to skew it, and I’m afraid Helio has far more traction than he deserves. I fear for Mel B. And she looks worried too.

Third place: Marie and Jonathan. Whew. No skewage. She has impressed the hell out of me with her work and her attitude and her enthusiasm.

Does this seem plain cruel to anybody else: Having stars eliminated first come back nine weeks later to suck again after everybody else has gotten at least one or two weeks better than them? Eah.

Conversation of the Day! Mel: “I’ve ballroomed my hair.” Maks: “Good. Ballroom your ass right now.” I love that guy.

Hey hey, Albert Reed, seeing you again makes me realize all over again how maddening it was to watch Wayne Newton and Mark Cuban week after week instead of you. Tom was surprised he left so early. You and me both, babe.

Speaking of Wayne Newton. No, I won’t speak of him. Hi Cheryl, I can’t wait to see you back again next season with somebody who can dance. Wait, hold up: Newton’s going on the tour? Not to dance, surely. Surely not to dance.

“Chatting with the stars.” Tom Bergeron funny. I’m not unhappy not to have to watch Floyd dance either.

Here comes Mark Cuban. I won’t look. What I am looking at is the fact that I didn’t realize this thing was two hours long. Hey, I have last night’s Chuck to watch, people! All right, I peeked at Cuban. He looks better than he ever did before–way more relaxed and without the goofy costume. It suits him.

Sabrina and Mark! I have no words. They sizzle.

Jane and Tony. And the Billy Joel lyric that made me squirm when I was in high school, “making love to his tonic and gin.” Aiee! Tony seems to have multiple personalities–you wouldn’t think the guy Viennese waltzing with Jane just now was the same guy who did the rhumba with Karina twenty minutes ago.

Cameron and Edyta. Hot hot hot. Sounded like some of the brass was out of tune, though, which is a positive crime on the Superman theme.

Is it just me or did Jennie’s hips not act that way when she was actually in competition? Good on ya, girl. I have to give credit: I didn’t think much of Derek when he first came on. Pretty boy, chops or not, but he’s won me over. I love his moves and his cute face.

Mel and Maks: More points than any other couple. Damn right. I’m shocked they chose the mambo after their two incredible paso dobles. Okay, I take it back. Maks has upped his game but fierce and she’s hanging right with him, no slack whatsoever. This is hot and tight. Wow. Judges say: Len, “Well, you know, I gotta say–” absolute revelation. Incredible. Fabulous. Right on. Bruno: Truly magnificent. Complete dancer, determination, professionalism, good humor. Wow. Carrie Ann: Woot woot. Ten-ten-ten, much and fabulously deserved. You people who voted better have done her right.

Helio and Julianne: This quickstep rocked the first time around, I will say. It doesn’t seem as polished this time, though, or maybe that’s my own wishful thinking talking … uh, nice kiss. Doesn’t she have a fiancee, or didn’t she, or something? Hmmm. Judges say: Bruno: Engine full power, blah blah blah. Carrie Ann: Favorite dance again. Len: Risk taker. And props to the band, who deserve it all. Ten-ten-ten. Of course.

Helio and Julianne. Undeserved. He’s lovely, absolutely, but he’s not the dancer Mel is, in much the same way that Apolo is not the dancer Joey Fatone or Laila Ali is. That’s just so sad.

Death penalty.