Dear Santa .....

Dear Santa,

I've been a good mom all year. I've fed, cleaned and cuddled my children on
demand, visited the doctor's office more than my doctor, sold sixty-two
cases of candy bars to raise money to plant a shade tree on the school
playground. I was hoping you could spread my list out over several
Christmases, since I had to write this letter with my son's red crayon, on
the back of a receipt in the laundry room between cycles, and who knows when
I'll find anymore free time in the next 18 years.

Here are my Christmas wishes:

I'd like a pair of legs that don't ache (in any color, except purple, which
I already have) and arms that don't hurt or flap in the breeze; but are
strong enough to pull my screaming child out of the candy aisle in the
grocery store.

I'd also like a waist, since I lost mine somewhere in the seventh month of
my last pregnancy.

If you're hauling big ticket items this year I'd like fingerprint resistant
windows and a radio that only plays adult music; a television that doesn't
broadcast any programs containing talking animals; and a refrigerator with a
secret compartment behind the crisper where I can hide to talk on the phone.

On the practical side, I could use a talking doll that says, "Yes, Mommy" to
boost my parental confidence, along with two kids who don't fight and three
pairs of jeans that will zip all the way up without the use of power tools.

I could also use a recording of Tibetan monks chanting "Don't eat in the
living room" and "Take your hands off your brother," because my voice seems
to be just out of my children's hearing range and can only be heard by the
dog.

If it's too late to find any of these products, I'd settle for enough time
to brush my teeth and comb my hair in the same morning, or the luxury of
eating food warmer than room temperature without it being served in a
Styrofoam container.

If you don't mind, I could also use a few Christmas miracles to brighten
the holiday season. Would it be too much trouble to declare ketchup a
vegetable? It will clear my conscience immensely. It would be helpful if you
could coerce my children to help around the house without demanding payment
as if they were the bosses of an organized crime family.

Well, Santa, the buzzer on the dryer is ringing and my son saw my feet under
the laundry room door. I think he wants his crayon back.
Have a safe trip and remember to leave your wet boots by the door and come
in and dry off so you don't catch cold.

Help yourself to cookies on the table but don't eat too many or leave crumbs
on the carpet.

Yours Always, MOM...!

P.S. One more thing...you can cancel all my requests if you can keep my
children young enough to believe in Santa.

only in Canada....

what would you give for a little piece of mind....?

Hu's on first?

Hu's on first?

The PSBI - planning your future....

the actual truth....


I had no idea this was how things worked here in america....

Who is Your Future Husband?

Colin Firth is Your Future Husband
Take this quiz!

Poor Tragic Me......

or THIS....

Which Classic Female Literary Character Are you?

You're Anna Karenina of Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy!
Take this quiz!








Quizilla

the earth and me

There is a quote on our refrigerator that from a distance seems to read “Change the World”. Only when you come closer can you read the entire quote –

be the

change

you wish

to see in the

world ….

-gandhi

My children – sometimes, I think – may grow weary of my soapbox speeches, of my going through the garbage pulling out items, demanding “who put this recyclable in the garbage?!” holding high the hapless yogurt cup, the macaroni & cheese box, the un-rinsed soup can, as they stick their faces deeper into their assorted books, avoiding all eye contact. -But be careful what you wish for- because now the van we drive, or my purse - when we walk often has a collection of recyclable items mucking about inside them that we are forever taking home to put out with our recycling, because the kids will NOT throw it in a garbage can. Each week our house “wins” for the biggest recycling heap – 4 containers usually, sometimes with extra Trader Joe’s bags as well.

So why? Why bother? Why drive my children crazy – other than the obvious? – it would be easier just to leave things as they are, NOT stir the pot, NOT make my children worry and care for our planet and its inhabitants. Why have I chosen the more difficult path, and taken my children down it with me? - If you would like a very entertaining answer – ask one of my children directly.

Why?

I do it because of them, in spite of them, for them, and for myself. I did it before they were gleams in my eye, I do it when no one is looking, and I will do it when they have grown up and I am on my own.

As a child, I could never grasp the idea of the father figure, of the all knowing God. What I did grasp was the trees, their branches, their leaves to peek out of. I grasped the dirt, I grasped handfuls dandy lions and hid them in secret places, amazed when their tight yellow faces popped into white lacy finger tips. I touched the creek’s cold water, reached for escaping fish, grasped grouchy crayfish and soon send them scuttling back to their rocky homes. I spent hours watching birds and animals – I still do these things - and retain my childhood awe and wonder at nature’s innate wisdom and perfection. My garage contains many ‘bulk sacks’ of dog, cat, rat & gerbil food plus sacs of different types of bird seeds, piles of suet cakes, and peanuts and corn for chipmunks & squirrels. I choose to surround myself in life.

I wrote this on a weekend spiritual retreat I went on last spring. It’s called river

river


Has there always been such green
all and each
so richly saturated
with this chromatic life,
these leaves, spirits within living stories,
twisting over
and around
and in between
each and one another
in their lilting seduction of
wind and sun?

did they do this yesterday?
did they flicker in this coquettish glee
inside my footfalls
sun tickling tenderly
each surface - so thoughtfully webbed-
while in their turn they reached
to lick the honeyed beams
along this muddied path
to water’s edge.
I walk to sense the flowing strength
flirting within twinkling beams
and to caress,
between reflective ripples,
smooth slippery stones
filled with energy.

will there always be
such life?

Will there always be such life?

This I cannot not answer, for it is a question that is beyond my comprehension.

I know my understanding of life depends on the soil upon which I stand the sky into which I gaze, and on the energy and unbelievable beauty of life on this planet. All are a precious gift freely given by earth and sky together, not only for us, but for all creation. For me, the spark of the divine is in blades of grass, in spring time robins, in heavy purple gray storm clouds and in the eyes of animals and of people.

Mary Oliver has a marvelous poem that says this for me it’s called The Summer Day

The Summer Day

Who made the world?

Who made the swan,

and the black bear?

Who made the grasshopper?

This grasshopper, I mean-

the one who has flung herself out of the grass,

the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,

who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down-

who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.

Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.

Now she snaps her wings open, --and floats away.

I don't know exactly what a prayer is.

I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass, how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields, which is what I have been doing all day.

Tell me, -- what else should I have done?

Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon? Tell me,-- what is it you plan to do

with your one wild and precious life?

Tell me, what is it you plan to do -- with your one wild and precious life?

As the poet Rumi says “There are a thousand ways we can kneel and kiss the earth”

THIS is Beauty?

Forgive me, but is this what is considered beautiful today? These poor women have permanently damaged their skeletons, their internal organs, not to mention what this does to their minds. Why does the world put up with such nonsense? I must weight at least 60 pounds more than the heaviest of these women, and I'm considered 'normal'. I apologize for the babbling of this post, but the men I posted previously make more sense than these shadows of women.

why some women choose to remain single . . .

alright I know it seems harsh, but I believe there to be a seed of truth in this - especially in our world of anonymous and misleading internet communications. Personally I think I've communicated with several of these guys.... you never know, I could be one of them typing this right now....

Silliness

FIRST NAME? Ruth / Ann / also answers to Bruce (don't ask)

WERE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE? with the above combination? are you kidding?

WHEN DID YOU LAST CRY? Likely during a movie

DO YOU LIKE YOUR HANDWRITING? yup, not too bad for south paw scribbling

IF YOU WERE ANOTHER PERSON WOULD YOU BE FRIENDS WITH YOU? then I wouldn't be me, I would be another person - really I have no idea, I hope so

DO YOU HAVE A JOURNAL? several, some for poetry, some for writing, some for whatever

DO YOU USE SARCASM A LOT? never heard of it.

DO YOU STILL HAVE YOUR TONSILS? and most of my own teeth

WOULD YOU BUNGEE JUMP? absolutely, wanna go now?

WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE CEREAL? oatmeal

DO YOU UNTIE YOUR SHOES WHEN YOU TAKE THEM OFF? yes, and tie them up again when I put them on - oh the anal retentiveness of it all

DO YOU THINK YOU ARE STRONG? I'm raising 3 kids - wadda you think?

WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE ICE CREAM? can't eat it - quite fond of lemon sorbet

WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE? eyes - eyes - eyes - and usually their hair and hands

WHAT IS THE LEAST FAVORITE THING ABOUT YOU? my multiple felonies

ANY BROTHERS OR SISTERS? 1 brother

DO YOU WANT EVERYONE TO SEND THIS BACK TO YOU? no. they can do what makes them happy.

WHAT COLOR PANTS AND SHOES ARE YOU WEARING? jeans and blue socks

THE LAST THING YOU ATE? spelt bread with natural peanut butter and pomeagranate white tea

WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW? 'devil's dance' performed by gil shaham

IF YOU WERE A CRAYON, WHAT COLOUR WOULD YOU BE? the broken bits of leftover colours at the bottom of the box

FAVOURITE SMELLS? lavender, food cooking, clean sheets

WHO WAS THE LAST PERSON YOU TALKED TO ON THE PHONE? my friend Kelley

DO YOU LIKE THE PERSON WHO SENT THIS TO YOU? absolutely - but I snagged it from him

FAVORITE DRINK? Tea - several types - depending on the time of day

FAVORITE SPORT TO WATCH? soccer - HELLO - gorgeous men in shorts, sweating and running around, what's not to like?

HAIR COLOR? which one?

WHAT'S YOUR FAVORITE FOOD? sushi, raw tuna done perfectly, thai food, dark chocolate - and someone lovely to eat it with.

SCARY MOVIES OR HAPPY ENDINGS? yes, but it takes a lot to scare me these days

LAST MOVIE YOU WATCHED? ummm, I watched Kenneth's Hamlet for the umteeth time about 3 weeks agao

WHAT COLOR SHIRT ARE YOU WEARING? heather brown turtle neck

SUMMER OR WINTER? spring and autumn

HUGS OR KISSES? I could go for a hug about now - kisses, maybe later.

MOST LIKELY TO RESPOND? likely no one.

LEAST LIKELY TO RESPOND? ditto

WHAT BOOK ARE YOU READING? one with the kids, and Mary Oliver & Pablo Neruda's poetry collections, oh yeah and sections of the Poisonwood Bible for a presentation I'm giving

WHAT'S ON YOUR MOUSE PAD? a silly smiley moon thingy

WHAT DID YOU WATCH LAST ON TV LAST NIGHT? don't watch TV

FAVORITE SOUNDS? sound of water, absolutely grounds me. that and music.

ROLLING STONES OR BEATLES? can't make me answer this one

DO YOU HAVE A SPECIAL TALENT? yes.

WHEN WERE YOU BORN? on a hot and steamy night

WHERE WERE YOU BORN? in a delivery room on a hot and steamy night

Okay Lance.....

First I would like to say this is almost an impossible quiz for me to answer with single books - but I will try....

Second this is only a snapshot of me presently, if I answered this tomorrow, or next week, my answers could be completely different

1. One book that changed your life (hardest question first).The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver

2. One book you’ve read more than once. Good Omens by Terry Prachett & Neil Gaiman (and it's signed by both authors)

3. One book that you’d want on a desert island. A Complete Collection of Pablo Neruda's Poetry (but I'd find a way to sneak in several more....)

4. One book that made you laugh. The Giggler Treatment - Roddy Doyle (my kids and I still howl over this one)

5. One book that made you cry. Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe - Fanny Flagg

6. One book that you wish you had written. anything by Barbara Kingsolver

7. One book you wish had never been written. Little Alters Everywhere (sequel to The Divine Secrets of the Ya Ya Sisterhood) - ruined the first book for me - but I more wish I hadn't read it, rather than it not have been written.

8. One book you are reading at the moment. Thief and the Beanstalk - to the kids, embarrassingly nothing for myself right now, other than poetry books and my own writing.

9. One book that you’ve been meaning to read. Until I Find You - John Irving (do NOT tell my mother I have not read this yet)

10. Tag five others that you’d like to do this meme. - oh I'm no good at tagging, if you read this and want to go ahead....

In conclusion I would like to say the one book rule sucks!

tim horton's

tim horton's
Originally uploaded by Callooh.

ahhh home.....

I do miss Tim's coffee.

Canadian Idiot

A music video for Weird Al's new song, "Canadian Idiot" - not that I would know a THING aboot Canadian Idiots....

Hedgehog in the Fog-Yuriy Norshteyn

"This is a story about a little hedgehog (voice of Mariya Vinogradova) and his friend bear cub (voice of Vyacheslav Nevinniy). They would meet every evening to drink tea, count the stars and have conversations. One day, as usual, the hedgehog decided to bring raspberry marmelade. As he went to the bear to count the stars, he was already thinking what to talk about. While passing through the woods on the way to his friend, the hedgehog finds a horse standing in a fog. He is curious as to whether the horse would suffocate if it lay down in the fog. Being an explorer, the hedgehog decides to explore the fog."

I only wish I could understand the language, but the story is lovely even if you cannot.

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silence

Moment of Silence



A Gandhian commemoration of September 11

While most U.S. citizens are fixated on the fifth anniversary of the terror attacks, advocates for peace are reminding us that it is also the 100th anniversary of Mahatma Gandhi's nonviolent campaign against South Africa's racial oppression laws.

Find out more about the alternative Gandhian approach.

~~~~~~~~~~~~
Five years of struggle

As Americans reflect on the five years since the terror attacks on the United States, it is important to remember the victories and losses in the struggle to protect our civil liberties.

See an analysis by the American Civil Liberties Union.


~~~~~~~~

Nationwide call for Freedom from Fear

Human rights activists are using the occasion of the fifth anniversary to urge policymakers to re-evaluate our country's post-9/11 choices and invest in building the foundations for a strong and lasting peace with justice. Learn more about this advocacy initiative and take action. ~~~~~~~~~~~

UUSC blog (source of most of this info)

UUSC blog.

~~~~

"We make bad ghosts"

Since I have been immersed in poetry (and photography, but that's another blog) lately, writing and reading, I thought I would drag the rest of you through some of my world. I have, however, kept this blog on a theme, unfortunately one that just doesn't seem to go away.

Being a miliant free verse poet (I can - if I want to - write in form, sonnets even cinquains mostly - oh will she start speaking english!) I will not subject you to anything too old fashioned, or "deep".

Back to Babylon

by Viggo Mortensen

Accept and forget difference or desire that separates and leaves us longing or repelled. Why briefly return to play in broken places, to mock the ground, to collect infant shards, coins, fossils, or the familiar empty canisters and casings that glint from poisoned roots in the blackened dust? We make bad ghosts, and are last to know or believe we too will fade, just as our acrid smoke and those strange flakes of skin and strands of hair will, into largely undocumented extinction. Lie down, lie down; sleep is the best thing for being awake. Do as we've always been told and done, no backward glances or second thoughts, leaving sad markers buried in the sand. Sleep now, dream of children with their heads still on, of grandmothers unburdening clotheslines at twilight, of full kettles slow-ticking over twig embers. Ignore boneless, nameless victims that venture out on bitter gravel to claim remains while we rest.

Pay at the window for re-heated, prejudiced incantations. Take them home and enjoy with wide-screen, half-digested, replayed previews of solemn national celebration. Then sleep, by all means; we'll need all the energy we can muster for compiling this generation's abridged anthology of official war stories, highlights of heedless slaughter, to burnish our long and proud imperial tradition. At some point, by virtue of accidentally seeing and listening, we may find ourselves participating in our own rendering. Few of our prey will be left alive enough to water the sun with their modest, time-rubbed repetitions, to rephrase their particular, unifying laws. Our version of events has already made its money back in foreign distribution and pre-sales; all victory deadlines must be met.

It can get so quiet, with or without the dead watching our constant deployments. From our tilted promontory we may see one last woman scuffle away across cracked parchment of dry wash beneath us, muttering to herself—or is she singing at us?—as she rounds the sheared granite face and disappears into a grove of spindly, trembling tamarisk shadows lining the main road. We'll soon hear little other than our breathing, as shale cools and bats rise to feed, taking over from sated swallows. Night anywhere is home, darkness a cue for turning inward, quiet an invitation to review our expensive successes before morning extraction from the twin rivers of our common cradle.

This poem was inspired by a book of photographs of the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. One of the photos was of the white shadow, or silhouette, on a wall of a victim of one of the bombings.

Shadow on a Wallby Seymour Joseph

On a bright morning in August
I was thinking of fish when the sun exploded.
Takeo told me the market had fresh mackerel
and I was rushing to buy some.
But when I turned the corner it happened,
The thought of mackerel baked on coals
in my mind,
A mouth of white heat swallowed me.

But you can see me still on the wall
near the corner
Where I turned toward the market —
My shadow, left like a ransom note saying,
"I took Toshiro Fujima today,
this moment, right here,
melted his flesh in a single stroke."

My shadow stays behind to mark the place
Like an eaten fish you know by the bones
on the plate.
It's me as I walked on an August morning
With the thought of fresh fish and the touch
of a breeze from the river.
There at the end of all things,
when time was stopped,
I am recorded on a wall.

and this last one I actually have on a Poetry Slam CD set (yes I even listen to it in the car - there is no end to the nerdiness) it is written by a man who is against war, but has served. He is a brillant poet.

A Lesson from the Corps

by Marvin Bell

When you find the body, it has cauliflower ears.
It stinks of dead worms, the blood crumbles
between your fingers.
When you find the body, the sleeves of the combat
fatigues are in shreds.
Its face is puce, its torso black and blue, its
guts purple, but the teeth still gleam, and
the bones will shine up when cleaned.
Your saliva congeals, you taste dried paste.
Later, you may feel shame for noticing the colors
or hating the smell.
You were schooled to do this.
To yank the dog tag off with a snap.
You were trained not to answer back to the
silence.
There is a hiss as you compel the metal tag
between the teeth.

This day may become a whiteout, a glare, a deficit
in memory.
A place too barren even for a shriek.
A picture that didn’t develop, just a clear
negative.
For nothing recorded the thump of the bullet as it
hit, nor the webbing wet inside his helmet
liner, nor the echoing within the helmet
itself.
But you may think you remember the shudder you
didn’t see when he died.
You may imagine the last word, the mouth before
the lingering stare.
The machinery of his broken chest may appear in
dreams.
You may see the eyes, and hear the last expulsion
of air.
He is the vault now for your questions to God.
Only the dead can tell you the distance from here
to there.

Personally I haven't written much antiwar poetry - I'm just not so good at big political statements, in or out of poems, that's why I'm always hiding behind other's words, because they usually say what I feel, but so much better than I could say it.

So kudos to those brillant bloggers, and equally brillant poets. Keep it up.

going off the deep end

deep end
Originally uploaded by Ruth Elliott.

any last words?

this is a test. (this is only a test ... blah blah blah .... had this been a real blog you might have been entertained, educated, or mildly interested by now)

I am sending this from my flickr site - ooohhh the wonderment of the internet and my magic typewriter!!!

This diving board is looking out from CT to (into?) the Atlantic Ocean (the kids told me the water was cold, I stayed warm and dry with my handy cameras).

This blog attempt is so crazy - it just may work!

I have just taken in the 250 or so other photos I took, so brace yerselves. . . .



*addendum - for more pics from my mystical and conjuring scanner, see my Imagery blog...

they're gone, and I'm baaak

Okay, so the "vacation" took a little longer than planned. Well the vacation went as long as planned, then real life took some adjusting to.

It was quite the time. I have bitten the big apple (and have the pictures to prove it), I have dipped my toes in the Atlantic Ocean (ditto on the pictures), I met one of my closest online friends from England, and subsequently learned that "thanks for posting a picture of my fanny on the internet" does NOT mean the same thing in England as it does here. This I learned after I posted a comment on her flickr site where she had posted pictures of our get together. I have "Performed Poetry" to an "audience" and received "applause". I discovered my "virtual" poet friends to be more warm, wonderful and human than I could have imagined.

and, I got older by one year. I am now the ultimate answer if you can figure that out.

I was loved and nurtured, and cared for in a way I never remember being cared for. I got a message that ripped out my heart, and later a phone call roughly put it back. I caught a bat inside my friend's house 12:30 while doing tarot reading on my birthday during a full moon, and set free the beautiful creature to her open night. To top it off I flew back the day of the shampoo explosives scare, sigh - they took my water bottles! and they searched my luggage on the way down, but they always search my luggage, must be the bright eyed, daft looking Canadian thing. . . .

So where are these pictures? what have you been doing since? Well the pictures have to be scanned - I use old clunkers, and the digital I borrowed I still have to get the pictures put on disc, so you will have to wait. Each of these sentences could be a blog - the musicians I talked to in Central Park, my afternoon of losing myself staring at the ocean, the adjustable beds in the hotel room..... , the night of the bat, my book - yes there will be a book, and my homecoming - but that's a different story. Lance, for you, I do have a lovely lefty blog almost done and will post as soon as I can. Lance and Glenda, thanks for your notes, wow, to be thought of, I am honoured.
Home life was a little harder to get used to. Nothing for my birthday (and Leos like a small fuss at least ), even my brother seemingly missed it. Things not so easy. But the kids are back in school and I have spent my time studying tax, immigration, and divorce law - and today will be cashing out part of the only money that is really my own, my retirement savings - so I can make a start on my own.

I will write more soon - with pictures I promise - something that includes the bright pepto-bismo pink hummer I saw last night, or perhaps that should be a poem...

I have missed you all.

Canadian Border Security

Sorry I haven't been keeping up with everyone, and I'm leaving shortly for Long Island for the first week of August - but I promise to get caught up on my return.
I just couldn't resist this one before I left!

Source: Manitoba Herald, Canada

The flood of American liberals sneaking across the border into Canada has intensified in the past week, sparking calls for increased patrols to stop the illegal immigration. The actions of President Bush are prompting the exodus among left-leaning citizens who fear they'll soon be required to hunt, pray, and agree with Bill O'Reilly. Canadian border farmers say it's not uncommon to see dozens of sociology professors, animal-rights activists and Unitarians crossing their fields at night.

"I went out to milk the cows the other day, and there was a Hollywood producer huddled in the barn," said Manitoba farmer Red Greenfield,whose acreage borders North Dakota. The producer was cold, exhausted and hungry. "He asked me if I could spare a latte and some free-range chicken. When I said I didn't have any, he left. Didn't even get a chance to show him my screenplay, eh?"

In an effort to stop the illegal aliens, Greenfield erected higher fences, but the liberals scaled them. So he tried installing speakers that blare Rush Limbaugh across the fields. "Not real effective," he said. "The liberals still got through, and Rush annoyed the cows so much they wouldn't give milk."

Officials are particularly concerned about smugglers who meet liberals near the Canadian border, pack them into Volvo station wagons, drive them across the border and leave them to fend for themselves.

"A lot of these people are not prepared for rugged conditions," a border patrolman said. "I found one carload without a drop of drinking water. "They did have a nice little NapaValley cabernet, though."

When liberals are caught, they're sent back across the border, often wailing loudly that they fear retribution from conservatives. Rumors have been circulating about the Bush administration establishing re-education camps in which liberals will be forced to drink domestic beer and watch NASCAR races.

In recent days, liberals have turned to sometimes ingenious ways of crossing the border. Some have taken to posing as senior citizens on bus trips to buy cheap Canadian prescription drugs. After catching a half-dozen young vegans disguised in powdered wigs, Canadian immigration authorities began stopping buses and quizzing the supposed senior-citizen passengers on Perry Como and Rosemary Clooney hits to prove they were alive in the '50s.

"If they can't identify the accordion player on The Lawrence Welk Show, we get suspicious about their age," an official said.

Canadian citizens have complained that the illegal immigrants are creating an organic-broccoli shortage and renting all the good Susan Sarandon movies. "I feel sorry for American liberals, but the Canadian economy just can't support them," an Ottawa resident said. "How many art-history majors does one country need?"

In an effort to ease tensions between the United States and Canada Vice President Dick Cheney met with the Canadian ambassador and pledged that the administration would take steps to reassure liberals, a source close to Cheney said. We're going to have some Peter, Paul & and Mary concerts. And we might put some endangered species on postage stamps. The President is determined to reach out," he said.

absolutely not feeling serious . . .

Your Famous Last Words Will Be:

"I dunno, press the button and find out."

What Will Your Famous Last Words Be?

Your Political Profile:

Overall: 20% Conservative, 80% Liberal

Social Issues: 25% Conservative, 75% Liberal

Personal Responsibility: 50% Conservative, 50% Liberal

Fiscal Issues: 0% Conservative, 100% Liberal

Ethics: 0% Conservative, 100% Liberal

Defense and Crime: 25% Conservative, 75% Liberal

How Liberal Or Conservative Are You?

I must admit, for this last one, some of the questions had me a little confused - still figuring out American social security and a few other things....

and what can I say, life has been way too serious lately....