The Soundtrack of My Life

It's very cool that everytime you turn on the TV or go into a shop, they're playing some fabulous old standard. Tonight, I heard Marriott's Courtyard ad

The Nearness of You

It's not the pale moon that excites me
That thrills and delights me, oh no
It's just the nearness of you

It isn't your sweet conversation
That brings this sensation, oh no
It's just the nearness of you

When you're in my arms and I feel you so close to me
All my wildest dreams come true

I need no soft lights to enchant me
If you'll only grant me the right
To hold you ever so tight
And to feel in the night the nearness of you

and HP's new ad

Blue Skies

Blue skies Smiling on me
Nothing but blue skies Do I see
Blue birds Singing a song
Nothing but blue skies From now on.
I never saw the sun shining so bright
When you're in love, everything's right
Watching all the days Hurrying by
When you're in love, My how they fly
Those blue days, all of them gone
Nothing but blue skies from now on.

What's Going On

I may hit 10,000 today...Anyone have an idea for a good prize or celebration?

A few months ago, someone told me that my friend, Rob Lapsley, was the chief of staff to the Spanish Ambassador. You may know him ... He was Bill Jones' Chief of Staff while he was Secretary of State, became his campaign manager for Governor, and then became Bill Simon's campaign manager for the general election for Governor. I've been trying to find out if he's currently in Spain ever since the Madrid bombing. He's not listed on the Spanish Embassy site. Anyone know if he's still there or if he ever was there? I hope he's OK.

Ted Costa is going to be mailing out One Million petitions for the Fair Districts initiative this week. If you get one, fill it out and send it in. If you don't get one, call or e-mail the People's Advocate and get them to send you one. If you're from out of state, tell your California friends to get involved. Or send a contribution to the campaign. California has 52 congressmen and 32 are dems, 20 are Republicans. Wouldn't it be nice is it was 50/50?

Mark Abernathy is going to be opening his own Presidential Museum in Bakersfield. Cool.

Assemblyman Russ Bogh is leading the charge for real workers' comp reform. The Republicans will hang tough, the caucus is very united. But did they have to spend St Patrick's Day in Stockton?

Happy St Patty's Day!!!

Here's a summary of my posts for your use today. First the toasts, then the songs

Irish Toasts

May those who love us love us.
And those that don't love us,
May God turn their hearts.
And if He doesn't turn their hearts,
May he turn their ankles,
So we'll know them by their limping.

May you live to be a hundred
And may I live to sing at your wake!

Here's to me, and here's to you,
And here's to love and laughter-
I'll be true as long as you,
And not one moment after.

Only Irish Coffee provides in a single glass all four essential food groups: alcohol, caffeine, sugar, and fat.

May you live to be a hundred years, with one extra year to repent.

Some may say the glass is half empty,
Some may say the glass is half full,
But the Irish will forever say
"Are you gonna drink that?"

Here's to the four hinges of society.
May you fight, steal, lie and drink.
When you fight, may you fight for your country.
When you steal, may you steal away from bad company.
When you lie, may you lie at the side of your sweetheart.
And when you drink, may you drink with me.

May you have food and raiment,
A soft pillow for your head,
May you be forty years in heaven
Before the devil knows you're dead.

Irish Songs

When Irish Eyes Are Smiling

Written by Chauncey Olcott, Performed by Bing Crosby

When Irish eyes are smiling
Sure 'tis like the morn in Spring
In the lilt of Irish laughter
You can hear the angels sing

When Irish hearts are happy
All the world seems bright and gay
And when Irish eyes are smiling
Sure they steal your heart away

When Irish hearts are happy
All the world seems bright and gay
And when Irish eyes are smiling
Sure they steal your heart away.


Wild Rover

I've been a wild rover this many a year
And I've spent all my money on whisky and beer
But now I'm returning with gold in great store
And I never shall play the wild rover no more

Chorus
No, nae never, no nae never no more
shall I play
The wild rover no never no more

There was Kitty and Betsy and Margaret and Sue
And three or four more that belonged to our crew
We'd sit up till midnight and make the place roar
I've been the wild boy but I'll be so no more

I dropped into a shanty I used to frequent
And I told the landlady my money was spent
I asked her for credit she answered me nay
Such a custom as yours I can get every day

Then I drew from my pocket ten sovereigns bright
And the landlady's eyes opened wide with delight
Said she I have whisky and wines of the best
And the words that I told you were only in jest

I'll go home to my parents confess what I've done
And I'll ask them to pardon their prodigal son
And if they will do so as often before
Then I never shall play the wild rover no more

My Wild Irish Rose

If you'll listen, I'll sing you a sweet little song,
Of a flower that's now drooped and dead,
Yet dearer to me, yes, than all of its mates,
Tho' each holds aloft its proud head.
'Twas given to me by a girl that I know,
Since we've met, faith, I've known no repose,
She is dearer by far than the world's brightest star,
And I call her my wild Irish Rose.

My wild Irish Rose,
The sweetest flow'r that grows,
You may search ev'rywhere,
But none can compare
With my wild Irish Rose.
My wild Irish Rose,
The dearest flow'r that grows,
And some day for my sake,
She may let me take
The bloom from my wild Irish Rose.

They may sing of their roses which, by other names,
Would smell just as sweetly, they say,
But I know that my Rose would never consent
To have that sweet name taken away.
Her glances are shy when e'er I pass by
The bower, where my true love grows;
And my one wish has been that some day I may win
The heart of my wild Irish Rose.

My wild Irish Rose,
The sweetest flow'r that grows,
You may search ev'rywhere,
But none can compare
With my wild Irish Rose.
My wild Irish Rose,
The dearest flow'r that grows,
And some day for my sake,
She may let me take
The bloom from my wild Irish Rose.

Molly Malone

In Dublin's Fair City
Where the girls are so pretty
I first set my eyes on sweet Molly Malone
As she wheel'd her wheel barrow
Through streets broad and narrow
Crying cockles and mussels alive, alive o!

Chorus
Alive, alive o!, alive, alive o!
Crying cockles and mussels alive, alive o!

She was a fishmonger
But sure 'twas no wonder
For so were her father and mother before
And they each wheel'd their barrow
Through streets broad and narrow
Crying cockles and mussels alive, alive o!

Chorus

She died of a fever
And no one could save her
And that was the end of sweet Molly Malone
But her ghost wheels her barrow
Through streets broad and narrow
Crying cockles and mussels alive, alive o!

Chorus


Black Velvet Band

In a neat little town they call Belfast
Apprenticed to trade I was bound
And many an hour's sweet happiness
I spent in that neat little town.
Till bad misfortune came o'er me
That caused me to stray from the land
Far away from my friends and relations
To follow the black velvet band.

Chorus:
Her eyes they shone like the diamonds
You'd think she was queen of the land
And her hair hung over her shoulder
Tied up with a black velvet band.

As, I was out strolling one evening
Not meaning to go very far
I met with a ficklesum damsel
She was selling her trade in the bar.
When a watch she took from a customer
And slipped it right into my hand
Then the Law came and put me in prison
Bad luck to the black velvet band.

Next morning before judge and jury
For a trial I had to appear
And the judge, he said, "Me young fellow...
The case against you is quite clear
And seven long years is your sentence
You're going to Van Dieman's Land
Far away from your friends and relations
To follow the black velvet band."

So come all you jolly young fellows
I'd have you take warning by me
Whenever you're out on the liquor, me lads,
Beware of the pretty colleen.
She'll fill you with whiskey and porter
Til you're not able to stand
And the very next thing that you'll know, me lads,
You're landed in Van Dieman's Land.

Danny Boy

Oh Danny boy, the pipes,
the pipes are calling
From glen to glen,
and down the mountain side

The summer's gone,
and all the flowers are falling
'Tis you, 'tis you
must go and I must bide

But come ye back
when summer's in the meadow
Or when the valley's hushed
and white with snow

And I'll be here
in sunshine or in shadow
Oh Danny boy, oh Danny boy,
I love you so

But if you come,
and all the flowers are falling
And I am dead,
as dead I may well be

You'll come and find
the place where I am lying
And kneel and say
an "Ave" there for me

And I will hear,
though soft your tread above me
And o'er my grave
will warmer sweeter be

And you will bend
and tell me that you love me
And I will sleep
in peace until you come to me

But if I live
and should you die for Ireland
Let not your dying thoughts
be just of me

But say a prayer to God
for our dearest Island
I know He'll hear
and help to set her free

And I will take your pike
and place my dearest
And strike a blow,
though weak the blow may be

Twill help the cause
to which your heart was nearest
Oh Danny Boy, Oh, Danny boy
I love you so.

Wild Colonial Boy"

There was a wild colonial boy. Jack Duggan was his name.
He was born and bred in Ireland In a town called Castlemane.
He was his father's only son; His mother's pride and joy.
And dearly did his parents love The wild colonial boy.

At the early age of sixteen years He left his native home,
And to Australia's sunny shores He was inclined to roam.
He robbed the wealthy squireen. All arms he did destroy.
A terror to Australia was the wild colonial boy.

One morning on the prairie, as Jack he rode along
A-listening to the mocking bird, a-singing a cheerful song
Up stepped a band of troopers: Kelly, Davis and Fitzroy
They all set out to capture him, the wild colonial boy

Surrender now, Jack Duggan, for you see we're three to one
Surrender in the King's high name, you are a plundering son
Jack drew two pistols from his belt, he proudly waved them high
I'll fight, but not surrender, said the wild colonial boy

He fired a shot at Kelly, which brought him to the ground
And turning round to Davis, he recieved a fatal wound
A bullet pierced his proud young heart, from the pistol of Fitzroy
And that was how they captured him, the wild colonial boy

The Rose of Tralee

The pale moon was rising above the green mountain
The sun was declining beneath the blue sea
When I strayed with my love to the pure crystal fountain
That stands in beautiful vale of Tralee.
She was lovely and fair as the rose of the summer
Yet, 'twas not her beauty alone that won me
Oh no! 'Twas the the truth in her eye ever beaming
That made me love Mary, the Rose of Tralee.

The cool shades of evening their mantle were spreading
And Mary all smiling was listening to me
The moon through the valley her pale rays was shedding
When I won the heart of the Rose of Tralee.
Though lovely and fair as the rose of the summer
Yet, 'twas not her beauty alone that won me
Oh no! 'Twas the the truth in her eye ever beaming
That made me love Mary, the Rose of Tralee.

FOUR GREEN FIELDS

"What did I have?" said the fine old woman
"What did I have?" this proud old woman did say
"I had four green fields, each one was a jewel
But strangers came and tried to take them from me
I had fine strong sons, they fought to save my jewels
They fought and died, and that was my grief" said she

"Long time ago" said the fine old woman
"Long time ago" this proud old woman did say
"There was war and death, plundering and pillage
My children starved by mountain valley and sea
And their wailing cries, they shook the very heavens
My four green fields ran red with their blood" said she

"What have I now?" said the fine old woman
"What have I now?" this proud old woman did say
"I have four green fields, one of them's in bondage
In stranger's hands, that tried to take it from me
But my sons have sons, as brave as were their fathers
My fourth green field will bloom once again" said she

A NATION ONCE AGAIN

When boyhood's fire was in my blood
I read of ancient freemen,
For Greece and Rome who bravely stood,
Three hundred men and three men;
And then I prayed I yet might see
Our fetters rent in twain,
And Ireland. long a province, be
A Nation once again!

Chorus:
A nation once again,
A nation once again,
And Ireland, long a province, be
A Nation once again!

And from that time, through wildest woe,
That hope has shown a far light,
Nor could love's brightest summer glow
Outshine that solemn starlight;
It seemed to watch above my head
In forum, field and fame,
Its angel voice sang round my bed,
A Nation once again.

Chorus.

It whisper'd too, that freedom's ark,
And service high and holy,
Would be profaned by feeling dark
And passions vain or lowly;
For, Freedom comes from God's right hand,
And needs a godly train;
And righteous men must make our land
A nation once again!

Chorus.

Boys From County Armagh

There's one fair county in Ireland
With memory so glorious and grand
Where nature has lavished her bounty
On the orchard of Erins great land
I love its cathedral city
Once founded by Patrick so true
And there in the heart of it's bosom
Are the ashes of Brian Boru

Chorus
It's my own Irish home far across the foam
And tho' I've often left it in foreign lands to roam
No matter where I wander
Through cities near and far
My heart's at home in old Ireland
In the county of Armagh

I've travelled the heart of this county
Through Newtown, Forkhill, Crossmaglen
Around the gap of Mount Norris
And home by Blackwater again
Where the girls are so gay and so hearty
None fairer in Erin Go Bragh
Ah, where are the boys that can court them
Like the boys from the county Armagh

Chorus

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It's St. Patrick's Month

Boys From County Armagh

There's one fair county in Ireland
With memory so glorious and grand
Where nature has lavished her bounty
On the orchard of Erins great land
I love its cathedral city
Once founded by Patrick so true
And there in the heart of it's bosom
Are the ashes of Brian Boru

Chorus
It's my own Irish home far across the foam
And tho' I've often left it in foreign lands to roam
No matter where I wander
Through cities near and far
My heart's at home in old Ireland
In the county of Armagh

I've travelled the heart of this county
Through Newtown, Forkhill, Crossmaglen
Around the gap of Mount Norris
And home by Blackwater again
Where the girls are so gay and so hearty
None fairer in Erin Go Bragh
Ah, where are the boys that can court them
Like the boys from the county Armagh

Chorus

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It's St Patrick's Month


A NATION ONCE AGAIN

When boyhood's fire was in my blood
I read of ancient freemen,
For Greece and Rome who bravely stood,
Three hundred men and three men;
And then I prayed I yet might see
Our fetters rent in twain,
And Ireland. long a province, be
A Nation once again!

Chorus:
A nation once again,
A nation once again,
And Ireland, long a province, be
A Nation once again!

And from that time, through wildest woe,
That hope has shown a far light,
Nor could love's brightest summer glow
Outshine that solemn starlight;
It seemed to watch above my head
In forum, field and fame,
Its angel voice sang round my bed,
A Nation once again.

Chorus.

It whisper'd too, that freedom's ark,
And service high and holy,
Would be profaned by feeling dark
And passions vain or lowly;
For, Freedom comes from God's right hand,
And needs a godly train;
And righteous men must make our land
A nation once again!

Chorus.

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It's St Patrick's Month

May those who love us love us.
And those that don't love us,
May God turn their hearts.
And if He doesn't turn their hearts,
May he turn their ankles,
So we'll know them by their limping.

-Irish Toast

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It's St Partick's Month

Wild Colonial Boy"
words and music by Sean O'Casey and Dennis
O'Casey

There was a wild colonial boy. Jack Duggan was his name.
He was born and bred in Ireland In a town called Castlemane.
He was his father's only son; His mother's pride and joy.
And dearly did his parents love The wild colonial boy.

At the early age of sixteen years He left his native home,
And to Australia's sunny shores He was inclined to roam.
He robbed the wealthy squireen. All arms he did destroy.
A terror to Australia was the wild colonial boy.

One morning on the prairie, as Jack he rode along
A-listening to the mocking bird, a-singing a cheerful song
Up stepped a band of troopers: Kelly, Davis and Fitzroy
They all set out to capture him, the wild colonial boy

Surrender now, Jack Duggan, for you see we're three to one
Surrender in the King's high name, you are a plundering son
Jack drew two pistols from his belt, he proudly waved them high
I'll fight, but not surrender, said the wild colonial boy

He fired a shot at Kelly, which brought him to the ground
And turning round to Davis, he recieved a fatal wound
A bullet pierced his proud young heart, from the pistol of Fitzroy
And that was how they captured him, the wild colonial boy

This song was featured in the greatest movie ever made ... The Quiet Man

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Blog In for Martha

Today at K-Marts across the country, supporters held a knit-in for Martha. I thought about learning to knit last night so that I could participate, but knitting is hard. So I went to K-Mart and did something I know how to do ... shop! I bought pink sheets for my bed and green gingham sheets for the guest room. Lots of people, just like me, shopping because they think the prosecution of Martha was crazy.

I'm not a lawyer, and have no yen to become one, but the legal arguments in this case make no sense.

Martha made the perfect defendant. If you want to prosecute someone on a dubious charge, make certain that they are sufficiently polarizing. Ideal defendants: Martha, Rush Limbaugh, Barry Bonds. For years I've heard people whine on about how Martha made them feel inadequate. Why? Who knows? There are plenty of cookbooks with harder recipes. If you don't want to make plum pudding no one is forcing you.

Martha is nasty. Proof of this is that she yelled at the assistant about the bad music on hold. Last week I had a customer tell me that he hates my company and that he is going to come to my office with a gun and shoot everyone. He also plan to beat up the sales rep that handled his account 2 years ago because he's a yuppie. Now that's nasty.

Martha's sale of imclone harmed the little guy. How? When she sold imclone someone bought it. If that person held onto their stock, it's worth more today then when they bought it. She thought it would go down, the buyer thought it would go up. Isn't that the same scenario that happens in every stock transaction every day? The seller thinks the price is as high as it's going to go, the buyer thinks it will go higher.

It was insider trading? How can you insider trade when you're not inside? If she did what the government said she did (which I think is likely), at worst, her stockbroker told her about a public transaction. Sam Waksal had already made a public sale. Anyone watching the market could have seen that there was a lot of selling going on. It wasn't an advance tip ... like "Three days from today we will announce that we've cornered the world market on chocolate and we think our stock will soar."

She lied to the government. Okay, will all the people who have ever padded their expenses on their tax return take a step back. How about anyone who's tried to get out of a speeding ticket. Have you ever lied to a public school teacher?

And what was her lie? She proclaimed her innocence. Is it now a crime to plead Not Guilty?

Please comment if you like. I'm going to make a chocolate cake with a mint mousse filling for St Patrick's Day.


Also posted at www.isupportmartha.blogspot.com

It's St Patrick's Month

Always remember to forget
The things that made you sad.
But never forget to remember
The things that made you glad.

Always remember to forget
The friends that proved untrue.
But never forget to remember
Those that have stuck by you.

Always remember to forget
The troubles that passed away.
But never forget to remember
The blessings that come each day.

-Irish Blessing

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It's St Patrick's Month

Some may say the glass is half empty,
Some may say the glass is half full,
But the Irish will forever say
"Are you gonna drink that?"

-Irish Toast

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