"Next up - an interpretive dance meant to describe Mike Huckabee's stance on health care reform!"

Big Holidaze partying weekend for us here in Seattle. As I'm sure most experienced, aside from those candidates stinkin' it up in Iowa and elsewhere. It started for us with a Jesusmas program at Maya's daycare center on Friday night. Pretty standard fare - carols, Lutheran doctrine, condemnation of the National Endowment for the Arts, illegal campaigning from the pulpit - just what you'd expect to get the pyres burning to cast a glow on the Season. But seriously, Maya performed well, remembered all the words, and we bolted before the social hour for some BBQ chicken and all the fixin's across the street at her fave, Smokin' Pete's. For those demanding pics, I'll do my best to glean something clear and cute from the mix. Rest assured - she was fully decked out even though the halls were poorly lit.

Thereafter, we spent the weekend hitting the work party circuit like Paris Hilton with a brand new bikini-line tattoo ready to show. Three gatherings over Saturday and Sunday. Maya was on fire - so sugary-cute and charmingly in your face that I think she gave a half dozen people cavities. Except for whenever a family dog entered the frame. I think she ripped a vein out of the back of my neck leaping to safety on at least one occasion. She's definitely freaked by our so-called "best friends" even though we've had no real incidents to point to for the origination of the trauma. I blame it on some sort of genetic mutation from my childhood spent covered in animal hair and much much worse back yonder in 'Sconi. When she gets over it, you'll be the first to know.

More fun for Packers fans this weekend - Favre set another record for yardage and generally looked as good as he does in those surprisingly sexy Wranglers commercials. I'd be willing to bet that one of every three boys born in Wisconsin from now through mid-January is named Brett. One in four girls, as well. Extra points will be awarded to that breed of maniac that actually names a child Favre. For them, I suggest "Farven" - kinda like "Marvin" - which might even be justifiable for the foreshortened version. But make sure you add one of those trendy offbeat color names for the middle moniker (Sienna, Hunter, Burnt Orange). If you need other parenting suggestions, you know where to reach me.

Hope your own teams have a bye week lined up for the New Year. Rock on.

Next question: "All of us in (insert appropriate Hickville reference) want to know if you believe that prayer is helpful with your work?"

Hillary's campaign continues to amaze. If you've not yet heard (and I was pleasantly surprised that a particularly well-informed dinner guest last night hadn't), her latest kerfuffle relates to planting questions in the audience of Iowa rallies. As if. Everyone knows it happens given all the 20-something advance staff marshalling supporters and cheeseballs around the endless events they're currently droning on through. Yet the way her people have handled it "without her knowledge" convinces me that she's once again trying to have it both ways. She condemns attack politics, but doesn't deny it happened in her shop. I'll say it again - horrible, horrible campaign work. The action is much, much less offensive than the reaction. Which leads me to repeatedly intone that we should all be very afraid of the arrogance of the Dems heading deep into the '08 cycle. Congress ain't even baked a cake much less given anyone anything they can use during their leadership. And we're supposed to believe in this "inevitable" candidacy? Somewhere right now, Howard Dean is screaming in an airport bathroom. Oh, and that's in no way meant to be the pun you think was intended.

On another Hillary follow-up, the Maid-Rite waitress, Anita Esterday, gave an interview to The Huffington Post regarding TipGate. No surprises if you're entirely cynical. Her life has been turned upside down and she will no longer consider voting for Hillary. If you're unacquainted, you can catch up. Anyhoo, I sound like I'm piling on here. But I seriously feel like this sort of junk targeting her was as likely as Tuesday following Monday. Guess that makes me the cynic, after all.

The NYTimes scored an interview with Pervez "The Perv" Musharraf in which he offers the most Orwellian defenses of martial law since, well, Orwell. But that was fiction. Pakistan is a nation-sized keg that's gonna get dropped at least a few more times before it makes it to the deck and gets tapped in the crowd. Thereafter...well, stand back and try not to hold the first glass.

Big news upcoming on the Maya front. We're shifting her from the part-time educational care of the Lutherans to that of the Jews. Call it a system upgrade. Or don't - no offense to all those Lutheran IT managers out there. Regardless, it won't happen until January. So pics of the Jesusmas pagent will still get some play here before we get ready for all the High Holidays that I vaguely remember come somewhat annually. But don't quote me on that. In all seriousness, it will be very nice place for her advancement just down the hill from our home. Maya's impressive command of all the lyrics on the latest Justin Roberts album I think slam dunked her application.

Hope your own upgrades go smoothly today. Rock on.

This chicken tastes like a parenting lesson yet is oddly yummy...

Killer vignette on the Maya front this afternoon. Set the scene with me picking up Maya from the Lutherans in Ballard @ noon, as usual. The daycare center is a pretty standard churchy building of classrooms behind a contempo-bricko church. Everything around is residential. Save one place - Smokin' Pete's BBQ down the block and across the street. Maya and I've been there together a few times over the past months, and she's been a hit with folks when she's come strolling in before. Important to note: their ribs and chicken plates are crackin' good (my rating - usually a solid B but sometimes with a Plus, like today). Heavy as the recent Rush Limbaugh and often as merciless, though. The idea of heading there today for me was way down the list. Once we hit the sidewalk, Maya turns toward Smokin' Pete's in full babble. Forcing me to either cut bait and pick her up. Or let it run it's course. So we walked. I eventually tried to cut bait and head back to the car. But Maya would have none of it and presented a somewhat convincing case. In no time, we were inside Smokin' Pete's where she'd led me to the cooler for a "wa-wa" and then on to the deli counter where she'd identified the Mac 'n Cheese she's had twice from there. We debated, I caved and ordered a chicken plate to get the sides. We were at a table in no time - jackets off and Maya pleased as Hawaiian Punch way back when they made the stuff from real Hawaiians. We had some Mac 'n Cheese while we waited for the chicken and cornbread to go. Now mind you, I've introduced the hook - Maya's never heard anything prior this day about the cornbread from me or the hipster coolguy behind the counter. But she's had it before. Our food comes in a paper bag with all smiles and the whole spiel on all ends. I start prepping Maya for the exit. And just like a two-year-old, I thought, she got all uppiddy and wanted nothing to do with, um, getting up. She was mumbling something that sounded vaguely like Dubya's last State of the Union (my rating - F-plus), while I gathered our coats and foods and gawd knows what else arrayed around us like a schizophrenic banquet. By the time we'd crossed the street, it hit me. She was asking for "bre-bre" - her goo-goo-ish take on the universalized word for bread. I recalibrated. We saddled up on our hearty Volvo steed. Maya devoured the cornbread on the way home, washed down with loads of "wa-wa", then aced a bottle and passed out like Vince Vaughn at an open bar boat show. I'll see her in a few hours. When I do, I'll thank her for choosing our lunchspot on her own for the first time. My chicken is delicious.

Hope your own takeout is amazing today. Rock on.