I'd say 90% of my extended family (at least this portion of them) are all conservative Southern Baptist Republicans.

I feel your pain, askye. Probably 95% of my entire family (immediate and extended) fit that description. I just don't talk politics with them at all.

I've been rather successful at politely saying that I find what is being said offensive and I have to leave.

I think that's fair. The real question is, Why don't these people regret driving you out of the house every five minutes? The whole point of family get-togethers is, like, to be together with family, right?

I've had some extensive late-night politican discussions in family, but most of the time the argument is intended as the classical definition of argument: the putting across an idea to an audience, with the intention of persuading. And I have been known to enforce violently the rule that being obnoxious (or ad-hominem, or circular, or other forms fo rhetorical failure) does not count as "the intention of persuading."

Most of the time, family conversations at big events like Thanksgiving are long, involved digressions that slip easily from Dickens to Jung to the history of the Tennessee Valley Authority (that last thanks to Mr. Flea). They are more like performance and verbal play than they are all-out war.

My mother and I argue politics a fair amount. Mostly it's me grilling her (no surprise, I guess) on the inconsistency of her position. Then she tells me to stop bothering me and excuses herself from the debate on the grounds of ... most recently it was public drunkeness.

I remember when my sister was born (I was 3 1/2). After a few days I noticed that I was getting a lot less attention from my parents and my older brother. I wasn't mad, as I understood why that had to be so. But I was sad, as I realized that I would never get so much attention ever again.

I had a similar experience. I wasn't so much sad, though, as very very easily hurt (feelings wise) if anyone snapped at me. Like, if any of the minimal attention I received when my brother was born was at all negative, I was pretty distraught and hurt. I completely understood the lessening of attention, and I did my best to help out with him, but if anybody's nerves were frazzled, and they took them out on me at all, even if it was just something like slight impatience in their tone, I'd more often than not need to go hug my Rainbow Bright doll and cry. Of course, I was three, and really really sensitive. On the other hand, I clearly remember waiting around to see my new brother, and in all the excitement it was a while before anyone picked me up so I could see through the window, so Rainbow Bright actually got to see him first, since I held her up over my head so she could get a good view. But that's not my earliest memory, just one of my early ones.

For that matter, trying to convince an adult to eat Y food, when adult is either not interested or has expressed a negative opinion of Y food. Who keeps insisting on having conversation and opinion and experience go all their way all the time? Only rude people.

Word up, yo.

Cowgirl braids and travel sized items are awesome.

Word up, yo.

Okay she wasn't talking about you. You're a special case, lady.

My Grandmother always swore up and down that my father potty trained himself at ten months. His brother was 18 months older and my Dad would fuss until you put him on the potty too.

Since he was the only one of her eight children to do so we're pretty sure she didn't torment him somehow -- but being potty trained before he could walk does seem to explain a lot about him.

My Texan grandfather called me the anti-Christ once when I was about 13. At least once. I think it was in response to me saying that the god I believed in wouldn't let California fall into the ocean because of all the gay people there. And yet we still loved each other. And were able to have perfectly normal conversations also. Especially as he mellowed somewhat towards the end of his life. He never said anything about the Evils of California when I was actually living there.

Usually the person I have the most problems with is my Southern Baptist preacher relative, he says the most bigoted, racist things and I can't always keep my mouth shut for that.

Oh, askye, how vile. I would be tempted to smile brightly and ask him how he squares what he's just said with his vocation in service of the Jesus who said things like "In my fellowship there is neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, woman nor man, no divisions but only fellowship" and "Tend to the plank in your own eye before you say anything about the splinter in your brother's," and whether he really believes that if Jesus were right there in the room with him, He'd give him a big thumbs-up for what he's just said.

What a fucker.

Apparently you've got a hard-on for Mao and total conformity.

Oh, how I love my husband's spicy brains.

Okay she wasn't talking about you. You're a special case, lady.

I think her position is clear, and could apply to me if I want it to do so. So there.

P.S. My tape cut off last night during Veronica Mars, after the girl was tasering the dog guy, and they all come running up. Can anyone tell me what happened after that? Pretty please?

He said "Your dog's alive! I sold it!" So V and Mousey Brown go get the dog from the new owners and the dog's all happy to see Mousey (it's probably important to the development of Mousey that she spoke to the woman at the door and not Veronica). Veronica asks Wevil about the secret message pen, and he won't tell her whether or not there was a message in it - but he does give her the pen.

That's it I think.