Chikblog

Photo of the Day: Winter Morning

2012-01-30T05:44:00.000-08:00

Photo of the Day: The View from My Sidewalk

2012-01-29T07:41:00.000-08:00

Morning Face

2012-01-28T05:40:00.000-08:00

I think I told you that I love xoJane? This week Jane asked readers to send in photos of their morning faces, and had staff post their own. It's hard to say why I love this so much. Something about daring to appear without artifice or cover.I am posting my morning face and my professional face together here.

*Yeah, I know this blog has gotten a little...self-absorbed?...lately. I am still interested in the science, politics, news, etc., but I just feel overwhelmed when I sit down to write about them. Let's hope it's a phase.

How to be Friends with Your Ex

2012-01-26T11:57:00.000-08:00

...and how not to.

A friend of mine recently told me, "It's not fair. You got the good hair, and the good ex-husband."

I don't know about the hair: I think everybody just naturally admires whatever kind they didn't get. But the ex? That's the stone truth. Now, I admit that I take a weird kind of pride in never having had a really awful breakup, the kind where you never wish to speak of the ex again, or where you can't say enough bad shit about them. I've never had a breakup after which I didn't think of the ex as a friend, more or less. At least, there are none of them that wouldn't, say, give me a ride to the airport if I needed it, though it's hard to imagine circumstances in which I might ask, in most cases. So I guess I must be a good ex, too, giving me standing to dispense some advice.

Keep in mind that any of the pronouns could be inverted. I just hate that clumsy "he/she" device.

First, if you are pining - that is, if you are pining and you know it (not everybody does, funnily enough) - get out of Dodge. Don't try to be friends. Minimize your contact, put whatever space it takes between you two until you are not pining anymore. But, barring that, if you want to be friends with your ex, here are a few pointers.

Right after the breakup:

Take no for an answer! It only takes one to break up. If she wants to break up, then it's done. No one ever nagged their way back to true love.
No concern trolling. Don't call every week or two to "see how [you're] doing." Especially if you initiated the break up.
Back way the fuck off, for a while. Nobody flows straight from lovers to friends. When you just broke up, why do you even want to hang out with your ex? All the hurty stuff is still right there. Do you also jab yourself with a fork, just for fun? There's "oh-we're-still-friends" which just means you don't despise each other, and then there's real, hang-out, talk-on-the-phone buddies. If you even want the latter in the immediate aftermath of a breakup, see the bit about pining again.

In the months and years later:
Relationships end, but ex-hood is forever. Most of our former lovers are as sands through the hourglass (or at least they were, prior to Facebook) but there are always one or two that my girlfriends and I refer to as Big Exes. The ones from the marriages and live-ins and LTRs. Those are the ones we still want contact with; except when we don't. To be a good ex in the long years that follow:

Don't keep bringing shit up from your relationship. By shit I mean shit, the unpleasant things about your long-lost relationship. How he harped on your flaws or she belittled your achievements. You resolved all that, remember? You broke up.
Don't make up nicknames for your ex's new loves. "So, how are things with 'ToyBoy?'" "Has 'Crumpet' met your family?" It's a subtle way of asking your ex to demonstrate, by tolerating the belittling moniker, that his loyalty lies with you. But probably, it doesn't (remember: you broke up); and that plays out as: Ex tells stories on you to New Love, who now wants nothing to do with you. Goodbye, friendship.
Don't hide your new loves from your ex. Don't hide your ex from your new loves. Nothing good can come of either of those things.
Don't be whiny and demanding. This goes for all friendships, but sometimes the ghost of intimacy causes people to act out shit with their exes that they would never do with their other friends. Don't flip out if she doesn't return your calls right away, or if he doesn't have as much time to talk as he once did. People's lives ebb and flow: new jobs, new relationships, family stuff, can all cause friendships to wane. It's usually temporary, but getting all pissy about it, sending well-I-guess-I-just-don't-matter-to-you emails, are a good way to make the distance permanent.
When your ex tells you he's engaged, offer congratulations. Don't say, "You never proposed to me." Duh. But it happens.

Some of my best friends were once boyfriends, or at least fuckbuddies. Emotional intimacy can sometimes remain even when the ashes of physical love are all blowing in the wind, because who but your lovers has seen you at your most absurd, and most vulnerable? This is primo friendship material. Don't waste it.

The Year of the Dragon

2012-01-23T06:08:00.000-08:00

Sometimes I miss the days when I believed - or was willing to try to believe - in the mystical systems people have historically created to try to understand the world. It's telling that so many of them are designed to understand other people; the people around us are the greatest mysteries of all.

Today is the Chinese New Year, and the Year of the Dragon has come around again. I was born in a dragon year, and I dearly wish I could lay claim to these traits:

When it comes to nobility, the Dragon ranks high. Known as a born leader, the Dragon is the perfect child and adult. Extremely gifted with luck and strength, this person is usually well respected. Known as being a perfectionist and idealist, the person under the Dragon sign has a difficult time with aging. Because of this, you see the Dragon remaining youthful throughout life.
Of all the Chinese zodiac signs, the Chinese see this as being the most desirable year to be born. Believed to hold some type of magical powers, the Dragon is said to have the ability to fly in the heavens and swim in the seas. The mystic that follows this person is intriguing! According to Chinese legend, this individual thinks of him or herself as being invincible, often pushing things to a dangerous limit.

I know, right? Who wouldn't wish to be a dragon? Compare to, say, a Rooster: a secretive daydreamer who makes snap judgements. Or the timid, disorganized, pessimistic Sheep.

SO! Happy New Year, fellow dragons! Yes, of course it's all bullshit, but why miss an opportunity to say: This is my year!

Overheard in Augusta

2012-01-20T13:51:00.000-08:00

Young man standing outside the Cony St. Hannaford:
"Join us for the first official meeting of Maine's only facial hair club!"

Or, Equally Plausible...

2012-01-13T04:58:00.000-08:00

via Crooks and Liars.

Eels

2012-01-11T04:59:00.000-08:00

“Eels always look like they just told a joke and are waiting for a reaction.”
Via @Jazminlee23

LOL

Home Alone for the Holidays

2011-12-27T07:27:00.000-08:00

Am I crazy? I spent Christmas cleaning my house. I'm not a lonely heart sitting pining for a holiday invitation: in fact I declined to join two separate Christmas celebrations. My best gift this year was four whole days alone!
I feel guilty even typing that. My marriage is not troubled; my family are easy-going and undemanding, there are no hidden conflicts brewing, ready to pop to the surface like stress-induced pimples. It's just that my husband and I both work from home, and while my work regularly takes me out - at least one day a week and often a night, as well - his is almost entirely web and phone based. So he never. Leaves. The house. Oh, he's not agoraphobic; he goes to the bank (three blocks away) grocery store (across the street!) But an hour alone in the house is a real rarity for me.

What's funny is, I'm not using my time alone to do anything that I couldn't do with my husband here. Nothing scandalous or secret. Just stuff that feels weird when he is. Like this:

With a Hannaford gift I got for Christmas, I went hog wild in the produce aisle. I will spend the entire four days eating salads, fruit smoothies, whole wheat toast with avocados, and the like. Call it the solitude cleanse. (Unlike that creepy weird cleanse my friends do during which you drink lemon juice and cayenne pepper and wait for the "black snake" to appear. Ew, and also, bullshit.) I could do this when hubby is around, but it feels weird to spend our somewhat limited grocery budget on things I know he won't eat. Also, he's going to be popping frozen pizzas into the oven, the smell of which is hard to resist.
I am doing a deep-clean of the house. I do this every time hubby is away. When I lived alone, I was really very neat, but coupledom requires compromise, so our home is sort of a compromise between shelter-mag clean and the state of his bachelor apartment: comparable to the interior of a dumpster. I'm not the sort to scrub while looking daggers at my relaxing spouse; I'm the type to plop down and watch Smallville beside him. So we end up doing mostly down-the-middle surface cleaning: the vacuuming, the litterboxes, the dishes, the laundry. When he goes away I drag out the furniture and shampoo the rugs, because if he isn't there not-cleaning, it's a very different experience than if he is there, not-cleaning. My cleaning jag is made more enjoyable by:
Pandora! I've created several stations; here's my house-cleaning station. Now, hubby and I dance often, but, as I suggested before, cleaning while he is idling (or even working: I have more important things to do, too!) makes me cranky and not feel much like dancing.

I also plan to spend some time at yoga, and obviously, in my studio. And funnily enough, I am already daydreaming about his return.

Or maybe that was the point, after all.

The Big G

2011-12-26T16:17:00.000-08:00

Guilt is my middle name.

Why? Why is that? I'm a good person. I'm kind to my mother, except when I am a real smartass to her, which is what passes for affection in my family. I feed a houseful of animals who were unhomed by death, divorce and desertion. I recycle. I participate in Kiva loans. What do I do, that's so dreadful that guilt haunts my waking moments?

It's more whatever I am not doing. When I am cleaning, I feel guilty that I am not working out. When I am working out, I feel guilty that I am not spending time with my bedridden dog. When I am with the dog, I feel guilty about neglected home maintenance. And no matter what else I am doing, I feel guilty that I am not in the studio.

I have friends to whom I haven't spoken in months: we shoot "I miss you" back and forth on Facebook, announce our intention to spend more time together, and then...well, even when it works out I feel guilty about the other things I ought to be doing, the money I am spending, the lonelier or needier people who need my attention more.

I wish I were one of those people who understands, right down where they live, that a) there are only so 24 hours in a day; and b) everyone is entitled to some down time: time in which nothing at all is being accomplished. It's not that I don't take any down time. It's just that I feel guilty about it.

Maybe those people don't exist or maybe I just really do have more on my plate than most. It's something I need to think about.

I expect guilt to be the driver of my New Year's Resolutions this year. Yes, yes, I know, resolutions are uncool. Wev. I make them, I (mostly) keep them. I find carefully considered resolutions to be a useful tool in closing the gap between how my life is, and how I would like it to be.

Maybe I should resolve not to feel guilty anymore. That would be just like me, to create this meta-emotion: feeling guilty about feeling guilty.

I've Come a Long Way

2011-12-26T05:38:00.000-08:00

I have a personal tradition: I spend the week between Christmas and New Year's the Week of Reflection, and I try to spend it thinking back on the past year, understanding the events and giving them context. I look at where I am, and how my life is, and think both blessings and how I would like my life to be different; and mapping out the steps between where I am and where I would like to be.

This year I have a huge honkin' lot of blessings, and my life is closer to my ideal than it has ever been before.

2008 was the first year I blogged the Week of Reflection, and boy, have I come a long way since then! This calls for a song:

Unrelated but amusing: one line of lyrics goes: "Pescado mojado me encontre." My Spanish is not good, but I think this means "I found wet fish."

And so begins the Week of Reflection, Two-Zip-Won-One.

In Dreams

2011-12-23T17:59:00.000-08:00

In real life, I have 5 cats, but in my recurring dream I suddenly remember that I actually have SIX cats: there's one I haven't seen - or FED! - for months! I run aroound the house searching for the sixth cat. I know in my heart he must be dead, but I keep hoping - maybe he lived on mice? I never find him. I hate having that dream.

I have a perhaps-related recurring dream in which I discover that my house has more rooms than I thought. I go into a closet, or the pantry, and realize there's a door to another bedroom, and a luxurious third bath, and look, a hot tub! It goes on and on. How could all this have been here all these years and I never knew it? I love having that dream.

Occam's Racist:

2011-12-21T03:41:00.000-08:00

Occam's Racist: The notion that when confronted with multiple competing hypotheses for why a person published dozens of overtly racist newsletters over several years, the simplest and best explanation is that they are actually a racist.

Just a thing to keep in mind when choosing your presidential candidate.

Just as Well I Forgot

2011-12-14T17:37:00.000-08:00

If I could remember how to use my Tumblr, the password, or even what it's called, it would just turn into a big ditto of XOJane, anyway. Everything I read there makes me startle with recognition of one stripe or another.

Times are Changing, Mitt!

2011-12-13T05:25:00.000-08:00

What is this world coming to, Mitt, when you can't count on a guy in a red flannel shirt and a Vietnam vet cap, sitting a a New Hampshire diner, to be a bigot? Bob Garon wouldn't have set off my admittedly weak gaydar, either; but it would do well to remember that the popularly elected New Hampshire legislature legalized same-sex marriage a year ago. It's never a safe bet, in NH, that any given person will share your bigoted ideas, so save your $10k.

Video here.

Social Not-Working

2011-12-12T03:29:00.000-08:00

In August I quit my part-time office gig to become a full-time potter - a return I've been working to make since September 2000, when my life burned to the ground. This has mostly been a fine, fine thing, as I now get out of bed happy to do so every single day; and, by some miracle that has shaken my faith in mathematics, the money end of things is working. I don't see how it's working, but it is. Barely.
Awesome, right? Good on me, whatever, why am I telling you this? Because I have run into a problem; my old nemesis, discipline. Because there is no one to tell me nay, I often start working in the studio, and then look down and see the keyboard. How did I get here, at the computer, again? This happens about a zillion times a day, and I frankly can't afford the lost time.

This next is hard; it's always tough to admit you can't do something by yourself, especially something that other people have no trouble with. I am reminded of AA, and lapbands. I did take the Internet Addiction Test, and discovered that my usage falls in the normal range, but that's not quite the same thing as "no problem." It is a problem in that it is interfering with things that I need to do.

So I downloaded Net Nanny.

The free, trial version, of course; the reigning World's Cheapest Human is not going to shell out $40 for a program that does what I ought to be able to do for free. I am hoping my two free weeks of Net Nanny will get me out of the habit of popping out of the studio to check my email or look up the name of a song, and then staying at the computer for another half hour. In the event that I really need to look something up, I do have a laptop, but it is set up on a bookshelf in my living room (so Pandora can entertain me while I clean) and there is no way to sit down and use it, unless I unplug and relocate it. If two weeks doesn't do the trick, and I slide back into old habits, I can always download freeware: K9 Web Protection sounds like it might do what I need, which is essentially to put time restrictions on my usage. Right now, Net Nanny will not allow me to surf between 9 am and 5 pm; I tried to set a restriction of only 2 hours in the morning, but ran into some kind of glitch that Net Nanny doesn't seem to know the difference between two hours and zero hours.

Anyway! Just knowing that my time will run out has already changed my Internet habits; I know that if there's anything I want to get done, I have to do it NOW, before the control kicks in. So, there's been less random clicking and multiple mail-checking, more news-reading and blogging, and this is all to the good.

A Quickie with Louis CK

2011-12-12T03:16:00.000-08:00

16 Things I Wish I Knew When I Was 16

2011-12-11T04:39:00.000-08:00

Here's another one:

1) Take care of shit. Not taking care of shit is the #1 cause of shit getting worse. Sometimes, when you don't take care of it, it goes away; usually it sits there, either turning into a giant fucking problem, or nagging at your mind, consuming way more of your time and attention than it would have taken to just take care of it.
I see this in the form of people not dealing with taxes, speeding tickets, other red tape. I see it in the form of people avoiding awkward conversations in relationships because, duh, they are awkward, so whatever they needed to talk about just silently gets worse. I see people going to great lengths to avoid someone they don't want to talk to (no shit: HIDING behind supermarket displays) when they could just say, "Hello, So-and-so, how are you?" and be done with it.
Not taking care of shit makes your life a minefield, and you can never relax because you never know when one of them will blow up in your face.

My #1 Favorite Thing About Self-Employment

2011-12-10T05:56:00.000-08:00

..Not having to go to a company Christmas Party! I mean, Holiday Party. Whatever, it's all the same to me. Boring, and unavoidable. The next best thing is not having people pelt me with baked goods, daily, for the entire month of December.

Those aren't, actually, my favorite things about self-employment, but they are mighty fine things about it.

Photo of the Day: Frosty Web

2011-11-25T06:26:00.000-08:00

Happy National Forget-me-not Day!

2011-11-10T10:37:00.000-08:00

That is all.

Last Wisp of Summer

2011-11-06T04:28:00.000-08:00

This Echinacea blossom has survived a week of frosts and even a snowstorm. Thank you, little sister, for your much needed brilliance in gray November.

Addiction, Compulsion, or Pastime?

2011-11-03T08:44:00.000-07:00

I have been seriously short of blogging mo' lately, but this is actually a good thing! It's reflective of just generally spending less time online, after a long spell of obsessive email and facebook checking and otherwise social not-working. Sometimes that happens to me; I'll just get into a mindset that I get antsy if a couple hours go by that I haven't plugged in. It's like I am waiting for something, but since I am not, it never arrives. So I just keep checking. There's something weirdly irrational about it; I keep cycling through my links, thinking the entire time that I'm going to stop right after this, and go do what I ought to be doing.

It's probably just ordinary procrastination, but there's an icky, compulsive feeling to it, which got me thinking about Internet Addiction. Turns out that's a thing! Or might be a thing, defined as "excessive computer use that interferes with daily life." Well, shoot. That could be me. So I took the test. My score was 39, which puts me in the average-user range. Whew! I'm okay then.

Yeah-yeah, I know: the question isn't whether someone else thinks I surf too much; it's whether I think I surf too much, and during those periods of intense usage, I do think so. Fortunately, though, my bouts of compulsive surfing end when real life breaks the cycle; when I have company, say, or I get a new book. Maybe that-right-thar is the difference: it's not pathological as long as "real" activities are still more important.

If I were watching television for those hours instead of surfing, would I be worried about it? Maybe not, but my refrigerator would be just as dirty.

Intelligence Quagmire

2011-10-23T03:36:00.000-07:00

I knew it! One of the many reasons I wanted to quit my office gig (which I finally did, last summer) is that I thought less interesting thoughts while I was working, even when I was not at work. During the occasional week when I would work at the office full time, I noticed that by the end of the week my mind felt sluggish.

Okay, that was probably due to having less interesting input during my cubicle-dwelling weeks, and less interesting problems to solve. Garbage in, garbage out. But in the long run, a steady input of garbage actually does dull mental function over time. The ol' brain-muscle analogy seems to work here. It makes a kind of sense: if you work 40 hours doing something dull, and let's say you spend another 5 hours commuting - also not a very challenging task, intellectually - that's more than half your waking hours. Then there are the mindless household things that everyone has to do: laundry, dishes, vacuuming. These probably take up a few hours a week. If you rarely need your problem-solving neurons, or your creative ones, why would your body keep sending resources to those brain regions? Come up to your potential, or it will come down to meet you.

Doesn't it make you want to go and do some crossword puzzles?

16 Things, the Cultural Myths Edtion

2011-10-19T06:11:00.000-07:00

I posted yesterday that I have a niece turning 16 this year, which got me thinking about all the things I wish I had known when I was 16; things that would have saved me a great deal of trouble. But, like Dorothy and the ruby slippers, I probably wouldn't have believed anyone who tried to tell me. Although, speaking of that - if you were Dorothy, wouldn't you have been a little bit peeved at Glinda? "You made me go through the flying monkeys and all that other bullshit, when I could have just wished my way home all along? Oh, I wouldn't have believed you if you'd told me? Well, friggin' try me why dontcha? You didn't even try!"

Anyway. Here am I, Glinda, giving Dorothy the heads-up.

There are a number of things specific to being a girl that I wish I had known when I was 16. The world fills your head with a lot of silly ideas about being female, and then you try to use them to live by, and fall on your face, and you think it's your fault. It's not. Like this:

Contrary to popular notions, men are not rendered helpless in the face of female sexuality. It's not due to any lacks of charms on your part. It doesn't work for anyone, except in the movies. It's just that even a man who very much enjoys female attention will probably see through an attempt to use it manipulatively. People don't like to be manipulated.
Romantically speaking, beauty is overrated. I know this is a tough one to believe, since the messages are constant and ubiquitous: that you can never be beautiful enough, that no one will love you if you are not, that beauty is some kind of innoculant against rejection. These are all false. beauty is great for attracting romantic attention, and absolutely, totally fucking useless for keeping it. with that in mind:
Romantically speaking, interesting is better than pretty. And the best way to seem interesting is to actually be interesting. Read things, have experiences, have conversations with people like, and different from, yourself. This has an additional advantage of making for an interesting life, while it is making you an interesting person.
"True love" has never fixed anyone. If a guy acts like a jerk, he's not waiting to meet the right person. He's just a jerk. The myth of the transformative power of a woman's love is just a way to blame women when men act badly. But, with that in mind:
Men are pretty much like women. For the most part, they don't want to hurt anyone. This absolutely does not mean that no one will get hurt. I can guarantee, you're gonna get hurt, and you're gonna hurt people. The only way to avoid this is to never talk to anyone, ever.

That's what I got, for now.

16 Things I Wish I Knew When I Was 16

2011-10-18T06:08:00.000-07:00

My beautiful niece turned 16 this year! There is so much I wish I could tell her, but it all comes out sounding preachy. I guess like me, like all of us, she'll have to screw up, recover, stumble, learn, and so on. I guess maybe we are still doing that. Still, there are some things that, had I known them at 16, would have made my life much easier.

Lying is a bad idea. Yes, of course people told me that, people say that all the time. "Honesty is the best policy." Everybody says that, but they never articulate the self-interested reason why: because lying is a big pain in the ass. You have to work to think up the lie, then you have to remember it, and then you have to tell other lies to back it up, and half the time it comes out anyway, and then there is a big ugly mess, ten times worse than if you'd skipped straight to the truth. It's like this: if you feel like lying, either don't do what makes you tempted to lie, or tell the truth and let the chips fall. When lying is off the table, you make better personal choices anyway.
You can't control everything. In fact, you can't control much of anything. In particular you can't control other people, no matter how right you are about the obvious best course of action. But this is okay because;
Nothing anyone else does can diminish you; and
Things turn out alright a ridiculous amount of the time. And even when you are absolutely positive that this won't be one of those times, see #2.

That's enough for today! Stay tuned for more Things I Wish I Knew When I Was 16.

To Occupy Wall St.,, With Love

2011-10-15T07:18:00.000-07:00

Bread and Roses

As we come marching, marching in the beauty of the day,
A million darkened kitchens, a thousand mill lofts gray,
Are touched with all the radiance that a sudden sun discloses,
For the people hear us singing: "Bread and roses! Bread and roses!"
As we come marching, marching, we battle too for men,
For they are women's children, and we mother them again.
Our lives shall not be sweated from birth until life closes;
Hearts starve as well as bodies; give us bread, but give us roses!

As we come marching, marching, unnumbered women dead
Go crying through our singing their ancient cry for bread.
Small art and love and beauty their drudging spirits knew.
Yes, it is bread we fight for -- but we fight for roses, too!

As we come marching, marching, we bring the greater days.
The rising of the women means the rising of the race.
No more the drudge and idler -- ten that toil where one reposes,
But a sharing of life's glories: Bread and roses! Bread and roses!

Garden Grudge Match

2011-10-14T08:24:00.000-07:00

Much more interesting and less morally troublesome than cock-fighting or dog-fighting: plant fighting. Last fall I set the stage for Mint Vs. Silverleaf, with Monarda thrown in to keep things exciting. Breathlessly I report that although the silverleaf has not yet thrown in the towel, this is a decidedly lopsided battle, with Mint dominating from the get-go. And, like a WWF match, we have a non-contestant in the ring: Creeping Charlie has made an uninvited appearance, and a strong showing.

This tells us nothing, of course; under different light and soil conditions, the outcome could be completely different. But it sure is fun.

I've Got a Better Idea

2011-10-08T03:01:00.000-07:00

In order to economize, the city of Topeka, Kansas is considering de-criminalizing domestic violence. I htought what you are thinking, 'That can't be right. I'm gonna click the link, and it'll turn out to be something else, or sound worse than it is. Yeah, no. Go ahead and click it. You'll see.

My first thought: wow, that's stupid. Even if protecting the victims of family violence were not enough -- and apparently it's not -- that is going to cost more in the not-even-that-long run, in health-related expenses alone.

And second: if you need to de-criminalize something, how about possession of marijuana? There's a victimless crime if there ever was one. In fact, let's release from custody everyone who was jailed for possession, where there was no other crime committed. That'll save us all some money.

Inverse Trend

2011-10-04T07:19:00.000-07:00

This is so perfect! Thanks Xkcd! (Lots more funny there, too. )

It's Funny....

2011-10-03T07:42:00.001-07:00

...well, maybe not "funny;" maybe "horrifying" is more the word we want here...how fast some people's minds turn to rape. This little beauty was received by blogger Rebecca Watson, AKA Skepchick in response to a video post about Female Genital Mutilation. FTR, Rebecca is also opposed to male circumcision; not that it matters, she still wouldn't deserve to be raped! But this guy has a different opinion:

Don't try to tell me we don't live in a rape culture. Shit like this is why I shut my comments off: Got tired of deleting the hate. And my topics aren't nearly as controversial as Rebecca's are. Her inbox must overflow with this shit.

"I Eat Clean!"

2011-10-02T07:57:00.000-07:00

Bully for you! But so does everybody, who has a choice. Nobody willingly eats dirt. Except, I suppose, those suffering from pica, but I'm not sure that the descriptor "willingly" really applies in that case.

Oh, what's that, you mean you eat mostly fruits and vegetables and lean meats? Well, then say that. Or say you eat healthy. Or just do it, instead of blathering about it. The phrase "eat clean" is inherently judgmental.

For example: for breakfast I had a tomato omelet with cheese. Oops, cheese, that's processed! And fatty! And I don't even want to tell you about the english muffin (all that corn syrup!), yes with butter. Not the least-healthy breakfast ever, but far from the most. But dirty? No, it was not dirty. It was perfectly clean. But hey, if it's not your cup, so to speak, if you wouldn't have eaten it, that's no skin off me. Eat what you want, or don't, or whatever; stay on your high horse if you want, too, but ride it away from me. Or, just talk about something else. Eat clean but talk dirty. Deal?

Born This Way

2011-10-01T04:25:00.000-07:00

The bartender says, "We don't serve neutrinos here." A neutrino walks into a bar.

Get it? No, neither do I, one of many things I don't get. Like, how can a photons be both waves and particles?

A wave and a particle were walking side by side
One of them said to the other,
"Which one of us am I?"

And, speaking of photons, last week a team of physicist in the Swiss physics laboratory, CERN, obtained in an experiment a result that demonstrates that neutrinos can travel faster than light. They fired 16,000 neutrinos though the earth to a particle detector in Italy. The little buggers made the trip about 60 nanoseconds faster than if they were traveling at light speed. No sightseeing, lollygagging, or window shopping for them! If this result is correct, and not the result of some systemic error, it would run smack dab into Special Relativity, which is gonna leave a mark, traveling that fast. Despite all the hysterical headlines, it wouldn't necessarily contradict Einstein, how ever. According to mathematician Amir Aczel:

It is here that the problem with the “speed limit” description is buried. Einstein’s special theory of relativity does not say that nothing can go faster than light. It says that you cannot cross the light-speed barrier: you can’t accelerate to and past the speed of light in vacuum. But the special theory of relativity allows the possibility that a particle is born with a speed greater than light. In such a case, it can’t slow down to cross the speed-of-light barrier from above. If you are born subluminal, you must stay subluminal, and if you are born superluminal, you have to remain superluminal.

So if the results of Gran Sasso are borne out by other experiments, then neutrinos are, in fact, tachyons—hypothetical particles, never before observed (except on Star Trek), that travel above light speed, and stay there. They are allowed to exist by the special theory of relativity and they do not contradict it. Of course, a whole host of other problems would then emerge: their mass would have to be “imaginary” (described using the square root of -1) and they would open the Pandora’s box of the possibility of time travel and its effects on causality.

Neutrino could simply be born at a faster-than-light speed, just as photons are born at light speed. This is still a pretty shocking claim, but it seems more likely.

Mostly likely of all, of course, is that there has simply been an error; which the researchers themselves are actually asking their peers to help them find. (Falsification is the heart of science. Falsification is why science is not a religion, despite silly right-wing claims.) In a race between a neutrino and a photon, my money is still on the photon. Just a feeling.

Office Coffee

2011-09-29T12:47:00.000-07:00

In honor of the two-month anniversary of ditching my cubicle gig, I wrote a poem. It's a song, really - I have a tune in my head - but since I don't really want to learn to play it and record it, this will have to do.

Office coffee it always tastes gross
It might be Green Mountain
It might be French Roast
But it always tastes like it’s a thousand years old.
No matter how hot, it always tastes cold.

Office coffee won’t help you wake up
Your eyelids still droop
When your boss won’t shut up
It must be the buzz of the fluorescent lights
Or maybe the cat woke you up in the night.

Oh OFF-ice COFF-ee
is good for nothing at all.
Oh, OFF-ice COFF-EE
Come two PM you'll still stall!

NaBloPoMo

2011-09-29T08:39:00.000-07:00

For the month of October, I am participationg in National Blog Posting Month. Why am I doing this? I don't really know. I have a lot of blog ideas kicking around, half finished, or else still just a link in my inbox; but nobody ever died of an unused blog idea, and I have LOTS of more important projects that deserve my attention, like, say, getting daily exercise! And making sure my new business doesn't founder and fail. Also, I have three blogs (well, two and a half) and there is no possible I am gonna post to all of them, every day; but even just posting more makes me have more ideas, which makes me post more, which...this is starting to sound like a BAD thing.

Still. I don't have to have a reason. I just think it would be Kind of Neat.

The theme for October is "Between," which is obviously open to interpretation.

If You Wanted to Get Me a Christmas Present...

2011-09-25T16:03:00.001-07:00

...this would not be a bad choice. I've been a Kinsy Millhone fan for lo, these many years. She's got it all over the humorless, mopey Kay Scarpetta; and Stephanie Plum is not even in the same league. It's an absolute crime that a movie is to be made of one of the Plum novels, but Kinsey don't get no love.
Actually, the things I like best about Kinsey may be exactly what Hollywood disdains:

Grafton rarely mentions Kinsey's appearance, except occasionally to ruefully describe her clothing; we are never, ever, subjected to any tedious blather about her pulchritude, and are free to imagine Kinsey as cute or plain or both-by-turns, like most of us.
Kinsey has romances, but they are side events, and are not central to the plots of the novels. Blessedly there are no long, drawn out ramblings on her feelings. The romances go well or poorly, but Kinsey never obsesses about them. She's got stuff to do.
I finally quit on Stephanie Plum after I realized that time after time, the resolution of the plot involved on of her two suitors rescuing her. Not Kinsey: she gets herself into scrapes, and she gets herself out of them.

Yeah, now I get it. Hollywood prefers a female lead to be drop-dead gorgeous and helpless. And if she's fine with or without a man? Fuggedaboudit.

Long Time SInce Last Caturday!

2011-09-24T07:13:00.001-07:00

Feline Cuteness.

Redundant

2011-09-15T13:08:00.001-07:00

Scientific Study Proves Idiots are Idiotic

2011-09-13T04:42:00.000-07:00

The Dunn Kruger Effect explains alot. Then again, as Frank Zappa once said, "You think we're talking about someone else?"

The Smallening of the Brain

2011-09-12T12:39:00.000-07:00

When you want to make fun of a brontosaurus, what's the first thing you say? "Ha-ha, walnut-brain!" Am I right?

And how do we know we are smarter than Homo Habilis? Bigger brains, of course. Because bigger means smarter, or so we like to think, having the largest brain size (relative to body mass) of any extant species. Well, brace yourself: you're getting dumber.

Alright, that isn't true; not you, personally. (Well, maybe you.) Our species, however, is experiencing an evolutionary trend towards smaller brains:

"We know the brain has been evolving in human populations quite recently," said paleoanthropologist John Hawks at the University of Wisconsin at Madison. "When it comes to recent evolutionary changes, we currently maybe have the least specific details with regard the brain, but we do know from archaeological data that pretty much everywhere we can measure — Europe, China, South Africa, Australia — that brains have shrunk about 150 cubic centimeters, off a mean of about 1,350. That's roughly 10 percent," Hawks said.

First thing: surprised to read that we are still evolving? I'm surprised how many people are surprised, and by "people" I am not referring to crackpots who don't believe in evolution at all, such as the entire field of Republican presidential candidates. Well, almost. How'd the sane guy get in there? Anyway that's irrelevant. We are indeed still evolving. Why wouldn't we be? Evolution is just a word for the process in which genes creating traits which result in the greatest reproductive success increase numerically in the population. Put that way it's almost tautological: things which result in greater numbers of offspring, result in greater numbers of offspring. The factors that influence which traits are successful have changed - they always do, but in the last few thousand years the changes have been dramatic, resulting in this evolutionary u-turn.
The physical investment in a big brain is a great one for the body and the brain consumes a huge amount of resourses, so the instant the reward for having big brains slacks off, you'd expect to see shrinkage. Maybe modern society allows for greater specialization: we don;t have to excel at so many things just to survive and have our children survive, so we don't need all the extra brain capacity for reproductive success. Genes for investment in body size, say, or, I don't know, vocal chords, or finger dexterity may increase in importance.

Here's a better thought on brain shrinkage:

"A smaller brain is the signature of selection against aggression," Hare tells Lyden. "Another way to say that is an increase in tolerance."
Hare says when a population selects against aggression, they can be considered to be domesticated. And for a variety of domesticated animals like apes, dogs or turkeys, you can see certain physical characteristics emerge. Among these traits are a lighter and more slender skeleton, a flattened forehead — and decreased brain size.
Hare's studies focus on chimpanzees and bonobos. In evolutionary terms, they are much like humans, but are physically quite different from one another. Bonobos have smaller brains than chimpanzees — and are also much less aggressive.
While both have the cognitive ability to solve a given puzzle, Hare says, chimpanzees are much less likely to accomplish it if it involves teamwork. Not so with bonobos.
"If the food is quite sparse and it's not easy to share, [bonobos] can solve the problem," Hare says. "Chimpanzees, in that same context — where there's not much food and it's not easy to share — they just refuse to work together. They can't solve the problem, even though they know how."

So that's not so bad.

You could also hypothesize that the brain is getting more efficient, which makes shrinkage a good thing: same benefits, less waste. Either way I'm not going to worry about it, as there ain't nothing I can do about it anyway. Shit's gonna go right on happening. In that way, evolution is not unlike an act of God.

Happy 20th, Thelma and Louise!

2011-09-05T04:28:00.000-07:00

In honor of its 20th anniversary, the final scene from Thelma and Louise. It's not my favorite scene because of the suicide, but that is the fate of many fictional feminist heroes, starting with Edna Pontellier in The Awakening. Their eyes opened, neither Thelma, Louise, nor Edna, could continue to live in the society which inspired their disaffectation.

Well, fuck that noise. It's a movie, after all, so I offer a different interpretation: Since the movie ends with that Thunderbird suspended in air, I prefer to believe that it never crashed: instead, they took flight, and lived to keep on fighting.

There, fixed it for ya.

#youmightbeajerk

2011-08-31T15:07:00.000-07:00

...if you ask your friends to help you move, and don't offer them anything to eat the entire time. Basic moving etiquette demands coffee and donuts in the morning and a pizza, at the very least, sometime during the day.

You definitely are a jerk if one of the friends, to whom you promised a ride home, asks for the ride home after 14 hours of lifting your shit, and you refuse. And you also make it clear that he can't sleep on the couch he just helped carry in. Yeah, you're a jerk. No doubt about it. And if you fucking abandoned him on the road, 25 miles from home, lost, in short sleeves, with a hurricane coming? Well,then, "jerk" is too kind a word.

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person named Greg, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Fuck HIm Up, Toddy

2011-08-28T18:36:00.000-07:00

A real Maine song. Lyrics NSFW!

I first heard this song at a party at disc golf course in Sidney, when a stranger picked up my husband's acoustic guitar and just sat down and started playing. It stuck with me, so finally I went searching YouTube for it.

Holy Crap That's a Big Hurricane

2011-08-26T12:03:00.001-07:00

This is what Irene looks like from the International Space Station. (Thanks, NASA, for the photo!)I was considering being all, whatever, we're in Maine, inland at that, partly in response to my mother's unshakable belief that we are all going to be swept into the Atlantic.

After seeing this photo, I think I will bring in the patio furniture after all. And, I don't know, get some oil for the hurricane lamps. It might be kind of special, to use the hurricane lamps during an actual hurricane. Maybe get some water in, and some Triscuits or something.
Here's another one:

Enter Fall, Stage Right

2011-08-25T03:29:00.000-07:00

It's cold in Augusta this morning. I was feeling a little bummed about our truncated summer, and then I remembered: I like fall better than summer. Short summer means, potentially, an extended fall!

And it was a short summer. We didn't really get rolling until July, because of the chilly rain which consumed most of June. And then it was beastly hot: upwards of ninety is not good gardening weather. It is good swimming weather, and we got in a little of that, but now it's going on fall, and time to think about what I love about fall.

Gardening, funnily enough. September and October and the best months to divide and rearrange: the plant is focusing more on growing roots than foliage, it's cool, and the bugs are minimal.
Outdoor activities! Walking, running, and biking are all best in fall. No sweat and no springtime mud. I am considering a kayak trip this fall, during which I am unlikely to suffer a sunburn.
My studio, a former attic space, is goldilocks-perfect: not too hot, not too cold.
Sleeping! Nighttime temps in the 50s and 60s are so much more conducive to a sound sleep. During heat waves I wake many times in the night, and my pillow only has two sides.
No oil bills; not yet. Yes, I know they are on the way. They are always on the way.
Less shedding! With six furry ones in the house, the hair can get out of hand in hot weather.
Cooking!: it's cool enough to bake but still nice enough to grill. And speaking of cooking, four words: apples, cranberries, potatoes, pumpkin.

In short, except for swimming, which I do infrequently anyway, fall is superior to summer for just about everything I like to do. I am noticing it more this fall, because I am not spending half my days in a temperature-controlled office building.

Speaking of this, my next list, already in progress, will be the five best things about not being an employee; which are different from the five best things about being self-employed.

Putting Words Out to Pasture

2011-08-23T03:24:00.000-07:00

Compilers of the Collins Dictionary have created a list of words they deem obsolete, which will no longer be included in the shorter versions of their dictionaries. Some of these are unsurprising, as they refer to devices no longer in use, such as charabanc and cyclogiro. Others deserve to die, such as kench, which means "to laugh loudly" but sounds like it ought to mean a wet fart. But really, deliciate? Supererogate? We need supererogate! There's no other way to concisely describe doing above and beyond what's necessary. I just used this word, in my failed attempt to persuade my erstwhile employers that I was deserving of more than a 2% increase. Hmm, maybe that's why it failed: they didn't know what they hell I was talking about.

I guess we can use "luxuriate" in place of "deliciate," but it's not the same. That's the royal "we," BTW; I am painfully aware that no one else will even notice the passing of this delightful word.

Word geek that I am, even I don't care about losing rundlet, drysalter, or woolfell; and there's nothing to stop you from calling something an aerodrome, if that's what it is. There just aren't really many of them, so no one has much occasion to discuss aerodromes. Some words on the list, however, make me wish I'd known them before it was too late. "Brannigan" sounds so much more fun than a bender. And we need "jollux" now more than ever: a neutral or good-natured way to refer to a fat person. At the risk of appearing ludibrious (a word we don't need, as it appears a perfect synonym for "ridiculous"), perhaps we could rescue "jollux?"

What I Saw on the Kennebec

2011-08-22T04:29:00.000-07:00

Overheard

2011-08-15T04:57:00.000-07:00

"I don't want to go to the Brockton Fair! The clowns shoot you."

Chicken Noodle Beer

2011-08-06T06:43:00.001-07:00

No, wait, Chicken and Rice. Am I the only on who thinks Budwieser's new cans resemble Campbell's Soup?

Overheard in Augusta

2011-08-06T03:47:00.000-07:00

Two little girls, trying on women's high heels at Target:

Girl 1: I feel like I'm flying!
Girl 2: I feel like I'm already eight!

Tomato Butt Rot

2011-08-05T16:32:00.000-07:00

Your tomatoes may resemble the one in the photo: black or dark brown on the lower end. Okay, it's not really called Butt Rot, that's just our little family pet name for it. This is a prime year in the Northeast for Blossom End Rot, as it is properly called, because while it's caused by insufficient calcium, very dry weather can stress a plant into displaying the nasty condition. Over-fertilizing can also contribute to Blossom End Rot, as plants grow too quickly to take up the calcium they need.

Watering your tomatoes may prevent future fruit from developing this unpleasant condition, but the ones currently displaying Butt Rot are beyond assistance. I don't know whether the unaffected part of the tomato tastes okay, because, ew. It's best to pluck it off and toss it in the compost as soon as you notice the lesion, as it won't hurt your compost pile as is, but left on the vine, secondary pathogens may infect the fruit, rendering it both inedible and unusable in the compost heap.

Wage Slave Escapes Bonds!

2011-08-03T03:26:00.000-07:00

So, I quit my job. It wasn't a bad job; a part-time gig in a Portland office. Nice co-workers, paid vacation, air conditioning, free coffee. Probably better hourly than I might find here in my hometown, unless I were willing to sign on full-time. So why did I quit in the midst of this crap economy, no doubt made worse by the heinous "debt deal" recently extorted from the President?

Alternate days (minutes, really) I think I must have been crazy. But the stars aligned:

I was receiving more and more attention to my small pottery business, to the point that I was having to put off or turn away orders.
My obstacle to full self-employment has always been my ability to sell, or lack thereof; I had a running joke that I couldn't sell a dollar for fifty cents. Turns out that's not true! The secret, funnily enough, is that I have to try. I have to make the calls, make the appointments, and show up. Not that I always get the appointments, but when I do, I always get the sale. So far.
For the third year in a row, I received a great review...and was offered a 2% raise. The whole office, in fact, were given no more than 2%. (Several people complained of recieving no increase at all!) The employer cited the aforementioned economy, but for my purposes, the "why" doesn't really matter. Last winter was really fucking brutal: the oil bills clobbered us; food was more expensive; the cost of my 58-mile commute got higher and higher. Something had to change. I made my best pitch in the form of a formal, written request for an increase, citing all the training and new tasks I had taken on since my last performance-based raise. No dice, they said. There's just no money for it. Let's talk again in October. But October would be too late for me to take advantage of the tourist season, and also too late to get Christmas orders; and I had no faith at all that if the last three years of effort were not enough to warrant a raise, the next three months would somehow do the trick.

It seemed as if my employer had simply decided that they don't give increases anymore, counting on the fear factor of high unemployment to keep people from jumping ship. And it worked for most people. It just so happened that I an option to take control of my income, and I took it.

Most of the reason was that I wanted to be self-employed anyway, and I had the chance. But the straw which broke the wage slave's back was the breach of the unspoken compact between employer and employee: if you strive to be productive, to learn and grow in the job; if you expand your skills and responsibilities, your compensation should grow as well. That's the deal. That's the way work works. One year I understood; it was just after the great economic meltdown. The second year....hmmm, starting to look fishy. This year we'd been told only a few weeks before that the company had had a great year. So there was no reason to deny raises, except that they thought they could get away with it. And they could, just not in my case.

Anyway! I am now a full-time potter, for the first time since 2003. A grand adventure. Wish me luck!
Anybody wanna buy a mug?

First World Problems

2011-06-25T04:20:00.000-07:00

This kid is fucking hilarious.

The Great Pantyhose Faux Pas

2011-06-24T02:53:00.000-07:00

You know what's funny about this? It's not that Pippa Middleton wore nude tights because, who cares? It's that I didn't even know they were a fashion no-no. I'm so out-of-style, I'm stylin'! But really, did you know? If you are a woman with an office job you probably wear sheer tights (also known as "pantyhose") every week. Who makes up these silly rules? What are we supposed to do, walk around with bare legs? Dude, I live in Maine. You can walk around bare-legged in January if you want to. June, now, that's a different story; although many employers have dress codes forbidding bare legs, and I ain't gonna wear trousers all summer, either.

Anyway, you go, Pippa. Tell the fashion police where to stick it. You and me, we're sisters under the skintones. Except you have much better legs.

Facebook Fade

2011-06-22T03:27:00.000-07:00

What, already? There hasn't even been time for Blogger's dictionary to recognize Facebook as a word.
I am referring to the fact that in May of this year, Facebook lost users for the first time. Lost "active" users, I should say: people who log on at least once a month. This bit of news feels zeitgeist-y, as I have been in a couple of conversations lately about how FB has lost its lustre for some of us.

I am nostalgic for my early months of FB, when I never knew who might come bounding out of my past with a Friend request. Old buddies and secret lovers, or cool people who astonished me by remembering who I am. Look, he became a pastor! Oh, she still has the same sense of humor. Those two got married! I enjoyed having a sketch of the lives of my acquaintances; it made me feel like I knew them better. I liked to say Facebook was a time-saver for me; I would never otherwise have time to keep in touch with all of the people I like.

Was it me, did I change? Or did it just get old? I rarely get friend requests these days, because I've already accepted them all. (Or not.) And of my 200 or so friends, I'd say fewer than 20 ever actually post anything. Some larger subset are lurkers -- they visit the site but never contribute -- and a whole bunch have a profile but never use it at all. And those who do post...well, it's just not that interesting. My feed today contains:

A description of the weather
Two complaints about traffic
Someone's cold symptoms
Photos of kids I've never met in their graduation gowns
An announcement that 9 friends have changed their profile pictures
A copy-and-paste post about a disease
A workout summary
A description of someone's dinner
Myriad posts from the many "pages" I've "liked," all of which are fine but not really what I use Facebook for.

Lately I've found myself reading through my feed, vainly looking for anything interesting at all. Oh, there's that college friend who updates five times a day but never does anything but get manicures, go to the pool, and drink chocolate martinis. (Great, complicated manicures, with paintings of flowers or fireworks.) Sounds like fun to do, but it's a bore to read about. (Sorry, hon.) There's the one who posts "TGIF!" every damn Friday. Not that I am so scintillating. I've posted my fair share of cute-cat-pics. After I made a decision not to post anything unless it is actually interesting and/or amusing, guess what? I haven't updated since.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, the posts I find most interesting are from the people I know the best: my sister, my husband, my best friend. An I already have better avenues to their humor, insights and activities.

I know Facebook is far from dead, but I sense its decline has begun. This is sort of a shame, as I've made some friends I've never met through FB ("Because a friend is just a stranger you haven't met."); it is a good avenue for a reserved person to get to know someone, a little. What I really want is something to happen, a new way to use it, that will bring back the spark. Can you hear me, MZ?

Woman as Vending Machine

2011-06-05T14:40:00.000-07:00

Oh, this is so made of fail:

Carolyn Evans' book Forty Beads; The Simple, Sexy Secret for Transforming Your Marriage proposes that married couples save (or merely improve) their relationships by using a token system. According to Evans' method, the man is given 40 beads which he distributes, one bead at a time, to his wife. Each bead means he's in the mood, and the wife has 24 hours to respond with sex.

I don't even know where to start. Okay, one: forty beads? Why forty? Forty a month, a year, what? For the whole duration of the marriage? What if they run out of beads but still want to fuck?

And two: notice that the beads belong to the men, to give to the women, in exchange for sex. There's some shit in there about "nudge cards," that women can use to suggest that the men give them a bead, but the whole system operates on the assumption that sex is something that men must somehow get from women. The men demand, by way of beads; the women suggest, by way of cards.

Three: 40 beads also plays into the cultural model of woman-as-vending-machine: input the correct tokens, and receive sex in return. This way of thinking leads to the phenomenon of the angry-nice-guy, who resents that women don't automatically sleep with him after he compliments them, listens to them, and refrains from hitting them.

And four: This system isn't gonna solve anything for anybody. If a couple's sex drives are mismatched, they aren't gonna magically align because of a bead. Does Evans think such problems occur because people never thought of asking for sex? Whatever happened to talking, touching, flirting? Seems like all the bead does is subtract the fun. Hey, news flash: sex is supposed to be fun!

In The Moody

2011-06-02T06:42:00.000-07:00

"Confidence is Sexy." That's a meme we've all been memorizing, when someone is trying to tell us our insecurities are all in our heads. Well, it turns out that yes, confidence is sexy -- to women. In a study published in the journal Emotion, researcher Jessica Tracy found that men were least attracted to women who looked "proud and confident." Women were least attracted to the smiling men, and most to the proud-looking and moody ones. Both sexes found the ashamed-looking models attractive. Nothing is said at all about same-sex attraction, except that they will be the focus of future studies.

I feel like I should mention that the whole premise of the research smells a little off to me, as the subjects were shown photos of people trying to look happy, proud, moody, ashamed, and so on. It may be that our sensitive, evolutionarily-honed emotion detectors are responding not as the would to the actual attitudes, but to the faking of attitudes. There are other problems with the study as well, such as sussing out which responses are to perceived status -- a know factor in attraction -- and which to presentation of mood. It is, of course, making headlines as, "Nice Guys Finish Last," "Women Like Bad Boys," and other such clichês. I haven't seen a single headline mentioning the male reactions at all.

Which is strange, because for me those are the most provocative. I have often wondered why things like red fingernails, and fussed-up, untouchable hair are considered sexy. Also uncomfortable and impractical clothing, and obviously fake facial pigments, like gooey lipstick or blue eyeshadow. I've speculated that the very fact that a woman is willing to do these things - wear painful shoes or skirts that interfere with most activities; spend time doing up hair and face - is a signifier of subordination. Remember that study from Northumbria University, about how men don't notice high heels?Well of course they don't: the shoes are nothing. The attitude that the shoes convey is everything, and you can get that without noticing what's communicating it.

Anyway. This study is probably bullshit, or more correctly, not enough information on which to draw conclusions. But even if it's not, there are better reasons to be a nice person than whether men or women will find you attractive.

The Amazing Sleep-o

2011-06-02T03:22:00.000-07:00

By some miracle, I slept 8 hours last night. I thought the 8-hour sleep was a mythical beast, invented just to taunt us who feel lucky to get 5 and a half. And man, do I feel awesome! I feel like I've been granted superpowers. The Amazing Sleep-o from the Planet Zzzzz! It makes me think of how perpetual drunks often say they never get hangovers: in actual fact, they grow so accustomed to their state of crapulence that they forget what normal feels like.

It appears I've been sleep-deprived for so long that I've forgotten what normal feels like. Man, if this is normal, I want more of it.

It's hard to know exactly what conditions contributed to this perfect storm of slumber. I had two cups of coffee in the morning, same as usual. I did go to the gym, which I've been skipping out on lately, but that can't be all of it: I've been short-sleeping for years. Anyway I had a good workout, but hardly epic. I came back and had lunch, Chicken Ole, out of the crockpot. I worked in the studio all afternoon and into the evening. There were thunderstorms and even tornado warnings....Hmmm.

One thing that was different: I spent a lot less time at the computer. (Ooops. ) I have a habit of checking email and facebook every time I take a break. I decided not to do that yesterday, as I have a tendency to get "sucked in," and the breaks get stretched waaaaaaaay out. I had a lot to accomplish, so I skipped the distraction. I've also been on vaca from my office gig, so, less screen time automatically.

And what will I use my supercharged energy for? Well, cleaning the litterboxes, number one. And, apparently, writing a blog post.

Oh, How I Wish...

2011-05-30T01:56:00.001-07:00

...this fell into the "Well, duh" category. The Supreme Court of Canada has ruled that one must be conscious to give consent to sex. This may seem too obvious to require saying, unless one wishes to argue for telepathy, but on the other hand I am having a hard time imagining the US Supreme Court coming to the same conclusion. As always, it is discouraging to read the comments. One moron (who titles himself "Loverboy") claims that the "feminist mentality" of North American women is driving North American men to marry women from Latin America, Asia, and Eastern Europe.
As awful as it is, this made me laugh. "Damn, can't rape these North American women! I'm
going to Bosnia. " Loverboy seems to think we will be horrified to be deprived of the opportunity to marry rapists! Not me, buddy; although I do fear for my international sisters.
I'll take good news as it comes. This bit strikes a blow against the rape culture idea that women's default state is consent. Now if only we can bottle some of that sanity and smuggle it across the border.

Spinach Tofu Dip

2011-05-29T03:03:00.000-07:00

Tofu works! That is our life lesson for today. Remember how I was complaining about hot flashes, in April? On the advice of a friend, I started incorporating tofu into my diet, and --voila! -- the hot flashes have ceased. This could be because they would have ceased anyway; not everyone sufferes with them for a decade like my own mother did. But they diminished immediately upon the introduction of tofu, and if I go a few days without, I'll likely have a mild episode.

Introducing tofu was not as easy as it sounds, because, yuck. Making it not yuck is kind of a lot of work, what with the freezing and the squeezing. And when it's done, the best I can say is that it is edible, not something that I ever really think, "Mmmmm! I could really go for some tofu right now."

Eternal optimist that I am, I'd like to change that. Here's my next effort:

Spinach Tofu Dip

Ingredients
1 package of extra firm tofu
16 oz frozen chopped spinach (defrosted and thoroughly drained)
1 can of water chestnuts (drained, rinsed, and diced)
5 scallions (rinsed and finely diced)
1 packet of dry vegetable soup mix
1/2 cup of reduced fat sour cream
1/2 cup of mayo

Directions
In a large mixing bowl, combine all ingredients and stir until mixture is well blended.
Refrigerate for 1-2 hours before serving or serve immediately.
Serve with raw sliced veggies (I used red and green for our Christmas party….cucumbers, green peppers, red peppers, and baby grape tomatoes) or whole grain crackers.

A Walk in the Maine Woods

2011-05-21T11:27:00.000-07:00

Now that spring is here - well, sort of - it’s a great time to go plant-spotting. There are well over 200 plant species on Maine’s rare, threatened and endangered list. Who knew, right? Some are so rare that there are estimated to be fewer than 5 individual plants in the entire state! Others are well-established in Maine but threatened globally. On your next outing, see if you can spot these plants from the list:

Showy Lady’s Slipper
Rarer than either the pink or yellow varieties, there are estimated to be between 20 and 100 Showy Lady’s slippers in Maine.

Spotted Wintergreen
Spotted Wintergreen grows in only 13 locations in the entire state, with fewer than 20 individual plants. Its southern Maine habitat has been reduced by de-velopment. In June white blooms on short stalks make it easier to spot.

Slender Blue Flag Iris
Slender Blue Flag likes both salt and freshwater marshes, and costal meadows. Though threatened in Maine - fewer than 20 plants are known to grow here - the population of Slender Blue Flag is believed to be globally secure.

Avoidable Errors

2011-05-08T04:34:00.000-07:00

Auntie Lori's advice for the day: However well-intentioned you may be, don't tell someone they look tired (unless you gave birth to them, which buys you a pass for a whole host of things.) The remark is not unlike asking if a woman is pregnant; nothing good can come of it. If the person is in fact tired, it does nothing to alleviate the situation to be told that it shows; if he or she isn't, well, it amounts to being told, "You look like ass."

Happy Mother's day, BTW.

Blue Bike Assemblage

2011-05-06T14:32:00.001-07:00

Today was given over entirely to gardening and yard work. We bought a new mower as our old mower had been difficult to use ever since losing one of the wheels. I was able to give the old one to a neighbor who thought he could weld the broken bit of the frame, and godspeed to it. Even better, we were able to replace it with a used one for only $100, and it's not even a piece of shirt!

But that was just the beginning. I pulled up weeds, mulched, cleaned out the car, and dug through old boxes of pots in the shed and found some good ones I had forgotten about. And speaking of sheds, mine has been an eyesore since I bought the house, but it's sort of low on the priority list, so an eyesore it remains. And if a thing is destined to be ugly, you might as well work with it. It's like I tell my students when they throw a pot they don't like: If you already hate it, alter it! Stretch it, bend it, cut it, squeeze it. You've got nothing to lose.

And I already hated my shed -- although since any shed is better than no shed, "hate" is perhaps the wrong word. So we've begun to make it part of an assemblage, beginning with the blue-to-the-wheels bike, and the blue planter below. The planter will hold morning glories that will climb twine up to the blue bike and engulf the front of the shed. I've got some other items in mind to add, and I will keep you updated as this outdoor artwork grows.

2011-05-05T05:19:00.000-07:00

Didja ever get the feeling that your own hair is the obstacle? Like, "I just can't get anything done looking like this."

What have you done?

2011-04-16T16:52:00.000-07:00

Got this exercise from Sue Pariseau, over at Sue Pariseau Pottery. I don't represent that these are things I necessarily want to do or that anyone should have done; I just thought it was fun.
Bold are things I have done. Because I have two cents to throw in, always, I've put my commentary in green. ;Edit: tried to do this, but my browser and Blogger's Dashboard don't always get along. Anyway it's probably ovious which are my additions.] Feel free to copy and paste and put it on your blog. Or, if you are more ambitious than I, make your own list. Highlight what you've done and change the things you've not to a normal font. Hope you enjoy!

Started your own blog (well, obviously.)

Slept under the stars

Played in a band

Visited Hawaii

Watched a meteor shower

Given more than you can afford to charity

Been to Disneyland (I think Disneyworld counts too) (Wasn't all that.)

Climbed a mountain

Held a praying mantis (better than Disney World.)

Sang a solo

Bungee jumped

Visited Paris

Watched a lightning storm at sea

Taught yourself an art from scratch

Adopted a child

Had food poisoning (In St. Louis, after eating fried catfish, on the day I married my first husband.)

Walked to the top of the Statue of Liberty

Grown your own vegetables

Seen the Mona Lisa in France

Slept on an overnight train

Had a pillow fight

Hitch hiked (While visiting Paris. Lots of people do over there, and almost everyone stops for hitchhikers. Are serial killers an American phenomenon?)

Taken a sick day when you’re not ill (Not sure I've ever taken any other kind.)

Built a snow fort

Held a lamb

Gone skinny dipping

Run a Marathon

Ridden in a gondola in Venice

Seen a total eclipse

Watched a sunrise or sunset

Hit a home run

Been on a cruise (Wouldn't if you paid me.)

Seen Niagara Falls in person (Made a special detour coming home from an art fair. It was so late it was early. I climbed over the barrier to put my hand in the water. It was really, really loud. No, not my hand.)

Visited the birthplace of your ancestors (My mother and father are my ancestors, and I have been to both of their towns of origin.)

Seen an Amish community

Taught yourself a new language

Had enough money to be truly satisfied

Seen the Leaning Tower of Pisa in person

Gone rock climbing

Seen Michelangelos David

Sung karaoke (LOVE karaoke. In fact, I'm past due. Let's give 'em something to talk about!)

Seen Old Faithful erupt

Bought a stranger a meal at a restaurant

Visited Africa

Walked on a beach by moonlight

Been transported in an ambulance

Had your portrait painted (Well, drawn. I was an artist's model in college. )

Gone deep sea fishing

Seen the Sistine Chapel in person

Been to the top of the Eiffel Tower in Paris

Gone scuba diving or snorkeling

Kissed in the rain (I had the most awesome first-kiss-of-a-longtime-crush in the rain. Could have come out of a movie. Crap relationship, as it turned out, but man, what a moment.)

Played in the mud (All day long.)

Gone to a drive-in theater

Been in a movie

Visited the Great Wall of China

Started a business

Taken a martial arts class (Briefly, and badly.)

Visited Russia

Served at a soup kitchen

Sold Girl Scout Cookies

Gone whale watching

Got flowers for no reason

Donated blood, platelets or plasma

Gone sky diving

Visited a Nazi Concentration Camp

Bounced a check (It was for 47 cents, and written to my employer. No lie. )

Flown in a helicopter

Saved a favorite childhood toy

Visited the Lincoln Memorial

Eaten Caviar (Not a fan)

Pieced a quilt

Stood in Times Square, on New Year's Eve

Toured the Everglades

Been fired from a job (McDonald's, no less.)

Seen the Changing of the Guards in London

Broken a bone

Been on a speeding motorcycle

Seen the Grand Canyon in person

Published a book

Visited the Vatican

Bought a brand new car

Walked in Jerusalem

Had your picture in the newspaper

Read the entire Bible (Many times, trying to figure it out. No luck, or not much.)

Visited the White House

Killed and prepared an animal for eating (A fish is an animal.)

Had chickenpox

Saved someone’s life

Sat on a jury

Met someone famous (Define 'famous.")

Joined a book club

Lost a loved one (Of course, for the dead are many.)

Had a baby

Seen the Alamo in person

Swam in the Great Salt Lake

Been involved in a law suit

Owned a cell phone (But not no more -- nasty, intrusive, insectile things they are. )

Been stung by a bee

Read a book in one day (Yesterday I did this.)

Power Surge, My Ass

2011-04-14T04:51:00.000-07:00

I have a magnet on my refrigerator, which features a smiling woman, as from a mid-20th century print ad, saying, “Tofu! It looks like wallpaper paste, but tastes much worse!” The magnet overstates my distaste for tofu, but it’s fair to say it isn’t my first choice for lunch. I may have to start making it my choice, however, as my life, it is a-changing.

The phrase “change of life,” meaning menopause, is so old-fashioned that many readers (if there were many readers!) might not get the reference. It feels weird to say I am menopausal since like - oh, I don’t know – everyone, I feel no older than I did in my 20s. The term conjures up unfortunate images with which I would prefer not to identify, but as a matter of absolute fact I am indeed menopausal. My Aunt Flo has been AWOL since january. You can argue about “old,” or “middle-aged,” but not with menopause. Damn it.

Although some women welcome “the change” as an end to the messy inconvenience of what I always liked to call “moon times,” I can’t say I am in that camp, just yet. For one thing I’d rather have periods than hot flashes. Power surges, my ass. I feel enervated by them rather than energized, and they happen to me a lot: twice an hour, or more, and are followed by a chill. Sweater on, sweater off, sweater on, aaaaack, get it off me! – all damn day, all damn night. I haven’t slept more than two unbroken hours in a month. But since I don’t have health insurance, nothing as trivial as discomfort prompts me to visit a doctor.

During my pottery class I had several flashes. A student who is also menopausal noticed, and knowing my health-care situation, suggested I try adding soy products to my diet. Tofu, and soy milk. So I decided I need to learn to prepare it, as my first and so far last attempt was disatrous. Literally inedible slimy lumps. Unlike meat and vegetables, tofu is not intuitive to me. I tried to prepare it like I do everything -- a little this, a little that, cook it 'til it seems done -- but I didn't have any experience to inform my guesses. For example, I needed to get extra-firm, and freeze it , then thaw, then squeeze out the water before cooking. See what I mean? Not intuitive.

So, this time I am using a recipe.

Ginger Garlic Baked Tofu
Marinade Ingredients:
4 cloves garlic, finely chopped
1 TB honey
2 TB soy sauce
1 TB canola oil
1 TB rice vinegar
juice of 1/2 lemon
2 TB ground ginger (1 TB fresh, grated, if you have it)
Whisk the marinade together. Add 1 cup of water and mix well. Pour a little into a Pyrex baking dish. Add the tofu and pour the rest of the marinade on top. Bake, uncovered, and 375 for 45 minutes-one hour. Flip each piece over after 20 minutes or so. It will be done when all of the liquid is absorbed.

I will let you know if it helps.

Yeah, Kinda Knew That...

2011-04-09T02:50:00.000-07:00

The brains of liberals and conservatives are wired differently. When in past I have shaken my head listening to conservatives, thinking, They just don't get it, I may have been more right than I knew. Maybe they don't get it because they really can't get it. A study out of University College London, published in Current Biology, has this:

Liberals have more gray matter in a part of the brain associated with understanding complexity, while the conservative brain is bigger in the section related to processing fear, said the study on Thursday in Current Biology. "We found that greater liberalism was associated with increased gray matter volume in the anterior cingulate cortex, whereas greater conservatism was associated with increased volume of the right amygdala," the study said....People with a large amygdala are "more sensitive to disgust" and tend to "respond to threatening situations with more aggression than do liberals and are more sensitive to threatening facial expressions," the study said.

Liberals are linked to larger anterior cingulate cortexes, a region that "monitor(s) uncertainty and conflicts," it said.

"Thus, it is conceivable that individuals with a larger ACC have a higher capacity to tolerate uncertainty and conflicts, allowing them to accept more liberal views."

It potentially explains why conservatives see threats so readily, a boogieman behind every difference, although the causal order of things is unclear: does a larger amygdala result from, or create, a state of greater fearfulness about the world? Also, what is the difference between having "more gray matter in a part of the brain associated with understanding complexity" and just being smarter? Oh, wait.

Blogging the Dog: VOM

2011-04-02T06:56:00.000-07:00

When we last checked in on our hero, he was on his way to the canine neurologist to have an MRI. Yeah, well. I arrived in the office, and they gave me the paperwork to sign, and the number at the bottom was $3500. That's not a typo. The scan was going to cost thirty-five-hundred dollars. That's just for the scan, that's before we even talk about surgery. I couldn't do it if it were for me, and I'm the one keeping a roof over all these heads.

I'm sorry to say I started crying in the vet's office. I'm not much of a crier, usually, but the stress of this week -- this whole past season -- and the impossibility of that number just got on top of me for a minute. The doctor assured me that we have other treatment options, we can continue with the prednisone, etc., but I can't help feeling like I am letting Queequeg down. She thinks he has a herniated disc in his lower neck, but there is no way to know without doing the scan. The $3500 scan. The surgery itself would be in the neighborhood of $1200 -- possibly doable, although we'd be eating potatoes & eggs for a long time to come -- but without the scan, the doc can't even know where to operate.

So we go back to our primary vet and pass on the news. He suggests VOM treatments. VOM stands for Veterinary Orthopedic Manipulation, and is done with a little device that stimulates the spine, to try to get blood flow the the affected nerves. To be honest I am a little skeptical of all this; it sounds a little woo to me. But I do trust Dr. Slack, who says he has seen it be very effective.

I can just see the Onion Infographic:

Pros of VOM treatment: affordable, painless, noninvasive
Cons: Doesn't do anything.

But it's too early to say that. And it's not as if we are choosing this as an alternative to surgery; the other choice is nothing. Well, he is being treated for Lyme disease, and taking his steroid; VOM is in addition to the medical interventions. It can't do harm, and I am praying it helps.

Urine Luck

2011-03-27T15:43:00.001-07:00

One nice thing about writing a blog with a near-nonexistent readership is that it forestalls the need to apologize; for becoming a one-note flute, for example. Lately my pets are taking up a lot of my time, and occupying a correspondingly large proportion of this blog. I'd like to be more interesting - I want, for instance, to reflect a bit on Geraldine ferraro's passing - and probably will be again, but it's hard with this huge concern looming.

Today was the day of pee, on two fronts. I was awoken this morning by a wetness in my bed; my oldest cat, General Chamberlain had done the honors. By the time it soaked through the covers it was cold; not sure if that made it worse, or better.

Ew, but I know what's up: The General is being intimindated off the litterbox by his much-younger co-cats, and he kows how to make it my problem. He also peed copiously in two places on a guest bed, so the morning was taken up with Borax and white vinegar, trying to save the mattress.

That done, I managed to spin out a few mugs and covered dishes before Queequeg lost his bladder all over the kitchen floor. I don't know if you are familiar with the elimination capacity of labrador retrievers, but let me tell you, it is vast. The poor thing was trying to contain it, and ran a trail all the way to the door. Once outside he peed for a solid minute more.

The vets told us that incontinence might become a part of Queequeg's disability, and that Prednisone would make him drink and urinate more than he already did. (Me: "I'm not sure that's even possible.") Between the two he lost it. I ache with sympathy for him; the look on his face was as mortified as yours would have been in similar circumstances.

I've already gotten the General another litterbox, so he'll have an easy path without having to negatiate a way through the barbarians. He's rumored to be 20 years old, and shouldn't have to put up with that nonsense; not to mention I'd prefer he shake the dew off the lily somewhere other than our bedding. Queequeg has an MRI scheduled for Tuesday, so we can determine just what is creating the spinal compression that is the source of his difficulties, and what to do about it. It's entirely possible tha Predinsone will be a permanent part of his treatment, so we may have to deal with pee puddles for years to come.

You Know You Are Going Through A Rough Spell...

2011-03-25T16:14:00.000-07:00

...when "neurological disorder" is the good news. Context is everything.

When I went to pick up my yellow lab after hi x-rays, I was fully expecting to hear that he had a tumor, either in his spine or his brain, and that my only choice now was to watch him die quickly or slowly. Thankfully, this was not the verdict; the answer is, we still don't know, but it's likely one of these three things:

Cauda Equine Syndrome
Spondylolisthesis, also know as Wobbler's Syndrome
Intervertabral disc disease

Of the three, my bet is on Wobbler's Syndrome. The gait described sounds exactly like what Queequeg is doing, and he doesn't seem to be in any pain, which is described in the other two ailments. Wobbler's syndrome is treatable with steroids and perhaps with surgery; we are seeing the canine neurologist tomorrow to find out first what he's got, and second what to do about it. Until a few hours ago, I had no idea there were such things as canine neurologists. I am dimly interested, when I can see around my enormous relief that my dog will apparently live, that we can treat this for a few hundred, perhaps a couple thousand dollars. I wish human health care were as affordable. It's a right pile of money, sure, and I will have to put it on my already-groaning credit card, but at least it's in the neighborhood of doable. Back surgery on a person would be in the absolutely-not-doable range. It would cost more than my house.

This Could Be the Last Time

2011-03-24T15:21:00.000-07:00

I don't know.

When things change, sometimes they change with terrible speed. Even when they are glacially slow, they may seem as instantaneous as the moment when we finally understand what is happening; the moment we know what we would un-know, if we only could.

More than two years ago, a dog came to live with our family, which had previously consisted of humans, cats, and turtles. It's fair to say I had never particularly wanted a dog, and equally true that I have come to love him fiercely. Who else will come to my side at a mere motion of my eyes? He was not a young dog then, but only seven, and still quite puppyish. The intervening years have been harder on him than on me; that's why we count canine ages in dog-years. Still he's only nine and I did and do hope he will be my dog (well, not just mine; Queequeg is loved across state lines) for years to come yet.

If I haven't said so quite often enough, this winter - this dastardly season overspilling its bounds, for didn't it snow only this morning? - has been very hard on this household. We lost one of our own, a turtle named Big; and if you think one can't love a turtle, you think wrong. All the progress we've made paying down a credit card debt was erased by car troubles and brutal heating oil bills. And then Queequeg started getting lame.

I thougth it was age, and so gave him glucosomine, the same pills I took during for my own joint injury the previous year. We saw improvement, and he resumed scampering up and down stairs in his old way. Then he broke through deep snow on a day when it had thawed and refrozen. He came down hard on an old injury, and we thought he had pulled a muscle. A week later, it was no better, and he cried when he dismounted a chair or even wagged his tail too hard.

This story keeps getting worse. I don't want to tell it, but it's not a book that I can close.

Doug and I brought him to our veteriarian, who discovered that Queequeg has Lyme disease; we later found that he'd had Lyme disease all along, had been diagnosed in puppyhood. It's serious business, of course, but still I was relieved: it's treatable. We began a course of painkillers and antibiotics, and Queequeg began teasing us to play keep-away with a well-chewed bucket reserved for that purpose.

Sadly, this only lasted a few days before we noticed his back legs aren't working right. He couldn't seem to co-ordinate them, and one or the other often skidded out from under him. it was as though he were always walking on s slippery surface. He would no longer brave the stairs.

At his follow-up visit, I pointed out his difficulty, and we scheduled x-rays. Whatever it is, appears to be a spinal involvement. It could be a complication of Lyme disease -- please God, it's only that -- but I can tell the doctor doesn't think so. Tomorrow morning we will know.

And tonight is an ordinary night in our home. I fed all the pets; my husband is reading, in another room; I am working at the computer, and will soon open the red envelope to see what Netflix has delivered. And this could be the last time we do any of these things without a piece of horrible knowledge that these x-rays may reveal.

Speaking of Spring...

2011-03-19T06:41:00.001-07:00

Oh, weren't we? It's snowing today, naturally, but nothing's gonna stop this vernal train now. These shoots were up a week ago; we've got blooms by now. Every year the crocuses come up between March 9 & 16, which is a great comfort to me in deep winter, to be able to count the weeks until I see them.

Everybody Stopped Blogging at the Same Time

2011-03-19T04:39:00.000-07:00

My sister. Kate Harding. Kate, again. A half a dozen others I used to read regularly. There are even rumors Duncan Black is ready to throw in the towel. Turns out it's not just my perception, or a jinx I carried to the blogs I read: blogging is indeed on the decline.

I was dismayed to hear this, but could relate to the reasons. Before there was blogging, there was no such thing as hobby writing. I mean, you could write in a notebook or save a Word document on your hard drive, but an essential part of the process was missing: the reader. I've always liked to write, and breezed through composition classes at university; I even wrote a few short articles for a niche publication in my profession. My calling, however, is to other things, and I don't feel a drive to take writing seriously. So I wrote rarely.

Then came blogging. While there's no guarantee anyone will read what I write, there is a reasonable possibility; and that hypothetically-possible readership filled the role satisfactorily for quite some time. I did and do use Twitter, sporadically, but it doesn't do much for me. Facebook, however is a different story: suddenly I could write things and post photos and know that people would see them, people who actually knew me. I admit it has eroded my motivation to blog (in this personal venue, at least: my professional blog keeps steaming right along.)

Still, the decline of blogging saddens me. I miss Shapely Prose and the others. Twitter is great for cleverness and pithy blurbs, but it is the electronic equivalent of bumper sticker philosophy. Facebook by its nature reaches only people whom one already knows. And sometimes I have things to say that exceed the character limit, and things that I want to say to the wider world. So I keep typing away.

In some cases, the end of a blog, even a good one, is a fine thing. I can think of three without even trying which ended because their authors were spending too much time at the computer. Pursuing activites has replaced blogging for those folks, and godspeed to them.

Aaaaaaaannnd, now I've written a blog post about blogging. Me, who is forever telling people that if your Facebook update is about Facebook, maybe you need to get off Facebook for a while. Do something worth posting about. Maybe I need to think less about blogging, and do something worth blogging about. It's coming on spring (current conditions be damned) and soon the faint voice of the garden will be a commanding shout that I can't ignore.

And then I'll blog about that.

Kick the Bucket

2011-03-14T03:19:00.000-07:00

I'm not a big fan of Bucket Lists. I mean, I don't care if you make one -- I'm not gonna try to dissuade you -- but can't see the point, myself. The phrase itself annoys me: Things To Do Before You Die. When else? You aren't gonna do them after you die. And if you are making a list of things to do while you die, you might have taken the over-achiever thing too far.

Because my parents bought into a related meme, that every childhood should contain a trip to Disney World, I've seen said World, twice. (The reasoning for the second being that my brother was too young to remember the first time.) Even at 12 I thought it wasn't all that. Most of it was stores - I'd have been annoyed if I'd been the one paying all that money for a chance to shop. My sister and I went on some of the rides more than once, because there just wasn't three days worth of stuff to do there.

I've been to Paris, another common bucketlist item. The new beaujolais was nice. Thee were a shitload of pastry shops. My point is only that none of the Destinations-with-a-capital-D were any better the fun I've had canoeing right here in Augusta, Maine; or firing a friend's wood kiln in Knapp, Wisconsin; or getting silly drunk in Ames, IA, and laughing until the beer came out our noses, and then laughing at that. Or just sitting on the deck with an iced coffee, watching the garden grow.

Sure, it's nice to have a Big Experience every once in a while, but putting it on a list doesn't make it happen. Is someone going to grade you, at your funeral? If a thing is really important, make a plan and do it. But in my experience it doesn't matter where you, but who you are with, and the joy you bring to whatever you are doing.

There's only one thing I want to be certain that I do before I die, and that's live.

August, 1984

2011-03-06T02:58:00.000-08:00

Sometimes an incident will stay with you.

On and off I have had occasion to think about women, men, and public spaces; and what is acceptable conduct toward strangers. More particularly, men approaching women. There was an excellent much-commented post at the now-retired blog Shapely Prose a couple of years ago, and I won't try to improve on that, but the subject keeps coming up for me.

Just after the Shapely Prose essay published my husband and I had a conversation regarding the topic, during which he took the oft-heard male position that it is unfair to respond to men in public spaces as though they are potential rapists. He resented it, and he's right, it's not fair to the good guys. (He did not ask, as other men have, "So how should men approach women they'd like to meet?" My answer: they shouldn't. You are not entitled to talk to someone, just because you want to.) His opinion changed after reading a comment thread on a blog he frequents in which all the many female commenters said the same thing: If we assume a guy on a train is a nice, harmless fellow, the price is too high if we are wrong. All this brings to mind something that occurred many years ago, that sticks in my mind not because it was the first or the worst, although it was the first worst, if that makes any sense.

Late August, 1984. It was the first week of classes of my first semester at Iowa State. It's fair to say I was a sheltered kid; sheltered enough that Ames, Iowa seemed like the wide world to me. I had spent the previous year tending bar in a pub - legal at nineteen, then - to pay for my tuition. It wasn't a dive, not really; it was almost more of a pizza shop, well lit enough to read in, and that's what I was doing. I had been falling asleep at the university library, so I decided I needed some air and a livelier atmosphere, so I packed up my books into my brave pink backsack, and walked the 3 miles or so to my former place of employment on the townie side of town (as opposed to the ISU side. I ordered a beer, pulled out the books and highlighters and commenced a-studying. All went well for maybe an hour. Then a pair of men sat down at the table beside my booth, and after ordering, started talking to me.

I still find myself wanting to type, "My mistake was...." But the truth is I didn't do anything wrong. I was raised to be polite, to be friendly, and I didn't want to hurt anyone's feelings. And heaven forfend a girl should appear "stuck up," the worst offense there was, socially. (Except perhaps appearing 'slutty." Such a narrow walkway, between stuck-up, and slutty, and yet we were expected to traverse it flawlessly, or else.) Anyway, I talked back. Not alot -- I was in hopes that they would get the message that I was trying to study, although if my outspread books didn't communicate that, surely my brief answers wouldn't either. They didn't care that I was trying to study. They wanted to talk to me and felt therefore that they has a right to do so.

When it came clear that they were not going to give up, I decided to pack it in, as I wasn't going to get anything done with these galoots pecking at me. It was late-ish by then, anyway; past 10, and I had the long walk home. So I paid up and took off.

There is a long, empty stretch of Lincoln Way that runs between the east side of Ames - the town side -- and Iowa State. At least there was in 1984. About a mile from my starting point, a car came up behind me. Guess who? The men from the pub, now pissed off that I had ditched them, when they had had other hopes. They drove slowly behind me, making remarks about my body, shouting what they would like to do to me. They drove off but looped back around to continue the harrassment. Thereis a long stretch with no side streets, but I wouldn't have dared walk down one, anyway: at least on Lincoln Way, the main drag, there was the possibility of a police car coming by. I just walked on, terrified.

At last I got to the student side of town. I saw another human, a man, unlocking the door to his off-campus apartment.There was an walled entryway; it would be difficult to see in from a car. I shouted to him, walked over and asked if he would stand with me in the entryway for a few minutes, until my harrassers gave up. I didn't think they would find me, but I wanted him there so he could go in and call the police if they did. He was not at all pleased to do this, but he stayed, quite peevishly; I think of him as The Bad Samaritan. He wanted me to come inside to wait, but given what just happened, I was not feeling particularly safe in the company of a strange man.

While we waited, as they cruised by again, again, he asked me:"What did you do to them? What did you do, to make them bother you?"

I couldn't risk pissing him off, as I was still terrified, and the goons were still cruising. I couldn't shout then, but I can. now: I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING, YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE!!! I DIDN'T HAVE TO!! I HAD THE NERVE TO BE ALONE, AND FEMALE, IN A PUBLIC PLACE!

I got home okay, eventually. I didn't call the police because I didn't think a crime had been committed -- I'm still not sure there was a crime. More than that, at the time I felt not unlike my reluctant protector: that I must have done something to provoke this. That I deserved it.

I know better now, but it's far from the last time a man or men became unpleasant after I disappointed their amorous expectations. As a result, I cut conversations very short indeed with men in public places. I am not saying, I had this experience and it traumatized me, so excuse my behavior. I am saying we - women - nearly all have had this experience. Maybe less dramatic, or maybe more -- I was not physically attacked. We are reacting in the only rational way to a proven threat. If a nice guy feels angry at being regarded as a threat, be angry not at the women who do so, but at the men who make it necessary.

Things that Made Me Laugh This Week

2011-02-27T02:31:00.000-08:00

In the making-money department, this last has been a stellar week for me. Other than that though it's been a little rough. At this count I haven't had a day off in well over a week; nor will I be getting one any time soon. A co-worker was out, so I spent 40 hours at the office gig, which always makes me a)cranky and b)achy and logy from sitting on my ass for far longer than human bodies were ever intended to do. Add in teaching my classes, gallery sitting, delivering pottery, and fulfilling a commitment to a charity to make bowls for their fundraiser - not to mention another big snowstorm and all the attendant chores- and basically I had no time to play, clean house, work out, or anything besides work. A lot of ugly shit going on in the world as well - a bill in Georgia that would require miscarriages to be investigated to make sure they aren't abortions, and also impose the death penalty for women who do abort, just for starters.

Thankfully I did enjoy a few much-needed belly laughs, or I would have snatched myself bald-headed, the way a stressed cat will groom all the hair off her legs. Here are a few of the sites I have to thank for the hair on my head:

Damn you, auto correct! Every time I read it, I end up laughing so hard my tummy hurts. I'm a language geek: I like funny typos and speak-os and hear-os, but auto-correct takes it to another level.
The Onion - I've been a loyal reader for years, but after the thousandth absurd headline, it can wear a little thin. Sometimes they strike it perfectly, though, as with this one: Marauding Gay Hordes Drag Thousands Of Helpless Citizens From Marriages After Obama Drops Defense Of Marriage Act
RandomCreepyGuy.com - first, just the idea that someone took the trouble to make a wesite called Random Creepy Guy tickles me. Many of these are just mildly amusing, but the ones where the guy truly is random -- just someone caught in the background of a snapshot with a bizarre expression on his face -- can make me shout with laughter. Check out this one: What is with that guy?

Anyway. The best medicine and all that. It's 6 am and I've got to walk the dog, as I likely won't get another chance today. Ciao, lovelies. Have a good laugh on me.

Wisconsin Nice

2011-02-24T11:51:00.000-08:00

Watching the protests in Wisconsin this week has been a bit of a surreal experience for me. I spent a lot of time in Wisconsin, a few years back; mostly in Knapp, where I carried out a fondly remembered romance (well, maybe “fling” is a better word) during one otherwise horrid summer. But every year for nearly a decade I went to Madison for Art Fair on the Square, an enormous festival attended by tens, if not hundreds, of thousands of people. We used to stay in dorms at the UW-Madison, for short money; the event was always well attended; and Madison has more than its fair share of pubs, at which we spent the evenings after sweaty July days selling pottery or jewelry. There are tens of thousands of people assembled in Madison today, but they aren’t there to shop.

60,000 people are in Madison, protesting the efforts of the newly elected Republican legislature to strip public employees of their rights to bargain collectively. A touchy subject, and a heated debate; but not one single arrest. Not one single incident of violence. No images on my TV of protesters carrying firearms ‘because they can;” no talk of “second amendment remedies.” This is a truly peaceful protest; one in which the protesters eschew not just acts of violence but threats, overt as well as implied.

Watching from afar, I feel a swell of pride to be a liberal: a thinking person, not a swaggering bully forcing their ideas at gunpoint. If you know you are on the side of the angels, who needs bullets? Those are metaphorical angels, by the way. I doubt the heavenly host concern themselves with labor disputes.

But I also feel a kind of fond recognition. I was an Upper Midwesterner, once, if only temporarily; if it was a longer temporary than I intended, that might be because I felt an affinity for the low-key and civil manner in which the breed comports themselves. It’s not that no one in Minnesota or Wisconsin is an asshole; but they are polite assholes. One doesn’t shout, publicly; one doesn’t smash things without a doggone good reason, because, darn it, somebody’s gonna have to pick that up.

Yes, I know this is over-simplified, and maybe even romanticized, a la Garrison Keillor. But I’m not imagining this number: zero arrests. Zero, as in none at all. The smallest possible number, since you can’t have a negative total number of arrests. Whether due to canny organizers, peaceful lefty participants, or the eastern edge of Minnesota Nice, I can think of some movements that could learn from what’s happening in my old haunt. Yeah, I’m lookin at you, tea partiers.

Cold Caturday

2011-02-12T08:35:00.001-08:00

Oh, please. It's not that cold in here! Yeah, okay, I turned the thermostat down. The oil bills are killing me. If you're cold, put on a fur coat.

Oh.

The Count in My Coffee

2011-02-11T10:27:00.001-08:00

I see it. Do you?

Kale Soup

2011-02-02T09:01:00.001-08:00

What is it about snow storms that makes me so hungry? Some instinctive feeding impulse leftover from an ancestral hibernator? Eat, sleep, shovel, eat, sleep, shovel: that's been my entire day. I am not inclined to go to the grocery store, so my nonstop forage is limited by availabliity, but here's what I wish I were making. Doesn't it sound warming?

Don't be put off by the main ingredient. When I first heard of this, I thought "Kale soup? Kale? I thought kale was just decorative, like radishes!" How wrong I was, about both. Kale tastes like swiss chard, or maybe more like mustard greens -- has a bit of a bite to it. Enjoy!

PORTUGUESE KALE SOUP

1 tbsp. olive oil
1/2 lb. Linguiça , in 1/4" slices cut in half
1 qt. chicken broth
1 med. onion, diced
3 med. potatoes, unpeeled and sliced
1/2 lb. chopped kale
3 clovees garlic, crushed
1/2 teaspoon red pepper flakes
Salt, pepper to taste

Saute the sausage in olive oil briefly (3 to 5 minutes). Set aside on paper towels to absorb some of the fat.

Boil broth with onions and potatoes. Simmer 10 to 15 minutes until potatoes are thoroughly tender. Slightly crush up the onions and potatoes with a potato masher. Add drained sausage, garlic, red pepper, and kale. Bring to a boil and simmer until kale tender. Taste for seasoning. Good with crusty bread & very cold beer.

No Martha For Me, Thanks

2011-01-29T08:24:00.000-08:00

Home Depot is adding a touch of Martha Stewart in an effort to lure women to their big-box stores. I was pretty surprised to read that headline, as I find Home Depot all-but-irresistable as it is. I have a weakness for power tools to rival my weakness for kitchen appliances; except it's hard to find tools at the Salvation Army. (I have bought a couple at my local pawnshop, including a really spectacular Craftsman drill, the best drill I've ever owned; my cordless Makita has been demoted to power screwdriver.) I could also easily spend entire days mooning over ceramic floor tiles, pond liners, and clever devices for applying paint to walls. And the paint itself! One is reminded of the Vulcan creed: Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations. What I couldn't do with a little money and a little time, and a visit to Home Depot!

Still, Martha? Really? I find myself more annoyed than enchanted by colors named things like "Wilderstein Brook Trout." As if you would look at a paint chip and say, "That reminds me of a brook trout! Not just any brook trout, either: that is exactly the hue of a Wilderstein brook trout." Also, I don't need help "coordinating" things: why let somebody else do the fun part? Then all that's left is the paying (not much fun) and the installing (even less.)

You know what I miss? Builder's Square. I switched to Home Depot after Builder's Square went belly-up, but it has taken me years to reach the same level of comfort. BS (unfortunate acronym) was more friendly to people without a lot of technical know-how. You could come in, tell a staff person what you wanted to do, and they'd tell you what tools and supplies you'd need, and sometimes offer a book or some tips as well. Home Depot seemed intimidating by comparison. The stores are enormous and confusing, and seem aimed at professional builders and other contractors, people who already know what they are doing. I've learned to navigate the stores a little better, but I still have the feeling that I am bothering the salespeople who could be helping a real customer, one who might be buying thousands of dollars worth of pipe or whatever. I still feeel like my visits take longer than they should, too, even when I know exactly what I want, because it's tough to find anything, and tougher still to locate a clerk.

So here's my small suggestion to Home Depot (and Lowe's, too, for good measure): instead of putting cutesy names on paint chips, or telling me which curtain rods match which vanity, how 'bout just putting a directory at the front entrance. Make it a computer screen, like at the library, so you can update it regularly as items change. As much as I enjoy wandering around your store, I don't want to do so involuntarily. I can't speak for all women, only me, but I don't need you to tell me what I like, but I do need some help with how to find it.

Photo of the Day -- Braving the Storm

2011-01-22T08:59:00.001-08:00

The NEW New Zodiac

2011-01-14T06:19:00.000-08:00

Are you still a Virgin, Or have you been converted to a Lion? Now, don't panic: if you've always thought yourself a perfect Virgo -- modest, disciplined, analytical -- you won't suddenly become bold and dramatic. This is largely because astrology is bullshit, as The Bad Astronomer so aptly clarifies. But if Phil doesn't convince you, take heart that the Zodiac that you are probably familiar with -- the one that the newspaper columns about how your day is going to be reference -- is not changing anyway. The Tropical Zodiac, by which Sun Signs are assigned, isn't actually based on the positions of the planets. Sooo, if it's not planetary influences, the different qualities of signs are based on, well, nothing. I guess. As for the Sidereal Zodiac -- the one which references the positions of the constellations: nothing has changed there either. It amuses me to read of the "discovery" of a "new" constellation, Ophiuchus, the Serpent-bearer. Ophiuchus was first observed by the second century astronomer Ptolemy. It's a safe bet that anything visible to the naked eye in the night sky has long since been noted; there will be no new constellations discovered. (Nebulae, now, that's a different story. A new one was observed in the sky just a few centuries ago when the light from a supernova reached Earth.

Oh, I know. I am a poop, not to mention a crusty curmudgeon. (Just please not a crusty poop.) To make up for it, let's have some fun: we should make up our own Zodiac. Maybe one based on, I don't know, hardy perennials, or letters of the alphabet. Those clumps of stars could be anything.

I'll start: I declare myself and all people whose date of birth lands between August -- no wait, we're not limited to the old form. Okay, myself and all people whose moment of birth was between 6 & 7 am, local time, to be...Liatris, the Blazing Star. We are resourceful and level-headed, skeptical and kind, given to intellectual snobbery, with a side of sarcasm. Liatrans make good romantic partnerships with Creeping Phlox (those born between 2 & 3 in the afternoon), soft-spoken Astilbes, or charismatic Rudbeckia. Steer clear of moody Salvians.

And so on.

This is the Part...

2011-01-09T04:45:00.000-08:00

..when we are all supposed to pretend that no one could have predicted this; that it's the isolated act of a sick mind; that the attack on Representative Gifford was unrelated to the violent rhetoric directed at Democratic politicans generally and at Gifford specifically.

Yeah, well, bullshit. Yes, Loughlin is a nutjob. I don't think anyone disputes that. But he isn't a deaf, blind nutjob on a desert island. He had input from the surrounding culture, and it gave his sick mind something to focus on: he became a Constitutionalist, a gold standard fanatic, a government conspiraty theorist, and the legal owner owner of a 9mm Glock.

Rep. Gabrielle Giffords' 2010 Congressional opponent held an event last June encouraging people to "Get On Target For Victory In November. Help Remove Gabrielle For Office. Shoot a fully automatic M16 with Jesse Kelly." Kelly claims he stills sees nothing wrong with that.

Rep. Gifford said it herself, regarding the crosshairs placed on her on a map describing Democrats who were targeted for defeat in 2010.

"We're on Sarah Palin's targeted list. But the thing is the way that she has it depicted has the crosshairs of a gun site over our district. People do that, they've got to realize there's consequences to that action."

Consequences, indeed.

No, Jesse Kelly didn't pull the trigger; nor did Sarah Palin; not on the gun that Loughlin held. But did they pull some of the complex triggers in his mind? I think they did, and that's the point. Yes, Loughlin is crazy. But there will always be crazy people out there, and f you wind them up and point them at people, don't act surprised -- or innocent -- when people get killed.

Clean Sweep

2011-01-01T13:49:00.000-08:00

I spent New Year's Day as I often do, with a broom in my hands. And a sponge, a vacuum nozzle, and a mop handle; although not concurrently. I am not a neat freak (witness: I spent most of the day cleaning, and yet my house is not what most people would call really clean) but it does seems to help my thought process, to remove the pounds of pet hair, cobwebs, clay dust, sticky brown stuff, and wadded-up scraps of paper that strive to take up residence in every corner.

That I do it New Year's Day is not simply the happenstance of having the day off from the office gig; I like the symbolism of ridding my home of detritus while assessing the previous year and, hopefully, ridding my mind of same. There is, blessedly, less drama in my life than once there was, so less forgiving to do, of myself or others, less releasing of useless emotion. The diminishment of drama may, however, be a direct result of my annual assessment, so I am reluctant to abandon the ritual. Of course, the mere passive act of aging may account for some of the improvement as well, but then we all know people who get older without getting better. Or smarter, or more mature (or, as they may see it, duller.) So every year I sweep, and I think.

This year I forgive myself for needing the office job. Yes, I was a full-time potter once. Yes, it is my goal to be so again. But that time hasn't come and may never come. I think it will - I made a great leap in 2010 that I expect to build upon - but it may not. Is that so awful? This year I will no longer secretly sneer at myself in my panyhose and low heels, my bright brave blazer.

Despite my best Google-fu, I am unable to find the quote of the Zen teaching that the way to achieve a thing is to give up the wanting of it. Many times I have experienced my calling as a burden, as in, "If only I didn't want this thing, not having it would be no big deal." I don't know how to give up wanting but I do know how to embrace not-having. During my three days on the job, I can throw myself into it, learning more, seeking more responsibility, availing myself of opportunites. This may have the effect of making it more rewarding; or at least less tedious. I am not betraying my artist-self by embracing my office-self. She is me, too, and no shame.

When I Was In the Snowbank

2010-12-29T01:46:00.000-08:00

...Everything looked different. I may have mentioned I am having a crap December, my least favorite month to begin with. So much minor misfortune, mostly of the automotive variety (and correspondingly, the financial), has rained down on my household in the last four weeks that it is almost comical.

Yesterday's mishap was more terrifying than the rest: I lost control of my car on a patch of black ice on Interstate 295. It is amazing how fast the mind can work when necessary! I had time to correct once, twice, and then quickly think through the options and likely outcomes. If I were alone on the road I would have continued to try to recover from the skid, but there was a lot of traffic. Just an observation: it amazes me that people will continue to pass a car that is fishtailng out of control. Because I was still on the ice, I feared an over-correction would cause me to spin into the other lane, and nothing good could come of that, so I just allowed the car to go into the plowbank, figuring it for the least bad outcome. I could tell by my trajectory that I would be leading with my passenger side, and the snow was still soft and fresh, so...into the bank I went.

I ended up off the roadway (barely) and facing in the wrong direction, but despite the expense and inconvenience and general unpleasantness of the situation, I was elated. I'm alive! Uninjured! No other vehicles involved! and, not only that -- too much to hope for, really -- but my car seemed to be undamaged.

Not that there are no after effects: on the way home yesterday I couldn't bring myself to drive faster than 55, no doubt a serious annoyance to other commuters. I kept looking at them thinking, "We're all alive! Let's keep it that way. There's no place we have to go worth risking it."

Holiday Peppermint Mousse

2010-12-24T02:50:00.000-08:00

A low-fat recipe for a festive treat.

2 cups of Dannon nonfat vanilla yogurt
½ teaspoon peppermint extract
3-4 drops red food coloring (optional)
2 cups nonfat whipped topping
5 crushed peppermint candies (optional)

In a medium bowl, mix yogurt, peppermint extract and food coloring. Add whipped topping and mix well. Spoon into 5 parfait glasses and serve as is, or topped with crushed peppermint candies.

Makes 4 cups (5 servings)

I have to 'fess up to swiping this recipe from the Hannaford Facebook page. (Hannaford & I had a little tiff about the leaf blower, but we are over it now. At least I hope we are.) I have no occasion for which to make this treat this Christmas, but maybe I will find a reason for New Year's.

Risk Factor Zero

2010-12-23T03:47:00.000-08:00

"ThudGuard: Learning to Walk in a World of Hard Surfaces."
Yes, this is exactly what it looks like: a helmet for a child to wear, in his or her own home.

I knew it, I knew it! No degree of risk is tolerable. I've been saying it since biking helmets all of a sudden became de rigueur, about 15 years ago. My point then, at serious risk of sounding like a cantankerous old fart, was that when I was a kid, everybody I knew had a bike and rode it often, and though there were tumbles -- I took a memorable one holding a bottle of Coke -- I don't remember anybody ever getting a head injury, or any serious injury of any kind.

Yeah, I know: my limited personal experience really doesn't count as evidence. But be honest: doesn't it run contrary to your intuitive feeling about biking, as well? My sense, when cycling, is that I am in no more danger than when walking by the road, and less than when driving a car. (Wikipedia agrees with me on this point.)

But wait! Looky here: a helmet made for motorists! Surely that would save lives!

If, when reading the above paragraph about bike helmets, you were silently sputtering, "But, but, safety! Head injuries!" you are no probably now back-pedaling (haha, get it?) "But, but, reasonable risk!" Yeah. My point. The exact same arguments can be made for motorist helmets as for cyclists. Why aren't we seeing a cultural pressure to Be Responsible and wear a helmet while driving? Because you don't want to wear one, and neither do I. And not wishing to wear a helmet, while being made to feel that it is irresponsible not to do so, creates a disincentive to bike. Biking, the most efficient means of transport ever invented, is pleasant, healthy, and, in bike-friendly cities, convenient. Biking poses a serious threat to car culture. I'm not arguing for or against bike helmets, although I rarely wear mine; I am arguing for rational expectations for safety. Nothing is risk-free, and the risks of anything must be weighed against the risks of not doing that thing. I am thinking here of health problems associated with a sedentary lifestyle.

Okay, strange timing -- the middle of a snowstorm -- to be having thoughts about biking...or maybe that's why I am having thoughts about biking. No, actually I was reading an article on Slog, The Stranger's arts & culture blog, where Paul Constant has posted a video of Mikael Colville-Andersen, a Danish urban mobility expert.

The video is long, but worth it. Full of interesting ideas.

Photo of the Day - 2 Icicles

2010-12-12T07:51:00.000-08:00

Leech King and Handfish

2010-12-12T03:27:00.000-08:00

Sounds like the name of a crime drama set in LA, sort of Tango and Cash meets Ghost Dog; but in fact those are the names of two species among those selected by National Geographic as the 10 weirdest in 2010. Others so chosen were the Cupid Slug, which literally shoots darts at the object of its affections; The Yoda Bat, resembling its namesake; and the beautiful Purple Octopus pictured above.

The two in the title stood out for me, though. The Leech King (Tyrannobdella rex) because, ew. As if leeches weren't horrifying enough - I was traunatized for life by a girlhood incident involving a leech -- this critter chews into mucus membranes, including eyes, urethras, rectums, and vaginas to do its bloodsucking. Found only in Peru, thank God, where I will never ever have any reason to go. The Southern Hemisphere may have all the good constellations, but they also have some realy icky animals. Like that fish that swims up its victim's penis! Okay, it only did that once, but how often does it need to happen? Once is more than plenty. Yes, yes, I absolutely and wholeheartedly agrees that yukky creatures are as valuable in the grand scheme as the cute ones, but still, ew.

And the Pink Handfish? It is actually a pretty fascinating creature, that apparently uses its fins to crawl rather than swim. Score one for Darwin. But really, Pink Handfish? Am I the only one who immediately thought, Trouser Trout?

Mickey Has Two Daddies

2010-12-10T00:55:00.000-08:00

Two bio-dads, to be exact, and no bio-mom. A surrogate mother, yes, and a grandma who is crucial to the process; but mice have been born now who have genetic material from two male mice only.

Why anyone wanted to do this is a question I can't answer, unless it was pure scientific curiousity. But I admit that is my reaction to all fertility-related research; I don't get why the replication of one's DNA is so important. I seem to be in the very small minority, however, so childless-by-choice me will just shut up on that point now.

I'd hate to think of the custody mess that would result if such a deal, among humans, went sour.

All I Want for Christmas...

2010-12-09T13:57:00.000-08:00

is for December to quit kicking my ass.

It's not any one spot of trouble, but more like a perfect storm of financial events putting the squeeze on, just in time for the holidays. Ho ho ho, Merry Insufficient Funds! My husband, self-employed, has hit a dry spell; the alternator in my so-called "car" failed; and some shit happened to my furnace, necessitating a long service visit yesterday. None of these are entirely unexpected: if you have a furnace, it's gonna need work sooner or later. It is in the nature of self-employment that some months will be better than others. And alternators have to go sometime. But it's all happening while I am in the midst of building my new kiln, an expensive investment on which I shall see no return until it is well and truly done. Events have conspired to maximize their effects through concurrant timing. The Universe is having a laugh on me. Like this guy.

I consulted noted misfortune expert Dr. B.L. Schleprock, who had this to say om the matter: "Wowsie wowsie woo woo."

Feeling this was a bit insufficient, I brought my query to Eeyore, he of the 100-Acre Woods. "That Accounts for a Good Deal," said Eeyore gloomily. "It Explains Everything. No Wonder."

Oh, I know I know I know. I am probaly one of the ten luckiest people alive: crazy-rich (like all Americans) by world standards, healthy, joyfully married...I really can't complain.

But sometimes I still do. I wish December had a fast-forward button.

Dear Hannaford,

2010-12-03T01:23:00.001-08:00

At 3 o'clock this morning, I was awakened by a man using a leaf-blower in the parking lot of the Hannaford store across the street from my house. It is now about quarter past foru, and the machine drones on and on. This is not the first time this has happened, or the second, or the fifth. I have spoken with two managers at this location, and my husband has contacted the company which employs the leafblowers. Still the disturbance continues.
Hannaford made a great show of promises to be a good neighbor when this store opened in July of 2009, but this lack of consideration has given the lie to those promises. Since contacts at the local level have not resolved the issue, I am hoping that the Hannaford corporation will step in and help.
BTW, as I am sure you know, this location is LEEDS cerified. Why is a gasoline powered machine being used to do what a push broom could do with equal effectiveness? If a man were cleaning the parking lot at three AM with a push broom, I wouldn't be complaining, because I'd be asleep.
I hope you can help me solve this issue.

But I won't hold my breath.

For My Most Plentiful Leftover

2010-11-26T09:49:00.000-08:00

I don't know about you, but I don't really need all those what-to-do-with-leftover-turkey recipes that are appearing right about now. I bag it up and freeze it; problem solved. What I could use are ideas for are leftover mashed potatoes. They don't freeze well and won't keep long, and this frugalista can't bear to throw them away. So I went in search and found:

MASHED POTATO PANCAKES

2 c. cold mashed potatoes
1 egg, slightly beaten
1/4 c. butter
1/2 c. flour for dredging
Salt & pepper to taste
1 sm. onion, diced (optional)

Mix the potatoes, onion and egg together and form into 4 fat patties or 6 lean patties. Heat the butter in a skillet, dredge the patties in flour and saute until golden on one side. Flip and cook until the other side is golden brown, making sure the pancakes are heated thoroughly and the onion is soft.

This is great for breakfast the day after the big feast, especially if you have leftover guests, too.

Home Alone

2010-11-26T05:05:00.000-08:00

It's the Friday after Thanksgiving -- Black Friday on some people's calendars, but that aspect is irrelevant to me, as I wouldn't be caught dead shopping -- deliberately, knowingly shopping -- on the busiest day of the year. Like evey day, my first duties of the morning are pet care. Today that's a bit more involved, as we have a sick turtle who needs to be hand-fed. My husband is much better at this, but he is not here. But for my four-legged friends, I am alone.

Alone, alone! This never happens to me. This year we spent Thanksgiving with our respective families (his, two states away) so I have the house to myself. Because my husband works at home, he is always here when I am here. Alone is a rare treat.

I remember the first house I owned, in St. Paul, the first night I was there alone. It might have been the first time in my life I was the sole occupant of any building overnight, as I had always lived in apartments in my adult life, prior to that. I was sort of scared, in a way: what if someone broke in? I'd be so vulnerable, asleep. I got over that feeling, thankfully, but it wouldn't apply now in any case, because my aloneness includes a big dog who loudly announces newcomers; there's no chance anyone could sneak up on me. He's not an attack dog, but he does exhibit a Labrador's famous loyalty, so I feel pretty safe.

So, what to do with myself? Funnily enough, I will do nothing different than I would do, were Doug here: I have glazing to do and a kiln to load, and whatever bit of the day is left will be devoted to house cleaning, walking the aforementioned Labrador, and reading a book while watching the snow fall.

Like pumpkin pie, solitude would not be such a treat if I had it all the time. Already there are things I want to say to my husband that don't merit a phone call (things like, why are there two fire trucks from different municipalities parked in front of our house?) but are part of the running commentary we keep when we are here together. It's fun to compile tidbits to tell him upon his return, and reminds me a bit of our first year of dating, which was long distance.

It's a little funny that one of the things I love best about Doug being away is that it gives me a chance to miss him.

Atkins Board Chatter

2010-11-19T08:46:00.000-08:00

Seriously, WTF?

2010-10-24T05:41:00.000-07:00

When did it become okay to advocate the violent overthrow of the government? What the hell is the matter with these people?? First Sharon Angle, now this crackpot. They're just happy-assholing around, talking about overthrowing the government if the election doesn't go their way, right in front of God and everybody like there's not a thing in the world wrong with that. The last I knew, sedition was still a crime.

Rolls of Love?

2010-10-23T12:33:00.000-07:00

According to Wired, you will soon be able to upcycle your liposuctioned fat into breast tissue! Who needs silicone?
Breasts were the headliners, of course, but it turns out that other organs, including compromised hearts, kidneys, and prostates could be aided by fat-cell therapy. And did I mention boobies?

I personally am not interested in augmentation -- I like mine just fine the way they are. But I would like to be the first to donate my excess adipose tissue, kind of on a Locks of Love model. I've never been able to donate my hair -- it's brittle, and breaks before it can get long enough to be useful. But fat? now that I can do.

Address From the President to Gay and Lesbian Teens

2010-10-22T12:52:00.000-07:00

This president's contribution to the It Gets Better Project, while quite moving, leaves me of two minds. [Transcript here.] On the one hand, this is the largest step a sitting president has ever taken in support of the GLBT community. And yet, from this president, it's not enough.

I won't say it rings hollow, because it seems quite sincere; I think we still have to say that Obama is the most pro-gay president we've ever had. But that may be only because the times allow him to be; and in fact he is not as progressive on this issue as the times would allow him to be. 60% of Americans favor the repeal of DADT, and the president has said he wants to repeal it. Yet when a federal judge handed the administration an easy way to lose the law, they instead decided to appeal. Only the most anaemic of efforts to repeal the odious Defense of Marriage Act have been made at all. Yes, Mr. President, it gets better. And you have the power to make it get better.

It may simply be my sunny nature, but I am choosing to focus on the positive. This is the first time in history that a president has spoken speifically to gay and lesbian Americans from the White House. Having the President of the United States address you directly; tell you, gay or lesbian teen, that you are valued by your country: well, it's no small thing.

Also, he's wearing a purple tie. Yes, I'd like to see more. (Action, not purple ties. Not that there is anything wrong with purple ties.) But I am feeling the hope.

"Listen to Your Body!"

2010-10-17T07:51:00.000-07:00

Yeah, right. I hate that meme, often offered as weight-loss advice. Let me tell you: right now, my body is saying, "Go to Hannaford and purchase a box of brownie mix: the good stuff, Duncan Hines, not that store brand crap. Mix it up, with walnuts, and then eat it right out of the bowl."

My body says shit like that all the time, and why shouldn't it? In the circumstances under which my appetite evolved, a primate would be a fool to choose the asparagus tips over a high-fat and calorie-dense treat like brownie batter. Calories were hard to come by then, and there's just no use explaining to my body that those days are gone. It's gonna choose the peanut butter whoopie pie every time, because it has evolved to survive in conditions that no longer exist. In our current environment of nearly endless food choices and availability, listening to my body is the worst possible suggestion for arriving at a healthy diet. I enjoy salads, steamed vegetables, fish, and so on, very much when I impose my intellect over my appetite; but if I didn't, I'd rarely have the chance to enjoy them.

So you listen to your body, if that's what suits you. Me, I make choices with my mind. Not always good ones, but at least my mind can think -- that's a start.