Tuesday, December 12, 2006
Very tired today. I tried to go to bed early last night, but didn't get to sleep very quickly, and didn't sleep well. I kept having very strange thoughts. Like I'm worrying about things that don't exist at all. The last time I can remember this kind of trouble sleeping was during menopause.
I'm also freezing. It was "unseasonably warm" outside today, in the 40s I guess, and it's warm in the house, but I'm still freezing. I have shoes, knee socks, slacks, and a turtle neck sweater on, and I had to put my fuzzy robe on over it all. I'm thinking about putting insulated snowboots on, too. It's like I'm feeling drafts where none exist. I'm also starting a headache, and I'm hearing a high-pitched ding-ding-ding for which I cannot find a source. It must be in my head, because I heard it in the car, too. Maybe I'm fighting off a virus.
I went to a pot luck lunch at the maritime museum today. It was pretty good, but I left a little early because of the headache starting. The museum is technically closed for the winter, but they're doing a lot of work in the office, setting up for next season's programs. The coordinator said I would be of use if I wanted to come in, but right now, all I want to do is hibernate. I didn't commit.
I think I'll get some bills paid and then just go to bed. I got a notice yesterday that my house insurance is going to be cancelled for nonpayment of premium if I don't get a check to them next week. Yeah, I was wondering when the premium bill would arrive. The same thing happened last year - I swear I never got the bill. Maybe they've screwed up the billing address somehow, but the cancellation notices seem to arrive just fine.
Oh, just remembered something else for the "don't understand" file. A state commission has recommended closure of something like 10 hospitals. The state budget has also reduced the amount of aid other hospitals are getting, which means that a lot of hospitals will be forced to close or merge. On the same page of the newspaper, next column over, there's an article about the nursing shortage, and how desperate it is, and how the state wants to offer incentives for people to go to nursing school.
Um, seems to me like there will soon be a lot of nurses out of work....
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Tuesday, December 12, 2006
Monday, December 11, 2006
1013 How to Train a Cat
Monday, December 11, 2006
I found out how to keep Miss Thunderfoot from sleeping next to my face.
Steps:
I'm tempted to eat more tonight, just to reinforce the lesson, but I need to get some sleep tonight. Didn't get much last night. I kept trying to get away from me.
.
I found out how to keep Miss Thunderfoot from sleeping next to my face.
Steps:
- On Friday, make rice/mushroom/leek soup. (I'm Welsh. I like leeks.) It being the wrong time of the year for fresh leeks to make cream of potato/leek soup, use a fancy expensive dry package mix which seems to have a beef broth base.
- Freeze three individual servings. Put two servings in the refrigerator. Eat one serving.
- Suffer no "problems".
- Saturday, do not eat any.
- Sunday, warm and eat a serving from the refrigerator.
- Suffer "problems", big time!
I'm tempted to eat more tonight, just to reinforce the lesson, but I need to get some sleep tonight. Didn't get much last night. I kept trying to get away from me.
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Sunday, December 10, 2006
1012 Offended
Sunday, December 10, 2006
Watching the news. Gov. Pataki and legislature talking about a law that would keep s3xual off3nders* locked up in psychiatric hospitals after their prison sentence expires.
I don't understand.
I understand the argument that some types of s3xual off3nders revert after prison. I understand the argument that they "can't be cured". Not that I necessarily agree, I just understand the argument.
What I don't understand is that if a psychiatric hospital is the proper place for them because they are still "sick" and require treatment, etc. etc., which is the proffered argument for detaining them beyond their sentence, then isn't that where they should have been in the first place? What was the purpose of putting them in prison for yea many years first, where they got no or very little treatment? Isn't there something in the Bill of Rights about this? If this is what we really want, if this makes sense, then shouldn't the original sentence have been hospitalization until certified cured? Why aren't they changing the sentencing quidelines/requirements to that?
It's like the more powerful party to a contract changing the terms of a signed and executed contract just because they later decide they don't like it.
I can think of several areas this kind of thinking could expand into, and it scares me.
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* the "3" is in there to foil search engines. I don't especially want people searching for that term to find this.
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Watching the news. Gov. Pataki and legislature talking about a law that would keep s3xual off3nders* locked up in psychiatric hospitals after their prison sentence expires.
I don't understand.
I understand the argument that some types of s3xual off3nders revert after prison. I understand the argument that they "can't be cured". Not that I necessarily agree, I just understand the argument.
What I don't understand is that if a psychiatric hospital is the proper place for them because they are still "sick" and require treatment, etc. etc., which is the proffered argument for detaining them beyond their sentence, then isn't that where they should have been in the first place? What was the purpose of putting them in prison for yea many years first, where they got no or very little treatment? Isn't there something in the Bill of Rights about this? If this is what we really want, if this makes sense, then shouldn't the original sentence have been hospitalization until certified cured? Why aren't they changing the sentencing quidelines/requirements to that?
It's like the more powerful party to a contract changing the terms of a signed and executed contract just because they later decide they don't like it.
I can think of several areas this kind of thinking could expand into, and it scares me.
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* the "3" is in there to foil search engines. I don't especially want people searching for that term to find this.
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1011 Matching Photos
Sunday, December 10, 2006
Answer to the photos in entry 1009 Manly Men:
I gave it away when I earlier said that the photo of Jay and me was taken on my sister's boat. Yeah, that's my sister. My youngest sister, not the one I've recently reconnected with, and her husband. At the time of the picture, I was about 52 and she was 44ish, same age as Jay.
I like these pictures a lot. They stand next to each other, and everyone who has ever looked at them has said almost the same thing.
They: "Oh, what a good photo of you. Is that your husband?"
Me: "Yes, that's Jay."
They: (Peering at the other picture and pointing) "This is obviously your sister!"
Me: "Yes. And her husband."
They: (Peering closer, back and forth between the photos, growing frown) "You two married brothers!?"
Pure coincidence that they look similar. Their personalities and everything else about them couldn't have been more different.
Youngest sister (YS) and her husband (SH) were both alcoholics. They met at the meetings. At the time they were married, she had been sober for two years. He had a deep soft southern drawl, and she was the sweetest thing walking. At first they were very good together. They loved each other with every fiber of their being, and for a little while it was good. They bought a little house, acquired some pets, and YS was so proud.
But SH, although a skilled carpenter and talented furniture-maker, having spent a significant portion of his life lying drunk under bridges, didn't have a very solid self-image. He couldn't believe YS would stay with him. After a while, he wouldn't allow her to go to the meetings, because he was afraid she'd meet someone better. But she kept doing scary things like ... getting jobs. And going to work.
He found that the easiest way to keep her all to himself was to keep her drunk.
Pretty soon they were both drinking heavily. Neither of them could hold a job. Then the fights started. Accusations. Beatings. Neighbors calling the cops. One or both of them getting hauled off to jail, or her being involuntarily committed to rehab to dry out. He never let her stay in rehab - he'd convince her to leave as soon as the involuntary period was up. They lost the house they were so proud of.
At the time those photos were taken, the two of them had not been drinking for four days - the length of our visit with them up to that point - and had not yet lost the house. At that time, I didn't know they were drinking at all. They were able to maintain the fiction for a week. We didn't know what was happening.
This is not my outside observation. She told me these things after Jay and I got home. She was frightened. She didn't know how to stop the downward spiral. I offered to pay for rehab at a classy center, but she'd have to agree not to see or speak to him until she was strong again. (Well, strong, finally, perhaps for the first time. She'd been sexually abused as a child, and severely physically and emotionally abused until she got out of the family home - we all were, but she the worst of all - and she really never had a chance. She always felt that everything was always her fault.) He'd have to go to rehab, too, but at a different place. She refused. She knew that telling him she wanted any kind of separation from him, even temporary, would push him over the edge.
Within a year of this photo, they were living in a shack in North Carolina with no heat and no running water, and one Monday, after a weekend drunk, he awoke to find her dead. She had apparently been dead for at least two days, and he hadn't noticed. There was no autopsy, but we assume alcohol poisoning or whatever. He died less than a year later, same cause.
I like these pictures a lot.
Answer to the photos in entry 1009 Manly Men:
I gave it away when I earlier said that the photo of Jay and me was taken on my sister's boat. Yeah, that's my sister. My youngest sister, not the one I've recently reconnected with, and her husband. At the time of the picture, I was about 52 and she was 44ish, same age as Jay.
I like these pictures a lot. They stand next to each other, and everyone who has ever looked at them has said almost the same thing.
They: "Oh, what a good photo of you. Is that your husband?"
Me: "Yes, that's Jay."
They: (Peering at the other picture and pointing) "This is obviously your sister!"
Me: "Yes. And her husband."
They: (Peering closer, back and forth between the photos, growing frown) "You two married brothers!?"
Pure coincidence that they look similar. Their personalities and everything else about them couldn't have been more different.
Youngest sister (YS) and her husband (SH) were both alcoholics. They met at the meetings. At the time they were married, she had been sober for two years. He had a deep soft southern drawl, and she was the sweetest thing walking. At first they were very good together. They loved each other with every fiber of their being, and for a little while it was good. They bought a little house, acquired some pets, and YS was so proud.
But SH, although a skilled carpenter and talented furniture-maker, having spent a significant portion of his life lying drunk under bridges, didn't have a very solid self-image. He couldn't believe YS would stay with him. After a while, he wouldn't allow her to go to the meetings, because he was afraid she'd meet someone better. But she kept doing scary things like ... getting jobs. And going to work.
He found that the easiest way to keep her all to himself was to keep her drunk.
Pretty soon they were both drinking heavily. Neither of them could hold a job. Then the fights started. Accusations. Beatings. Neighbors calling the cops. One or both of them getting hauled off to jail, or her being involuntarily committed to rehab to dry out. He never let her stay in rehab - he'd convince her to leave as soon as the involuntary period was up. They lost the house they were so proud of.
At the time those photos were taken, the two of them had not been drinking for four days - the length of our visit with them up to that point - and had not yet lost the house. At that time, I didn't know they were drinking at all. They were able to maintain the fiction for a week. We didn't know what was happening.
This is not my outside observation. She told me these things after Jay and I got home. She was frightened. She didn't know how to stop the downward spiral. I offered to pay for rehab at a classy center, but she'd have to agree not to see or speak to him until she was strong again. (Well, strong, finally, perhaps for the first time. She'd been sexually abused as a child, and severely physically and emotionally abused until she got out of the family home - we all were, but she the worst of all - and she really never had a chance. She always felt that everything was always her fault.) He'd have to go to rehab, too, but at a different place. She refused. She knew that telling him she wanted any kind of separation from him, even temporary, would push him over the edge.
Within a year of this photo, they were living in a shack in North Carolina with no heat and no running water, and one Monday, after a weekend drunk, he awoke to find her dead. She had apparently been dead for at least two days, and he hadn't noticed. There was no autopsy, but we assume alcohol poisoning or whatever. He died less than a year later, same cause.
I like these pictures a lot.
1010 I Screwed Up
Sunday, December 10, 2006
I messed up big time. Back in 1008 Complaints, I said "Seems like almost everything is messed up lately."
Understatement.
Last night I was supposed to meet a friend for dinner. I completely forgot.
This morning I was supposed to be sitting at a table at Barnes & Noble wrapping gifts for donations to the Mensa Scholarship fund. I completely forgot. And I had committed to that on Friday. I do it every year.
I had told the wrapping organizer that I could cover only 9 am 'til 1 pm at B&N, because I was meeting someone at 2 today. I completely forgot about that, too. I didn't realize I was supposed to be somewhere until I got a call at 2:30 today asking where I was last night.
Panic.
There's a calendar on the wall in the kitchen, and I look at it every time I walk past it, a dozen times a day, and the only thing I can think of is that I've been looking at the wrong weekend. But that doesn't work, because if so, I'd have been a (wrong) somewhere else last night.
I don't do stuff like this. I will occasionally decide at the last minute not to go somewhere or do something, but not if someone is depending on me, like the wrapping, and at least then it's a conscious decision.
This reminds me of the late '60s, when I was so messed up I never knew what day it was, every morning I thought it was Wednesday, I got stuck in Wednesday, so seven days a week I'd dress and go to work, and if there were no cars in the parking lot, I'd go back home.
It doesn't feel like Sunday now. It feels like Wednesday.
I messed up big time. Back in 1008 Complaints, I said "Seems like almost everything is messed up lately."
Understatement.
Last night I was supposed to meet a friend for dinner. I completely forgot.
This morning I was supposed to be sitting at a table at Barnes & Noble wrapping gifts for donations to the Mensa Scholarship fund. I completely forgot. And I had committed to that on Friday. I do it every year.
I had told the wrapping organizer that I could cover only 9 am 'til 1 pm at B&N, because I was meeting someone at 2 today. I completely forgot about that, too. I didn't realize I was supposed to be somewhere until I got a call at 2:30 today asking where I was last night.
Panic.
There's a calendar on the wall in the kitchen, and I look at it every time I walk past it, a dozen times a day, and the only thing I can think of is that I've been looking at the wrong weekend. But that doesn't work, because if so, I'd have been a (wrong) somewhere else last night.
I don't do stuff like this. I will occasionally decide at the last minute not to go somewhere or do something, but not if someone is depending on me, like the wrapping, and at least then it's a conscious decision.
This reminds me of the late '60s, when I was so messed up I never knew what day it was, every morning I thought it was Wednesday, I got stuck in Wednesday, so seven days a week I'd dress and go to work, and if there were no cars in the parking lot, I'd go back home.
It doesn't feel like Sunday now. It feels like Wednesday.
1009 Manly Men
For your amusement. The first photo is, of course, Jay and me. The second photo is --- guess. Answer tomorrow. (Hint: They are married, and it isn't Gary.)
Saturday, December 09, 2006
1008 Complaints
Saturday, December 9, 2006
Seems like almost everything is messed up lately.
I actually made it to bed by midnight last night, because I wanted to go to the recycle center today. But at 4 am, I was still wide awake and working crossword puzzles. I managed to wake up by 11 am, and made it to the recycle center (it closes at 1), so I cleared the cardboard, newspapers, and a huge bag of plastic and glass out of the kitchen. I can move around in there again. That's the good thing.
Then I went to the grocery store to buy iced tea mix and coffee yogurt. No coffee yogurt, and they didn't have any iced tea (of the 15 choices there) without any sweetener of any kind. Very annoying.
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When I got home, I noticed my driver's license on the passenger side floor in the van. The license and one credit card normally live in the inside pocket of my purse. Thursday night the purse fell off the seat, and the license must have fallen out. No problem, except that there's no sign of the credit card. I don't know whether to worry or not.
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Daughter has decided that she doesn't want to read this blog, apparently she has emotional reactions to some things I say (for example, if I even mention a male, she immediately hates him), so we've decided to keep in touch by telephone - one or the other will call every evening about 7:30. I hate the telephone. Plus Daughter is famous for moods, and I always seem to call at exactly the wrong moment, and then I manage to say exactly the wrong thing. Half the time I can't figure out what I said wrong.
Last Sunday Daughter mentioned that her father (Ex#2) was in the hospital in Colorado. I thought, "Oh, great. If he gets out of the hospital and needs someone to take care of him for a while, Daughter is going to feel a responsibility to do it, which means missing work, and probably messing up her holidays." So I told her that if he needed care, I'd be willing to go, so she wouldn't have to. Unfortunately, I also added that I'd rather hit myself in the head with a hammer, but for her I would. She took offense. She said she'd rather hit herself in the head with a hammer than go, too, but now I'm going to make her hit me in the head with the hammer, and why should she do that? I said because I'm older and hammers don't hurt so much any more. We both feel the same way about it, but it's simply easier for me to do it.
Anyway, we got through that, and talked again Monday, and I tried to explain better, and I thought everything was ok.
But she hasn't called me since, and when I call I get to leave a message on voice mail. I called her cel today a little after noon, and it went to voice mail again. I left a message that now I was getting worried, so I was going to call SIL to find out what hospital she was in, and I called his cel. He answered. I asked if Daughter was ok, and he said she didn't answer her phone because they were in a restaurant with friends, but when they heard the immediate second call from me, they thought it might be an emergency. I said, ok, as long as you're fine I'll let you go, and I did. It's now 8:30 pm, and she hasn't called. I'm pissed.
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Late Wednesday evening I ordered some things from the online Smithsonian catalog (for a total of $35.98). The items I ordered absolutely dare not freeze, and it's been in the 'teens and twenties here lately, so I paid $26.90 for FedEx overnight delivery (from Tennessee), as was recommended. A difficult but necessary decision. Thursday morning I got the notice from Smithsonian that the order had shipped, along with a tracking number.
Friday. No package. I went to the Smithsonian site and asked about the order number, and got the message "order not found", because I hadn't registered (which was optional) when I made the purchase. So then I went to the FedEx site and tried the tracking number, and got the "not found" message again.
Saturday. No package. I called Smithsonian about 5 pm today to ask what happened, and surprise! They screwed up and sent it UPS ground. Delivery next Tuesday. The manager says she noticed the error immediately, but was unable to fix it. Yes, they'll refund a portion of what I paid for shipping, and yes, they'll replace the items if they were damaged by freezing during shipping.
I am extremely annoyed. If they're obviously damaged, and I have to reorder, that means I won't get the replacements until like two days before I need them. They could be damaged but not show it for a few weeks. When the manager noticed the error, Smithsonian really should have notified me.
If I were running the company, I'd have immediately sent out a second set by overnight, and then asked me to not accept or to return the slower order when it finally arrived. I really expected better from them.
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The flies are driving me batty! I've killed hundreds of them (yes, I counted!) and they're still around. They're like very small regular houseflies, and they love to land on skin. They especially like to land on my face, get between my glasses and my eye, and try to climb up into my nose. No matter where I am in the house, there are five of them pestering me. They are not helping my mood.
I don't understand where they're breeding. They have to be breeding, because I keep killing them and they keep coming. There's no food out. Thunder's uneaten canned food gets cleared up and they don't seem interested in the dry food. The litter box gets cleaned out and the lumps flushed away everytime Thunder uses it. They can't get into the garbage can. Everything in the pantry is in mouse-proof glass, plastic, or metal containers. So where are they coming from? What are they eating? They can't multiply from nothing, can they?
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One of the reasons I hate talking to May on the phone is that she has several cordless phones, and every one of them dies within 10 minutes and she has to switch to another. Roman said it was because she leaves them in the charger all the time, and that kills them, that you shouldn't put a rechargeable battery in the charger until it's low. So when I bought this phone, my first cordless, I was careful not to leave it in the charger all the time. The booklet says that there will be a "battery low" indication on the screen when it needs recharging. What they forgot to tell me is that you can look at it every day, and the screen won't say battery low, even if it is, until you actually try to make a call. THEN it says "battery low". Gee, thanks. That delayed my call to Smithsonian for a few hours.
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I must have missed a watering or something, but my 30-year-old curly-leaf variegated Hoya, the one with multiple 15-foot trailers that I've looped over each other, the one that puts out huge balls of scented pink blossoms twice a year, one of the few plants to survive my depression after Jay died, yeah, that one, seems to be really sick. The leaves are crinkled and drying. I really think it's missed waterings. I've traveled some lately, and I guess I got off schedule. I feel really bad about that. It's a rare variety. I feel guilty.
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Miss Thunderfoot's dry cat food comes in bags with a zip lock. Lately, they won't zip lock. In fact, everything I've bought lately that's supposed to zip lock won't. Except the "real" zip lock freezer bags. Everything else is folded closed and wearing clothespins.
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Miss Thunderfoot and I have been battling every night, and lately it has escalated to all-out war. She wants to sleep next to my shoulder. I don't want her higher than my hip. She's a long-hair fine-fur cat with skin problems, and worse, she scratches herself a lot at night. I don't want her next to my face! I know she knows exactly what I'm trying to tell her, but she seems to think that I am dense, that I don't fully understand what she wants, so she keeps trying to show me.
I push her away and say nasty things when she's above my waist, and I pet her and tell her what a good girl she is when she's below my waist, and she still tries to move up as soon as I stop moving. She settles next to my face with a contented sigh, like "Well, I'm glad she's finally given up for tonight." It's beginning to be a serious problem.
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Since our final breakup in July, either I call Roman or he calls me once a week, just to chat. The last two weeks, he made the call. This week, I didn't call and he didn't either. I kept putting it off. I sort of just wondered what would happen, how I would feel, how he might feel, would he call if I didn't call. Wondering if I would miss talking with him. I got an email from him today - his elderly father was taken to the hospital on Friday. Now I feel bad.
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I'm fighting with Bloglines. Some of my favorite reads are now flashing multiple bogus alerts every day. I like Saudisphere (in my links on the right), but two or three times a day it claims Saudisphere has 18 to 24 new posts. In reality, there's one new post every few days. When I click to see if there's really a post this time, it takes forever to load all 24 complete entries, because they're full of photos, and then I find nothing's new after all. I may have to remove it from my alert list, which would be a pity.
Saudisphere is the worst offender, but several others, from several different blog hosts, are doing the same thing, off and on. (Note - if you switch from "old" Blogger to "new/beta" Blogger, you get the "24 new posts" alert on Bloglines, but that SHOULD happen only ONCE.)
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My browsers have been bouncing badly. Something about "plugins" doing something "illegal". It's so bad I haven't been able to leave comments on other blogs, because with all the restarting added onto the super slow dial up connection, there's no time for optional stuff.
I suspect it has something to do with that "flash" whatsis, because it seems to happen mostly when there're fancy ads on the page, so I suspect it will fix itself when the browsers notice something's wrong and update themselves. I've been through these periods before, but experience makes them no less painful.
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It's now 10:40 pm. Daughter called at 10 pm-ish, and we had a very good talk. She didn't realize that so much time had passed, things were pretty busy for her this week, stuff got put off, etc. Apologies.
Ex#2 has been transferred to a rehab facility, and will be there a minimum of two weeks. He's too weak to even roll over in bed, but will eventually recover. Good. That being off Daughter's mind may partially account for our pleasant conversation.
-----------------------------
Ah, sweet misery. Necessary for balance.
.
Seems like almost everything is messed up lately.
I actually made it to bed by midnight last night, because I wanted to go to the recycle center today. But at 4 am, I was still wide awake and working crossword puzzles. I managed to wake up by 11 am, and made it to the recycle center (it closes at 1), so I cleared the cardboard, newspapers, and a huge bag of plastic and glass out of the kitchen. I can move around in there again. That's the good thing.
Then I went to the grocery store to buy iced tea mix and coffee yogurt. No coffee yogurt, and they didn't have any iced tea (of the 15 choices there) without any sweetener of any kind. Very annoying.
------------------------------
When I got home, I noticed my driver's license on the passenger side floor in the van. The license and one credit card normally live in the inside pocket of my purse. Thursday night the purse fell off the seat, and the license must have fallen out. No problem, except that there's no sign of the credit card. I don't know whether to worry or not.
-----------------------------
Daughter has decided that she doesn't want to read this blog, apparently she has emotional reactions to some things I say (for example, if I even mention a male, she immediately hates him), so we've decided to keep in touch by telephone - one or the other will call every evening about 7:30. I hate the telephone. Plus Daughter is famous for moods, and I always seem to call at exactly the wrong moment, and then I manage to say exactly the wrong thing. Half the time I can't figure out what I said wrong.
Last Sunday Daughter mentioned that her father (Ex#2) was in the hospital in Colorado. I thought, "Oh, great. If he gets out of the hospital and needs someone to take care of him for a while, Daughter is going to feel a responsibility to do it, which means missing work, and probably messing up her holidays." So I told her that if he needed care, I'd be willing to go, so she wouldn't have to. Unfortunately, I also added that I'd rather hit myself in the head with a hammer, but for her I would. She took offense. She said she'd rather hit herself in the head with a hammer than go, too, but now I'm going to make her hit me in the head with the hammer, and why should she do that? I said because I'm older and hammers don't hurt so much any more. We both feel the same way about it, but it's simply easier for me to do it.
Anyway, we got through that, and talked again Monday, and I tried to explain better, and I thought everything was ok.
But she hasn't called me since, and when I call I get to leave a message on voice mail. I called her cel today a little after noon, and it went to voice mail again. I left a message that now I was getting worried, so I was going to call SIL to find out what hospital she was in, and I called his cel. He answered. I asked if Daughter was ok, and he said she didn't answer her phone because they were in a restaurant with friends, but when they heard the immediate second call from me, they thought it might be an emergency. I said, ok, as long as you're fine I'll let you go, and I did. It's now 8:30 pm, and she hasn't called. I'm pissed.
-----------------------------
Late Wednesday evening I ordered some things from the online Smithsonian catalog (for a total of $35.98). The items I ordered absolutely dare not freeze, and it's been in the 'teens and twenties here lately, so I paid $26.90 for FedEx overnight delivery (from Tennessee), as was recommended. A difficult but necessary decision. Thursday morning I got the notice from Smithsonian that the order had shipped, along with a tracking number.
Friday. No package. I went to the Smithsonian site and asked about the order number, and got the message "order not found", because I hadn't registered (which was optional) when I made the purchase. So then I went to the FedEx site and tried the tracking number, and got the "not found" message again.
Saturday. No package. I called Smithsonian about 5 pm today to ask what happened, and surprise! They screwed up and sent it UPS ground. Delivery next Tuesday. The manager says she noticed the error immediately, but was unable to fix it. Yes, they'll refund a portion of what I paid for shipping, and yes, they'll replace the items if they were damaged by freezing during shipping.
I am extremely annoyed. If they're obviously damaged, and I have to reorder, that means I won't get the replacements until like two days before I need them. They could be damaged but not show it for a few weeks. When the manager noticed the error, Smithsonian really should have notified me.
If I were running the company, I'd have immediately sent out a second set by overnight, and then asked me to not accept or to return the slower order when it finally arrived. I really expected better from them.
-----------------------------
The flies are driving me batty! I've killed hundreds of them (yes, I counted!) and they're still around. They're like very small regular houseflies, and they love to land on skin. They especially like to land on my face, get between my glasses and my eye, and try to climb up into my nose. No matter where I am in the house, there are five of them pestering me. They are not helping my mood.
I don't understand where they're breeding. They have to be breeding, because I keep killing them and they keep coming. There's no food out. Thunder's uneaten canned food gets cleared up and they don't seem interested in the dry food. The litter box gets cleaned out and the lumps flushed away everytime Thunder uses it. They can't get into the garbage can. Everything in the pantry is in mouse-proof glass, plastic, or metal containers. So where are they coming from? What are they eating? They can't multiply from nothing, can they?
-----------------------------
One of the reasons I hate talking to May on the phone is that she has several cordless phones, and every one of them dies within 10 minutes and she has to switch to another. Roman said it was because she leaves them in the charger all the time, and that kills them, that you shouldn't put a rechargeable battery in the charger until it's low. So when I bought this phone, my first cordless, I was careful not to leave it in the charger all the time. The booklet says that there will be a "battery low" indication on the screen when it needs recharging. What they forgot to tell me is that you can look at it every day, and the screen won't say battery low, even if it is, until you actually try to make a call. THEN it says "battery low". Gee, thanks. That delayed my call to Smithsonian for a few hours.
-----------------------------
I must have missed a watering or something, but my 30-year-old curly-leaf variegated Hoya, the one with multiple 15-foot trailers that I've looped over each other, the one that puts out huge balls of scented pink blossoms twice a year, one of the few plants to survive my depression after Jay died, yeah, that one, seems to be really sick. The leaves are crinkled and drying. I really think it's missed waterings. I've traveled some lately, and I guess I got off schedule. I feel really bad about that. It's a rare variety. I feel guilty.
-----------------------------
Miss Thunderfoot's dry cat food comes in bags with a zip lock. Lately, they won't zip lock. In fact, everything I've bought lately that's supposed to zip lock won't. Except the "real" zip lock freezer bags. Everything else is folded closed and wearing clothespins.
-----------------------------
Miss Thunderfoot and I have been battling every night, and lately it has escalated to all-out war. She wants to sleep next to my shoulder. I don't want her higher than my hip. She's a long-hair fine-fur cat with skin problems, and worse, she scratches herself a lot at night. I don't want her next to my face! I know she knows exactly what I'm trying to tell her, but she seems to think that I am dense, that I don't fully understand what she wants, so she keeps trying to show me.
I push her away and say nasty things when she's above my waist, and I pet her and tell her what a good girl she is when she's below my waist, and she still tries to move up as soon as I stop moving. She settles next to my face with a contented sigh, like "Well, I'm glad she's finally given up for tonight." It's beginning to be a serious problem.
-----------------------------
Since our final breakup in July, either I call Roman or he calls me once a week, just to chat. The last two weeks, he made the call. This week, I didn't call and he didn't either. I kept putting it off. I sort of just wondered what would happen, how I would feel, how he might feel, would he call if I didn't call. Wondering if I would miss talking with him. I got an email from him today - his elderly father was taken to the hospital on Friday. Now I feel bad.
-----------------------------
I'm fighting with Bloglines. Some of my favorite reads are now flashing multiple bogus alerts every day. I like Saudisphere (in my links on the right), but two or three times a day it claims Saudisphere has 18 to 24 new posts. In reality, there's one new post every few days. When I click to see if there's really a post this time, it takes forever to load all 24 complete entries, because they're full of photos, and then I find nothing's new after all. I may have to remove it from my alert list, which would be a pity.
Saudisphere is the worst offender, but several others, from several different blog hosts, are doing the same thing, off and on. (Note - if you switch from "old" Blogger to "new/beta" Blogger, you get the "24 new posts" alert on Bloglines, but that SHOULD happen only ONCE.)
-----------------------------
My browsers have been bouncing badly. Something about "plugins" doing something "illegal". It's so bad I haven't been able to leave comments on other blogs, because with all the restarting added onto the super slow dial up connection, there's no time for optional stuff.
I suspect it has something to do with that "flash" whatsis, because it seems to happen mostly when there're fancy ads on the page, so I suspect it will fix itself when the browsers notice something's wrong and update themselves. I've been through these periods before, but experience makes them no less painful.
-----------------------------
It's now 10:40 pm. Daughter called at 10 pm-ish, and we had a very good talk. She didn't realize that so much time had passed, things were pretty busy for her this week, stuff got put off, etc. Apologies.
Ex#2 has been transferred to a rehab facility, and will be there a minimum of two weeks. He's too weak to even roll over in bed, but will eventually recover. Good. That being off Daughter's mind may partially account for our pleasant conversation.
-----------------------------
Ah, sweet misery. Necessary for balance.
.
Friday, December 08, 2006
1007 Photo Test
Over the past week I have loaded more than 500 photos onto Flickr.com, for safekeeping. I've made them all private, so if someone goes wandering around Flickr, they won't find my stuff.
I don't know if I can post one of them here, though. Flickr Help doesn't say if a private photo can be externally linked. So here goes - the test. My looking to see if it shows might not mean anything - Flickr may know it's me looking.
So, please leave a comment. Can you see Jay and me, about 1997ish, in baby sister's boat, in Florida? If you click on the photo, does it it take you to my Flickr account? Can you see any other of my photos there? If so, please describe a few. (When I click on this photo, my whole account is opened, but like I said, that might be because Flickr recognizes me - cookie crumbs and all that..)
I don't know if I can post one of them here, though. Flickr Help doesn't say if a private photo can be externally linked. So here goes - the test. My looking to see if it shows might not mean anything - Flickr may know it's me looking.
So, please leave a comment. Can you see Jay and me, about 1997ish, in baby sister's boat, in Florida? If you click on the photo, does it it take you to my Flickr account? Can you see any other of my photos there? If so, please describe a few. (When I click on this photo, my whole account is opened, but like I said, that might be because Flickr recognizes me - cookie crumbs and all that..)
1006 Coincidence?
Friday, December 8, 2006
I've started this entry twice now, and both times my browser went down. Is something trying to tell me something? Like "Save frequently, you fool!"
Speaking of "something trying to tell me something", I've had two odd experiences in the past week.
I was talking to someone about not understanding Roman, and what went wrong, and he (the friend) said, "You know, it seems like the very things that attracted him to you are the things he objects to now." I didn't agree, and thought about it all that evening and as I was falling asleep. The next morning, I woke up, walked into the kitchen, and flipped the tv on, right into the middle of a Friends episode. Right into a monologue by Rachael, complaining to Russ that the very things that attracted him to her in the beginning are the things he doesn't like about her now, and that she can't do anything about that, it's her. Eerie. (Rachael and Russ ended up together, by the way. I don't see that part applying.)
Last night Tom said that I should flirt in a "less inaccessible way". I thought about that last evening as I was falling asleep. I don't know what that means. Do I have to hang all over people? I don't think so.... Anyway, this morning I woke up, walked into the kitchen, and flipped the tv on, right into the middle of a Friends episode. Rachael doesn't understand what's so special about the gold bikini in Star Wars, why all the "guys our age" are so fascinated by that scene. Phoebe or Monica, I forget which, explains that it's because that's when Princess Leia "stops being a princess and becomes just a woman".
So, ok, I got the message. Now where do I find my virtual gold bikini?
-------------------------------------------------------------
Jay and I had something very special. It was apparent to everyone around us, and we weren't afraid to be affectionate in public. Not passionate kisses or inappropriate touching, not that kind of thing, just a standing close, an arm around shoulders, my hand on his chest when we talked, the way he would lean down to me when I spoke, the way we looked into each other's eyes and passed silent messages.
Within six weeks of his death, several of his friends called and asked me out. I was extremely offended that they called so soon. Anyway, every one of them rhapsodized about how they wanted to have what Jay had, just once in their lives, to be loved like that. Like they thought it was something I had in a bag and could just hand out samples in exchange for dinner or something.
Roman says he had noticed me way back in the early 80s, before Jay and I got together. But after Roman and I started dating, he said that he remembered Jay and me at a mutual friend's house, that he noticed the intimacy and affection, and that he (he was still married to his ex at the time) wished he could have the same thing.
The first couple months with Roman, we came close to that kind of intimacy, but after I found out he was still involved with the other woman, I told him that I didn't want him to, for example, put his hand on my thigh in public any more. If he couldn't make a committment to me, then he had no right to lay any public claim on me.
I think that was the real beginning of the end.
I want his hand back.
-------------------------------------------------------------
This is a pretty good quiz. It tests knowledge.
Thank you for scoring highly on this quiz, there is sweet hope for the future. If you did not score high, please join the Volunteer for Human Extinction Movement. Either way, share your results with your friends so they can take this quiz and test their knowledge!
I've started this entry twice now, and both times my browser went down. Is something trying to tell me something? Like "Save frequently, you fool!"
Speaking of "something trying to tell me something", I've had two odd experiences in the past week.
I was talking to someone about not understanding Roman, and what went wrong, and he (the friend) said, "You know, it seems like the very things that attracted him to you are the things he objects to now." I didn't agree, and thought about it all that evening and as I was falling asleep. The next morning, I woke up, walked into the kitchen, and flipped the tv on, right into the middle of a Friends episode. Right into a monologue by Rachael, complaining to Russ that the very things that attracted him to her in the beginning are the things he doesn't like about her now, and that she can't do anything about that, it's her. Eerie. (Rachael and Russ ended up together, by the way. I don't see that part applying.)
Last night Tom said that I should flirt in a "less inaccessible way". I thought about that last evening as I was falling asleep. I don't know what that means. Do I have to hang all over people? I don't think so.... Anyway, this morning I woke up, walked into the kitchen, and flipped the tv on, right into the middle of a Friends episode. Rachael doesn't understand what's so special about the gold bikini in Star Wars, why all the "guys our age" are so fascinated by that scene. Phoebe or Monica, I forget which, explains that it's because that's when Princess Leia "stops being a princess and becomes just a woman".
So, ok, I got the message. Now where do I find my virtual gold bikini?
-------------------------------------------------------------
Jay and I had something very special. It was apparent to everyone around us, and we weren't afraid to be affectionate in public. Not passionate kisses or inappropriate touching, not that kind of thing, just a standing close, an arm around shoulders, my hand on his chest when we talked, the way he would lean down to me when I spoke, the way we looked into each other's eyes and passed silent messages.
Within six weeks of his death, several of his friends called and asked me out. I was extremely offended that they called so soon. Anyway, every one of them rhapsodized about how they wanted to have what Jay had, just once in their lives, to be loved like that. Like they thought it was something I had in a bag and could just hand out samples in exchange for dinner or something.
Roman says he had noticed me way back in the early 80s, before Jay and I got together. But after Roman and I started dating, he said that he remembered Jay and me at a mutual friend's house, that he noticed the intimacy and affection, and that he (he was still married to his ex at the time) wished he could have the same thing.
The first couple months with Roman, we came close to that kind of intimacy, but after I found out he was still involved with the other woman, I told him that I didn't want him to, for example, put his hand on my thigh in public any more. If he couldn't make a committment to me, then he had no right to lay any public claim on me.
I think that was the real beginning of the end.
I want his hand back.
-------------------------------------------------------------
This is a pretty good quiz. It tests knowledge.
You paid attention during 100% of high school!
85-100% You must be an autodidact, because American high schools don't get scores that high! Good show, old chap!
Do you deserve your high school diploma?
Create a Quiz
Thank you for scoring highly on this quiz, there is sweet hope for the future. If you did not score high, please join the Volunteer for Human Extinction Movement. Either way, share your results with your friends so they can take this quiz and test their knowledge!
"Do you deserve your high school diploma?" was created by jahnet of theyellowleaf.
1005 Trivia With a Twist
Thursday, December 7, 2006
I went to bar Trivia tonight. There was just Tom and me, and GG, who seems to live there.
The place was full of men of the right age, and I mentioned to Tom that I wished I knew how to flirt, and I got the same reaction from him as from everyone else - that I know how to flirt (said with great emphasis). I said yeah, that's what everyone says, but I seem to do it generally, indiscriminately, I don't know how to direct it. I don't know how to convey "Hey, I find YOU interesting." Even when I concentrate on someone, they don't seem to take me seriously.
And then he said something rather perceptive. He may have put his finger on the problem. He said that maybe I need to flirt a little less inaccessibly. The implication being that I say "I want you to want me, but you can't touch me. You can't really have me."
Yeah, I've heard that before. All those guys in my youth that I had crushes on, and got to be good friends with, and years later they'd say "I liked you, but I never thought you'd ever go out with me." Me, the one who spent Friday and Saturday nights, date nights, alone, year after year. (We're talking the 60s and 70s, back when women NEVER asked a man out - you had to wait for them to ask you out.)
So, Tom suggested that I flirt with him. I turned and studied him for a moment, and laughed. "I don't know how!" He kept saying it's ok, he's safe (he has a girlfriend he's very serious about), and I said that's not what I heard (he has a reputation in Mensa) (and three ex-wives) (and many conquests) (or so I've heard).
Well, shortly after that I ouched and sat up straight. He asked what was wrong, and I said I can't slouch, it hurts my back. So he started massaging my back. I moaned. For the next two hours he massaged my back with his left hand while he worked his keypad with the right. He was good! He found every knot. I missed a few questions because I was zonked on what he was doing. Between sets of trivia questions he used both hands. I took my barrette out and let my hair down and he worked on my neck and scalp.
About an hour in I reached up under my sweater and unhooked my bra so he could get the knots under my shoulder blades. He said "See now? That was a very flirtatious move." There were shoulder leans and hugs and a lot of moaning scattered throughout. At one point he was working on those muscles on the side of my neck and I flinched, and he asked if he was "going in too hard, girls are always telling me I go in too hard", and I answered that I prefer it hard going in, and he roared.
I doubt that any man in that bar that night thinks I'm inaccessible now.
Tell you one thing for sure - Tom can flirt!!!
(Nah, no giggling speculation now - anything more than hugs and massage is highly unlikely. I do believe he is "safe". I think his reputation is undeserved.)
.
I went to bar Trivia tonight. There was just Tom and me, and GG, who seems to live there.
The place was full of men of the right age, and I mentioned to Tom that I wished I knew how to flirt, and I got the same reaction from him as from everyone else - that I know how to flirt (said with great emphasis). I said yeah, that's what everyone says, but I seem to do it generally, indiscriminately, I don't know how to direct it. I don't know how to convey "Hey, I find YOU interesting." Even when I concentrate on someone, they don't seem to take me seriously.
And then he said something rather perceptive. He may have put his finger on the problem. He said that maybe I need to flirt a little less inaccessibly. The implication being that I say "I want you to want me, but you can't touch me. You can't really have me."
Yeah, I've heard that before. All those guys in my youth that I had crushes on, and got to be good friends with, and years later they'd say "I liked you, but I never thought you'd ever go out with me." Me, the one who spent Friday and Saturday nights, date nights, alone, year after year. (We're talking the 60s and 70s, back when women NEVER asked a man out - you had to wait for them to ask you out.)
So, Tom suggested that I flirt with him. I turned and studied him for a moment, and laughed. "I don't know how!" He kept saying it's ok, he's safe (he has a girlfriend he's very serious about), and I said that's not what I heard (he has a reputation in Mensa) (and three ex-wives) (and many conquests) (or so I've heard).
Well, shortly after that I ouched and sat up straight. He asked what was wrong, and I said I can't slouch, it hurts my back. So he started massaging my back. I moaned. For the next two hours he massaged my back with his left hand while he worked his keypad with the right. He was good! He found every knot. I missed a few questions because I was zonked on what he was doing. Between sets of trivia questions he used both hands. I took my barrette out and let my hair down and he worked on my neck and scalp.
About an hour in I reached up under my sweater and unhooked my bra so he could get the knots under my shoulder blades. He said "See now? That was a very flirtatious move." There were shoulder leans and hugs and a lot of moaning scattered throughout. At one point he was working on those muscles on the side of my neck and I flinched, and he asked if he was "going in too hard, girls are always telling me I go in too hard", and I answered that I prefer it hard going in, and he roared.
I doubt that any man in that bar that night thinks I'm inaccessible now.
Tell you one thing for sure - Tom can flirt!!!
(Nah, no giggling speculation now - anything more than hugs and massage is highly unlikely. I do believe he is "safe". I think his reputation is undeserved.)
.
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
1004 Nuttin' Much
Wednesday, December 6, 2006
Last evening it was 22 F outside. Today it was a little warmer, but the weather man says that a cold front is coming through, and the high will be in the low 20s for the rest of the week. Hibernation time, I think.
I was reading someone else's blog, an entry about home improvement. I've been living in this house for 12 years now, and I'm a little surprised that, except for getting the woods cleared of undergrowth, we/I have made almost no improvements.
Things we did do:
Things we talked about, but never did:
But then I look around at all the furniture, all the things on and against the walls, all the bookcases full of books, the 12' ceilings, the open stairwell to the basement, and the thought of painting is overwhelming.
The carpeting is original, too. (Brown, throughout the house, except in the foyer, kitchen, and bathrooms.) It's 23 years old now. But it must be good carpet - it still looks ok. It would look better if I vacuumed more often.
Things I'd still like to do:
Things I'm going to have to do soon, like it or not:
Why do I feel tired all of a sudden? Maybe Daughter and Hercules should rethink this home-buying idea of theirs. Don't buy your way into slavery! Rent!
.
Last evening it was 22 F outside. Today it was a little warmer, but the weather man says that a cold front is coming through, and the high will be in the low 20s for the rest of the week. Hibernation time, I think.
I was reading someone else's blog, an entry about home improvement. I've been living in this house for 12 years now, and I'm a little surprised that, except for getting the woods cleared of undergrowth, we/I have made almost no improvements.
Things we did do:
- Jay cut a hole in the laundry room wall for a dog flap, and built an 8'x8' deck with a ramp outside the flap, for the dogs. We had talked about a dog-house kind of foyer arrangement on the deck outside the flap to keep the wind from coming in the hole, but it never happened. Now I have no dogs, but I have a big hole in the wall that the wind comes in. I taped a cover over it.
- This spring I had the woods cleared of undergrowth.
- About eight years ago we replaced the heating part of the heat pump with an oil furnace.
- I had the roof reshingled this year.
Things we talked about, but never did:
- Finish part of the basement for a fourth bedroom, workroom, and family room with woodstove.
- Put in a huge fancy whirlpool spa bathroom in the basement.
- Replace the deck (20' x 10', no access to ground) with a wider deck with an octagonal piece that wraps around the corner, and "pull up" stairs (to keep wildlife off the deck).
- Pop the attic roof and put in windows to recapture the view.
- A stone wall at the end of the driveway, to fill in the bank that's so hard to mow.
- Fence the backyard so the dogs can run.
- Organize the garage.
- Paint.
But then I look around at all the furniture, all the things on and against the walls, all the bookcases full of books, the 12' ceilings, the open stairwell to the basement, and the thought of painting is overwhelming.
The carpeting is original, too. (Brown, throughout the house, except in the foyer, kitchen, and bathrooms.) It's 23 years old now. But it must be good carpet - it still looks ok. It would look better if I vacuumed more often.
Things I'd still like to do:
- I'd still like to put in the family room with woodstove and fancy spa bathroom downstairs.
- I'd like to paint all the walls.
- I'd like to put in a patio outside the basement doors, and replace the sliding glass door with french doors.
- I'd like to replace all the carpeting with hardwood flooring (if it's done at the same time as the painting, I'd have to move furniture only once).
- I'd like to replace all the chandeliers and ceiling lights.
- I'd like to put motion-detecting lights outside, on the porch and garage.
Things I'm going to have to do soon, like it or not:
- Replace the heat pump air conditioning.
- Resurface the driveway, and maybe add a loop.
- Replace the deck, but I won't get fancy.
- Have the siding washed and treated with anti-fungal stuff.
- Put in water softener/filtering system.
- Replace stove and dishwasher.
- Replace/clean out all the plumbing fixtures clogged and corroded by hard water deposits.
- Replace washing machine.
Why do I feel tired all of a sudden? Maybe Daughter and Hercules should rethink this home-buying idea of theirs. Don't buy your way into slavery! Rent!
.
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
1003 Frustration
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
Well, I found another way to avoid the "to do" list. I've been reading through The Dilbert Blog.
Scott Adams, it turns out, is (or was) a Mensan. He writes about his shock when he met Mensans in a group in a November 2006 entry. I'm not going to attempt to find the specific link right now, but if you go to the link above, then to the archives for November, then "find in this page" and search for "Mensa", you can read it if you like.
He uses words like loser, and dress like street people, and incapable of managing their own lives, but then he says that the most amazing and wonderful thing is that "you don't have to explain anything twice".
Yeah. I have to give them that. Most Mensans "get it" the first time. (Except for the occasional speed limit-challenged nuclear physicist, that is. And a few others with very narrow focus.) Not only do they get it, but in general they understand where you're coming from. You can float a preposterous idea just to see where it goes without someone picking the details to pieces. They'll accept that it's preposterous, then play with it anyway, and they'll understand that you don't really believe or espouse this stuff. Or if you do believe it, they'll understand "thinking out loud", as opposed to a fully formed philosophy. You can use examples that don't quite fit, and they'll see what does fit and ignore the details for the sake of argument, or try to come up with a better-fitting example. If you present a proposition at a very high level, they'll stay at the high level before delving into details, understanding that you need to build the scaffold before laying bricks.
In other words, they'll see where you're coming from, understand where you are, and help you to get to where you're going.
Mostly.
That's pretty rare.
I've also been reading the comments in Scott's blog. He gets very philosophical and has some less than popular opinions, and he gets over 400 comments on an average entry. I don't know how he can stand it, unless he simply doesn't read the comments.
As illustrated in Scott's blog's comments, people in general just don't "get it". Many simply miss the point of the exercise. Or they pick one tiny detail and chew it to bits. Or instead of seeing what part of a random example fits, they tear the example apart. They don't seem to understand that it's not the details or the examples that are important, they may or may not fit, it's not the way it's explained, that may or may not be well done, it's the CONCEPT. Look at the CONCEPT, people!
Comments like he gets would frustrate me. I'd want to respond, to try to explain it a different way, to try to get through to people. I can't stand being misunderstood.
When I read his argument against the existence of free will, I understood exactly what he meant - that a person's decisions are determined by physics and chemistry, by existing conditions and states, that we are simply "moist robots" and have no more free will than a programmed electronic robot. I understand and fully agree with his argument. 100%. We do not have entirely free will. At least not as he defines it.
Then I exercised my own free will and decided to go get a cup of tea. I didn't have to, I could have decided not to get a cup of tea. The problem with his argument is not that I may or may not have gone for the tea - it's in the definition of "free will". There are degrees of "free". Most of his commenters missed that distinction. I got very annoyed with all the people who told him he was nuts because "of course" they can make free will decisions. They didn't even think about why a particular decision was made. Idiots.
I am reminded of that housewife at the baby shower in 1976, who declared that she couldn't understand and didn't need "this feminism stuff", because, after all, "My husband lets me do anything I want." It would have been useless to attempt to explain to her what was wrong with that statement.
I guess some people never learn to fly.
.
Well, I found another way to avoid the "to do" list. I've been reading through The Dilbert Blog.
Scott Adams, it turns out, is (or was) a Mensan. He writes about his shock when he met Mensans in a group in a November 2006 entry. I'm not going to attempt to find the specific link right now, but if you go to the link above, then to the archives for November, then "find in this page" and search for "Mensa", you can read it if you like.
He uses words like loser, and dress like street people, and incapable of managing their own lives, but then he says that the most amazing and wonderful thing is that "you don't have to explain anything twice".
Yeah. I have to give them that. Most Mensans "get it" the first time. (Except for the occasional speed limit-challenged nuclear physicist, that is. And a few others with very narrow focus.) Not only do they get it, but in general they understand where you're coming from. You can float a preposterous idea just to see where it goes without someone picking the details to pieces. They'll accept that it's preposterous, then play with it anyway, and they'll understand that you don't really believe or espouse this stuff. Or if you do believe it, they'll understand "thinking out loud", as opposed to a fully formed philosophy. You can use examples that don't quite fit, and they'll see what does fit and ignore the details for the sake of argument, or try to come up with a better-fitting example. If you present a proposition at a very high level, they'll stay at the high level before delving into details, understanding that you need to build the scaffold before laying bricks.
In other words, they'll see where you're coming from, understand where you are, and help you to get to where you're going.
Mostly.
That's pretty rare.
I've also been reading the comments in Scott's blog. He gets very philosophical and has some less than popular opinions, and he gets over 400 comments on an average entry. I don't know how he can stand it, unless he simply doesn't read the comments.
As illustrated in Scott's blog's comments, people in general just don't "get it". Many simply miss the point of the exercise. Or they pick one tiny detail and chew it to bits. Or instead of seeing what part of a random example fits, they tear the example apart. They don't seem to understand that it's not the details or the examples that are important, they may or may not fit, it's not the way it's explained, that may or may not be well done, it's the CONCEPT. Look at the CONCEPT, people!
Comments like he gets would frustrate me. I'd want to respond, to try to explain it a different way, to try to get through to people. I can't stand being misunderstood.
When I read his argument against the existence of free will, I understood exactly what he meant - that a person's decisions are determined by physics and chemistry, by existing conditions and states, that we are simply "moist robots" and have no more free will than a programmed electronic robot. I understand and fully agree with his argument. 100%. We do not have entirely free will. At least not as he defines it.
Then I exercised my own free will and decided to go get a cup of tea. I didn't have to, I could have decided not to get a cup of tea. The problem with his argument is not that I may or may not have gone for the tea - it's in the definition of "free will". There are degrees of "free". Most of his commenters missed that distinction. I got very annoyed with all the people who told him he was nuts because "of course" they can make free will decisions. They didn't even think about why a particular decision was made. Idiots.
I am reminded of that housewife at the baby shower in 1976, who declared that she couldn't understand and didn't need "this feminism stuff", because, after all, "My husband lets me do anything I want." It would have been useless to attempt to explain to her what was wrong with that statement.
I guess some people never learn to fly.
.
1002 Who Is Visiting the Taste Tests? And Why?
I noticed a week or more ago that someone had found my short and simple entry on taste tests through a Google search. Since then, I've had many visits from people in Colorado and California (or at least that's where their ISP is) who go directly to that entry, not from a search or a link.
That means they're not there by accident. And since they don't seem to go anywhere else from that entry, they're not browsing. I conclude that someone is passing the URL around, maybe in an email.
Interesting. I wonder why?
A thought I've had since that entry: Even blindfolded, testers would be likely to choose the familiar taste ("That's what xyz is supposed to taste like!"). Therefore it would be easy to slant the results of a taste test, should you be so inclined, by interviewing the potential tasters, and then choosing mostly those who already are users of your product, or of a product similar in taste to yours.
Moral: Taste tests have no meaning other than "this is more familiar than that". "Better" is neither the question asked nor answered.
.
That means they're not there by accident. And since they don't seem to go anywhere else from that entry, they're not browsing. I conclude that someone is passing the URL around, maybe in an email.
Interesting. I wonder why?
A thought I've had since that entry: Even blindfolded, testers would be likely to choose the familiar taste ("That's what xyz is supposed to taste like!"). Therefore it would be easy to slant the results of a taste test, should you be so inclined, by interviewing the potential tasters, and then choosing mostly those who already are users of your product, or of a product similar in taste to yours.
Moral: Taste tests have no meaning other than "this is more familiar than that". "Better" is neither the question asked nor answered.
.
1001 Just in Case
Tuesday, December 5, 2006
[Later edit - more info added at bottom, after the dividing line.]
I'm documenting this a) so if it happens again I will be able to date this incident, and b) just in case it "goes west" somehow, someone will know what happened.
A few minutes ago I was reading something and noticed that I couldn't see the letter that preceded the letter I was looking at. I had a pinpoint of not-seeing. The pinpoint expanded into a circle within minutes. It's been going on for about 15 minutes now. The circle is now larger than my handspan at the distance of the monitor, to the left of the focal point. I can "sort of" see within the circle (which is more like a "C" shape now), except that things sort of jump a bit. The edges of the circle are very bright white flashing zig-zag spikes. If I close either eye, it's still there, and the jagged edges are very bright when I close both eyes.
This same thing happened to me about eight years or so ago, while I was helping a friend in New Paltz to move. I picked up a heavy box and there was a popping feeling, and I got these bright flashing zig-zags. I was afraid I had a detached retina, so we got an immediate emergency appointment with a New Paltz opthamologist. She decided it was an "optical migraine". Nothing to worry about. The zig-zags eventually expanded to the periphery and disappeared.
This one seems to be progressing faster than the first. The jagged edges are out to my peripheral vision already (I started this note 18 minutes ago) and I can now see just fine in the middle. It'll be completely gone in a few minutes. The first one lasted over two and a half hours.
Excuse me while I go do some internet research on visual/optical/ocular migraines. Maybe the zig-zags themselves are not dangerous, but maybe the "why" of them is.
-----------------------------------------
It's now an hour and a half later. I've read a bunch of stuff like the Wikipedia entry on migraine (including the contributors' comments), and a forum description that sounds exactly like my thingy, and other bits here and there. There's lots of descriptions of what it is, but nothing conclusive on why.
It's interesting that the forum poster says that the eyeball feels swollen, but doesn't look swollen. I've got that too! My right eyeball feels swollen. I've also got a tender feeling around the right eyesocket, cheek, and temple. And a very slight (maybe just suggestion-induced) headache above my right ear. No big deal.
My initial fear was, of course, that it was a transient ischemic attack (TIA, sort of like a mini-stroke). Of my maternal ancestors, on the Welsh side, everyone who didn't get hit by a car or something died of a stroke, or a series of small strokes. Not the clot-type stroke that aspirin helps, but a non-aneurysm brain-bleed. I'm more afraid of having a stroke when I'm so alone here than of cancer or anything else.
That side of the family also has a general bleeding problem. I used to think it was one of the many forms of clotting factor defect that affects both males and females. My next-younger sister bruises if you just look at her hard, and requires a few gallons of blood when she gives birth. Youngest brother and I bruise fairly easily too, but I've noticed that it's not so much a clotting problem (a cut will stop bleeding in a reasonable time) as a "breaking" problem. I think we have fragile blood vessels, that break and leak easily. That could also account for the fact that we all tend to have extremely low blood pressure, too. (At least until we get old, sedentary, and fat....)
So, according to what I read, it was an optical migraine, and optical migraines are not dangerous.
(Although migraine suffers are nine times more likely to suffer an eventual stroke than non-suffers. Gee, thanks for that comforting news, folks. Not dangerous?)
.
[Later edit - more info added at bottom, after the dividing line.]
I'm documenting this a) so if it happens again I will be able to date this incident, and b) just in case it "goes west" somehow, someone will know what happened.
A few minutes ago I was reading something and noticed that I couldn't see the letter that preceded the letter I was looking at. I had a pinpoint of not-seeing. The pinpoint expanded into a circle within minutes. It's been going on for about 15 minutes now. The circle is now larger than my handspan at the distance of the monitor, to the left of the focal point. I can "sort of" see within the circle (which is more like a "C" shape now), except that things sort of jump a bit. The edges of the circle are very bright white flashing zig-zag spikes. If I close either eye, it's still there, and the jagged edges are very bright when I close both eyes.
This same thing happened to me about eight years or so ago, while I was helping a friend in New Paltz to move. I picked up a heavy box and there was a popping feeling, and I got these bright flashing zig-zags. I was afraid I had a detached retina, so we got an immediate emergency appointment with a New Paltz opthamologist. She decided it was an "optical migraine". Nothing to worry about. The zig-zags eventually expanded to the periphery and disappeared.
This one seems to be progressing faster than the first. The jagged edges are out to my peripheral vision already (I started this note 18 minutes ago) and I can now see just fine in the middle. It'll be completely gone in a few minutes. The first one lasted over two and a half hours.
Excuse me while I go do some internet research on visual/optical/ocular migraines. Maybe the zig-zags themselves are not dangerous, but maybe the "why" of them is.
-----------------------------------------
It's now an hour and a half later. I've read a bunch of stuff like the Wikipedia entry on migraine (including the contributors' comments), and a forum description that sounds exactly like my thingy, and other bits here and there. There's lots of descriptions of what it is, but nothing conclusive on why.
It's interesting that the forum poster says that the eyeball feels swollen, but doesn't look swollen. I've got that too! My right eyeball feels swollen. I've also got a tender feeling around the right eyesocket, cheek, and temple. And a very slight (maybe just suggestion-induced) headache above my right ear. No big deal.
My initial fear was, of course, that it was a transient ischemic attack (TIA, sort of like a mini-stroke). Of my maternal ancestors, on the Welsh side, everyone who didn't get hit by a car or something died of a stroke, or a series of small strokes. Not the clot-type stroke that aspirin helps, but a non-aneurysm brain-bleed. I'm more afraid of having a stroke when I'm so alone here than of cancer or anything else.
That side of the family also has a general bleeding problem. I used to think it was one of the many forms of clotting factor defect that affects both males and females. My next-younger sister bruises if you just look at her hard, and requires a few gallons of blood when she gives birth. Youngest brother and I bruise fairly easily too, but I've noticed that it's not so much a clotting problem (a cut will stop bleeding in a reasonable time) as a "breaking" problem. I think we have fragile blood vessels, that break and leak easily. That could also account for the fact that we all tend to have extremely low blood pressure, too. (At least until we get old, sedentary, and fat....)
So, according to what I read, it was an optical migraine, and optical migraines are not dangerous.
(Although migraine suffers are nine times more likely to suffer an eventual stroke than non-suffers. Gee, thanks for that comforting news, folks. Not dangerous?)
.
Monday, December 04, 2006
1000 Batting a Thousand!
Monday, December 4, 2006
I posted #999 also on the local Mensa Group Board, and now I'm waiting for all the self-appointed experts to volunteer themselves. Snort!
I am reminded of a member who wanted to volunteer the services of the organization to the local governments. He figured that we would be able to run things better and that the legislatures and town councils would appreciate our input and would do what we say. He couldn't understand why that wasn't a good idea.
He also commented one time that there are "only 210 very intelligent people in this area". We asked him where he got that number, and he said it was the Mensa membership. We pointed out that not all smart people join, in fact the smartest people don't, and the qualifying test doesn't measure all types of intelligence anyway, but he wouldn't accept that. Finally I asked him how long he had been a member, and "before you joined, when you were not a member, were you stupid?" That confused him.
This is the same guy who couldn't understand how NJ got a speeding ticket. She said, "Duh, the speed limit was 45 mph and I was doing 55." He said that was impossible, that it was physically impossible to exceed a speed limit, that's the very definition of a speed limit, that it's the fastest you can possibly go. He was not joking. He was serious. This is absolutely true.
The directions to a dinner said that "heading north on 9W after the bridge, the restaurant will be on the left about a quarter mile after the first stop light". Bad choice of words. The light happened to be green when he went through it. He drove 30 miles, and through four more green lights, before he found a red light, and no restaurant.
He was a nuclear physicist.
That better be a good magic wand. Otherwise, he'd be the first volunteer and the first one shot in the "War of the Experts".
.
I posted #999 also on the local Mensa Group Board, and now I'm waiting for all the self-appointed experts to volunteer themselves. Snort!
I am reminded of a member who wanted to volunteer the services of the organization to the local governments. He figured that we would be able to run things better and that the legislatures and town councils would appreciate our input and would do what we say. He couldn't understand why that wasn't a good idea.
He also commented one time that there are "only 210 very intelligent people in this area". We asked him where he got that number, and he said it was the Mensa membership. We pointed out that not all smart people join, in fact the smartest people don't, and the qualifying test doesn't measure all types of intelligence anyway, but he wouldn't accept that. Finally I asked him how long he had been a member, and "before you joined, when you were not a member, were you stupid?" That confused him.
This is the same guy who couldn't understand how NJ got a speeding ticket. She said, "Duh, the speed limit was 45 mph and I was doing 55." He said that was impossible, that it was physically impossible to exceed a speed limit, that's the very definition of a speed limit, that it's the fastest you can possibly go. He was not joking. He was serious. This is absolutely true.
The directions to a dinner said that "heading north on 9W after the bridge, the restaurant will be on the left about a quarter mile after the first stop light". Bad choice of words. The light happened to be green when he went through it. He drove 30 miles, and through four more green lights, before he found a red light, and no restaurant.
He was a nuclear physicist.
That better be a good magic wand. Otherwise, he'd be the first volunteer and the first one shot in the "War of the Experts".
.
999 A Single Simple Solution
Monday, December 4, 2006
Scott Adams, in his blog "Dilbert.Com" (http://dilbertblog.typepad.com/) asks "What one simple problem could you eliminate – let’s say using magic – that would fix virtually every other problem in the world?" He points out that eliminating poverty or hunger wouldn't work, because there would still be other things to fight over. He came up with a solution that might actually work (if it were possible, of course). The individual entry is at "The One Problem with the World", but there are over 440 comments on the entry, and it might take a while to load, so I recommend just going to the blog's main page (typepad link above) and scrolling down to "The One Problem with the World". (If you scroll rather than "find", you might find other topics of interest on the way.)
.
Scott Adams, in his blog "Dilbert.Com" (http://dilbertblog.typepad.com/) asks "What one simple problem could you eliminate – let’s say using magic – that would fix virtually every other problem in the world?" He points out that eliminating poverty or hunger wouldn't work, because there would still be other things to fight over. He came up with a solution that might actually work (if it were possible, of course). The individual entry is at "The One Problem with the World", but there are over 440 comments on the entry, and it might take a while to load, so I recommend just going to the blog's main page (typepad link above) and scrolling down to "The One Problem with the World". (If you scroll rather than "find", you might find other topics of interest on the way.)
.
Sunday, December 03, 2006
998 Tattoos and Other Stuff
Sunday, December 3, 2006
I forgot to mention that I did ask my sister about her tattooed eyeliner over Thanksgiving. I didn't get to actually see it because I didn't see her without makeup. She said that she wasn't all that happy with it. She said it didn't hurt, but it tickled so much when the woman was doing it that it almost drove her crazy, "You can't move, you know".
And then you don't know what it's actually going to look like for a few days. It's normal (she said) for the color and thickness to be a bit uneven after the first pass. She had to go back in to get it touched up, and she said that when she thought about the tickle, she almost didn't.
After two sessions, it was done, but it doesn't last long. The color isn't very deep (eyelids being thin and delicate), so it fades fairly quickly. And - the bad part - it may not fade evenly.
So she still wears eyeliner when she goes out.
I had been thinking about eyebrows, so maybe the tickling and fading won't be as much of a consideration. My big thing would be color. I'm having a devil of a time finding the right color pencil, let alone ink. Most "blonde" pencils are too dark. My hair will (I hope) get lighter as I lose the last of the brown mixed in, so any shade I get now might not be good in a few years.
On other fronts, Daughter reports that Ex#2, her father, is in the hospital in Colorado. He has a stomach/intestinal bug of some kind, and had "treated it" for more than a week by eating nothing but Jello. He was diagnosed with diabetes a few years ago, but has made no effort to change his high-sugar diet. He frustrates Daughter. I'm past caring. Caring about him is a exercise in self-abuse. After a while you learn to just nod and look away.
Piper wonders why I'm keeping life insurance on Ex#2. I was going to drop it when Daughter graduated from college (that's what it was for, but I don't know why, because he never contributed to her education anyway), but the odds were too good for the mathematician in me. He wouldn't pay for college, so maybe he'll provide her house downpayment.
Today I did some laundry, and I didn't flood the pantry.
.
I forgot to mention that I did ask my sister about her tattooed eyeliner over Thanksgiving. I didn't get to actually see it because I didn't see her without makeup. She said that she wasn't all that happy with it. She said it didn't hurt, but it tickled so much when the woman was doing it that it almost drove her crazy, "You can't move, you know".
And then you don't know what it's actually going to look like for a few days. It's normal (she said) for the color and thickness to be a bit uneven after the first pass. She had to go back in to get it touched up, and she said that when she thought about the tickle, she almost didn't.
After two sessions, it was done, but it doesn't last long. The color isn't very deep (eyelids being thin and delicate), so it fades fairly quickly. And - the bad part - it may not fade evenly.
So she still wears eyeliner when she goes out.
I had been thinking about eyebrows, so maybe the tickling and fading won't be as much of a consideration. My big thing would be color. I'm having a devil of a time finding the right color pencil, let alone ink. Most "blonde" pencils are too dark. My hair will (I hope) get lighter as I lose the last of the brown mixed in, so any shade I get now might not be good in a few years.
On other fronts, Daughter reports that Ex#2, her father, is in the hospital in Colorado. He has a stomach/intestinal bug of some kind, and had "treated it" for more than a week by eating nothing but Jello. He was diagnosed with diabetes a few years ago, but has made no effort to change his high-sugar diet. He frustrates Daughter. I'm past caring. Caring about him is a exercise in self-abuse. After a while you learn to just nod and look away.
Piper wonders why I'm keeping life insurance on Ex#2. I was going to drop it when Daughter graduated from college (that's what it was for, but I don't know why, because he never contributed to her education anyway), but the odds were too good for the mathematician in me. He wouldn't pay for college, so maybe he'll provide her house downpayment.
Today I did some laundry, and I didn't flood the pantry.
.
Saturday, December 02, 2006
997 Friday Fun
Saturday, December 2, 2006
[Later Edit - I just "got" the name of the band. My mind doesn't normally run that way. Besides, it was so very long ago....]
All week I had been looking forward to last night. I wanted to go to Woodstock to see the Tw1sted Tassels dance at 6pm, then to Saugerstock (that no-man's-land between Woodstock and Saugerties) to a 7 pm pot-luck party at the Blue Mountain Bistro, with FirstWoman (FW).
And then the weather came. It got darker and windier. The pine outside the kitchen window was leaning about 30 degrees. The electricity was flickering, and I was worried about trees going down. I called FW and told her I didn't think I would be going out. I'd be driving the minivan, on a twisty up and down road through some very lonely woods, and I wasn't too excited about a tree falling on me.
She talked me into trying. "Start out, and if it gets bad, you can always turn around and go home."
So I got all dressed and made up, and by then it was too late to attempt Woodstock, because it was pouring rain and it would have taken too long to get there. I got soaked between the front door and the car, and that was with the umbrella.
I had to stop at the deli for cigarettes, and I needed both money and gas. The 2.5-mile drive into the village took twice as long as normal because the rain was dense and blowing horizontally and I couldn't see the road. I was already considering giving up. Oddly, the very second I turned in to the deli, the rain stopped completely. But it got worse when the car radio announced a tornado watch - not for the county, or a section of the county, but for THE VILLAGE! The village which is four blocks wide and four blocks long. "Tornado in the vicinity of " this tiny village. I thought "Ok, do I go back home, or do I get the @#$% away from the village?", and just then the ambulance and heavy rescue vehicle tore past. (Heavy rescue indicates there's a motor vehicle accident.)
Things are not looking promising. However, I look really good, hair is behaving, outfit is nice, and I hate to waste all this pulchritudinosity. Rare as it is.
So, I go into the deli, and the electricity promptly went off. When it came back on, I told the deli man my dilemma, and he said the same thing FW had. So I went to the bank, and decided that if the ATM wasn't working because of the iffy power, that would make the decision. I got my money. Ok, I'll go to the gas station, and if the pumps aren't working, that'll make the decision. Got my gas. Ok, I'll head for the bridge, and if the bridge is closed because of the ferocious winds, that'll make the decision. All the traffic lights near the bridge were out, and cars trying to turn in off the side roads were taking crazy chances which explained the heavy rescue call, but the bridge was open, and the van didn't get blown off.
On the other side of the river there was no wind or rain, no trees down, the sky was clear with a bright moon, and I made it to Saugerstock with no trouble. Very strange. You see that a lot around here - 2 feet of snow on the ground in a blizzard, and you cross a bridge and there's clear ground and sunshine. Always a bridge. I don't understand.
So I made it to the party. I'm not sure whether I should call it a party. It was on and hosted by "Carl's List", which is a local website for business networking, advertising, and so on. There seems to be a concentration on arts. FW said it's mostly for business networking, but good for social networking, too. They have a get-together once a month or so.
I was concerned that, once again, I'd find myself the oldest one in the room, but was pleasantly surprised to find that everybody there was pretty close to my age.
FW and I set a goal - we would speak with at least fourstrange men, stranger men, men we'd never met before. And we did. I actually walked up to people (I included women), introduced myself, and had a few minutes conversation. I think I may be embarking on a new phase. I wasn't afraid, and I don't know why, don't know what has changed in me.
I thought FW was familiar with this group, but it turned out it was all new to her too, and she considers herself shy, too. She had found out about CarlsList by having met Carl at some other (job-related) function.
FW ran into some old acquaintances there whom she hadn't seen in years. She's very active socially, knows a lot of people, but her interests and activities are very different from mine, and so her social contacts are pretty far outside my usual realm. Mindset-wise, I mean. She's a painter, and her lifestyle is very, um, experimental. I'm pretty conservative. But we seem to get along just fine.
Anyway, along about 10 pm, somebody mentioned that there was dancing at New World Home Cooking, just down the road, so a bunch of us went there. The band was Monica's Kneepads (which seems to have some meaning beyond a band name - I'll have to research that [Later edit - ok. Figured it out.] - and where do bands get these weird names anyhow?), see the photo at the link, and they were really dressed like that, huge wigs and all, and they were very very good. Whatever is changing in me hasn't made it all the way yet, because I couldn't quite make it onto the dance floor, it seems like "dancing" these days consists of just jumping up and down and I can't do that, but I enjoyed the show and the conversations anyway. Also a Cosmopolitan. Or two.
At 12:30 am I was headed for the bridge and passed Wal*Mart, so I decided to stop in. I need a bulb for the bedside reading lamp, and I have discovered that they restock in the wee hours, and sometimes they put out a few samples of some really nice things that are all gone by the next morning. I found boots! Finally, warm comfortable driveway-clearing snow boots that I can actually get on past my high insteps!
At 1:50 am I was raising Cain at the W*M customer service desk because there were TEN! people lined up at the ONE! open checkout counter, and the SIX! people in line in front of me had multiple carts each, overflowing with groceries. They opened two more registers. I got cheers from the others in line. After which the people behind me almost knocked me over trying to beat me to the opened counters. I was still feeling very Cosmopolitan, and snarled, and they actually backed off.
I am woman, and I'm learning to roar. And talk to strange men.
[Later Edit - I just "got" the name of the band. My mind doesn't normally run that way. Besides, it was so very long ago....]
All week I had been looking forward to last night. I wanted to go to Woodstock to see the Tw1sted Tassels dance at 6pm, then to Saugerstock (that no-man's-land between Woodstock and Saugerties) to a 7 pm pot-luck party at the Blue Mountain Bistro, with FirstWoman (FW).
And then the weather came. It got darker and windier. The pine outside the kitchen window was leaning about 30 degrees. The electricity was flickering, and I was worried about trees going down. I called FW and told her I didn't think I would be going out. I'd be driving the minivan, on a twisty up and down road through some very lonely woods, and I wasn't too excited about a tree falling on me.
She talked me into trying. "Start out, and if it gets bad, you can always turn around and go home."
So I got all dressed and made up, and by then it was too late to attempt Woodstock, because it was pouring rain and it would have taken too long to get there. I got soaked between the front door and the car, and that was with the umbrella.
I had to stop at the deli for cigarettes, and I needed both money and gas. The 2.5-mile drive into the village took twice as long as normal because the rain was dense and blowing horizontally and I couldn't see the road. I was already considering giving up. Oddly, the very second I turned in to the deli, the rain stopped completely. But it got worse when the car radio announced a tornado watch - not for the county, or a section of the county, but for THE VILLAGE! The village which is four blocks wide and four blocks long. "Tornado in the vicinity of " this tiny village. I thought "Ok, do I go back home, or do I get the @#$% away from the village?", and just then the ambulance and heavy rescue vehicle tore past. (Heavy rescue indicates there's a motor vehicle accident.)
Things are not looking promising. However, I look really good, hair is behaving, outfit is nice, and I hate to waste all this pulchritudinosity. Rare as it is.
So, I go into the deli, and the electricity promptly went off. When it came back on, I told the deli man my dilemma, and he said the same thing FW had. So I went to the bank, and decided that if the ATM wasn't working because of the iffy power, that would make the decision. I got my money. Ok, I'll go to the gas station, and if the pumps aren't working, that'll make the decision. Got my gas. Ok, I'll head for the bridge, and if the bridge is closed because of the ferocious winds, that'll make the decision. All the traffic lights near the bridge were out, and cars trying to turn in off the side roads were taking crazy chances which explained the heavy rescue call, but the bridge was open, and the van didn't get blown off.
On the other side of the river there was no wind or rain, no trees down, the sky was clear with a bright moon, and I made it to Saugerstock with no trouble. Very strange. You see that a lot around here - 2 feet of snow on the ground in a blizzard, and you cross a bridge and there's clear ground and sunshine. Always a bridge. I don't understand.
So I made it to the party. I'm not sure whether I should call it a party. It was on and hosted by "Carl's List", which is a local website for business networking, advertising, and so on. There seems to be a concentration on arts. FW said it's mostly for business networking, but good for social networking, too. They have a get-together once a month or so.
I was concerned that, once again, I'd find myself the oldest one in the room, but was pleasantly surprised to find that everybody there was pretty close to my age.
FW and I set a goal - we would speak with at least four
I thought FW was familiar with this group, but it turned out it was all new to her too, and she considers herself shy, too. She had found out about CarlsList by having met Carl at some other (job-related) function.
FW ran into some old acquaintances there whom she hadn't seen in years. She's very active socially, knows a lot of people, but her interests and activities are very different from mine, and so her social contacts are pretty far outside my usual realm. Mindset-wise, I mean. She's a painter, and her lifestyle is very, um, experimental. I'm pretty conservative. But we seem to get along just fine.
Anyway, along about 10 pm, somebody mentioned that there was dancing at New World Home Cooking, just down the road, so a bunch of us went there. The band was Monica's Kneepads (which seems to have some meaning beyond a band name - I'll have to research that [Later edit - ok. Figured it out.] - and where do bands get these weird names anyhow?), see the photo at the link, and they were really dressed like that, huge wigs and all, and they were very very good. Whatever is changing in me hasn't made it all the way yet, because I couldn't quite make it onto the dance floor, it seems like "dancing" these days consists of just jumping up and down and I can't do that, but I enjoyed the show and the conversations anyway. Also a Cosmopolitan. Or two.
At 12:30 am I was headed for the bridge and passed Wal*Mart, so I decided to stop in. I need a bulb for the bedside reading lamp, and I have discovered that they restock in the wee hours, and sometimes they put out a few samples of some really nice things that are all gone by the next morning. I found boots! Finally, warm comfortable driveway-clearing snow boots that I can actually get on past my high insteps!
At 1:50 am I was raising Cain at the W*M customer service desk because there were TEN! people lined up at the ONE! open checkout counter, and the SIX! people in line in front of me had multiple carts each, overflowing with groceries. They opened two more registers. I got cheers from the others in line. After which the people behind me almost knocked me over trying to beat me to the opened counters. I was still feeling very Cosmopolitan, and snarled, and they actually backed off.
I am woman, and I'm learning to roar. And talk to strange men.
Thursday, November 30, 2006
996 Early Snow?
Thursday, November 30, 2006
I've been trying to remember when the first snow came when I was young. These days I'm always surprised by the first snow. I never expect it.
In the 1800s snow came very early. The world was going through a "mini-ice age" then. People wore wool in high summer. That's why "Over the River and Through the Wood", a Thanksgiving poem/song written in 1844, talks about the horse pulling a sleigh.
I'm pretty sure snow at Thanksgiving was rare when I was a child, because I always wondered why the song mentioned enough snow for a sleigh (not just snow, but "deep and drifting" snow!) But whether snow was usual for Christmas in my life is harder to remember.
I have many memories of getting sleds or "flying saucers" for Christmas and being disappointed because there was no snow. On the other hand, I have memories of getting bicycles from Santa and being unable to use them because there was too much snow. Which doesn't sound right, because I got my first bicycle when I was 11, a big heavy no-gears Columbia, and never got another. Maybe I'm actually remembering the disappointment of siblings or Daughter. Hey, it's the short-term memory that's supposed to go, not the long-term!
My middle school years were spent in Ottawa, Canada, so even if I were sure what I remember from then , it wouldn't apply. Most of my high school years were on the mountain, and nothing from there applies to here. (We got our first snow on the mountain in October.)
It bothers me that I can't remember whether there was usually snow for my childhood Christmases. (Yes, I lived all over the US then, but Christmas was always at Gramma's, in Pennsylvania.)
I hate snow. Maybe I'll buy myself a sled - that might work to hold it off for a while.
.
I've been trying to remember when the first snow came when I was young. These days I'm always surprised by the first snow. I never expect it.
In the 1800s snow came very early. The world was going through a "mini-ice age" then. People wore wool in high summer. That's why "Over the River and Through the Wood", a Thanksgiving poem/song written in 1844, talks about the horse pulling a sleigh.
I'm pretty sure snow at Thanksgiving was rare when I was a child, because I always wondered why the song mentioned enough snow for a sleigh (not just snow, but "deep and drifting" snow!) But whether snow was usual for Christmas in my life is harder to remember.
I have many memories of getting sleds or "flying saucers" for Christmas and being disappointed because there was no snow. On the other hand, I have memories of getting bicycles from Santa and being unable to use them because there was too much snow. Which doesn't sound right, because I got my first bicycle when I was 11, a big heavy no-gears Columbia, and never got another. Maybe I'm actually remembering the disappointment of siblings or Daughter. Hey, it's the short-term memory that's supposed to go, not the long-term!
My middle school years were spent in Ottawa, Canada, so even if I were sure what I remember from then , it wouldn't apply. Most of my high school years were on the mountain, and nothing from there applies to here. (We got our first snow on the mountain in October.)
It bothers me that I can't remember whether there was usually snow for my childhood Christmases. (Yes, I lived all over the US then, but Christmas was always at Gramma's, in Pennsylvania.)
I hate snow. Maybe I'll buy myself a sled - that might work to hold it off for a while.
.
995 Trivial Blahs
Thursday, November 30, 2006
I was supposed to go to Tom's trivia tonight, but as the time got closer and closer to when I would have to leave the house (it's an hour drive), and I hadn't even begun to clean up or dress, I realized I just didn't feel like it. I'm torn. I really did want to go, but I really didn't want to make the effort. I wish it were closer.
I hope I have more energy tomorrow night. Twisted Tassels is dancing in Woodstock at 6 pm, and then there's a singles group pot luck just down the road at 7. I'd like to make both.
But it's about these "To Do" lists that seem to get longer and longer....
Maybe if I got to bed earlier and got up earlier, maybe.
...
I was supposed to go to Tom's trivia tonight, but as the time got closer and closer to when I would have to leave the house (it's an hour drive), and I hadn't even begun to clean up or dress, I realized I just didn't feel like it. I'm torn. I really did want to go, but I really didn't want to make the effort. I wish it were closer.
I hope I have more energy tomorrow night. Twisted Tassels is dancing in Woodstock at 6 pm, and then there's a singles group pot luck just down the road at 7. I'd like to make both.
But it's about these "To Do" lists that seem to get longer and longer....
Maybe if I got to bed earlier and got up earlier, maybe.
...
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
994 My Right Foot
While looking through the sculpture park photo rejects, I noticed this one. It's fuzzy because it was a long shot and I had to cut the "live people" and enlarge it to show just the feet. That's my legs in the black. Note the right foot (on the left in the picture). That's the one that I can't sense. The one that I just figured out swings in front of the other when I walk. This photo seems to confirm that. I need more pictures, taken when I don't know I'm being photographed. Maybe a "candid camera" video of me walking and standing.When Jay "lost" his left side, if you told him to raise his left hand, he couldn't do it. But if you brought his hand to the center front where he could see it, then he could use it. He couldn't walk unless he could see his left foot, and then only if he had his head turned so that the foot was in his center or right field of vision. That's why "hemi-paralyzed" wasn't accurate. The proper term was "left side neglect". His left side simply wasn't there when he couldn't see it. (Of course, once he went blind, it was effectively paralysis.)
Similarly, when I am paying attention, except for a slight rigidness of the ankle on the right, I probably don't exhibit a problem.
Hmmm. Now I'm wondering if this explains why the muscle at the top of my right thigh is more developed than on the left. I thought it was just uneven fat.... It absolutely explains the way my shoe soles wear!
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Mel Gibson has a movie coming out soon, and I hear that some people are already gearing up to picket theaters. Why? If you don't like what you assume he thinks, that's not the way to educate him, to change his thinking. If you object only to what he reportedly said, then his retraction, apology, and promise never to say it again should have satisfied you. So I don't understand the picket line. You're just throwing a temper tantrum and trying to punish him.
That's not nice and not productive. (Unless punishing people makes you feel good.)
993 Sculpture Park Photos, 3 of 3
After the "Books as Art" exhibition a few weeks ago at Vassar, I was interested in this group. Books and newspaper had been dipped in wax, and then shaped and carved. You could still read the printing. I liked these better than the things at Vassar. They looked and felt ancient.
Hercules found a screwdriver over a doorframe in the gardens, and then found an empty platform. He created his own exhibit. Something about the loneliness of the skilled craftsman, or something.
"Rats", the restaurant on the Grounds, was in "Toad Hall", a cluster of buildings containing also a gift shop, a museum, offices, and storage. This is outside Toad Hall.
That's Rats in the background. The round pavilion is the dance floor.
This small sculpture was in the men's room in Rats. Title: "Resting on His Laurels".
Hercules found a screwdriver over a doorframe in the gardens, and then found an empty platform. He created his own exhibit. Something about the loneliness of the skilled craftsman, or something.
"Rats", the restaurant on the Grounds, was in "Toad Hall", a cluster of buildings containing also a gift shop, a museum, offices, and storage. This is outside Toad Hall.
That's Rats in the background. The round pavilion is the dance floor.
This small sculpture was in the men's room in Rats. Title: "Resting on His Laurels".
992 Sculpture Park Photos, 2 of 3
We were walking down a path and came around a corner, and found a statue of a man painting. Naturally, we looked at the easel to see what he was painting, and then we looked to see what he was looking at, and it was this scene. (I don't know the name of the painting, or the original artist.) Some of the greenery in the garden is live and some is fake. The chairs and the figures from this vantage point are faithful to the painting, but when you walk down into it, you notice that everything is "off", out of kilter. The man, for example, looks right from this angle, but when you stand near the man and woman, you find that the man is huge compared to the woman. And the chair on the right is not sit-in-able. The original painting does have the boat. The boat is not there now, probably removed for the winter. This particular shot is from a prior visit by Daughter and Hercules, but I wanted to use it because of the boat.
We also stumbled upon that painting of the picnic with two men and a woman in the foreground, and another woman in the background, bent over standing in a pond. Everybody is rather heavily dressed except the foreground woman, who is blissfully naked, with her clothing and hat piled next to her. It was reproduced down to the leaves, and a real pond the second woman was in. Didn't get a photo of that one.
I recently saw this installation in a magazine. Of course, I don't remember the name or the artist, but I do remember the subject. It's depression-era men lined up at a soup kitchen door. Again, I had to behead the live person.
Pregnant lady. Not a fountain. Still. Quiet. Contemplating. Protecting.
Water feature.
Same as above, but from a much more interesting angle.
We also stumbled upon that painting of the picnic with two men and a woman in the foreground, and another woman in the background, bent over standing in a pond. Everybody is rather heavily dressed except the foreground woman, who is blissfully naked, with her clothing and hat piled next to her. It was reproduced down to the leaves, and a real pond the second woman was in. Didn't get a photo of that one.I recently saw this installation in a magazine. Of course, I don't remember the name or the artist, but I do remember the subject. It's depression-era men lined up at a soup kitchen door. Again, I had to behead the live person.
Pregnant lady. Not a fountain. Still. Quiet. Contemplating. Protecting.
Water feature.
Same as above, but from a much more interesting angle.
991 Sculpture Park Photos, 1 of 3
Photos from last Friday's visit to Grounds for Sculpture, NJ, courtesy of Hercules.
I'm unsure what the rules are for posting photos of artwork without attribution, but all of these pieces are at GFS, so consider it an advertisement for them. Go see them in 3-D.
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Daughter gets all upset when I put photos of living people in here, so I had to behead Hercules. Imagine him properly horrified.
This lady was reclining on a couch in the center of a bamboo grove. Hercules fell in love with her.
The path through here was bordered by thick hedges, except for this strategically placed window.
Fiber art inside one of the buildings. Is it supposed to remind me of a ship? A ship to the sun?
This was one of my favorite installations. Unfortunately, there is no picture of the group as it was meant to be seen. Hercules stuck the camera inside one of the pieces to take this picture. There was also a shot without the flash, which I actually liked better. It was five or so "structures", about 10 or 12 feet tall. They were vaguely humanoid, copper I think, tattered, and in a grove that was rather dark. There was a feeling of despair about them, and yet they stood tall, firm, and steadfast.
This installation was inside a building. The beasties are breaking out of the furniture. Notice the squirrel on top of the plaque on the wall? Well, the coyotes on the couch, a fox on the chair, and a guinea pig made of the carpet were similarly rising out of body-pattern cuts out of the furniture. I thought the artist had missed a bet - he/she should have had deer-body-shaped cuts in the wall paneling for the deer to come out of. It was cute, but I'm not sure what it was "saying".
I'm unsure what the rules are for posting photos of artwork without attribution, but all of these pieces are at GFS, so consider it an advertisement for them. Go see them in 3-D.
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Daughter gets all upset when I put photos of living people in here, so I had to behead Hercules. Imagine him properly horrified.
This lady was reclining on a couch in the center of a bamboo grove. Hercules fell in love with her.
The path through here was bordered by thick hedges, except for this strategically placed window.
Fiber art inside one of the buildings. Is it supposed to remind me of a ship? A ship to the sun?
This was one of my favorite installations. Unfortunately, there is no picture of the group as it was meant to be seen. Hercules stuck the camera inside one of the pieces to take this picture. There was also a shot without the flash, which I actually liked better. It was five or so "structures", about 10 or 12 feet tall. They were vaguely humanoid, copper I think, tattered, and in a grove that was rather dark. There was a feeling of despair about them, and yet they stood tall, firm, and steadfast.
This installation was inside a building. The beasties are breaking out of the furniture. Notice the squirrel on top of the plaque on the wall? Well, the coyotes on the couch, a fox on the chair, and a guinea pig made of the carpet were similarly rising out of body-pattern cuts out of the furniture. I thought the artist had missed a bet - he/she should have had deer-body-shaped cuts in the wall paneling for the deer to come out of. It was cute, but I'm not sure what it was "saying".
990 Gifting
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
[Later edit - shortened link so it doesn't extend across margin.]
Dear Folks,
Just in case I happen to be on anyone's shopping list for the coming holidays, I want to make sure that everyone understands that I may send a few gifts here and there, but that they are given freely, unconnected with the season, and with no expectation of reciprocity. Don't shop for me. A letter, a card, a thought, a prayer will do.
I think that people have lost sight of ... well, you know what I'm saying. I'm sure you think it too. Sending people something they don't need and don't want, at a particular time of the year, just because you're "supposed to", doesn't strike me as "in the spirit". I prefer to give things when and where they are wanted and needed.
All I want this year (all year, every year!) is homemade peanut butter cookies (smooth, not chunky, very peanutty, with the fork Xs on top, some moist and some dry), and I think they're already signed up for.
May I suggest donations in the spirit:
Love,
[Silk]
[Later edit - shortened link so it doesn't extend across margin.]
Dear Folks,
Just in case I happen to be on anyone's shopping list for the coming holidays, I want to make sure that everyone understands that I may send a few gifts here and there, but that they are given freely, unconnected with the season, and with no expectation of reciprocity. Don't shop for me. A letter, a card, a thought, a prayer will do.
I think that people have lost sight of ... well, you know what I'm saying. I'm sure you think it too. Sending people something they don't need and don't want, at a particular time of the year, just because you're "supposed to", doesn't strike me as "in the spirit". I prefer to give things when and where they are wanted and needed.
All I want this year (all year, every year!) is homemade peanut butter cookies (smooth, not chunky, very peanutty, with the fork Xs on top, some moist and some dry), and I think they're already signed up for.
May I suggest donations in the spirit:
- American Brain Tumor Association, http://hope.abta.org/site/PageServer, in memory of [Jay]
- Brain Trauma Foundation, http://www.braintrauma.org/, in memory of [nephew]
- Doctors Without Borders, http://www.doctorswithoutborders.org/donate/
- Heifer International, http://www.heifer.org/
Love,
[Silk]
989 Dinner in Tivoli
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
There used to be a local Mensa special interest group (SIG) for pizza. Their goal was to rate pizza joints, and find the best. The group had a problem. It seemed like half the time they met at a place, it was closed - for a fire, renovations, it got sold, or just went out of business. Worse, every time they thought they'd found the best, it soon died.
The Pizza SIG was bad for business. It finally went out of business itself.
In the past few weeks there has been some interest in reviving it, but the woman who was going to do it suddenly emigrated to Israel.
She left the curse.
We all showed up at Luna 61 in Tivoli (for the ethnic dinner group, not the pizza SIG) last night, and it was closed. Suddenly. When Zig called yesterday afternoon to make the reservations, the man who answered the phone told him that they had decided, just Monday, to go to winter hours (weekends only, I guess). So we ended up at Santa Fe, across the street. Santa Fe, incidentally, used to close for the entire month of December. A lot of non-chain restaurants around here close or restrict their hours in the winter. Ya'd think this was a tourist area or something....
There were seven of us, including Roman and me. I dislike Mexican food (at least as interpreted in "fancy" northeastern restaurants), so I had a steak and salad.
I had a pretty good time. Flirting.
BTW - Luna 61 needs a proofreader for their website - someone who can spell. Apply within. On a weekend.
There used to be a local Mensa special interest group (SIG) for pizza. Their goal was to rate pizza joints, and find the best. The group had a problem. It seemed like half the time they met at a place, it was closed - for a fire, renovations, it got sold, or just went out of business. Worse, every time they thought they'd found the best, it soon died.
The Pizza SIG was bad for business. It finally went out of business itself.
In the past few weeks there has been some interest in reviving it, but the woman who was going to do it suddenly emigrated to Israel.
She left the curse.
We all showed up at Luna 61 in Tivoli (for the ethnic dinner group, not the pizza SIG) last night, and it was closed. Suddenly. When Zig called yesterday afternoon to make the reservations, the man who answered the phone told him that they had decided, just Monday, to go to winter hours (weekends only, I guess). So we ended up at Santa Fe, across the street. Santa Fe, incidentally, used to close for the entire month of December. A lot of non-chain restaurants around here close or restrict their hours in the winter. Ya'd think this was a tourist area or something....
There were seven of us, including Roman and me. I dislike Mexican food (at least as interpreted in "fancy" northeastern restaurants), so I had a steak and salad.
I had a pretty good time. Flirting.
BTW - Luna 61 needs a proofreader for their website - someone who can spell. Apply within. On a weekend.
Monday, November 27, 2006
988 Bath Ball
Monday, November 27, 2006
Daughter gave me a fizzy bath ball when I was visiting. It was pink, and about the size of a softball. She knows how much I love long, hot, soaky, scented, bubbly baths.
I used it today.
I filled the tub with hot water and climbed in, and then dropped the ball in.
It fizzed. Then it started releasing leaves, stems, petals and flowers. LOTS of them. I didn't know they were in there.
They were brown, and tinted the water light brown. They floated and sank. They deteriorated and not. They stuck to the side of the tub and to me. They thickened the water. When I rubbed pieces between my fingers they felt slimy.
It felt like I was bathing in soup. Very nicely scented soup. Floral soup. But ... soup. Ick.
Cleaning the tub and unplugging the drain after was a pain.
Next time, I'll put the ball in a net bag before dropping it in the water.
Daughter gave me a fizzy bath ball when I was visiting. It was pink, and about the size of a softball. She knows how much I love long, hot, soaky, scented, bubbly baths.
I used it today.
I filled the tub with hot water and climbed in, and then dropped the ball in.
It fizzed. Then it started releasing leaves, stems, petals and flowers. LOTS of them. I didn't know they were in there.
They were brown, and tinted the water light brown. They floated and sank. They deteriorated and not. They stuck to the side of the tub and to me. They thickened the water. When I rubbed pieces between my fingers they felt slimy.
It felt like I was bathing in soup. Very nicely scented soup. Floral soup. But ... soup. Ick.
Cleaning the tub and unplugging the drain after was a pain.
Next time, I'll put the ball in a net bag before dropping it in the water.
Sunday, November 26, 2006
987 Zip the Lip
Sunday, November 26, 2006
Man, you really have to be careful what you put out there. It's permanent!
About half the visits to this blog are as a result of a search engine finding some word or phrase (and some of those searches are very strange. People don't know how to search. I'd like to do a whole entry on that sometime).
About half of those search engine hits are for one word in one particular entry that I am now sorry I wrote. Anything I write about myself or my family I don't mind being out there, no matter what it says, and anything I wrote about friends who might find this, it's not so much about them as about my reaction, to which I am entitled and which I can defend. But there's one particular entry that's entirely about someone else, and I really screwed up. I used a term that's popular in (what I consider) an abnormal offshoot of p0rn0graphy (I didn't use it in a p0rn0graphic way), and a lot of people who make me cringe are finding that entry because of that word.
(I'm learning. See how I just diverted searches for p0rn?)
Anyway, it wouldn't normally bother me. Every entry that mentions the Hairless Hunk, for example, gets a lot of hits from people looking for something titillating, and I don't mind those hits. But the post that worries me is, like I said, about someone else, it's speculation and very personal, and the weirdos who get off on that particular thing WILL find it ... um ... lip-smackingly salacious, shall we say. In fact, they have been recommending it to each other. I found a link to it on a site that worries me. (Note that the post is innocent, unless your mind is bent!)
I have considered editing the post to remove the offending word, but that would simply call attention to it, since it would be picked up on feeds as if it were a new entry. It would be better to delete it, but deleting it won't help, because it will continue to exist in caches and possibly archives. Worse, the more hits it gets, the more hits it will get, because it moves up in the search order, and will stay in caches longer. Ouch.
I cringe every time I see another visit from a search on that word. Most of them are coming from Northwestern Europe and the Philippines. Strange people there.
When I wrote that entry, I didn't know that people could find it so easily because of the topic. I didn't realize people would be searching for that topic! (And I'm not really sorry I wrote it - it was something I needed to do at the time. I'm just sorry it can't be better protected from misuse.)
Learn from my pain. Disguise provocative words.
The trick is to know which words might be provocative. At the time, I'd never have thought of "that" word as interesting to weird people.
Man, you really have to be careful what you put out there. It's permanent!
About half the visits to this blog are as a result of a search engine finding some word or phrase (and some of those searches are very strange. People don't know how to search. I'd like to do a whole entry on that sometime).
About half of those search engine hits are for one word in one particular entry that I am now sorry I wrote. Anything I write about myself or my family I don't mind being out there, no matter what it says, and anything I wrote about friends who might find this, it's not so much about them as about my reaction, to which I am entitled and which I can defend. But there's one particular entry that's entirely about someone else, and I really screwed up. I used a term that's popular in (what I consider) an abnormal offshoot of p0rn0graphy (I didn't use it in a p0rn0graphic way), and a lot of people who make me cringe are finding that entry because of that word.
(I'm learning. See how I just diverted searches for p0rn?)
Anyway, it wouldn't normally bother me. Every entry that mentions the Hairless Hunk, for example, gets a lot of hits from people looking for something titillating, and I don't mind those hits. But the post that worries me is, like I said, about someone else, it's speculation and very personal, and the weirdos who get off on that particular thing WILL find it ... um ... lip-smackingly salacious, shall we say. In fact, they have been recommending it to each other. I found a link to it on a site that worries me. (Note that the post is innocent, unless your mind is bent!)
I have considered editing the post to remove the offending word, but that would simply call attention to it, since it would be picked up on feeds as if it were a new entry. It would be better to delete it, but deleting it won't help, because it will continue to exist in caches and possibly archives. Worse, the more hits it gets, the more hits it will get, because it moves up in the search order, and will stay in caches longer. Ouch.
I cringe every time I see another visit from a search on that word. Most of them are coming from Northwestern Europe and the Philippines. Strange people there.
When I wrote that entry, I didn't know that people could find it so easily because of the topic. I didn't realize people would be searching for that topic! (And I'm not really sorry I wrote it - it was something I needed to do at the time. I'm just sorry it can't be better protected from misuse.)
Learn from my pain. Disguise provocative words.
The trick is to know which words might be provocative. At the time, I'd never have thought of "that" word as interesting to weird people.
Saturday, November 25, 2006
986 Home Again
Saturday, November 25, 2006
Blogger is getting rather insistent that I move to Blogger Beta.
Uh uh. No way. I worked for "A Large Computer Company" long enough to know better. You want to test it, Blogger folks, test it yourself. Professional testers get paid. I'm not going to volunteer.
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I picked up Sister at the Newark airport on Wednesday. Her plane (almost all the flights, in fact) was more than an hour late, so we didn't get to Daughter's until after 10 pm, then she had to lead us to the motel where she had she had reserved rooms for us, because we'd never have found it on our own.
In fact, Sister and I got lost heading back to Daughter's on Thursday morning, and again going to the motel Thursday evening. One of these things where you say "Gee, I don't remember seeing that...." Mostly we just headed the proper compass direction until we found a route number we recognized. The whole area's bounded on the west by route 9 and on the east by the ocean, so how lost could we get? (A lot, as it turns out. We got to see the ocean.) We don't get excited about stuff like getting lost. Sometimes it's fun.
This was Daughter's first "formal" Thanksgiving dinner, and Son-in-law helped with some recipes of his own he wanted to try, and everything turned out wonderfully. SIL's employer had handed out turkeys, so we had a 20-pounder for the four of us. Except for the stuffing, which Daughter had specifically asked me to make, I knew well enough to stay out of the kitchen.
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Friday morning, Hercules was a bit put out because their electricity had dropped. I guess that's unusual for them (my electricity drops frequently). I couldn't understand what the problem was. I'm always resetting clocks, so what's the big deal? Well, I've got twice the rooms, but 1/5 the clocks they have. In four rooms, a kitchen, and two bathrooms, Daughter and Hercules have --- ready? --- 35 clocks! Real clocks, appliance displays, timers (like on the aquarium), clocks in electronic dodads. Some are atomic reset and some have "holding" batteries, but even so, you have to check them to make sure. No blinking 00:00s or surprise mistimings for Hercules!
Friday late afternoon we went to "Grounds For Sculpture", a beautifully landscaped sculpture park. There were bamboo groves with sculpture in the center, and strange shapes hovering in the density, gaps in the hedges that perfectly framed a glimpse of a mysterious bronze woman, soaring shapes reflected in still pools, you'd turn a corner and find yourself inside a 3-D recreation of a famous painting. The settings superbly complimented and complemented the sculptures, even to the quality of the light. If you're ever in central New Jersey, check it out.
I had said that I would spring for dinner (to spare everyone leftovers), so we ate at Rats, the restaurant on the grounds. Daughter had always wanted to eat there.
The food was very good, but I sorta dislike having to deconstruct an artsy-fartsy creation on my plate. Like, when the string beans are tied in a bundle with some kind of green stringy thingy, are you supposed to pull the beans out? Or untie the bundle? Or cut bits off? And is the stringy thingy edible? (It wasn't - it was too stringy.) When your escargot and wild mushrooms arrive spilling out of a hollowed out squash, are you supposed to attempt to eat what little is left of the squash insides? Or is that just decoration? Is it akin to trying to eat the napkin?
Speaking of napkins, it was a little disconcerting when the waiter shook out the napkins and tucked them on our laps. Most disconcerting to Son-in-law. And every time anyone left the table, the waiter refolded the napkin (fancily) and placed it on the table. It got to where Daughter refolded it herself before she got up. Not wanting to leave a mess, I guess. Son-in-law didn't leave the table the whole three hours - maybe he was afraid he'd get re-tucked.
For dessert, I had "Panko crusted apple cranberry strudel with carmel apple ice cream, cider reduction and star anise sabayon". What's sabayon? The strudel was like 8 inches tall, with six or eight different structural components, some of which I had no idea what they were and wasn't sure I should eat, but I did, and it was all very good. (Dinner menu here, desserts here.)
I've had things "with truffle" before, but my twice-baked potato with black truffle had CHUNKS of truffle, so I finally got to really taste truffle, as an identifiable entity.
Yeah, truffle does have a distinctive flavor, but I don't know what all the fuss is about. I like chocolate truffles better. Maybe it's one of those things snobs like simply because it's expensive? Sorta like caviar - another thing I don't understand the fuss over. Whatever.... Perhaps I'm just hard to impress.
Dinner came to $374.05 for the four of us, including drinks and tip. Now THAT'S impressive!
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I told Sister about how I was told I was indiscriminately flirtatious, and how it finally sank in, and how it explained so much that had happened to me in the past.
She really didn't say much of anything, kind of went sideways on unimportant bits of the story. That kind of let me know that she recognized a parallel experience but wasn't ready to look at it, so I didn't push it.
But if people think I'm flirtatious, they should see her in action! Now I know what Angela meant by "indiscriminate".
Sister's flirtation is different from whatever it is that I do. When talking to someone, anyone, she will raise one shoulder and tilt her head so that her cheek almost touches her shoulder. That's a very child-like gesture. She'll tilt her head down so that she's looking up under her eyelashes. I sort of do that, too, but with me it's a glance. With her it's a stance. She'll raise both shoulders, tilt her head down, and then make a kind of S-movement of her head side-to-side as she's talking. She speaks very slowly, a drawl, always smiling. She'll hold her forearm parallel to the floor, with the wrist bent at a right angle so her fingers dangle. That's a helpless-looking hand. She'll roll her shoulders forward and curve her elbows in, so she looks smaller, takes up less space. With a few drinks, she leans on people, or pats them. I mostly don't touch anyone, ever. I even avoid hugs if I think it might be misinterpreted.
The main difference is that she comes across as very gentle and childlike, whereas I present a more challenging sexuality. We both had the same parents and childhood. We both grew up afraid, feeling of little worth. Our actions come from the same place. We are both saying, in our own way, "Please love me. Please don't hit me."
She's definitely indiscriminate. So I guess I must be, too. I watched her the past few days, now I have to watch me.
....
Blogger is getting rather insistent that I move to Blogger Beta.
Uh uh. No way. I worked for "A Large Computer Company" long enough to know better. You want to test it, Blogger folks, test it yourself. Professional testers get paid. I'm not going to volunteer.
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I picked up Sister at the Newark airport on Wednesday. Her plane (almost all the flights, in fact) was more than an hour late, so we didn't get to Daughter's until after 10 pm, then she had to lead us to the motel where she had she had reserved rooms for us, because we'd never have found it on our own.
In fact, Sister and I got lost heading back to Daughter's on Thursday morning, and again going to the motel Thursday evening. One of these things where you say "Gee, I don't remember seeing that...." Mostly we just headed the proper compass direction until we found a route number we recognized. The whole area's bounded on the west by route 9 and on the east by the ocean, so how lost could we get? (A lot, as it turns out. We got to see the ocean.) We don't get excited about stuff like getting lost. Sometimes it's fun.
This was Daughter's first "formal" Thanksgiving dinner, and Son-in-law helped with some recipes of his own he wanted to try, and everything turned out wonderfully. SIL's employer had handed out turkeys, so we had a 20-pounder for the four of us. Except for the stuffing, which Daughter had specifically asked me to make, I knew well enough to stay out of the kitchen.
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Friday morning, Hercules was a bit put out because their electricity had dropped. I guess that's unusual for them (my electricity drops frequently). I couldn't understand what the problem was. I'm always resetting clocks, so what's the big deal? Well, I've got twice the rooms, but 1/5 the clocks they have. In four rooms, a kitchen, and two bathrooms, Daughter and Hercules have --- ready? --- 35 clocks! Real clocks, appliance displays, timers (like on the aquarium), clocks in electronic dodads. Some are atomic reset and some have "holding" batteries, but even so, you have to check them to make sure. No blinking 00:00s or surprise mistimings for Hercules!
Friday late afternoon we went to "Grounds For Sculpture", a beautifully landscaped sculpture park. There were bamboo groves with sculpture in the center, and strange shapes hovering in the density, gaps in the hedges that perfectly framed a glimpse of a mysterious bronze woman, soaring shapes reflected in still pools, you'd turn a corner and find yourself inside a 3-D recreation of a famous painting. The settings superbly complimented and complemented the sculptures, even to the quality of the light. If you're ever in central New Jersey, check it out.
I had said that I would spring for dinner (to spare everyone leftovers), so we ate at Rats, the restaurant on the grounds. Daughter had always wanted to eat there.
The food was very good, but I sorta dislike having to deconstruct an artsy-fartsy creation on my plate. Like, when the string beans are tied in a bundle with some kind of green stringy thingy, are you supposed to pull the beans out? Or untie the bundle? Or cut bits off? And is the stringy thingy edible? (It wasn't - it was too stringy.) When your escargot and wild mushrooms arrive spilling out of a hollowed out squash, are you supposed to attempt to eat what little is left of the squash insides? Or is that just decoration? Is it akin to trying to eat the napkin?
Speaking of napkins, it was a little disconcerting when the waiter shook out the napkins and tucked them on our laps. Most disconcerting to Son-in-law. And every time anyone left the table, the waiter refolded the napkin (fancily) and placed it on the table. It got to where Daughter refolded it herself before she got up. Not wanting to leave a mess, I guess. Son-in-law didn't leave the table the whole three hours - maybe he was afraid he'd get re-tucked.
For dessert, I had "Panko crusted apple cranberry strudel with carmel apple ice cream, cider reduction and star anise sabayon". What's sabayon? The strudel was like 8 inches tall, with six or eight different structural components, some of which I had no idea what they were and wasn't sure I should eat, but I did, and it was all very good. (Dinner menu here, desserts here.)
I've had things "with truffle" before, but my twice-baked potato with black truffle had CHUNKS of truffle, so I finally got to really taste truffle, as an identifiable entity.
Yeah, truffle does have a distinctive flavor, but I don't know what all the fuss is about. I like chocolate truffles better. Maybe it's one of those things snobs like simply because it's expensive? Sorta like caviar - another thing I don't understand the fuss over. Whatever.... Perhaps I'm just hard to impress.
Dinner came to $374.05 for the four of us, including drinks and tip. Now THAT'S impressive!
-------------------------------
I told Sister about how I was told I was indiscriminately flirtatious, and how it finally sank in, and how it explained so much that had happened to me in the past.
She really didn't say much of anything, kind of went sideways on unimportant bits of the story. That kind of let me know that she recognized a parallel experience but wasn't ready to look at it, so I didn't push it.
But if people think I'm flirtatious, they should see her in action! Now I know what Angela meant by "indiscriminate".
Sister's flirtation is different from whatever it is that I do. When talking to someone, anyone, she will raise one shoulder and tilt her head so that her cheek almost touches her shoulder. That's a very child-like gesture. She'll tilt her head down so that she's looking up under her eyelashes. I sort of do that, too, but with me it's a glance. With her it's a stance. She'll raise both shoulders, tilt her head down, and then make a kind of S-movement of her head side-to-side as she's talking. She speaks very slowly, a drawl, always smiling. She'll hold her forearm parallel to the floor, with the wrist bent at a right angle so her fingers dangle. That's a helpless-looking hand. She'll roll her shoulders forward and curve her elbows in, so she looks smaller, takes up less space. With a few drinks, she leans on people, or pats them. I mostly don't touch anyone, ever. I even avoid hugs if I think it might be misinterpreted.
The main difference is that she comes across as very gentle and childlike, whereas I present a more challenging sexuality. We both had the same parents and childhood. We both grew up afraid, feeling of little worth. Our actions come from the same place. We are both saying, in our own way, "Please love me. Please don't hit me."
She's definitely indiscriminate. So I guess I must be, too. I watched her the past few days, now I have to watch me.
....
Wednesday, November 22, 2006
985 Packing
Wednesday, November 22, 2006
Packing to go to NJ. I have to pick Sister up at the Newark airport at 8 pm, so normally I'd have to leave here by 5:30, but I'll be hitting rush hour Thanksgiving eve traffic, so maybe I should leave by 4. It's now 3 pm. Ack!
Probably no further updates until Saturday.
You know, I find my sister to be very seductive, but in a different way. She touches people with her hands, where I don't. Together we might be lethal.
She had pretty much the same childhood I had.
Something to explore with her, what does she know of other people's perception of her?
Something else to think about - Daughter is the antithesis of seductive. She pushes away. Is that because of me?
Packing to go to NJ. I have to pick Sister up at the Newark airport at 8 pm, so normally I'd have to leave here by 5:30, but I'll be hitting rush hour Thanksgiving eve traffic, so maybe I should leave by 4. It's now 3 pm. Ack!
Probably no further updates until Saturday.
You know, I find my sister to be very seductive, but in a different way. She touches people with her hands, where I don't. Together we might be lethal.
She had pretty much the same childhood I had.
Something to explore with her, what does she know of other people's perception of her?
Something else to think about - Daughter is the antithesis of seductive. She pushes away. Is that because of me?
984 Second Thoughts
Wednesday, November 22, 2006
I wrote the previous entry in the wee hours (regardless of the time at the bottom - Blogger logs the time you start, not finish, an entry). I got to sleep about 5 am, woke at 11, and my very first thought was "OMG, gotta delete that post!" I'm afraid someone might read and misunderstand it.
I use this journal to think about stuff sometimes, to record and order my thoughts, and sometimes I forget that it's available to others who may not understand.
Back when I was in therapy (1977 to 1982ish) I kept notebooks. They helped. I still have them, but many of the pages have been stapled shut to prevent accidental reading by others, and to keep them away from me until I was ready.
I felt like maybe I should staple that post.
Nah. It is what it is.
The word I was looking for and couldn't find, by the way, is "seductive". I've heard that word applied to me before.
So, I'm thinking, how do I change this perception of me?
When I thought about changing it, I got a little bit panicky. Very strange. The thought of dealing with people without seduction is scary. Do I really want to change this perception? Is there another way to feel safe?
I was about thinking that when I walked out to the kitchen and flipped the TV on, right into a monologue by Rachel, accusing Russ of rejecting her for the very same qualities that drew him to her, and she didn't know how to change that, it is what she is.
I think that's one of the things that troubled Roman, my indiscriminate seductiveness. Maybe it made him uncomfortable, like he couldn't trust me. I know he's not all that sure of his own worth. Perhaps he didn't want to commit to something he wasn't sure he could keep?
So, what now?
I wrote the previous entry in the wee hours (regardless of the time at the bottom - Blogger logs the time you start, not finish, an entry). I got to sleep about 5 am, woke at 11, and my very first thought was "OMG, gotta delete that post!" I'm afraid someone might read and misunderstand it.
I use this journal to think about stuff sometimes, to record and order my thoughts, and sometimes I forget that it's available to others who may not understand.
Back when I was in therapy (1977 to 1982ish) I kept notebooks. They helped. I still have them, but many of the pages have been stapled shut to prevent accidental reading by others, and to keep them away from me until I was ready.
I felt like maybe I should staple that post.
Nah. It is what it is.
The word I was looking for and couldn't find, by the way, is "seductive". I've heard that word applied to me before.
So, I'm thinking, how do I change this perception of me?
When I thought about changing it, I got a little bit panicky. Very strange. The thought of dealing with people without seduction is scary. Do I really want to change this perception? Is there another way to feel safe?
I was about thinking that when I walked out to the kitchen and flipped the TV on, right into a monologue by Rachel, accusing Russ of rejecting her for the very same qualities that drew him to her, and she didn't know how to change that, it is what she is.
I think that's one of the things that troubled Roman, my indiscriminate seductiveness. Maybe it made him uncomfortable, like he couldn't trust me. I know he's not all that sure of his own worth. Perhaps he didn't want to commit to something he wasn't sure he could keep?
So, what now?
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
983 Flirting?
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
I went to dinner last night with Angela. She wanted to know about the gath3ring, and when I told her about The Officer, and that I was so frustrated because I don't know how to flirt, I've never known how to flirt, her chin dropped, and she about fell off her chair laughing.
She said that I do! too! know how to flirt! That I'm about the most flirtatious person she's ever met. That I flirt constantly, with everyone, all the time. That I flirt indiscriminately. Male or female. That if she swung that way, she'd have long ago taken me up on it. She was very emphatic and definite about it.
I didn't understand.
I've heard that before, although never so succinctly put. But if it's true, then why are there so many men in my past who wanted me, and whom I wanted, and whom I tried to flirt with, but they never got the message? They never knew I liked them, until much later, in a different life situation, when we talked about the old days.
I asked her to tell me what I do when it looks like I'm flirting.
She said it's the way I use my hands. The way I move my body. My posture. The way I look at people.
She said that I exude sex. All the time.
Nobody ever said exactly that before, but it explains a lot of other comments.
(Note to the world - exuding sex is NOT the same as flirting.)
My analysis:
Until they tried to rape me, that is.
In my 20s I was often forced into sex, in what then was considered the girl's fault, but much later came to be recognized as "date rape". Many times. Many many times. I have often, when the guy didn't forcibly prevent me, and I wasn't completely lost, climbed out of a parked car and walked miles home in the dark (very dangerous, inviting stranger rape), or took a bus home. Almost invariably, when I said no, the guy would say, and it was almost always these exact words, like they got it from a book or something, "Oh come on. Nobody can walk around looking like you do and not want it all the time."
Huh?
I never understood what they meant.
Well into my 40s, I couldn't keep female friends, because as soon as they got a boyfriend or husband, they accused me of trying to steal him. I suspect that's why the old girlfriends from high school and college whom I've recently located won't reply to me, maybe because one of the first things I mention is that I'm a widow.
I never went after a friend's man. I never flirted with them. I never understood why my female friends got mad at me.
"Exuding sex". Explains a lot.
Flirting comes from me. It's an internal action. Exuding sex is NOT the same as flirting. That's an external perception.
I think. I've got to think about this a lot more. It's all new to me. It also explains perhaps why I didn't mind gaining all that weight after Jay died. It insulated me.
But it doesn't fit with the other perceptions of me - that I'm a bit of a prude, that I am withdrawn and unapproachable, that I am not to be touched. Isn't that a contradiction?
-----------------------------------
On a lighter (or maybe not) note, later last night Angela told her boyfriend what I had said about not knowing how to flirt. Quote from her email to me: "And [he] agrees with me: you know how to flirt. Which makes me wonder how he knows you know how. Hmm... "
Sigh. I swear, Angela, I never, ever, not once, not even thought about....
Thank goodness she's smarter than most.
I went to dinner last night with Angela. She wanted to know about the gath3ring, and when I told her about The Officer, and that I was so frustrated because I don't know how to flirt, I've never known how to flirt, her chin dropped, and she about fell off her chair laughing.
She said that I do! too! know how to flirt! That I'm about the most flirtatious person she's ever met. That I flirt constantly, with everyone, all the time. That I flirt indiscriminately. Male or female. That if she swung that way, she'd have long ago taken me up on it. She was very emphatic and definite about it.
I didn't understand.
I've heard that before, although never so succinctly put. But if it's true, then why are there so many men in my past who wanted me, and whom I wanted, and whom I tried to flirt with, but they never got the message? They never knew I liked them, until much later, in a different life situation, when we talked about the old days.
I asked her to tell me what I do when it looks like I'm flirting.
She said it's the way I use my hands. The way I move my body. My posture. The way I look at people.
She said that I exude sex. All the time.
Nobody ever said exactly that before, but it explains a lot of other comments.
(Note to the world - exuding sex is NOT the same as flirting.)
My analysis:
- Hands: I have graceful hands. When I touch or handle something, I seem to fondle it. It's apparently seen as very sensual. It's actually just nerves. If I touch someone, perhaps their hand, it will be a light stroke. It's because I'm not confident of their permission.
- Eyes: When I'm unsure of my reception, I'll tilt my head down, and look up at the other person. It's something a child would do. I'll express shared amusement by turning my head slightly away and glancing from the corners of my eyes. This might be genetic - my mother did exactly the same thing. I guess it comes across as very kittenish. I tend to look people in the eye when I talk with them, perhaps too intensely. It's because I'm unsure, and I need to gauge reactions.
- Posture: I've always had a heavy bust, and I have severe badly-healed back injuries. I have to hold my shoulders back and stand straight or I will suffer. So I'm often rolling my shoulders back and down. Perhaps this is misread as display?
- Hair: I fiddle with my hair a lot, tucking it behind my ears or behind my shoulders. Rather than trying to draw attention to it, I'm trying not to be shamed by it. It's pretty unruly. Sorry. Mostly it's a nervous habit. One habit I did break was twirling it. I used to, when I was nervous, twirl a lock in my left fingers, or draw it across under my nose, like a moustache, until my psychiatrist asked me to please stop that, because when I was doing it, he couldn't hear a word I was saying. When he told me why it was so distracting, I stopped that very day, and I try very hard not to do it ever. Sometimes maybe I still do it unconsciously.
- Walk: "They" say I wiggle when I walk. Lots of hip sway. Roman accused me of carefully cultivating it, because I have the "model walk", where the feet swing in front of each other, so the footprints would form a straight line, and "that's just not natural". In the Orlando hotel, there was a long hallway with reflective doors at the end, and I watched me walk the hallway to see what I do. Actually, what happens is that the left leg swings straight from the hip, but the right leg swings around to almost in front of the left, which makes my weight swing to the left to compensate/balance. But keeping my shoulders and head in line means it's the hips that swing. So actually, I'm sort of lopsided. I don't know how I avoid falling down. It may have something to do with the fact that the nerves in my lower right leg and ankle are dead, and I have no innate sense of where that foot is.
- Talk: When I come off with a naughty comment, it's obvious, 'cause I'll have an evil little smile or an exaggeratedly innocent look. But a LOT of what I say is taken as having a double meaning. It doesn't. I think that because people expect it from me, they hear it when I didn't say it. Sometimes it's even a far stretch. I don't engage in small talk. Partly it's insecurity and social ineptitude, partly it's that talking about things of no consequence annoys me and I don't understand why people do it (The Kid said almost the same thing Saturday evening). Men who are used to women who natter apparently find this extremely sexy. Duh? Maybe brains are sexy?
Until they tried to rape me, that is.
In my 20s I was often forced into sex, in what then was considered the girl's fault, but much later came to be recognized as "date rape". Many times. Many many times. I have often, when the guy didn't forcibly prevent me, and I wasn't completely lost, climbed out of a parked car and walked miles home in the dark (very dangerous, inviting stranger rape), or took a bus home. Almost invariably, when I said no, the guy would say, and it was almost always these exact words, like they got it from a book or something, "Oh come on. Nobody can walk around looking like you do and not want it all the time."
Huh?
I never understood what they meant.
Well into my 40s, I couldn't keep female friends, because as soon as they got a boyfriend or husband, they accused me of trying to steal him. I suspect that's why the old girlfriends from high school and college whom I've recently located won't reply to me, maybe because one of the first things I mention is that I'm a widow.
I never went after a friend's man. I never flirted with them. I never understood why my female friends got mad at me.
"Exuding sex". Explains a lot.
Flirting comes from me. It's an internal action. Exuding sex is NOT the same as flirting. That's an external perception.
I think. I've got to think about this a lot more. It's all new to me. It also explains perhaps why I didn't mind gaining all that weight after Jay died. It insulated me.
But it doesn't fit with the other perceptions of me - that I'm a bit of a prude, that I am withdrawn and unapproachable, that I am not to be touched. Isn't that a contradiction?
-----------------------------------
On a lighter (or maybe not) note, later last night Angela told her boyfriend what I had said about not knowing how to flirt. Quote from her email to me: "And [he] agrees with me: you know how to flirt. Which makes me wonder how he knows you know how. Hmm... "
Sigh. I swear, Angela, I never, ever, not once, not even thought about....
Thank goodness she's smarter than most.
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