Saturday, December 23, 2006
I've been uploading photos from my hard disk to Flickr.com, and yesterday I decided to look for other photos that maybe didn't make it into my "Photos" folder. So I did a "Find" for "*.jpg". The results were shocking. There were pictures out there from practically every product, every website, every banner ad, every online dating guy's profile, everything I'd looked at for literally years!
I do a disk cleanup every few days, and it says it's cleaning up temporary internet files, but that doesn't include a LOT of other temporary internet stuff out there. Like the cache. There was six-year-old stuff in the caches, probably left when the browsers bounce (one to five times a day these days).
About twice or more a week I have to push the "off/on" button because the system hangs, and every time I do that, Windows leaves temp stuff, and it never cleans it up! Would that be so difficult? If Windows expects me to recognize what should be deleted, then Windows ought to be able to identify it. Sheesh.
I also discovered that every time I download a photo from an email into my "photos" file, AOL plants another copy of the same picture in any one of at least three other places.
It's no wonder my hard disk is so cluttered I can't defragment it any more.
I have a copy of "Windows 98 for Dummies", but under "temporary files" and how to identify them and how to get rid of them, it says almost nothing.
Anybody have any ideas as to what I should do? (This is Windows 98 SE. What's "Explorer"?) I won't be ready to buy another system for another few months. I'd really like to clean this one up.
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Complicating factors - The hard disk is partitioned. I believe there's a total of at least 9G available (Jay hand-built much of this beast, 11 years ago). There's a 2G C-Disk containing all the system and application software. There's a 2G D-Disk containing data files, like photos, music, some documents, etc. That leaves 5G more, which I believe are a E-Disk and F-Disk, but they are hidden! You can't get the system to admit they exist under any query. Jay created them to hold proprietary information that he was working on for The Company and for the clients of a partnership he was working with. I know there's a lot of sensitive (well, sensitive six years ago) information out there, and I'd love to kill it all and get that disk space back, but I can't. Worse, this disk arrangement makes it almost impossible to build any kind of rescue disk.
It's scary.
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Saturday, December 23, 2006
Friday, December 22, 2006
1027 Ditzy Dinner
Friday, December 22, 2006
Last night I went to the monthly Third Thursday dinner. There was only Roman, me, and The Ditz (I've mentioned her before). She really got to me last night. The woman doesn't have an ounce of common sense.
Now, I'm usually pretty easy to get along with. There are a lot of people who annoy me in one way or another, but I just accept that as a part of them. It's often the result of some kind of emotional need, so I just let it pass over me or work around it. I'm pleasant to them, no matter how annoyed I am.
But last night, as the dinner went on, I got more and more impatient with The Ditz. The final straw came when she said (again, she's said it before at these dinners) that she doesn't understand why they don't end the Iraqi war the same way they ended WWII - "just drop an atom [sic] bomb on Iraq."
I told Roman later that I slammed my mouth shut and waited for him to respond, and I'd follow his lead. He said that there are many good reasons why not, and listed some. My first impulse was to ask her how the hell she got into Mensa, and tell her "that's about the stupidest statement I'd ever heard, bar none", but Roman's patience cooled me down.
She has said the same thing at earlier dinners, and people have explained to her over and over why that's such a bad idea, and yet she persists in thinking it's a good idea. Like she doesn't listen, or doesn't think.
She's not only stupid, she's insensitive. She knows that Roman and I have been "involved", and she asks incredibly uncomfortable questions. She gets short answers, or redirected, but then she comes right back to it.
The woman has zero common sense.
I really really don't want to deal with her ever again. She doesn't come to these dinners often, thank goodness, and next time she does, I'm not going to hold back. I'm going to make her afraid to ever again open her mouth within a mile of me. I told Roman, if she says stuff like that to us, she must be saying it other places, to other people, too. I'd like to follow her around for a day just to find out why no one has strangled her yet.
He cracked up.
One significant thing, in all the time I've known him, Roman has never used a "naughty" word, not even "darn". Last night, in responding to The Ditz, regarding dropping the bomb, he actually dropped the "F" bomb, in all its purity. I was amazed!
Eventually she left, and Roman and I stayed at the table for a while to talk. We were about ready to leave when Roman said, "Hey, there goes Bob." Bob was a coworker of ours 15 years ago. He was sitting alone, so we joined him - for almost an hour. Bob and Roman both have elderly parents in need of care, so they had a lot to talk about.
And then we left.
Last night I went to the monthly Third Thursday dinner. There was only Roman, me, and The Ditz (I've mentioned her before). She really got to me last night. The woman doesn't have an ounce of common sense.
Now, I'm usually pretty easy to get along with. There are a lot of people who annoy me in one way or another, but I just accept that as a part of them. It's often the result of some kind of emotional need, so I just let it pass over me or work around it. I'm pleasant to them, no matter how annoyed I am.
But last night, as the dinner went on, I got more and more impatient with The Ditz. The final straw came when she said (again, she's said it before at these dinners) that she doesn't understand why they don't end the Iraqi war the same way they ended WWII - "just drop an atom [sic] bomb on Iraq."
I told Roman later that I slammed my mouth shut and waited for him to respond, and I'd follow his lead. He said that there are many good reasons why not, and listed some. My first impulse was to ask her how the hell she got into Mensa, and tell her "that's about the stupidest statement I'd ever heard, bar none", but Roman's patience cooled me down.
She has said the same thing at earlier dinners, and people have explained to her over and over why that's such a bad idea, and yet she persists in thinking it's a good idea. Like she doesn't listen, or doesn't think.
She's not only stupid, she's insensitive. She knows that Roman and I have been "involved", and she asks incredibly uncomfortable questions. She gets short answers, or redirected, but then she comes right back to it.
The woman has zero common sense.
I really really don't want to deal with her ever again. She doesn't come to these dinners often, thank goodness, and next time she does, I'm not going to hold back. I'm going to make her afraid to ever again open her mouth within a mile of me. I told Roman, if she says stuff like that to us, she must be saying it other places, to other people, too. I'd like to follow her around for a day just to find out why no one has strangled her yet.
He cracked up.
One significant thing, in all the time I've known him, Roman has never used a "naughty" word, not even "darn". Last night, in responding to The Ditz, regarding dropping the bomb, he actually dropped the "F" bomb, in all its purity. I was amazed!
Eventually she left, and Roman and I stayed at the table for a while to talk. We were about ready to leave when Roman said, "Hey, there goes Bob." Bob was a coworker of ours 15 years ago. He was sitting alone, so we joined him - for almost an hour. Bob and Roman both have elderly parents in need of care, so they had a lot to talk about.
And then we left.
Thursday, December 21, 2006
1026 Send Milk!
Help! I'm buried under an avalanche of peanut butter cookies!
(- a result of the note I sent to friends and family back in November. Next year I'll know better.)
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(- a result of the note I sent to friends and family back in November. Next year I'll know better.)
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Wednesday, December 20, 2006
1025 Mailbox
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
[Later Edit - The Hairless Hunk has a winch on his truck, not a wench. I'm surprised nobody caught that.]
I spent all day yesterday writing notes. I have old friends and coworkers scattered all over the country, and at Christmas I write them a (real, personal, handwritten, snail-mail, and very short) note. Then around the end of January, I get a real, handwritten, snail-mail response. And that's about it until the next year.
Email doesn't seem to work for us/me. I set an email aside, and then I seem to forget it wants a reply. I don't know why. Perhaps because it's too much contact for the kind of distance relationship that now remains. I guess we/I want to keep in touch, but not too touchy-feely. Or maybe it's my standoffishness. Whatever. I wish I could do better.
My mother always kept very closely in touch with practically everyone she'd ever met - and moving every three years, that was a lot. She always said that if she ever decided to drive across the country, she'd have a friend to visit every day. We spent three years in Ottawa, two in the house on Fairbanks Avenue, and forty years later, when she and our Fairbanks neighbor were both widows, the neighbor and she would spend a week together in Miami every year. I don't know how you maintain that kind of contact. She never taught me how.
-----------------------------------------
My neighbors across the street put their house up for sale last spring. In preparation, they moved a lot of their belongings into storage, and borrowed a utility trailer to do it. Their driveway is long and narrow, and unlike mine, there's no turn-around at the end, so after they filled the trailer, they had to back it up the drive.
My mailbox is right across from the end of their driveway, and I guess they weren't able to turn the trailer tight enough when they got to the end of their driveway (and apparently weren't watching, or listening, the sound would have been pretty loud), and they rammed my mailbox, twisting it off true, and badly bent the post for my newspaper tube. I didn't see it happen, but that morning the trailer was in their drive, and two hours later, the trailer was gone and the damage was done. The direction of the twist and the height of the bend say "trailer, from THAT direction". We are the last houses on a dead end street. There is NO other traffic.
I had to figure it out myself because nobody from across the street came over to apologize or offer to fix it. I didn't say anything either. The Hairless Hunk used a winch on his truck to twist the mailbox back for me, but we couldn't do anything about the newspaper tube. Now, to get my paper, I have to open the car door a little and hang out the window to reach it.
Well, the house sold a few weeks ago, and they moved out last week. This time I think it was a moving van that hit my mailbox. It's twisted so far I'm not sure it will twist back. I'm surprised I'm still getting my mail.
Again, no one said "Oops, sorry."
I probably won't be keeping in touch with them.
.
[Later Edit - The Hairless Hunk has a winch on his truck, not a wench. I'm surprised nobody caught that.]
I spent all day yesterday writing notes. I have old friends and coworkers scattered all over the country, and at Christmas I write them a (real, personal, handwritten, snail-mail, and very short) note. Then around the end of January, I get a real, handwritten, snail-mail response. And that's about it until the next year.
Email doesn't seem to work for us/me. I set an email aside, and then I seem to forget it wants a reply. I don't know why. Perhaps because it's too much contact for the kind of distance relationship that now remains. I guess we/I want to keep in touch, but not too touchy-feely. Or maybe it's my standoffishness. Whatever. I wish I could do better.
My mother always kept very closely in touch with practically everyone she'd ever met - and moving every three years, that was a lot. She always said that if she ever decided to drive across the country, she'd have a friend to visit every day. We spent three years in Ottawa, two in the house on Fairbanks Avenue, and forty years later, when she and our Fairbanks neighbor were both widows, the neighbor and she would spend a week together in Miami every year. I don't know how you maintain that kind of contact. She never taught me how.
-----------------------------------------
My neighbors across the street put their house up for sale last spring. In preparation, they moved a lot of their belongings into storage, and borrowed a utility trailer to do it. Their driveway is long and narrow, and unlike mine, there's no turn-around at the end, so after they filled the trailer, they had to back it up the drive.
My mailbox is right across from the end of their driveway, and I guess they weren't able to turn the trailer tight enough when they got to the end of their driveway (and apparently weren't watching, or listening, the sound would have been pretty loud), and they rammed my mailbox, twisting it off true, and badly bent the post for my newspaper tube. I didn't see it happen, but that morning the trailer was in their drive, and two hours later, the trailer was gone and the damage was done. The direction of the twist and the height of the bend say "trailer, from THAT direction". We are the last houses on a dead end street. There is NO other traffic.
I had to figure it out myself because nobody from across the street came over to apologize or offer to fix it. I didn't say anything either. The Hairless Hunk used a winch on his truck to twist the mailbox back for me, but we couldn't do anything about the newspaper tube. Now, to get my paper, I have to open the car door a little and hang out the window to reach it.
Well, the house sold a few weeks ago, and they moved out last week. This time I think it was a moving van that hit my mailbox. It's twisted so far I'm not sure it will twist back. I'm surprised I'm still getting my mail.
Again, no one said "Oops, sorry."
I probably won't be keeping in touch with them.
.
Monday, December 18, 2006
1024 A Regret
Monday, December 18, 2006
When I was little, when other kids wanted to be policemen, or cowboys, or veterinarians, or beauticians, I wanted to be a forensic pathologist. Most people, including my parents, didn't even know what that was. I read about it in a book in about fifth grade, and I knew right away that's what I wanted to do, what I was meant to do.
When I graduated from high school in 1962, I still wanted to be a forensic pathologist.
There were a whole heap of barriers.
I hated high school chemistry. What I didn't know then was that our chem teacher was very bad. He was the local veterinarian, had never had any teacher training, and ours was his first teaching experience. Small mountain school. Things might have been different with a decent teacher.
I didn't think I'd be going to college, didn't even apply until after graduation, and then to only one school, where "everyone" decided I should go, and where there was no track leading to anything medical.
Plus, by then I had learned my place as a female. Forensic pathologists, like police officers, surgeons, and anything else of any import, were male, and that was that. I was not emotionally strong enough at that time to attempt to buck the attitudes (although I majored in math, and was usually the only female in the math classes).
I think I would have been very good at it, I really do.
I sometimes wonder how different my life might have been.
.
When I was little, when other kids wanted to be policemen, or cowboys, or veterinarians, or beauticians, I wanted to be a forensic pathologist. Most people, including my parents, didn't even know what that was. I read about it in a book in about fifth grade, and I knew right away that's what I wanted to do, what I was meant to do.
When I graduated from high school in 1962, I still wanted to be a forensic pathologist.
There were a whole heap of barriers.
I hated high school chemistry. What I didn't know then was that our chem teacher was very bad. He was the local veterinarian, had never had any teacher training, and ours was his first teaching experience. Small mountain school. Things might have been different with a decent teacher.
I didn't think I'd be going to college, didn't even apply until after graduation, and then to only one school, where "everyone" decided I should go, and where there was no track leading to anything medical.
Plus, by then I had learned my place as a female. Forensic pathologists, like police officers, surgeons, and anything else of any import, were male, and that was that. I was not emotionally strong enough at that time to attempt to buck the attitudes (although I majored in math, and was usually the only female in the math classes).
I think I would have been very good at it, I really do.
I sometimes wonder how different my life might have been.
.
1023 Photo Badge
Monday, December 18, 2006
[Later edit - the photo badge doesn't show up unless you're on the main page. So if you come into a single entry, you won't see it. Tsk.]
I have added a Flickr "Badge" over there on the right. Look now, it may not be there long, because it makes the journal load a lot slower for me (12-year-old system on dial-up, and all that). But it's pretty nifty.
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[Later edit - the photo badge doesn't show up unless you're on the main page. So if you come into a single entry, you won't see it. Tsk.]
I have added a Flickr "Badge" over there on the right. Look now, it may not be there long, because it makes the journal load a lot slower for me (12-year-old system on dial-up, and all that). But it's pretty nifty.
.
1022 Snowflake
[Later edit - changed the link. "snowflakeslookandfeel" has become all ads. (Caught like a fish on a hook.) The link now goes to the real snowflake maker.]
I made a snowflake, at snowflakes.beap.com.
I made a snowflake, at snowflakes.beap.com.
Sunday, December 17, 2006
1021 Generic Title
Sunday, December 17, 2006
One more commercial complaint - the Dunkin' Donuts commercial in which people at the "other" coffee shops complain about about being forced to order in French, or Italian, or Fretalian, but at Dunkin' Donuts, "you can order your latte completely in English". Are they really unaware that "latte" is not English? Aaaarrgh! Not being a coffee drinker, I'm not even sure what "latte" means. Isn't that like "coffee with milk"?
I went to work at the veteran's house again today. I half expected my back to be iffy this morning, but it was fine. My thighs were something else, though. They were screaming "Please don't do this to me again!" but I told them to shut up, it's good for you, and tonight they even feel good.
The men were burning the branches from the dead black walnut tree they had cut down, and the wood scraps from the construction. Being a bit of a pyromaniac, I was happy to take over the care and feeding of the bonfire. They had also replaced the toilet, and the plumber had been and gone before I got there, but by the end of the day, there was still no water. I guess the burst pipes (freeze damage) were most extensive than first thought.
They sent me to the hardware store to buy more roofing nails, and a second trip to Wal*Mart to buy venetian blinds, a shower curtain bar, a monster tarp, and bungee cords. That trip was a horror. I had to weave through the parking lot for 15 minutes before I got a parking spot, and the lines at the checkout were a horror.
I got thoroughly smoked. My hair turned gray-green from the bonfire smoke, and it felt stiff and pasty. When I got home I soaked in the tub and washed my hair, but my hair still has a slightly off color. I've got black in my pores, and I'm still digging soot out of my nose. Getting clean may take a while. (Now I remember another reason I dislike camping.)
I was so full of energy when I got home, I decided to find out why the bathtub in the hall bathroom drains so slowly. I took the works apart, and found that it wasn't just a water salts deposit problem, and not just a hair problem, it was both. I have extremely hard water, and water evaporation on the bits of hair in there had created a solid salt dam, about a quarter inch thick. Acid didn't touch it. I had to chip it apart. But now the tub drains.
I am content.
.
One more commercial complaint - the Dunkin' Donuts commercial in which people at the "other" coffee shops complain about about being forced to order in French, or Italian, or Fretalian, but at Dunkin' Donuts, "you can order your latte completely in English". Are they really unaware that "latte" is not English? Aaaarrgh! Not being a coffee drinker, I'm not even sure what "latte" means. Isn't that like "coffee with milk"?
I went to work at the veteran's house again today. I half expected my back to be iffy this morning, but it was fine. My thighs were something else, though. They were screaming "Please don't do this to me again!" but I told them to shut up, it's good for you, and tonight they even feel good.
The men were burning the branches from the dead black walnut tree they had cut down, and the wood scraps from the construction. Being a bit of a pyromaniac, I was happy to take over the care and feeding of the bonfire. They had also replaced the toilet, and the plumber had been and gone before I got there, but by the end of the day, there was still no water. I guess the burst pipes (freeze damage) were most extensive than first thought.
They sent me to the hardware store to buy more roofing nails, and a second trip to Wal*Mart to buy venetian blinds, a shower curtain bar, a monster tarp, and bungee cords. That trip was a horror. I had to weave through the parking lot for 15 minutes before I got a parking spot, and the lines at the checkout were a horror.
I got thoroughly smoked. My hair turned gray-green from the bonfire smoke, and it felt stiff and pasty. When I got home I soaked in the tub and washed my hair, but my hair still has a slightly off color. I've got black in my pores, and I'm still digging soot out of my nose. Getting clean may take a while. (Now I remember another reason I dislike camping.)
I was so full of energy when I got home, I decided to find out why the bathtub in the hall bathroom drains so slowly. I took the works apart, and found that it wasn't just a water salts deposit problem, and not just a hair problem, it was both. I have extremely hard water, and water evaporation on the bits of hair in there had created a solid salt dam, about a quarter inch thick. Acid didn't touch it. I had to chip it apart. But now the tub drains.
I am content.
.
Saturday, December 16, 2006
1020 Elf, or Smurfette?
Saturday, December 16, 2006
I helped out at the veteran's house today. It was a beautiful day, sunny and warm, perfect for working on a roof.
There were like 15 men (mostly Viet Nam era ex-Marines), and me. I've worked with all-males groups before, and I know one small woman can crimp their style quite a lot. There's a tension, because they feel like they have to curb their language, and I could feel it there today. One guy was using a nail gun on the roof and it quit nailing, so he asked someone to check the compressor, and when that proved ok, he checked the gun and determined that there was a hole in the diaphragm, so there was no pressure. He looked up and asked in general, "So, what's it mean when there's a hole in my diaphragm?" Which question was met with an uncomfortable deadly silence. I knew it was up to me to loosen them up, so I shouted back, "It means you're really screwed!" They all laughed very loudly, and although they continued to watch their language (thank you, gentlemen), the tension was gone.
There were three major efforts - replacing a portion of the roof and reshingling the whole roof, replacing the ceilings inside, and clearing out the basement. My job was mostly clearing up. I gathered up old roof shingles that had been scraped to the ground, the wrappers and tapes from the new shingles, the old ceiling tiles, and junk the guys were removing from the basement, and put it all in the dumpster (which required climbing up and down on a stone wall). I also made several runs to the hardware store.
They knocked off when the light disappeared, at about 5 pm. At 6 pm, I was sitting on a Kingston city trolley bus taking a Rotary-sponsored tour of decorated houses. Very pretty. When the bus paused at an especially nice house, the driver honked the horn, and the homeowners came out onto the porch to wave and be waved at.
With all the bending and lifting today, and carrying and tossing heavy stuff, and then sitting for more than an hour on the slippery wooden seats of the trolley bus, I really thought my back would be hurting tonight. But it's not. It feels fine. My thighs know they've had a workout, but that actually feels good.
I'm going back tomorrow.
I helped out at the veteran's house today. It was a beautiful day, sunny and warm, perfect for working on a roof.
There were like 15 men (mostly Viet Nam era ex-Marines), and me. I've worked with all-males groups before, and I know one small woman can crimp their style quite a lot. There's a tension, because they feel like they have to curb their language, and I could feel it there today. One guy was using a nail gun on the roof and it quit nailing, so he asked someone to check the compressor, and when that proved ok, he checked the gun and determined that there was a hole in the diaphragm, so there was no pressure. He looked up and asked in general, "So, what's it mean when there's a hole in my diaphragm?" Which question was met with an uncomfortable deadly silence. I knew it was up to me to loosen them up, so I shouted back, "It means you're really screwed!" They all laughed very loudly, and although they continued to watch their language (thank you, gentlemen), the tension was gone.
There were three major efforts - replacing a portion of the roof and reshingling the whole roof, replacing the ceilings inside, and clearing out the basement. My job was mostly clearing up. I gathered up old roof shingles that had been scraped to the ground, the wrappers and tapes from the new shingles, the old ceiling tiles, and junk the guys were removing from the basement, and put it all in the dumpster (which required climbing up and down on a stone wall). I also made several runs to the hardware store.
They knocked off when the light disappeared, at about 5 pm. At 6 pm, I was sitting on a Kingston city trolley bus taking a Rotary-sponsored tour of decorated houses. Very pretty. When the bus paused at an especially nice house, the driver honked the horn, and the homeowners came out onto the porch to wave and be waved at.
With all the bending and lifting today, and carrying and tossing heavy stuff, and then sitting for more than an hour on the slippery wooden seats of the trolley bus, I really thought my back would be hurting tonight. But it's not. It feels fine. My thighs know they've had a workout, but that actually feels good.
I'm going back tomorrow.
Friday, December 15, 2006
1019 Augmenteth Thy Codpiece!
Friday, December 15, 2006
Commercials
Until recently I didn't understand people who were afraid of clowns. He's not exactly a clown, but the King in the Burger King commercials downright scares me. I know there's an ordinary person under that head, but that doesn't matter. If I saw just the head/mask sitting on a table it would scare me. Something about the expression on the face.
I'm very tired of Bob, the guy with the "something big in the neighborhood" (like the title of this entry). Partly it's his expression, too, and partly that his neighborhood and neighbors seem very suburban '50s. And the smirking double meanings. Annoying.
I like the Geico caveman commercials. I like the cavemen. Again, it's their expressions. The more I see them, the sexier I find them. I also like the parallel to feminism. Thirty-five years ago, Geico could have put up the same billboards, saying "So easy a woman could do it", and no one would have blinked twice. Women would have had and gotten the same reactions as the cavemen. It's like Geico is saying "We're running out of groups to put down", and I think that's funny.
The award for the most effective commercial has to go to "Head-On. Apply directly to the forehead. Head-On. Apply directly to the forehead." First off, you can't forget the name of the product. Best, it has become a joke. Every talk show has made fun of it. So for the price of a few seconds of commercial time, the product is getting hours of exposure.
The new PC pregnancy
Ok, I can understand the intent behind "We're pregnant." You want to include him. But I still don't like it. "We're expecting" maybe, but "he" isn't pregnant! I think it belittles the changes and discomforts she's going through.
Well, I sputtered at the TV the other night when Tori Spelling patted her round belly and said "...this little one inside of us." Us? Us? Inside of us? Wait 'til it has to come out, lady, and then tell me about "us".
Bah, humbug
I didn't go to the Christmas party this evening.
When I got home from dinner last night I fired off a e-note to the hostess asking for directions, and whether she'd like me to bring anything in particular. I decided that if I hadn't heard from the hostess by 5 pm, I wasn't going to go. There were several people I could have called for directions, but I decided not to. I decided to let Fate decide (because maybe I didn't really want to go after all).
I guess she doesn't check her email at work, because she didn't respond until almost 6 pm, and I found her note at 6:30. The party started at 7, and it would take me over two hours to get dressed, put together a munchy, and drive there. I didn't want to go late. With this bunch, it probably wouldn't go past 10 pm, if even that late.
(Yeah, I could have gotten washed, dressed, munchied, and gassed up earlier, but - more evidence that I didn't really want to. I helped Fate along a bit.)
.
Commercials
Until recently I didn't understand people who were afraid of clowns. He's not exactly a clown, but the King in the Burger King commercials downright scares me. I know there's an ordinary person under that head, but that doesn't matter. If I saw just the head/mask sitting on a table it would scare me. Something about the expression on the face.
I'm very tired of Bob, the guy with the "something big in the neighborhood" (like the title of this entry). Partly it's his expression, too, and partly that his neighborhood and neighbors seem very suburban '50s. And the smirking double meanings. Annoying.
I like the Geico caveman commercials. I like the cavemen. Again, it's their expressions. The more I see them, the sexier I find them. I also like the parallel to feminism. Thirty-five years ago, Geico could have put up the same billboards, saying "So easy a woman could do it", and no one would have blinked twice. Women would have had and gotten the same reactions as the cavemen. It's like Geico is saying "We're running out of groups to put down", and I think that's funny.
The award for the most effective commercial has to go to "Head-On. Apply directly to the forehead. Head-On. Apply directly to the forehead." First off, you can't forget the name of the product. Best, it has become a joke. Every talk show has made fun of it. So for the price of a few seconds of commercial time, the product is getting hours of exposure.
The new PC pregnancy
Ok, I can understand the intent behind "We're pregnant." You want to include him. But I still don't like it. "We're expecting" maybe, but "he" isn't pregnant! I think it belittles the changes and discomforts she's going through.
Well, I sputtered at the TV the other night when Tori Spelling patted her round belly and said "...this little one inside of us." Us? Us? Inside of us? Wait 'til it has to come out, lady, and then tell me about "us".
Bah, humbug
I didn't go to the Christmas party this evening.
When I got home from dinner last night I fired off a e-note to the hostess asking for directions, and whether she'd like me to bring anything in particular. I decided that if I hadn't heard from the hostess by 5 pm, I wasn't going to go. There were several people I could have called for directions, but I decided not to. I decided to let Fate decide (because maybe I didn't really want to go after all).
I guess she doesn't check her email at work, because she didn't respond until almost 6 pm, and I found her note at 6:30. The party started at 7, and it would take me over two hours to get dressed, put together a munchy, and drive there. I didn't want to go late. With this bunch, it probably wouldn't go past 10 pm, if even that late.
(Yeah, I could have gotten washed, dressed, munchied, and gassed up earlier, but - more evidence that I didn't really want to. I helped Fate along a bit.)
.
Thursday, December 14, 2006
1018 Stuff
Thursday, December 14, 2006
I went to a Mensa dinner tonight in Kingston. There were seven of us tonight, and it's weird, but all but one of my favorite people were there. I got talked into going to the Christmas party tomorrow (Friday) night. I hadn't planned to, but most of my favorite people will be there, so....
I distributed that list of Christmas carols on the Mensa Yahoo group, and got a few additions:
- Pyromania - "Christmas tree, O Christmas tree, how beautifully you're burning..."
- Paranoia was "Santa Claus is coming to town to get me". It was pointed out that could also be for (drum roll) claustrophobia. (Ta-da-rump!)
After he got home this evening, Roman sent me an email attachment of a video. I don't know how to put it in here, but the audio is at http://www.andrew.cmu.edu/user/haff/political/hu_sonfirst.mp3. It's funny. (You might be able to find the video on your own if you search for "hu_sonfirst.wmv".)
There's a Vietnam vet living near here in a house that's falling apart. A tree fell and punched a hole in the roof, and the walls have been water-damaged. In addition, there are some serious plumbing problems. The man's son lives downriver about an hour, and he's worried. The man has some health problems, and is too proud to accept help. So, the son has managed to convince his father to come for a short visit, and thereby vacate the house for a weekend, with the understanding that work will be done on the house while he's not there. That way, he doesn't have to "accept" help. It's like elves came and did it.
It's not a Habitat for Humanity project, but the guy organizing the work crew got permission to use the HfH volunteer email list (which I'm on), and I guess there are some veteran groups involved, too. So I called and said I'd be there. Even if all I do is stand at the bottom of a ladder and hand tools and materials up, that will help.
Piper is all upset that I'm not "into" Christmas. We almost got into a fight about it at lunch Wednesday. I'm willing to let him celebrate any way he wants, but I'm not willing to listen to a lecture on "the meaning of". First off, the "meaning" has been so distorted and embroidered, there's no meaning left. Second, if you can't live it every day, you shouldn't get all holy on one day. Besides, I think you have to be a Christian first, and I've decided that in all honesty, I'm not. Not the way Christians define it, anyway.
So, anyway, he has insisted that I join him and his lady at dinner at their favorite restaurant on Christmas Eve. I'm conflicted. I'd like to meet her, but I really truly don't want "saving". I'd be a lot happier if there was a larger group.
Hey, I'm an elf. That should be good enough.
.
I went to a Mensa dinner tonight in Kingston. There were seven of us tonight, and it's weird, but all but one of my favorite people were there. I got talked into going to the Christmas party tomorrow (Friday) night. I hadn't planned to, but most of my favorite people will be there, so....
I distributed that list of Christmas carols on the Mensa Yahoo group, and got a few additions:
- Pyromania - "Christmas tree, O Christmas tree, how beautifully you're burning..."
- Paranoia was "Santa Claus is coming to town to get me". It was pointed out that could also be for (drum roll) claustrophobia. (Ta-da-rump!)
After he got home this evening, Roman sent me an email attachment of a video. I don't know how to put it in here, but the audio is at http://www.andrew.cmu.edu/user/haff/political/hu_sonfirst.mp3. It's funny. (You might be able to find the video on your own if you search for "hu_sonfirst.wmv".)
There's a Vietnam vet living near here in a house that's falling apart. A tree fell and punched a hole in the roof, and the walls have been water-damaged. In addition, there are some serious plumbing problems. The man's son lives downriver about an hour, and he's worried. The man has some health problems, and is too proud to accept help. So, the son has managed to convince his father to come for a short visit, and thereby vacate the house for a weekend, with the understanding that work will be done on the house while he's not there. That way, he doesn't have to "accept" help. It's like elves came and did it.
It's not a Habitat for Humanity project, but the guy organizing the work crew got permission to use the HfH volunteer email list (which I'm on), and I guess there are some veteran groups involved, too. So I called and said I'd be there. Even if all I do is stand at the bottom of a ladder and hand tools and materials up, that will help.
Piper is all upset that I'm not "into" Christmas. We almost got into a fight about it at lunch Wednesday. I'm willing to let him celebrate any way he wants, but I'm not willing to listen to a lecture on "the meaning of". First off, the "meaning" has been so distorted and embroidered, there's no meaning left. Second, if you can't live it every day, you shouldn't get all holy on one day. Besides, I think you have to be a Christian first, and I've decided that in all honesty, I'm not. Not the way Christians define it, anyway.
So, anyway, he has insisted that I join him and his lady at dinner at their favorite restaurant on Christmas Eve. I'm conflicted. I'd like to meet her, but I really truly don't want "saving". I'd be a lot happier if there was a larger group.
Hey, I'm an elf. That should be good enough.
.
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
1017 Autism; Left-Handedness
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
I had lunch with Piper today. Before lunch we went over the financial picture. I'm not sure what he's built for me is exactly what I wanted - I wanted diversity, but I also require a certain income that I'm not sure is there. I guess my main problem is that I'm strongly averse to spending principal, I'm used to having interest and dividends to spend, and the way it's set up now I have to sell something to take money out, and that feels too much like spending principal. Actually, what I'd be spending is growth.
It's going to take some time until it stops scaring me. I'm trying very hard to be patient, but he can see I'm nervous. It must be the way my eyes and eyebrows get all big and worried when he runs numbers past me. At the same time, I have every confidence in him.
I just wish he'd stop telling me to be good to myself, and spend some. Ack! I've been poor, and I didn't like it at all.
------------------------------
I came across an article today on how left-handed people have faster communication between the two hemispheres of the brain, which makes them faster at such things as games, sports, and driving in heavy traffic, and allows them to use both sides of the brain in processing language and other high-speed tasks. They are bi-cerebral.
A man's mind will hook me faster than a handsome face. Roman's mind fascinates me. He's mentally very fast, and true. He's an impressive driver, too, and that's not something one would normally notice.
He's a lefty.
The left-handed brain:
http://www.dominicantoday.com/app/article.aspx?id=20273
That (and the misspelling of "Asperger" in the preceding post) led me to an interesting paper titled "Is Autism an Extreme Form of the 'Male Brain'?" The paper is fairly straightforward and simple. They note that typical male brains tend to be better at spacial tasks, and typical female brains tend to be better at social tasks (said notes bounded by the usual PC-required disclaimers, including that for the purposes of discussion, a woman can have a "male brain", and a man can have a "female brain", and there are overlaps). If you put spatial skills at one end of a spectrum, and social skills at the other, then you find:
Spatial skills
-- Autism
-- Asperger Syndrome
-- Normal Male
-- Cognitively Balanced
-- Normal Female
Social skills
The paper is well written, descriptions of how the mind handles tasks are very good. It leaves open a lot of questions for further research.
I found it interesting because I used to tell Jay that he had the most "male" brain I'd ever encountered. He was obviously way up there on the scale. He even had the thing where he saw the parts but not the whole. He saw a lot of things differently. If you asked him to draw a fence, he was likely to draw the spaces where the fence wasn't, rather than start with posts and rails. It ended up looking the same, but he approached it differently. I used to tease him about having an excess of "testosterone-on-the-brain".
And then he got the Asperger diagnosis. (And those folks who wrote the paper got PAID for their observations....)
His mind fascinated me, too.
Paper - "Is Autism an Extreme Form of the 'Male Brain'?"
http://scholar.google.com/scholar?num=30&hl=en&lr=
&newwindow=1&safe=off&q=cache:YnCbCfCXStIJ:
www.autismresearchcentre.com/papers/1997_BCetal_
Malebrain.pdf+author:%22Baron-Cohen%22+intitle:%
22Is+autism+an+extreme+form+of+the+male+brain%22+
.
I had lunch with Piper today. Before lunch we went over the financial picture. I'm not sure what he's built for me is exactly what I wanted - I wanted diversity, but I also require a certain income that I'm not sure is there. I guess my main problem is that I'm strongly averse to spending principal, I'm used to having interest and dividends to spend, and the way it's set up now I have to sell something to take money out, and that feels too much like spending principal. Actually, what I'd be spending is growth.
It's going to take some time until it stops scaring me. I'm trying very hard to be patient, but he can see I'm nervous. It must be the way my eyes and eyebrows get all big and worried when he runs numbers past me. At the same time, I have every confidence in him.
I just wish he'd stop telling me to be good to myself, and spend some. Ack! I've been poor, and I didn't like it at all.
------------------------------
I came across an article today on how left-handed people have faster communication between the two hemispheres of the brain, which makes them faster at such things as games, sports, and driving in heavy traffic, and allows them to use both sides of the brain in processing language and other high-speed tasks. They are bi-cerebral.
A man's mind will hook me faster than a handsome face. Roman's mind fascinates me. He's mentally very fast, and true. He's an impressive driver, too, and that's not something one would normally notice.
He's a lefty.
The left-handed brain:
http://www.dominicantoday.com/app/article.aspx?id=20273
That (and the misspelling of "Asperger" in the preceding post) led me to an interesting paper titled "Is Autism an Extreme Form of the 'Male Brain'?" The paper is fairly straightforward and simple. They note that typical male brains tend to be better at spacial tasks, and typical female brains tend to be better at social tasks (said notes bounded by the usual PC-required disclaimers, including that for the purposes of discussion, a woman can have a "male brain", and a man can have a "female brain", and there are overlaps). If you put spatial skills at one end of a spectrum, and social skills at the other, then you find:
Spatial skills
-- Autism
-- Asperger Syndrome
-- Normal Male
-- Cognitively Balanced
-- Normal Female
Social skills
The paper is well written, descriptions of how the mind handles tasks are very good. It leaves open a lot of questions for further research.
I found it interesting because I used to tell Jay that he had the most "male" brain I'd ever encountered. He was obviously way up there on the scale. He even had the thing where he saw the parts but not the whole. He saw a lot of things differently. If you asked him to draw a fence, he was likely to draw the spaces where the fence wasn't, rather than start with posts and rails. It ended up looking the same, but he approached it differently. I used to tease him about having an excess of "testosterone-on-the-brain".
And then he got the Asperger diagnosis. (And those folks who wrote the paper got PAID for their observations....)
His mind fascinated me, too.
Paper - "Is Autism an Extreme Form of the 'Male Brain'?"
http://scholar.google.com/scholar?num=30&hl=en&lr=
&newwindow=1&safe=off&q=cache:YnCbCfCXStIJ:
www.autismresearchcentre.com/papers/1997_BCetal_
Malebrain.pdf+author:%22Baron-Cohen%22+intitle:%
22Is+autism+an+extreme+form+of+the+male+brain%22+
.
1016 Santa-mentally Yours
[Later Edit - corrected spelling of "Asperger". I copied it over without noticing. Don't know how I missed that - Jay was an Aspie.]
Going around:
Schizophrenia - Do You Hear What I Hear?
Multiple Personality Disorder - We Three Kings Disoriented Are
Dementia - I Think I'll be Home for Christmas
Narcissistic - Hark the Herald Angels Sing About Me
Manic - Deck the Halls and Walls and House and Lawn and Streets and Stores and Office and Town and Cars and Buses and Trucks and Trees ...
Paranoid - Santa Claus is Coming to Town to Get Me
Borderline Personality Disorder - Thoughts of Roasting on an Open Fire
Personality Disorder - You Better Watch Out, I'm Gonna Cry, I'm Gonna Pout, Maybe I'll Tell You Why
Attention Deficit Disorder - Silent night, Holy ooooo look at the pretty, can I have a chocolate, why is France so far away?
Obsessive Compulsive Disorder - Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle,Bells, Jingle Bells...
Asperger Syndrome - Huh? Carol who?
Going around:
Schizophrenia - Do You Hear What I Hear?
Multiple Personality Disorder - We Three Kings Disoriented Are
Dementia - I Think I'll be Home for Christmas
Narcissistic - Hark the Herald Angels Sing About Me
Manic - Deck the Halls and Walls and House and Lawn and Streets and Stores and Office and Town and Cars and Buses and Trucks and Trees ...
Paranoid - Santa Claus is Coming to Town to Get Me
Borderline Personality Disorder - Thoughts of Roasting on an Open Fire
Personality Disorder - You Better Watch Out, I'm Gonna Cry, I'm Gonna Pout, Maybe I'll Tell You Why
Attention Deficit Disorder - Silent night, Holy ooooo look at the pretty, can I have a chocolate, why is France so far away?
Obsessive Compulsive Disorder - Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle,Bells, Jingle Bells...
Asperger Syndrome - Huh? Carol who?
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
1015 International?
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
Sitemeter said I had a visit from someone in Germany. I clicked on the "Referring URL", and found a copy of my entire journal translated into German! Archives included.
Youch.
.
Sitemeter said I had a visit from someone in Germany. I clicked on the "Referring URL", and found a copy of my entire journal translated into German! Archives included.
Youch.
.
1014 Tired
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....
.
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....
.
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.
.
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.
------------
* the "3" is in there to foil search engines. I don't especially want people searching for that term to find this.
.
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.
------------
* the "3" is in there to foil search engines. I don't especially want people searching for that term to find this.
.
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.)
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