3698 White guys can't shake.

Saturday, March 9, 2013

The end move in politics is to pick up a gun.

-- Bucky Fuller --

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Latest video virus, Harlem Shake.  It's disgusting.  Buncha guys bouncing and kicking and throwing their arms around.  That's NOT the Harlem Shake!  It's like people who think belly dancing is just wiggling around.  I want to slap them.  If that's what you want to do, do it, but don't call it something it's not!

THIS is the real Harlem Shake:

[http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OrTqyGp2beU]
Note the shoulders.  That's an integral part of the dance, and that takes practice.

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In an email from the township:  "Alternate side parking: If snow falls on an even day, parking is permitted on the odd-numbered side of the street. If snow falls on an odd day, parking is permitted on the even-numbered side of the street."

This has left me confused.  Badly worded, difficult to remember.  Wouldn't "even=even odd=odd" make more sense if you want people to remember?  Also, what happens if it starts snowing at 5 PM and snows continuously until 5 AM?  Which side should you park on to avoid being towed?  No matter where you're parked when you go to bed, it's going to be the wrong side for half the time.

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I am sick and tired of being sick and tired.  I have been sick continuously since the hurricane, since late October.  Head cold, chest cold, pneumonia, bronchitis.  I finished the bronchitis antibiotic about five days ago, and three days ago I seem to have started a sinus infection.  I've been sick for more than four months.  I feel stronger than I did after I got out of the hospital, but I still don't want to do much.  (And yes, I'm quitting smoking, since late December.  That adds stress and makes me nasty mean.) 

NJ hates me.  NJ is trying to kill me.  NYC pollution blowing across the bay is destroying my immune system.
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3619 Getting better

Friday, September 21, 2012

Most people who believe in Hell feel sure it is not their final destination.

Anyone who believes in Hell, I find, also believes in hateful ways of avoiding it.

Fear of Hell tends to make women into victims, men into bullies,

and everyone into line-toeing robots.

-- Gillian Kendall --

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I mentioned that I had refused another kidney test because I didn't think it was worth the pain and danger.  The battery of tests I'd had since the infection and attack in early 2011 all said the same thing.  The stone isn't growing, there are no anomalies, and the kidneys seem to be functioning. 

But there was more.  For the past few years my hair had been thinning, my fingernails had thick vertical (lengthwise) ridges and would split lengthwise along the ridges, and my blood pressure (historically so low I was ineligible to give blood) was too high (150s over low 80s).  I had assumed that was all due to aging.

Apparently not.

Since we stomped the kidney infection (which I now know I must have had for at least two years) my fingernails have strengthened, they're no longer splitting, and the ridges are slowly disappearing, my hair is thickening enough that I'm thinking of growing it long again, and my blood pressure is lower (120 to 128 over 67 to 73, not as low as it had been, but good enough for an old bat).  Even my toenails are celebrating.  The previously ingrown nail has flattened out.

In short, things look good.

The only bad part is that I've gained weight.  Back to measuring servings again, I guess, and ice cream or a donut only once a week.

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I post links every so often.  I suspect folks rarely follow them.  Please do go to this link.  I'm begging.  This is something politicians need to read.  Please pass it on.  It's short, an easy read, just a list.  Please do go.  Please pass it on.
http://whatever.scalzi.com/2005/09/03/being-poor/
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1214 Life Begins at 37

Friday, April 20, 2007

Funny how lately things are becoming so clear. I've known for a long time, but never put it into words before, that I became me at age 37. Prior to 37, I was not the me I know now. I was whoever and whatever other people told me I was. My life can be divided neatly into "Before 37" and "After 37", and the two parts are so very different. I was/am so very different. This means I should stop dwelling on the things that happened to me and the things I did Before 37, because although those things went into the making of me, they weren't me.

It's not like "I am a different person today from the person I was yesterday." It's much bigger than that. It took four years of intensive psychotherapy, and then one day I found me, and I liked the me I found. From now on, when I speak of those difficult things, I'll end it with, "but that was back before I was me."

All the little epiphanies I'm having lately worry me. Like maybe they portend some big cataclysm in/to my life. I'm not ready for that. I'm having too much fun right now.

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Of minor significance, whenever anyone would ask, "What age do you feel inside?", "Or what age would you like to be?", I've always answered, "37." Back when Jay and I were looking into the donor egg program, I was 50, and their cutoff age was 49, so the clinic put me through just about every medical test known to man, and they approved me, because they decided that my physical age was ......... 37.
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