Monday, December 25, 2006
Chris, of "Inane thoughts and insane ramblings", wrote some thoughts yesterday (which I read today) on memory, and how accessing a memory can change it.
It's a coincidence that I've been cleaning out the den, and have been finding "memories" that I want to preserve. The next two entries are excerpts from hardcopy journals I kept during Jay's illness. I'm "dumping" them here to preserve it all. It's stuff I don't want to lose or forget. Unless you have lots of free time, and a morbid interest in medical matters, I suggest you skip them. But if Daughter ever wants to put me in a nursing home, I want her to read about the Hellhole first. (Yes, there are good skilled nursing facilities out there - Sunnyview in Schenectady being one of the best. But then there are also hellholes.)
I have always kept notes on events, because as Chris points out, memories change. I am very suspicious of my memory. I review notes occasionally, because (it's just me) I think it's important that facts remain facts. The feelings about those facts do change over time, and that's ok, but for me, the facts must remain facts. And even though my feelings may change, the feelings I had at the time are part of the event, part of the facts, and should be preserved as a fact, even though I no longer have that feeling. Hence preservation of notes.
.
Monday, December 25, 2006
1033 Gifts
Monday, December 25, 2006
I feel like just because of the date up there I'm supposed to say "Merry Christmas". Of course, being me, I'm rebelling. The particular date is not especially significant. I don't want to wish people a merry Christmas, because Christmas has been hijacked. Instead, if you are Christian, I hope that today you will think not of the birth, but will reflect on the life and the teachings, and what those teachings mean to your life. Giving gifts to close acquaintances on one day is ok if that makes you (and them) happy, but the real lesson is generosity of the spirit toward everyone, every day, all year. I wish you renewed personal dedication to spiritual generosity.
For my Jewish friends, I hope that the past Hanukkah has reminded you of your strength of community and the reserves of power in each individual. I wish you renewed resolve.
For my Muslim friends, I celebrate the renewal of community and charity exemplified by Eid.
For my Pagan and "other" friends, Yule represents renewal in all - the return of the sun and the rebirth of the earth (well, the northern hemisphere, anyway). I wish you all renewed energy and vitality.
Those are my gifts for today - gifts I can't give, but which you are free to take.
.
I feel like just because of the date up there I'm supposed to say "Merry Christmas". Of course, being me, I'm rebelling. The particular date is not especially significant. I don't want to wish people a merry Christmas, because Christmas has been hijacked. Instead, if you are Christian, I hope that today you will think not of the birth, but will reflect on the life and the teachings, and what those teachings mean to your life. Giving gifts to close acquaintances on one day is ok if that makes you (and them) happy, but the real lesson is generosity of the spirit toward everyone, every day, all year. I wish you renewed personal dedication to spiritual generosity.
For my Jewish friends, I hope that the past Hanukkah has reminded you of your strength of community and the reserves of power in each individual. I wish you renewed resolve.
For my Muslim friends, I celebrate the renewal of community and charity exemplified by Eid.
For my Pagan and "other" friends, Yule represents renewal in all - the return of the sun and the rebirth of the earth (well, the northern hemisphere, anyway). I wish you all renewed energy and vitality.
Those are my gifts for today - gifts I can't give, but which you are free to take.
.
Sunday, December 24, 2006
1032 Clicking the Remote
Saturday, December 24, 2006
Flipping around the wasteland of the six channels available to one without cable, on Christmas Eve afternoon. Everything is either Christmas-themed or sports.
Seen in passing:
On PBS there were bell-ringers, fourteen or so of them playing some complicated classical music. In front of the U-shaped table of bells and ringers, there was a conductor, in tux, energetically waving his baton and generally acting like he was personally making the music.
What amused me was that the ringers were frantically glancing from the sheet music to their arrays of bells, and not one of them so much as glanced in the conductor's direction. I stopped there and watched for a while, to see if any looked up, and none did through two full selections.
I can listen to bells, I dearly love carillons, but I can't watch these groups. They look like one-armed paper-hangers, and they get me all tensed up.
I clicked into the middle of "Nicholas Nickelby", and found Nathan Lane. With apologies to any NL fans, I really can't stand the man as a (non-stage) actor. I have never seen him in any movie or TV sitcom (starring or guest appearance) where I was not painfully aware he was acting. Contrast him with, say, Dustin Hoffman, who completely becomes his character. Nathan Lane will ruin anything for me faster than Liz Taylor - who also acted like she was playing the part of an actor acting.
Another flip found a piece on "green products". There's apparently a public school in or near Albany that has committed to use only environmentally safe products throughout the building, from building materials to cleaning products. However, they have to make an exception for floor finishes. There are "green" floor finishing products out there, but they "don't stand the test of time". They go down safely, but they need to be reapplied more often, resulting in buildup that needs to be removed much more often, and removal results in harmful dust. I thought that was an interesting point, given how serious they seemed to be about the "green" project.
Flip. "It's a Wonderful Life". Ack! Flip flip flip!
.
Flipping around the wasteland of the six channels available to one without cable, on Christmas Eve afternoon. Everything is either Christmas-themed or sports.
Seen in passing:
On PBS there were bell-ringers, fourteen or so of them playing some complicated classical music. In front of the U-shaped table of bells and ringers, there was a conductor, in tux, energetically waving his baton and generally acting like he was personally making the music.
What amused me was that the ringers were frantically glancing from the sheet music to their arrays of bells, and not one of them so much as glanced in the conductor's direction. I stopped there and watched for a while, to see if any looked up, and none did through two full selections.
I can listen to bells, I dearly love carillons, but I can't watch these groups. They look like one-armed paper-hangers, and they get me all tensed up.
I clicked into the middle of "Nicholas Nickelby", and found Nathan Lane. With apologies to any NL fans, I really can't stand the man as a (non-stage) actor. I have never seen him in any movie or TV sitcom (starring or guest appearance) where I was not painfully aware he was acting. Contrast him with, say, Dustin Hoffman, who completely becomes his character. Nathan Lane will ruin anything for me faster than Liz Taylor - who also acted like she was playing the part of an actor acting.
Another flip found a piece on "green products". There's apparently a public school in or near Albany that has committed to use only environmentally safe products throughout the building, from building materials to cleaning products. However, they have to make an exception for floor finishes. There are "green" floor finishing products out there, but they "don't stand the test of time". They go down safely, but they need to be reapplied more often, resulting in buildup that needs to be removed much more often, and removal results in harmful dust. I thought that was an interesting point, given how serious they seemed to be about the "green" project.
Flip. "It's a Wonderful Life". Ack! Flip flip flip!
.
1031 More on Hard Disk Clutter
Sunday, December 24, 2006
My "for Dummies" book says Windows' temporary files usually but not always end with ".TMP", and the file names usually start with "~". However, they say absolutely nothing about whether one can safely delete them. Then I found this through HowThingsWork.com, at http://filext.com/info/showthread.php?t=16:
Can I Delete Temporary (.TMP) Files?
My "for Dummies" book says Windows' temporary files usually but not always end with ".TMP", and the file names usually start with "~". However, they say absolutely nothing about whether one can safely delete them. Then I found this through HowThingsWork.com, at http://filext.com/info/showthread.php?t=16:
Can I Delete Temporary (.TMP) Files? Can I safely delete temporary (.TMP) files?
Maybe
.
Temporary files are just that, designed to be temporary. But, that does not always mean you can safely delete them. A running program, for example, may have created a temporary file that, if deleted, could cause problems for that program. Windows is an example of this; it creates temporary files that are used during any given session. While it usually recovers and recreates files it finds deleted, that is not always the case.
Consider the following as guidelines but not guarantees (make certain the file is actually a temporary file and not some critical data file with a .TMP extension): [Silk: and exactly how does one determine that?]
Maybe
.Temporary files are just that, designed to be temporary. But, that does not always mean you can safely delete them. A running program, for example, may have created a temporary file that, if deleted, could cause problems for that program. Windows is an example of this; it creates temporary files that are used during any given session. While it usually recovers and recreates files it finds deleted, that is not always the case.
Consider the following as guidelines but not guarantees (make certain the file is actually a temporary file and not some critical data file with a .TMP extension): [Silk: and exactly how does one determine that?]
- If the .TMP file date is earlier than the last time the computer was started and the file size is zero bytes it's almost always safe to delete the file. [Silk: Duh, yeah. That means there's no file. It's just a "placeholder" in a directory.] [Uh, "almost always"?]
- If the .TMP file date is earlier than the last time the comptuer was started its usually safe to delete the file. [Silk: Usually?]
- Everything else depends on the situation. [Silk: Aaaaggghhh!]
__________________
Tom
---------------------
DaBoss at FILExt.com
Very helpful, folks! Bleck!
A commenter has recommended Webroot's "Window Washer". I have a copy of it right here on my desk, along with Webroot's "Cache and Cookie Washer". I bought them at the local office supply store in January of 2002. The first time I ran Window Washer, it crashed Windows 98SE and completely destroyed AOL, and it took three IPLs before Windows would come up again. I was never able to recover that level of AOL, and had to install a new version - which for some reason couldn't find the old mail folders, so I lost all the emails to Jay's sisters from when he was sick, which was essentially the entire diary of Jay's treatments, reactions, feelings, and progress. (That made me cry.)
Ya gotta give me credit for courage - I ran it again a few days later, and Windows crashed again. So now I'm afraid to use it. (Although maybe the old version had some bugs which have since been fixed?)
.
Tom
---------------------
DaBoss at FILExt.com
Very helpful, folks! Bleck!
A commenter has recommended Webroot's "Window Washer". I have a copy of it right here on my desk, along with Webroot's "Cache and Cookie Washer". I bought them at the local office supply store in January of 2002. The first time I ran Window Washer, it crashed Windows 98SE and completely destroyed AOL, and it took three IPLs before Windows would come up again. I was never able to recover that level of AOL, and had to install a new version - which for some reason couldn't find the old mail folders, so I lost all the emails to Jay's sisters from when he was sick, which was essentially the entire diary of Jay's treatments, reactions, feelings, and progress. (That made me cry.)
Ya gotta give me credit for courage - I ran it again a few days later, and Windows crashed again. So now I'm afraid to use it. (Although maybe the old version had some bugs which have since been fixed?)
.
1030 Photos - the Machine, the Hunk, and Me
Sunday, December 24, 2006
Sometime in November I mentioned that the Hairless Hunk had taught me how to operate his ... I'm not entirely sure what to properly call it.
Backhoe?
Frontloader?
Marvelous Machine?
Man Toy?
The whole experience began when I was watching him tear out some stumps, and remarked that "I love to watch a man play with his toys." He offered to share his toys.
I really enjoyed it, and I got pretty fast and accurate.
This is The Hairless Hunk. He's laughing because as I was snapping the picture, I told him it wasn't going to be a very satisfactory photo. He asked why not, and I answered, "Because you have a shirt on."
He spends the whole summer in my yard shirtless, and THAT'S the picture I want. I'm almost sorry he's laughing, because it closed his pretty blue eyes. (Ok, Lady Chatterly has a crush on the groundskeeper. Big deal. I know not to touch. Looking is not only permitted, it's good for me.)
.
Sometime in November I mentioned that the Hairless Hunk had taught me how to operate his ... I'm not entirely sure what to properly call it.
Backhoe?
Frontloader?
Marvelous Machine?
Man Toy?
The whole experience began when I was watching him tear out some stumps, and remarked that "I love to watch a man play with his toys." He offered to share his toys.
I really enjoyed it, and I got pretty fast and accurate.
This is The Hairless Hunk. He's laughing because as I was snapping the picture, I told him it wasn't going to be a very satisfactory photo. He asked why not, and I answered, "Because you have a shirt on."
He spends the whole summer in my yard shirtless, and THAT'S the picture I want. I'm almost sorry he's laughing, because it closed his pretty blue eyes. (Ok, Lady Chatterly has a crush on the groundskeeper. Big deal. I know not to touch. Looking is not only permitted, it's good for me.)
.
1029 Photos from Last Weekend
Sunday, December 24, 2006
I have a digital camera. I don't use it for a variety of reasons, not the least of which is that the USB port on Matilda no longer works. So I wait until I've filled a roll on the antique 35mm camera, then I take it in and get prints and a CD.
So, finally, here are some pictures from last weekend's work on the disabled Vet's house.
The huge hole in the roof was to the right of the men on the roof, where you can see plywood. They reinforced the joists, replaced the shingles on the entire roof, and built the sloping roof over the ell, which originally had a flat roof. They also repaired/replaced water-damaged walls, floors, and ceilings, and we emptied out the stuff in the basement. The water damage in the basement was more due to freeze-burst pipes, which were also repaired.
Many of the guys working on the house were ex-Marines. They put up the flagpole, and the red flag is a Marine Corps flag. You can see the dumpster I helped fill. (We needed two of them!) The plywood showing in the lower left corner was shielding the bonfire, where we burned dead tree branches and scrap wood.
I had to get a picture of this truck. It was the personal property of one of the volunteers. Note the piece of log in the front --- they cut down a dead black walnut tree. It was beautiful wood, smelled wonderful, but the son couldn't find anyone who wanted it! We burned the smaller branches on the bonfire, and neighbors took the smaller trunk pieces for firewood, but the huge main trunk got pushed into the woods across the street, and will probably go to waste. A shame.
People have asked, "How did the homeowner react when he saw what had been done?"
No idea. Nobody but his son was to be there when he got home. All he knew was that his son and one or two of his son's friends were going to fix the hole in the roof, and that's all he'll ever know. He's very proud, and would not have accepted any other help.
That's why I said we were elves.
.
I have a digital camera. I don't use it for a variety of reasons, not the least of which is that the USB port on Matilda no longer works. So I wait until I've filled a roll on the antique 35mm camera, then I take it in and get prints and a CD.
So, finally, here are some pictures from last weekend's work on the disabled Vet's house.
The huge hole in the roof was to the right of the men on the roof, where you can see plywood. They reinforced the joists, replaced the shingles on the entire roof, and built the sloping roof over the ell, which originally had a flat roof. They also repaired/replaced water-damaged walls, floors, and ceilings, and we emptied out the stuff in the basement. The water damage in the basement was more due to freeze-burst pipes, which were also repaired.
Many of the guys working on the house were ex-Marines. They put up the flagpole, and the red flag is a Marine Corps flag. You can see the dumpster I helped fill. (We needed two of them!) The plywood showing in the lower left corner was shielding the bonfire, where we burned dead tree branches and scrap wood.
I had to get a picture of this truck. It was the personal property of one of the volunteers. Note the piece of log in the front --- they cut down a dead black walnut tree. It was beautiful wood, smelled wonderful, but the son couldn't find anyone who wanted it! We burned the smaller branches on the bonfire, and neighbors took the smaller trunk pieces for firewood, but the huge main trunk got pushed into the woods across the street, and will probably go to waste. A shame.
People have asked, "How did the homeowner react when he saw what had been done?"
No idea. Nobody but his son was to be there when he got home. All he knew was that his son and one or two of his son's friends were going to fix the hole in the roof, and that's all he'll ever know. He's very proud, and would not have accepted any other help.
That's why I said we were elves.
.
Saturday, December 23, 2006
1028 Hard Disk Horror
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.
--------------------------------------
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.
.
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.
--------------------------------------
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.
.
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.)
.
(- a result of the note I sent to friends and family back in November. Next year I'll know better.)
.
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.
.
[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.)
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.
------------------------------
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.
.
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.
.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)