Monday, April 22, 2008
Laurence J. Peter: “If a cluttered desk is the sign of a cluttered mind, what is the significance of a clean desk?"
------------------------------
I rediscovered Glenn Feron's website, "The Art of Retouching". If you choose a thumbnail and then pass the cursor over the photo, you can see it before and after retouching. Some of the differences are amazing. It reminds me that when we look at a photo and compare ourselves, we have to remember that we probably won't be able to recreate the look with diet or makeup. That look never really existed.
Here are some of the more startling:
http://www.glennferon.com/portfolio1/portfolio30.html
http://www.glennferon.com/portfolio1/portfolio31.html
http://www.glennferon.com/portfolio1/portfolio50.html
http://www.glennferon.com/portfolio1/portfolio40.html
--------------------------------
I read an online essay (that pretends to be a treatise) on differentiating between original old, new reproduction, and cheap imitation Asian, Indian, and Middle-Eastern jewelry. I got very annoyed very quickly, for several reasons.
The author constantly refers to the jewelry as "ethnographic jewelry". Um, ethnographic refers to the study of a culture, and more specifically to writings about that culture. So this might be an ethnographic essay, but the jewelry isn't ethnographic. It's ethnic.
It was quickly apparent that the word "ethnic" wasn't big enough for her. "Ethnographic", having more syllables, was obviously preferable. That isn't the only example. It looked like she wrote the essay, and then went through it and used a thesaurus to find the fanciest replacement words she could. I guess that makes it sound more learned?
I have a huge reading and listening vocabulary, but when I write, I use simple little words. Most people do that. It's more comfortable, and there's less chance of being misunderstood. There are people who use the biggest words they can find, in an effort to impress, I guess, and many of them use them incorrectly. They might impress some, but they look foolish to others. Oh well.
Anyway, a second thing that is annoying is that she presents the topic as if she's an expert and has gone into it in depth. I was hoping to learn something. But what she presents is obvious to the most casual observer. She makes some sweeping generalizations that even I, a mere dabbler in the subject, know should not be made.
The same thing is true of jewelry as of textiles: it doesn't have to be made of the best material, or beautiful, or well made to be old and valuable. Even 300 years ago, less expensive existed. It's just that the better stuff was more likely to be preserved. In fact, because of their rarity, sometimes the simple crude village-made examples are more valuable. (The most valuable oriental rug I own is a small lopsided trapezoidal thing. It's valuable because it was crafted on a nomadic lap-loom, and commemorates a family event.)
Every so often I see a "pasha". Someone who sets him- or herself up as an expert, the guru, the leader, in something. They somehow gather a worshipful following. Mental image of a person sitting on a pile of pillows, with followers gathered around sitting on the floor gazing up admiringly, offering tribute, as the focus of their attention dispenses pearls of wisdom, and glances of favor. No one can criticize the guru without suffering the fury of the followers.
I don't know how they do it. Much of what they dispense is pure poop. You see it here and there in the blogosphere, where a blog owner (usually female) reaches mythic status, and woe be to anyone who offers a correction or disagreement in comments. At some point, comments must be worshipful, or you die. (It was especially bad in AOL journals, because you can't hide your identity there. It was one of the reasons I had to move from AOL journals to Blogger.)
It seems to be an attitude thing. I suspect this woman wants to be on that pile of pillows.
.
Monday, April 21, 2008
1774 Shoes
Monday, April 21, 2008
It was 2 or 3 years ago that I cleared out the shoe closet, and threw out or donated almost 200 pairs, some of which were 30 years old, and many of which I hadn't worn since I retired.
I think I may have an addiction. I've been buying shoes again.
I don't pay a lot for shoes. I buy at places like Shoe Town, regular retail stores when they have big sales, and on eBay.
I wear a small size, 5.5, not a popular size, so when I find shoes I like, I can often get them at a deeper discount than more saleable sizes.
Well, usually size 5.5. I have a very high instep, so if the shoe goes high over the instep, like these silver sandals, I need a 6.
One of my favorite shoe makers is Candies (the two pairs of sandals shown here are actual Candies I bought recently on eBay. I paid $10 for the black ones). When you buy shoes online, you have to know exactly what will fit comfortably and what won't. Candies can be tricky for the novice. They run about one full size small, so I'd take a 6.5 or 7. Unfortunately, the sellers often know they run small, too, so they'll list a size 8 as a 7, and if I buy those, they'll be way too big. You have to send the seller a note and ask.
My best purchase arrived in the mail today. I got some new-in-the-box leather air-sole Dr. Martens boots, $125 MSRP, for $5 plus $11 shipping. The photo is the boot I bought. These came from a major (400+ sales a day) shoe store on eBay.
That shoe store is one of my favorite lurking spots. When an auction ends with no action, they relist the item, with a lower starting bid. The smaller sizes don't sell well, so I just watch and wait until the opening bid drops to below $5, then I pounce.
I've decided not to feel guilty. I can have 100 pairs of shoes for what Carrie on "Sex and the City" paid for two pairs of her fragile Manolo Blahniks.
.
It was 2 or 3 years ago that I cleared out the shoe closet, and threw out or donated almost 200 pairs, some of which were 30 years old, and many of which I hadn't worn since I retired.
I think I may have an addiction. I've been buying shoes again.
I don't pay a lot for shoes. I buy at places like Shoe Town, regular retail stores when they have big sales, and on eBay.
I wear a small size, 5.5, not a popular size, so when I find shoes I like, I can often get them at a deeper discount than more saleable sizes.
Well, usually size 5.5. I have a very high instep, so if the shoe goes high over the instep, like these silver sandals, I need a 6.
One of my favorite shoe makers is Candies (the two pairs of sandals shown here are actual Candies I bought recently on eBay. I paid $10 for the black ones). When you buy shoes online, you have to know exactly what will fit comfortably and what won't. Candies can be tricky for the novice. They run about one full size small, so I'd take a 6.5 or 7. Unfortunately, the sellers often know they run small, too, so they'll list a size 8 as a 7, and if I buy those, they'll be way too big. You have to send the seller a note and ask.
My best purchase arrived in the mail today. I got some new-in-the-box leather air-sole Dr. Martens boots, $125 MSRP, for $5 plus $11 shipping. The photo is the boot I bought. These came from a major (400+ sales a day) shoe store on eBay.
That shoe store is one of my favorite lurking spots. When an auction ends with no action, they relist the item, with a lower starting bid. The smaller sizes don't sell well, so I just watch and wait until the opening bid drops to below $5, then I pounce.
I've decided not to feel guilty. I can have 100 pairs of shoes for what Carrie on "Sex and the City" paid for two pairs of her fragile Manolo Blahniks.
.
Sunday, April 20, 2008
1773 Days Gone
Sunday, April 20, 2008
Me: No one raindrop feels responsible for the flood.
-----------------------------------
Tomorrow is the first anniversary of our first unchaperoned date, the day we met at Grand Central Station, walked all over central Manhattan and Central Park, had dinner at a revolving restaurant over Times Square, and wandered around the city in a tiny sporty convertible as the theaters were letting out, searching for the route north, with the player blasting BNL, him singing along, and me flirting with taxi drivers trapped beside us. We were together about 14 hours that day, talking steadily, and by the end of the evening and the first kiss in the Poughkeepsie train station parking lot, where I had left my car that morning, and where he drove the two hours to take me back rather than put me on a late train, I was already falling hard. I found him fascinating then, and still do. His mind is unbelievably fast, his heart is soft, and his old-fashioned chivalry is sweet.
Happy anniversary, Sweetheart.
-------------------------------------
Local newspaper. Article today about the village volunteer fire department.
Back when I was on the rescue squad (EMS), five or six years ago, there were somewhere between 75 and 85 active members (could have been a lot more - for some reason 90 sticks in my head), all volunteers. Most were firefighters, perhaps 18 were EMS. This is a relatively sparsely populated rural area, and when I joined I was expecting that the ambulance would be called out perhaps a maximum of three times a week.
I was shocked that we, the EMTs, were called out an average of three times a DAY! The firemen took out the heavy rescue vehicle to automobile accidents once or twice a week. The full firefighting apparatus was called out perhaps once a month, if that.
It was a little annoying that the firefighters got all the glory, and the EMTs seemed to provide most of the service.
Anyway, the newspaper article was about the loss of volunteers. The local fire company is down to 30. Quite a drop. They're desperate for volunteers. I don't know what the ratio of EMTs is, but the company handled 1100 callouts last year, and EMS had to be the majority. These people mostly have full time jobs. There are usually a minimum of three people riding the ambulance on a call. They have the radio with them at all times, and when it burps, whoever's on call punches out at the job, or tumbles out of bed, or puts the baby down, or changes direction on the highway, and heads for the fire station. With so few EMTs to handle so many calls, it's got to be pretty disruptive to their lives.
"They" said that the problem seems to be that with the economy down, people can't take off work for the training and the callouts, not to mention that many are now working two jobs. The town is afraid they're going to have to hire professionals. That's going to affect taxes, which will make it even worse for those folks already working two jobs.
In a brief moment of sheer madness, I considered volunteering again.
.
Me: No one raindrop feels responsible for the flood.
-----------------------------------
Tomorrow is the first anniversary of our first unchaperoned date, the day we met at Grand Central Station, walked all over central Manhattan and Central Park, had dinner at a revolving restaurant over Times Square, and wandered around the city in a tiny sporty convertible as the theaters were letting out, searching for the route north, with the player blasting BNL, him singing along, and me flirting with taxi drivers trapped beside us. We were together about 14 hours that day, talking steadily, and by the end of the evening and the first kiss in the Poughkeepsie train station parking lot, where I had left my car that morning, and where he drove the two hours to take me back rather than put me on a late train, I was already falling hard. I found him fascinating then, and still do. His mind is unbelievably fast, his heart is soft, and his old-fashioned chivalry is sweet.
Happy anniversary, Sweetheart.
-------------------------------------
Local newspaper. Article today about the village volunteer fire department.
Back when I was on the rescue squad (EMS), five or six years ago, there were somewhere between 75 and 85 active members (could have been a lot more - for some reason 90 sticks in my head), all volunteers. Most were firefighters, perhaps 18 were EMS. This is a relatively sparsely populated rural area, and when I joined I was expecting that the ambulance would be called out perhaps a maximum of three times a week.
I was shocked that we, the EMTs, were called out an average of three times a DAY! The firemen took out the heavy rescue vehicle to automobile accidents once or twice a week. The full firefighting apparatus was called out perhaps once a month, if that.
It was a little annoying that the firefighters got all the glory, and the EMTs seemed to provide most of the service.
Anyway, the newspaper article was about the loss of volunteers. The local fire company is down to 30. Quite a drop. They're desperate for volunteers. I don't know what the ratio of EMTs is, but the company handled 1100 callouts last year, and EMS had to be the majority. These people mostly have full time jobs. There are usually a minimum of three people riding the ambulance on a call. They have the radio with them at all times, and when it burps, whoever's on call punches out at the job, or tumbles out of bed, or puts the baby down, or changes direction on the highway, and heads for the fire station. With so few EMTs to handle so many calls, it's got to be pretty disruptive to their lives.
"They" said that the problem seems to be that with the economy down, people can't take off work for the training and the callouts, not to mention that many are now working two jobs. The town is afraid they're going to have to hire professionals. That's going to affect taxes, which will make it even worse for those folks already working two jobs.
In a brief moment of sheer madness, I considered volunteering again.
.
1772 Online Dating - the Age Thing
Sunday, April 20, 2008
Sharon Stone: Women might be able to fake orgasms. But men can fake whole relationships.
------------------
I cancelled and closed all my online dating subscriptions more than a year ago, but one of them is still sending me "matches", and another that runs "speed-dating" evenings is still sending me invitations. I haven't opted out of those notices because who knows whom I might find on one of those lists someday. Like, heh heh, Roman. I'd be tempted to get a free two-week anonymous trial just to toy with his mind.
I think one of the mistakes I made back when I was online was that I was honest about my age, and I used recent photos. Having met several of these guys, and knowing personally two women on the lists, I conclude that everyone lies. I think the women in my age group probably drop 5 or 6 years, and the men (the fools!) drop 8 to 10. (From my own experience, and from what those men told me about their experiences.) So by being honest, I hurt myself because men looking at my profile automatically add years, and assume the photos are from some distant past when I looked decent.
Just like theirs.
Then they conclude I'm too old. (Ha! Little do they know. The guy I'm dating now is more than 10 years younger than I, and he knew it right from the beginning. So there!)
If you ever try online dating, lie like a rug just to get that first meeting. Just like everybody else.
It seems like almost all the men are advertising for women at least five years younger than they are. I don't understand that at any age. Why don't they want women their own age? And especially when the guy's over 55. Age shouldn't matter then, especially when women live longer. By looking for someone so much younger, they seem to be searching less for companionship, and more for an ego boost and eventual nursemaid.
And then there're the guys in their 50s who are looking for "21-77". Poor fellows can't win. I figure they're desperate.
The speed dating folks perpetuate the age thing. These are the actual age ranges for the April sessions:
Women 32-42/Men 34-46
Women 40-50/Men 42-54
Women 24-36/Men 26-38
Women 45-55/Men 47-59
They seem to assume women want to meet older men, and men want to meet younger women (although the difference here isn't as large as in most of the profiles). But since they know everyone lies, why bother with the male/female split anyway? Just give a general range, and add "more or less"?
I called one time to complain that I might be interested in men in their late 50s, and they might be interested in me, but I don't fit the female age range for that session. The organizer laughed and said to come anyway. "Nobody checks ids."
I don't understand.
.
Sharon Stone: Women might be able to fake orgasms. But men can fake whole relationships.
------------------
I cancelled and closed all my online dating subscriptions more than a year ago, but one of them is still sending me "matches", and another that runs "speed-dating" evenings is still sending me invitations. I haven't opted out of those notices because who knows whom I might find on one of those lists someday. Like, heh heh, Roman. I'd be tempted to get a free two-week anonymous trial just to toy with his mind.
I think one of the mistakes I made back when I was online was that I was honest about my age, and I used recent photos. Having met several of these guys, and knowing personally two women on the lists, I conclude that everyone lies. I think the women in my age group probably drop 5 or 6 years, and the men (the fools!) drop 8 to 10. (From my own experience, and from what those men told me about their experiences.) So by being honest, I hurt myself because men looking at my profile automatically add years, and assume the photos are from some distant past when I looked decent.
Just like theirs.
Then they conclude I'm too old. (Ha! Little do they know. The guy I'm dating now is more than 10 years younger than I, and he knew it right from the beginning. So there!)
If you ever try online dating, lie like a rug just to get that first meeting. Just like everybody else.
It seems like almost all the men are advertising for women at least five years younger than they are. I don't understand that at any age. Why don't they want women their own age? And especially when the guy's over 55. Age shouldn't matter then, especially when women live longer. By looking for someone so much younger, they seem to be searching less for companionship, and more for an ego boost and eventual nursemaid.
And then there're the guys in their 50s who are looking for "21-77". Poor fellows can't win. I figure they're desperate.
The speed dating folks perpetuate the age thing. These are the actual age ranges for the April sessions:
Women 32-42/Men 34-46
Women 40-50/Men 42-54
Women 24-36/Men 26-38
Women 45-55/Men 47-59
They seem to assume women want to meet older men, and men want to meet younger women (although the difference here isn't as large as in most of the profiles). But since they know everyone lies, why bother with the male/female split anyway? Just give a general range, and add "more or less"?
I called one time to complain that I might be interested in men in their late 50s, and they might be interested in me, but I don't fit the female age range for that session. The organizer laughed and said to come anyway. "Nobody checks ids."
I don't understand.
.
1771 Rotten Cat....
Sunday, April 20, 2008
Dean Koontz, Mr. Murder: We sense that life is a dark comedy and maybe we can live with that. However, because the whole thing is written for the entertainment of the gods, too many of the jokes go right over our heads.
--------------------------
Jasper has shredded the living room curtains. I think he must have gotten a claw caught, and pulled, and now there's a six-foot horizontal tear about two feet up. That's a 16-foot expanse of floor to ceiling window. Not cheap.
The resulting clear rectangle affords him an excellent view of the bird and chipmunk activity in the back yard. I hope he hasn't learned that that's the way to open the drapes.
If so, I may have to kill him.
.
Dean Koontz, Mr. Murder: We sense that life is a dark comedy and maybe we can live with that. However, because the whole thing is written for the entertainment of the gods, too many of the jokes go right over our heads.
--------------------------
Jasper has shredded the living room curtains. I think he must have gotten a claw caught, and pulled, and now there's a six-foot horizontal tear about two feet up. That's a 16-foot expanse of floor to ceiling window. Not cheap.
The resulting clear rectangle affords him an excellent view of the bird and chipmunk activity in the back yard. I hope he hasn't learned that that's the way to open the drapes.
If so, I may have to kill him.
.
Saturday, April 19, 2008
1770 Short Pine Country
Saturday, April 19, 2008
It was a very warm and beautiful day today and I was feeling lonely and restless, and rebelling against my to-do list. So I went for a drive through the short pine country.
"Short pine country" was Jay's name for the mountains. As you go up, the trees get shorter and shorter, especially the evergreens, which seems a bit excessive, because the mountains aren't really that high around here. And yet up around the Mohonk Mountain House there are actual dwarf pines on the tops of the ridges.
I visited a lot of places that Jay and I used to love, and as the afternoon wore on, I missed him more and more. It's been 7.5 years, and I still miss him. I thought about my current man, and I missed him today too, I had hoped we could get together this weekend, but it was a brief and passing thought because I know he doesn't feel the same as Jay did and I do about the mountains and woods and streams and lakes and falls, and that's where I was today. The new man doesn't fit there. Jay does. Did.
I miss sharing my favorite things with him.
On the way home I decided to stop at a diner Jay and I had frequented. We called it "The Purple Palace", because the decor was a dusty purplish pink and chrome. That's not its real name, but everyone we ever mentioned it to knew exactly where we meant. They had the best Greek salad in the area. I haven't been there in ages.
It changed. I don't know when. It's now red and gray, with less chrome, and I didn't see Greek salad on the menu. It kind of pushed it home again that Jay is gone.
Yeah, I'm a bit down today, and I'm not sure why.
.
Mohonk Mountain House
It was a very warm and beautiful day today and I was feeling lonely and restless, and rebelling against my to-do list. So I went for a drive through the short pine country.
"Short pine country" was Jay's name for the mountains. As you go up, the trees get shorter and shorter, especially the evergreens, which seems a bit excessive, because the mountains aren't really that high around here. And yet up around the Mohonk Mountain House there are actual dwarf pines on the tops of the ridges.
I visited a lot of places that Jay and I used to love, and as the afternoon wore on, I missed him more and more. It's been 7.5 years, and I still miss him. I thought about my current man, and I missed him today too, I had hoped we could get together this weekend, but it was a brief and passing thought because I know he doesn't feel the same as Jay did and I do about the mountains and woods and streams and lakes and falls, and that's where I was today. The new man doesn't fit there. Jay does. Did.
I miss sharing my favorite things with him.
On the way home I decided to stop at a diner Jay and I had frequented. We called it "The Purple Palace", because the decor was a dusty purplish pink and chrome. That's not its real name, but everyone we ever mentioned it to knew exactly where we meant. They had the best Greek salad in the area. I haven't been there in ages.
It changed. I don't know when. It's now red and gray, with less chrome, and I didn't see Greek salad on the menu. It kind of pushed it home again that Jay is gone.
Yeah, I'm a bit down today, and I'm not sure why.
.
1769 Gender Sensitive
Saturday, April 19, 2008
Marge Simpson: We can't afford to shop at any store that has a philosophy.
------------------------
Last week I posted about my annoyance when people are overly sensitive and jump to conclude racism where it might not be. This morning I was reading a piece written by a lesbian (nah, I'm not going to link to it) and I was reminded of an incident last summer, at the Maritime Museum.
I was filling in in the gift shop, and having trouble with the cash register. It wasn't totaling up correctly, and the cash drawer had a weird combination of change.
A couple came in. One was a woman in her early fifties, very feminine. She deferred to her companion, who was probably late thirties, and who was very affectionate toward and protective of her. I couldn't figure out if the companion was male or female. It was weird.
I've never been confused before. I can spot transvestites unfailingly. I don't have trouble until we move into the transsexual realm, when they start messing with hormones, but even then, the brow and jawline is often a clue. You can't change bones that easily. I once had a whole theater full of people pissed with me when we went to that movie where the big twist at the end is that the beautiful woman the man falls in love with turns out to be a man (can't remember the name of the movie, it was like 20 years ago when stuff like that was shocking [Later: a commenter has reminded me it was "The Crying Game"]), and everybody in the world was so careful not to tell the ending because it's so shocking, and five minutes into the movie I turned to my companion and whispered "That's a man. Why do they have a male actor in that role?" Half the theater turned and scowled at me.
Anyhow, identifying people as to age, race, gender, is something your brain sort of does on autopilot, and you get a glitch when it can't.
The couple explored the museum, then came back out and explored the gift shop. At some point, something, I don't remember what, clued me in that the companion was a woman.
I have no problem with that. I'm all for affection, love, commitment wherever one finds it, and these two were obviously happy. That's nice. I was just relieved that I'd figured it out. (Remember SNL's "Pat"?)
Anyhow, they bought some stuff, the companion put some cash on the counter, the cash register sneezed, and I had to total it up by hand and figure out the best change from the slim pickings in the drawer. I counted it out in a pile on the counter, switching a few bills and coins as I found a combination that would still leave me usable cash (a drawer full of just 20s and dimes is not usable). When I had it all together, I pushed the pile across the counter to the companion.
She was absolutely furious because I didn't put the money directly into her hand. She tore into me, saying that putting the money on the counter instead of into her hand was extremely disrespectful, that I was extremely rude in avoiding physical contact with her, and on and on. She really blasted me. I was speechless. All I could say was that I was sorry, I'd had no clerk training and didn't know there was a protocol, didn't know that was important, ok, now I know.
It really shook me. The amount of venom was scary.
I think she was oversensitive, and saw disrespect where there was none. She's creating her own stress.
.
Marge Simpson: We can't afford to shop at any store that has a philosophy.
------------------------
Last week I posted about my annoyance when people are overly sensitive and jump to conclude racism where it might not be. This morning I was reading a piece written by a lesbian (nah, I'm not going to link to it) and I was reminded of an incident last summer, at the Maritime Museum.
I was filling in in the gift shop, and having trouble with the cash register. It wasn't totaling up correctly, and the cash drawer had a weird combination of change.
A couple came in. One was a woman in her early fifties, very feminine. She deferred to her companion, who was probably late thirties, and who was very affectionate toward and protective of her. I couldn't figure out if the companion was male or female. It was weird.
I've never been confused before. I can spot transvestites unfailingly. I don't have trouble until we move into the transsexual realm, when they start messing with hormones, but even then, the brow and jawline is often a clue. You can't change bones that easily. I once had a whole theater full of people pissed with me when we went to that movie where the big twist at the end is that the beautiful woman the man falls in love with turns out to be a man (can't remember the name of the movie, it was like 20 years ago when stuff like that was shocking [Later: a commenter has reminded me it was "The Crying Game"]), and everybody in the world was so careful not to tell the ending because it's so shocking, and five minutes into the movie I turned to my companion and whispered "That's a man. Why do they have a male actor in that role?" Half the theater turned and scowled at me.
Anyhow, identifying people as to age, race, gender, is something your brain sort of does on autopilot, and you get a glitch when it can't.
The couple explored the museum, then came back out and explored the gift shop. At some point, something, I don't remember what, clued me in that the companion was a woman.
I have no problem with that. I'm all for affection, love, commitment wherever one finds it, and these two were obviously happy. That's nice. I was just relieved that I'd figured it out. (Remember SNL's "Pat"?)
Anyhow, they bought some stuff, the companion put some cash on the counter, the cash register sneezed, and I had to total it up by hand and figure out the best change from the slim pickings in the drawer. I counted it out in a pile on the counter, switching a few bills and coins as I found a combination that would still leave me usable cash (a drawer full of just 20s and dimes is not usable). When I had it all together, I pushed the pile across the counter to the companion.
She was absolutely furious because I didn't put the money directly into her hand. She tore into me, saying that putting the money on the counter instead of into her hand was extremely disrespectful, that I was extremely rude in avoiding physical contact with her, and on and on. She really blasted me. I was speechless. All I could say was that I was sorry, I'd had no clerk training and didn't know there was a protocol, didn't know that was important, ok, now I know.
It really shook me. The amount of venom was scary.
I think she was oversensitive, and saw disrespect where there was none. She's creating her own stress.
.
Friday, April 18, 2008
1768 Cure for Type 2 Diabetes?
Friday, April 18, 2008
Read this article: http://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2008/03/080305113659.htm
Apparently it has been known since the '50s that insulin/blood sugar is regulated by the first foot or so of the small intestine, and that bypassing that section of intestine (the duodenum and jejunum) cures type 2 diabetes. They are not exactly sure why it works, what the insulin regulation process is, but it seems to have been well known for a long time that the surgery does work.
It hasn't been promoted as a cure because resectioning is serious surgery. (But, hey, people die of diabetes. That's serious, too. Last time I checked, anyway....) I suspect (this is me speculating) that the reason is that type 2 diabetes can often be controlled with diet and lifestyle changes, so that's the first choice (and it's cheaper), and then by the time it's apparent that diet and exercise and meds aren't working, the damage to major organs and systems is done, and the surgery is no longer feasible.
Twenty five patients have undergone a new surgery where instead of resection, they insert (some kind of) bypass tube, and it works as well with much less risk. Immediate remission of type 2 diabetes. Boom. Done.
Read the article.
.
Read this article: http://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2008/03/080305113659.htm
Apparently it has been known since the '50s that insulin/blood sugar is regulated by the first foot or so of the small intestine, and that bypassing that section of intestine (the duodenum and jejunum) cures type 2 diabetes. They are not exactly sure why it works, what the insulin regulation process is, but it seems to have been well known for a long time that the surgery does work.
It hasn't been promoted as a cure because resectioning is serious surgery. (But, hey, people die of diabetes. That's serious, too. Last time I checked, anyway....) I suspect (this is me speculating) that the reason is that type 2 diabetes can often be controlled with diet and lifestyle changes, so that's the first choice (and it's cheaper), and then by the time it's apparent that diet and exercise and meds aren't working, the damage to major organs and systems is done, and the surgery is no longer feasible.
Twenty five patients have undergone a new surgery where instead of resection, they insert (some kind of) bypass tube, and it works as well with much less risk. Immediate remission of type 2 diabetes. Boom. Done.
Read the article.
.
1767 Friday Bits
Friday, April 18, 2008
Preserve wildlife - pickle a squirrel.
-------------------------
Kitty Update - I suspect that Jasper had his first birthday sometime in the past few weeks. He has tripled in size since I captured him last June. I think he's about 12 lb. now, and it's mostly muscle. I had thought he was going to be a very small cat, because he had itty bitty teeny tiny little paws. He still has itty bitty teeny tiny little paws, but with a big hulking teenaged boy body balanced on top. Looks weird.
-------------------------
Observation: "Freedom" is the absence of necessity, coercion, or constraint in choice or action. "License" is a freedom that is used with or allows irresponsibility, or disregard for rules of personal conduct. Too many people confuse the two. They think freedom automatically confers license.
-------------------------
The Hairless Hunk is out there spreading topsoil in the cleared woods, to level it out. It's 80 degrees, and he's not wearing a shirt. Terribly distracting.... Excuse me while I go supervise some more.
.
Preserve wildlife - pickle a squirrel.
-------------------------
Kitty Update - I suspect that Jasper had his first birthday sometime in the past few weeks. He has tripled in size since I captured him last June. I think he's about 12 lb. now, and it's mostly muscle. I had thought he was going to be a very small cat, because he had itty bitty teeny tiny little paws. He still has itty bitty teeny tiny little paws, but with a big hulking teenaged boy body balanced on top. Looks weird.
-------------------------
Observation: "Freedom" is the absence of necessity, coercion, or constraint in choice or action. "License" is a freedom that is used with or allows irresponsibility, or disregard for rules of personal conduct. Too many people confuse the two. They think freedom automatically confers license.
-------------------------
The Hairless Hunk is out there spreading topsoil in the cleared woods, to level it out. It's 80 degrees, and he's not wearing a shirt. Terribly distracting.... Excuse me while I go supervise some more.
.
Thursday, April 17, 2008
1766 Ladies Only
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Any males reading this please hit "Back" now. Thank you.
---------------------------------
This is a warning for any other women who happen to stumble across it.
It's not uncommon for a gland or pore or whatever on the inner or outer labia to get blocked. You get a swelling. Sometimes they can quickly get pretty big and painful. Doctors will tell you not to poke at them, to use hot or cold compresses and wait, and eventually it will resolve itself.
I never had one of those, exactly, I guess. What I had was a tiny very hard knot on the base of the top of the clitoral hood. It was just a small buried bead, and didn't hurt. I wondered what it was, and asked the doctor, and she said blocked pore, ignore it, or I could try the hot and cold if I wanted.
I ignored it.
Over the next few years it grew slowly. This past year it grew fairly rapidly, to the size of a large pea.
It still didn't hurt, but the problem it caused was kind of funny. Given its position, and its firmness, it caused some, um, navigation problems for anyone travelling by touch through the neighborhood. The mental reset is quick, but it does cause brief confusion.
So the other night I decided to take another good look at it. Yup, there's a visible pore, that seems a bit enlarged. Hmm. What if I press a little from underneath, toward that pore? Whoa! That worked! What if I press a little more?
Well, I managed to express the entire contents of the bump, and here's the really weird part. It was entirely baby powder! Baby powder mixed with perhaps a little oil. Immediately recognizable as baby powder from the appearance, texture, and scent! Some of it perfectly preserved for years, I guess.
I use baby powder on the tops of my thighs and in a line up the back crease to prevent chafing and heat rash.
I had read a long time ago that talc is frequently found in ovarian cysts. After all, unless our tubes are tied, we are completely open to the outside, right into the abdominal cavity. Now I'm wondering if I should ever use powder at all.
.
Any males reading this please hit "Back" now. Thank you.
---------------------------------
This is a warning for any other women who happen to stumble across it.
It's not uncommon for a gland or pore or whatever on the inner or outer labia to get blocked. You get a swelling. Sometimes they can quickly get pretty big and painful. Doctors will tell you not to poke at them, to use hot or cold compresses and wait, and eventually it will resolve itself.
I never had one of those, exactly, I guess. What I had was a tiny very hard knot on the base of the top of the clitoral hood. It was just a small buried bead, and didn't hurt. I wondered what it was, and asked the doctor, and she said blocked pore, ignore it, or I could try the hot and cold if I wanted.
I ignored it.
Over the next few years it grew slowly. This past year it grew fairly rapidly, to the size of a large pea.
It still didn't hurt, but the problem it caused was kind of funny. Given its position, and its firmness, it caused some, um, navigation problems for anyone travelling by touch through the neighborhood. The mental reset is quick, but it does cause brief confusion.
So the other night I decided to take another good look at it. Yup, there's a visible pore, that seems a bit enlarged. Hmm. What if I press a little from underneath, toward that pore? Whoa! That worked! What if I press a little more?
Well, I managed to express the entire contents of the bump, and here's the really weird part. It was entirely baby powder! Baby powder mixed with perhaps a little oil. Immediately recognizable as baby powder from the appearance, texture, and scent! Some of it perfectly preserved for years, I guess.
I use baby powder on the tops of my thighs and in a line up the back crease to prevent chafing and heat rash.
I had read a long time ago that talc is frequently found in ovarian cysts. After all, unless our tubes are tied, we are completely open to the outside, right into the abdominal cavity. Now I'm wondering if I should ever use powder at all.
.
1765 More stuff I don't understand
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Ralph Waldo Emerson: There is nothing wrong with having nothing to say --- unless you insist on saying it.
---------------------
The old title of this journal was "I Don't Understand". I changed it when I moved it. I shouldn't have. I still don't understand.
I don't understand why people use words with sexual connotations or meanings to express anger, or to demean or disparage something. I understand religious references better. Like, one is asking God to consign something to Hell on our behalf. That at least makes some twisted sense.
So, a woman is sitting next to a man who is watching sports on TV with his buddies, and he's yelling things at the teams, and it's f---ing this and f---ing that, and other words for other acts, as if DOING that kind of stuff is the nastiest thing ever, that no good person would ever do that, or allow it to be done to them, and then that evening he wants to do that very thing to her? Or wants her to do things that are (from all appearances, to hear him talk) even worse, to him? How can he both like it, and consider it the worst thing you can do to someone else?
There's a disconnect there. Either it's good, or it's bad.
Thinking about it today because of a reality show I've been watching, where the guys, mid- to late-twenties I guess, can't get out a sentence without using the f-word.
-------------------------
I've been reading Michael J. Totten's dispatches from Iraq.
Another disconnect. What he is saying doesn't seem to jive with what we hear and read in the news. I have difficulty understanding how both versions can be true.
-------------------------
More GPS-isms. It's confused as to where I live.
About ten years ago or so, much of the local area got new addresses for enhanced 911 service.
Prior to then, most of us had rural delivery addresses, like "RD #5 Box 38", where "38" was the number on the mailbox at the end of the driveway, and RD #5 might be 30 miles long. No one except the mailman could find your house given that address. It was handy, because you could give out your mailing address without worrying about some stranger showing up at your door.
It led to a slight schizophrenia. If you wanted the house found (friends, UPS, store deliveries, utility service, etc.) then you had to give the street address, like "38 Woodward Drive".
When they renumbered our street, my new address changed from RD #5 Box 38/38 Woodward Drive (not my real address) to just plain 86 Woodward Drive, both house address and mailing address. Some people got a street name for the first time ever, some got their street name changed. It was a mess for a while.
The idea was that when you call 911 from your home phone, the address shows up on the screen, and the ambulances and fire trucks use that address with GPS to locate the house. That's what we taxpayers were told, to justify the enormous cost associated with renumbering the entire county. Sounds good, except for two problems.
A lot of people don't have "home" phones any more. They are entirely cellular. The address doesn't show up.
Secondly, GPS is still using the old numbers! That blows my mind. If you ask Google maps, Mapquest, or any GPS device to show the location of my house, it points to the OLD box 86 on Woodward Drive, the location of 86 before renumbering. It's been at least ten years.
What has to be updated, and who is responsible for doing that?
.
Ralph Waldo Emerson: There is nothing wrong with having nothing to say --- unless you insist on saying it.
---------------------
The old title of this journal was "I Don't Understand". I changed it when I moved it. I shouldn't have. I still don't understand.
I don't understand why people use words with sexual connotations or meanings to express anger, or to demean or disparage something. I understand religious references better. Like, one is asking God to consign something to Hell on our behalf. That at least makes some twisted sense.
So, a woman is sitting next to a man who is watching sports on TV with his buddies, and he's yelling things at the teams, and it's f---ing this and f---ing that, and other words for other acts, as if DOING that kind of stuff is the nastiest thing ever, that no good person would ever do that, or allow it to be done to them, and then that evening he wants to do that very thing to her? Or wants her to do things that are (from all appearances, to hear him talk) even worse, to him? How can he both like it, and consider it the worst thing you can do to someone else?
There's a disconnect there. Either it's good, or it's bad.
Thinking about it today because of a reality show I've been watching, where the guys, mid- to late-twenties I guess, can't get out a sentence without using the f-word.
-------------------------
I've been reading Michael J. Totten's dispatches from Iraq.
Another disconnect. What he is saying doesn't seem to jive with what we hear and read in the news. I have difficulty understanding how both versions can be true.
-------------------------
More GPS-isms. It's confused as to where I live.
About ten years ago or so, much of the local area got new addresses for enhanced 911 service.
Prior to then, most of us had rural delivery addresses, like "RD #5 Box 38", where "38" was the number on the mailbox at the end of the driveway, and RD #5 might be 30 miles long. No one except the mailman could find your house given that address. It was handy, because you could give out your mailing address without worrying about some stranger showing up at your door.
It led to a slight schizophrenia. If you wanted the house found (friends, UPS, store deliveries, utility service, etc.) then you had to give the street address, like "38 Woodward Drive".
When they renumbered our street, my new address changed from RD #5 Box 38/38 Woodward Drive (not my real address) to just plain 86 Woodward Drive, both house address and mailing address. Some people got a street name for the first time ever, some got their street name changed. It was a mess for a while.
The idea was that when you call 911 from your home phone, the address shows up on the screen, and the ambulances and fire trucks use that address with GPS to locate the house. That's what we taxpayers were told, to justify the enormous cost associated with renumbering the entire county. Sounds good, except for two problems.
A lot of people don't have "home" phones any more. They are entirely cellular. The address doesn't show up.
Secondly, GPS is still using the old numbers! That blows my mind. If you ask Google maps, Mapquest, or any GPS device to show the location of my house, it points to the OLD box 86 on Woodward Drive, the location of 86 before renumbering. It's been at least ten years.
What has to be updated, and who is responsible for doing that?
.
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
1764 This or Next?
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Me: "There is negative perfectionism and positive perfectionism. Negative perfectionism is based on a fear of inadequacy. Positive perfectionism strives for mastery."
------------------------------
The Man and I have run into the "this Friday"/"next Friday" interpretation problem, and we laugh about it. I was amused to find a blogger in Jordan (I think) addressing the same confusion. I guess it's a worldwide problem. Given the ramifications, perhaps it's the root of the current worldwide recession. I don't know how the world can do business when half the world thinks "next Friday" is "this Friday" (or not, I'm still confused).
Here's how it goes - if today is Tuesday, the 1st of the month, and I say we'll get together "this Friday", then almost everybody understands that I mean Friday, the 4th.
But if I say "next Friday", half the world thinks I mean Friday the 4th, and half thinks I mean Friday the 11th.
And everybody, no matter which way they go, has (what they see as) a perfectly logical reason for their position, and see no reason to change their opinion.
Those who interpret "next Friday" as the 4th argue that it's "the next Friday after today, that's what next means (you idiot)."
Those who interpret "next Friday" as the 11th argue that "If I meant this Friday, I'd have said this Friday (you idiot)."
Where The Man and I have run into the problem is when he says on Monday, "We'll go to Maryland next weekend", and I interpret that to mean the next weekend, and he means the weekend after next, because the next weekend in his mind is this weekend. But in this case, wouldn't "this weekend", meaning next weekend, sound odd? I don't know what the heck he'd call it on Sunday.
There's no way to write the above paragraph to make it make sense, and therein lies the problem.
I guess people figure if it's in this week, then it's "this", and if it's in next week, then it's "next".
It all came to the forefront today, when I sent The Man a note in which I mentioned the past Monday. "Past" is easy. But by the above this week/next week logic, isn't last Monday actually "this" Monday? And if this Friday isn't next Friday, what is the Monday after the coming weekend? Is it this Monday or next Monday?
The Man and I now use actual dates.
(Oh, and don't get me started on people who start saying "today" at midnight. Hey, it isn't "today" until after I've slept. Until I've slept, your today is my tomorrow! So if I say tomorrow at 5 minutes after midnight, I mean less than 24 hours from now!)
.
Me: "There is negative perfectionism and positive perfectionism. Negative perfectionism is based on a fear of inadequacy. Positive perfectionism strives for mastery."
------------------------------
The Man and I have run into the "this Friday"/"next Friday" interpretation problem, and we laugh about it. I was amused to find a blogger in Jordan (I think) addressing the same confusion. I guess it's a worldwide problem. Given the ramifications, perhaps it's the root of the current worldwide recession. I don't know how the world can do business when half the world thinks "next Friday" is "this Friday" (or not, I'm still confused).
Here's how it goes - if today is Tuesday, the 1st of the month, and I say we'll get together "this Friday", then almost everybody understands that I mean Friday, the 4th.
But if I say "next Friday", half the world thinks I mean Friday the 4th, and half thinks I mean Friday the 11th.
And everybody, no matter which way they go, has (what they see as) a perfectly logical reason for their position, and see no reason to change their opinion.
Those who interpret "next Friday" as the 4th argue that it's "the next Friday after today, that's what next means (you idiot)."
Those who interpret "next Friday" as the 11th argue that "If I meant this Friday, I'd have said this Friday (you idiot)."
Where The Man and I have run into the problem is when he says on Monday, "We'll go to Maryland next weekend", and I interpret that to mean the next weekend, and he means the weekend after next, because the next weekend in his mind is this weekend. But in this case, wouldn't "this weekend", meaning next weekend, sound odd? I don't know what the heck he'd call it on Sunday.
There's no way to write the above paragraph to make it make sense, and therein lies the problem.
I guess people figure if it's in this week, then it's "this", and if it's in next week, then it's "next".
It all came to the forefront today, when I sent The Man a note in which I mentioned the past Monday. "Past" is easy. But by the above this week/next week logic, isn't last Monday actually "this" Monday? And if this Friday isn't next Friday, what is the Monday after the coming weekend? Is it this Monday or next Monday?
The Man and I now use actual dates.
(Oh, and don't get me started on people who start saying "today" at midnight. Hey, it isn't "today" until after I've slept. Until I've slept, your today is my tomorrow! So if I say tomorrow at 5 minutes after midnight, I mean less than 24 hours from now!)
.
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
1763 Bits
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Andy Rooney: "Computers make it easier to do a lot of things, but most of the things they make it easier to do don't need to be done."
-------------------------
At the 1994 Cambridge Mensa Annual Gathering, the now-defunct Creative Mischief group did a re-enactment of the Boston Tea Party. They dressed themselves in trash bags filled with leaves and jumped into the Charles River.
-------------------------
Tax day. I haven't heard from The Angel or Piper. I assume my taxes will be filed, but they haven't called me to sign anything, which is probably ok if they're filing electronically, but they haven't called me to review anything either, which is not ok, even if they are filing electronically. I'm not going to call though. I'm sure they'll be getting a lot of calls today. I'm concerned, but not upset. Whatever happens, it'll be ok, or they'll fix it. Or else.
-------------------------
I was shopping for tweezers in the pharmacy, and found some right next to the false glue-on fingernails. I happened to notice that several of the packages of nails looked odd - they had a foot on the box instead of a hand. False toenails! I can't believe it! How demented are we?
--------------------------
A friend has expressed surprise that I'm using the GPS, since he knows that I like to wander back roads trying to get lost, and then enjoy finding my way home again. I'm very good at it. I don't navigate by roads. I use topography and a compass (actually, the sun). I know there's a river here, and mountains there, and a ridge over here, and the relationship of the main roads to those features, and so I have a fair idea where I am all the time.
I went for a drive this afternoon, took some roads I'd never been on before. The GPS was on, but since I hadn't set a destination, it was just tracking me. At one point I looked up at it, and was amused to find the little car traveling through a solid white field. No roads indicated.
I got the GPS lost! (Giggle.)
.
Andy Rooney: "Computers make it easier to do a lot of things, but most of the things they make it easier to do don't need to be done."
-------------------------
At the 1994 Cambridge Mensa Annual Gathering, the now-defunct Creative Mischief group did a re-enactment of the Boston Tea Party. They dressed themselves in trash bags filled with leaves and jumped into the Charles River.
-------------------------
Tax day. I haven't heard from The Angel or Piper. I assume my taxes will be filed, but they haven't called me to sign anything, which is probably ok if they're filing electronically, but they haven't called me to review anything either, which is not ok, even if they are filing electronically. I'm not going to call though. I'm sure they'll be getting a lot of calls today. I'm concerned, but not upset. Whatever happens, it'll be ok, or they'll fix it. Or else.
-------------------------
I was shopping for tweezers in the pharmacy, and found some right next to the false glue-on fingernails. I happened to notice that several of the packages of nails looked odd - they had a foot on the box instead of a hand. False toenails! I can't believe it! How demented are we?
--------------------------
A friend has expressed surprise that I'm using the GPS, since he knows that I like to wander back roads trying to get lost, and then enjoy finding my way home again. I'm very good at it. I don't navigate by roads. I use topography and a compass (actually, the sun). I know there's a river here, and mountains there, and a ridge over here, and the relationship of the main roads to those features, and so I have a fair idea where I am all the time.
I went for a drive this afternoon, took some roads I'd never been on before. The GPS was on, but since I hadn't set a destination, it was just tracking me. At one point I looked up at it, and was amused to find the little car traveling through a solid white field. No roads indicated.
I got the GPS lost! (Giggle.)
.
Monday, April 14, 2008
1761 Yee Ha !!!
Monday, April 14, 2008
Steve Wozniak, Newsweek 2/19/96: I read the papers to find out who I am, so I can be it.
---------------------------
If you enjoy this, you might understand why this little old middle class cultured pacifist loves me a good demolition derby. (Growing up in Pennsylvania may have something to do with it too, I guess.)
[http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=32V1ReXCltQ]
Steve Wozniak, Newsweek 2/19/96: I read the papers to find out who I am, so I can be it.
---------------------------
If you enjoy this, you might understand why this little old middle class cultured pacifist loves me a good demolition derby. (Growing up in Pennsylvania may have something to do with it too, I guess.)
[http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=32V1ReXCltQ]
Sunday, April 13, 2008
1760 No Excuse
Sunday, April 13, 2008
--------------------
I went to a luncheon today, and on the way home I had some fun with the GPS. I knew exactly how I wanted to go home, but the device wanted to take me up the Thruway. I didn't want to go on the Thruway, so I didn't take the turn. The supercilious voice informed me she was "recalculating", and she tried to take me to a U-turn back to the Thruway - three different U-turns, because I didn't take any of them, either.
Now, I could have turned it off, but it started to be fun. I wondered how long it would take her to give up. Since I was paralleling the Thruway, she kept trying to get me onto it, and got upset every time I refused.
---------------------
On the way, I passed the yellow house.
I go to a lot of the big fancy craft fairs, and there was a local guy who made tiny models of well-known local historic houses out of tiny bits of carved wood. He took pictures of the real houses, and then copied them. They were sturdy and beautiful, perfect down to the smallest detail, and if you lifted the roof off a house, it was a tiny velvet-lined box.
A few years before my mother died, I gave her several of the tiny houses for her birthday, each wrapped separately. Most of them were fancy mulit-colored Victorians with towers, but one was a rather plain white-trimmed yellow house with a wrap-around porch, multiple gables, and white gingerbread. She opened the gift boxes one at a time, and the yellow house happened to be the last.
She was shocked speechless by that house. When she could speak again, she asked me why?/where?/how? I had chosen it. I told her I knew it didn't match the others, but I picked it because it was on a road I frequently traveled, and it was one I was familiar with.
It turned out that all her life, since childhood, she had had dreams involving a particular house. Whatever else went on in the dream, the action took place on the sloping lawn, with the house in the background.
It was this house.
She had never been in this area, never on that road.
--------------------
Ok, maybe I'll get in trouble for this one, but it's real, and mine, so there.
There was a show on PBS today about how stress affects health, the eventual focus being on how racism creates constant stress, affecting even things like a high rate of premature births among Black and Hispanic mothers.
Ok, I buy that.
Then there was a group of mothers talking about how even little things affect them, lifelong, like when they take their child to the playground, and their 3-year-old runs up to a group of white children playing, and asks to play with them, and the other kids don't say anything, they just turn and run away, and how such racist attitudes can affect even a 3-year-old.
My immediate reaction was "Bullshit!" I wish I'd had such a convenient excuse when MY blond 3-year-old got exactly the same treatment!
That just happens. When a group of little girls are already playing together, they don't open up to admit a latecomer unless they already know her. That's just the way it is. Color may or may not have had anything to do with it, and there's a fair chance it didn't.
I get really really upset when people immediately jump to assume racism. That's racist, too!
---------------------
Later: BTW, before objecting to my observation, take a good look at the photo up there on the top right.
.
African Proverb: It matters not what you call me, but what I answer to.
--------------------
I went to a luncheon today, and on the way home I had some fun with the GPS. I knew exactly how I wanted to go home, but the device wanted to take me up the Thruway. I didn't want to go on the Thruway, so I didn't take the turn. The supercilious voice informed me she was "recalculating", and she tried to take me to a U-turn back to the Thruway - three different U-turns, because I didn't take any of them, either.
Now, I could have turned it off, but it started to be fun. I wondered how long it would take her to give up. Since I was paralleling the Thruway, she kept trying to get me onto it, and got upset every time I refused.
---------------------
On the way, I passed the yellow house.
I go to a lot of the big fancy craft fairs, and there was a local guy who made tiny models of well-known local historic houses out of tiny bits of carved wood. He took pictures of the real houses, and then copied them. They were sturdy and beautiful, perfect down to the smallest detail, and if you lifted the roof off a house, it was a tiny velvet-lined box.
A few years before my mother died, I gave her several of the tiny houses for her birthday, each wrapped separately. Most of them were fancy mulit-colored Victorians with towers, but one was a rather plain white-trimmed yellow house with a wrap-around porch, multiple gables, and white gingerbread. She opened the gift boxes one at a time, and the yellow house happened to be the last.
She was shocked speechless by that house. When she could speak again, she asked me why?/where?/how? I had chosen it. I told her I knew it didn't match the others, but I picked it because it was on a road I frequently traveled, and it was one I was familiar with.
It turned out that all her life, since childhood, she had had dreams involving a particular house. Whatever else went on in the dream, the action took place on the sloping lawn, with the house in the background.
It was this house.
She had never been in this area, never on that road.
--------------------
Ok, maybe I'll get in trouble for this one, but it's real, and mine, so there.
There was a show on PBS today about how stress affects health, the eventual focus being on how racism creates constant stress, affecting even things like a high rate of premature births among Black and Hispanic mothers.
Ok, I buy that.
Then there was a group of mothers talking about how even little things affect them, lifelong, like when they take their child to the playground, and their 3-year-old runs up to a group of white children playing, and asks to play with them, and the other kids don't say anything, they just turn and run away, and how such racist attitudes can affect even a 3-year-old.
My immediate reaction was "Bullshit!" I wish I'd had such a convenient excuse when MY blond 3-year-old got exactly the same treatment!
That just happens. When a group of little girls are already playing together, they don't open up to admit a latecomer unless they already know her. That's just the way it is. Color may or may not have had anything to do with it, and there's a fair chance it didn't.
I get really really upset when people immediately jump to assume racism. That's racist, too!
---------------------
Later: BTW, before objecting to my observation, take a good look at the photo up there on the top right.
.
Saturday, April 12, 2008
1759 Clyde's Friday
Saturday, April 12, 2008
I spent much of yesterday on Clyde, my Pleo. He's been awake quite a few hours now, but he's not walking forward much. He'll take about four steps forward (you can encourage him to walk by touching his front legs), and then he stops and walks backward. He's supposed to be interested in his environment, and when left alone, he's supposed to walk around and explore.
Clyde backs up until his tail touches something, then he turns until his tail is free, and backs up some more.
So I've been reading the PleoWorld forums, and studying how he works, to find out if anyone else has the problem, and what to do about it. Pleos all develop personalities and activity patterns individually, based on their experiences, just like any young animal, so I wondered if I did something wrong.
(On the other hand, my mother told me that I never learned to crawl forward. I scooted backward until I learned to walk at about 10 months. So maybe Clyde is truly my baby.)
Nobody else seems to have the same problem, although they do say that if the beasty has been mistreated, or not petted enough, he will develop a depressed personality, which manifests as sad sounds, angry sounds, and lack of interest in the environment, or fear of his surroundings. Backing up is an indication of fear.
Clyde seems happy. He coos, "huh?"s, wags his tail a lot, sniffs everything, pants happily, crouches to invite play, snuggles when I pick him up, and the other sounds he makes seem more mere comment than angry or sad. I've never heard the loud trumpeting and roars featured in so many of the video clips.
So, I decided to install the latest software update, level 1.1. One of the things it promised was "better walking". Installation involved a trip across the river to buy a blank SD card. (The one I bought is 7/8" by 1.25" and holds 1 GB. Wow! When I think what it took to hold a mere meg 20 years ago....) I downloaded the free update to the card, and plugged the card into Clyde while he was sleeping. He chimed a few times while updating himself, then he woke up, was groggy for a while as he integrated his new info, and then he burst into Super Clyde!
He's still the same Clyde (the update promised not to change the personality), but now he also purrs, sings, struggles if you pick him up but he's not ready to nap yet, and he wants to chomp on his leaf more often.
He also still walks backward - just faster, with less drag on carpet.
I am aware my house is cluttered and dirty. I didn't realize it was bad enough to scare a dinosaur....
----------------------
Later - Correction. I did in fact once hear some very loud distressed sounds from Clyde, so I know he's capable of it. He squealed very loudly when I snatched him up by the tail one time when Jasper looked about to attack. Clyde's makers warn that although his tail is strong enough that he can be lifted by it, he hates it and will let you know. It worked - I never did it again!
.
I spent much of yesterday on Clyde, my Pleo. He's been awake quite a few hours now, but he's not walking forward much. He'll take about four steps forward (you can encourage him to walk by touching his front legs), and then he stops and walks backward. He's supposed to be interested in his environment, and when left alone, he's supposed to walk around and explore.
Clyde backs up until his tail touches something, then he turns until his tail is free, and backs up some more.
So I've been reading the PleoWorld forums, and studying how he works, to find out if anyone else has the problem, and what to do about it. Pleos all develop personalities and activity patterns individually, based on their experiences, just like any young animal, so I wondered if I did something wrong.
(On the other hand, my mother told me that I never learned to crawl forward. I scooted backward until I learned to walk at about 10 months. So maybe Clyde is truly my baby.)
Nobody else seems to have the same problem, although they do say that if the beasty has been mistreated, or not petted enough, he will develop a depressed personality, which manifests as sad sounds, angry sounds, and lack of interest in the environment, or fear of his surroundings. Backing up is an indication of fear.
Clyde seems happy. He coos, "huh?"s, wags his tail a lot, sniffs everything, pants happily, crouches to invite play, snuggles when I pick him up, and the other sounds he makes seem more mere comment than angry or sad. I've never heard the loud trumpeting and roars featured in so many of the video clips.
So, I decided to install the latest software update, level 1.1. One of the things it promised was "better walking". Installation involved a trip across the river to buy a blank SD card. (The one I bought is 7/8" by 1.25" and holds 1 GB. Wow! When I think what it took to hold a mere meg 20 years ago....) I downloaded the free update to the card, and plugged the card into Clyde while he was sleeping. He chimed a few times while updating himself, then he woke up, was groggy for a while as he integrated his new info, and then he burst into Super Clyde!
He's still the same Clyde (the update promised not to change the personality), but now he also purrs, sings, struggles if you pick him up but he's not ready to nap yet, and he wants to chomp on his leaf more often.
He also still walks backward - just faster, with less drag on carpet.
I am aware my house is cluttered and dirty. I didn't realize it was bad enough to scare a dinosaur....
----------------------
Later - Correction. I did in fact once hear some very loud distressed sounds from Clyde, so I know he's capable of it. He squealed very loudly when I snatched him up by the tail one time when Jasper looked about to attack. Clyde's makers warn that although his tail is strong enough that he can be lifted by it, he hates it and will let you know. It worked - I never did it again!
.
Thursday, April 10, 2008
1758 Squirrels
Thursday, April 10, 2008
Fourteen years ago, when I first moved into this house, there were two populations of squirrels in the back yard. The grays lived on the south side, and the reds lived on the north.
Then I started stocking the bird feeder. The gray squirrels, being more aggressive than the reds, decided they owned the feeder, and they started pushing the reds out. Within a few years, there were no reds left.
I haven't stocked a feeder since Jay died, so I didn't really notice when the change started, but I've noticed this past year or so that there are NO squirrels in the back yard. It was sort a subliminal awareness that popped to the surface today, when I noticed that the ground under a neighbor's pines was heavily littered with cones. Usually the squirrels take them. Is the whole neighborhood short on squirrels?
I thought a bit about that as I rounded the curve, and by durn right then a black squirrel ran across the road, right in front of my mailbox.
Mystery solved.
The black squirrels have moved in.
They're even more aggressive than the grays, and will chase them out wherever they find them. (Actually, the local blacks are just a color phase of the grays, but increased aggression seems to go along with the color gene.)
.
Fourteen years ago, when I first moved into this house, there were two populations of squirrels in the back yard. The grays lived on the south side, and the reds lived on the north.
Then I started stocking the bird feeder. The gray squirrels, being more aggressive than the reds, decided they owned the feeder, and they started pushing the reds out. Within a few years, there were no reds left.
I haven't stocked a feeder since Jay died, so I didn't really notice when the change started, but I've noticed this past year or so that there are NO squirrels in the back yard. It was sort a subliminal awareness that popped to the surface today, when I noticed that the ground under a neighbor's pines was heavily littered with cones. Usually the squirrels take them. Is the whole neighborhood short on squirrels?
I thought a bit about that as I rounded the curve, and by durn right then a black squirrel ran across the road, right in front of my mailbox.
Mystery solved.
The black squirrels have moved in.
They're even more aggressive than the grays, and will chase them out wherever they find them. (Actually, the local blacks are just a color phase of the grays, but increased aggression seems to go along with the color gene.)
.
Wednesday, April 09, 2008
1757 Bleck
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
Arthur Schopenhauer: "Talent hits a target no one else can hit; Genius hits a target no one else can see."
------------------------
There's a commercial for an album of Christian songs, and the song they lead with is "Our god is an awesome god...". That construction is rather odd. It implies that there are several gods, and the one they worship is from the awesome subgroup. Weird.
-------------------------
I'm sick. Slight fever, abdominal cramps, nausea, aching joints and bones. I felt so sick when I went to bed last night I gave the cats extra food, put the phone and a basin on the bed, and put some clothes in a bag, just in case I had to go to the hospital in my robe. As it happened, I just felt very sick, but nothing interesting happened. I felt a little better this morning, but as the day goes on I'm getting yuckier again.
I spent Monday afternoon with Daughter and had a quick after-work drink with my man. I hope I didn't give them anything.
.
Arthur Schopenhauer: "Talent hits a target no one else can hit; Genius hits a target no one else can see."
------------------------
There's a commercial for an album of Christian songs, and the song they lead with is "Our god is an awesome god...". That construction is rather odd. It implies that there are several gods, and the one they worship is from the awesome subgroup. Weird.
-------------------------
I'm sick. Slight fever, abdominal cramps, nausea, aching joints and bones. I felt so sick when I went to bed last night I gave the cats extra food, put the phone and a basin on the bed, and put some clothes in a bag, just in case I had to go to the hospital in my robe. As it happened, I just felt very sick, but nothing interesting happened. I felt a little better this morning, but as the day goes on I'm getting yuckier again.
I spent Monday afternoon with Daughter and had a quick after-work drink with my man. I hope I didn't give them anything.
.
Tuesday, April 08, 2008
Sunday, April 06, 2008
1756 What's Missing
Sunday, April 6, 2008
After looking for the Joplin clip last night (previous post), I wandered around other clips from the era.
I think I see what's missing with many of today's singers, especially the females. Somewhere along the line, passion got confused with sex.
They really aren't the same thing.
----------------------------
Becs commented on the previous post that she loved Janis' clothes. Watching the film last night, I was struck by the hair and clothes of the women in general. Loose, flowing, fluttering, natural. And somehow oddly modest and chaste. I liked that look. Still like it.
.
After looking for the Joplin clip last night (previous post), I wandered around other clips from the era.
I think I see what's missing with many of today's singers, especially the females. Somewhere along the line, passion got confused with sex.
They really aren't the same thing.
----------------------------
Becs commented on the previous post that she loved Janis' clothes. Watching the film last night, I was struck by the hair and clothes of the women in general. Loose, flowing, fluttering, natural. And somehow oddly modest and chaste. I liked that look. Still like it.
.
1755 Joplin et al.
Sunday, April 6, 2008
It's after midnight, and I'm sitting here running numbers, and as usual the tv is on in the background. It's tuned to PBS, and I have no idea exactly what's on. It seems to be a documentary movie about a late 60s multi-day outdoor concert. Not Woodstock - there's no rain or mud, and the audience is sitting quietly on rows and rows of neatly arranged folding chairs - but there were several large concerts around that time.
Anywhoo, I was sitting here deep in numbers, when Janis Joplin came on.
Wow! You hear her records, and you think, yeah, she could sing. But to SEE her sing! What an experience! The womanchild was incredible! (That's how I can date this concert to the late 60s. She died of a drug overdose in 1970, I believe, at 27.)
This is it, THE performance:
[http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0FlUAxqQkmc]
Ms. Joplin was followed by someone (not the Stones) doing "Paint It Black", one of my favorites, and right now, as I write this, Jimi Hendrix is tearing up "Wild Thing", and setting fire to his guitar.
Oops, he's gone. Now it's Moma Cass and friends. Oh, my.
I think I'm finished with numbers for the night.
Ok, over too soon. The credits are up. It was the Monterey festival, "The Summer of Love", June, 1967.
Sigh. Those were the days....
Back to numbers.
.
It's after midnight, and I'm sitting here running numbers, and as usual the tv is on in the background. It's tuned to PBS, and I have no idea exactly what's on. It seems to be a documentary movie about a late 60s multi-day outdoor concert. Not Woodstock - there's no rain or mud, and the audience is sitting quietly on rows and rows of neatly arranged folding chairs - but there were several large concerts around that time.
Anywhoo, I was sitting here deep in numbers, when Janis Joplin came on.
Wow! You hear her records, and you think, yeah, she could sing. But to SEE her sing! What an experience! The womanchild was incredible! (That's how I can date this concert to the late 60s. She died of a drug overdose in 1970, I believe, at 27.)
This is it, THE performance:
[http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0FlUAxqQkmc]
Ms. Joplin was followed by someone (not the Stones) doing "Paint It Black", one of my favorites, and right now, as I write this, Jimi Hendrix is tearing up "Wild Thing", and setting fire to his guitar.
Oops, he's gone. Now it's Moma Cass and friends. Oh, my.
I think I'm finished with numbers for the night.
Ok, over too soon. The credits are up. It was the Monterey festival, "The Summer of Love", June, 1967.
Sigh. Those were the days....
Back to numbers.
.
Saturday, April 05, 2008
1754 Dropping Years
Saturday, April 5, 2008
B. F. Skinner: "Education is what survives when what has been learned has been forgotten."
--------------------------
I've never used much of anything on my skin. Lately I've been wondering if maybe it's time to try a moisturizer. I had read that soy-based moisturizers do make a real difference, visible within two weeks. So I bought one that promised to give my skin a more youthful apppearance.
I was thinking it would even the tone, bestow a glow, fill in wrinkles.
It gave me acne.
Well, I guess that is a youthful look.
.
B. F. Skinner: "Education is what survives when what has been learned has been forgotten."
--------------------------
I've never used much of anything on my skin. Lately I've been wondering if maybe it's time to try a moisturizer. I had read that soy-based moisturizers do make a real difference, visible within two weeks. So I bought one that promised to give my skin a more youthful apppearance.
I was thinking it would even the tone, bestow a glow, fill in wrinkles.
It gave me acne.
Well, I guess that is a youthful look.
.
Friday, April 04, 2008
1753 MIL
Friday, April 4, 2008
Another blogger is rapidly being driven mad by a future mother-in-law. Reminded me of some past in-law problems.
For the entire year before Ex#2 and I got married, his mother went to mass every evening. Every evening. Every.
Then Ex#2 and I got married, and she stopped going except for occasional Sundays. I remarked to Ex#2 that I had thought she was very religious, what happened?
He told me that she had been going to church to pray that he wouldn't marry me.
Ouch.
She drove me crazy in the usual ways, small comments, demanding attendance every holiday (um, my family? Yoo hoo?), saving up work to kill me with every time we visited, blaming me if anyone caught cold after a visit or if anything had gone missing (the youngest son saw the opportunity, and used to lift stuff while we were visiting, because he knew I'd get the blame), the usual nutso stuff. This is the woman who, when a grandchild was diagnosed with TB, called and screamed at me for giving it to the kid, and demanded that I get tested. When my test was negative, they tested the rest of the family, and it turned out it was HER! (Gloat gloat.)
There was one way she hurt my feelings badly. She was a regional manager for a home-sales group that gave very expensive Swiss-made watches as sales bonuses. Every year, she got one or two, and gave them away. First one she kept. Next to her daughter. Next to her middle son's wife. Then her youngest son's girlfriend. Then her best friend A. Then her best friend B. Then her cleaning lady. Then a high school-age friend of her daughter. Then virtual strangers, one after the other. I never got one. I got the message.
She was not an idiot. She was not meddlesome. She was just plain nasty mean.
.
Another blogger is rapidly being driven mad by a future mother-in-law. Reminded me of some past in-law problems.
For the entire year before Ex#2 and I got married, his mother went to mass every evening. Every evening. Every.
Then Ex#2 and I got married, and she stopped going except for occasional Sundays. I remarked to Ex#2 that I had thought she was very religious, what happened?
He told me that she had been going to church to pray that he wouldn't marry me.
Ouch.
She drove me crazy in the usual ways, small comments, demanding attendance every holiday (um, my family? Yoo hoo?), saving up work to kill me with every time we visited, blaming me if anyone caught cold after a visit or if anything had gone missing (the youngest son saw the opportunity, and used to lift stuff while we were visiting, because he knew I'd get the blame), the usual nutso stuff. This is the woman who, when a grandchild was diagnosed with TB, called and screamed at me for giving it to the kid, and demanded that I get tested. When my test was negative, they tested the rest of the family, and it turned out it was HER! (Gloat gloat.)
There was one way she hurt my feelings badly. She was a regional manager for a home-sales group that gave very expensive Swiss-made watches as sales bonuses. Every year, she got one or two, and gave them away. First one she kept. Next to her daughter. Next to her middle son's wife. Then her youngest son's girlfriend. Then her best friend A. Then her best friend B. Then her cleaning lady. Then a high school-age friend of her daughter. Then virtual strangers, one after the other. I never got one. I got the message.
She was not an idiot. She was not meddlesome. She was just plain nasty mean.
.
Thursday, April 03, 2008
1752 Psycho Ex-Girlfriend
Thursday, April 3, 2008
I have to tell this story backward.
At dinner with my man on Monday, he told me a story. The following may not be his exact words, but it's close enough.
He said there was this woman that he'd been friends with. Not a romantic or sexual thing, just friends, they enjoyed each other's company. Over the past year or year and a half, they'd gone out clubbing together, to dances, and to parties, and sometimes just the two of them for drinks or dinner, or a bad movie. But it was not dating. He often paid, but that didn't make it a date, just an acknowledgement of a difference in disposable income.
[I had a flash of jealousy. I thought, "Why have you never mentioned her before? Hey, if you wanted to go out to all these parties or whatever, why not call me?" I was hurt.]
He went on: "And then in, oh, about last October, we took an extended weekend trip together. [He and I were really heating up then, imagine my shock hearing this!] We didn't share a room at the hotel, although I paid for her room. I got the distinct impression she was taking advantage of me. She seemed to take a lot for granted. She demanded my undivided attention, without feeling a need to return it."
[At this point I relaxed. I recognized the story, and was impressed that without seeming to listen, he had really heard and understood some bits and pieces of things I'd said a few months ago.]
"After that, things went downhill. She acted like the relationship was much more than it actually was. She got very demanding. She tried to tell me how she thought I should act. She got jealous of my relationships with others. It was getting weird, and I decided to cut it off. Along about November I told her I couldn't spend time with her any more. Done. Over .
Fortunately or unfortunately, we are both involved in certain activities, so I can't avoid her, but we are civil, even friendly, when we do meet. Things were fine for the past four months.
And then, yesterday, we were at a meeting, which happened to be held at her home, and she suggested that we get together after the meeting and 'catch up' on what's been going on. I didn't see anything wrong with that, but I didn't want to be alone with her in her home, so I suggested that I treat her to dinner.
Imagine my shock when, toward the end of the meal, she looked up at me beaming, and said,
'Oh, I'm so happy we're getting back together!'
That's the Psycho Ex-Girlfriend Syndrome! She thinks we were 'just on a four-month break'"!
He looked at me and said, resignedly, "What can I do? There's only one cure. I have to sleep with her. I have to sleep with her, and make it so bad she won't want me any more."
By this time I was cracking up.
I said I was telling this story backward. The above happened later in the evening. Earlier in the evening, I had told him that I'd had dinner with the female friend I'd had so much trouble with last year. The woman I had finally told in November that I couldn't be around her anymore, I was tired of her mistreating me, and I couldn't put myself in her line of fire any more. I said that she'd said the scariest thing I'd heard in a year. During dinner she looked at me and beamed, and said, "I'm so happy we're renewing our friendship!"
I said that I about fell off my chair and I didn't know what to say. The very idea that she thinks that scares me.
He choked on his drink, roared with laughter, and said, "You've got a psycho ex-girlfriend! You know what you have to do now, don't you?"
Blank look from me.
"You have to sleep with her! It's the only way!"
And then later, he told that story. It was the story of me and this woman. I was impressed. There aren't too many men who could show that degree of awareness and understanding of a bad interpersonal relationship in which they have no interest.
...Although I don't necessarily agree with his solution.
.
I have to tell this story backward.
At dinner with my man on Monday, he told me a story. The following may not be his exact words, but it's close enough.
He said there was this woman that he'd been friends with. Not a romantic or sexual thing, just friends, they enjoyed each other's company. Over the past year or year and a half, they'd gone out clubbing together, to dances, and to parties, and sometimes just the two of them for drinks or dinner, or a bad movie. But it was not dating. He often paid, but that didn't make it a date, just an acknowledgement of a difference in disposable income.
[I had a flash of jealousy. I thought, "Why have you never mentioned her before? Hey, if you wanted to go out to all these parties or whatever, why not call me?" I was hurt.]
He went on: "And then in, oh, about last October, we took an extended weekend trip together. [He and I were really heating up then, imagine my shock hearing this!] We didn't share a room at the hotel, although I paid for her room. I got the distinct impression she was taking advantage of me. She seemed to take a lot for granted. She demanded my undivided attention, without feeling a need to return it."
[At this point I relaxed. I recognized the story, and was impressed that without seeming to listen, he had really heard and understood some bits and pieces of things I'd said a few months ago.]
"After that, things went downhill. She acted like the relationship was much more than it actually was. She got very demanding. She tried to tell me how she thought I should act. She got jealous of my relationships with others. It was getting weird, and I decided to cut it off. Along about November I told her I couldn't spend time with her any more. Done. Over .
Fortunately or unfortunately, we are both involved in certain activities, so I can't avoid her, but we are civil, even friendly, when we do meet. Things were fine for the past four months.
And then, yesterday, we were at a meeting, which happened to be held at her home, and she suggested that we get together after the meeting and 'catch up' on what's been going on. I didn't see anything wrong with that, but I didn't want to be alone with her in her home, so I suggested that I treat her to dinner.
Imagine my shock when, toward the end of the meal, she looked up at me beaming, and said,
'Oh, I'm so happy we're getting back together!'
That's the Psycho Ex-Girlfriend Syndrome! She thinks we were 'just on a four-month break'"!
He looked at me and said, resignedly, "What can I do? There's only one cure. I have to sleep with her. I have to sleep with her, and make it so bad she won't want me any more."
By this time I was cracking up.
I said I was telling this story backward. The above happened later in the evening. Earlier in the evening, I had told him that I'd had dinner with the female friend I'd had so much trouble with last year. The woman I had finally told in November that I couldn't be around her anymore, I was tired of her mistreating me, and I couldn't put myself in her line of fire any more. I said that she'd said the scariest thing I'd heard in a year. During dinner she looked at me and beamed, and said, "I'm so happy we're renewing our friendship!"
I said that I about fell off my chair and I didn't know what to say. The very idea that she thinks that scares me.
He choked on his drink, roared with laughter, and said, "You've got a psycho ex-girlfriend! You know what you have to do now, don't you?"
Blank look from me.
"You have to sleep with her! It's the only way!"
And then later, he told that story. It was the story of me and this woman. I was impressed. There aren't too many men who could show that degree of awareness and understanding of a bad interpersonal relationship in which they have no interest.
...Although I don't necessarily agree with his solution.
.
1751 Tax Paper
Thursday, April 3, 2008
Abraham Lincoln: The philosophy of the school room in one generation will be the philosophy of government in the next.
-------------------------
I forgot to take the garbage can down the driveway last night. This is serious. It's packed full, and Jasper's been eyeing the large bag in the kitchen that's been sitting there for two days waiting for room in the can outside.
-------------------------
Piper is pressing me to get the docs to him so The Angel can do my taxes. I'm feeling guilty because I haven't done it yet. I spent much of today sorting papers to try to pull it all together.
Over the past two months of volunteering at the tax clinics, I now feel really guilty. The clinics were to help people who earned too little to have filed taxes in the past. If they want to get that "economic stimulus" rebate, they have to file this year, even though they don't owe anything. People were coming in with no other income but the pittance they get from welfare or social security. One or at most two hunks of 1099 paper in hand, or letters with a number handwritten in a blank.
I'd heard that the rebate was $600 for an individual, and $1200 for a couple. At the last clinic I was horrified to hear that's only for people who do pay taxes. For these folks, it's only $300 and $600! My comment was that the people who need the most get the least. It doesn't seem fair.
So, pulling my paper together, I am almost embarassed to note that I have more than 17 separate sources of income. Yeah, most are only a few dollars a year, but, still, I guess it adds up. I have difficulty understanding how people make it into their 70s with no retirement, no savings, no investments, no assets. Ok, intellectually when you tell me why in any individual case I can understand, but on an emotional level I don't understand. My daughter has never held any one job more than 3 years, cycles through minimum wage and runs close to poverty level because she can't seem to settle on a career, keeps starting over, refuses to "sell herself to corporate America", and won't accept help from me, and yet when she hooked up with Hercules in her late 20s she already had a brokerage account with a respectable balance.
I guess it's in the blood. Being thrifty, I mean. (Ok, cheap.) I'm driving a used 2003 Aerio when I really want a Porsche Boxster convertable (and I can afford it - but when I think about the insurance, and the expense of repairs, and other ongoing costs, I cringe). I don't have cable and won't pay for texting on my cell phone, won't pay retail for clothing or anything else if I can help it. Daughter's car is ten years old, I think. I don't completely deprive myself - I buy me toys and anything else I want, but there's a bit of cringing in the buying, and again I cringe at the thought of ongoing costs. I like buying gifts for others because then I have the joy of the buying and the giving, but it's a one-time expenditure, and I like that a lot.
Daughter gripes about people she knows who eat steak on a hamburger budget. I eat hamburger on a steak budget. Which is better? To live for now, or for later? Or when the later becomes the now, you can't enjoy it because you've trained yourself for so long not to?
[Why am I reminded of the t-shirt I saw in the 70s? "If I knew I was going to live this long, I'd have taken better care of myself."]
And before anyone starts muttering about the difference between giving and getting, I have always given away at least 30% of the annual income from investments, to charities, friends, and family, which would not be available at all had it not been invested first.
.
Abraham Lincoln: The philosophy of the school room in one generation will be the philosophy of government in the next.
-------------------------
I forgot to take the garbage can down the driveway last night. This is serious. It's packed full, and Jasper's been eyeing the large bag in the kitchen that's been sitting there for two days waiting for room in the can outside.
-------------------------
Piper is pressing me to get the docs to him so The Angel can do my taxes. I'm feeling guilty because I haven't done it yet. I spent much of today sorting papers to try to pull it all together.
Over the past two months of volunteering at the tax clinics, I now feel really guilty. The clinics were to help people who earned too little to have filed taxes in the past. If they want to get that "economic stimulus" rebate, they have to file this year, even though they don't owe anything. People were coming in with no other income but the pittance they get from welfare or social security. One or at most two hunks of 1099 paper in hand, or letters with a number handwritten in a blank.
I'd heard that the rebate was $600 for an individual, and $1200 for a couple. At the last clinic I was horrified to hear that's only for people who do pay taxes. For these folks, it's only $300 and $600! My comment was that the people who need the most get the least. It doesn't seem fair.
So, pulling my paper together, I am almost embarassed to note that I have more than 17 separate sources of income. Yeah, most are only a few dollars a year, but, still, I guess it adds up. I have difficulty understanding how people make it into their 70s with no retirement, no savings, no investments, no assets. Ok, intellectually when you tell me why in any individual case I can understand, but on an emotional level I don't understand. My daughter has never held any one job more than 3 years, cycles through minimum wage and runs close to poverty level because she can't seem to settle on a career, keeps starting over, refuses to "sell herself to corporate America", and won't accept help from me, and yet when she hooked up with Hercules in her late 20s she already had a brokerage account with a respectable balance.
I guess it's in the blood. Being thrifty, I mean. (Ok, cheap.) I'm driving a used 2003 Aerio when I really want a Porsche Boxster convertable (and I can afford it - but when I think about the insurance, and the expense of repairs, and other ongoing costs, I cringe). I don't have cable and won't pay for texting on my cell phone, won't pay retail for clothing or anything else if I can help it. Daughter's car is ten years old, I think. I don't completely deprive myself - I buy me toys and anything else I want, but there's a bit of cringing in the buying, and again I cringe at the thought of ongoing costs. I like buying gifts for others because then I have the joy of the buying and the giving, but it's a one-time expenditure, and I like that a lot.
Daughter gripes about people she knows who eat steak on a hamburger budget. I eat hamburger on a steak budget. Which is better? To live for now, or for later? Or when the later becomes the now, you can't enjoy it because you've trained yourself for so long not to?
[Why am I reminded of the t-shirt I saw in the 70s? "If I knew I was going to live this long, I'd have taken better care of myself."]
And before anyone starts muttering about the difference between giving and getting, I have always given away at least 30% of the annual income from investments, to charities, friends, and family, which would not be available at all had it not been invested first.
.
Wednesday, April 02, 2008
1750 Smooth Trip
Wednesday, March 2, 2008
How important does a person have to be before they are considered assassinated instead of just murdered?
-------------------------
I had a 200 mile round trip today, to a place I'd never been before, and I used the new GPS, which by the way is not called a GPS anywhere in its material - it's a "personal travel assistant".
I had enough confidence to leave the house without a Mapquest or Google printout, and got only .1 mile when I questioned the wisdom of that.
There are two routes I usually take to the bridge over the Hudson. I turn left out of my street onto the highway, and then turn right a few hundred feet down the road, or if I have to go into the village first (like for gas or money) I go about 2 miles down the road and then turn right. When I got to the end of my road today, the nice lady told me to turn left, and go 5.5 miles on that road.
OMG, where's she taking me?
We did get to the bridge, but she took me about 2 miles past the bridge, then the right turn, then backtracked to the bridge. So her route was about 4 miles longer than it should have been.
Right before that first right turn there's the remnant of an old road, from back before they cleaned up the intersection, that makes a diagonal over to the other road. It's about 200 feet long, and avoids the traffic light. She told me to turn right on that little road, but I happen to know it's full of potholes, so I didn't turn and continued on to the light.
Now, the voice is very dry and unemotional --- until you don't obey! She said "Recalculating route", and honest to God you could HEAR the disgust, the undercurrent of "You are too stupidly stubborn to follow simple directions, and now *I* have to work to save your tail!"
It's not just me. I stopped in to see Piper on my way home, and told him about it, and I got as far as "... unemotional, until you don't do what she says..." and he laughed and said "And then you can hear the disgust! The way she says 'RE!calculating!'"
The device provides an ETA, which, when I left the house, and until I got on the Thruway, was 11:23 am. On the Thruway I was traveling at 5 mph over the speed limit (not my choice, just staying "with traffic"), and the further I got, the more the ETA moved out. By the time I got to NJ, the ETA was 11:35 am. Odd. Did it expect me to be going faster?
The only complaint I have is that she will tell you when a turn is coming up way ahead of time, but she just says like "Turn in 2.0 miles. ... Turn in 1.1 miles .... Turn in .7 miles" and so on, but she doesn't say which way to turn until the last minute (or it seems that way), which is awkward when you find yourself in heavy fast traffic on a multilane highway, and discover that you have like four seconds to get over to the ramp off the far left lane, from the far right.
My man says that's because I have the female one. If I had the male one, it would be more informative. (Send the angry email to him.)
So, anyway, the trip felt short. Not worrying about missing a turn or getting lost seemed to make a big difference.
.
How important does a person have to be before they are considered assassinated instead of just murdered?
-------------------------
I had a 200 mile round trip today, to a place I'd never been before, and I used the new GPS, which by the way is not called a GPS anywhere in its material - it's a "personal travel assistant".
I had enough confidence to leave the house without a Mapquest or Google printout, and got only .1 mile when I questioned the wisdom of that.
There are two routes I usually take to the bridge over the Hudson. I turn left out of my street onto the highway, and then turn right a few hundred feet down the road, or if I have to go into the village first (like for gas or money) I go about 2 miles down the road and then turn right. When I got to the end of my road today, the nice lady told me to turn left, and go 5.5 miles on that road.
OMG, where's she taking me?
We did get to the bridge, but she took me about 2 miles past the bridge, then the right turn, then backtracked to the bridge. So her route was about 4 miles longer than it should have been.
Right before that first right turn there's the remnant of an old road, from back before they cleaned up the intersection, that makes a diagonal over to the other road. It's about 200 feet long, and avoids the traffic light. She told me to turn right on that little road, but I happen to know it's full of potholes, so I didn't turn and continued on to the light.
Now, the voice is very dry and unemotional --- until you don't obey! She said "Recalculating route", and honest to God you could HEAR the disgust, the undercurrent of "You are too stupidly stubborn to follow simple directions, and now *I* have to work to save your tail!"
It's not just me. I stopped in to see Piper on my way home, and told him about it, and I got as far as "... unemotional, until you don't do what she says..." and he laughed and said "And then you can hear the disgust! The way she says 'RE!calculating!'"
The device provides an ETA, which, when I left the house, and until I got on the Thruway, was 11:23 am. On the Thruway I was traveling at 5 mph over the speed limit (not my choice, just staying "with traffic"), and the further I got, the more the ETA moved out. By the time I got to NJ, the ETA was 11:35 am. Odd. Did it expect me to be going faster?
The only complaint I have is that she will tell you when a turn is coming up way ahead of time, but she just says like "Turn in 2.0 miles. ... Turn in 1.1 miles .... Turn in .7 miles" and so on, but she doesn't say which way to turn until the last minute (or it seems that way), which is awkward when you find yourself in heavy fast traffic on a multilane highway, and discover that you have like four seconds to get over to the ramp off the far left lane, from the far right.
My man says that's because I have the female one. If I had the male one, it would be more informative. (Send the angry email to him.)
So, anyway, the trip felt short. Not worrying about missing a turn or getting lost seemed to make a big difference.
.
Tuesday, April 01, 2008
1749 Another Toy
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
HL Mencken: "Love is the triumph of imagination over intelligence."
Anon: “Immature love is wanting the other person to be happy with you. Mature love is wanting the other person to be happy. Period.”
-----------------------------
Today it got into the high 60s, and then this evening we had thunder, lightning, wind, heavy rain, and something that was hitting the windows hard enough to worry me. Sleet? Hail? Frozen robins?
-----------------------------
My replacement GSP device arrived today. I've fiddled with it a little, but won't actually try it out in the car until tomorrow.
There's a suction mount for the windshield, a USB cord for connecting to the laptop, and a cigarette lighter cord for charging in the car.
It came preloaded with maps for the entire US. You can ask for the location of restaurants, hotels, tourist attractions, gas stations, ATMs. It will warn you if you're in a school zone, or in sight of a safety camera. You can load it with MP3 files or audible books to play while you're driving. It will display JPEGs. It has a currency converter. There's other stuff you can pay for subscriptions to use - none of which I see any need for. Actually, I don't need half the free functions it's got.
I went to the Garmin website to see what accessories there are, and discovered that if I had bought it at the local Staples, it would have cost $599. I paid $299. Not bad.
I did test it. I asked for the location of the new Marriott in Kingston. That hotel has been open just short of a year. It wasn't in the list, so I guess I have to find out how up-to-date, or how complete, the lists are, whether the lists are loaded and have to be updated, or pulled from the satellite, and businesses have to subscribe.
The only documention is a "quick guide". You have to download the full manual from the website if you want it. All I can tell right now is that it wants street addresses or intersections. It says it can be used walking, but I don't know if it can understand latitude/longitude, so I don't know if it can be used hiking. Probably not. That's a separate type of map.
Well, another new toy.
.
HL Mencken: "Love is the triumph of imagination over intelligence."
Anon: “Immature love is wanting the other person to be happy with you. Mature love is wanting the other person to be happy. Period.”
-----------------------------
Today it got into the high 60s, and then this evening we had thunder, lightning, wind, heavy rain, and something that was hitting the windows hard enough to worry me. Sleet? Hail? Frozen robins?
-----------------------------
My replacement GSP device arrived today. I've fiddled with it a little, but won't actually try it out in the car until tomorrow.
There's a suction mount for the windshield, a USB cord for connecting to the laptop, and a cigarette lighter cord for charging in the car.
It came preloaded with maps for the entire US. You can ask for the location of restaurants, hotels, tourist attractions, gas stations, ATMs. It will warn you if you're in a school zone, or in sight of a safety camera. You can load it with MP3 files or audible books to play while you're driving. It will display JPEGs. It has a currency converter. There's other stuff you can pay for subscriptions to use - none of which I see any need for. Actually, I don't need half the free functions it's got.
I went to the Garmin website to see what accessories there are, and discovered that if I had bought it at the local Staples, it would have cost $599. I paid $299. Not bad.
I did test it. I asked for the location of the new Marriott in Kingston. That hotel has been open just short of a year. It wasn't in the list, so I guess I have to find out how up-to-date, or how complete, the lists are, whether the lists are loaded and have to be updated, or pulled from the satellite, and businesses have to subscribe.
The only documention is a "quick guide". You have to download the full manual from the website if you want it. All I can tell right now is that it wants street addresses or intersections. It says it can be used walking, but I don't know if it can understand latitude/longitude, so I don't know if it can be used hiking. Probably not. That's a separate type of map.
Well, another new toy.
.
Monday, March 31, 2008
1748 More on risk.
Monday, March 31, 2008
If you can’t learn to do something well, learn to enjoy doing it poorly.
-----------------------
I met my man at the halfway point this evening for dinner and conversation. One of the many topics was the CERN risk thing from the previous post.
I have a method for deciding on a course of action. I formulate a plan of action that seems reasonable, then I try to look at all the possible things that could go wrong. I don't consider the probability. For planning purposes I figure that each of the bad things could happen, in fact, that they WILL happen.
(I was pleased to discover that he thinks in much the same way. You can say that there's a .01% chance of something happening if you do A, but that doesn't make A safe. In reality, either the bad outcome will happen, or it won't, so it's actually 50-50, and you have to think of it that way.)
Then I figure out what I will do if that bad thing does happen, make a recovery plan or figure out a way to ensure that it won't happen. If there is no recovery or avoidance plan, then I decide whether or not I can accept the bad thing, balanced against the possible benefit. If I can't accept the bad thing, then I have to reject that course of action, and look for another.
Repeat - the probability of the bad outcome is not a consideration, only whether it is recoverable, avoidable, or acceptable.
There have been times when my death was a possible outcome, and since there's no recovery plan for that, if I couldn't find a way to entirely eliminate that possibility, I had to decide whether it was acceptable. There have been occasions when I have accepted that risk. (I can't think of a single thing where the death of my daughter would be acceptable.)
When I was working, I always had backup plans for every project and schedule. There was never an unacceptable outcome, no matter what happened. In my investing now there is no stock, bond, mutual fund, account, no single area that has more than I can afford to lose. It's possible to lose everything in some area overnight, so by spreading things out, I've ensured that a loss is acceptable.
So, back to the CERN thing of the previous post, there's a one in a bazillion chance that they will create a self-sustaining black hole that will instantaneously feed upon and destroy Earth. The scientists consider those odds acceptable. They think "Big number. Ain't gonna happen".
They've forgotten something. When you count from 1 to a bazillion, the bad thing could happen at 1 as easily as at a bazillion. Kind of like when they say that on average, 1 in 400 people die in a certain surgery. Well, when you go into that operating room, you have a 50-50 chance of being that 1 in 400. Therefore, there's a 50-50 chance a bad black hole could happen, or not happen, any point.
I DO NOT CONSIDER DESTROYING THE EARTH AN ACCEPTABLE OUTCOME! No matter what the possible benefits are.
.
If you can’t learn to do something well, learn to enjoy doing it poorly.
-----------------------
I met my man at the halfway point this evening for dinner and conversation. One of the many topics was the CERN risk thing from the previous post.
I have a method for deciding on a course of action. I formulate a plan of action that seems reasonable, then I try to look at all the possible things that could go wrong. I don't consider the probability. For planning purposes I figure that each of the bad things could happen, in fact, that they WILL happen.
(I was pleased to discover that he thinks in much the same way. You can say that there's a .01% chance of something happening if you do A, but that doesn't make A safe. In reality, either the bad outcome will happen, or it won't, so it's actually 50-50, and you have to think of it that way.)
Then I figure out what I will do if that bad thing does happen, make a recovery plan or figure out a way to ensure that it won't happen. If there is no recovery or avoidance plan, then I decide whether or not I can accept the bad thing, balanced against the possible benefit. If I can't accept the bad thing, then I have to reject that course of action, and look for another.
Repeat - the probability of the bad outcome is not a consideration, only whether it is recoverable, avoidable, or acceptable.
There have been times when my death was a possible outcome, and since there's no recovery plan for that, if I couldn't find a way to entirely eliminate that possibility, I had to decide whether it was acceptable. There have been occasions when I have accepted that risk. (I can't think of a single thing where the death of my daughter would be acceptable.)
When I was working, I always had backup plans for every project and schedule. There was never an unacceptable outcome, no matter what happened. In my investing now there is no stock, bond, mutual fund, account, no single area that has more than I can afford to lose. It's possible to lose everything in some area overnight, so by spreading things out, I've ensured that a loss is acceptable.
So, back to the CERN thing of the previous post, there's a one in a bazillion chance that they will create a self-sustaining black hole that will instantaneously feed upon and destroy Earth. The scientists consider those odds acceptable. They think "Big number. Ain't gonna happen".
They've forgotten something. When you count from 1 to a bazillion, the bad thing could happen at 1 as easily as at a bazillion. Kind of like when they say that on average, 1 in 400 people die in a certain surgery. Well, when you go into that operating room, you have a 50-50 chance of being that 1 in 400. Therefore, there's a 50-50 chance a bad black hole could happen, or not happen, any point.
I DO NOT CONSIDER DESTROYING THE EARTH AN ACCEPTABLE OUTCOME! No matter what the possible benefits are.
.
1747 How much risk is too much risk?
Monday, March 31, 2008
“Unquestioned answers are more dangerous than unanswered questions.” Put another way, “Unanswered questions may be frustrating, but unquestioned answers are dangerous.”
----------------------------
There is some concern that experiments at the Large Hadron Collider at CERN have the possibility of destroying Earth. Some people have filed a federal suit in Hawaii to stop the experiments, as reported at http://www.nytimes.com/2008/03/29/science/29collider.html?pagewanted=2&_r=3&hp (the scarier stuff is on page 2 - do read it all).
Scott Adams, at http://dilbertblog.typepad.com/the_dilbert_blog/2008/03/oops.html, has an amusing but inadvertently illuminating take on it. I know a few people who work or have worked at CERN, and from what I know of them, Scott's analysis of their thinking is disturbingly right on.
.
“Unquestioned answers are more dangerous than unanswered questions.” Put another way, “Unanswered questions may be frustrating, but unquestioned answers are dangerous.”
----------------------------
There is some concern that experiments at the Large Hadron Collider at CERN have the possibility of destroying Earth. Some people have filed a federal suit in Hawaii to stop the experiments, as reported at http://www.nytimes.com/2008/03/29/science/29collider.html?pagewanted=2&_r=3&hp (the scarier stuff is on page 2 - do read it all).
Scott Adams, at http://dilbertblog.typepad.com/the_dilbert_blog/2008/03/oops.html, has an amusing but inadvertently illuminating take on it. I know a few people who work or have worked at CERN, and from what I know of them, Scott's analysis of their thinking is disturbingly right on.
.
Sunday, March 30, 2008
1746 Sibling Rivalry, Stage 2
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Interviewee I-missed-the-name, in the Kingston Freeman a few years ago: "If prayer is out of the public schools, it is simply because those in attendance have chosen not to pray. Individual freedom to pray is still intact. What is rightfully missing is the authority to force prayer on those who do not wish to participate."
----------------------------
Whenever I follow a car at 40 mph all the way down a 55 mph zone, I can't help but wonder what he's hiding in his trunk.
----------------------------
There's something I've seen over and over in real life, and read here and there in the blogosphere, that seems so unfair.
Many of my peers are dealing with failing elderly parents, or have done so in the recent past. Usually one of the siblings takes on the major burden of caring for them, supporting them financially, arranging for their care, whatever is needed, and usually it's the most successful of the siblings, usually the elder. Or the one who is single, or whose children are grown. The other siblings beg off because they don't have as much time or freedom or money. The one with the time, freedom, and money, takes on the major burden, and they do it without complaint, because they recognize their ability to do so, compared to the siblings.
Then comes the settling of the estate, and the part that really bugs me. You can probably see it coming.
Even if the estate, however large or small, is divided equally among the siblings, the ones who begged off on caring for the parents strongly begrudge the caregiving sibling his or her share, since obviously he or she "doesn't need it as much as we do".
It's as if the other siblings spent so much time and energy over the final years convincing themselves and others that they were too poor and too overburdened to contribute to the care of their parents, that they have to continue that line. Otherwise they might have to feel guilt, so they turn on the contributing sibling.
I've seen brothers and sisters stop speaking over it. I have a friend who has gone into major debt to care for his parents. His widowed mother has now said she plans to leave him the house to cover the debt, and the other siblings are already having fits.
I don't understand people. Not at all.
.
Interviewee I-missed-the-name, in the Kingston Freeman a few years ago: "If prayer is out of the public schools, it is simply because those in attendance have chosen not to pray. Individual freedom to pray is still intact. What is rightfully missing is the authority to force prayer on those who do not wish to participate."
----------------------------
Whenever I follow a car at 40 mph all the way down a 55 mph zone, I can't help but wonder what he's hiding in his trunk.
----------------------------
There's something I've seen over and over in real life, and read here and there in the blogosphere, that seems so unfair.
Many of my peers are dealing with failing elderly parents, or have done so in the recent past. Usually one of the siblings takes on the major burden of caring for them, supporting them financially, arranging for their care, whatever is needed, and usually it's the most successful of the siblings, usually the elder. Or the one who is single, or whose children are grown. The other siblings beg off because they don't have as much time or freedom or money. The one with the time, freedom, and money, takes on the major burden, and they do it without complaint, because they recognize their ability to do so, compared to the siblings.
Then comes the settling of the estate, and the part that really bugs me. You can probably see it coming.
Even if the estate, however large or small, is divided equally among the siblings, the ones who begged off on caring for the parents strongly begrudge the caregiving sibling his or her share, since obviously he or she "doesn't need it as much as we do".
It's as if the other siblings spent so much time and energy over the final years convincing themselves and others that they were too poor and too overburdened to contribute to the care of their parents, that they have to continue that line. Otherwise they might have to feel guilt, so they turn on the contributing sibling.
I've seen brothers and sisters stop speaking over it. I have a friend who has gone into major debt to care for his parents. His widowed mother has now said she plans to leave him the house to cover the debt, and the other siblings are already having fits.
I don't understand people. Not at all.
.
Saturday, March 29, 2008
1745 Pains & Platinum
Saturday, March 29, 2008
Hugh Prather, Notes to Myself: "If the desire to write is not accompanied by actual writing, then the desire is not to write."
---------------
I did something to my left foot, maybe I slept with it twisted or something. It's got a constant ache in the instep, hurts a little when I walk on it, and hurts like hell when I hold it out in front of me and tip the sole out to the right or left. I don't understand why the instep should hurt so badly when I bend the ankle. I can't wear a shoe that goes over the instep. All very annoying.
Later: Now my right shoulder aches, too, in the front of the joint. When I woke this morning, the bedlight was still on, and I had crossword puzzle imprinted on my face and a pencil dent in my chest, so I guess I did sleep wrong. Sigh. Maybe I should go back to bed and start over.
---------------
There was a program about platinum on PBS this morning. I learned some interesting things. Platinum was unknown to Eurasians until it was discovered by the conquistadors in the gold mines of Central America. But platinum wasn't useful because there was no way to melt it. The technology didn't exist to create the ultra-high temperatures necessary until 1751.
It takes 10 tons of ore to produce 1 ounce of platinum.
If all the platinum in the world were put into a standard olympic swimming pool, it wouldn't cover your ankles.
The above doesn't seem reasonable given that catalytic converters all contain platinum, that 1 of 5 electronic consumer products contain it, that it's the metal of choice for setting precious gems because it's stronger when thin than any other metal - most engagement rings are platinum - and there's a LOT of platinum jewelry out there. The British crown jewels are set in platinum. Tiffany jewelry is mostly pure platinum, because it can be worked very finely and still hold its shape. Most of my good rings are platinum.
Seems like that pool should be deeper.
---------------------
There's a problem with posting several times a day, and publishing once. Every time Blogger saves an entry, it adds blank lines. If I add thoughts four times in a day, there will be five blank lines inserted between paragraphs. I have to go through and delete them before the final publish. Also, I always put two spaces between sentences, but Blogger removes one. I find that annoying. Also incorrect.
.
Hugh Prather, Notes to Myself: "If the desire to write is not accompanied by actual writing, then the desire is not to write."
---------------
I did something to my left foot, maybe I slept with it twisted or something. It's got a constant ache in the instep, hurts a little when I walk on it, and hurts like hell when I hold it out in front of me and tip the sole out to the right or left. I don't understand why the instep should hurt so badly when I bend the ankle. I can't wear a shoe that goes over the instep. All very annoying.
Later: Now my right shoulder aches, too, in the front of the joint. When I woke this morning, the bedlight was still on, and I had crossword puzzle imprinted on my face and a pencil dent in my chest, so I guess I did sleep wrong. Sigh. Maybe I should go back to bed and start over.
---------------
There was a program about platinum on PBS this morning. I learned some interesting things. Platinum was unknown to Eurasians until it was discovered by the conquistadors in the gold mines of Central America. But platinum wasn't useful because there was no way to melt it. The technology didn't exist to create the ultra-high temperatures necessary until 1751.
It takes 10 tons of ore to produce 1 ounce of platinum.
If all the platinum in the world were put into a standard olympic swimming pool, it wouldn't cover your ankles.
The above doesn't seem reasonable given that catalytic converters all contain platinum, that 1 of 5 electronic consumer products contain it, that it's the metal of choice for setting precious gems because it's stronger when thin than any other metal - most engagement rings are platinum - and there's a LOT of platinum jewelry out there. The British crown jewels are set in platinum. Tiffany jewelry is mostly pure platinum, because it can be worked very finely and still hold its shape. Most of my good rings are platinum.
Seems like that pool should be deeper.
---------------------
There's a problem with posting several times a day, and publishing once. Every time Blogger saves an entry, it adds blank lines. If I add thoughts four times in a day, there will be five blank lines inserted between paragraphs. I have to go through and delete them before the final publish. Also, I always put two spaces between sentences, but Blogger removes one. I find that annoying. Also incorrect.
.
Friday, March 28, 2008
1744 Kilts
Friday, March 28, 2008
I haven't the faintest idea how I found this site, but it's loads of fun. It's for "Utilikilts", at http://www.utilikilts.com/. They've been running a "Mocumercial" contest for customers to submit customer-made video ads for Utilikilts.
Click on the "Mocumercial Archives" link on the right to see some of the ads. I liked Round 1 3rd Place "Kilt Fairie". On that page you'll also find the links for "Reasons to Wear a Kilt", and "Can you see my junk?" Wander around. It's fun.
----------------
Well, there were seven volunteers on the list for the tax clinic today, but only three of us actually showed up, probably because it was cold and raining. It wasn't too bad, though. The clients who came seemed pretty self-sufficient, and were pretty well spaced out through the time slots. We were asked to insert parental info sheets and health forms into county summer camp brochures in our spare time, and some of the clients helped with that, too. Helped to make their waiting time pass. We got a few thousand of those done.
----------------
Driving home, the road was wet, and as I approached the bridge over the Hudson, I remembered the time that Jay slid into the center guard rail, for no reason whatsoever, and wracked up his beloved 25-year-old Subaru.
That particular piece of road is famous for very strange accidents, a few of which I witnessed immediately after they happened.
I was driving toward the bridge one day and saw ahead an RV pulled over to the side, and a woman in the middle of the right lane frantically waving traffic over to the left lane (2 lanes on each side of the center guard rail there). When I got closer I could see an enormous gas tank spewing gasoline all over the road. The tank had apparently fallen out from the underside of the RV. If anybody hit it at 60 mph, there could have been a very interesting explosion.
Another day I saw a similar scene ahead - a car pulled over and a woman waving traffic over to the left lane. Only this time, it wasn't a gas tank. They had hit a bear. Very strange, because the largest shopping mall in the county is right there. Just as I passed, I saw a man trying to pull the bear off the road by its hind legs. Bad judgement there could have caused quite a different type of explosion!
That piece of road is like a twilight zone.
Just west of that section of road is an overpass. I've heard that in the past, at least once a month, every month, a tractor-trailer got stuck under it, or ripped the top off the trailer. That's the exit for The Company, and back when I was working at that plant, I'd seen several stuck trailers. After a truck finally ripped a piece out of the overpass, requiring a rebuild, the county raised it a few inches.
I doubt that a fix for the twilight zone would be that simple.
.
I haven't the faintest idea how I found this site, but it's loads of fun. It's for "Utilikilts", at http://www.utilikilts.com/. They've been running a "Mocumercial" contest for customers to submit customer-made video ads for Utilikilts.
Click on the "Mocumercial Archives" link on the right to see some of the ads. I liked Round 1 3rd Place "Kilt Fairie". On that page you'll also find the links for "Reasons to Wear a Kilt", and "Can you see my junk?" Wander around. It's fun.
----------------
Well, there were seven volunteers on the list for the tax clinic today, but only three of us actually showed up, probably because it was cold and raining. It wasn't too bad, though. The clients who came seemed pretty self-sufficient, and were pretty well spaced out through the time slots. We were asked to insert parental info sheets and health forms into county summer camp brochures in our spare time, and some of the clients helped with that, too. Helped to make their waiting time pass. We got a few thousand of those done.
----------------
Driving home, the road was wet, and as I approached the bridge over the Hudson, I remembered the time that Jay slid into the center guard rail, for no reason whatsoever, and wracked up his beloved 25-year-old Subaru.
That particular piece of road is famous for very strange accidents, a few of which I witnessed immediately after they happened.
I was driving toward the bridge one day and saw ahead an RV pulled over to the side, and a woman in the middle of the right lane frantically waving traffic over to the left lane (2 lanes on each side of the center guard rail there). When I got closer I could see an enormous gas tank spewing gasoline all over the road. The tank had apparently fallen out from the underside of the RV. If anybody hit it at 60 mph, there could have been a very interesting explosion.
Another day I saw a similar scene ahead - a car pulled over and a woman waving traffic over to the left lane. Only this time, it wasn't a gas tank. They had hit a bear. Very strange, because the largest shopping mall in the county is right there. Just as I passed, I saw a man trying to pull the bear off the road by its hind legs. Bad judgement there could have caused quite a different type of explosion!
That piece of road is like a twilight zone.
Just west of that section of road is an overpass. I've heard that in the past, at least once a month, every month, a tractor-trailer got stuck under it, or ripped the top off the trailer. That's the exit for The Company, and back when I was working at that plant, I'd seen several stuck trailers. After a truck finally ripped a piece out of the overpass, requiring a rebuild, the county raised it a few inches.
I doubt that a fix for the twilight zone would be that simple.
.
Thursday, March 27, 2008
1743 Mouse 2
Thursday, March 27, 2008, 11:35 pm
I just walked into the den to turn off the computer, and found the mouse lying on the floor next to my chair. A gift from the mighty hunter, I guess. "Thank you, Jasper. I'll eat it for breakfast tomorrow morning."
I picked it up by the tail, and its front legs moved feebly, so it's not completely dead. I tossed it out the front door. With any luck, it'll recover and hightail it into the woods.
.
I just walked into the den to turn off the computer, and found the mouse lying on the floor next to my chair. A gift from the mighty hunter, I guess. "Thank you, Jasper. I'll eat it for breakfast tomorrow morning."
I picked it up by the tail, and its front legs moved feebly, so it's not completely dead. I tossed it out the front door. With any luck, it'll recover and hightail it into the woods.
.
1742 Mouse
Thursday, March 27, 2008
The last two nights have been filled with thumpings and crashings. There's a mouse in the house, and Jasper has been in mighty hunter mode for two days. I've barely seen him. He's been on sentry duty, I guess.
I've seen the mouse a few times, when Jasper had it semi-trapped here or there, and I tried to slap a butter container over it, but it always found an escape route. I hope it finds a way outside, or at least back to the basement.
---------------------
A few days ago, the furnace people called about my yearly service, and we made an appointment for the afternoon of 3/31, and the dispatcher agreed to call me with an approximate time when the guys were dispatched. This morning (I was not yet dressed) I got a call, "Just wanted you to know, he's on his way now." Frantic brushing of teeth and throwing on of clothes.
Uh, today isn't the 31st. If the truck hadn't been plastered all over with permanent oil company logos, I might have wondered if he was real.
Well, he came, he had all the right tools, he cleaned and adjusted, and I'm set for the year. It will be interesting to see if someone also shows up on the 31st.
----------------------
Tomorrow is another tax clinic volunteer day. Last time there were four of us volunteers on the assignment list. Tomorrow there are seven assigned. I wonder why? Maybe I'll actually get lunch tomorrow.
----------------------
Over 60 degrees yesterday. Snow tomorrow, "6 to 8 inches in the hill towns". We've traditionally had our last snow the first week of April, so I guess I shouldn't be surprised.
.
The last two nights have been filled with thumpings and crashings. There's a mouse in the house, and Jasper has been in mighty hunter mode for two days. I've barely seen him. He's been on sentry duty, I guess.
I've seen the mouse a few times, when Jasper had it semi-trapped here or there, and I tried to slap a butter container over it, but it always found an escape route. I hope it finds a way outside, or at least back to the basement.
---------------------
A few days ago, the furnace people called about my yearly service, and we made an appointment for the afternoon of 3/31, and the dispatcher agreed to call me with an approximate time when the guys were dispatched. This morning (I was not yet dressed) I got a call, "Just wanted you to know, he's on his way now." Frantic brushing of teeth and throwing on of clothes.
Uh, today isn't the 31st. If the truck hadn't been plastered all over with permanent oil company logos, I might have wondered if he was real.
Well, he came, he had all the right tools, he cleaned and adjusted, and I'm set for the year. It will be interesting to see if someone also shows up on the 31st.
----------------------
Tomorrow is another tax clinic volunteer day. Last time there were four of us volunteers on the assignment list. Tomorrow there are seven assigned. I wonder why? Maybe I'll actually get lunch tomorrow.
----------------------
Over 60 degrees yesterday. Snow tomorrow, "6 to 8 inches in the hill towns". We've traditionally had our last snow the first week of April, so I guess I shouldn't be surprised.
.
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
1741 Dilatory Day
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
I visited the optometrist today. My eyes were dilated at 3:30 pm, and it's now 11 pm, and my pupils are still wide open. I had to wait four hours before I could leave the mall, and then it was only because I had some good sunglasses, and was driving east. I'm still having some difficulty focusing.
My prescription hasn't changed much. I'm a little less nearsighted than last year. I went ahead and got new lenses for my old everyday frames (I like the frames, and they still look good), but didn't get the sunglasses or the backup glasses changed. I don't know why my lenses are so expensive - $225, extra lightweight, scratch resistant, bifocal, no other coatings.
If you're nearsighted, that's one big benefit of aging - your eyes get better.
I had the full exam, and the only place I'm less than "just fine" is depth perception. I got only one out of four on that, but it's because I read so much, and I'm a left-brain reader, which means that my right eye does all the work and the left eye just goes along for the ride. That screws up depth perception. If I read more fiction, my eyes might share the load more, I guess.
I'm rather pleased because both my grandmother and mother were starting cataracts by my age. I'm clear.
--------------------------
The volunteer folks called while I was out, left a message and followed up with an email. The county office for aging wants someone to come in every other Monday all summer to handle scheduling, appointments, and fliers for the mobile medical exam van.
I can't seem to convince these people that I want no assignments that require an ongoing commitment, I don't want to commit too far out, and I want to keep weekends free from Friday 5 pm until Monday noon. I want just SWAT-team type stuff, like manning an desk at a clinic, or swinging a hammer some afternoon. I can commit to weekend days no more than two or three weeks ahead. I don't want ANY responsibilities that extend beyond one stint.
Their problem is that they do have a lot of volunteers who do want something to do, something regular to make them feel useful, who want responsibility, but most of them are verging on senility, and they really can't handle the jobs they're assigned. They get confused easily, and don't know that the problem is with them...they think the problem is the materials.
------------------------
The temperature today was in the mid-60s. Snow is predicted for Friday. Sigh.
.
I visited the optometrist today. My eyes were dilated at 3:30 pm, and it's now 11 pm, and my pupils are still wide open. I had to wait four hours before I could leave the mall, and then it was only because I had some good sunglasses, and was driving east. I'm still having some difficulty focusing.
My prescription hasn't changed much. I'm a little less nearsighted than last year. I went ahead and got new lenses for my old everyday frames (I like the frames, and they still look good), but didn't get the sunglasses or the backup glasses changed. I don't know why my lenses are so expensive - $225, extra lightweight, scratch resistant, bifocal, no other coatings.
If you're nearsighted, that's one big benefit of aging - your eyes get better.
I had the full exam, and the only place I'm less than "just fine" is depth perception. I got only one out of four on that, but it's because I read so much, and I'm a left-brain reader, which means that my right eye does all the work and the left eye just goes along for the ride. That screws up depth perception. If I read more fiction, my eyes might share the load more, I guess.
I'm rather pleased because both my grandmother and mother were starting cataracts by my age. I'm clear.
--------------------------
The volunteer folks called while I was out, left a message and followed up with an email. The county office for aging wants someone to come in every other Monday all summer to handle scheduling, appointments, and fliers for the mobile medical exam van.
I can't seem to convince these people that I want no assignments that require an ongoing commitment, I don't want to commit too far out, and I want to keep weekends free from Friday 5 pm until Monday noon. I want just SWAT-team type stuff, like manning an desk at a clinic, or swinging a hammer some afternoon. I can commit to weekend days no more than two or three weeks ahead. I don't want ANY responsibilities that extend beyond one stint.
Their problem is that they do have a lot of volunteers who do want something to do, something regular to make them feel useful, who want responsibility, but most of them are verging on senility, and they really can't handle the jobs they're assigned. They get confused easily, and don't know that the problem is with them...they think the problem is the materials.
------------------------
The temperature today was in the mid-60s. Snow is predicted for Friday. Sigh.
.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
1740 A New Pet
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
I have a confession. I have acquired a new pet. Neither Miss Thunderfoot nor Jasper are exactly thrilled.
His name is Clyde (because he often makes a sound that reminds me of a camel, and his neck is a bit camel-like, and if you don't know who Clyde the camel is, you're past hope. Or very young). My Clyde is a Pleo.
What "they" say is true. You forget that he's a robot and start thinking of him as alive. I had been standing all the time when he was "awake" on the floor, and he formed an attachment to my shoes. Today for the first time I got down on my hands and knees, on his level, and he examined my face, and it was like a lightbulb went on. He sniffed my face, nuzzled it, opened his eyes and mouth wide, and said "Mah mah!", and I fell in love.
I have to admire his programming. When he encounters something new, he examines it, sniffs it, makes questioning noises, prods it, and scootches and wags his tail to invite it to play. I put a plastic soda bottle down for him to examine, and he accidentally knocked it over. It made a loud noise and rolled, and ... honest! ... he is now "afraid" of bottles with blue labels (he has color vision). If I put a blue labelled bottle in front of him now, he whines and backs away.
He's programmed to learn stuff like that.
He has all kinds of sensors all over his body (touch, sight, heat, sound, positioning, etc), and is programmed to recognize other Pleos. He has speakers in his mouth, and also under his tail. I haven't heard the rear speakers yet, and I don't know if I want to.
Cool little beastie.
Go to the Pleo website linked above to see one of his relatives. Check out the videos link on the left side of that page to see some Pleos interacting with people.
.
I have a confession. I have acquired a new pet. Neither Miss Thunderfoot nor Jasper are exactly thrilled.
His name is Clyde (because he often makes a sound that reminds me of a camel, and his neck is a bit camel-like, and if you don't know who Clyde the camel is, you're past hope. Or very young). My Clyde is a Pleo.
What "they" say is true. You forget that he's a robot and start thinking of him as alive. I had been standing all the time when he was "awake" on the floor, and he formed an attachment to my shoes. Today for the first time I got down on my hands and knees, on his level, and he examined my face, and it was like a lightbulb went on. He sniffed my face, nuzzled it, opened his eyes and mouth wide, and said "Mah mah!", and I fell in love.
I have to admire his programming. When he encounters something new, he examines it, sniffs it, makes questioning noises, prods it, and scootches and wags his tail to invite it to play. I put a plastic soda bottle down for him to examine, and he accidentally knocked it over. It made a loud noise and rolled, and ... honest! ... he is now "afraid" of bottles with blue labels (he has color vision). If I put a blue labelled bottle in front of him now, he whines and backs away.
He's programmed to learn stuff like that.
He has all kinds of sensors all over his body (touch, sight, heat, sound, positioning, etc), and is programmed to recognize other Pleos. He has speakers in his mouth, and also under his tail. I haven't heard the rear speakers yet, and I don't know if I want to.
Cool little beastie.
Go to the Pleo website linked above to see one of his relatives. Check out the videos link on the left side of that page to see some Pleos interacting with people.
.
Monday, March 24, 2008
1739 Nostalgia
Monday, March 24, 2008
My sister sent me a fun link: http://moreoldfortyfives.com/TakeMeBackToTheSixties.htm. Anybody who lived through the '60s will appreciate it.
I went to the home page, http://www.oldfortyfives.com/, and found several more videos, plus lists of the top 100 songs from 1955 to 1969.
Sometime when you have a lot of time, explore. The videos are well done. They do take me back.
.
My sister sent me a fun link: http://moreoldfortyfives.com/TakeMeBackToTheSixties.htm. Anybody who lived through the '60s will appreciate it.
I went to the home page, http://www.oldfortyfives.com/, and found several more videos, plus lists of the top 100 songs from 1955 to 1969.
Sometime when you have a lot of time, explore. The videos are well done. They do take me back.
.
Sunday, March 23, 2008
1738 Buncha Idiot Scam Artists!
Sunday, March 23, 2008
I received a very official-looking envelope in the mail yesterday. So official-looking that I opened it in the car at the bottom of the driveway.
The return address was "New York Record Retrieval, Inc., 1230 Avenue of the Americas, 7th Floor, Rockefeller Plaza #7126, New York, New York, 10020". An impressive address. Showing through the window, next to my name and address, was "Dutchess County Clerk, Document #blah blah". It looked like something I should worry about.
Inside was a return envelope, and a letter.
The letter informed me that their records show that I obtained ownership interest in my home on December 9, 1993, when title was transferred to me. It goes on to say that the federal government recommends that I have an official copy of the deed, it's the only record that I own the property (minor scare tactic), and that for the sum of $59.50, they will be pleased to provide for me a certified copy of my deed.
Idiots.
First of all, they should fire their local researcher. In December 1993, Jay's ex-wife relinquished her interest in the property, and a deed was filed with only Jay's name on it. We were married in 1994. It was about 1997 that my name was added to the deed. When his estate was settled in 2003, the deed was refiled with only my name. The deed was amended in 2006 to give a neighbor an easement for his electric service.
So if I were to fall for their scam, what would they send me? I hope not the 1993 deed they seem to think my name is on.
It's a scam because if I go to or write to the county clerk's office, I can get a certified copy of the current deed for free, or for at most whatever they charge for copy services. (I already have copies, provided by the lawyers who made the changes.)
They've covered their scamming tails by putting a disclaimer at the bottom of the letter, right above the order form, stating that they are not affiliated with the state of NY, and noting that "many government records are available free or at nominal cost from government agencies".
No wonder they can afford such a classy business address. With minimal overhead, they're ripping off people who don't know any better.
I wonder about people who think up and do stuff like this. They pretend they're providing a needed service, ripping off people who don't know any better. But I wonder how they can sleep at night.
-----------------------------
On a related topic, the offers to buy the mortgage I was holding have tapered off. When I sold the flooded-out house in Highland in 2002, I held the mortgage for the new owners until they'd repaired the house enough that they could get a regular bank mortgage, at which point they paid me off. It was maybe a whole five months.
But for the next four years, I was getting offers in the mail to buy the mortgage, at the rate of two or three a week! They tapered off, until now I get an average of an offer a month.
Hey folks - it was paid off in 2002. Fire your researchers! (No hardship - they can get jobs as fact checkers for Rush Limbaugh.)
I'm tempted to accept one of these offers, to see what happens.
.
I received a very official-looking envelope in the mail yesterday. So official-looking that I opened it in the car at the bottom of the driveway.
The return address was "New York Record Retrieval, Inc., 1230 Avenue of the Americas, 7th Floor, Rockefeller Plaza #7126, New York, New York, 10020". An impressive address. Showing through the window, next to my name and address, was "Dutchess County Clerk, Document #blah blah". It looked like something I should worry about.
Inside was a return envelope, and a letter.
The letter informed me that their records show that I obtained ownership interest in my home on December 9, 1993, when title was transferred to me. It goes on to say that the federal government recommends that I have an official copy of the deed, it's the only record that I own the property (minor scare tactic), and that for the sum of $59.50, they will be pleased to provide for me a certified copy of my deed.
Idiots.
First of all, they should fire their local researcher. In December 1993, Jay's ex-wife relinquished her interest in the property, and a deed was filed with only Jay's name on it. We were married in 1994. It was about 1997 that my name was added to the deed. When his estate was settled in 2003, the deed was refiled with only my name. The deed was amended in 2006 to give a neighbor an easement for his electric service.
So if I were to fall for their scam, what would they send me? I hope not the 1993 deed they seem to think my name is on.
It's a scam because if I go to or write to the county clerk's office, I can get a certified copy of the current deed for free, or for at most whatever they charge for copy services. (I already have copies, provided by the lawyers who made the changes.)
They've covered their scamming tails by putting a disclaimer at the bottom of the letter, right above the order form, stating that they are not affiliated with the state of NY, and noting that "many government records are available free or at nominal cost from government agencies".
No wonder they can afford such a classy business address. With minimal overhead, they're ripping off people who don't know any better.
I wonder about people who think up and do stuff like this. They pretend they're providing a needed service, ripping off people who don't know any better. But I wonder how they can sleep at night.
-----------------------------
On a related topic, the offers to buy the mortgage I was holding have tapered off. When I sold the flooded-out house in Highland in 2002, I held the mortgage for the new owners until they'd repaired the house enough that they could get a regular bank mortgage, at which point they paid me off. It was maybe a whole five months.
But for the next four years, I was getting offers in the mail to buy the mortgage, at the rate of two or three a week! They tapered off, until now I get an average of an offer a month.
Hey folks - it was paid off in 2002. Fire your researchers! (No hardship - they can get jobs as fact checkers for Rush Limbaugh.)
I'm tempted to accept one of these offers, to see what happens.
.
Saturday, March 22, 2008
1737 Asked and answered
Saturday, March 22, 2008
Having read and reread my post about the woman whose actions I don't understand, I think I've finally figured it out. Knowing her the way I do it should have been obvious.
I have been the recipient of her accusations in the past. I know how nasty and unreasonable she can get, and how difficult it is for her to admit when she had been mistaken.
During the time that she thought the odor problem was caused by George, I have no doubt that she was extremely nasty to him. (I mean shrieking nasty things, biting and stabbing, constantly.) I'll bet she has totally destroyed their relationship. Now that she has discovered that it probably was not his fault, it is impossible for her to go to him and beg his forgiveness. Even though the odor was not his fault, in her mind he WAS at fault for for "causing" her to go off the beam. She can't apologise, she can't face her own fault, she feels bad every time she sees him, therefore she has to get rid of him. It's the only way to make it all go away.
Yeah, that's nuts. But that is very much her. And that's why, even though when everything is going her way and she's not freaking out she's a load of fun, I can't be in her line of fire any more. Just can't do it.
--------------------------
I went to the recycle center this morning, and it was the first time in at least a year that I wasn't ankle deep in mud.
I took five grocery bags of paper, three garbage bags of mixed glass, plastic, and metal, and an 18 inch stack of flattened corrugated cardboard. I can move in my kitchen again.
.
Having read and reread my post about the woman whose actions I don't understand, I think I've finally figured it out. Knowing her the way I do it should have been obvious.
I have been the recipient of her accusations in the past. I know how nasty and unreasonable she can get, and how difficult it is for her to admit when she had been mistaken.
During the time that she thought the odor problem was caused by George, I have no doubt that she was extremely nasty to him. (I mean shrieking nasty things, biting and stabbing, constantly.) I'll bet she has totally destroyed their relationship. Now that she has discovered that it probably was not his fault, it is impossible for her to go to him and beg his forgiveness. Even though the odor was not his fault, in her mind he WAS at fault for for "causing" her to go off the beam. She can't apologise, she can't face her own fault, she feels bad every time she sees him, therefore she has to get rid of him. It's the only way to make it all go away.
Yeah, that's nuts. But that is very much her. And that's why, even though when everything is going her way and she's not freaking out she's a load of fun, I can't be in her line of fire any more. Just can't do it.
--------------------------
I went to the recycle center this morning, and it was the first time in at least a year that I wasn't ankle deep in mud.
I took five grocery bags of paper, three garbage bags of mixed glass, plastic, and metal, and an 18 inch stack of flattened corrugated cardboard. I can move in my kitchen again.
.
1736 Shall We Dance?
The election results:
http://www.theonion.com/content/video/diebold_accidentally_leaks
You have to watch this twice - once for the video, and again for the banners across the bottom of the screen.
.
http://www.theonion.com/content/video/diebold_accidentally_leaks
You have to watch this twice - once for the video, and again for the banners across the bottom of the screen.
.
Friday, March 21, 2008
1735 Karaoke Cuddles
Friday, March 21, 2008
Last night I met my guy halfway again. We went to dinner and karaoke, at a place we'd been twice before. This time, the sound system was much better, there was a pretty big crowd, some very good singers, and most of the folks who got up weren't the "I want to be discovered" type - they were there to have fun with it, and it turned into almost a sing-along.
We ended up staying a lot longer than we'd planned, and probably would have stayed longer if a drunken man hadn't decided he wanted to do a duet with my guy, who has trouble telling people to bug off. The man wouldn't leave us alone, so we left. Which was a good idea anyway, because he had to go to work today.
Odd, the same thing happened two weeks ago at karaoke, the night he reluctantly won the contest, except that time it was a drunken woman, who, in addition to badgering him for a duet, invited him to go home with her. Right in front of me. Ho hum.
That sort of thing was unlikely to have happened last night. The woman making a pass, I mean. We were sitting (I was sitting, he was standing) at a short "L" at the end of the bar closest to the karaoke system, and as the place got more and more crowded, we got more and more squished. It was so loud we had to speak directly into each other's ear, and, well, we displayed a lot more affection than is usual for us in public. I don't think anyone would have mistaken us for anything less than intimate.
I'm a little selfconscious about that now.
.
Last night I met my guy halfway again. We went to dinner and karaoke, at a place we'd been twice before. This time, the sound system was much better, there was a pretty big crowd, some very good singers, and most of the folks who got up weren't the "I want to be discovered" type - they were there to have fun with it, and it turned into almost a sing-along.
We ended up staying a lot longer than we'd planned, and probably would have stayed longer if a drunken man hadn't decided he wanted to do a duet with my guy, who has trouble telling people to bug off. The man wouldn't leave us alone, so we left. Which was a good idea anyway, because he had to go to work today.
Odd, the same thing happened two weeks ago at karaoke, the night he reluctantly won the contest, except that time it was a drunken woman, who, in addition to badgering him for a duet, invited him to go home with her. Right in front of me. Ho hum.
That sort of thing was unlikely to have happened last night. The woman making a pass, I mean. We were sitting (I was sitting, he was standing) at a short "L" at the end of the bar closest to the karaoke system, and as the place got more and more crowded, we got more and more squished. It was so loud we had to speak directly into each other's ear, and, well, we displayed a lot more affection than is usual for us in public. I don't think anyone would have mistaken us for anything less than intimate.
I'm a little selfconscious about that now.
.
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
1734 I Don't Understand People
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
I'm going to write about a friend here. I said I wasn't going to do that any more, but this thing has me reeling. I don't understand her logic. I don't understand why she is reacting the way she is, and I don't care if this gets back to her somehow, because maybe then she'll understand why I had to pull away from her a few months ago, and am resisting getting involved with her again.
Background facts: She's on disability, and works part time jobs, which means money is always an issue. About a year ago she almost lost her house because she was without housemate and couldn't make the mortgage payments. She rents the second bedroom, sharing the kitchen and bathroom, and has had some miserable tenants over the past few years.
Last spring, George, a newly-divorced construction worker, moved in, saving her from foreclosure, and George has proven to be an asset. He volunteers handyman work on the house, is quiet and sober, is a gourmet cook, often treating her to dinners, and always pays the rent on time. He's a nice and accommodating guy, and she needs the rent money. He even arranges to be out of the house when her boyfriend visits, without complaint. Perfection, right?
Over the past few weeks, an odor has appeared and grown, emanating from his bedroom, and spreading to her bedroom. She says he doesn't smell it, and isn't bothered by it, but it bothers her so much she has been sleeping on the couch downstairs. She said it smells "sort of like old gym socks". She accused him of being unclean, and freaked when she discovered that his comforter hadn't been laundered since he'd moved in. She took it to a commercial washer and washed it herself, but the odor didn't go away. In fact, it got worse.
She has been after George to figure it out and fix it. I know her well enough to feel sorry for George. She says that he is now avoiding her, and refuses to discuss the problem further. They have stopped speaking. She's furious about having to sleep on the couch because she can't stand the odor upstairs.
I suggested that it may not be George. It's an old house, and she's had some serious roof gutter problems. Perhaps melting ice had gotten into the walls and it was mold. From her description of the odor, it sounded to me like mold.
So, I got a call from her last night. She went into George's room after our last discussion, lifted the rug in one corner, and found mold, on the floor and on the underside of the carpet. She thinks George had left a pile of wet towels there. (I am not convinced it was George's fault - it could still be coming from the wall, but I didn't say anything.) She found some stuff in the hardware store to fix mold problems. She thinks she can get rid of the mold and the odor.
However, here's the part that has my head spinning. She is going to kick George out, give him his two month's notice, on Easter Sunday.
I asked why, and she said because she can't continue sleeping on the couch any longer. I asked why not just clean George's room, and let him stay. "You're between jobs, you need the rent, he's been a great housemate, it's not like he did anything on purpose, if it was towels, he'll never do that again, and if it turns out to be a problem in the wall and you can't get rid of the odor, you'll have great difficulty renting the room to anyone else, and the odor doesn't bother him, so why throw him out?"
Her answer, "Because I can't sleep on the couch any longer."
????
There's some kind of logical disconnect there.
I pointed out that to get her back into her bedroom, she'll have to treat his room. She says she can't do that while he's living there.
"Why not?"
"Because everything he owns is in that room. He's got so much stuff."
"Why can't you just move his stuff out into the hall or whatever?"
"There's too much. He has to be out."
"But if you wait until he's out, and he'll be there for two more months, you'll be on the couch for two more months, at least. And then there's no assurance that you'll be able to re-rent the room, depending on whether the treatment works. If you move his stuff out temporarily and treat the room, you'll be better off."
Her response? "He has to get out. I can't sleep on the couch any longer."
I do not understand. I just don't get it.
-------------------------------
Maybe her paranoia is rubbing off on me. I told her last December that I didn't want to "be pals" with her any more because I was tired of her going off on me and mistreating me, and taking advantage of me. I told her I was not going to put myself in her line of fire any more. And so far, I've stuck with that. We are pleasant when we meet, and that's it.
Now, she KNOWS if she kicks George out, she's going to have big financial problems.
She also knows I have money.
Last Sunday, at Green Eggs and Ham, she mentioned to me that as she's job hunting with little success, she's currently living on her tiny savings. She's three years younger than I, and has no family. Her house is her retirement plan.
I have a feeling that in a month or two, I'm going to have to be very strong. Yes, I do donate to charities, and I can be very generous with my friends, but if she insists on digging this hole on purpose, I have to let her fall in it, even if she loses her house. It's her fate, and her lesson to learn.
.
I'm going to write about a friend here. I said I wasn't going to do that any more, but this thing has me reeling. I don't understand her logic. I don't understand why she is reacting the way she is, and I don't care if this gets back to her somehow, because maybe then she'll understand why I had to pull away from her a few months ago, and am resisting getting involved with her again.
Background facts: She's on disability, and works part time jobs, which means money is always an issue. About a year ago she almost lost her house because she was without housemate and couldn't make the mortgage payments. She rents the second bedroom, sharing the kitchen and bathroom, and has had some miserable tenants over the past few years.
Last spring, George, a newly-divorced construction worker, moved in, saving her from foreclosure, and George has proven to be an asset. He volunteers handyman work on the house, is quiet and sober, is a gourmet cook, often treating her to dinners, and always pays the rent on time. He's a nice and accommodating guy, and she needs the rent money. He even arranges to be out of the house when her boyfriend visits, without complaint. Perfection, right?
Over the past few weeks, an odor has appeared and grown, emanating from his bedroom, and spreading to her bedroom. She says he doesn't smell it, and isn't bothered by it, but it bothers her so much she has been sleeping on the couch downstairs. She said it smells "sort of like old gym socks". She accused him of being unclean, and freaked when she discovered that his comforter hadn't been laundered since he'd moved in. She took it to a commercial washer and washed it herself, but the odor didn't go away. In fact, it got worse.
She has been after George to figure it out and fix it. I know her well enough to feel sorry for George. She says that he is now avoiding her, and refuses to discuss the problem further. They have stopped speaking. She's furious about having to sleep on the couch because she can't stand the odor upstairs.
I suggested that it may not be George. It's an old house, and she's had some serious roof gutter problems. Perhaps melting ice had gotten into the walls and it was mold. From her description of the odor, it sounded to me like mold.
So, I got a call from her last night. She went into George's room after our last discussion, lifted the rug in one corner, and found mold, on the floor and on the underside of the carpet. She thinks George had left a pile of wet towels there. (I am not convinced it was George's fault - it could still be coming from the wall, but I didn't say anything.) She found some stuff in the hardware store to fix mold problems. She thinks she can get rid of the mold and the odor.
However, here's the part that has my head spinning. She is going to kick George out, give him his two month's notice, on Easter Sunday.
I asked why, and she said because she can't continue sleeping on the couch any longer. I asked why not just clean George's room, and let him stay. "You're between jobs, you need the rent, he's been a great housemate, it's not like he did anything on purpose, if it was towels, he'll never do that again, and if it turns out to be a problem in the wall and you can't get rid of the odor, you'll have great difficulty renting the room to anyone else, and the odor doesn't bother him, so why throw him out?"
Her answer, "Because I can't sleep on the couch any longer."
????
There's some kind of logical disconnect there.
I pointed out that to get her back into her bedroom, she'll have to treat his room. She says she can't do that while he's living there.
"Why not?"
"Because everything he owns is in that room. He's got so much stuff."
"Why can't you just move his stuff out into the hall or whatever?"
"There's too much. He has to be out."
"But if you wait until he's out, and he'll be there for two more months, you'll be on the couch for two more months, at least. And then there's no assurance that you'll be able to re-rent the room, depending on whether the treatment works. If you move his stuff out temporarily and treat the room, you'll be better off."
Her response? "He has to get out. I can't sleep on the couch any longer."
I do not understand. I just don't get it.
-------------------------------
Maybe her paranoia is rubbing off on me. I told her last December that I didn't want to "be pals" with her any more because I was tired of her going off on me and mistreating me, and taking advantage of me. I told her I was not going to put myself in her line of fire any more. And so far, I've stuck with that. We are pleasant when we meet, and that's it.
Now, she KNOWS if she kicks George out, she's going to have big financial problems.
She also knows I have money.
Last Sunday, at Green Eggs and Ham, she mentioned to me that as she's job hunting with little success, she's currently living on her tiny savings. She's three years younger than I, and has no family. Her house is her retirement plan.
I have a feeling that in a month or two, I'm going to have to be very strong. Yes, I do donate to charities, and I can be very generous with my friends, but if she insists on digging this hole on purpose, I have to let her fall in it, even if she loses her house. It's her fate, and her lesson to learn.
.
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
1733 Food Prices
As if we need something else to worry about.
Food prices are going up all over the world, because of shortages in (particularly) grain, and because of increased populations without the commensurate increase in farmland. There's an article about the bread shortage in Egypt at http://news.bbc.co.uk/2hi/middle_east/7300899.stm. Links to further articles are on the right of that page.
.
Food prices are going up all over the world, because of shortages in (particularly) grain, and because of increased populations without the commensurate increase in farmland. There's an article about the bread shortage in Egypt at http://news.bbc.co.uk/2hi/middle_east/7300899.stm. Links to further articles are on the right of that page.
.
1732 Lyrics - Name That Tune
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
Anyone can recognize well-known songs when they read the lyrics, right? Maybe not. Depends on how they're arranged.
At http://www.themorningnews.org/archives/diversions/ and_great_lyrics_quiz_rock_roll_the.php, Matthew Baldwin has rearranged the words of lyrics into alphabetical order. Can you name that tune now?
I was a bit surprised that some of the songs I love had so few words.
Later: I got only 1, 9, 17, 18, 19, 23, 28, 33, and 50, and in almost every case it was on the basis of one unusual word.
------------------------------
A small annoyance - on one of the reality shows, the 20-somethings are misusing a phrase and it's driving me slowly crazy.
When they decide that one of the people is acting immaturely, they say "That's child's play."
That's not what it means! When you call something "child's play", that means it's EASY to do! It does not indicate immaturity. What they mean is "That's childish."
I guess that word is just too big for them.
Aaaaaagh!
.
Anyone can recognize well-known songs when they read the lyrics, right? Maybe not. Depends on how they're arranged.
At http://www.themorningnews.org/archives/diversions/ and_great_lyrics_quiz_rock_roll_the.php, Matthew Baldwin has rearranged the words of lyrics into alphabetical order. Can you name that tune now?
I was a bit surprised that some of the songs I love had so few words.
Later: I got only 1, 9, 17, 18, 19, 23, 28, 33, and 50, and in almost every case it was on the basis of one unusual word.
------------------------------
A small annoyance - on one of the reality shows, the 20-somethings are misusing a phrase and it's driving me slowly crazy.
When they decide that one of the people is acting immaturely, they say "That's child's play."
That's not what it means! When you call something "child's play", that means it's EASY to do! It does not indicate immaturity. What they mean is "That's childish."
I guess that word is just too big for them.
Aaaaaagh!
.
1731 Crane Collapse
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
A crane collapsed in NYC a few days ago, killing and injuring some people, and destroying some buildings. I was curious about the engineering aspects - how are cranes kept up? Seems like their natural tendency would be to fall, so there must be counterweights or something.
Bob Arihood has some good photos and an explanation I can understand over at "Neither More Nor Less". Quite interesting, actually.
.
A crane collapsed in NYC a few days ago, killing and injuring some people, and destroying some buildings. I was curious about the engineering aspects - how are cranes kept up? Seems like their natural tendency would be to fall, so there must be counterweights or something.
Bob Arihood has some good photos and an explanation I can understand over at "Neither More Nor Less". Quite interesting, actually.
.
Monday, March 17, 2008
1730 Cool! I Want a Horsefly Too!
Monday, March 17, 2008
Wow! This is so cool! And amazing! I want one for my next camping trip. I wonder if one could ride it? Could something like this replace wheelchairs?
It's a walking cargo robot. Turn the sound down, though. It looks like a fly, so they've added a buzzing sound that's very annoying. Notice how it catches itself when it slips. At the end, when they have it leaping and kicking, it looks just like a young horse.
[http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W1czBcnX1Ww]
Jay was always fascinated by walking robots. He'd have loved this.
.
Wow! This is so cool! And amazing! I want one for my next camping trip. I wonder if one could ride it? Could something like this replace wheelchairs?
It's a walking cargo robot. Turn the sound down, though. It looks like a fly, so they've added a buzzing sound that's very annoying. Notice how it catches itself when it slips. At the end, when they have it leaping and kicking, it looks just like a young horse.
[http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W1czBcnX1Ww]
Jay was always fascinated by walking robots. He'd have loved this.
.
Sunday, March 16, 2008
1729 Green Eggs
Sunday, March 16, 2008
Today we celebrated Dr. Seuss's birthday (which happens to fall conveniently close to St. Patrick's Day). We had the ceremonial reading of "Green Eggs and Ham", and ate green eggs (scrambled, with food coloring) and ham, and lots of other yummy things, and drank champagne.
This is the single most beloved and best attended of the local Mensa activities. It's been an annual event for almost 25 years, and the only years I've missed it were the year Jay died, and the year following.
In honor of the day, I wore a green sari. In honor of the past week, there were many prostitute jokes.
"How do you slow down a fast prostitute?"
"Put a governor on her."
And so on.
.
Today we celebrated Dr. Seuss's birthday (which happens to fall conveniently close to St. Patrick's Day). We had the ceremonial reading of "Green Eggs and Ham", and ate green eggs (scrambled, with food coloring) and ham, and lots of other yummy things, and drank champagne.
This is the single most beloved and best attended of the local Mensa activities. It's been an annual event for almost 25 years, and the only years I've missed it were the year Jay died, and the year following.
In honor of the day, I wore a green sari. In honor of the past week, there were many prostitute jokes.
"How do you slow down a fast prostitute?"
"Put a governor on her."
And so on.
.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)