1935 Signs

Wednesday, July 30, 2008

Last week in NJ The Man and I were traveling down a road when I saw a sign outside a Ramada Inn. I made him pull a U-turn (a major piece of business in NJ) so I could get a photo of the sign. I screwed up and didn't save it, but I can reproduce it:

Have The World's Most
Exquisite Wedding Here

Starting from $39.95

Piper and I walked today (3.5 miles), and passed a church and cemetery in the village. They had a sign, too:

July Special
St. John's Cemetery

Plots

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1934 The hard disk puzzle solved

Tuesday, July 29, 2008

Back when I was using Jay's old desktop computer, I noted that the hard disk was partitioned, there was a lot of disk space missing, and I speculated that there was another partition beyond the two (C and D) that I was aware of. Nothing beyond C and D showed up on queries. I then found a set of CDs labeled "Backup - C,D,E,F", but I didn't know what was on E and F.

Yesterday I found a trove of backup CDs in a box in the closet. They are all fully labeled with the contents, including file names.
- C is operating system and applications.
- D is mostly my stuff - music, photos, letters, etc.
The hidden ones:
- E is work for The Company.
- F is work for the partnership he was involved with.
- G is communication with the Java folks, and test versions of Java thingies.
- H is all games, I think.
- I, J, K, and L appear to be empty, or temp files. They are backed up on the same CD as G.

'Twould appear that Jay went a little crazy with the partitioning.

Still no idea how to get to the hidden ones. I don't want to trash or donate the old computer without erasing and overwriting all but the C-disk, and I don't know how. I may have to bring that enormous magnet up from the basement and wipe it all out.
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1933 Glowing through the psoriasis

Tuesday, July 29, 2008

I have psoriasis on my elbows, self-diagnosed. Flat shiny gray scales. My elbows look awful. They look dirty. I've asked my doctor about it in the past, and she said it was just dry skin and to moisturize, and recommended various creams. They didn't work. I found out by accident (grabbed the wrong tube) that cortisone cream is the only thing that works. It makes them just red instead of dirty gray, but that's an improvement. I'm getting very upset about the whole thing.

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Something interesting, to me, anyway. When I don't wear makeup, people who usually see me in warpaint will ask me what's wrong. They tell me I look tired, or like I'm coming down with something. I'll walk into Piper's office, and he'll jump up and say, "What's wrong? You look terrible!", or the cashier at the IGA will say, "Rough day, huh?" In stores where they don't know me, I've noticed I get better service with makeup than without. Seriously. I'm not exaggerating. It's constant, and guaranteed. (I don't think people are being rude - I have to appreciate their concern when they seem to think there's reason for it. It's nice to know they care.)

Even when I say, "Oh, I'm ok. I'm just not wearing makeup", they nod, but then they don't seem to believe me, and treat me like I'm in delicate condition or something.

So, I wear makeup when I leave the house, in self-defense.

However, it's entirely different if I've had happy sex within like 36 hours.

I left The Man on Friday morning and went directly to Daughter's. I had not put makeup on. The first thing she said when I walked in was, "Wow. You look great!" On my way home that afternoon, I stopped in at Piper's office. He told me I was "lookin' real good." Then I stopped at the grocery store, and the clerk asked if I'd just got back from vacation or something, "...you've got a glow."

I think that's weird. I look in the mirror, and I don't really look any different. Maybe a little more sparkle in the eyes? Color in the cheeks? Skin a little tighter? Bull poopy. I'm wondering if they're picking up on pheromones or something.

On the other hand, your mental attitude definitely shows on your face, and maybe that's what they're seeing. Happy sex. If I'm feeling blah, I look blah, unless I've painted on a happy face. If I'm happy and still purring, I look happy, I look at people happily, perhaps I even purr at them, and that rubs off on others, with or without paint.

There's a lesson there.
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1932 Boscobel & Bits

Monday, July 28, 2008

The play last night was Cybeline. I'd never heard of it before. I understood it and liked it better than any of the others I'd attended at Boscobel so far. As usual, there was the "girl dressed as boy", and the other characters don't recognize her. I may be considered an uncultured barbarian for this, but I never understood Shakespeare worship. The sonnets are good, and a few of the plays (e.g. Romeo & Juliet, and Hamlet), but I find many to be rather juvenile. Food for the masses. I like the ancient Greek plays better, and even Gilbert & Sullivan.

That reminds me - we read Hamlet in high school. One of my classmates said she didn't think the author was very good because "he used a lot of trite phrases, like 'get thee to a nunnery', and that 'something's rotten in Denmark' thing. I mean really! He's not very original."

I did have a ticket waiting for me, and no one exploded until the very end of the evening, and then it took the form of her abruptly leaving.

Roman and I ended up in a diner at a little after 11 pm. We talked for an hour or more, and it was nice. I've missed talking with him.

Today I had a very long walk with Piper, and then I took Suzy to the beauty parlor, where she got an oil change, lube, paw rotation, and state inspection. I'll have to give her an aerobic workout soon to see if she needs her paws aligned. She's been a bit shaky lately at about 70 mph.

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I occasionally find mail in my mailbox that's addressed to someone else, sometimes a neighbor, sometimes someone on an entirely different road. If it's a neighbor, I put it in their mailbox. If it's someone elsewhere, I return it to the mail carrier.

I often wonder if any of my mail is similarly misdelivered.

I overheard a conversation yesterday that infuriated me. I've heard other people say the same thing before, and it makes me wonder about the morals of the average American.

Here's how it goes:
Woman 1 mentioned that she got someone else's package in the mail.
Woman 2 asked what it was.
Woman 1 says she doesn't know, that she took it to the post office.
Woman 2 says she gets other people's mail too, but she opens it. Letters, she just throws out. If it's a package with good stuff, she keeps it. If not, she throws it out.
Woman 1 expresses shock.
Woman 2 shrugs and says that it's the law that if someone sends you something you didn't order, you get to keep it. Besides, if it's at all valuable, it's insured, and if letters are important, they'll send another.

Duh?
There's so much wrong with that statement I don't know where to start. And this is the third time I've heard something like that in the past 18 months. It makes me sick to my stomach. I can't help but wonder how much mail I never got. I'd have accosted this woman, but she was big and mean looking, and moving out the door faster than I was.

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After the across-the-street neighbors sold their house and moved, I thought my mailbox and newspaper tube were finally safe. About once a year, either they or someone visiting them would hit my box backing out of their driveway, and not once did anyone apologize or offer to fix it.

Jay had mounted the mailbox on plumbing pipes with "L" joints, so if it got hit it would twist on the pipes, rather than just get crushed. But it's got 20 years of rust in those joints, so it takes an enormous amount of force to turn it, and it needs the Hairless Hunk's backhoe to twist it back. There's no way someone could hit it hard enough to twist it and not be aware what they'd done.

When I got home last night, I found my mailbox twisted at a 45 degree to the road, and the tube leaning over. There's no note. No apology.

I am so angry I could spit nails. I'm tempted to take the binoculars down the driveway, and see if there are dents in the back of either of their cars.

-----------------------------

Teens outside the diner. "Want a cigarette?" "What? You smoking? You're on the team! Besides, those things can kill you!" "Nah. These are herbal. There's nothing dangerous in them."

Ack! First off, tobacco is herbal! I'm tired of people using "herbal" (or "natural") without any idea what it means. Second, nicotine affects your heart, but has little effect on the lungs. It's the byproducts of burning - the particles that settle in your lungs, the oils, the body's inflammatory response to the smoke, that destroys your lungs! "Nothing dangerous" my ass!

(Yeah, "herbal" tea also annoys me. Tea with caffeine is herbal, too. Don't you dare try to offer me "non-herbal" tea. There's no such thing, by definition.)

Bah. Bedtime.
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1931 No Sleep

Sunday, July 27, 2008

It's 6:30 am, and I have not yet slept. We had a pretty unbelievable storm last night. Actually, three or four separate storms. I could tell when one ended because the cats returned to the bed, and then they'd disappear when the next started.

I think there was rain only with the last one. Mostly it was lightning and thunder. Lightning and thunder don't usually bother me, but I'd never in my life heard thunder like last night's. Loud and constant rumbles with a bang or multiple bangs about every three seconds. It was so steady and loud it sounded like a monster train coming - and from my memories of Missouri, that usually means tornado. At one point I considered moving to the basement, but then decided there wasn't much point.

That went on, off and on, all night. A storm would end, and I'd start to drift off, and BAM! it would start again.

I'm meeting people (FW and Roman, and four people from NYC Mensa) for another evening of Shakespeare at Boscobel. Tonight is Cymbeline. The group wants to meet early for a picnic before the play, and given the characters I'll have to deal with, it's going to be a very long day. FW bought the tickets, and we are each supposed to pick up ours at the ticket office. I hope she hasn't pulled another of her tricks and "forgot" to include my ticket in the count. I wouldn't put it past her.

Maybe I can get a few hours sleep this morning.


More cat pictures.
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1930 Best Bush-McCain Photo EVER!

Go to http://triggur.livejournal.com/362678.html. It's best if you have to scroll down to see the whole picture. I scrolled down and about fell off my chair!

Yes, it has been expertly digitally altered. I found the original photo several places on the web, and it's not at all interesting.

Later edit: I sent this to The Man. He has corrected me. This IS the original photo. The tamer ones I found on the web "are fakes, 'corrected' by CBS and FOX. :)"

Snork.
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1929 Bad Hostess!

Saturday, July 26, 2008

Later: I "Googled" the Harley man. He's all over the internet - photos, bios, comments on political stuff, motorcycles, racing, he's everywhere. I'd have put him mid-40s - turns out he's only three years younger than I.


Oomph!

I have his cell phone number, and had been thinking I should perhaps call, like maybe tomorrow, to thank him again for the flowers. Although I hesitate to call. I don't know. I'm a little shy/reluctant to get that personal (says she who researched the man). But now I have his email address (and his home address, his wife's name and photo, his father's name, his employment info, where he went to school and when he graduated - damn, I'm good!), and I'm more inclined to send a note.

Why do I have to do anything at all? Because I heard his car coming up the drive and met him outside on the driveway. When I saw it was him, I said that I was expecting some kind of delivery man. He said that wouldn't have been proper. He handed me one bunch of flowers, and said that he'd carry the other. I said that's ok, I can handle them both.

See, it's an almost two hour drive, just to thank me for rescuing him. The polite thing to do would have been to invite him in for something cool to drink, and a bathroom, and I think he was expecting that. I didn't. Because my house is a wreck. No other person has been in this house in three years, for very good reason. I tell people that if the SPCA saw what my cats live in, they'd take them away from me, and people think I'm kidding. I'm not.

And now I feel very guilty, super inhospitable, and he probably feels snubbed, and I hate to leave it like that.

I mean, over three hours driving, round trip, and a five minute conversation in the driveway and dismissal. Not nice. I feel like I ought to explain and apologize. (I doubt that will have him winging back up here, so I think it would be ok.)

Opinions?
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1928 Delivery

Saturday, July 26, 2008

The Harley man arrived, in a silver Corvette convertible, bearing two enormous bunches of gladiolas. He's gorgeous. Too bad he's married.
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1927 Addiction

Saturday, July 26, 2008

I am addicted to reading blogs. I spend entirely too much time reading other people's thoughts, and I keep finding more, and, once introduced, I can't seem to drop any of them off the Bloglines list.

I'm going to have to do something. It's to the point now where I accomplish nothing but the absolute necessities of life offline. I tried limiting myself to two hours a day, and it's not working. I just plain enjoy it too much.

Through blogs, I "meet" people I would never meet in real life. It's extremely unlikely I would ever get to know a stripper well enough to know how she thinks and feels about all kinds of things. Or "hear" the personal reactions of a journalist traveling through war zones. Or the agonies of a depressed gay mid-western cartoonist. Everyone is fascinating when they open up and get honest. So many people can be so very perceptive.

They give me so much to think about, and I do like thinking about things.

There's the woman who told the story of a past relationship, that she knew it was not good, unsatisfying, that it wasn't going anywhere, and yet she stuck with it for entirely too long because the sex was phenomenal. She wonders if it was precisely that she didn't really care for him that made it so easy to be completely free and uninhibited.

I had to wonder if there were some aspects of that going on with me (although I do have strong positive feelings for him). But I have to wonder how much of my current fascination is fueled by phenomenal sex? If I were not getting such a huge payoff, would I still hang in there through all the frustration?

A secondary thought this kicked off - the question of when to bring sex into a relationship. Some people advocate waiting a long time, until you really get to know the person, because if it turns out it really couldn't work on a personal and emotional basis, then you don't want to sleep with him, period. Others advocate early sex, because if you are incompatible sexually, why risk getting emotionally involved?

In theory, I prefer the first, since if you have an emotional connection, then the sex can be worked out on the fly. On the other hand, I've never known bad sex to ever improve, I have enough experience to say that, and that argues for the second. Quality, by the way, seems to have little to do with skill of either party. It has everything to do with the combination of people.

And there are women who muse about the attraction of "Bad Boys". Again, I wondered how much of that applies to me, right now. There have been a few truly bad boys in my youth, and most of them didn't last long because they were uncomplicated, just plain bad, easy to figure out. They were difficult to respect. The current Bad Boy is extremely complicated. The "bad" seems like a veneer, a challenge to break through. There's a lot to admire underneath. I'm old enough and experienced enough to know that I can't change him, so how long will it be before I lose patience with the bad? Will I ever? And will I be sad that I wasted so much time when I should have known better?

It's maddening and fascinating, and feeds the addiction.

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I got a phone call this morning from the guy who stored his Harley in my basement a few weeks ago. He asked if I'd be home this afternoon, because "something will be delivered" and he hoped I'd be home to receive it. He hopes I enjoy it. Interesting.
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1926 Thursday/Friday

Friday, July 26, 2008

I went to NJ yesterday and accompanied The Man to practice (there'a tournament next weekend). He's impressive. When we left, his scores were still up on the monitor, and we were amused to see a young man taking a picture of the scores with his phone.

This morning I visited Daughter, and found her sick in bed. The usual chest and throat. I think she's allergic to NJ.

On the way home I stopped in at Piper's office. He was feeling loggy, too, and he's got poison ivy on his face.

Later, a young man arrived to mow my lawn, and I lassoed him into helping me get that marble tabletop out of the back seat of my car and into the basement. So, that's done.

And now I'm dead tired.
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1925 How to Get Recruits

Thursday, July 24, 2008

Want to think about something scary?

Bush's War is using up soldiers. They had to dip into the reserves fairly early, and as the years pass, fewer young people are going into the reserves, because, hey, you may as well simply sign up, and who wants to do that?

The US public won't stand for a draft. That would be political suicide.

So, how do you get new bomb fodder?

Easy. Kill the economy. Make it so young people can't get jobs. Combine it with cuts in social services. Problem solved.

It isn't the government doing it, not directly, anyway. It's those shadowy folks who control international money. They scare me.
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1924 Thud 2

Wednesday, July 23, 2008

I was in the laundromat this evening (yes, I have a washing machine, but it's much faster to do it all concurrently than serially). The skies opened, and it poured, thunder, lightning, ambulance sirens, the whole shebang.

A man about my age looked morosely out the window and said, "It's going to get a lot worse. That's the start of the hurricane."

I said, "Hurricane? Isn't that in Texas?"

"Yes," he said, "but it's moving right up the coast to us."

Thud.

I blinked twice, wondered what coast he was talking about, where he thinks Texas is, how fast he thinks a hurricane moves, and decided not to say anything else.
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1923 Thud

Wednesday, July 23, 2008

TV is on. I don't know what the program is, but I glanced up as the guy in the lab says that there's "white pine sap on the murder weapon."

The female cop goes outside, finds an evergreen tree, and deduces that the murder climbed up the tree to get to the attic window. She says, "... and this is an eastern white pine."

The camera pans up through the tree, and it's obviously a fir, not a pine, let alone an eastern white pine. White pines have very long needles in clusters of five. Firs have short individual needles.

Do they really think no one in the audience knows the difference? I guess it's not so obvious to Hollwood types. But would it have been so difficult to find a white pine for the closeups?

Thud.
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1922 Mighty Hunter Jasper

Wednesday, July 23, 2008

I just found this on my bed. The paper clip is there for size reference. It must have been a baby. What you see is all that was there. (The pink smudge just below his nose is a tiny paw.)

My share of lunch, I guess.

1921 The Making of a Hypochondriac Nymphomaniac

Tuesday, July 22, 2008

The husband of a friend has had some odd symptoms/conditions/disturbances for a while now. He's one of those guys who is proud of the fact that he has never lost a day of work to illness (even if he leaves a trail of near-death coworkers in his wake), and refuses to go to a doctor (unless he's convinced he's dying. Even then he wonders, "What's the point now? I'm dying.") He's in denial that there's anything wrong, but some of his symptoms have her very upset.

Recently he has developed a few more symptoms, and the old ones are getting worse. I'm pretty good at internet research, and I have the time, so the friend asked me to see if I could find some horribly disfiguring, immobilizing, slowly progressing disease that can leave him unemployable, something that you have to catch early or it's too late, that she could use to scare him into the doctor's office.

I started with one symptom, got a list of everything that could cause that, threw out everything that didn't fit, and ended up with an advanced case of Lyme Disease. Then I did the same thing with another of his symptoms, threw out everything that didn't fit, and ended up with advanced Lyme Disease. Same thing with the next several symptoms. I am aware that he might have two or three or more different things going on, that's why I took each symptom separately. What eliminated possibilities was the absence of other symptoms or predispositions - like he's not an alcoholic. Doesn't drink at all, in fact.

The only three things that fit everything he's displaying is 1.) Lyme, 2.) a particular very rare inherited metabolic disease, and 3.) a certain mineral deficiency.

Untreated Lyme is serious. It affects the brain (can cause personality changes and paranoia, among other things) and nervous system (peripheral neuropathy is painful, and can become incurable). It hits the joints, resulting in arthritis, which is disfiguring and immobilizing. It hits the heart and circulation. It has nasty crippling effects almost everywhere in the body. It can kill you, but only after it destroys you.

So, I urged her to convince him to get a Lyme test (and, just in case, to add the mineral in #3 to his vitamin regimen, it won't hurt, and just might solve the problems).

She came back with the worst possible answer. He's had a Lyme test, and it was negative, and he refuses to discuss it any further. Done. Negative for Lyme. Period, end. No further tests necessary. Lyme: Negative. Get off my back.

Unfortunately, false negatives (and false positives) are common with the blood tests for Lyme, especially if it's a firmly established case, where the immune system has given up on it so to speak, or where you're harboring several strains of Lyme at once. I know a bit about his habits and hobbies, and if it is Lyme, it's entirely possible he's had it for up to fifteen years. He knows all this, too. He really ought to have the skin biopsy, or even a course of treatment to see if it fixes things (which unfortunately is, in the end, the only really sure and definitive test).

So, any suggestions? How can his wife convince him to find out what's going on?

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Now, the hypochondria part.

I rarely read anything medical, because I sure as shootin' end up convinced that I've got everything. I noticed with horror this afternoon that I'm not growing any hair on the outside of both shins/side of the calf.

Failure of hair to grow on the legs is an early and subtle sign of impaired circulation in the legs.

Ack! I've got diabetes! Ack! I've got blood clots! Ack! I've got a ton of plaque all through my circulatory system on the verge of breaking loose and going to my heart or lungs and killing me! In my sleep! Ack ack!

Well, I know I don't. I know I'm probably ok on the diabetes thing, for now, anyway, because I heal faster than anyone else I know, even on my feet. And I know how to take my pulse in the foot. I've got good strong dorsal pedis and tibial pulses. But - it's significant that I had to check. Several times. And compare it to the radial pulse. And I'll probably do it fifty times before I'm satisfied.

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On hair, missing and otherwise.

Since menopause I've noticed lots of hair pattern changes. Everybody knows about the appearance of hair on the chin and upper lip, but I wasn't expecting the hair on my arms to change. It used to be fine, silky, blond, and well behaved. Since the big M it's gotten much darker, coarser, curlier, and wild. It grows every which direction, and looks like it's trying to figure out how to tangle.

On the other hand, the hair on the backs of my fingers and toes has almost disappeared.

While the hair on my lower legs is the same except for the bald patches on the outside of the shins (where my pants brush when I walk, incidentally, a more reasonable diagnosis than blot clots), the hair on my thighs is following the arm hair - longer, thicker, curlier, and it does literally tangle sometimes (remind me not to let my thighs talk to my arms).

The lady patch is receding and thinning. Much more ladylike now.

I used to have a few (ahem) chest hairs. They're gone.

My eyebrows have almost disappeared.

I haven't noticed much difference in my head hair, except for the drastic color change, and a receding hairline, but that started long before menopause.

Nobody really tells you whether all of that is normal. Except for the chin and upper lip, that is. It would be nice to know what to expect, what's normal.

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On to the nymphomania part:

Now, something amazing, just to see if you're paying attention. In my 63rd year, I discovered that women can not only have real erections, it can quadruple in length and width and stand right out there. It says "sproing" when you flick it.

I never heard about that before, anywhere. Not to that degree. I confess I've been scanning online porn (the free no download crap) trying to see if it happens to anyone else, and haven't seen it anywhere. Of course, those women aren't past menopause.

So, some questions:
* Anyone else familiar with the phenomenon?
* Is the capability something one gains after M (when the androgens outstrip estrogen), or is it always there?
*And if it was always possible, why the ever-lovin' hell did it take 63 years and a few dozen men for me to find out?

This is not TMI. It's info every woman should have. If I can do it, you can too (and no, you can't borrow my Man).
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1920 Scary Stuff

Tuesday, July 22, 2008

I got an email from PayPal today, informing me that my credit card ending in xx32 is about to expire, and I should update my PayPal profile with the new expiration date. It's true, that card is about to expire. I am certain that this email was from PayPal, not a phish, because the instructions were to independently log on to PayPal, click on the profile tab, etc.

Well, it confused me. I have several credit cards, but only one of them is used online, and that one ends in xx45. PayPal shouldn't even know about xx32.

So I went to PayPal and looked at my profile. Sure enough, xx45 is the only credit card registered with PayPal. I have never used xx32 with PayPal.

It's scary to me that PayPal knows anything about xx32, let alone that it's about to expire. It blows my mind!

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Then, a few minutes later, I noticed someone was visiting this blog through Google Reader. I was curious, so I went to Google Reader to see what it was about.

Google reader gave me a list of blogs and sites that they thought I might be interested in. I was shocked that it included local newspapers! And local venue calendars! Venues that would, in fact, interest me. Google knows where I live! They know what I like! Oh Good Grief!

Worse, I hadn't told them who I was. They must have got the info from the IP address.

I clicked on the "how we choose sites" link, which informed me that they chose those sites for me based on my browsing history.

Ack! Big Brother is watching!

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Speaking of Big Brother, I follow Jackie's TV blog for Big Brother, Survivor, and The Amazing Race. There are a group of faithful fans who have become a community, informing each other and sympathizing with the death or illness of loved ones and pets, and so on. The daughter of one of the commenters posted recently that her mother was going in for surgery.

Now here's the weird part. The mother posts using three initials, and those initials are the same as my mother's. The daughter, whom we'd never heard from before, posted using her three initials. Which are the same as mine.

Very strange coincidence.

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Saturday night at NJ's we were talking about finding people online. They know I have a blog, and asked if I wasn't worried about stalkers or something. I said that the blog doesn't have my real name or location (within 20 miles) attached, so no, it doesn't worry me. None of my email ids divulge my name. And if you happen to know my real name and "Google" it, the only hits you get are from the online newsletters, and yes, that one bothers me because, as an officer, it includes my phone number, email id, and address. But you have to know who I am first.

The more I think about that, by the way, the more it bothers me. Maybe at the next board meeting, I'll point out to the group that there's a potential exposure people (like me, for example) might object to if they realized it.

Maybe The Man is right to be so paranoid about the internet. I "Google" him every so often, and if I mention that I found him on this or that list or site, within a very short time either the site or the reference to him disappears. Stuff like fantasy football winners lists and so on. I haven't asked him how he does it, because I know he will deny any involvement and I don't want to hear a lie, but it's pretty darn amazing that he can make whole sites disappear. Even those without a "contact us" button.
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1919 Texting Parties?

Monday, July 21, 2008

I've seen this! Not at an organized party, but in bars among groups who seem to be together, and at tables in restaurants. (Well, not the second paragraph, although that might be more interesting, but certainly the first and third.)

The Man rarely checks his Blackberry when he's with me, usually maybe once at the end of an evening, and one of these days I'll have to tell him how much I appreciate that.
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1918 How We Fit Best

Monday, July 21, 2008

I've heard it said that in the longest lasting and happiest relationships, he thinks she's better looking than he is, and she thinks he's the smarter one. (It doesn't matter who is actually better looking or smarter, just what they think.)

That theory fits, I think.

Men are visual, and they want to be proud of their woman. A good looking woman, especially one better looking than he thinks he deserves, charges their batteries.

Women are more practical. They want to respect their man, and to feel he's fit to lead. They want to trust his decisions (even if he doesn't make them).

Yeah, I think it may be true.

As a cross-check, if you were to ask a man who's the better looking, and he answers that he is, and you ask the woman who's the smarter, and she answers that she is, do you have much confidence in that relationship?

I hear a train coming.

I rest my case.
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1917 I Don't Understand Hotels

Sunday, July 20, 2008

When you check into a hotel, they have your name, address, and phone number. The Man is a double elite guest with a particular chain. So not only do they know who he is before he arrives, they know how many of what type of pillows and towels he prefers, that he will require a refrigerator, and what beverage and snack to place in the room.

So, what I don't understand is how come, when something is accidentally left at checkout, how come it goes directly to the lost and found box? Worse, if it isn't claimed within hours, by the time the cleaning crew finishes that day, they are allowed to take it if they want it. Abandoned property and all that.

They KNOW who was in the room. They know how to contact us. So why don't they call and ask?

I am famous for leaving things. I don't dare leave my robe on the bathroom door hook, or I'll never see it again.

I left a robe several months ago, and realized it on the road home. I called The Man, he called the hotel, they said it was in the L&F, and I turned around and headed back. There was quite a search before it turned up.

A few weeks ago I left a robe in Corning on my trip to the father-in-law's memorial service and Jay's falls. It's gone. Forever. They had my address.

We stayed in a hotel in NJ near where The Man wanted to bowl on Thursday night. On Friday morning, I didn't put makeup on. Last night, getting ready for NJ's party, the first time I wanted to do my makeup since Thursday, I discovered I'd left my makeup case at the hotel. My favorite base. My favorite eyebrow pencil and eyeliner. (With my coloring, it's hard to find the right shade.) The only brown (NOT black or brown-black!) mascara I've been able to find. The perfect spot coverup. My favorite tweezers. My brand-new beige lipstick.

I'm devastated.

It's The Man's fault! The makeup case was next to the coffee maker, in an out-of-the-way corner of the living room, where the most convenient mirror with the best light was, and ... he didn't want coffee that morning. Stupid male. All his fault.

Why don't the hotels call and ask? Especially a double platinum guest? Who always leaves a generous tip on the dresser for the housekeepers?

Do they really think we simply abandon things of value?
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1916 Moonlight

Sunday, July 20, 2008

I went to NJ's Moonlight Madness last night. It was a very small group, only about ten of us, because it was originally scheduled for the August full moon, but she changed the date abruptly about a week ago, so it wasn't in the July newsletter, and few people were aware.

For the past twenty-plus years, NJ has hosted two events every year: Green Eggs and Ham near St. Patrick's Day, which also happens to be around Dr. Seuss's birthday, and Moonlight Madness, on the full moon in July or August. I've attended almost all of them, except for the years during and immediately after Jay's illness.

I was the first to arrive yesterday. NJ didn't look good. I noticed a box hanging on her hip and asked what it was. It was a chemotherapy pump. She has colon cancer. She had moved the date of MM because her surgery is scheduled for August. They're doing chemo and radiation first, then surgery.

She was very tired. I'm amazed that she didn't cancel MM altogether.
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1915 Snack!

Saturday, July 19, 2008


I've discovered a new snack that could be big trouble for me. Sea Salt Bagel Crisps and brie.

Just slice a bit of brie (with the skin on), and lay it on the crisp. Don't spread it. Yum! Salt, butter, creamy cheese. Yum Yum.

1914 Oil

Friday, July 18, 2008

[Public service message on]

There have been some questions about the "oil patterns" on the lanes that I mentioned in the previous post. I can't talk about it in detail, because I'm just learning, and it's all Greek to me. But I'll explain what I can.

The last time I bowled was in probably 1975, in a mixed league, in St. Louis. Public balls, rental shoes, all that. As far as we knew back then, except for the weight, all the balls were the same - round. And we didn't know anything about oil. As far as we knew, they waxed the lanes every week or something. And maybe what we thought then was true then. I don't know.

Since the old days, things have changed drastically. I guess if you're bowling for fun on a Friday evening, the balls are still just round, and the lanes are "waxed or something", who cares, and that's good enough. But not when you're bowling in tournaments for money. At that level, it gets real complicated right quick.

The different balls have different shaped and positioned weights inside that affect the way they roll, and where the finger holes are drilled affect the action further. A bowler has to know his or her own style well to choose the right balls. Here are some examples of ball specs. Click on "Full ball specs" to see the cross-section of the ball, and the expected path.

The exterior material, what the ball is made of, affects how it acts, too.

The lanes are oiled. If you've seen that flat machine crawling down a lane, that's what it's doing. It's laying oil. But the oil is not laid evenly the whole length of the lane. It's laid in patterns. Where the oil is heavy, the ball slides. Where the lane is dry, the ball encounters friction, and if it's spinning it can hook. As the tournament progresses, oil gets "carried down" the lane, and the bowler has to be aware of the changed conditions and compensate, either by changing where the ball is set down, or by using a different ball.

The Man carries six to eight 16-lb balls with him to tournaments.

This is a general description of a few common oil patterns, used on public lanes, and for amateur leagues.

The PBA tournaments use five special, and more challenging, patterns, Chameleon, Cheetah, Shark, Scorpion, and Viper. They're tough. (I'm not positive, but I get the impression that a particular tournament will use one particular pattern, advertised up front.) The five are described here. The first one up at the link is the Shark. Click on the logos to see the others.

Most people don't know all that, and like I said, I'm just learning. There's a LOT more science to it that I'm not aware of yet. The Man is frustrated because pro bowling doesn't get an audience or respect, partly because people don't understand how exacting it is, and partly because there's a low class image. Because of the image problem, PBA bowlers are not allowed to drink, smoke, or swear while in the building or on the grounds, even when practicing. There's a whole set of rules, breaking of which can get you suspended.

Another problem is that Joe Blow has a 220 average in his Tuesday night league, so he thinks he's as good as the pros. No respect for them. He doesn't know about the oil patterns in tournament bowling. They make a BIG difference. You have to think and compensate constantly.

[Public service message off]
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1913 Brazen

Friday, July 18, 2008

I went to NJ yesterday for dinner with The Man, and to watch him practice. He got two lanes, and bowled twelve straight games, rapidly, going back and forth between the two. He had requested an oil pattern he hates (Shark) because that's what he needs to work on I guess, but I was still very impressed. He's been practicing a lot more the past few weeks, and it shows.

I rushed back this morning to meet Piper for walking, and he wasn't in his office. There was a young man there answering phones, and he didn't know where Piper was, either. I left him cell messages, but haven't heard from him (although, like me, he sometimes forgets to turn the thing on). So, I'm a bit worried about him (or more accurately, his mother).

I was introduced to a new (to me) group last night - The Brazen Heads, out of Phoenix, Arizona. They're Celtic rock. See this video ("Who's Yer Paddy"). It's cute. Some people are comparing them to BNL, but I suspect maybe it's their irreverence, rather than their music.
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1912 Real estate and taxes

Thursday, July 17, 2008

Yesterday I read about and listened to discussion of New York State property taxes. The rankings range from "175% of the average", to "sixth highest in the nation", which is not the biggest concern. The greatest concern is that they keep going up, by ridiculous amounts, every year, and there's no end in sight. Most people blame the school budgets, but the county budgets contribute.

My house is paid off, so I have no mortgage or rent, but the real estate taxes on my house (which is about mid-line in value) amount to over $500 per month. And I get a senior exemption. My neighbors pay higher.

There's an amusing blog I follow - http://lovelylisting.blogspot.com/, "It's Lovely! I'll Take It!" - wherein the blogger shows photos from real estate listings, the type of photos that make you wonder what the sellers were thinking, "do they really want to sell this house?" You can click on a link in the post and go to the actual listing. I've been doing that because I like looking at houses for sale. (If showing houses was all that was required, I'd have been very happy as a realtor. Too bad you have to go out and drum up business, too. I can't do that.) Anyway, check the blog out.

So after thinking about taxes, I wondered what others were paying, and I went to some of the listings to find out. For comparison I used not what the sellers were asking for the house, but the tax assessed value. NYS counties try to use actual value (and that "actual value" is usually higher than you'd get for the house if you tried to sell it). Other places seem to use a value much smaller than the market value. So if the assessed value of a comparable house was $100k elsewhere, I multiplied the amount of tax paid by 5 to compare it to an assessed value of $500k here.

What I discovered is very upsetting.

In the Los Angeles area, Seattle, Boston, Washington DC suburbs, and everywhere else I looked, I'm paying anywhere from three to eight times what they're paying.

For what?
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1911 Heels and Nails

Wednesday, July 16, 2008

Walked with Piper again today. He's really enjoying it, the commitment thing. It's even got him back on his machines at home. Friday is our next day to walk, and it's supposed to be well over 90 with high humidity. I said I wasn't sure I wanted to walk in that, but he wants to, even if it's a shorter walk, so, against my better judgment, I got guilted into agreeing. [That sentence got edited. It originally said I got quilted into it. I looked at it a long time, aware there was something wrong with it, but I couldn't figure out what. It almost made sense; "guilted" isn't a word, and "quilted" is, and that's part of the problem.]

So anyway, just in case, being of mostly sound mind, I leave all my worldly goods to my daughter.

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Back when I went to work every day, I wore high heels and nail polish. When I retired, I swore no more heels over 1.5", and no more nail polish. The heels prohibition lasted 11 years, and I haven't worn nail polish in 14 years.

When you wear nail polish every day, your nails turn yellow, so you are almost forced to polish them, even though it gets to be a royal pain. In the winter my nails are brittle, and stay shortish, and the polish lasts five or six days before it gets too chipped. In the summer, my nails are more flexible, easily get to one inch long, and by the third day, polish is all chipped and flaking off. Which wouldn't be too bad except that for some reason polish takes forever to dry on my nails. I can't do anything else for like three hours when I polish them. I've tried the drying sprays and olive oil, but they seem to make the polish too hard on the flexing nails, so it chips even sooner.

Well, about two years ago I start easing into higher heels again.

Today, I don't know why, I bought nail polish and did my nails.

I think I'm slowly losing my mind.
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1910 Lotsa reading

Tuesday, July 15, 2008

I went to dinner with Mensa this evening, to a vegetarian/vegan restaurant in Tivoli. I had a veggie stir fry with a coconut milk sauce and rice noodles. It was pretty good, but, sorry, the chunks of tofu in it just don't satisfy the carnivore in me.

The conversation was pretty good (there were nine of us). John was talking about an enormous snapping turtle in his pond, that he's been trying to kill, "bullets just bounce right off him". That lead to a conversation between him and the guy next to him about hunting in general, deer in particular, which spread to our end of the table. Angie and I later realized with horror that this conversation was being carried on in a vegan restaurant! I'm surprised we got out of there alive.

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I spent most of today reading comments on a British "Guardian" article. I rarely (well, almost never) read comments on online American articles, because the sheer stupidity, illiteracy, jingoism, nastiness, and posturing of the American public, or at least those who comment on articles, sicken me. British comments are worth reading, and I got pulled in.

The article itself is "Do Muslim Women Need Liberating?", by Nesrine Malik. It's simply a report of a panel discussion she'd attended. The comments were more interesting than the article. There are more than 300 now, and I read them all (you have to click on "Go to all comments" to read the early ones, which are the best. About halfway through a guy called "Liberator" joins in, and the discussion disintegrates.)

This is a comment from "Shellshock" that gave me food for thought:

I think the reason that people get so het up about the hijab and burka etc is the question of what extent they are truly exercising 'choice'. In the same way I would question a woman who 'chooses' to become a lap dancer, or to expose her body for the purpose of titillatiing men.

On what precept are women making these choices? Have cabals of women sat down and decided these are desirable things to do, or do they stem from living under a patriarchal system where a womans body is seen as a piece of meat either to be covered in order to control male desire, or to uncover to precipitate male desire. In each case the decision is made on a value system that views women through the male gaze, and not through the experience of women, nor does either practice (robing and disrobing) bring any discernible benefit to women collectively.

I see both practices, covering up and undressing to be a sexually provocative act. The covered up is acknowledging her sexuality in the same way as the undressed, the only difference is that the undressed is more honest about it. Because women who express excessive piety and obedience towards their religion are elevated over the sluts and get more brownie points (and small advances in their freedoms from the men), but at the root of their actions is to behave according to a male outlook on how women should behave in the mans world.

Many of the comments about the "choice" to wear the hijab reminded me of the Suburban St. Louis housewife who declared, in 1972, when the US women's liberation movement was going strong, that she "[didn't] need liberating, because my husband lets me do anything I want." We all sat there and stared at her, because we realized there was no way we could explain to her what was wrong with that statement. I was finding that same blindness in women who claimed that they "choose" to wear the hijab. Or who hold their daughter down for a clitorectomy.

There was a lot of discussion about how much (clothing laws, legal restrictions, honor killings, female genital mutilation, etc.) is due to Islam, and how much is cultural, independent of Islam. I learned a lot.

One thing I didn't know is that until the early '70s, there was no requirement that women be covered. It started in Egypt, of all places.

Later in the comments there's a discussion of the theory that terrorism, especially suicide bombing, is fueled by a combination of "honor killing" and male sexual frustration. If it is honorable to kill your own sister, daughter, or mother for breaking religious laws, then it's so much easier to kill infidels.

Well, that was my day.

And now I want to go out and shake some sense and pride into all those girls in minuscule skirts with their belly buttons and boobs hanging out. By whose definition is that "good"?
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1909 Confused about corn

Tuesday, July 15, 2008

I've been hearing and reading about how world food costs are going up, mainly because corn and soy are going to biofuels instead of the table. (Gasoline costs affect the US, but in the rest of the world gasoline has always been high.)

The other day I went shopping for what we used to call "TV dinners" - you know, those Stouffer's and Lean Cuisine things - because I wanted to stock up on food that took no effort. Lately, I have been going days at a time without eating at all, other than trail mix (fruit, nut, and oat mix), yogurt, tea, and coffee, and if I want to work on losing weight, that doesn't help, because it lowers my metabolism and puts my body into "efficient" mode. If I had some things I could throw into the microwave, and then throw the dish away instead of washing it, I'd have no excuse not to eat. Excuses are easy for me, because I don't often feel "hunger". (And yes, I do feel guilty about buying frozen dinners. I do know better. But we're working with a resistance to housework here, so unless you're willing to come and cook and clean for me, hush yo' mouth.)

I'm a big veggie eater. I want my veggies. I also need meat, or it's not a meal. So my shopping qualifications were "meat, and lots of green and/or yellow vegetables". I couldn't find much of anything acceptable.

I had a choice of like 35 offerings. Many of them contained no vegetables, just meat, cheese, and bread. A very large percentage of the ones that were supposed to be full meals had for vegetables only potatoes and corn.

Potatoes AND corn? Yeah, mashed, boiled, or roasted potatoes are good for you, and corn is good, but NOT together (they're both starches) and NOT instead of carrots, spinach, squash, eggplant, onions, broccoli, cauliflower, green beans, wax beans, parsnips, asparagus, cabbage, beets, peas, green pepper, ... all the other stuff they could have put in there instead.

It can't be that corn and potatoes are the cheapest things available, not if the biofuels thing is true. So why is all that corn there? It has to be that that's what the public will buy.

If the IGA frozen foods case is an example of what people are willing to buy, we're in trouble.
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1908 Walking with Piper

Monday, July 14, 2008

Piper and I have started our exercise commitment. We're going to walk three times a week. He has a treadmill, but rarely manages to work up the enthusiasm. I'll get out and walk (let's not discuss my treadmill, buried under mending in the bedroom), but I'll accept any excuse not to. So we're going to keep each other honest.

Today was our first day. It took 15 minutes to get him off the phone and out of the office. Once we got going it was nice. It seems a lot shorter with company.

We walked through a residential area, and then back into the middle of the village, and that's when we got bogged down. He had to stop and talk to everyone we passed, and supervise construction projects, and window shop, and so on. It doesn't really matter, it's the distance not the time that matters to weight loss, but the point is to use no more time than he would usually take for a relaxed lunch. If it eats up too much of his day it could become onerous.

My goal Wednesday will be to get a walk in, and a quick lunch, and deposit him back in his office by 1 pm, just to show him it can be done. I'll take him on a loop that avoids most of the village center. It goes through the cemetery, but at least those folks don't converse.
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1907 Sundays destroyed

Sunday, July 13, 2008

And here's why I don't dare get cable. A local TV station shows movies on Sunday - usually very odd movies that I'd never heard of before - and I end up watching the flippin' movies instead of getting anything else done.

Today was "Drop Dead Gorgeous". It was full of little throw-away lines that cracked me up.

Like, the second runnerup prize in a town beauty pageant was a $50 scholarship to "the Vo-Tek of her choice".

And after Tammy was killed in a farm vehicle accident, and it was ruled "smoking and driving", Amber knows it was murder because, "Well, yeah, Tammy liked to drive her dad's thresher. She said the heavy vibrations helped clear her mind. But I know Tammy only smoked AFTER a good drive."

More good lines here.

I've got to get a copy and share it with anyone I can pin down for 90 minutes!

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Later - Ack! "Lost in Space" the movie is on now, with Joey, from "Friends". I tuned in in the middle, and didn't recognize it until the robot said "Danger, Will Robinson!"

The funniest thing about this offering is how seriously the actors are taking their characters. I'm cracking up again! Shades of Joey playing his soap opera character Dr. Drake Ramoray.
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1906 My car is heavy.

Sunday, July 13, 2008

I just went to the auction house and picked up my table.

They put the base in the trunk, and I think I can get that out alone. The top went into the back seat, resting on the floor and leaning against the seat, and that's going to be a problem.

Last night, when I looked at it pre-auction, I hefted one side of the top - it wasn't attached to the base - and I was able to lift it easily with one hand. Underneath, it looked and felt like gray wood, so I figured it was a marble veneer on wood (and what the bidding went like would have bolstered that thought).

Whoa! Was I wrong! It's marble on lesser quality marble. It's solid marble, even the edges. So I've got a 1.5" x 39.5" slap of solid marble in my back seat. It took two strong men to wrestle it into the car. I haven't the faintest idea how I'm going to get it out.

I may have to put in an SOS call to the Hairless Hunk.
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1905 Auction

Saturday, July 12, 2008

So, I went to the auction. Amazing.

I'm aware that the economy is tanking. I most certainly have noticed gas and food prices. But tonight really hammered it home.

One of the reasons I hadn't gone to any of George's auctions in a long while is that he has gained quite a reputation, and, especially in the summer, he gets interior designers from NYC and Westchester coming in. They bid high, because they already have customers for the stuff, and will just pass the cost on to them. George also gets antique dealers from all around the five county area. The past several years, there have been no bargains for little folk like me.

The auction hall is usually full to bursting, all seats full and people standing around the walls. Of the 450-500 items he usually has, only a few items get no bids (usually carnival glass).

Tonight, the seats were maybe 1/3 full, and many perfectly nice things got no bids.

I don't understand it, because the items were unusual and beautiful, and in great condition, even the primitives. Except for instances like the auction of the Bob Guccione mansion contents, we are never told where the stuff came from. From the looks of things tonight, I'd say a high-end antique shop went out of business.

Becs, your Gustav Stickley #637 oak library table:

went for $600. (The light patches are just in the photo.) They had a page from the original Stickley catalog showing that table, and it was listed at $25 ($38 with a leather top).

The following photos are a Biedermeier dining set. It's not my taste, but the Biedermeier style tends to be high quality, solid and heavy, and gorgeous wood. Individual pieces normally sell for over $2,000.
The buffet:

China cabinet (light spots are reflection off the shine):
Server:
Table:

The entire set sold for $300. Even if one doesn't need a dining room set, you could throw a mattress on the table and use it as a bedroom suit!

The next two are late nineteenth/early twentieth century sets. The upholstery on the first set glowed. It is a very pretty set. The second set is mahogany with mother of pearl inlay that I could see working perfectly in a modern foyer. I believe George dropped to as low as $50 as an opening bid, but I don't think either of them sold.



My haul? I bought this table:

and paid a tenth of what I was willing to go for it. The top is marble. The base looks like carved wood, but is actually ceramic. It's 29" high, and about 38" across, I think.

I also bought a lamp. All the above photos were scarfed from George's website, but he didn't have a photo of my lamp out there. There were about 500 items at auction, but he had photos of only a handful. This picture happens to be one I found online and saved several months ago when I was searching for a Victorian-looking lamp for my desk. It was exactly what I was looking for, but it was several thousand dollars.

The lamp I bought tonight is very similar. It's genuine circa 1920s, not a reproduction, rewired, black instead of brass, the base is a bit less gloppy, and the lilies are yellow shading into orange. I like it.

$150.

I almost fell off my chair.

George was not happy.

1904 Saturday

Saturday, July 12, 2008

Last night was nice. Perfect weather, perfect companion, enjoyable performance.

Maybe we don't see each other enough. We always walk hand-in-hand, this after 16 months of dating. We held hands during the play - doubly. He held my left in his left on his lap, and my right in his right on my lap. It feels like we're too old for that kind of thing, yet I can't imagine it otherwise.

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I overheard a conversation in the bank. It's actually a credit union, and membership has its benefits, like signature loans. I have a standing arrangement whereby I can write a check up to several thousand over my balance anytime it's necessary, and it's covered by a loan.

A man who looked about late 20s or early 30s walked in and asked for a signature loan, very important that he have the money immediately. The rep asked if he was a member, and he said no. She said he'd have to be a member to be eligible for a loan with no security. He asked how to be a member. She said, "You open an account."

He produced a third party check for $100, which he said he would deposit to open an account. He then went on to say that he'd keep the account until he got the loan, and then he'd close the account and leave the $100 there. "You can keep it." It was important that he get the money today.

Ok, I can believe a youngish guy not knowing how banks work, but he was accompanied by an older woman, who, from the way she spoke to him I believe was probably his mother. She was carrying an infant. I can't believe she thought this ploy would work.

I finished my business and left with my head reeling before the end of the conversation.
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1903 Shakesp3are

Friday, July 11, 2008

The Man and I are meeting in Garrison tonight, to attend a performance of Twelfth Night at Boscobel.

It's an experience. There's video here from the Cymbeline performance (which I will be going to with Mensa in about two weeks) that gives a small hint. The dark arcs you see are the edges of the tent. They use the inside of the tent and the lawn beyond as the stage, with the Hudson River and West Point as a backdrop.

The tent:

I have a thousand things to do between now and 5:30, like clean the litter boxes, deposit some checks, wash hair and clean me up, find something appropriate to wear preferably not from the laundry pile, pick up stuff from the post office, clean out the car, put together a recycle load for tomorrow, and map the route.

So, g'bye.
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1902 Splitting Up

Thursday, July 10, 2008

A note on the previous post - Jay was clean on everything tested, all the hepatitis variations, all the STDs, everything. The only surprise was that he had only one kidney, and a dried-up walnut where the other one should have been.

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The sisters are dividing up the late father-in-law's estate. One sister wanted to sell all the stock and distribute the cash. One sister wanted to distribute the shares, because the market is in the toilet. I don't know what the third sister wanted, but they decided to distribute shares.

There's really no difference, even if the market is so bad, because although it's a bad time to sell, it's also a good time to buy, so it doesn't make much difference to me. The one thing you don't want to do is sell and then just let the cash sit.

So anyway, I got the word that I'm to open an online brokerage account to receive my shares. I spent some time doing that today. (I don't like the brokerage they chose - I think their costs are too high, but I don't expect to be with them long.)

There's one thing that disturbs me about distributing shares. If the stock is sold and the proceeds distributed, then everyone gets the same. If, however, shares are distributed, there is a potential for inequity.

Depending on the history and future of the company, $1 worth of stock in company ABC can be of greater intrinsic value than $1 worth of stock in company XYZ. For example, there's a big difference between $1000 in Exxon (future recovery), and $1000 in Millennium Cell (possible bankruptcy).

I don't know how many different stocks they're looking at (having been ousted from the executor position I'm no longer privy to that information until the accounting), but I sent them a note suggesting that shares be distributed by count in any one company. Divide the number of shares by the number of portions, distribute to the parties proportionately, sell any remainder (a maximum of six shares in every case), and distribute the sales proceeds. That's fair, everybody gets exactly the same, and it heads off any later claims of inequity.

Mainly, I want to let them know that I will object to any division that leaves me with all the crap stocks, even if the current value is nominally the same. And I can't assume they already thought of that.
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1901 Yeah, Sure.

Wednesday, July 9, 2008

There are a lot of public service spots on TV urging people to get tested for HIV. They assure people that it's simple, no big deal, and absolutely private.

Well, when Jay was scheduled for his first brain surgery, they wanted him tested for everything under the sun, including three different strains of HIV. Three. I didn't know that three different tests were required for a clean slate. When the results came back (after a week), the local lab had screwed up and tested for only two of the three, because they weren't equipped for the third but didn't see fit to tell us that up front, and we had to make a rush trip to Albany Medical Center to have the third redone on an urgent basis.

I was left with a question no one has answered. Three tests? Three strains? The surgeon said that the usual test is geared toward the most common strain, and does not detect other strains. So, um, does this mean that if a person tells you they've had a recent test and it was clean, that means only that he/she doesn't have the most common strain?

It also looks like the medical community is more concerned with protecting their own people than the general public. Did YOU know that there are multiple strains (perhaps more than three by now), and getting a clean test doesn't mean you're uninfected? Yeah. Didn't think you did.

And maybe it was simple, just drawing some blood, but it was not something we wanted to repeat, not at the local hospital lab, anyway, because of the way we were treated.

When we first went in, the woman behind the counter was pleasant and cheerful, "isn't it a nice day?", offered us juice, said she was able to take him right in, blah, blah. And then we handed her the prescription form.

She took one look, stopped smiling, and gave Jay a dirty look. Didn't bring the juice. She disappeared behind a door, and we overheard an argument over whose turn it was. Two more women stuck their heads around the corner of the door to take a look at us. She came back out, and was not merely short, she was downright nasty. Double gloves. "Sit here. Stick your arm out." Prod prod. "Other arm."

My big strong husband was afraid of needles, and his blood vessels tended to hide, and nurses who knew him knew to be patient and gentle, or he'd faint on them. She tortured him, and seemed to like it. It was a very bad experience. He was pale and shaking when we left.

I guess she judged him as a not-nice person, what with needing THREE strains of HIV tested for. She wouldn't have treated anyone like that who came in for a blood count or whatever, even if that person was more likely to actually have undiagnosed HIV. The prescription pad said "Bad and Dangerous" to her.

Where did you get your training, lady? ALL blood is dangerous.

She was highly unprofessional, and downright nasty, and I'd have liked to report her, except that we knew we'd have to go back for other tests (like Dilantin levels) in the future.

So, I can't understand why more people don't saunter in and get tested.... /sarcasm off/
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1900 Zapping Ivy

Tuesday, July 8, 2008

I bought Roundup today and zapped all the poison ivy I could find. And then I found more. I've got the small-leaved low-growing variety, and the medium-leaved bush variety, and the huge-leaved tree-climbing variety.

Back when the Hairless Hunk cleared all the vines off the trees in the side yard (Virginia Creeper, wild grape, and poison ivy), he just cut them at ground level. I told him then that I wanted the roots killed, so he should either spray them before cutting or cut and then paint the fresh cuts with turpentine or kerosene, because if you don't kill the roots, they'll come back even stronger. A young plant with a huge root system can grow very fast.

He didn't do either.

Sigh.


The small rather attractive "tree" in front of the tall tree is actually poison ivy growing up the tall tree, back before it got cut down. The bottom of the poison ivy leaves is about 7 feet above the ground. It's now growing back, and the individual leaves are about 10" long. It's laughing at me and my puny spray bottle of Roundup.
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1899 Lesson Learned

Monday, July 7, 2008

When you're rushing to get out of the house, and you're going to see The Man, and you're in the shower, and you're shaving your legs and therefore have a razor in your hand, and you can feel some coarse hairs on your chin, but you don't think you have time to tweeze, DO NOT, under any circumstances, shrug and shave your chin.

Two days later, ingrown hairs.

Ick.
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1898 Nothin'

Sunday, July 6, 2008

We went nowhere in particular, and we did nothing special, and it was good.

Now I'm tired and hungry.
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1897 The flowers are trying

Friday, July 4, 2008

That section where I had planted the wildflower seeds? Where I got all upset a few weeks ago when the guys MOWED! the sprouting flowers? The flowers are trying.

I could hardly believe my eyes this afternoon when I saw tiny California Poppies. The red blossoms are between a half inch and three-quarters of an inch wide, on stems perhaps three inches tall, covering the planted area. They should be two feet tall with palm-sized blossoms, but I'm sure they're poppies. Accidentally bonsai'd poppies, I guess. I recognize the leaves and flowers.

So I looked harder, and there are four more types of plants flowering, some yellow, two kinds of white, some blue. They're all so tiny it's hard to tell what they are, but I'm so proud of them anyway. They're really determined.

But, um, that was supposed to be a shade mix. Poppies?
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1896 Oops

Friday, July 4, 2008

It's 73 degrees, still, sunny, and not too humid outside. Perfect for beating back the weeds.

I had three of those long-handled loppers. Now I seem to have none. I wonder if the guys who cleared the side yard "found" any.

Anyway, I was out there pulling up Virginia Creeper vines trailing through the front (laughingly-called) flower bed, grabbing handfulls of vine and leaning back at a 45 degree angle to pop pop pop them out of the ground, when I looked down and found that one of those vines had three leaves, not five.

Oops.

I've handled poison ivy before without reacting, but I've also heard that at some point your luck runs out. I washed. I abandoned the weeding. We'll see.

If I do get a rash, it won't be for a few days, but already I itch all over, even places that couldn't possibly have had contact. I do that. All I have to do is see a spider in my bedroom, or find a tick on the dog, and all night long I feel things walking on me.

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The Man is working today. He's got a contract with a foreign company that doesn't observe American holidays ("Ok", I shrug). I'll see him tomorrow.

How come I keep getting involved with guys who aren't available on holidays, let alone 3-day weekends? I've gotta fix that. Next time around. At least this guy I believe when he tells me where he is and what he's doing, unlike the last guy, who told me he was visiting his ailing parents all the time, but actually was spending weekends and holidays with his other girlfriend.

Of course, there's that tiny voice in the back of my head, whispering, "You don't really know. He may just be better at hiding things." I guess that's the problem with long distance relationships.
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1895 Got a Shock

Thursday, July 3, 2008

Here I've been waiting and waiting for that economic stimulus check that "most Americans" will get, being such a good economic stimulator myself and all, and finally I went to https://sa1.www4.irs.gov/irfof/IRServlet?app=IRACTC&selectLanguage=en to see if I could figure out when I'd be getting the stimulus check.

This is the answer I got:

• "You did not qualify for the Stimulus payment because your Adjusted Gross Income was too high."

Huh?

So I researched. My adjusted gross household income is only a hair above the middle of the charts, which isn't all that high when you consider all the folks toward the bottom with zero income. A family of four would have difficulty on my adjusted gross income. I'm comfortable because about a third of my income is from tax free investments, which aren't included in the adjusted gross (I don't think, unless The Angel screwed it up), and my house is paid off.

So does this mean half the households don't get a check? If you listen to all the taking heads, they make it sound like everybody but CEO-types, that top 3% who earn half the total, would get something.

I don't understand.

[I'm not the only one. Piper thinks he's getting a check, too, and his income is five times mine.]
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1894 Gotta Go

Thursday, July 3, 2008

This is the catalog for an auction scheduled for Saturday, July 12. I can't believe how beautiful some of the stuff is. I WANT!!! to go, but don't know if I can make it.

I'm making squealing noises.
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1893 Gotta Watch

Thursday, July 3, 2008

I'm almost ashamed to admit how much I enjoyed this video. I sent it to The Man, and he cried. And shot soda out his nose.

If you've ever dealt with IT support - those guys you call somewhere in the bowels of your building when something isn't working right - you'll appreciate it too. Or if you've ever tried to help a clueless end user.

Set aside 10 minutes. The control bar is at the bottom of the display. Probably not worksafe. It starts out slow and hard to understand, but it gets better.

Just to whet your curiosity, the tagline people take away from it is "You can't arrange things by penis!"

http://bitcast-b.bitgravity.com/websitedown/index.html
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1892 Gotta Read

Thursday, July 3, 2008

Every so often I mention Scott Adams' blog (yeah, the Dilbert guy). I read it precisely for observations like this, from his post "Ignorance is Underrated":

"...ten percent of American voters think Obama is a muslim. Your first thought might be that this misunderstanding could influence who becomes the next president of the United States. But ask yourself if any of the people who think Obama is a muslim are likely to vote for a black Democrat under any circumstance. I'm guessing that the ignorance of those voters on that particular point will have no impact on anything."

and

"When it comes to picking our next president, I can't decide if I prefer the smooth-talking, inspirational candidate who promises to give my money to people who don't work as hard as I do, or the old, short, ugly, angry guy with one good arm who graduated at the bottom of his class and somehow managed to shag a hot heiress and become a contender for president. It seems dangerous to underestimate that guy."

Droll. Very droll.
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1891 Beautiful Bridges

Twelve very beautiful and amazing bridges, here.
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1890 Does Vermont Have a Death Penalty?

Wednesday, July 2, 2008

...if not, somebody hand me a gun.

http://www.abcnews.go.com/US/WireStory?id=5295345&page=1
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1889 Too Old?

Wednesday, July 2, 2008 (early am)

Boy, I almost blew it tonight! I went to the drive-up ATM after midnight, when I realized I was completely out of cash. I got some money, counted it, put it in my purse, and was about to pull out when I glanced at the ATM, and saw that it was asking if I wanted another transaction.

I almost left with my card still in, and the pin in effect! Someone could have pulled in after me, checked my balance, and withdrawn to the limit.

I've never done that before. Am I getting old?

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Speaking of age -

I no longer have an active profile on Match.com, not for at least a year, but they still send me emails with photos and briefs on "matches we have selected for you". One guy worries me.
His age is 55. He's looking for women 50 to 60. He "definitely wants to have kids". Huh?

Maybe someone should explain a few things to him.
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1888 UFOs and Komando

Tuesday, July 1, 2008

From Yahoo News, "Top Ten Unexplained Phenomena":

"There is no doubt that UFOs (Unidentified Flying Objects) exist - many people see things in the skies that they cannot identify, ranging from aircraft to meteors. Whether or not any of those objects and lights are alien spacecraft is another matter entirely; given the fantastic distances and effort involved in just getting to Earth from across the universe, such a scenario seems unlikely. Still, while careful investigation has revealed known causes for most sighting reports, some UFO incidents will always remain unexplained."

Um, "careful investigation has revealed known causes for most sighting reports"? Snork! My father worked on Pr0ject Blueb00k. I have read reports stamped red "Top Secret" lying on the dining room table. I know what that "careful investigation" consisted of, and where those "known causes" came from. I even contributed to some of them. Bull poopy. Lots of wild duck blue sky made up pure fancy they don't really have any idea bull poopy.

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Long ago I used to listen to and enjoy Kim Komando on the radio. I haven't heard her in ages and almost forgot about her. She has a website, and, among other things, posts a video-of-the-day every day, amazing or funny stuff. Her taste is similar to mine, 2 out of 3, anyway. If you like that sort of thing, visit (or get the feeds for) http://videos.komando.com/. Today's is kind of blah, but you can get to the backlog by using the calendar on the right.
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1887 Que?

Monday, June 30, 2008

(Chatty today, aren't I?) This photo of Dav1d B3ckham is all over the internet, with several women calling it enticing, teasing, "his wife is lucky", and so on.



My response is a snort of derision. There's a reason I call the man "The Man".
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1886 Que

Monday, June 30, 2008

You know those strings of letters you have to enter when you post a comment? The ones to foil spammers?

To whom do I write to get them to ban "q"s and/or "g"s? Or at least use a font where they are very different. I cannot ever tell the difference between lower case "Q" and lower case "G", especially when they're distorted! I always get it wrong, even when I second guess myself and chose whichever I think it isn't. I ask for another string, and sometimes I go through several strings before they offer one without either of those letters.

In a real word, I can generally tell, although words like quilt and guilt still need more context. (Sometimes I even spell those words wrong. I confuse them. I often feel quilty about things, and throw guilts on my bed.)
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1885 Bloomers

Monday, June 30, 2008

The ladies on The View today were all upset about sexy clothing in little-girl sizes. Like low-slung panties for wearing with low-rider jeans, or jeans with "Cutie" across the rear end. (Whoopie sensibly pointed out that if nobody bought them, nobody would sell them.)

I was reminded of my middle-school years in Ottawa, Canada, 1954 to 1958.

The other girls in my class were fascinated by my American underwear. I wore ordinary waist-to-crotch fitted cotton knit panties. They all wore bloomers, very baggy full woven cotton or fine wool knit pants that went from the waist to just above or below the knee. Like short harem pants.

They thought my underpants were incredibly daring. Scandalous, even.

(The bloomers above are available at http://www.crimsongypsy.com/bloomers.htm.)
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1884 Jay's Falls

Monday, June 30, 2008

Ah, the arrogance of youth. That inability to understand or accept the inevitability of frailty. I was guilty of it.

It was only six years ago that I selected the cliff above Murray Reynolds Falls, on the Kitchen Creek falls trail (read the trip report at that link) in Ricketts Glen state park, as the ideal spot for Jay's ashes. The trail from Lake Jean down to the Route 118 parking lot is 3.2 miles, with 23 named falls. Murray Reynolds is the lowest falls before Rt. 118 (there's one more below 118, which the web site linked above doesn't count).

I chose Murray Reynolds for two reasons.

Jay loved it because there's a large round, deep, quiet, clear pool at the foot of the falls, and one day when we passed it, dogs were swimming in the pool, barking happily, fetching sticks thrown by their people. Our first view was from the cliff, looking down on the scene. Murray Reynolds is safe and fun for dogs, and it would be nice to have his ashes in a dog-fun spot.

The second reason was because Murray Reynolds is the first falls up from Rt. 118, and there's very little rock scrambling necessary to get to it, so (and here's where the foolish arrogance comes in) I figured that when I got old and decrepit I'd still be able to make it at least that far.

I'm not completely decrepit yet, but I realized yesterday that I'm not what I used to be, and I had the first intimations that there may be worse to come.

Six years ago I was in pretty incredible shape. I'd just come off a year of lifting, turning, exercising Jay's 6'3" 200+ pound body. I had muscles on muscles, and stamina to match. The trail from the top down is 3.2 miles, with a 1000' foot drop. The trail goes up and down, but mostly down. In my teens, when I had lived on top of the mountain, I'd bike to the trail head, walk down, and then turn around and walk back up. (Actually, that was before the state cut steps into the cliffs. Back then, you climbed up and down the cliffs with the aid of ropes tied to trees.)

In my adulthood, I'd go with a friend, so we could park cars at the top and bottom, and then walk down. (Note it's not all down. Some places go up steeply, then down some more.)

Yesterday I was alone. So I walked from the bottom up to the first and second falls. I had no difficulty yesterday, it was an easy walk, but it was very clear to me that there would come a day when I wasn't going to be able to do it. One detail that I'd missed six years ago is that it's a little over 1.6 miles from Rt. 118 to Murray Reynolds. Round trip, that's 3.2 miles, same as the full trail, AND it's half UP! And some sections are steep and narrow.

I made it with no problem, but there will come a day when I can't.

I got to commune with Jay a bit. His presence was not as strong as it has been in the past (I've noticed that generally over the past few years, but he'd always been strongest there). But I did feel him there. A few things became clearer to me. I'm not sure whether Jay "told" me - I didn't get that "other" voice in my head - or whether my mind was thinking with more clarity beside the falls, but I got the answers I was looking for.

And it didn't rain.


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1883 Bloglines has gone crazy

Sunday, June 29, 2008

I apologize to anyone who gets Bloglines updates. Bloglines has gone crazy and may have dumped 200 posts into your update reader.

I just want you to know that this is NOT as a result of anything I have done. Bloglines simply went crazy all by itself.
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1882 Dangling Participle

Sunday, June 29, 2008

I am amused by a sign in the hotel elevator, the first line in the "Firefighters' Instructions".

I'd love to make some kind of joke about it, but I seem to be constitutionally unable to do so. I read other people's blogs, and am often amazed by an ability to turn a phrase, to make some mundane thing funny, to make a verbal connection between two unrelated thoughts with only a few words, creating an amusing picture. I wonder, "How did they think of that?"

I have what has often been described as a dry sense of humor. I see the humor in a situation, but I'm often unable to convey it in a humorous (to others) way. Half the time people don't "get" my jokes, because they're not aware I'm joking. I don't get laughter - I get a raised eyebrow. I don't think I could make a pun to save my life.

My humor is not just dry, it's strange. I find many dangling participles hilarious. Most people skim right past dangling participles because "they know what they mean". I don't know whether it's my learning disability, or my insistence on rule following, or what, but I read literally, and dangling participles confuse me. They create strange pictures in my mind. I can't just skim right past them.

[Quick lesson. A dangling participle is a verb phrase which modifies a subject (not precise, but good enough), but it seems to have a subject that is not the one the speaker or writer meant. For example, "Walking through the woods, the trees were beautiful." The trees were walking through the woods?]

So my frustration here is that the sign in the elevator cracks me up, but I don't know how to share it. I may be the only person who finds it funny. If anyone can make it funny in a comment, please do. Here are the elements:

Firefighters' Instructions.
First line of instructions: "WHEN FLASHING, EXIT ELEVATOR"
I giggled at the mental picture.
I laughed out loud when I realized I was giggling at a dangling participle.

Have at it.
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