2752 Grazer Trivia

Wednesday, January 20, 2010

The hand is the cutting edge of the mind.
-- Jacob Bronowski --

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This is cool. I had noticed that cattle grazing in a field almost all seemed to be facing the same direction. I'd always thought it was just that they were all moving the same direction.

The folks at Princeton have discovered that the direction is always north/south.

From the paper "Magnetic alignment in grazing and resting cattle and deer", 04/2008, at http://www.pnas.org/content/early/2008/08/22/0803650105.abstract:

We demonstrate by means of simple, noninvasive methods (analysis of satellite images, field observations, and measuring “deer beds” in snow) that domestic cattle (n = 8,510 in 308 pastures) across the globe, and grazing and resting red and roe deer (n = 2,974 at 241 localities), align their body axes in roughly a north–south direction.

That's magnetic, rather than geographic, north/south.

This observation was followed by an Oxford paper, "Extremely low-frequency electromagnetic fields disrupt magnetic alignment of ruminants", 02/2009, at http://www.pnas.org/content/106/14/5708.abstract:

Here, we show that extremely low-frequency magnetic fields (ELFMFs) generated by high-voltage power lines disrupt alignment of the bodies of these animals with the geomagnetic field. Body orientation of cattle and roe deer was random on pastures under or near power lines. Moreover, cattle exposed to various magnetic fields directly beneath or in the vicinity of power lines trending in various magnetic directions exhibited distinct patterns of alignment.

So, power companies, want to tell us again about how power lines don't affect bird migrations, or bee navigation, or cattle health, or development of children, or leukemia, or autism, because they "obviously" have no effect on any living tissue?

An unaddressed thought - A lot of cows don't graze loose in fields, but are fed in barns or from bins next to the fence. For happier cows, should we arrange the "table" so the cows are facing north or south when they dine?
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2751 Perspectives

Wednesday, January 20, 2010

You can't shake hands with a clenched fist.
-- Indira Gandhi --

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In my humble opinion, people who are against any kind of health care reform fall into at least one of the following groups:

1. don't understand what the problem is,
2. don't understand what the possible solutions are,
3. profit under the current system,
4. are heardhearted SOBs who figure I've got mine and anybody who didn't manage their lives as well as I did can't have any of mine 'cause I ain't giving anything away, (and yes, they exist, I know personally three people who have expressed that opinion).

The current proposal is a piece of crap that attempts to appease all four groups. I am annoyed because there has been no attempt to educate people. Sob stories is not educational. If anything, sob stories just harden number fours.

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I watch "Antiques Roadshow". When someone has something special, appraised at some large number, like a 150-year-old quilt at $25,000, my first thought is "Wow, that's a lot!" Then my second thought is "That's less than one year at an ivy-league college."

Folks are running all kinds of benefits for Haiti now. I heard that some local concert had raised $300,000 dollars, and I thought "Gee, that's a lot!" It had to come from people who have it to give, right?

I wondered, if Haiti hadn't happened, why couldn't charity concerts like that be used to help people who have lost jobs, who are losing houses? Not everyone in foreclosure bought more house than they can afford. Three months of unemployment can lose the house. You can do everything right, and still get shot in the foot. It's not a personal failing. I've heard that health care costs is one of the leading causes of personal bankruptcy.

But I guess bragging that you gave for Haiti has more cachet than saying you helped save a house for a family of five - even though the family had no more control over what happened to them than the Haitians did.

And then there's Scott Brown, the guy who won Ted Kennedy's seat. He campaigned on a promise to kill the healthcare reform bill. Campaigning is very costly, and yet he has several million left over! Those were donations, from people who have it to give. And they gave it to stop health care reform. Guess which group(s) above they probably fall into.

I'm getting the impression that Americans, who like to think they are very generous as a people, will give only for the kudos, or to protect what they have. They'll buy praise, or they'll protect their asses, but they don't give to whoever needs just because it's needed.

I don't understand.

Go kiss someone working in a soup kitchen. They may not have it to give, but they give anyway.
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2750 Crystal Columns

Tuesday, January 19, 2010

Love is the only game you are sure to lose by declining to play.

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Cave, full of huge translucent crystals. Fascinating story with amazing video: http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/science/nature/8466493.stm

Further detail: http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/science/nature/6518161.stm

2749 Old Photos

Tuesday, January 19, 2010

Men never do evil so completely and cheerfully
as when they do it from religious conviction.
-- Blaise Pascal --

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Shorpy.com | History in HD is a vintage photography blog featuring thousands of high-definition images from the 1850s to 1950s. The site is named after Shorpy Higginbotham, a teenage coal miner who lived 100 years ago.

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It's snowing. I hate winter.
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2748 Mumps?

Sunday, January 17, 2010

Barbara Kingsolver's character Adah in The Poisonwood Bible points out that God created vermin and microbes as well as humans, and "He's not necessarily rooting for just the humans."

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I'm eating coffee yogurt, and something very odd is happening. With every spoonful, I get biting pain under both sides of my tongue. The glands under my jaw are swollen. I've heard that the test for mumps is to feed the kid a sour pickle, and if it hurts, it's mumps.

Is it possible I have mumps? That would explain the pain around my left ear. Counting back the incubation period, I would have picked it up New Year's Eve.

I don't remember ever having had mumps. I remember chicken pox and measles, I don't remember mumps, but I doubt it was possible I escaped mumps.

Cute.
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2747 Better

Sunday, January 17, 2010

From "A Chorus Line":
I thought about committing suicide, but in Buffalo, suicide is redundant.

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I felt a lot better when I woke this morning, just a tired feeling remaining between my shoulder blades and in my arms and legs. As the sun is going down, however, the coldness is coming back, and the heavy feeling in my middle. Whatever it is, probably a virus, my body seems to be fighting it well.

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

I get the Mensa Bulletin every month - a 46-page glossy magazine - and I almost never open it. It usually goes straight into the recycle bag. There's rarely anything of interest in it, and frankly, much of the writing, from people who seem to think they're fascinating, is annoying. The fiction is especially bad.

Yesterday, for some reason, as I was about to discard it, I flipped it open, directly to an article on handling problem members, and it just so happened that the specific problem on that page was people who can't seem to figure out how much their portion of the restaurant bill comes to, often stiffing the host.

Serendipity.

So I read it.

The author recommends handing out envelopes at the table. As each person orders, they are to write what they ordered and the price on the outside of the envelope. At the end of the meal, they total it up, multiply by the tax plus tip, put the money in the envelope, and pass it to the table host. That makes it easy to check that all items on the bill are claimed and paid for.

You know, I don't think that would go over too well with the Meetup groups. It sounds good, but the very people who cause the problem would think it silly, and be insulted that they're being treated like children, and probably forget to write down the wine and dessert anyway. Consider that one of the problem women said loudly, when the money was short by quite a bit, and it turned out she was the one who was short, "Don't you hate people who pull out calculators at the table?"

As usual for Mensa, logically sensible, but socially unworkable.
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2746 Sick?

Saturday, January 16, 2010

Flip Wilson, as Geraldine: "You don't have to be a thing of beauty to be a joy forever."

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I was not very sparkling at dinner last night. Anyone looking at me would have thought I was either tired or sad.

When I got home, I had a heaviness in my upper abdomen; I wondered if something I had eaten was getting nasty at me.

I got to bed about 2 am, and slept very badly, waking at about 8 am and unable to get back to sleep. Do you ever get that feeling of foreboding? I had it.

I feel icky today. I have boosted the thermostat to 78 and put on a long robe over my clothes, but I'm still freezing. The skin in the center of my body feels hot and dry, but the battery thermometer says 98.2, and the old mercury thermometer (which I trust more) says 98.55, so I don't have a fever.

I have pain across the small of my back, above my hips, more on the right than the left. I have a rock of pain under and behind my left ear, from the point of the jawbone to the center of the back of my head. There's pain across my eyebrows. My upper back feels very tired - I can't hold my shoulders back; my shoulders ache, feel like they've been beaten. They curl forward. I slump. My feet smell very salty.

No snuffly nose, though.

I was so cold and miserable that I climbed into bed, fully dressed and under the blankets, at 1 pm, and slept until after 5. There goes the dinner and movie that was scheduled for this evening. I'm not too distressed about missing that. This group is run by guys, and they planned dinner in the food court at the mall, and the movie is "The Lovely Bones". I read the book long ago, and couldn't understand why it was so popular, and then I read a review that didn't make the movie sound any better, so, eh.

I hate feeling like this with no explanation.

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

Another blogger has written about An Innocent looking to buy a car in New Jersey. The kid was likely to be eaten by sharks.

It reminded me of my shopping for a car for Jay. He had slid on ice and wracked up his Subaru, and we needed a small cheap car ASAP for his commute. We had just received a check from his father for Christmas, so we decided to use that. $X,000 was the absolute limit (I forget what the number was).

I did exactly what what the Innocent above did, but with one slight difference. In the end, I was the shark.

I called every dealer, new and used, in the phone book. I said "I'm calling every dealer in the book, looking for a car. I have exactly $X,000, which must cover all costs. I need a car immediately. What do you have?" I just wanted to find out what was available at that price.

Most offered huge gas-guzzling 10+year-old junkers with high mileage, until a salesman at the Chevy dealership offered a little red three-year-old Chevy Cavalier with less than 60,000 miles on it, that they had just taken in on trade. It was just in, not yet "detailed". Wow.

I reiterated the limit, which would have to include taxes and registration, and the salesman assured me that was the price. I accepted his offer ("I accept your offer of ...") contingent on examination and test drive that afternoon - and then I told him that having called so many dealers and not trusting my notes, I had recorded the conversation (NY requires that only one party be aware of recording), so is there any part of his offer he wanted to amend or rescind? He said no.

We went, we looked, we tapped, tweaked, and prodded, we test-drove, and when it came to the paper-signing part, the manager came over and said that the price of the car was --- a whole bunch more, but "we might be able to bring that down a bit. "

I said, "Is this man (the salesman) authorized to strike a deal?"
Manager, "Yes. You can talk with him."
Me, "Then there's nothing to talk about. We have already agreed on $X,000 total."
Manager, shaking head, "No, we can't possibly sell this car for that."
Me, "You already did. I'm sure you know the legal definition of offer and acceptance. Your man offered it for $X,000, and I accepted, and I have the offer and acceptance on tape. We have already agreed on the price. There is nothing more to discuss."

The look on the manager's face was priceless. The salesman slumped in his seat. We signed the papers, and drove the car off the lot right then, just to make sure we got the whole car, if you know what I mean.

It was an absolutely fantastic deal, seasoned by the knowledge that the salesman had tried to trick us in to see it, and didn't know who he was tricking.

Several years later I sold the car to The Hairless Hunk. It's probably almost 16 years old now, and still running fine.

I wish I was running as well.

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Update, 9:00 pm. 99.8. Shivering. Yeah, sick.
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2745 Encouraged, Discouraged

Friday, January 15, 2010

Stories are simple sequences of events, plots are about causes, motivation ..., what stories mean. ...life is all stories, and fiction is all plots.....
-- Peter Ho Davies --

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On yesterday's post - the gentleman called this morning and asked if he had gotten out of line at all. I said no. He remembers nothing, I hope. Good. It sounds like the small town network works, because several of his friends dropped by his house during the course of yesterday afternoon and evening, and they had a pizza party. I stopped in his office this afternoon and had quite a chat with his daughter while he was conducting business on the phone. He gave me a few glances that seemed to me to be full of concern, but I think we're ok.

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On the great under/over toilet paper dispute - I have the definitive answer. If you have young playful animals or children in the house, then it must go under so that when the young'uns bat at it, it won't unroll all over the floor. Otherwise, over. Personally, I don't put it on a wall holder at all. It's much more convenient just sitting on the back of the john.

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There are stupid men, and stupid women. I am unhappily coming to the conclusion that the stupid women outnumber the stupid men, and are stupider. I don't want to believe it, but the evidence is overwhelming.

Ethnic dinner in Albany this evening. Eleven people at the table. Total bill was over $300 before tax and tip. Everybody figured up what they owed and put it in the pile. The pile was at least $70 short, before tax and tip. Four or five people had underpaid, but one of them was unbelievable. She said her bill came to $18, so she had put $20 in. Uh, $2 does not cover tax (close to 9%) and tip on $18. The recommendation is 25% of the tab to cover tax and tip, so she was asked to put in another $2.50 on her $18, and she flipped out.

Now, what the others seemed to miss is that she kept saying, "I had only three appetizers!" Hey, folks. The appetizers were $9 each. Then someone asked about drinks, trying to account for all the wine on the tab. The woman said, "Oh, yeah, I had a glass of Chablis." That's another $9. Then someone asked who had the yogurt dip, and she admitted she had asked for it because her whatsis was dry, but she didn't know they were going to charge her for it. That was $4. That's $40 right there, $50 with tax and tip.

Now, get this. She STILL figured she was fine with her $20. "After all," she said, "I only had three appetizers!" She was absolutely pissed that she was asked to put more in, and she all but accused people of trying to get her to cover the shortage of others.

How do you reason with someone like that? Someone who refuses to listen to reason?

I've seen it at almost every dinner where we didn't run separate checks.

I'll remember that the next time I run a dinner with one of my groups.

It's funny, but not surprising, that it's usually the person who comes up short on the tab who blusters that the only fair thing is to split the tab evenly --- without seeming to realize that then they'd have to pay significantly more.

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

I am so discouraged. I have worked and associated most of my life with people selected for intelligence by employers. But I also noticed that many of the clerks in stores, delivery and service people, mechanics, the "ordinary" people I run into, are mostly indistinguishable from the "intellectually elite". Their experiences and references are different, their education may be lacking, but their thinking and conclusions are usually, frequently, sound. I am often impressed. (We already know I find self-exalted Mensans to often be obstinately stupid.)

The only previous time I'd seen such stupefying lack of logic in females was when I briefly played "suburban housewife and new mother", and did the morning tea and afternoon baby shower circuit with the other women in the Ballwin, Mo., neighborhood. I was ready to chew the walls.

Meetup may kill me.

(I don't know if this means anything, it's a small sample, but all the women I'm meeting who are divorced from all logic and incapable of simple math, all of them so far, seem to be originally from The Bronx, and/or "Lon-Guylan". Does the culture there encourage mental helplessness in females? And make them defensive and combative when you attempt to explain something to them? Oh - and are they all so loud?)
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2744 Now what?

Thursday, January 14, 2010

"I know you believe you understand what you think I said,
but I am not sure you realize that what you heard
is not what I meant."
-- Alan Greenspan, to Congress --

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

I've got a problem.

Yesterday and today I had nothing on the calendar, but I had a whole list of things that absolutely must be done soon. Like bills. Estimated taxes. Laundry. Bank. Grocery shopping (I'm almost out of anything Jasper will deign to eat). More. Yesterday I just fooled around all day. I knew that would make today a full day, but a little rest and relaxation would do me good.

Today quickly went to hell.

I have a friend whom I see a few times a month. He has a live-in girlfriend. He and I and a mutual friend were supposed to get together earlier this week, but the two of them didn't show up. I worried a little that his mother was sick, but waited to hear from him. He called this morning to apologize, and said that everything's ok. I told him that's too bad, because I figured that if I didn't see a cast on a leg next time I saw him, I'd have to put one on him. He laughed, then said that actually, something bad did happen.

He and the girlfriend had the biggest fight ever, a really loud and nasty one, over his going out to meet me, apparently, and she has moved out. She says she's not coming back, and he said that as usual, she'll soon realize she can't support herself, and she'll be back, but he's not going to let her in.

I don't think it was really over his going out to meet me (she was invited, but wouldn't have come - she and the third friend despise each other). I think the argument would have happened soon anyway, any trigger would have done. Anyway, I could tell he was in a bad way, so I asked if he wanted to talk about it, and we decided to meet in his office, he'd call me and let me know when he'd be free.

A while later, having not heard from him, I decided to go look for him. I was afraid he'd found a bottle. There are no bars in the village, but there is a liquor store. He's not a regular drinker, but he does drink when he's upset, and then he drinks until he passes out.

I found him in his office, with the door locked, with his younger business associate, and a buddy. And a bottle. Both men were worried about him and didn't seem to know what to do with him. They had locked the door to hide him from clients. They were drinking, too, mostly in an effort to keep him from finishing the bottle himself, I think.

I volunteered to drive him home and get some food into him if they could pour him into my car. He sang to me the whole way home. Except when he was talking. And that's where the problem came in.

He confessed a many-year love for me, says that he falls asleep dreaming of my breasts, loves me, wants me, wants to see me naked, etc. etc. When we got to his house I tried to get him to eat something, or lie down and take a nap, but he didn't want anything but me, hugging a lot.

Oh, Good Grief! I have been aware that he finds me attractive (I don't know why, I'm usually unwashed and unmadeup when I see him, and I've never flirted with or teased him in that way). I'm sure that when he sobers up, he's going to remember what he said and will be embarrassed.

Before I left I looked him in the eye and told him that I am his good friend, that he could say absolutely anything to me and it's ok. I tried to make sure he heard and understood. But I'm afraid everything has changed anyway.

I went back to his office and talked with his associate about maybe getting his daughter to move in with him for a while. He shouldn't be alone. He's one of those people who can't be alone - always needs someone around. That's why the girlfriend lasted so long, even though she's been "just a housemate" for many years. She was company.

He doesn't know any other women. I've been like a buddy, I thought. I think he needs to meet some more women.

I don't know what to do now, how to "be" next time I see him. I don't know whether this has to be talked out or ignored.

I don't know what to do now.

... except laundry, taxes, bills ... it's going to be a long evening ...
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2743 Photos from Haiti

Wednesday, January 13, 2010

Don't join dangerous cults; practice safe sects.

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The Big Picture photos from Boston.com: http://www.boston.com/bigpicture/2010/01/earthquake_in_haiti.html

Donations -
Red Cross: http://american.redcross.org/site/PageServer?pagename=ntld_main
Salvation Army:
https://secure20.salvationarmy.org/pages/makeDonation/usa/makeDonation.jsf
Habitat for Humanity:
https://www.habitat.org/cd/giving/donate.aspx?link=227
Doctors without Borders: https://donate.doctorswithoutborders.org/SSLPage.aspx?pid=197&hbc=1&source=ADR1001E1D01

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2742 I lived through dinner, then a grue ate me.

Wednesday, January 12, 2010

"What you do speaks so loud that I cannot hear what you say."
-- Ralph Waldo Emerson --

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Last night was the first meetup of my singles' group. Reservations did gradually fall away, so by 6:30 pm I was expecting six women. Four showed up. Two who had said yes did not. I hear that's pretty typical. We also had one man arrive who insisted that he had RSVP'd yes, but neither I nor Meetup had any record of that. No big deal.

The guy was a physicist, and one of the women was a theoretical mathematician, so the conversation somehow started with imaginary numbers, and veered into multiple dimensions and intersections of multidimensional objects , and the nature of time. One of the other women was ... I'm not sure what to call her, but she sees orbs and hears spirits, that sort of thing ... so that conversation occasionally took an odd turn (I'd like to make a joke about "dementional objects", but foo, I've had experiences with ESP and "ghosts", and I believe in a kind of reincarnation, so I can't).

The service was terrible! I had called the restaurant last week to ask if I'd need reservations, and had been told that Tuesday nights were quiet. It wasn't. There was some kind of conference going on in the back room, and when that was over, the participants stayed for dinner. Every table and the bar was full. Then about 8:30, a guy started setting up speakers right next to our table. Uh oh. Turned out it was team trivia, so we played. That was fun.

At leaving, one woman urged me in the parking lot to expand the group to lower ages. Her argument was that men in their fifties and sixties always want women in their thirties and forties. Um, yeah, so what? When an older man wants a younger woman, it's often because he's looking for a nurse, someone to take care of him. Besides, there are plenty of other groups for the younger singles. He can go there. (And if a guy isn't rich or strikingly handsome, he's unlikely to find the trophy caretaker, anyway, and he should know that, and if he doesn't, he's stupid, so why would we want him anyway? But I didn't say that.)

I don't have the faintest idea what to do next. We never got around to talking about that.

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Does anyone besides me remember Zork? It was a text-based computer game. Jay and I used to play it for hours. He had a huge piece of paper on which he had mapped the underground, with locations of items and dangers.

Gathering weapons and tools and finding your way around is one level of difficulty - figuring out how to talk to the system is the other. It sometimes seems to be very obstinate.

A description, and how to play, are at http://en.allexperts.com/e/z/zo/zork.htm.

You can play it at http://thcnet.net/zork/index.php.

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This is beautiful(warning - the music may be too loud for work, turn speakers down):

[http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TT1OX4wSBVg&NR=1&feature=fvwp]
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2740 Wishes

Monday, January 11, 2010

We can never predict the outcome of our actions,
which is why every action must be acceptable in itself,
and not as part of a stratagem.

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I often wish I could sort search results, especially news articles, by "latest updated". I also wish every web page had a date on it, so you'd know how old the information is.

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Some people seem to consider Harry Reid's comment to be stereotyping and racist. I understand why some people are pushing it - because they hope people who don't think for themselves will think Reid is racist, and they want to hurt his campaign for reelection.

The statement that Obama stood a chance of being elected because he's light and articulate was simple truth. It doesn't show racism on Reid's part, but simply that Reid understands the inherent racism and/or colorism of many voters, and if anyone should be offended, it should be those who would NOT consider voting for a darker candidate. If there was a disrespected target, it was those voters.

I wish people would think before they react.

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Asbestos is being blamed for all kinds of illnesses, from lung and bladder cancer to kidney failure. Class action lawyers have been trolling for plaintiffs for the past fifteen years, and they've expanded the job classifications that would have been exposed to asbestos.

The whole thing ticks me off. It's not like the manufacturers or suppliers of asbestos, or the companies or people who used it, were aware at the time that it was a problem. At the time, it was seen as a Very Good material, because it was safe and fireproof. People my age spent our entire childhood in schools with asbestos ceilings and floors, because it was considered a good thing in schools, because it was fireproof, and our parents demanded it.

Ok, it wasn't such a good idea. At the time, it seemed like a good idea. Nobody knew it could cause health issues. That was discovered later (and it's not as widespread or as bad as it's being painted), and I don't agree that people/companies who thought they were doing the right thing should be sued when it turned out to be a bad idea.

If that were so, we should all be allowed to sue our parents for bad decisions.

I wish 'lack of harmful intent' would work as a defense to lawsuits.

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I accidentally landed on a PBS cartoon show this morning. It was supposed to be educational, I suppose, but their teaching method left a lot to be desired. I haven't the faintest idea what age group or educational level it was aimed toward. Anyway, they had a series of dashes that they were filling in with letters to make a phrase. The secret phrase was "growing up". There were secret letters the kids were expected to find. The secret letters were huge, like

M L D

in red, smack in the middle of the screen, in groups of three. Wow. "Did you find them? What letter is this? D! What sound does 'D' make?" At the end, kids who apparently weren't sure what sound "R" makes were eventually expected to sound out "GROWING UP". I began to suspect that there was some other purpose to the whole exercise, other than teaching phonics.

The poor presentation wasn't what bothered me most. They were using "The Ugly Duckling" to illustrate the phrase. You know the story, "There once was an ugly duckling, with feathers all stubby and brown...." That one. The guy that turned into a beautiful swan.

The first thing I noticed was that the ugly duckling had yellow feathers, and the other ducklings were brown. That had to be a conscious choice, because swan cygnets are gray, and domestic duck chicks are more likely to be yellow or white.

I wondered what reaction the PC police would have when the blond yellow duckling turned into the swan.

Then the first three secret letters were shown: "R N P", which I at first read as related to "RNC", and I started laughing.

It was along about then that I noticed that the dotted lines they were plugging the letters into reminded me of "Hangman".

Oh, PBS. I wish folks would review before distribution. And I wish the PC police would stop messing with my brain.
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2741 Idiots United

Saturday, January 9, 2010

It is better to be wanted by the police than not wanted at all.

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I am beginning to find out why so many Meetup organizers burn out after a while.

I'm getting emails that have me beating my head against the wall. I think it's them, not me. For example, the indy theater we go to has a tiny lobby. My event description for the next movie says:

How to find us
"I'll be in the lobby at 2:55 pm, taking our seats at 3:05 for the 3:15 showing. I am under 5' tall, with glasses and shoulder-length almost-white hair. I'll be next to the hot cider - follow your nose."

So, today I got an email from some woman asking where we meet, and at what time.

Duh? She has RSVP'd for the movie, so I know she saw the event description - it's the only way to RSVP.

Then there was the woman who got all pissed off because she was put on a wait list for the singles' dinner. I had limited the dinner to 12, because more than that at dinner is awkward. At the time she RSVP'd, there were 2 Yes, and 10 Maybe. Meetup considers a Maybe to be a potential Yes, so when the limit is reached, new hopefuls are put on a wait list, and Meetup explains to them at that time that as soon as a Maybe changes to a No, they'll be moved to a Yes, starting from the top of the wait list. That's clear, right?

Not to that woman. She fired off a nasty email to me demanding that I explain why I had limited the reservations to 2 (that's TWO), "... I'm sure [name of restaurant] can handle more than TWO people!" She was not nice about it.

What the hell did she think I was doing?

And more. Between the two groups, I have a total of 45 members, and I'm getting emails like those every other day. I can't imagine what it's like for the organizers of groups with 200-300 members.

Meetup sends out reminders a day or two before an event, reminding you to change your Maybe to a Yes or No, so that the organizer has an accurate count, and so that people on the wait list can go if you can't. I've heard over and over from other organizers that most Maybes don't change their RSVP to Yes or No - they seem to think that Maybe means that they can wander in, or not, whatever they feel like - and the no-show rate even on Yes is about one in three or four.

My 50's singles group description says "Open to the 50-and-over crowd, and anyone else who admires mature minds." I got an email today from a new member who says she's actually 49, and asks if that's ok. She was very polite about it, at least. I told her it's more about interests than about years, so welcome to the group.

So far I've politely answered stupid questions. I am going to have to get tougher. I don't need people around me with empty heads and no consideration for others. Three no-shows, and I'll kick you out. One unchanged Maybe will get from me an explanation of what Meetup means. Another unchanged Maybe after that gets you kicked out. And if anyone else sends me questions to which the answer is in the writeup that they apparently didn't read, I'll just send them the link to the writeup and suggest they read it. If that irks them, fine. I don't need them as much as they might need me.

Please, spare me the idiots. Let them start their own group.
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2739 Can you spell "overreaction"?

Friday, January 8, 2010

To know and not to do
is not to know.
-- Wang Yang Ming --

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I found two stories from Wednesday's newspaper amusing.

The Bakersfield airport in California was closed Tuesday when a passenger's suitcase showed traces of TNT during a routine exterior swabbing, and when TSA officials opened the bag, they found five Gatorade bottles filled with an amber fluid. The contents of a bottle were tested, and the resulting fumes nauseated the two TSA agents, sending them to a hospital for treatment.

The contents of the bottles was honey, and nothing but honey.

Can you spell "hysteria"?

Meanwhile, in Minneapolis, a bomb sniffer dog indicated a problem with a suitcase, and parts of the airport were shut down for over an hour while a bomb squad investigated.

The amusing part is that the bag didn't belong to a passenger. Baggage handlers use an old, empty, beat-up suitcase, called a "last bag", to indicate to other handlers that all luggage has been unloaded from a flight - hence, "the last bag". It's just a marker. There was nothing suspicious about it, and no explanation for the dog's reaction.

Can you say "lack of communication"?

In other news, Joan Rivers, of red carpet fame, was denied boarding on the last Continental flight out of Costa Rica last Sunday, because officials found her passport "fishy", because it had two names on it: "Joan Rosenberg AKA Joan Rivers". Rosenberg is her married name. Her daughter had flown out on an earlier flight, and Ms. Rivers was left with only $100, no credit cards or ATM card, and no place to stay. A friendly airport employee drove her 6.5 hours to another airport where she was able to catch a later flight.

Can we talk?

Journalist Michael Yon was handcuffed and arrested at the Seattle airport for refusing to answer questions having nothing to do with security, like how much money he makes. The authorities say he was not "arrested", but, uh, sorry guys, the legal definition of arrested is that you cannot leave when you want to. Some people (including commenters on his post) seem to think that arrest requires charges, but nope. Arrest is when you lose your freedom. Period.**

Can you spell "storm trooper"?

At dinner last evening, we all pretty much agreed that all these stupid, intrusive, sometimes embarrassing security procedures do not make us any safer. They are not designed to catch or deter terrorists - they are designed to make the sheeple THINK they're doing some good. The sole purpose is to make us think somebody is trying.

Michael Totten and I agree that the Israeli methods are the best (http://www.michaeltotten.com/2009/12/profile-me-if-you-must.php). It involves some degree of profiling, very little searching, and a lot of interviewing. And you can keep your shoes on, and nobody will be looking inside your underwear. I have flown El Al, I was interviewed, and it was not nearly as uncomfortable as the American methods, and much more effective. There has never been any kind of terrorist attempt on an Israeli plane, and you've got to admit they've been the biggest target for five decades, at least.

But, as the health care fiasco has proven, Americans aren't interested in real efficiency or effectiveness. They want superficial appearance.

Can you spell "nation of assholes"?

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**From http://legal-dictionary.thefreedictionary.com/arrest:

"An arrest may occur (1) by the touching or putting hands on the arrestee; (2) by any act that indicates an intention to take the arrestee into custody and that subjects the arrestee to the actual control and will of the person making the arrest; or (3) by the consent of the person to be arrested. There is no arrest where there is no restraint, and the restraint must be under real or pretended legal authority. However, the detention of a person need not be accompanied by formal words of arrest or a station house booking to constitute an arrest.

The test used to determine whether an arrest took place in a particular case is objective, and it turns on whether a reasonable person under these circumstances would believe he or she was restrained or free to go."

I figure handcuffs equals arrest, unless they don't mind if I leave and wear the handcuffs home.

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Update on the honey scare. There's a good article at http://ow.ly/T54w. The last paragraph, however, tickled me:

"Ramirez told investigators he didn’t know why his bag reacted positively to the swab. He is a gardener by trade, and one inspector speculated fertilizer chemicals might have some of the same components as explosives."

Uh, yeah. No shit, Sherlock. Isn't that what McVeigh used in Oklahoma? Aren't fertilizers full of nitrates/nitrites, and isn't that a major component of TNT? Isn't that what the "N" stands for? Duh?

2738 Movies

Friday, January 8, 2010

One of the saddest things to happen was the optioning of morality by religion.

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From http://www.shoeboxblog.com/?p=14066:
------------------------------

Another blogger mentioned today having recently rewatched Stanley Kubrick's "A Clockwork Orange" (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/A_Clockwork_Orange), and I realized I had never watched it all the way through. At the time it was first released, 1971, I had serious emotional reactions to even the fictional depiction of mindless or unpredictable violence (much like Alex's reactions during his conditioning), and I didn't make it past the first 20 minutes before I had to leave the theater.

I found it online at http://www.megavideo.com/?v=9OJ93JTE and watched it this morning. (That site, although Firefox says it's safe, allows you to watch only 60 minutes before it wants registration and who knows what else, but I discovered that if you reload, it restarts the timer, and it's easy to move the marker up to where you left off.)

I was mildly amused that the story was supposed to take place in the future (2001, I believe), but the bad-taste decor, clothing, hairstyles, and the females' air of deference were all rather clearly 1970. (Loved the father's houndschecked polyester wide-lapeled suit.) Of course, back then, that was real hot stuff, best ever, and obviously the direction of the future.

In other movie news, my Meetup group saw "The Road" (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Road_%28film%29) Wednesday evening. One of the attendees (R.) was a fan of Cormac McCarthy, the author of the novel, had read the novel, and was able to explain some of the symbolism and meaning that otherwise might have escaped us. Interestingly, the Wikipedia entry on the movie skims over the meaning, too.

I did notice that even though the father keeps saying that they are "the good guys", he is descending into immorality himself, and that the son was of an age when he would not only learn from the actions of his father, but would strive to take those teachings to a greater level to impress the father - and yet the kid remains good and pulls the father back from depravity. I noticed that, but I didn't know why, and R. explained it.

I intend to read the book.

Last night I had dinner with the Southern Orange Mensa subgroup at a German restaurant. We had ten at the table. I don't usually care for German food, so I had the pork chops with applesauce, but the vegetables were served family style, and I was surprised at how good the potato salad, pickles, red cabbage, and creamed spinach were.

I don't know what's different about that particular bunch of people, but the conversation is always much better than the usual Mensa natter. Like, nobody is competing.
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2737 My memories are older than I am.

Thursday, January 7, 2010

A man's perception is his reality.

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A cringing confession: I have fallen in love with the TV show "My name is Earl". It's a wonderful ensemble cast with tangled relationships and an interesting concept. Not to mention lifestyle.

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I seem to recall that in the past, the temperature rose just before a snowstorm and stayed higher during and for a while after. Doesn't seem to do that any more. Now it drops and stays very low. What changed?

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How old am I exactly?

• I remember not having hair conditioner. When you washed your hair, it was tangled and took a lot of time to carefully and painfully comb the tangles out. The first "detangling rinse" was Tame (if you wanted "conditioning", you used eggs and/or olive oil, or ideally real mayonnaise), and I was in the 8th grade when I first used Tame.
• Also, back then, it was customary to take a shower or bath and wash your hair twice a week if you had indoor plumbing, once a week otherwise. In between, you washed anywhere that needed it at the sink or basin.
• I remember when antiperspirant was suspiciously newfangled.
• I was in the ninth grade when the first credit cards came out. Before then, you used cash and checks, which also meant no telemarketing.
• I remember almost all adults smoked, and there were ashtrays on buses, in waiting rooms, and next to hospital beds, removed only if oxygen was in use.
• I remember when most of the kids I went to school with had outhouses. My father's sister had one, too, and they were solidly middle class. I was in my teens before my aunt installed a bathroom.
• I owned and wore a felt poodle skirt.
• I remember when young'uns didn't date unchaperoned until 11th grade. Before then, you might have a girlfriend or boyfriend, but you got together in groups. The b/g-friend was just the favorite in those groups.
• I remember when most drugstores would not sell you contraceptives unless you were married.
• I remember when if you bought a dozen of any baked goods, there were always at least 13 in the box.
• I remember when women were expected to wear a hat and gloves for all social occasions before evening, and for shopping beyond the grocery store.
• I remember when clothing purchases from a department store were always wrapped in tissue, and carried home in a box tied with a ribbon.
• I remember when no one we knew had a television set.
• I remember when kids were pushed out the door to play outside, and the entire neighborhood was safe because everyone watched out for and disciplined everyone else's kids, and if you screwed up, or got in trouble, there'd be a phone call to your mother before you got home.
• I remember when kids were expected to break a few bones along the way, and nobody'd get sued.
• I remember party lines, with coded rings, so your neighbors knew when you got a call, and snoopy neighbors would listen in on those calls, and it was impolite to talk very long, because while you were on the phone, no one else on your line could use the phone, unless they interrupted and yelled "Emergency! Get off the phone!" Of course, then you'd listen in to their call, to make sure it was an emergency, and yell at them if it wasn't.
• I remember (and loved) electric trolleys.
• I remember when the city bus was a perfectly acceptable way to get around town, even on dates.
• I remember trains with white linens, silver utensils, crystal goblets, and live flowers on the tables in the dining car, and good food cooked to order in the kitchen car, served by polite and attentive waiters in white shirts and black vests. Grampa was an engineer, so Gramma had a free pass, and she and I used to take all-day trips just for the food, lunch on the way out and dinner on the way back.
• I remember handkerchiefs, edged with handmade lace.
• I remember when portable hair dryers were the size of an overnight case, and had a soft plastic hood for over the rollers on your head, connected by hose to the blower in the case. It could take a half hour or more to dry your hair. (I still had that hair dryer until the Highland house flooded in 1999, and until then it still worked.) The advantage of that style dryer was that it didn't fuzz up the hair on the rollers, and you could do your nails while your hair dried, and dry your nails at the exhaust.
• I remember when men were not just allowed, but expected, to beat disobedient wives and children. It was almost a social duty to keep them in line. The term "domestic violence" didn't exist, even as a concept. "Spare the rod, spoil the child" was a warning then. (Now it seems to be a command, and has proven the warning true.)
• I remember when unwed mothers secretly went to "homes" for their pregnancies, and the babies were put up for adoption, often to married family members.
• I remember girdles. (They seem to be making a comeback.)
• I remember stockings that required garters. Pantyhose didn't come along until the '70s.
• I remember butcher shops, where you could get special cuts, and all kinds of things like beef hearts and pints of fresh blood.
• I remember when young women were expected to cut their long hair short upon marriage. Long hair on a married woman was considered low class.
• For all the prudishness, cocktail parties were all the rage, and the games played by our parents and their friends at those parties would make me blush now.
• I remember when even in a city the size of St. Louis in the '70s, it was difficult to find a female OB/GYN.
• I remember when long-distance phone calls were a BIG DEAL, pretty much reserved for Christmas and deaths. We communicated by hand-written letters.
• I remember when there were no copiers. Copies were made by carbon paper on typewriters, or by stencils on mimeograph machines.
• I remember 5-cent coffee, and 15-cent packs of cigarettes. When the first fast-food outlets opened, a hamburger was 15 cents, I think, and a hot dog was 5 cents. Of course, starting salary for a teacher then was around $4,000, a new car was well under $2,000, and a three-bedroom house was perhaps $15,000.
• I remember using a cranked wringer on the washing machine to squeeze out the water.
• I remember hanging clothes on the line, even in bitter winter, when the wet sheets would freeze as you were hanging them, and your fingers would turn white from the cold, then flame red when they warmed up. But it had to be done, because there were no home clothes dryers.
• I remember having to iron sheets. And bras. And everything else made of cotton or linen.
• Women did not wear slacks to school, the office, or socially beyond an intimate circle of friends. (Well, some did, but they were considered "loose".) I'd been out of college three years before it was acceptable for women to wear slacks in the office, and even then they had to be part of a matched suit with a hip-length jacket.
• I remember the pre-Eisenhower highway-building days, when all roads were back roads, and trips took twice as long as now, even if you didn't get stuck behind a military convoy. But they weren't boring, because we had the Burma-Shave signs.
• The odor of fresh cow manure was everywhere in the spring, and a man whose boots smelled of it was respected as a hard-working fellow.
• Scranton had huge burning culm dumps (tailings from the coal mines) that burned day and night for decades. They were beautiful at night.

There are times when I feel much younger than my years, and times when I feel older. There are some items on the list I'd like to go back to, but I guess we'll never go back.
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2736 Real Good Chair

Wednesday, January 6, 2010

You must be the change you wish to see in the world.
-- Ghandi --

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This is Kim Komando's video of the day. A NYC furniture store wondered what kind of people will take home furniture they find abandoned on the curb. So they set out 25 chairs as bait, videoed people checking out the GPS-equipped chairs, and then tracked them to their lairs. It's pretty cool. (8 min 25 sec)

If I ever need a private detective, I'm hiring these guys!

Blu Dot Real Good Experiment from Real Good Chair on Vimeo.

P.S. So much for GPS not working in NYC....
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2735 Ice Sculpture

Wednesday, January 6, 2010

When the elephants dance, the mice get trampled.

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The carrot cracks me up.

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Boston.com's offering this week is the 26th annual International Ice and Snow Sculpture Festival in the city of Harbin, in frigid northeastern China. The following video is a taste. The photos are at http://www.boston.com/bigpicture/2010/01/harbin_ice_and_snow_sculpture.html. (You might want to skip very quickly past the photos of people swimming. Yikes!)



[http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uJT4F7eksqA]
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2734 Sleeping with a little boy.

Tuesday, January 5, 2010

Denis Johnson, "The Small Boy's Unit", Harper's, Oct. 2000, on the meaning of "everything is arranged" in Africa: "Everything is arranged doesn't mean you should expect to get anywhere or accomplish anything. In fact for sanity's sake these two ideas have to be banished. Everything is arranged means that all is complete, the great plan of the universe is unfolding before our eyes. So eat, drink, sleep. Everything is arranged."

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I've been working today trying to get control of paper. I haven't made it to the recycle center in literally two months, and it's getting hard to move in the kitchen for bags of paper, plastic, and piles of cardboard. I've got to find a better way to store this stuff. It would be even better to find some way to keep all this paper from entering the house in the first place.

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Miss Thunderfoot has been gone about six weeks, but her influence lingers. Jasper is still nervous in the den, Thunder's territory. On Sunday he explored the room past my chair a little bit, but he's still timid, and turned and ran when I moved the chair.

Also, when Miss Thunderfoot was alive, he wouldn't get on the bed at night until he was sure she was solidly asleep, about an hour after I went to bed, stayed diagonally opposite her, and would leave if she moved, and definitely was gone before morning. The past few days he's gotten on the bed when I settled in, but he still won't go near the upper right side, where Thunder slept.

I sleep on my stomach or side, and he will get on top of the back of my legs and knead, knead, knead, a long time, until I bend my knee enough that he has created a well between my legs. He'll curl up in there until I have to move my legs and he gets pushed out. The past few days I've found him tight against my knees when I wake.

He has also started purring. Never used to purr. And he "talks" to me more now. I've noticed before that when I had two or more animals, dog or cat, they'd relate to each other more than to me, even when they didn't get along, didn't socialize, like Jasper and Thunder. Then when I got down to one animal, I'd suddenly discover aspects of the remaining beastie's personality that they'd never shown me before.

Interesting.
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2733 Recipe (sort of) 3 - Mug houses

Monday, January 4, 2010

Bureaucracy is the art of making the possible impossible.
-- Javier Pascual Salcedo --

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These (http://www.notmartha.org/archives/2009/12/18/a-gingerbread-house-that-perches-on-the-rim-of-your-mug/) are so cute. If you entertain a lot, check it out. And do follow her link to the update, where she has a better idea for getting the "snow" to stick to the roof, and tries them in sugar cookie dough rather than gingerbread.

[Snagged from Roba, at http://andfaraway.net/blog/2009/12/28/gingerbread-houses/.]
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2732 Don't believe ANYTHING you hear. Ever.

Monday, January 4, 2009

Jean-Pierre Deriaud, on circumventing French laws: "It is forbidden, but possible."

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I spent some time yesterday reading the forum posts of Umar Farouk Abdulmutallab, the Christmas bomber (links at http://www.switched.com/2009/12/30/attempted-bombers-story-comes-to-light-via-online-forum-posts/). What was going on in his mind, like the reasons for his trip to Yemen, is so different from what we're hearing on the news about his reasons and experiences. I wonder what the truth is. People too often tell tales for their own reasons, to achieve their own ends, without regard to the truth. I don't know who to believe.

I have plenty of experience with that. Many times in my past I have been seen in places I'd never been, in the company of people I'd never met, and ascribed motives I never had. I've had people stand right in front of me and tell me they saw me do things I never did. But they KNOW I did it, because they SAW me.

How do you answer that? How do you deny it? What's even stranger is that I have always been rather unique in appearance, very short, with distinct facial and physical features, so it's not likely they mistook someone else for me.

It's one of the things that made me not very social. The less contact I had with people, the fewer stories there were about me.

One time that it happened, I at least got the full story much later.

I was 21, teaching in a small town in Pennsylvania, and married to Ex#1, who was in the Army, and stationed in Germany. It was the beginning of summer school break. There was a pool hall next to my apartment, and one evening my friend Ruby called and asked me to join her and her brother Joe and another guy for some billiards. So I did.

After a while, Ruby and the other guy decided to go next door to another bar. It was raining, and Joe wanted to go home to his wife Donna, so Ruby asked me if I would give Joe a ride to his home. I shrugged and said ok, I'd help her out with the new guy. I dropped Joe off at his front door, without incident.

(I think I'll give you my viewpoint first, and fill in what was going on behind the scenes later.)

About a week or two week later, Joe's wife Donna called me, and said she wanted to talk to me, and I should come to their apartment immediately. She sounded angry and wouldn't explain why, so I called Ruby. Ruby said not to go, that Donna was flat-out crazy. However, Donna happened to be my landlord's only child, so I figured it would be better to go. I called my other friend Jean, and she went with me.

Donna and Joe's apartment was what they call a railroad flat - the second story of a house, with a stairwell and hallway open to the stairwell, a kitchen across the back of the house, and then a series of rooms opening onto the stairwell hallway and also opening to each other.

The evening ended with Donna chasing me with a knife from room to hall to room in big circles, me trying to get to the stairs and her trying to trap me, and she, I, and Jean screaming our heads off, while Joe sat unhappily at the kitchen table drinking beer, and the town police, whom Jean had called, standing on the porch at the open front door with their arms crossed, watching us run in circles, and laughing at us.

Donna had accused me of messing around with her husband, of having been out with him here and there and wherever, and Joe sat there and confirmed it!, right in front of me, and when I denied it, said that the only time I'd been anywhere with him was that evening with Ruby, and that had been the first and last time I'd ever been in his presence, with his sister Ruby!, that's when Donna attacked me. Because she KNEW it was true that he and I had been messing around for months!

I finally made it down the stairs. The police said they couldn't go into the house because they had not been called by the resident. If they saw her stab me, then they could go in. Donna screamed down the stairs that if she ever saw me on the sidewalk when she was in her car, she'd run me down. I wanted the police to arrest her for threatening to, and trying to, kill me, but they wouldn't because they said it would just make her madder.

I was afraid to go home for several weeks, until the real story came out, because Donna, being my landlord's daughter, worked in his stationary store under my apartment. During that time, I slept on the floor in a friend's car lot office.

This was one of the few times that I found out what had happened.

Donna had seen me drop off her husband that evening a few weeks before. She was angry because he was late. He said nothing was going on. She didn't believe him, and started asking her friends what they knew.

Well, coincidence reared its ugly head.

Joe's ex-wife's first name happened to be the same as mine. Donna had made a bunch of calls to her female friends, several of whom told her that they had seen Joe cuddling with [my first name] here and there and everywhere over the past few months. I guess nobody clarified with last names. Now, Donna was crazy jealous of Joe's ex-wife, so confronted with the "evidence", Joe chickened out and went along with Donna's assumption that it was me he'd been with. I guess he figured that was a safer option for his own skin.

I don't know if he really was fooling around with the ex, or if it was just chance friendly and platonic encounters in public, but anyway, by the time of the knife chase the entire town KNEW that Joe and I were having an affair. Even the cops knew all about it, and that's why they were so amused. I was probably the only person who didn't know.

What really kills me is that even Ruby believed it! Sheesh. Joe was a rather stupid, thick, sloppy drunk hick with greasy hair. I was insulted that anyone who knew me would seriously think I'd be involved with him.

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Stuff like that happened to me all the time. Stories like that about me. It seemed sometimes like everyone, even my best friends, were ready and willing to believe the worst about me. I never did figure out why.

And when Donna finally found out the truth, when Ruby told her she should apologize to me, Donna's response was that she hated me anyway, and she'd still kill me if she saw me. Why? I'd never said anything bad to or about her. I didn't understand at all. (Actually, I guess it should have been Joe who apologized and corrected the rumors.)

Of course, Donna didn't correct the stories she had spread about me, which just made it easier for the town to believe I was sleeping with one of my high school students (a kid not in my classes, and whom I didn't know) when that story started up (started by the kid himself).

I hate small town gossip as much as I hate winter. You can't fix either of them. All you can do is move away.
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2731 Recipe 2 - Spinach and Tuna

Sunday, January 3, 2009

When the student is ready, the teacher will appear.
[I have no attribution for this, but the application is so broad that it must be Chinese.]

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I like this one.

Ingredients: (for two people, increase as necessary.)

• Two 5-oz cans of white tuna
• One box of frozen spinach, thawed
• 1/2 to 2/3 cup of mayonnaise
• mounded tablespoon of brown or yellow prepared mustard
• plain bread crumbs, potato chip crumbs, or grated hard cheese to sprinkle on top

Directions:

• Drain tuna, break up, and spread in bottom of a 1-qt casserole, or in individual ramekins.
• Mix the mayo and mustard together.
• Squeeze spinach dry, mix with the mayo, and spread over the tuna.
• Sprinkle crumbs or cheese on top.
• 350 oven until center is very hot.

Back when mayonnaise wasn't a bad word, I used to use a lot more of it in this recipe.
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2730 Recipe 1, Using up dead veggies

Sunday, January 3, 2010

If you want to be seen, stand up.
If you want to be heard, speak up.
If you want to be appreciated, shut up.

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Vegetables die in the refrigerator. This easy recipe uses up all that no-longer-presentable stuff languishing in the crisper. Use what you've got. Limp carrots, wilting iceberg lettuce, floppy celery, no-longer fresh spinach, spotted sweet peppers, it's all good. You'll want at least five different vegetables, preferably in different colors. (The first two should be carrots and onions.) Vegetables that work also include yams, cabbage, onions, jimaca, turnip, celery root, string beans, broccoli stems, etc. Even mescalin salad and a bit of olives works. A bit of apple is ok, too. About the only things that don't work are white potato, beans, and peas.

This was one of Jay's favorites. I invented it in the mid-'90s, and was surprised to recently find a similar dish at Casa Maya.

"Use It Up" Chicken

Ingredients:

• A least five vegetables, enough for a serving for each person (more of the mild, less of the strong-tasting). They'll cook down, so be generous.
• Carrots and onion are a must, to sweeten the mix.
• Boneless chicken breast or thigh, one serving for each person.
• Thick slices of tomato, enough to cover the chicken pieces.
• Cheese: mild cheddar, Jack, Swiss, any that you might use for a grilled cheese sandwich.
• Olive oil
• Garlic (preferably roasted)
• Salt
• An oven-proof dish for each serving.

Directions:

• Chop or shred the veggies (except the tomato), small, no larger than 1/2 inch. Smaller is better.
• Heat olive oil in a nonstick skillet on medium high, and saute the veggies and garlic (to taste), starting with the harder veggies and then adding the tenderer ones, until all are soft and slightly browned.
• Salt the mixture to taste, then mound each serving on the plates.
• In the same pan, add more oil if necessary, lower the heat, and saute the chicken pieces 'til done but still moist, pressing or cutting to keep them flat.
• Put one serving of chicken on top of the veggie mound on each plate.
• Cover the chicken with tomato slices.
• Cover the tomato slices with sliced cheese.
• Broil close to the element until the cheese melts and begins to brown.
• Serve.

It'll taste different every time, depending on what vegetables and cheese you use. Experiment. You can also layer differently, with the chicken on the bottom, topped with veggies, tomatoes, then cheese. You can layer in some white sauce or mole or peanut sauce if you happen to have some lying around. Make extra servings and freeze if you have a lot of end-of-life vegetables, thaw and reheat in slow oven.
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2729 I think I've always hated winter.

Saturday, January 2, 2009

Life is extinct on other planets because their scientists
were more advanced than ours.

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I often wonder if anyone runs things past someone else these days. It's long been obvious that there are no proofreaders. It looks like some kid somewhere in a back office writes copy for the public, and puts it out with no review.

Today's example: There's an appetite reducing bar on the market called Fullbar. The inventor does his own commercials. I cannot believe that absolutely no one has told him that it sounds like his product is FUBAR.

(Am I the only one to find that funny?)

And then there's the car dealership running a half-price sale. The ad is emblazoned in several places with "The price you see is 1/2 the price you pay!"

And this amusing bit of spam, which leads me to believe not only that English is not their first language, but that they don't know anyone who speaks English:

"The new year. A new day.Are you still wearing that piece of old clothes?Are you not buy new clothes for worrying about?Are you not enough grade for the hesitation?Are you for pocket money to worry about?Now I can tell you. You can put aside the idea of everything.Here, I introduce you,Exclusive new. Exclusive design. Factory Outlet. No profit. New Year's sell-off.For the New Year. All of our products on sale."

"Not enough grade for the hesitation"? I can't even figure out what they were trying to say.

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I woke up to two inches of snow again. Annoying because I have to decide whether or not to do something about it....

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It's been cold outside the past week, but I haven't felt it much. New Year's Eve I was wearing the Assuit dress, which is net with tiny strips of silver folded into the net. The net doesn't stop air, and when cold air blows past, the metal gets cold fast, and yet I had to move my car at one point during the evening (blocking the fire trucks), and I went out without my coat, and it didn't bother me at all. Running errands during the day I've been leaving my coat open in 20 degree temps, and I've been fine. Strange, considering that I'd been cold in the house only the week before. Hormonal, I guess.

It all reminded me of some October business trips back when I was working. The Company always put me in good (but old grand dame) hotels in New York City, and every single one of them had a rule about heat - they didn't turn the heat on until November 1. Period. Stone cold radiators. It didn't matter what the weather was.

I froze in the rooms.

Space heaters were considered a fire hazard, so I couldn't have one. It got to the point where I carried 100 watt bulbs in my suitcase, and changed all the bulbs in the room, and then left them on all day and all night. I'd also fill and refill the tub with hot water, and run the shower full hot for as long as I could stand the steam in the room. What the hotels may have saved in heating costs, they lost in electricity.

It works, by the way.
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2728 Roosting Eggs Update

Saturday, January 2, 2009

"A friend of mine says that science is an even better means of control than Christianity, because if you don't believe in Christianity, you're simply doomed to burn in a hell you don't think exists, whereas if you don't believe in science, you're presumed to be stupid."
-- Derrick Jensen, in "The Sun", July 2000 --

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My indy movie group now has 21 members.

The singles group has 21, of whom 15 have indicated an interest in attending our first meetup on 1/12 (4 definite Yes, 11 Maybe; 13 women, 2 men) . Wow. Pretty good. The Maybes might turn to No as we get closer to the date, but that's still pretty good. The only thing that's a tad disappointing is that only 5 members are male, and of those, one lives very far north, and two very far south, so I doubt we'll see much of them. We gotta get more local males.
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2727 A Surfeit of Doggie Bags

Friday, January 1, 2010

The past is a foreign country; they do things differently there.
-- L. P. Hartley --

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In my refrigerator right now, I have doggie bags containing:

• one quarter of a barbecued chicken
• half a baked potato
• six BBQ spare ribs
• half a huge pastrami reuben sandwich, w. sauerkraut
• a rich Turkish chicken & vegetable stew
• another Turkish dish with tender chicken over yogurt-coated bread cubes with an oniony/vegetably gravy and rice

I've already eaten the mac & cheese Daughter sent me home with. The rest is aging out. Gotta eat it all soon! I shouldn't go out for dinner for five days, at least.
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2726 Happy New Year

Friday, January 1, 2010

People do not do things for logical reasons.
People find logical reasons to do things they want,
and the more intelligent the people,
the better the reasons they come up with.
-- Harold Nickel, Mensa Bulletin, May 2000 --

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I did go out last night, but all day it was a tossup.

By noon yesterday, there was (were?) two inches of fluff in the driveway. Two inches is no problem getting up or down the drive. Three inches is difficult, possibly dangerous. Four inches is impossible. The snow had stopped, but more was expected during the night. I checked five different weather prediction sources, and the totals expected by this morning ranged from two to six inches.

So I called the plowman and paid $55 to have two lousy inches plowed. That way, maybe I'd be able to get up the drive at 2 am if three more fell. If it was four more, I could be in big trouble, since I can't leave the car on the road - I have to at least get it past the plow hump and into the driveway.

I was also very angry because the town plow hit my mailbox again, and this time they sprung the side away from the base, and now it won't close at all.

All very discouraging. But in the evening I got dressed anyway, and by damn I looked so good I didn't want to waste it, I'd hate myself if I did, so I went. I figured that if things got complicated, I'd figure it out later.

The party was in Connecticut, an 80 minute drive. It was sponsored by several Meetup singles' groups, at a fire hall, and the cost when I'd registered was only something like $45, which is really cheap for a New Year's Eve party, so I wasn't expecting much.

It was amazing! There were probably 160 people. The male/female distribution was good. The announcement had said "dressy casual, but formal is ok too." There were lots of sequins. I never saw so many skin-tight dresses all in one place! (Um, someone should tell women that when you have back rolls, skin tight is not a good choice.) And lots of pushed-up pouter pigeon breasts. Me, I was pretty well covered in my Assuit dress (the mid-priced soft one, with real silver), but still intriguing because I wore it over a spaghetti-strap long leotard.

The food was terrific: chicken in a beautiful mushroom sauce, tender roast beef carved on command, crab casserole in oyster shells, interesting breads, salad, green beans with pimento, and more. The bar was all free, and it wasn't just wine and beer. They had everything. I had one of my favorite sweet liquors, and they filled the glass to the top. The band was really good. The lead guitarist and singer was a red-headed kid that didn't look more than 16, but he was incredible. He had performed with and was a protege of Les Paul.

I sat at a table with four bawdy broads slightly younger than I, and a younger man. I enjoyed them all.

About 10:30 they did the bachelor auction (the auction was to benefit Ann's Place, a cancer support center). The guy I had my eye on wasn't there, which was disappointing, but there were about 10 others. They were going for like $25 to $75, it was sort of pitiful, so I bought two. I haven't decided whether I'll actually collect on the dates. I consider it a donation.

They had a bunch of other things for auction, too. They went at rock bottom prices because they had not been advertised, so no one had done the research or come prepared to bid on them. There were fancy watches, and jewelry. There were huge framed concert posters that went for maybe $50. The auctioneer was almost crying. "This is a PROOF! A PROOF of the famous poster that goes for $3,000! This is worth twice that!" Well, what's a proof?

I accidentally bought a Gibson Epiphone SG Special electric guitar, that had been signed by Les Paul on his 94th birthday, two months before he died, along with a really fancy soft case, and two photographs of Les Paul signing it. I haven't the faintest idea what I'm going to do with it. The red-headed kid played it after I bought it, and kissed it goodbye. Does anyone know the proper way to store it? Should I loosen the strings?

I probably ought to find a buyer for it. If I wait a few years, it might go for more, but knowing me, I might injure it between now and then.

[Later - I found something online: If storing for more than 4 months, release some but not all of the tension from the strings, and store it in a living-area closet, not an attic or basement.]

At 11:30ish it started to snow, heavily, big flakes. I started to worry, because I would be heading north. But the snow stopped with only a dusting.

At midnight I followed a tradition from my youth, and looked for the oldest guy in the place to kiss. The guy had to be nearing, if not over, ninety, a tiny guy with curly white hair, and I planted one on his cheek. Bad idea. He followed me around after that, kept kissing me on the cheek, and pressed his business card on me. (He's a medical doctor.)

Also after midnight, I finally danced with two of the bawdy broads, and I finally got some male attention. Too late, fellas. Yeah, I gots me some moves, but if that's all that interests you, that doesn't go far.

Got home a little after 2 am. No snow on the driveway.
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2725 In Proportion

Wednesday, December 30, 2009

Good judgment comes from experience,
and experience comes from bad judgment.

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I've been scrounging around in boxes of old photos, and found this one - me at 20.
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2724 Mysterious cold draft

Wednesday, December 30, 2009

It's not enough to come up with a good idea;
you have to come up with the good idea at the right time.
Many people with a good idea present it too soon,
before anyone is ready to accept it,
and then drop the idea when they meet resistance.
When the world is ready, someone else puts forth the same idea and gets all the credit.
(Worse, nobody will remember that you had it first.)
-- Me --

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It's so cold in the house today. I don't know why some days feel colder in here than others, regardless of the temperature outside. Worse, the thermostat is reporting the same temp as always, so it doesn't make any sense. Maybe my body lies.

There's a cold draft in the den. Several years ago a bird hit the double paned Andersen crank-out window in the den and broke the outside pane. I had a glass replacement place in the village replace the glass. I assumed that they'd done a good job because, well, that's what they DO, and there's never been any steam or cloudiness between the panes, but maybe the thermal properties were lost. There's cold rolling off the window, but not that much, not as much as the palpable draft. I can't figure it out.

Maybe someday when I get the stacks of crap away from the outside wall I'll find a racoon-sized hole in the wall and the mystery will be solved.
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2723 Tying up the threads

Wednesday, December 30, 2009

In Scott Turow‘s Burden of Proof, Sandy's daughters
describe his love life as “a tom-tom network of females
wailing over his shortcomings late into the night.”

Reminds me of a lot of guys I've dated.
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On Monday I drove to NJ to visit Daughter. Her wrapped Christmas present to me was a scarf she had crocheted, and scented soap. You have no idea how happy the scarf made me - not so much the scarf itself, but that she is learning to crochet!

It IS a big deal.

I have very few skills, but one is needlework. Knitting, crocheting, embroidery, netting, lacemaking, tatting, sewing. I don't do it often anymore, and I don't have the best sense of color and texture, but I'm good at the craft. I can't cook, am a miserable housekeeper, and I don't entertain. I didn't have much beyond needlework in the traditional feminine skills to pass on to a daughter. And back when, she flatly rejected it. I tried to teach her, and she would have none of it. Total rejection of even the concept. It felt like a rejection of me.

Nowadays, Daughter likes to cook, and she makes it look easy. She keeps a clean house, and doesn't tolerate dirt (a bit of clutter, but I don't think I could get along with anyone who couldn't tolerate some clutter - it's life being lived!) And she entertains easily and often. She grew all that herself, it was nothing I could teach her or pass on to her, and I'm proud of her.

Now my daughter is learning crochet, and what she gave me for Christmas is connection.

Ok, weird. But it's there. It's a big deal to me.

She may decide it's not for her and quit, but that's ok. She's a different person. But she picked up a crochet hook and tried it, and I am very happy.

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I drove home yesterday, and then went to a movie with my meetup group last night. (And I wore Daughter's scarf over my head. It's very warm, and the color is perfect for my hair and face.)

There were supposed to be four of us at the movie, but the fourth didn't show up, so it was just me and two guys whom I already know from Mensa. This is the group that has 20 members. I'm hoping that after New Year's it'll pick up a bit.

Last night's movie was "The Private Lives of Pippa Lee" (Becs, you ought to see it if you can find it), and next week I've scheduled "The Road".

My singles' group now has 14 members. Our first outing is a dinner on January 12. I hope the attendees have some thoughts about what to do next, because I have no flippin' idea.

Tonight is a dinner at a Turkish restaurant in Albany. Tomorrow night is a party in Connecticut, with a buffet, band, and bachelor auction. (I hope to buy me one.)

Friday I start getting serious about cleaning up around here.
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2722 Biting Off Too Much?

Sunday, December 27, 2009

"Cats": With cats, one rule is true. Don't speak until you're spoken to.

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Quick update - my movie meetup group has 20 members, and the over-50 singles group has 8, even though it went public just last Friday. I gotta get organized! (Tuesday update - singles' group now at 11.) (Wednesday update - 15.)

I feel like an over-enthusiastic hen whose eggs all hatched at once. Or as an old friend used to say, "... whose eggs all came home to roost."
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2721 Rearview Mirror

Sunday, December 27, 2009

A guest for a while sees a mile.
-- Jewish Proverb --

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I may be missing for the rest of the year. I might visit here, or at others' blogs. I might not. No big deal. I'm just going to be very busy.

In the meantime, enjoy this from Shoebox.com, by Scott Emmons, found at http://www.shoeboxblog.com/?p=13842:


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2720 RIP

Sunday, December 27, 2009

A ditch can't be filled with dirt from its sides.
-- Jewish Proverb --

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Every once in a while I'd search the internet for Ex#1. I never found him. My late husband died in my arms, and Ex#2 is living in NJ, but I didn't know what happened to Ex#1.

Having no assets, our divorce in 1968 was very quick and nasty. We made a deal that whoever remarried first would buy the other a steak dinner. He remarried within six months, a woman with two children.

In the mid-'80s, his Catholic wife wanted a church wedding, so he contacted me and I dutifully filled out the forms and wrote an essay on why we married, and why I left, and the Catholic church, after three iterations, granted an annulment. It was very difficult to get it right, and brought up a lot of stuff better forgotten, and I was left angry because he never thanked me. (Probably because I refused to help pay for it.)

Lately, I've been wondering how things worked out for him. Besides, he owes me a steak dinner!

Today I heard about the Social Security Death Index (through a secret on PostSecret, http://ssdi.rootsweb.ancestry.com/cgi-bin/ssdi.cgi), and I checked it.

Robert Morris Derrick, DOB October 18, 1941, Pennsylvania resident, DOD November 24, 1997.
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