It takes years to build up trust, and only seconds to destroy it.
---------------------------------------------
---------------------------------------------
...it's snowing.
.
Thursday, March 17, 2011
3193 Baby shopping
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Daughter and I went shopping for baby stuff yesterday, but not at a store, at a community college.
"They" (not sure who) run a multi-day consignment sale in a huge gymnasium twice a year, spring and fall. Rows and rows of tables and racks covered with everything from baby furniture and clothing and toys to maternity clothes and car seats. Some is lightly used, and some is never used.
Daughter got a slew of sacques and footie-sleepers for like $2 each, and a bag of undershirts and booties for $1, and several little shirt&shorts sets. I bought a little umbrella-folding stroller, and a light over-the-shoulder sling for my use. Hercules joined us when he got out of work. He fell madly in love with a huge solid wood "fancy name brand" highchair, and bought that. I think he just loved the wood - but the thing doesn't fold, it's huge, and their house is tiny. I think he'll be sorry, but they can just sell it next fall when they get tired of climbing over it, eh?
With all the furniture, books, maternity tops, and baby clothes, and keeping in mind that most things were less than $5, the total came to $209 - not counting the rather expensive highchair. (I paid for it all, except the highchair. Belated shower gifts.) She got a LOT of stuff. We don't know how big the baby will be, and she's hearing horror stories of women who'd bought a lot of newborn sizes, and everything was already too small when the baby came home from the hospital, so she stocked up on 6-12 month sizes yesterday.
That consignment sale is a great idea. Sometimes things are used for so short a period, it makes sense to cycle things through many babies.
Daughter is tiny. Pre-pregnancy she wore XS-XXS sizes. She's already huge in the tummy (six weeks to go), and she's having trouble finding maternity tops that will cover her belly. She can't wear mediums, they fall off her shoulders, but the small tops aren't long enough to cover the belly (they stick almost straight out at the bottom), and small maternity pants are too tight around the tummy, so she wears them with the waists rolled down to under the belly. That leaves a belly gap, and she has nothing to comfortably cover the gap. She doesn't like maternity dresses - they're not suitable for work, and she can't wear long T-shirts for the same reason.
I suggested that she pick out some maternity dresses yesterday, and I can shorten them to the length she needs to serve as tops.
She's seriously huge. I don't see how she can still drive a car - how she can fit behind the steering wheel and be able to reach the pedals - so pretty soon she may not be able to get to work, and the clothing issue will be a non-issue.
.
No matter how much you care, some people just don't care back.
--------------------------------------------------------
--------------------------------------------------------
Daughter and I went shopping for baby stuff yesterday, but not at a store, at a community college.
"They" (not sure who) run a multi-day consignment sale in a huge gymnasium twice a year, spring and fall. Rows and rows of tables and racks covered with everything from baby furniture and clothing and toys to maternity clothes and car seats. Some is lightly used, and some is never used.
Daughter got a slew of sacques and footie-sleepers for like $2 each, and a bag of undershirts and booties for $1, and several little shirt&shorts sets. I bought a little umbrella-folding stroller, and a light over-the-shoulder sling for my use. Hercules joined us when he got out of work. He fell madly in love with a huge solid wood "fancy name brand" highchair, and bought that. I think he just loved the wood - but the thing doesn't fold, it's huge, and their house is tiny. I think he'll be sorry, but they can just sell it next fall when they get tired of climbing over it, eh?
With all the furniture, books, maternity tops, and baby clothes, and keeping in mind that most things were less than $5, the total came to $209 - not counting the rather expensive highchair. (I paid for it all, except the highchair. Belated shower gifts.) She got a LOT of stuff. We don't know how big the baby will be, and she's hearing horror stories of women who'd bought a lot of newborn sizes, and everything was already too small when the baby came home from the hospital, so she stocked up on 6-12 month sizes yesterday.
That consignment sale is a great idea. Sometimes things are used for so short a period, it makes sense to cycle things through many babies.
Daughter is tiny. Pre-pregnancy she wore XS-XXS sizes. She's already huge in the tummy (six weeks to go), and she's having trouble finding maternity tops that will cover her belly. She can't wear mediums, they fall off her shoulders, but the small tops aren't long enough to cover the belly (they stick almost straight out at the bottom), and small maternity pants are too tight around the tummy, so she wears them with the waists rolled down to under the belly. That leaves a belly gap, and she has nothing to comfortably cover the gap. She doesn't like maternity dresses - they're not suitable for work, and she can't wear long T-shirts for the same reason.
I suggested that she pick out some maternity dresses yesterday, and I can shorten them to the length she needs to serve as tops.
She's seriously huge. I don't see how she can still drive a car - how she can fit behind the steering wheel and be able to reach the pedals - so pretty soon she may not be able to get to work, and the clothing issue will be a non-issue.
.
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
3192 Meeting people
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
I haven't gotten involved with any Meetup groups here, because I've got too many things to do that aren't getting done to go adding more stuff to do. But I have been saving groups that I can check into when things loosen up.
There are a few problems. I put in a distance of 25 miles - but that is "as the bird flys", and so I'm getting alerts for a gazillion groups in Brooklyn and Manhattan. Even though I can see Brooklyn across the bay from my back windows, it's not exactly easy to get there! There's, um, a bay between us!
Second, it seems like four of every five groups more local to me are businesses, not just people who want to share time and events. By businesses, I mean self-help groups where you're supposed to buy the book, or "event coordinators" who get paid to pull people into clubs and shows, or people who are just getting people to pay for some kind of lessons or services. Of the one in five left, they're almost entirely booze/band/bar oriented, mainly it seems because 30 to 80 people or more regularly show up. There don't seem to be any small dinner or movie groups. Are the organizers not aware that they can limit attendance to the first eight or ten who respond?
All I want is a small dinner group. Please please please don't make me organize a group. I am not the organizer type. I've already tested and proven that.
.
If you chase two rabbits, you will not catch either one.
-- Russian Proverb --
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
-- Russian Proverb --
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I haven't gotten involved with any Meetup groups here, because I've got too many things to do that aren't getting done to go adding more stuff to do. But I have been saving groups that I can check into when things loosen up.
There are a few problems. I put in a distance of 25 miles - but that is "as the bird flys", and so I'm getting alerts for a gazillion groups in Brooklyn and Manhattan. Even though I can see Brooklyn across the bay from my back windows, it's not exactly easy to get there! There's, um, a bay between us!
Second, it seems like four of every five groups more local to me are businesses, not just people who want to share time and events. By businesses, I mean self-help groups where you're supposed to buy the book, or "event coordinators" who get paid to pull people into clubs and shows, or people who are just getting people to pay for some kind of lessons or services. Of the one in five left, they're almost entirely booze/band/bar oriented, mainly it seems because 30 to 80 people or more regularly show up. There don't seem to be any small dinner or movie groups. Are the organizers not aware that they can limit attendance to the first eight or ten who respond?
All I want is a small dinner group. Please please please don't make me organize a group. I am not the organizer type. I've already tested and proven that.
.
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
3191 Random stuff
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Ever since the big swine and avian flu scares, people here and there have been wearing surgical masks. They're especially popular in Asia.
But --- something I don't understand --- when you see large groups of people in surgical masks, at least half of the people don't have them over their noses. They wear them over the mouth, but below the nose.
Why bother at all?
I've noticed that since the radiation leaks in Japan, more folks in the photos now have them over the nose. Uh, that doesn't fix radiation....
--------------------------------
Tyra Banks is suddenly all over the TV talk shows, but she doesn't seem to have anything to say. What's she selling? What did I miss?
--------------------------------
A few years ago I went to a friend's 40th wedding anniversary. They had at least 150 guests, and little containers of bubble stuff as favors on the tables. Most people didn't take them, so when I helped clean up, I collected about 5 of them.
I found them a few weeks ago, and brought them south. I've had fun blowing bubbles on the porch. They last a very long time, especially when it's cold outside, and when the wind is right they drift high into the trees behind the houses across the street.
Well, I'm running out of what's in the little bottles. I saw large bottles of bubble stuff yesterday, so I bought some.
Inferior! The bubbles pop so close to my face they mess up my glasses. And when they do manage to get a few inches past the wand, they fall straight to the ground and pop. Like they're heavy or something. Yeah, I checked. I got one of the little bottles and blew some test bubbles, and they floated merrily out to the street.
Sheesh. How do they make heavy bubbles?
--------------------------------
Some of Daughter's friends threw her a baby shower on Sunday. There were 21 people there. Daughter has so much stuff! She's more got for that kid now than I ever had for her. (She slept her first four months in a laundry basket, and I made all her blankets, sleepers, and kimonos myself.) She and Hercules have one small kitchen, one small dining room, three bedrooms, and a small patch of hall. What the heck are they going to do with four baby monitors?
She's making noises at me now about getting baby seats for my cars. Are you kidding? I suspect that kid won't be allowed in my car until the kid is holding a learner's permit.
-------------------------------
Something that has bothered me for a long time, brought to the fore with the disappearance of a semi-local wife....
Local police always look first at the spouse or the parent when an adult or child is missing. Yeah, ok. I can see that.
But the part that bothers me is that they don't seem to also gather all the evidence they can, and then see where it points. What it seems like is that they first decide on a theory, and then look only for evidence that supports that theory. And if they find even the tiniest bit (Neighbor: "Oh, yeah, they argued a lot.") then they tighten in on that theory and not only look at nothing else, but will reject anything that doesn't fit the theory.
To the point of actively hiding it at trial.
The first few days are critical to solving a disappearance or murder. Evidence that might be useful disappears quickly. Forming a theory, and then focusing only on evidence that supports that theory and missing (and thereby losing) other evidence is how innocent people get convicted.
How do you fight that?
.
You cannot make someone love you. All you can do is be someone who can be loved.
----------------------------------------------------------------
----------------------------------------------------------------
Ever since the big swine and avian flu scares, people here and there have been wearing surgical masks. They're especially popular in Asia.
But --- something I don't understand --- when you see large groups of people in surgical masks, at least half of the people don't have them over their noses. They wear them over the mouth, but below the nose.
Why bother at all?
I've noticed that since the radiation leaks in Japan, more folks in the photos now have them over the nose. Uh, that doesn't fix radiation....
--------------------------------
Tyra Banks is suddenly all over the TV talk shows, but she doesn't seem to have anything to say. What's she selling? What did I miss?
--------------------------------
A few years ago I went to a friend's 40th wedding anniversary. They had at least 150 guests, and little containers of bubble stuff as favors on the tables. Most people didn't take them, so when I helped clean up, I collected about 5 of them.
I found them a few weeks ago, and brought them south. I've had fun blowing bubbles on the porch. They last a very long time, especially when it's cold outside, and when the wind is right they drift high into the trees behind the houses across the street.
Well, I'm running out of what's in the little bottles. I saw large bottles of bubble stuff yesterday, so I bought some.
Inferior! The bubbles pop so close to my face they mess up my glasses. And when they do manage to get a few inches past the wand, they fall straight to the ground and pop. Like they're heavy or something. Yeah, I checked. I got one of the little bottles and blew some test bubbles, and they floated merrily out to the street.
Sheesh. How do they make heavy bubbles?
--------------------------------
Some of Daughter's friends threw her a baby shower on Sunday. There were 21 people there. Daughter has so much stuff! She's more got for that kid now than I ever had for her. (She slept her first four months in a laundry basket, and I made all her blankets, sleepers, and kimonos myself.) She and Hercules have one small kitchen, one small dining room, three bedrooms, and a small patch of hall. What the heck are they going to do with four baby monitors?
She's making noises at me now about getting baby seats for my cars. Are you kidding? I suspect that kid won't be allowed in my car until the kid is holding a learner's permit.
-------------------------------
Something that has bothered me for a long time, brought to the fore with the disappearance of a semi-local wife....
Local police always look first at the spouse or the parent when an adult or child is missing. Yeah, ok. I can see that.
But the part that bothers me is that they don't seem to also gather all the evidence they can, and then see where it points. What it seems like is that they first decide on a theory, and then look only for evidence that supports that theory. And if they find even the tiniest bit (Neighbor: "Oh, yeah, they argued a lot.") then they tighten in on that theory and not only look at nothing else, but will reject anything that doesn't fit the theory.
To the point of actively hiding it at trial.
The first few days are critical to solving a disappearance or murder. Evidence that might be useful disappears quickly. Forming a theory, and then focusing only on evidence that supports that theory and missing (and thereby losing) other evidence is how innocent people get convicted.
How do you fight that?
.
Monday, March 14, 2011
3190 Selling
Monday, March 14, 2011
BNG ran into a high-pressure saleswoman over the weekend (http://badassnaturegirl.blogspot.com/2011/03/first-weekend.html). Her experience made me cringe. (Turned off BNG, too.)
I can't sell. Nope, no way. Can't do it. Well, I could sell stuff on Etsy, or eBay, or my own website, or at a table at a fair, that kind of thing, because then people look at the stuff, make their own decision without input from me, come to me and say, "I want this." But I could never grab someone by the arm and say, "You want this! You need this!"
Many times people have tried to recruit me for one of those party-type things, like Tupperware, Avon (back when it was party), various jewelry and cleaning stuff and so on, and I just can't do it - because I feel like people get roped into going to the parties because they're friends with the hostess, and then they buy stuff they don't really want because they feel like they are expected to and have to support their friend, and then they regret it.
I just don't want to feel like I coerced people into buying things - coerced or shamed or fooled them into giving me their money.
I couldn't sell a space heater to an Eskimo without worrying that I'd taken his money for something he didn't really need, fooled him into thinking that he needed it when he'd done just fine for so long without it.
I just can't do it. I'd feel enormous guilt, and I don't understand how high-pressure face-to-face salespeople don't feel shame or guilt.
Yeah, they can make lots of money, but they lose friends. They have to keep expanding their territories, and recruiting people to sell for them, because after a while nobody wants to be around them, afraid of what they'll get pressured into next.
Sometimes I think you have to have a hard heart to be successful at sales. That, or have a terrific product that sells itself. If it's terrific, you don't have to be aggressive to sell it.
Which leads to the corollary - if you have to work so hard to sell it, and take so much pride in selling it, I am suspicious and figure I don't need it.
.
There are a lot of people who like to be told what to think.
They are more dangerous than the people who tell them.
-------------------------------------------------
They are more dangerous than the people who tell them.
-------------------------------------------------
BNG ran into a high-pressure saleswoman over the weekend (http://badassnaturegirl.blogspot.com/2011/03/first-weekend.html). Her experience made me cringe. (Turned off BNG, too.)
I can't sell. Nope, no way. Can't do it. Well, I could sell stuff on Etsy, or eBay, or my own website, or at a table at a fair, that kind of thing, because then people look at the stuff, make their own decision without input from me, come to me and say, "I want this." But I could never grab someone by the arm and say, "You want this! You need this!"
Many times people have tried to recruit me for one of those party-type things, like Tupperware, Avon (back when it was party), various jewelry and cleaning stuff and so on, and I just can't do it - because I feel like people get roped into going to the parties because they're friends with the hostess, and then they buy stuff they don't really want because they feel like they are expected to and have to support their friend, and then they regret it.
I just don't want to feel like I coerced people into buying things - coerced or shamed or fooled them into giving me their money.
I couldn't sell a space heater to an Eskimo without worrying that I'd taken his money for something he didn't really need, fooled him into thinking that he needed it when he'd done just fine for so long without it.
I just can't do it. I'd feel enormous guilt, and I don't understand how high-pressure face-to-face salespeople don't feel shame or guilt.
Yeah, they can make lots of money, but they lose friends. They have to keep expanding their territories, and recruiting people to sell for them, because after a while nobody wants to be around them, afraid of what they'll get pressured into next.
Sometimes I think you have to have a hard heart to be successful at sales. That, or have a terrific product that sells itself. If it's terrific, you don't have to be aggressive to sell it.
Which leads to the corollary - if you have to work so hard to sell it, and take so much pride in selling it, I am suspicious and figure I don't need it.
.
Friday, March 11, 2011
3189 @#$%^& Builder!
Friday, March 11, 2011
Wanna see sumthin creepy? Literally creepy?
-------------------------------
I'm mad at someone, not sure right now whether it's the builder, his lawyer, or my lawyer. I closed on this house in mid-October. The deed didn't get filed until mid-February! Somebody screwed up there. Around here they want the taxes paid quarterly. There was a tax bill sent out in December or January, but I never got it because the authorities weren't yet aware I'd bought the house. So, the bill for the next quarter arrived today, and guess what? I'm in arrears for the previous quarter. Surprise. Penalty and interest assessed.
I figure that the builder was still the owner of record for the December/January mailing, and therefore the SOB got the bill and never bothered to forward it to me, or even notify me.
.
Little girls grow up to be women. Little boys grow up to be ... big boys.
------------------------------------------------------
------------------------------------------------------
Wanna see sumthin creepy? Literally creepy?
- Click on this link: http://www.neave.com/strobe/
- Then "click me to get trippy",
- Look at the center of the screen for 30 seconds (no cheating), and then
- Look at your hand. You'll be shocked at what you see.
-------------------------------
I'm mad at someone, not sure right now whether it's the builder, his lawyer, or my lawyer. I closed on this house in mid-October. The deed didn't get filed until mid-February! Somebody screwed up there. Around here they want the taxes paid quarterly. There was a tax bill sent out in December or January, but I never got it because the authorities weren't yet aware I'd bought the house. So, the bill for the next quarter arrived today, and guess what? I'm in arrears for the previous quarter. Surprise. Penalty and interest assessed.
I figure that the builder was still the owner of record for the December/January mailing, and therefore the SOB got the bill and never bothered to forward it to me, or even notify me.
.
Thursday, March 10, 2011
3188 Pain Redux
Thursday, March 10, 2011
The above quote is, as usual, random, but this is one case where it applies to the post it heads.
-------------------------------
I confessed to Daughter yesterday that I had raised a bit of a stink in the Grandparents' class Monday evening, over the nurse's overuse of the word "pain". Daughter smirked. That particular nurse teaches the Lamaze classes, AND the Cesarean classes.
Daughter says she pretty much agrees with me that setting up for expectation of pain can cause pain, for a variety of reasons, but that it goes further than that. She said that she and I are a bit different from the average American in that we are more European and Asian in our views of the relationship of mind and body, and the relative roles of internal and external intervention, and therefore we won't necessarily understand the average American's response, and they won't understand ours.
Like when she or I have a headache, our first response is to figure out why we have the headache, and then remove or fix that stimulus. Most Americans' first or only response is to take aspirin.
She and I think a fever is a good thing, it's the body's way of making itself inhospitable to an invader, and she and I let it do its work (unless and until it gets too high). The average American immediately tries to reduce the fever, as if the fever itself is a bad thing, then relies on antibiotics to do the fever's work (which then upsets the natural good-bug/bad-bug balance in the gut, necessitating further intervention).
She and I look inwardly for balance and healing. Most Americans look outwardly, they don't trust their bodies, as if their bodies don't know what to do and the cure has to come from outside.
Yes, there are always times when outward intervention is absolutely necessary, especially when the damage has originated from the outside, or when the body's natural defenses are damaged or not sufficient, or the body doesn't recognize the threat, or either doesn't react or overreacts. The problem is that the average American has been conditioned to believe that outward intervention is always the best and only way.
A tiny example: Does a little cut on your hand always require the application of an antibiotic cream?** If so, you are probably an average American.
--------------------------------
**(That was one thing that Jay and I didn't agree on. He always put antibiotic cream on every cut, even tiny paper cuts. And yet it was Jay the chemist who explained to me that those creams, and alcohol, and most other things people use on cuts, kill the living body cells at the edges and inside the cut in addition to any bacteria in the area.)
.
Explanations are interpreted at the level and understanding of the listener, not the speaker.
--------------------------------------------
--------------------------------------------
The above quote is, as usual, random, but this is one case where it applies to the post it heads.
-------------------------------
I confessed to Daughter yesterday that I had raised a bit of a stink in the Grandparents' class Monday evening, over the nurse's overuse of the word "pain". Daughter smirked. That particular nurse teaches the Lamaze classes, AND the Cesarean classes.
Daughter says she pretty much agrees with me that setting up for expectation of pain can cause pain, for a variety of reasons, but that it goes further than that. She said that she and I are a bit different from the average American in that we are more European and Asian in our views of the relationship of mind and body, and the relative roles of internal and external intervention, and therefore we won't necessarily understand the average American's response, and they won't understand ours.
Like when she or I have a headache, our first response is to figure out why we have the headache, and then remove or fix that stimulus. Most Americans' first or only response is to take aspirin.
She and I think a fever is a good thing, it's the body's way of making itself inhospitable to an invader, and she and I let it do its work (unless and until it gets too high). The average American immediately tries to reduce the fever, as if the fever itself is a bad thing, then relies on antibiotics to do the fever's work (which then upsets the natural good-bug/bad-bug balance in the gut, necessitating further intervention).
She and I look inwardly for balance and healing. Most Americans look outwardly, they don't trust their bodies, as if their bodies don't know what to do and the cure has to come from outside.
Yes, there are always times when outward intervention is absolutely necessary, especially when the damage has originated from the outside, or when the body's natural defenses are damaged or not sufficient, or the body doesn't recognize the threat, or either doesn't react or overreacts. The problem is that the average American has been conditioned to believe that outward intervention is always the best and only way.
A tiny example: Does a little cut on your hand always require the application of an antibiotic cream?** If so, you are probably an average American.
--------------------------------
**(That was one thing that Jay and I didn't agree on. He always put antibiotic cream on every cut, even tiny paper cuts. And yet it was Jay the chemist who explained to me that those creams, and alcohol, and most other things people use on cuts, kill the living body cells at the edges and inside the cut in addition to any bacteria in the area.)
.
3187 Haircut Update
Thursday, March 10, 2011
I've been nibbling at my hair. Rat tail comb, scissors, mirrors. The original cut was much too long, difficult to deal with.
I was a little worried about what The Man would think, but I guess it was ok. He said he liked that the back was short - that too many women, when they go short, leave it too long in the back. Which was kind of neat because it was just the night before he saw it that I went after the back and chopped it all off.
This is what it looked like in November when the professional was finished:
Feminine, sexy, but next to impossible to keep the back looking right without "product", and difficult to wear a hat without killing it entirely. Just too much hair behind my ears.
This is what it looks like since I've been nibbling:
From the front (sorry about the focus, or whatever it is that went wrong - call it a virtual face lift - which helps a lot because I have no makeup on):
It even looks like the hair is thicker when it's shorter. Not so much scalp showing through. Note how the color has changed as the old blond dye is growing out and the natural is coming in. It's still blonder in the front and on the sides. The light has a lot to do with the color, too.
I might eventually go blond again, but I figured it was a good opportunity to find out what color it really is these days. (It's actually darker in the lower back than shows here.)
-------------------------------
I bought automatic dishwasher detergent the other day, "Regular Scent". Scent? Why scent?
-------------------------------
Some guy has written an extension for browsers that will automatically blank out any mention of "Charlie Sheen", as well as photos, for those of us who are sick of the whole thing cluttering up our environment.
You know, even though I intensely dislike the show, I hope the network continues "Two and a Half Men" with another actor in Sheen's role, and that the show is even more successful with the replacement actor. That would really be ironic, pop ol' Sheen's ego-trip bubble, show him that it WAS the writing and production that made it successful after all, not him.
--------------------------------
Vocabulary lesson of the day: The term is straitjacket, or strait jacket, not straight jacket, where "strait" means "narrow, confined".
.
Heat, pressure, time. The same things that make a diamond also make a waffle.
------------------------------------------------------------
------------------------------------------------------------
I've been nibbling at my hair. Rat tail comb, scissors, mirrors. The original cut was much too long, difficult to deal with.
I was a little worried about what The Man would think, but I guess it was ok. He said he liked that the back was short - that too many women, when they go short, leave it too long in the back. Which was kind of neat because it was just the night before he saw it that I went after the back and chopped it all off.
This is what it looked like in November when the professional was finished:
Feminine, sexy, but next to impossible to keep the back looking right without "product", and difficult to wear a hat without killing it entirely. Just too much hair behind my ears.This is what it looks like since I've been nibbling:
From the front (sorry about the focus, or whatever it is that went wrong - call it a virtual face lift - which helps a lot because I have no makeup on):
It even looks like the hair is thicker when it's shorter. Not so much scalp showing through. Note how the color has changed as the old blond dye is growing out and the natural is coming in. It's still blonder in the front and on the sides. The light has a lot to do with the color, too.
I might eventually go blond again, but I figured it was a good opportunity to find out what color it really is these days. (It's actually darker in the lower back than shows here.)
-------------------------------
I bought automatic dishwasher detergent the other day, "Regular Scent". Scent? Why scent?
-------------------------------
Some guy has written an extension for browsers that will automatically blank out any mention of "Charlie Sheen", as well as photos, for those of us who are sick of the whole thing cluttering up our environment.
You know, even though I intensely dislike the show, I hope the network continues "Two and a Half Men" with another actor in Sheen's role, and that the show is even more successful with the replacement actor. That would really be ironic, pop ol' Sheen's ego-trip bubble, show him that it WAS the writing and production that made it successful after all, not him.
--------------------------------
Vocabulary lesson of the day: The term is straitjacket, or strait jacket, not straight jacket, where "strait" means "narrow, confined".
.
Tuesday, March 08, 2011
3186 First sure sign of Spring!
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
I shaved my legs four days ago, and I've already got 1/4 inch of hair there!
.
Originality is the fine art of remembering what you heard,
but forgetting where you heard it.
------------------------------------------------------
but forgetting where you heard it.
------------------------------------------------------
I shaved my legs four days ago, and I've already got 1/4 inch of hair there!
.
3185 Two classes
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
I went to the grandparents' education class at the maternity hospital last night. The 4 hours did cover a lot more than just "put the kid on its back". They went over the labor and delivery procedures and policies and a whole bunch of stuff, and ended with a tour of the labor/delivery rooms (very homey, and you deliver in the same room as labor) and the nursery and so on. They do have rooming-in if the mommy wants it. It all sounded pretty good.
I did have two spots of annoying concern.
It's my opinion that it's NOT pain. It is extremely intense, yes, but it's like when someone else removes a splinter from your finger, it hurts, but when you remove the splinter yourself, even though you are doing the exact same thing, it's not pain. If everything goes as it's designed to, if you fully understand what is going on during birth, if you understand that your uterus knows exactly what it's doing and is doing it right, if you are able to relax the rest of your body so that all the energy goes to the uterus, and if you are allowed to feel that you retain control of what's happening to you, knowing that you are delivering the baby, not the doctor, then it's not painful**. It's hard hard work, and very intense, but not painful.
If, however, someone in a position of authority tells you over and over that it will be painful, then I guarantee it will be. It sets you up with the expectation, which causes tension, which CAUSES PAIN! and even when there's no tension, if you expect pain, then you will interpret the expected intense contractions not as the natural wonder of the uterus doing its job in spectacular fashion (wow! look how strong it is!), but you will interpret it as pain, because that's what you'd been told it is.
Bullshit!
I've had two babies completely absolutely totally naturally, no meds whatsoever, one baby's head was out before I got to the hospital, and it was very hard work and very tiring, but THERE WAS NO PAIN! Because I knew what was going on, and I knew about relaxing the lower muscles and pushing only with the upper muscles, exactly the opposite of the "like a bowel movement" crap they tell you, which is completely counter-productive and will cause the vagina and vulva to resist, which causes the muscles there to separate rather than to stretch, which causes PAIN! and tearing. Or that "little snip", which should be totally unnecessary. Plus if those muscles separate rather than stretch, they don't go back and you end up loose.
I do know whereof I speak.
Anyone who wants to argue that they have more experience in these matters and they know I'm wrong, simply has the wrong experience, dealing with frightened tense women who have been taught to push wrong and to expect pain and who feel no control.
So there!
**Note that women who deliver "by surprise" in their kitchens, or in a taxi, with no meds, nobody taking over, never say anything about pain.
--------------------------------
Daughter took an interesting anatomy class last year. The class got (relatively) fresh cadavers, and, in groups of three, over the course of the class, they took their cadavers completely apart.
Daughter was fascinated by all of it, of course, but one thing was surprising to her. In anatomy books and everywhere else, when there's a diagram of what's inside, they all show the liver "here", the spleen "here", the kidneys "there", the pancreas "over there", the intestines "just so", and so on. The diagrams always look pretty much the same.
'Tain't so. When the students visited each other's cadavers, they discovered that the organs were all over the place. Some higher than expected, some lower, some more toward the center, some flat-out reversed or backward, some much larger or smaller than expected. It seems it isn't really all that easy to predict where you'll find something. Or even that it will actually be there.
Cool. Makes laparoscopic surgery a treasure hunt.
(I'm remembering the surprise when we discovered that Jay had only one HUGE kidney. Now I'm wondering why the doctors freaked out over that.)
.
Computers have raised writing to a new low.
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I went to the grandparents' education class at the maternity hospital last night. The 4 hours did cover a lot more than just "put the kid on its back". They went over the labor and delivery procedures and policies and a whole bunch of stuff, and ended with a tour of the labor/delivery rooms (very homey, and you deliver in the same room as labor) and the nursery and so on. They do have rooming-in if the mommy wants it. It all sounded pretty good.
I did have two spots of annoying concern.
- Five people had signed up: me, two women who were apparently the future maternal and paternal grandmas of the same baby, and a grandma/grandpa couple. The couple didn't show up, so it was just three of us. And yet, the nurse conducting the class, fully expecting five people, had brought only two informational packets. Um, disorganized much?
- The nurse said she teaches the Lamaze classes, and she repeatedly referred to "pain". Pain, pain, pain. It was always, over and over, pain.
It's my opinion that it's NOT pain. It is extremely intense, yes, but it's like when someone else removes a splinter from your finger, it hurts, but when you remove the splinter yourself, even though you are doing the exact same thing, it's not pain. If everything goes as it's designed to, if you fully understand what is going on during birth, if you understand that your uterus knows exactly what it's doing and is doing it right, if you are able to relax the rest of your body so that all the energy goes to the uterus, and if you are allowed to feel that you retain control of what's happening to you, knowing that you are delivering the baby, not the doctor, then it's not painful**. It's hard hard work, and very intense, but not painful.
If, however, someone in a position of authority tells you over and over that it will be painful, then I guarantee it will be. It sets you up with the expectation, which causes tension, which CAUSES PAIN! and even when there's no tension, if you expect pain, then you will interpret the expected intense contractions not as the natural wonder of the uterus doing its job in spectacular fashion (wow! look how strong it is!), but you will interpret it as pain, because that's what you'd been told it is.
Bullshit!
I've had two babies completely absolutely totally naturally, no meds whatsoever, one baby's head was out before I got to the hospital, and it was very hard work and very tiring, but THERE WAS NO PAIN! Because I knew what was going on, and I knew about relaxing the lower muscles and pushing only with the upper muscles, exactly the opposite of the "like a bowel movement" crap they tell you, which is completely counter-productive and will cause the vagina and vulva to resist, which causes the muscles there to separate rather than to stretch, which causes PAIN! and tearing. Or that "little snip", which should be totally unnecessary. Plus if those muscles separate rather than stretch, they don't go back and you end up loose.
I do know whereof I speak.
Anyone who wants to argue that they have more experience in these matters and they know I'm wrong, simply has the wrong experience, dealing with frightened tense women who have been taught to push wrong and to expect pain and who feel no control.
So there!
**Note that women who deliver "by surprise" in their kitchens, or in a taxi, with no meds, nobody taking over, never say anything about pain.
--------------------------------
Daughter took an interesting anatomy class last year. The class got (relatively) fresh cadavers, and, in groups of three, over the course of the class, they took their cadavers completely apart.
Daughter was fascinated by all of it, of course, but one thing was surprising to her. In anatomy books and everywhere else, when there's a diagram of what's inside, they all show the liver "here", the spleen "here", the kidneys "there", the pancreas "over there", the intestines "just so", and so on. The diagrams always look pretty much the same.
'Tain't so. When the students visited each other's cadavers, they discovered that the organs were all over the place. Some higher than expected, some lower, some more toward the center, some flat-out reversed or backward, some much larger or smaller than expected. It seems it isn't really all that easy to predict where you'll find something. Or even that it will actually be there.
Cool. Makes laparoscopic surgery a treasure hunt.
(I'm remembering the surprise when we discovered that Jay had only one HUGE kidney. Now I'm wondering why the doctors freaked out over that.)
.
Monday, March 07, 2011
3184 Houdini socks
Monday, March 7, 2011
Z's comment on the previous post about dryer lint made me laugh.
I have some habits (sometimes I'm almost OCD), one of which concerns socks.
When I drop a pair into the laundry basket, I either tie them into a loose knot or tuck one into the other. So they live in the basket in pairs. When I sort them for washing, I untie them and put them directly, as pairs, into a net lingerie bag with a zipper closure, with a pin holding the zipper closed. They go through the washer and dryer in the bag.
When I take clothes out of the dryer, I take out the stuff that goes on hangers first, then the stuff to be folded, and last the lingerie bag full of socks.
I unpin the pin, unzip the bag, and dump the contents onto a table for pairing and tucking or tying together.
There's almost always ONE sock missing.
How? At what point could it have gone missing? Jasper's a mighty hunter, but even he's not Houdini.
Two missing can be explained - I probably mismatched/swapped members of two pairs sometime in the past. ONE cannot. Right now I have five orphan trouser socks on the shelf, none of which match any of the others.
I don't understand.
-------------------------------
Daughter has registered me for a "Grandparents' Education" class at the hospital this evening. At the time she signed me up, she thought it had to do with delivery stuff, tour of the maternity area, etc., which I would have liked, but since then she has discovered it has to do with stuff like "we don't put babies to sleep on their bellies any more", so she said I didn't have to go to be patronized if I didn't want to.
I think I'll go anyway. Maybe if I get annoyed I'll skewer them with some questions.
Off to the shower. I'll count my feet when I get out.
.
Quando Omni Flunkus Moritati
(When all else fails, play dead.)
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(When all else fails, play dead.)
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Z's comment on the previous post about dryer lint made me laugh.
I have some habits (sometimes I'm almost OCD), one of which concerns socks.
When I drop a pair into the laundry basket, I either tie them into a loose knot or tuck one into the other. So they live in the basket in pairs. When I sort them for washing, I untie them and put them directly, as pairs, into a net lingerie bag with a zipper closure, with a pin holding the zipper closed. They go through the washer and dryer in the bag.
When I take clothes out of the dryer, I take out the stuff that goes on hangers first, then the stuff to be folded, and last the lingerie bag full of socks.
I unpin the pin, unzip the bag, and dump the contents onto a table for pairing and tucking or tying together.
There's almost always ONE sock missing.
How? At what point could it have gone missing? Jasper's a mighty hunter, but even he's not Houdini.
Two missing can be explained - I probably mismatched/swapped members of two pairs sometime in the past. ONE cannot. Right now I have five orphan trouser socks on the shelf, none of which match any of the others.
I don't understand.
-------------------------------
Daughter has registered me for a "Grandparents' Education" class at the hospital this evening. At the time she signed me up, she thought it had to do with delivery stuff, tour of the maternity area, etc., which I would have liked, but since then she has discovered it has to do with stuff like "we don't put babies to sleep on their bellies any more", so she said I didn't have to go to be patronized if I didn't want to.
I think I'll go anyway. Maybe if I get annoyed I'll skewer them with some questions.
Off to the shower. I'll count my feet when I get out.
.
3183 How do I have any clothes left?
Monday, March 7, 2011
Here's something else I don't understand:
I wash and dry a small load of clothes, say seven light knit tops, one sweater, and two t-shirts that I sleep in. Folded, they make a stack about 10 inches high.
When I clean out the lint trap, I remove a ball of lint the size of my fist, even when squeezed.
All that lint came from those few pieces.
I have a LOT of clothes, some things are very old, because I rarely throw anything out. It just moves down on the "acceptable in public" list. So I can pretty much guarantee that every item in that load had been washed at least, at a minimum, a dozen times, assuming I wore it twice a year. More likely a LOT more.
How do I have any clothes left? Howcum they're not transparent by now?
.
"There are lots of people who mistake their imagination for their memory."
-- Josh Billings --
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-- Josh Billings --
------------------------------------------------
Here's something else I don't understand:
I wash and dry a small load of clothes, say seven light knit tops, one sweater, and two t-shirts that I sleep in. Folded, they make a stack about 10 inches high.
When I clean out the lint trap, I remove a ball of lint the size of my fist, even when squeezed.
All that lint came from those few pieces.
I have a LOT of clothes, some things are very old, because I rarely throw anything out. It just moves down on the "acceptable in public" list. So I can pretty much guarantee that every item in that load had been washed at least, at a minimum, a dozen times, assuming I wore it twice a year. More likely a LOT more.
How do I have any clothes left? Howcum they're not transparent by now?
.
3182 Metaphor
Monday, March 7, 2011
Back in post 3178 Why I disliked poetry professors, I said I hated the way they made us analyze the meaning of a poem, as if anyone could really know what the author was thinking. Not only that, but the profs seemed to think that even though there could be many interpretations, theirs was the correct one.
Well, last weekend I went to a Mensa gathering, and was reminded of one I attended in Washington, I think, in the late '70s. One of the speakers was a semi-famous British poet, and one of the things he said was that he is pleased when people see one of his works as a metaphor for something that has meaning to them, but he hates when someone states that this is obviously what he meant. He gave an example. (I don't remember his name, and I don't remember the poem he used as his example, so I'll make one up that comes pretty close to his example.)
He was going through a period of depression, sort of writer's block. One morning he was sitting in the breakfast room, glanced out the window, and saw a patch of bright summer morning sun shining on the rose bushes, dark maroon bushes backed by white climbing roses trellised up the garden wall. The roses glowed, and he'd never seen them so beautiful. The sight made him feel so good, he wanted to capture the effect so that when he felt down, he could revisit it. So he wrote the poem, right there at the breakfast table.
Later he realized that the poem contained a lot of possible meanings, that it could be interpreted many ways. That's often what makes a good poem great. There was one interpretation that he didn't consider. Others saw the sky as representing Heaven, and the sun as God, the maroon roses as sinners and the white roses climbing up the wall toward Heaven as the virtuous, but that God's light and love shone on both alike. Very Victorian.
That interpretation didn't bother him - if people wanted to see it that way, that's ok, although he didn't because he is atheist. What really pissed him off was when people decided that he saw himself as one of the maroon roses, a sinner, and the poem represented his repudiation of atheism, that it was an epiphany for him. That became the accepted interpretation in academia no matter how much he denied it.
He almost whined, "I just wanted to remember the sun on the roses. That's all."
I think anyone other than the author who says, "This is what it means" without adding the "to me" is being incredibly arrogant.
.
Plants are living things too - they're just easier to catch and you can’t hear them scream.
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Back in post 3178 Why I disliked poetry professors, I said I hated the way they made us analyze the meaning of a poem, as if anyone could really know what the author was thinking. Not only that, but the profs seemed to think that even though there could be many interpretations, theirs was the correct one.
Well, last weekend I went to a Mensa gathering, and was reminded of one I attended in Washington, I think, in the late '70s. One of the speakers was a semi-famous British poet, and one of the things he said was that he is pleased when people see one of his works as a metaphor for something that has meaning to them, but he hates when someone states that this is obviously what he meant. He gave an example. (I don't remember his name, and I don't remember the poem he used as his example, so I'll make one up that comes pretty close to his example.)
He was going through a period of depression, sort of writer's block. One morning he was sitting in the breakfast room, glanced out the window, and saw a patch of bright summer morning sun shining on the rose bushes, dark maroon bushes backed by white climbing roses trellised up the garden wall. The roses glowed, and he'd never seen them so beautiful. The sight made him feel so good, he wanted to capture the effect so that when he felt down, he could revisit it. So he wrote the poem, right there at the breakfast table.
Later he realized that the poem contained a lot of possible meanings, that it could be interpreted many ways. That's often what makes a good poem great. There was one interpretation that he didn't consider. Others saw the sky as representing Heaven, and the sun as God, the maroon roses as sinners and the white roses climbing up the wall toward Heaven as the virtuous, but that God's light and love shone on both alike. Very Victorian.
That interpretation didn't bother him - if people wanted to see it that way, that's ok, although he didn't because he is atheist. What really pissed him off was when people decided that he saw himself as one of the maroon roses, a sinner, and the poem represented his repudiation of atheism, that it was an epiphany for him. That became the accepted interpretation in academia no matter how much he denied it.
He almost whined, "I just wanted to remember the sun on the roses. That's all."
I think anyone other than the author who says, "This is what it means" without adding the "to me" is being incredibly arrogant.
.
Sunday, March 06, 2011
3181 What's the difference?
Sunday, March 6, 2011
For an excellent social analysis, please read http://asecular.com/index.php?110303.
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Life is uncertain. Order your dessert first.
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For an excellent social analysis, please read http://asecular.com/index.php?110303.
.
3180 Gathering, Image, Id card
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Friday I went 13 minutes up the road to the Central NJ regional gathering. It started at 4 pm on Friday, and went 'til about noonish today, with conversation and food in the hospitality room, a slate of speakers, and people from all over the north east in attendance. I heard one of the organizers say they had about 200 people registered, but I don't know where they were all hiding, because it didn't seem like that many to me.
The Man and I had met at this gathering four years ago, so this is sorta like an anniversary for us. It was a fluke that he was there that year. He just doesn't enjoy the gatherings.
I got a room at the host hotel for Friday night, but not for Saturday, because not much happens on Sunday anyway, so I figured I'd leave late Saturday night.
I sent The Man a note mid-week to tell him I'd be there and would love to see him. He's been working in Delaware, so I was a bit shocked (and very happy) when he said yes. He arrived Friday evening, bearing sushi, and we had dinner in the room. He'd said he had to leave on Saturday for a 4 pm dinner with his son, but what I didn't realize was that he'd be meeting his son in Maryland. So he left a little before noon Saturday. That means he drove from Delaware to central NJ to see me, then drove back through Delaware to Maryland - I was way out of his way. I am gratified. It feels good.
Back in the Hospitality room, many people were commenting (not exactly complaining) that they were disappointed in the speakers. Seems like nobody was up to par. There were no topics that interested me until a 4 pm talk on "Humor", by a guy who was the 2006 Time magazine "Man of the Year". I thought that would be good. Like what makes something funny? What are the differences in regional or national humor? What effect does laughter have on one's attitude and health? On brain chemistry? Why do some people find some things funny (like slapstick, the Three Stooges, the Marx Brothers, Seinfeld, Two and a Half Men) that others (like me) find offensive? What is the anatomy of a joke? There were so many approaches that would have been interesting.
A series of ancient jokes wasn't it.
I actually left the room before it ended, and I rarely walk out on a speaker. Sorry. I was tired (a night with The Man does that...) and I was falling asleep sitting there, which I suspect is worse than quietly creeping out.
There was nothing else on the roster that interested me, so after wandering around a bit and talking to a few people, I left. I was home by 6:30 pm, and in bed by 10.
-------------------------------
When a perfectly presentable person looks in the mirror, and sees a fat slob, or an ugly face, or is generally unhappy with their appearance, we have names for that. It's seen as a psychological problem. A disconnect between reality and perception.
I wonder if there's a name for my problem. When I look in the mirror, I'm happy with what I see. I think I look not only fine, but downright sexy, verging on pretty. Everything about my mirror image pleases me, and I think I'm being critical and realistic.
But when I see a photo of me, I'm shocked. Look at the wrinkles! The scars! The sags! The belly sticking out! The thunder thighs! The thin shapeless hair! The droopy neck! The yellow crooked teeth! Where did all those chins come from! My God, that nose is HUGE! Who IS that person!
And then I'm embarrassed. I wonder, when people look at me, do they see my mirror image or the photo image? I guess I have a disconnect between reality and perception, too. But is it good or bad? Healthy or unhealthy?
--------------------------------
I keep hearing that the Conservatives, Republicans, Tea Party folks, most, anyway, want less government messing in our lives. But read this: http://www.switched.com/2011/03/03/real-id-act-republicans-push-to-enact/.
It seems to me that what they really mean is less regulation of corporations and big business (campaign contributors), but more messing in and control of the lives of the "little people".
I don't see where a national id card would be any safer than the existing ids. The terrorists used faked driver's licenses. Would faking a national card be any more difficult? Especially when much of the info comes from state DMVs anyway? Seems to me it's more like an excuse to gather information on me, and you, and everyone else. That's all. An extension of the Patriot Act that has already destroyed our privacy, gone a major step farther.
.
There can’t be sin without knowledge.
-------------------------------
-------------------------------
Friday I went 13 minutes up the road to the Central NJ regional gathering. It started at 4 pm on Friday, and went 'til about noonish today, with conversation and food in the hospitality room, a slate of speakers, and people from all over the north east in attendance. I heard one of the organizers say they had about 200 people registered, but I don't know where they were all hiding, because it didn't seem like that many to me.
The Man and I had met at this gathering four years ago, so this is sorta like an anniversary for us. It was a fluke that he was there that year. He just doesn't enjoy the gatherings.
I got a room at the host hotel for Friday night, but not for Saturday, because not much happens on Sunday anyway, so I figured I'd leave late Saturday night.
I sent The Man a note mid-week to tell him I'd be there and would love to see him. He's been working in Delaware, so I was a bit shocked (and very happy) when he said yes. He arrived Friday evening, bearing sushi, and we had dinner in the room. He'd said he had to leave on Saturday for a 4 pm dinner with his son, but what I didn't realize was that he'd be meeting his son in Maryland. So he left a little before noon Saturday. That means he drove from Delaware to central NJ to see me, then drove back through Delaware to Maryland - I was way out of his way. I am gratified. It feels good.
Back in the Hospitality room, many people were commenting (not exactly complaining) that they were disappointed in the speakers. Seems like nobody was up to par. There were no topics that interested me until a 4 pm talk on "Humor", by a guy who was the 2006 Time magazine "Man of the Year". I thought that would be good. Like what makes something funny? What are the differences in regional or national humor? What effect does laughter have on one's attitude and health? On brain chemistry? Why do some people find some things funny (like slapstick, the Three Stooges, the Marx Brothers, Seinfeld, Two and a Half Men) that others (like me) find offensive? What is the anatomy of a joke? There were so many approaches that would have been interesting.
A series of ancient jokes wasn't it.
I actually left the room before it ended, and I rarely walk out on a speaker. Sorry. I was tired (a night with The Man does that...) and I was falling asleep sitting there, which I suspect is worse than quietly creeping out.
There was nothing else on the roster that interested me, so after wandering around a bit and talking to a few people, I left. I was home by 6:30 pm, and in bed by 10.
-------------------------------
When a perfectly presentable person looks in the mirror, and sees a fat slob, or an ugly face, or is generally unhappy with their appearance, we have names for that. It's seen as a psychological problem. A disconnect between reality and perception.
I wonder if there's a name for my problem. When I look in the mirror, I'm happy with what I see. I think I look not only fine, but downright sexy, verging on pretty. Everything about my mirror image pleases me, and I think I'm being critical and realistic.
But when I see a photo of me, I'm shocked. Look at the wrinkles! The scars! The sags! The belly sticking out! The thunder thighs! The thin shapeless hair! The droopy neck! The yellow crooked teeth! Where did all those chins come from! My God, that nose is HUGE! Who IS that person!
And then I'm embarrassed. I wonder, when people look at me, do they see my mirror image or the photo image? I guess I have a disconnect between reality and perception, too. But is it good or bad? Healthy or unhealthy?
--------------------------------
I keep hearing that the Conservatives, Republicans, Tea Party folks, most, anyway, want less government messing in our lives. But read this: http://www.switched.com/2011/03/03/real-id-act-republicans-push-to-enact/.
It seems to me that what they really mean is less regulation of corporations and big business (campaign contributors), but more messing in and control of the lives of the "little people".
I don't see where a national id card would be any safer than the existing ids. The terrorists used faked driver's licenses. Would faking a national card be any more difficult? Especially when much of the info comes from state DMVs anyway? Seems to me it's more like an excuse to gather information on me, and you, and everyone else. That's all. An extension of the Patriot Act that has already destroyed our privacy, gone a major step farther.
.
Thursday, March 03, 2011
3179 Best Laid Plans, blah blah
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Remember I said we nonprofessionals can be forgiven errors, but professionals must be held to a higher standard? This is from www.fox40.com/news a few days ago, about a herd of goats that got loose on a highway: "After nearly 20 hours of wandering, and wrecking havoc, around 60 nannies and billies are back under control."
Listen my children, and learn. "Havoc" is a state of chaos. It IS a wreck. So it doesn't make any sense to "wreck" havoc. The word the writer was looking for was "wreak". You wreak havoc. The two words are even pronounced differently. Another case of someone having heard and then used an expression without thinking about, let alone understanding, it.
--------------------------------
Tuesday I headed north to the old house with the newly patched up Fred. His pink leak was transmission fluid, seals now fixed. I filled some more garbage bags, and packed up more stuff to bring south. I was very tired by 8 pm, went to bed with some crossword puzzles, and was asleep within minutes.
I had brought some things for Wednesday's breakfast and mid-morning snack, but needed to go out for lunch, so when I went into the village, I stopped in at Piper's office. Piper wasn't there, but his daughter was, and she said he'd gone to the Italian restaurant for takeout for their lunch. She called him, and he said he'd bring back her sandwich, and then he'd go to lunch with me.
Fine. But.
It took him a half hour to return, and then there were "a few things to be done" before we could go to the diner, and my one hour allotted for lunch (including the drive) turned into two and a half. Or more. I wanted to leave to head back south by 5 pm, and didn't get back to the house to load the van until 3.
When I arrived back at the old house after lunch with Piper, The Hairless Hunk followed me up the driveway. I would have liked to talk more with him, but I really needed to load the van and get moving, so I'm afraid I gave him short shrift.
I got back to the new house about 7 pm last night, parked Fred and turned him off, and ... his tail lights stayed on. His lights stay on for a while when you turn him off, so I didn't notice at first, until I went out for a cigarette about an hour later and wondered what the red glow on the driveway behind him was.
I tried everything I could think of - turned headlights on and off, tried the emergency brake on an off, started him and tried turn signals and then turned him off, but the tail lights stayed on.
Ack! Battery! Death of!
I went into the house to get his book (still in the house from when I was looking up his pink fluids), and when I came back out, the lights were off.
I had a slew of things to do today, like take a load of fabric to the storage facility, pick up a 4' stepladder at Home Depot, deposit some checks, grocery shop, pick up a "raincheck" order at the CVS, and so on. Most of it didn't get done because I had to go to the dealership and get Fred's lights fixed. And yup, again they stayed on when I turned him off.
Turns out it was some of his handicap wiring had rubbed some regular wiring, and caused a short in the switch. $208.33 and a few hours later, the switch was replaced.
In the service department waiting room, I was reading a Time magazine, and another woman about my age was reading a book. A man came in, also about our age, sat between us, and made a cell phone call. A very LOUD chatty call. It was impossible to read. Hey, he's our age! He should know better! When he finished that call, and then dialed another, I slapped the magazine on my thigh, and the other woman slammed her book closed and slapped the cover, we glanced at each other, and glared at him. I said to her, very loudly, (I had to be loud to be heard over him), "Well, maybe we could read aloud." It didn't seem to faze him, but maybe, because he talked only a few more minutes before saying, "I'll call you later" and hanging up.
He has to be the most dense man ever, because even though I had gone back to my magazine and was engrossed, he then proceeded to "chat me up." He got one-word responses. He finally took the hint and moved to the sales area.
Too bad. He was actually kind of good looking.
I never did make it to the grocery store or the CVS. Ice cream for dinner!
.
Pardoning the bad is injuring the good.
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Remember I said we nonprofessionals can be forgiven errors, but professionals must be held to a higher standard? This is from www.fox40.com/news a few days ago, about a herd of goats that got loose on a highway: "After nearly 20 hours of wandering, and wrecking havoc, around 60 nannies and billies are back under control."
Listen my children, and learn. "Havoc" is a state of chaos. It IS a wreck. So it doesn't make any sense to "wreck" havoc. The word the writer was looking for was "wreak". You wreak havoc. The two words are even pronounced differently. Another case of someone having heard and then used an expression without thinking about, let alone understanding, it.
--------------------------------
Tuesday I headed north to the old house with the newly patched up Fred. His pink leak was transmission fluid, seals now fixed. I filled some more garbage bags, and packed up more stuff to bring south. I was very tired by 8 pm, went to bed with some crossword puzzles, and was asleep within minutes.
I had brought some things for Wednesday's breakfast and mid-morning snack, but needed to go out for lunch, so when I went into the village, I stopped in at Piper's office. Piper wasn't there, but his daughter was, and she said he'd gone to the Italian restaurant for takeout for their lunch. She called him, and he said he'd bring back her sandwich, and then he'd go to lunch with me.
Fine. But.
It took him a half hour to return, and then there were "a few things to be done" before we could go to the diner, and my one hour allotted for lunch (including the drive) turned into two and a half. Or more. I wanted to leave to head back south by 5 pm, and didn't get back to the house to load the van until 3.
When I arrived back at the old house after lunch with Piper, The Hairless Hunk followed me up the driveway. I would have liked to talk more with him, but I really needed to load the van and get moving, so I'm afraid I gave him short shrift.
I got back to the new house about 7 pm last night, parked Fred and turned him off, and ... his tail lights stayed on. His lights stay on for a while when you turn him off, so I didn't notice at first, until I went out for a cigarette about an hour later and wondered what the red glow on the driveway behind him was.
I tried everything I could think of - turned headlights on and off, tried the emergency brake on an off, started him and tried turn signals and then turned him off, but the tail lights stayed on.
Ack! Battery! Death of!
I went into the house to get his book (still in the house from when I was looking up his pink fluids), and when I came back out, the lights were off.
I had a slew of things to do today, like take a load of fabric to the storage facility, pick up a 4' stepladder at Home Depot, deposit some checks, grocery shop, pick up a "raincheck" order at the CVS, and so on. Most of it didn't get done because I had to go to the dealership and get Fred's lights fixed. And yup, again they stayed on when I turned him off.
Turns out it was some of his handicap wiring had rubbed some regular wiring, and caused a short in the switch. $208.33 and a few hours later, the switch was replaced.
In the service department waiting room, I was reading a Time magazine, and another woman about my age was reading a book. A man came in, also about our age, sat between us, and made a cell phone call. A very LOUD chatty call. It was impossible to read. Hey, he's our age! He should know better! When he finished that call, and then dialed another, I slapped the magazine on my thigh, and the other woman slammed her book closed and slapped the cover, we glanced at each other, and glared at him. I said to her, very loudly, (I had to be loud to be heard over him), "Well, maybe we could read aloud." It didn't seem to faze him, but maybe, because he talked only a few more minutes before saying, "I'll call you later" and hanging up.
He has to be the most dense man ever, because even though I had gone back to my magazine and was engrossed, he then proceeded to "chat me up." He got one-word responses. He finally took the hint and moved to the sales area.
Too bad. He was actually kind of good looking.
I never did make it to the grocery store or the CVS. Ice cream for dinner!
.
Monday, February 28, 2011
3178 Why I disliked poetry professors
Monday, February 28, 2011
I think I'd have been ok with Billy. Enjoy the words, explore the content, but if you REALLY want to know what a poem means, you'd have to tie the poet to a chair and beat it out of him/her.
Consensus is a political concept, not a scientific one.
-----------------------------------------------
-----------------------------------------------
Introduction to Poetry
---Billy Collins
I ask them to take a poem
and hold it up to the light
like a color slide
or press an ear against its hive.
I say drop a mouse into a poem
and watch him probe his way out,
or walk inside the poem's room
and feel the walls for a light switch.
I want them to waterski
across the surface of a poem
waving at the author's name on the shore.
But all they want to do
is tie the poem to a chair with rope
and torture a confession out of it.
They begin beating it with a hose
to find out what it really means.
---Billy Collins
I ask them to take a poem
and hold it up to the light
like a color slide
or press an ear against its hive.
I say drop a mouse into a poem
and watch him probe his way out,
or walk inside the poem's room
and feel the walls for a light switch.
I want them to waterski
across the surface of a poem
waving at the author's name on the shore.
But all they want to do
is tie the poem to a chair with rope
and torture a confession out of it.
They begin beating it with a hose
to find out what it really means.
I think I'd have been ok with Billy. Enjoy the words, explore the content, but if you REALLY want to know what a poem means, you'd have to tie the poet to a chair and beat it out of him/her.
Sunday, February 27, 2011
3177 If you're watching...
Sunday, February 27, 2011
... the Oscars, Marisa Tomei just introduced a group shot of the technical award winners.
That's what Jay's father won in the mid '90s. They don't get the statuette. They get a gold medallion on a wood plaque. I touched it....
----------------------------
A little research: According to IMDb, he won in 1991, but Jay and I weren't married until 1994, and I distinctly remember Fred going to California, and getting the award at a presentation dinner the night before the Oscars, that's when they do the technical awards, and I was horrified that he took his ancient rusty moth-eaten tuxedo to wear. When he came back, he showed us the medallion, right there in our kitchen, and then Kodak took it and put it in the Kodak "trophy case". So I don't see how it could have been 1991. Something's wrong somewhere. I think IMDb might have it wrong.
-----------------------------
Later: Some more research - In 1988 and again in 1994 he was also awarded gold medals by The Society of Motion Picture and Television Engineers. Hmmmm.
-----------------------------
Sigh. Further research. I went directly into the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences data base - and that says he won the Academy Award in 1990. Heh. IMDb, and several other websites that say 1991, are, in fact, wrong. And it must have been the SMPTE medal he showed me, not the Academy award.
How annoying.
.
“A stupid man’s report of what a clever man says can never be accurate,
because he unconsciously translates what he hears
into something he can understand.”
-- Bertrand Russell --
----------------------------------------
because he unconsciously translates what he hears
into something he can understand.”
-- Bertrand Russell --
----------------------------------------
... the Oscars, Marisa Tomei just introduced a group shot of the technical award winners.
That's what Jay's father won in the mid '90s. They don't get the statuette. They get a gold medallion on a wood plaque. I touched it....
----------------------------
A little research: According to IMDb, he won in 1991, but Jay and I weren't married until 1994, and I distinctly remember Fred going to California, and getting the award at a presentation dinner the night before the Oscars, that's when they do the technical awards, and I was horrified that he took his ancient rusty moth-eaten tuxedo to wear. When he came back, he showed us the medallion, right there in our kitchen, and then Kodak took it and put it in the Kodak "trophy case". So I don't see how it could have been 1991. Something's wrong somewhere. I think IMDb might have it wrong.
-----------------------------
Later: Some more research - In 1988 and again in 1994 he was also awarded gold medals by The Society of Motion Picture and Television Engineers. Hmmmm.
-----------------------------
Sigh. Further research. I went directly into the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences data base - and that says he won the Academy Award in 1990. Heh. IMDb, and several other websites that say 1991, are, in fact, wrong. And it must have been the SMPTE medal he showed me, not the Academy award.
How annoying.
.
3176 Loosening the noose
Sunday, February 27, 20011
A lot has happened since yesterday's posts. Zig has been very helpful, informative, protective, and supportive. He even engaged FW in casual conversation and determined that in fact she will NOT be attending the gathering next weekend. The report that she was going was perhaps a misunderstanding. (No one else wanted to ask her directly for fear that if they asked, it would make her want to go, and she'd hit them up for a ride and a room.)
That's a major relief. I think I'll forgive Zig all his past transgressions and even allow him a few free future ones. And others have raised a small army of volunteer bodyguards who said they'd make sure I was always surrounded by people at the gathering.
People who don't know her wonder why she frightens me so much. People who do know her understand. When she's "in a state", all the normal governors are off, she's absolutely unpredictable, and she's strangely obsessed with me. Bad combination.
Zig has expressed surprise that she is suddenly friendly toward him, calls and chatting over the past week or so. She's got me so paranoid right now that I'm thinking maybe she's being so friendly with him because she knows he and I don't get along very well, he always knows what's going on in the group, and she's subtly milking him for information - like what I might be doing to undermine her, what others think about how I have been attacking her (the attacks are in her mind only, no one else sees it that way, but in her view that's what's going on, and I don't understand that at all), and so on.
-------------------------------
This is weird. When the month changes, or the year changes, I sometimes use the old month or year on checks and the blog until I get used to it. This past week I've been using "October" instead of "February" when I date blog posts. I seem to really think it's October.
I'm surprised no one noticed and razzed me about it. I went back and fixed the posts, but now I'm concerned about why. Am I really that whacked? Or is it a warning, that something significant will happen in October? I'm sure it's next October. In fact, this morning I thought, "Oh, wow, today is my birthday." I really thought for a moment that it is now October.
For a long time, the first week of October was a bad time. That's when Jay had his first seizure, his first recurrence of the tumor, and so on for the four years of his fight. Every October, the first week brought some very bad news, and it continued that way for several more years.
I guess we'll have to wait a few more months to see what happens.
Remember - you heard it here first (whatever it is....)
--------------------------------
There are people who use the U.S. motto, "In God We Trust", and the words in the pledge, "under God", as PROOF! that the country was formed as religious-based.
They don't know their history. The reference to a god was added to the pledge in 1954, and the motto, which first appeared on coins during the Civil War, was adopted as the official motto in 1956.
The Founding Fathers had nothing to do with either.
The pledge was written by a Baptist minister in the early 1890s, and the later "under God" was added by a chaplain, and promulgated by the Knights of Columbus, a Catholic organization. They of course refer to their god. Regardless of any other consideration, my opinion is that requiring one to pledge allegiance "under God" is the establishment and endorsement of a particular version of religion as official, and therefore is expressly prohibited by the Constitution.
Oof. I don't know where that rant came from.... Some pompous ass on TV must have gotten to me.
.
You know you're in law school when you consider dropping out of school approximately every hour,
but after that first semester you realize you are already in too much debt
to be anything but a lawyer.
---------------------------------------------------
but after that first semester you realize you are already in too much debt
to be anything but a lawyer.
---------------------------------------------------
A lot has happened since yesterday's posts. Zig has been very helpful, informative, protective, and supportive. He even engaged FW in casual conversation and determined that in fact she will NOT be attending the gathering next weekend. The report that she was going was perhaps a misunderstanding. (No one else wanted to ask her directly for fear that if they asked, it would make her want to go, and she'd hit them up for a ride and a room.)
That's a major relief. I think I'll forgive Zig all his past transgressions and even allow him a few free future ones. And others have raised a small army of volunteer bodyguards who said they'd make sure I was always surrounded by people at the gathering.
People who don't know her wonder why she frightens me so much. People who do know her understand. When she's "in a state", all the normal governors are off, she's absolutely unpredictable, and she's strangely obsessed with me. Bad combination.
Zig has expressed surprise that she is suddenly friendly toward him, calls and chatting over the past week or so. She's got me so paranoid right now that I'm thinking maybe she's being so friendly with him because she knows he and I don't get along very well, he always knows what's going on in the group, and she's subtly milking him for information - like what I might be doing to undermine her, what others think about how I have been attacking her (the attacks are in her mind only, no one else sees it that way, but in her view that's what's going on, and I don't understand that at all), and so on.
-------------------------------
This is weird. When the month changes, or the year changes, I sometimes use the old month or year on checks and the blog until I get used to it. This past week I've been using "October" instead of "February" when I date blog posts. I seem to really think it's October.
I'm surprised no one noticed and razzed me about it. I went back and fixed the posts, but now I'm concerned about why. Am I really that whacked? Or is it a warning, that something significant will happen in October? I'm sure it's next October. In fact, this morning I thought, "Oh, wow, today is my birthday." I really thought for a moment that it is now October.
For a long time, the first week of October was a bad time. That's when Jay had his first seizure, his first recurrence of the tumor, and so on for the four years of his fight. Every October, the first week brought some very bad news, and it continued that way for several more years.
I guess we'll have to wait a few more months to see what happens.
Remember - you heard it here first (whatever it is....)
--------------------------------
There are people who use the U.S. motto, "In God We Trust", and the words in the pledge, "under God", as PROOF! that the country was formed as religious-based.
They don't know their history. The reference to a god was added to the pledge in 1954, and the motto, which first appeared on coins during the Civil War, was adopted as the official motto in 1956.
The Founding Fathers had nothing to do with either.
The pledge was written by a Baptist minister in the early 1890s, and the later "under God" was added by a chaplain, and promulgated by the Knights of Columbus, a Catholic organization. They of course refer to their god. Regardless of any other consideration, my opinion is that requiring one to pledge allegiance "under God" is the establishment and endorsement of a particular version of religion as official, and therefore is expressly prohibited by the Constitution.
Oof. I don't know where that rant came from.... Some pompous ass on TV must have gotten to me.
.
3175 Interesting Observation
Sunday, February 27, 2011
As you've probably heard, corporations are now "people" -- humanoids that are equivalent to you and me.
Since the 13th Amendment bans slavery, which is the ownership of a person, the newly born corporate "persons" cannot legally be bought and sold. Thus Wall Street -- now a slave market -- must be shut down! Let us all join hands and march for this new civil rights cause, chanting, "Free the Corporate Slaves!"
From AlterNet, By Jim Hightower
"Some editors are failed writers, but so are most writers".
-- T.S. Eliot --
------------------------------------
-- T.S. Eliot --
------------------------------------
As you've probably heard, corporations are now "people" -- humanoids that are equivalent to you and me.
Since the 13th Amendment bans slavery, which is the ownership of a person, the newly born corporate "persons" cannot legally be bought and sold. Thus Wall Street -- now a slave market -- must be shut down! Let us all join hands and march for this new civil rights cause, chanting, "Free the Corporate Slaves!"
From AlterNet, By Jim Hightower
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