3611 Telephone protocol

Saturday, September 8, 2012

Half the American people have never read a newspaper.

Half have never voted for president.

One hopes it is the same half.

-- Gore Vidal --

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Daughter has never telephoned someone when I'm around, so I don't know if the following is a general pattern with her, or reserved for me.

My phone:  "Ring ring..."  Phone display says it's her.
Me:  "Hello."
Her:  "Hi Mom."
...silence...
...silence...
...silence...which will continue until...
Me:  "Um, you called me.  You get to pick a topic."
Her:  "Oh, yeah, I'm going to the store.  Need anything?" (or whatever her topic is)

Every single call! 

Is the problem mine?  When she says "Hi, Mom", am I supposed to say hello again, or ask what's up, or "how are you", or something?  Is my understanding of phone protocol wrong?  Isn't the person who made the call supposed to take the lead?
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3610 Truth and fish stories

Wednesday, September 6, 2012

Be scrupulously truthful, even if the truth is inconvenient,

for it is more inconvenient when you try to conceal it.

-- Bertrand Russell --

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It amused me that in Michelle's speech, the sentence "The truth matters" got a huge cheer.

I can forgive Paul Ryan his misstatement about his marathon time.  We all tend to misremember things that happened many years ago.  We remember the feeling, that it was especially good or especially bad, that we were especially proud or especially angry, so we tend to take whatever the details were and add or subtract numbers, points, inches, minutes, whatever to make it as impressive to others as it was to ourselves.

My daughter's GPA, awards, and birth weight, for example, keep growing while her toddler tantrum count keeps falling.  I feel no need for accuracy or apology.  I just subconsciously want others to be as impressed as I was.

I cannot forgive the flat-out lies in political ads and speeches though.  I read somewhere about a Republican TV ad that everyone, even the Republican party, admits is a wild untruth, but that the party continues to run because "it's effective".

"Effective" is more important than "true"?  We are doomed. 

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Glenn Close was on "The View" today.  I adore Glenn Close.  Just sayin'.

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Perhaps because of a casual mention somewhere, I decided to Google Jan-Michael Vincent.  A "whatever happened to" kind of thought.  I ended up at a poignant article in "LOST Magazine".  Very sad, but somehow ok.

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Did you know you can get nasty worms (anisakis) from sushi and sashimi? The fish must be frozen before use to kill the worms.  Special fish, "sushi-grade" fish, that's been through a flash-freezing process is used for sushi/sashimi.  It's very dangerous to use supermarket or fish market fish, especially wild sea fish.  How come I'd never heard that before?

I am amused that certain people will eat sushi only in certain restaurants because they insist it's "absolutely fresh" there.  Little do they know.  It better not be....
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3609 Fairy dancer

Wednesday, September 6, 2012

I have the body of a Corvette. A '66 Corvette.

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From the WSJ Law Blog:

"A federal appeals court on Wednesday blocked a Minnesota campaign finance law that it said overburdened corporations that want to spend money to influence elections."

Think about that a bit, especially the last five words. Full story at the above link.

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Beautiful!  I swear I can see a spirit dancing inside.

[http://youtu.be/1C_40B9m4tI]

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I dislike people who think fashion is more important than substance, so forgive my commenting on Michelle Obama's clothes, but too often I think her clothing is too tight across the bust, and it hurts me!
 
Photo by: Alex Wong/Getty Images

I get pain in my breasts every time I look at hers.  I feel like I can't breathe.  There's something weird about her bra - it seems to flatten her on the sides.  It looks like it hurts.  It makes it difficult for me to see or hear anything else.

Free the girls, Michelle!  Let them breathe!

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My new Kenmore refrigerator arrived last Thursday.  I like it.  But it arrived with the doors hinged on the right.  I had ordered it hinged on the left, and I'm sure the salesman noted that because he asked me to verify the order before he hit Enter.  The delivery guys said they couldn't change it, it should have been done at the warehouse, so I'd have to call service.

Now, understand that one consideration that went into this purchase was the availability of service.  Sears services everything they sell, as opposed to, say, Sam's Appliance Sales.

It has taken me four days, four phone calls, a trip to the store to talk to the salesman, a threat to return the damn thing because what was delivered was not what I ordered, and two attempts at online chat --- to simply schedule a service call, and they can't come until the 12th.

I am spitting nails.

(I did look at the manual to see if I could do it myself, but the directions mention a certain "set screw" that doesn't seem to exist.  There's nothing but smooth metal where the arrow in the illustration points.  Hercules looked, too.  He couldn't figure it out, either.  I'm beginning to wonder if that's why the warehouse guys didn't do it - they couldn't figure out how.)

3608 Oh, good grief!

Tuesday, August 28, 2012

“I’m not on Facebook” is the new “I don’t own a TV.”

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You must must must make yourself a pot of tea or coffee (or open a bottle of wine) and go to http://www.amazon.co.uk/BIC-For-Amber-Medium-Ballpoint/dp/B004FTGJUW, and read the product reviews at the bottom!  It's a riot.  Who says Brits are humorless?
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3607 Slinky dropping, refrigerator shopping

Tuesday, August 28, 2012

From the 1985 movie "Bliss":  "The entire economy of the Western world

is built on things that cause cancer."

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Todd Akin is screwing the GOP even though they asked him not to.  I wonder if there's a word for that.

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I bought a refrigerator yesterday.  I had shopped online for my ideal refrigerator, and I'd visited a few  local stores.  I wanted a not-too-big model, 20 to 22 cubic feet, bottom freezer, one piece (as opposed to the side-by-side two-door things), nothing fancy like ice maker or drink dispenser (I won't use them so they're just sources of problems, like leaks), and a reasonable price.

I was getting very discouraged.  Durn things are horribly expensive.  And the bottom freezers I looked at were all drawers.  None had a swing door and pull-out basket like I wanted.  Those drawers would be difficult for me because I'm so short.  I'd have to lean over the drawer at about belly level (my arms would just barely reach the bottom of the drawer) and in that position lift out, say, a heavy turkey.  That could be very hard on my back.  With a swing door and pull-out basket I can skooch and lift with my legs.  I was very sad.  I finally picked one online from Sears that looked likely, at least it was slightly under $1000, and I printed out the info to go look at it, but I still wasn't enthusiastic.

I heard that Sears was going to have a big sale on refrigerators over Labor Day, so on impulse yesterday, on a trip to the post office, I decided to go to Sears.  The refrigerators are already on sale, and if they go lower over the weekend, I can get a refund for the difference.  The salesman, hearing what I wanted, showed me a white one that looked likely, for $1050(ish).  I said, well, I really need almond, and right around the corner was the same refrigerator in almond - for only $750!  I asked why the big difference in price, and he said because almond doesn't sell as well (yeah, this was the first almond I'd seen in all my searching), and it has the textured finish instead of gloss (yeah, I hadn't seen many textured, either, and I prefer textured), and, a feature no one likes, it has a swing-out freezer door instead of the drawer.

I about fell over, and bought it on the spot!  Incredible!

It will be delivered Thursday.

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The following video is from "theslomoguys".  They do slow motion videos, some of which are sophomoric, and some of which are fascinating.  It has me missing Jay.  He'd be fascinated by this one, produce an explanation, and then perform some experiments to verify his theory.

Proposition:  What happens if you hold a Slinky out by one end, and then drop it?  The answer is interesting.  It's a spring and it wants to contract (which they say), but I'm left with my own additional question - i.e. once it has contracted, does the top fall faster, or slower, or continue at the same rate?  Once the top and bottom meet, note that the bottom seems to fall faster.  That's counter intuitive.  (I haven't mentioned what happens.  Watch the video to find out.  2 minutes.)

[http://youtu.be/rCw5JXD18y4]
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3606 I can be very nasty

Sunday, August 26, 2012

We must never confuse dissent with disloyalty.

--   Edward R. Morrow  --

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Here's where I say what I'm thinking.  I just hope the person I'm saying it about never finds this.  On the other hand, maybe she needs the kick in the pants.

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A while ago another blogger linked to a blog about a couple currently fighting the husband's brain cancer.  Having familiarity with that particular situation I read the blog, starting from the beginning.  I didn't get very far before I had to take a break from it, because I got so very annoyed with the wife - and I avoid annoyances these days. 

I had to think about my annoyance, distance myself from it, and I think now I can go back to it sometime.  Let's face it - I'm very curious as to the husband's treatment and the course of the tumor.  Given the continuing search hits on my own "brain cancer timeline" post from a few years ago, a lot of people likely facing the same diagnosis are curious, too.  We need to know what to expect.  I'd like to know what is different now from when Jay was being treated.

It's amazing how different people handle things in different ways.

When Jay got his diagnosis, we were stunned the first two or three days.  Mostly we did internet research.  Then one evening we sat against the headboard with our arms around each other and cried.   That was the first and last time we cried, and the last time we used the word "cancer".  From then on we referred to it as "the tumor".  That sounded beatable.  Just a pesky lump.

Doctors were privately frank with me about the likely course and prognosis, but they seemed to be aware that Jay was intent on maintaining a positive attitude, and they never mentioned life expectancy to him.  They were very positive and supportive.

The only time I mentioned death to him was when he had an especially rough recovery from his third craniotomy, and I said, "Sweetheart, would it be ironic if you beat the tumor, but the treatment killed you?"  His response, "If the treatment kills me, then I beat the tumor.  It didn't get me."  The only time he brought up death himself was when he told me that he didn't want to "die by surprise".  He asked me to promise to tell him when he was on the way out.  I promised.  And I did in his last few hours, when there was nothing else left.

Given that, perhaps it's understandable that I had difficulty with the way this other couple handled it.  The wife wails that her husband is DYING!  She has already given up.  She constantly reminds him that he's DYING!  She constantly reminds herself that he's actively engaged in the process of DYING!  She seems to want support from him (!), because her husband is DYING!  Now, he's young, and with constant reminders from her, he's seeing his life leaking away.  What about all the things he'd wanted to do?  What about his dreams for the future?  But she seems less interested in his feelings, and is focused on what on earth will happen to her when her husband DIES!  "Oh, oh, poor meeeeeeeeee!  My husband is DYING!"

I hoped that this was just what she said to the blog, just letting it out, screaming to the wall, that in real life she was much more concerned with her husband's feelings and much more positive.  And that's ok.  I used to get in the car and drive out to the middle of the farm fields, roll up the windows, and scream as loud and as long as I could, until I couldn't scream any more.  I screamed for the unfairness of it all, for what was happening to Jay.  Then I could drive home and be calm and positive with him.  Maybe the blog is her place to scream. 

Nope. My hopes were dashed when her birthday came around.  Stand-up comedy is a dream of her husband.  It gives him joy.  He had an opportunity to appear on stage at a comedy club - on her birthday.  He wanted to do it, he was excited about it, and she freaked out.  That he would dare to ruin her birthday!  She argued with him about it.  I was shocked.  My head spun.  Doesn't she realize that she can look forward to more birthdays, with luck more with him?  But his chances to do standup might be dwindling?  Nope.  It's all about meeeeeeee!  My husband is DYING on meeeeeee, and now he wants to destroy my birthday, too!

Sorry.  At that point I couldn't read much more.  I wanted to strangle her.

I gather that she has some kind of chronic medical issues of her own.  I understand that she depends on him.  I guess she thought he would be there forever to help and emotionally support her.  And now all that came crashing down.  Ok.  Understandable.  Self pity is ok.  That's when you scream in private.

But, he needs her emotional support right now, and she's failing him.

I'm having a lot of trouble with this.  Poor meeeeeeeeee.

I'll go back and give her another chance.  I hope she gets a grip.  (Oh, by the way, she tends to exaggerate.  Like when she talks about the gazillion pages of the application for SS disability.  I dealt with that.  Mostly the doctor says yea verily, provides a diagnosis and prognosis, and that's about it.  I don't remember more than one page I had to fill out - or maybe several pages, but only a few simple questions per page.  Not a big deal when the topic is brain cancer.  But well, that doesn't get you pity.)

I'm pretty nasty.  Arrogant and nasty.  And, of course, perfect.
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3605 Regrets

Sunday, August 26, 2012

Among wild dogs, the family that preys together stays together.

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Regarding the previous post, the things I regret most are not so much the decisions that hurt me, but things I did or said that hurt others.  I'm rather socially inept.  I sometimes blurt without thinking.

There are two particular instances that still, after decades, bother me.  I wish I could take them back.

Fall 1967.  Before cell phones, GPS, internet maps.  My first day at a new job, picking up an emergency semi-permanent job from a teacher who'd had a heart attack, math at the high school in Hanover, Pa.  The superintendent's office had called me to please come in the next day, and the secretary gave me directions to the school.  She told me to turn right at (something like) the second traffic light, then turn left at the second light, then right at the next light, et cetera.

The next morning I left home with a good half-hour to spare, and headed to Hanover.

I went through only one traffic light, Hanover is (was?) a small town, and I soon found found myself through the town and out in farmland.  I didn't know whether to keep going, maybe there'd be another light?  Nah.  There's nothing out here.  I turned around and tried turning at that previous light.  Again after a barren while I found myself out in farmland.

I had to find the center of town where there were businesses, and ask.  I arrived at the school 20 minutes late for the first period.  This is very bad.  Somebody has to be in the classroom at all times.  Teachers cannot EVER be late.

I rushed into the office.  There were two secretaries there.  The taller one asked what had happened.  I replied that (and I still remember my exact words), "I got directions from the superintendent's office, but the idiot secretary there doesn't know the difference between a traffic light and a stop sign.  I kept looking for traffic lights that don't exist."

The other secretary looked up and flinched.  She was a much older woman, small and pale.  She got even paler, her face fell, and I knew immediately that I had screwed up.  She said, "Yesterday was my day to sub at the superintendent's office."  She teared up, and wailed as she ran for the inner office, "I don't drive.  I don't know the difference between a traffic light and a stop sign!"

Sigh.  I still, for some reason, remember that.  I made a sweet little old lady cry.

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Fall, 1990.  The ladies' room at the Litigation Lab.  It was small, two stalls, one sink, one small sofa, a waste can.  We ten people were the only people in the very large building; the only females at that time were me, Martha, and the secretary.  We had a huge dedicated multi-mainframe computer room with the usual raised floor.  The building was surrounded by fields, and we'd had a problem with snakes, mice, shrews, and who knows what else under the floors.

One day we started to have a problem in the ladies' room.  It got worse and worse over the period of a few days,  and one day when I went in there, the smell was so bad I literally gagged.  It smelled exactly like something had died and rotted in there.  The stench of death.  I mean really really bad.  Like a groundhog had rolled up under the computer room floor and against the rest room wall and was turning into a pool of noxious liquid soaking through the wall.

The secretary was washing her hands when I walked in.  She was one of those very mousy women who always look like they're expecting to be beaten.  Stooped back, shoulders rolled forward, head down.  Never looked anyone in the eye.

I said, "Oh my God!  What died in here?!  That's awful!" and started sniffing trying to locate the source.

She looked up, looked me in the eye for the first time ever, and I saw fear and shame there.  She said, "It's me.  There's something wrong in my bowels.  Everything I eat just rots in there."  And then she scurried out before I could digest what she said.  (No pun intended.)

I stopped by her desk and said I was sorry to have reacted so badly, but that she really should see a doctor.  That has to be a sign of something that needs help.

She didn't come into work the next day, and the following week we had a new secretary.  No one knew anything about her condition, or where she was, but I heard that it was pancreatic cancer.  I don't know if that was knowledge or presumption.  It turns out no one knew her at all.

What sticks in my head is the look in her eyes when she said "it's me", and I very much regret having elicited that look.  I wish it had never happened.

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Of course those aren't the only times I said or did something that hurt or upset another person, but for some reason these are the ones that stuck, that I still see and hear in my mind, that make me cringe, make me want to do it over.  Is it coincidence that both were secretaries?  Or is it more that both were mousy defenseless women?
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3604 Choices

Sunday, August 26, 2012

I distrust those people who know so well what God wants them to do,

because I notice it always coincides with their own desires.

--  Susan B. Anthony  --

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I have a few decades to look back on.  Many forks in the road.  Many decisions made. 

I sometimes wonder how life would have been different if I had made different choices.  What if I had married Obie instead of Bob?  What if I had gone into pathology instead of teaching?  What if I had done this instead of that?  Gone here instead of there?  Said this instead of that? 

Sometimes, in my current wisdom, it seems like every decision I made, every path I took, was the wrong one.  Sometimes I get very depressed about that.  Like I sold myself short over and over.  I hurt myself and others.  Stupid stupid.

But I couldn't have been that stupid. There was more to it than stupidity.

I am aware that for more than the first half of my life I was very emotionally fragile, and that played a large part in the forks I took.  I chose the path that seemed to offer the greatest protection, the least potential for pain. Whatever that path offered was what I needed most at the time to feel safe.

In every case, I made the best decision I could possibly have made at the time, given my history of physical and emotional trauma, my fears, knowledge, and needs. 

I think everyone does that.  You make the choices that seem right at the time.  When you look back, you might decide you made the wrong choice, but when you're looking back, you have a different view.  You know more about the whole situation.  Not the same at all, so it's unfair to judge yourself.

Um, keep that in mind when judging others, too.  People don't do stupid things to themselves on purpose.  At the time, it seemed to them like the best or only thing to do.

The only way I could have done anything differently is to have been born a different person, at a different time, to different parents.  I am now the person I was meant to be, in the place in life I was meant to be.  It couldn't have been any different, because I was the person I was.
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3603 We get what we ask for

Saturday, August 25, 2012

We teach people how to treat us.

-- Me --

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This is one time that the post content is directly related to the (not-so-random-this-time) green quote.  We do teach others how to treat us.  Sometimes it's very subtle.

The last few months with Jay, he was blind, and the left side of the world had disappeared because of the damage to the right side of his brain, so when his many friends and coworkers came to visit, I told them to sit on the right side of the bed, and to put their hand firmly on his right forearm so he could locate them in space.

Almost without exception, guest after guest widened their eyes, and said, "Touch him?  You don't touch Jay.  Are you sure it's ok?"

In an office where it was normal to put your hand on someone's shoulder when leaning over to look at something on their terminal screen, to shake hands when you come to an agreement, to high-five when celebrating, or to pat an upper arm when passing, no one, ever, touched Jay.  He and I were best of friends for seven years, the last two of which he worked every afternoon in my office, hiding out from people looking for advice so he could get his own work done.  Eventually I transferred out of that office to the litigation lab, without, in all those years, ever having so much as touched his back when I passed behind his chair. 

Yes, you didn't touch Jay.

No one was able to say how they knew that.  It's not like he flinched from contact, or stiffened, or anything like that.  He was charming and relaxed, the master of fast puns and wordplay.  But somehow people just knew.  Somehow they sensed, "you don't touch Jay".  Even I, who knew him so well, knew that, but even now I can't tell you why.


At 6'3", 220 lbs, with 24" wide shoulders and a big black beard, he could be intimidating, but he wasn't.  He came across as a bunny rabbit.  A large bunny, but a bunny.

It turns out that he really WAS extremely sensitive to touch.  After we finally got together, I discovered that you could touch him firmly, tightly, but not lightly.  He didn't physically react to a light touch, didn't flinch or frown, but he was extremely conscious of it, like his mind stopped in its tracks and concentrated on that spot.  I discovered that he couldn't wear certain fabrics next to his skin.  Sweaters drove him crazy, even over a shirt.  Sweatshirts were torture.  I got him silky pajama bottoms to wear inside his suit pants, and he was pathetically grateful. 

In his last year we found out why.  During some brain function testing, he was diagnosed as high-functioning autistic, probably Asperger's Syndrome.  Autism often involves extreme sensitivity to touch.

No one had ever before mentioned autism to him (at that time Asperger's was not well known), but it explained so much about him.  Not going to get into that now, that's not the topic.

Back to the topic - everyone knew not to touch Jay --- but how did they know?  No one could say.  But somehow, in some extremely subtle but subconscious way, he taught people not to touch.

We teach people how to treat us.

If you are ignored all the time, somehow you are signalling to people that you don't want to be part of the group.

If you are taken advantage of all the time, somehow you are telling people that you don't mind being the giver.

If you aren't in on the office gossip, somehow you've given the impression that you don't like gossips.

If people never listen to you, somehow you telegraph that you think you have nothing important to say.

On and on.  Pick something.  

Somehow you are teaching people how to relate to you.  What you have taught them may or may not be true of you (but I'll bet it is true, even if you don't want to admit it).  It's likely that, as with Jay, they couldn't tell you what specific signals they are picking up, they just know how to react.  It's likely that no amount of self examination will uncover what you are doing to get that reaction.

Maybe, if you don't like the way you are treated, you just have to internally change the way you expect to be treated, and your external signals will change, too.

(I still don't know how I knew not to touch Jay during those first many years as coworkers.)
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3602 Who votes Republican? And why?

Thursday, August 23, 2012

Too many people don’t know the difference between “possible” and “probable”.

--  Me  --

(...especially where gossip is concerned....)

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I was thinking about Rocky's comment on my previous post (go read it, I'll wait).  I know quite a few people who vote Republican all the time, and most of them are normally reasonable and intelligent people. If they are friends, it's understood that we never never ever talk politics.  Or religion.

Piper took a long time to learn that.  He kept trying to "educate" me.  He couldn't understand how I could be so invested in stock and real estate, and not vote my self-interest.  He finally gave up, but he will still rail in front of me at people who make stupid financial decisions, who don't work, who use "the system", and he fumes at the "socialist" government that forces him to pay for those people's mistakes.  There's a large "I made it, why can't they" component to his rants.

So, anyway, I was thinking about my politically conservative/Republican friends.  How would I define them, what are their characteristics? 

They seem to fall into two very different groups.

One group is Rocky's rich white men, some rich white women, and women who live off the rich white men.  This group is not as large as the second group, but  they have the money to contribute to candidates, and money counts heavily. Money wins elections.  These people see government as a good investment that can help them acquire more money.

The second group is much larger.  These are people who make just a little bit too much to qualify for social programs and financial aid.  They work hard.  They aspire to the good life they see on TV.  They are less well educated, tend to distrust "book-smarts", and are the target audience for Madison Avenue advertisers.  They fall for buzz words and sound bites.  They tend to be patriotic and love their cars and their guns.   This is a very large group.  They vote.  Votes win elections.  They fiercely resent that the government is taking money from them and giving it to people they see as less deserving. 

Think about the conservative political rhetoric.  It's tailored to appeal to the second group.  But the first group knows the real agenda (nudge nudge wink wink).

I said that the second group falls for buzz words.  Here's an example.  Say "socialism" to a member of that group and you get an immediate spittingly negative reaction.  Now ask that person what socialism is.  Dollars to donuts you won't get an answer beyond that it's bad.  They seem to equate it to the perverted form of communism practiced in Russia.  (I wonder if they are aware that the Israeli kibbutz is pure communism?)  If you want to get punched out, point out to them that their local fire department and police force are socialistic.  And how about bridges and the highway system?  Socialism.  Streetlights?  State colleges?  Utility rate regulation?  Socialism.  Ask them if they really want every road to be a toll road, including the street they live on.

Pure unadulterated capitalism puts profit above everything else.  The first group loves capitalism. 

Socialism puts profit secondary to the social good.  Pure unadulterated socialism discourages innovation.  

The ideal is a mix of the two - capitalism dominating for non-necessities, socialism dominating for necessities.  The first group, the group with all the money and ability to control "the message", hates being restricted in their quest for profit, so they want to ensure that the second group, with all those votes, rejects socialism.

It seems to me that the only argument should be in defining what is a necessity and what is not.

Shall we discuss health care?
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3601 Legitimate?

Wednesday, August 22, 2012

Before you fall for the newest thing to come along, ask yourself,
“Is it better than the old?”

--  Me --

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Ok.  We all know about Rep. Akin's stupid theory that women don't get pregnant from "legitimate" rape.  And the Republican Party has castigated and repudiated him.  He has apologized for saying it.

HOWEVER!  Note that he's in trouble not for believing it, and not for operating on it, but for having been so stupid as to have actually said it out loud, in public, where those pesky female-type people could hear him.

In fact, his attitude (if not his biological theory) is right in line with the Conservative/Republican party.  Check out their platform.  No exception for rape or incest.  After all, I guess, most rape is consensual, and any incest after the first incident is consensual, right?  I mean, if you didn't want to be raped, you wouldn't be out without a blood relative escort, you wouldn't wear such revealing clothes, you wouldn't be on birth control unless you were expecting sex all the time, you wouldn't ever be alone with a man, right?  (Oops - sorry.  That's Taliban thinking.)  And incest, well, of course you would report it to someone the first time it happened, and we all know no one gets pregnant the first time they have sex, right?  So if you got pregnant and hadn't reported it, you enjoyed it, and therefore it wasn't rape, right?

Sigh.  It's really true.  There are Neanderthals who do think like that.  They are legion.  And they vote.  They seldom come out and say it (it's not politically correct, and that's what Akin forgot) but it influences their thinking - or lack thereof.

Akin's statement took me back to a time, in my young adulthood, when the first question asked of a raped woman was, "Did you enjoy it?"  To a time when, in Missouri and many other states, a woman claiming rape had to have TWO MALE witnesses to bring charges.  (Two!  Male!  A woman's testimony cannot be believed, you know.)  To a time when law enforcement would not believe a woman was raped unless there was a weapon involved, or the woman was beaten severely, since, "A woman can run faster with her skirt up than a man can with his pants down."  To a time when "She asked for it" was the usual verdict.  Remember then?

Akin is still there.  That's where the "legitimate" came from.  (I wonder if his idea of "legitimate" rape is limited to miscegenation.)

Yeah, there are still women who will scream "rape" falsely, just to make trouble for some guy.  They are traitors to their sex.  Because they exist, many people take rape claims with very large grains of salt, and that's why people still hang on to the theories above.  That's where "legitimate" comes from.

It's easy to get the impression that Conservatives, and especially those infesting the Republican party, hate women.
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3600 Poor little things X 2

Sunday, August 19, 2012

Do not fear to be eccentric in opinion, for every opinion now accepted
was once eccentric.

--  Bertrand Russell  --

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Today's "Sunday Morning" wasn't all people selling something and seeking attention. It was actually pretty good.   Think they heard me?

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The following video turned up by chance.  I figured it was one of those waste-of-time isn't-my-pet-wonderful things.  I watched the first few seconds and couldn't stop.  That poor hamster.  He just can't get the idea of the wheel.  It's hilarious.  I rarely laugh out loud at videos, but I did at this one, at about 1:40.  (Don't skip ahead to 1:40 - you kind of need the buildup.)

Poor little guy.  I know people like that.  I think it's at a pet shop, and you just want to pick him up and hug him and tell him "It's ok, I'll take you home and love you anyway even if you are stupid. I'll protect you from the world."  (Hmmmm.  Maybe he's not so stupid after all.  Maybe that's his PLAN!)

[http://youtu.be/1S1VhAF5lao]

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Old folks' memories.
I've been idly looking for moth balls to drop down the chipmunk holes to get them to move out before filling the holes.  They aren't easy to find.  Looking for them reminded me of something from my childhood.

In my youth, off-season clothes were always stored away in mothballs.  Almost every late spring, someone would set up a lawn sprinkler or suggest a trip to the lake, and every late spring, as if we couldn't remember the year before, we'd pester Mom to get our bathing suits out of storage.

How many folks remember putting a bathing suit on straight out of the moth balls?  Remember what happened?
 .

3599 Killing frenzy starting, in 3, 2, 1...

Saturday, August 18, 2012

You can tell you've made God into your own image
when He hates the same people you do.

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

I'm going slightly crazy.  Somebody somewhere on the street behind is playing music (I think that's what it's supposed to be) and my kitchen has been filled with boompah boompah boom boom thump boompah boom  pause boompah thump thump, repeat, for over three hours now.  I can hear nothing but bass.  It's maddening.  I'm ready to kill someone.

Turning on my own noise doesn't help.  The boompah thump boom reverberates in my chest no matter what else I'm hearing, like when the bass drum passes you on the street during a parade.
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3598 Tarry tarry night...

Wednesday, August 15, 2012

"Diplomacy is the art of saying 'Nice doggie' until you can find a rock."

--  Will Rogers  --

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Daughter and Hercules got their driveway sealed the other day.  (I got mine done, too.)  One hour until it dried enough to walk on, three hours until the cars could sit on it.  Not hot tar - it went on cold.  I frankly don't know what it was.

Nobody told the Nugget about not walking on it.  She came running across the lawn, and got five barefoot steps onto the fresh driveway before her Mommy caught her.  

Her feet were solid black.  I suggested they just let it dry, they could save on shoes....

It washed off with soap and water and a little sugar for scrubbing.
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3597 Steampunk laptop

Wednesday, August 15, 2012

Dean Koontz, in The Face, paraphrased:

"When no one ever listens to you, really listens, you can begin to lose the ability

to tell whether or not you are really making sense when you talk."

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Paul Klusman, of the "Engineer's Guide to Cats" YouTube videos, built a Steampunk laptop as a prop in one of his videos. It was a hit. (Not necessarily the video - the laptop.) So he made a video on how he made the steampunk laptop.

[http://youtu.be/8GvfxLBozXA]

In case you missed the original guide to cats back when it went viral, here it is:

[http://youtu.be/mHXBL6bzAR4]

T.J. is a friend and coworker.  (No, they are not gay, and they don't live together.)  They both are strong advocates for adopting adult shelter cats.  I may have to make Paul a HOTW one of these days.

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

A Day in the Life of Joe Republican

by John Gray of Cincinnati, Ohio

Joe gets up at 6 a.m. and fills his coffeepot with water to prepare his morning coffee. The water is clean and good because some tree-hugging liberal fought for minimum water-quality standards.

With his first swallow of water, he takes his daily medication. His medications are safe to take because some stupid commie liberal fought to ensure their safety and that they work as advertised.  All but $10 of his medications are paid for by his employer's medical plan because some liberal union workers fought their employers for paid medical insurance - now Joe gets it too.

He prepares his morning breakfast, bacon and eggs. Joe's bacon is safe to eat because some girly-man liberal fought for laws to regulate the meat packing industry.

In the morning shower, Joe reaches for his shampoo. His bottle is properly labeled with each ingredient and its amount in the total contents because some crybaby liberal fought for his right to know what he was putting on his body and how much it contained.

Joe dresses, walks outside and takes a deep breath. The air he breathes is clean because some environmentalist wacko liberal fought for the laws to stop industries from polluting our air.

He walks on the government-provided sidewalk to subway station for his government-subsidized ride to work. It saves him considerable money in parking and transportation fees because some fancy-pants liberal fought for affordable public transportation, which gives everyone the opportunity to be a contributor.

Joe begins his work day. He has a good job with excellent pay, medical benefits, retirement, paid holidays and vacation because some lazy liberal union members fought and died for these working standards. Joe's employer pays these standards because Joe's employer doesn't want his employees to call the union. If Joe is hurt on the job or becomes unemployed, he'll get a worker compensation or unemployment check because some stupid liberal didn't think he should lose his home because of his temporary misfortune.

It is noontime and Joe needs to make a bank deposit so he can pay some bills. Joe's deposit is federally insured by the FSLIC because some godless liberal wanted to protect Joe's money from unscrupulous bankers who ruined the banking system before the Great Depression.  Joe has to pay his Fannie Mae-underwritten mortgage and his below-market federal student loan because some elitist liberal decided that Joe and the government would be better off if he was educated and earned more money over his lifetime. Joe also forgets that in addition to his federally subsidized student loans, he attended a state funded university.

Joe is home from work. He plans to visit his father this evening at his farm home in the country. He gets in his car for the drive. His car is among the safest in the world because some America-hating liberal fought for car safety standards to go along with the tax-payer funded roads.

He arrives at his boyhood home. His was the third generation to live in the house financed by Farmers' Home Administration because bankers didn't want to make rural loans.  The house didn't have electricity until some big-government liberal stuck his nose where it didn't belong and demanded rural electrification.

He is happy to see his father, who is now retired. His father lives on Social Security and a union pension because some wine-drinking, cheese-eating liberal made sure he could take care of himself so Joe wouldn't have to.

Joe gets back in his car for the ride home, and turns on a radio talk show. The radio host keeps saying that liberals are bad and conservatives are good. He doesn't mention that the beloved Republicans have fought against every protection and benefit Joe enjoys throughout his day. Joe agrees: "We don't need those big-government liberals ruining our lives! After all, I'm a self-made man who believes everyone should take care of themselves, just like I have."

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

Sure, Mr. Beck. Liberals are a cancer on the nation. Look at all that damage they've done.

Actually, a small correction.  Some of those laws protecting Joe were passed during Republican majorities, but that was in the first decades of the twentieth century, when Republicans were actually very liberal.  Mr. Gray should have railed against "conservatives", not "Republicans". 
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3596 Procrastination analysis

Tuesday, August 14, 2012

Salada Tea tag line: The price is what you pay, the value is what you receive.

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

The country house.  Why am I not out of there yet?  It will be two years in October.

Reasons include:

• The first winter, 2010-2011, was very bad.  Neighbors told me that we'd got more snow here at the city house than they'd seen in decades.  The country house also got a lot of snow, trees down, power outages.  Fred, the van, is no good in snow, and with a long uphill driveway there, I just didn't hazard trips.
• In the spring my kidney attacked me.  Through the entire 2011 summer I had that stupid useless stent (they'd put it in the wrong place) that tore up my bladder if I so much as lifted more than a coffee cup, or walked, or drove, and I lost a lot of blood.  I had a lot of pain and no energy.
• The loss of time during the winter, spring, and summer of the first year hurt me badly financially.  I had sold a lot of stock to buy the new house which reduced my income significantly.  The idea was to sell the old house to the Hairless Hunk's in-laws and then reinvest the proceeds, regaining income.  Instead, that house is now costing me almost $1,500 per month in taxes and utilities, on a reduced income, so that now it becomes difficult to hire pros for moving the big stuff and for repairs without dipping into investments, reducing my income even more.
• I made some headway last fall.  Then there came a cloud.  I'm here because Daughter and Hercules live here.   The company Hercules works for made some demands on him in the fall that, with a new baby, he didn't want to fulfill.  But that company was looking iffy anyway.  They had been bought out, and the new owners were consolidating offices.  It started looking like one way or another they might have to move.  There's no way I would stay here if they moved.  I'd go back to the old house and sell this one.  So ... I stopped moving things down here.  Just in case.
• In the late spring of this year, Hercules quit the old company and took another much more secure and satisfying job.  But I still haven't been motivated to get my tail in gear.  Money is still tight, but that isn't going to get better by waiting.  So, why not?

Suspicions, what I think might be going on in my head:

• I really like the old house.  (I merely tolerate this house.) Here's a wonderful description of the three village(s) I lived near: http://www.chronogram.com/issue/2012/8/Community+Pages/Rhinebeck-Red-Hook-and-Tivol. Why would anyone want to leave that?  I had 1.35 acres surrounded by woods, on the top of a ridge.  From the back deck I could see miles of farmland and mountains.  It's beautiful countryside, and I'm so afraid if I sell it I'll never go back.  I don't want to lose it.
• Hordes of people are convinced that the end of the world (by whatever means, from monster meteor to terrorism, to ... you name it) is due this December, or the religious folks are expecting the Rapture and/or the Second Coming, also December, anyway, whatever, I am also worried.  Not about the same thing as the end-of-life-as-we-know-it people, though.  I worry that some nutty group will decide, if the world doesn't end on schedule, that they have been anointed to make it happen.  And here I sit in hailing distance of NYC. If the shit hits the fan (or the uranium hits the breeze) this is not a good place to be.  The wrong people have guns here.
• If any of the above means we can't stay here, the country house is ideal.  It has plenty of room for a real garden.  There's a well that can be tapped with a hand pump. The woods are full of rabbits and turkeys.  The right people have guns.  There's a fireplace with plenty of firewood available.  It's up a steep dead-end road so it's less attractive to marauders.  Plenty of room for Daughter, Hercules, and the Nugget.

I think the above is a large part of why I'm dragging my feet.  I just don't want to give up that house.

I never ever ever wanted to be a landlord.  I cringe at the thought of someone messing up something that is mine.  But it may be that keeping the country house and renting it out, perhaps even to the Hunk's in-laws, is the only way to go.  It gives me back the income I need, keeps the house in case I ever want or need it, and gives me a good excuse to revisit the area.  Short of burning it down, or turning it into a meth lab, there's little that renters can do that can't be repaired.

Maybe I can be convinced to do that.  Or forced to.  I've got to get going, some direction.  THIS isn't working.
.

3595 Hoarding

Tuesday, August 14, 2012

“Politics is a pendulum whose swings between anarchy and tyranny

are fueled by perpetually rejuvenated illusions.”

--  Albert Einstein --

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

I just read an article on research in Hoarding Disorder.  I had watched a few episodes of the cable show, and I felt so bad for most of the hoarders.  I'd seen that they were very upset about things being thrown out, and I was myself a little upset because the people working at throwing things out didn't seem to understand the depth of the problem.  It's not just laziness, but I had no other explanation or suggestion except that logic had nothing to do with it, so using logic was not an answer.

I learned long ago that where emotional reactions or brain dysfunction is concerned, logic doesn't exist.

The article is "Inside the Hoarder’s Brain: A Unique Problem with Decision-Making", full article here.  An excerpt:

...the study found that people with hoarding disorder took much longer to make decisions about discarding their possessions and felt more sadness and anxiety about these choices than did the other participants. “One of the characteristics of hoarding is that people feel this sense of discomfort if they feel like they may be giving away something that they could use in future,” says Hollander, explaining that patients often become greatly distressed or even angry if they are pushed to give up apparently useless or excess possessions.
...
So, it’s not that hoarders are slobs or obsessive collectors. Rather, it’s that they have problems making the kinds of decisions about their stuff that others would consider reasonable.

Jay was absolutely a hoarder.  Kitchen garbage, things that would rot or attract bugs, went out, but nothing else that entered the house ever left.  I had to toss junk mail and empty cereal boxes when he wasn't looking.  If he bought a tube of super glue for some project, and it hardened in the tube after opening (as they all do), he would insist on keeping the tube anyway.  "It worked really well, so I want to keep the tube so I can buy the same stuff if I ever need something like that again."

That "something they could use in the future" really hit home.  I heard that over and over from Jay. Also, he had been diagnosed as an Aspie just before his final surgery, and Asperger's is related to autism (mentioned in the article).  Jay had difficulty with ALL decisions.

Also the "sadness and anxiety" part.  Jay actually hyperventilated when I threw out a huge box-load of UNOPENED  junk mail he had moved with him from Texas seven years before.  He got very upset and restless, and started hiding things in the den.

It all fits so well.

Me, I've got a lot of junk, way too much junk, but it doesn't qualify as hoarding.  It's the detritus of pity-me shopping sprees, especially in the four or five years after Jay died, trying to fill my empty life.  I've got to get rid of much of it.  It's not that I "think" it's valuable - it IS valuable, I know because I paid a small fortune for it.  It's not that I can't bear to get rid of it, it's that I want to get out of it close to what I put into it.  That's work, a lot of work, and I don't have time for it right now.  So, I'm not a hoarder - I am absolutely and frankly a lazy procrastinator.
.

(P.S. - the Asperger's link might explain why so many Mensan's homes are so terribly cluttered.)
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3594 Things that made me sad today

Sunday, August 12, 2012

Have no respect for the authority of others,

for there are always contrary authorities to be found.

--  Bertrand Russell  --

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

So.  This morning I was watching "Sunday Morning", and they were doing a piece on a sculptor, and said that one of his very large pieces filled "the enormity of the Grande Palais" in Paris.

Sigh.  The reporter obviously does not know what "enormity" means.  The Parisians should be very insulted.

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

I no longer watch late night or daytime talk shows.  It seems like all the guests have something to sell, or need exposure, and that's the only reason they're there, not because they have anything interesting to say. 

I have faithfully watched "Sunday Morning" since the early Charles Kuralt days.  The show used to be about "down home" kind of stories.  Ordinary people who did interesting or marvelous things, odd places and things off the beaten path, stuff like that.  There's an old joke, "My home town is so small Charles Kuralt has been here twice." 

Now it seems to be all about - surprise! - people who have something to sell or people who need exposure.  It has gradually become a 90-minute celebrity ad. It's very subtle, but watch next week and you'll see what I mean.

I may stop watching "Sunday Morning".  (I suspect I already have.  I used to settle in front of the TV with my tea or coffee.  Now I turn the TV on, but I'm not watching.  Listening, at most.  After the enormity of today's grammar gaffe, I don't even want to listen any more.)

When "People" magazine started, it was also about ordinary people in ordinary lives, who did or were interesting in some way.  Then it quickly changed.  It's now a celebrity advertising rag.

Why am I thinking about the worship of Mammon, and of bread and circuses?

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

What's with the Veronica Lake hair on young women?  You know, where they part it far over on the left side, so the right side falls in their faces, and they are constantly brushing it out of their eyes?  I'm seeing it everywhere.  Man, that's almost as stupid as those stilt-like shoes.

Women who worked so hard in the '70s to earn respect look on with despair. 

Why would any woman want to look like she can't even control her own hair (toss, toss, flick, toss - sexy? Only if you don't mind looking like a ditz.  I guess it's ok if you're a sexy ditz?  Do you really want a man who prefers sexy over brains?)?  Ok, the hair thing isn't a big thing itself, but it's indicative of an attitude.

What woman purposely wants to make her feet look and sound like hooves, and hobble herself?  Is binding feet next?

Why do young women want to look like they are incapable of making sound sensible decisions?  

It's a huge topic, the backslide.  I'm too sad about it to get into it.  They don't know what it used to be like, and they seem to be headed right back.  On purpose.
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3593 The Physician, the novel

Sunday, August 12, 2012

“Uncertainty is an uncomfortable position. But certainty is an absurd one.”

--  Voltaire  --

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

The book has been absorbing.  I highly recommend it.   It has sent me to the internet many times for history, geography, Persian words, names of plants, pharmacopeia, anatomy, social customs, and more.  Man, life was hard in the eleventh century.  Author Noah Gordon's research was admirable.

There were a few things that left me wondering.  In the first few pages Gordon  describes a healthy child who we are told is 18 months old, but seems from his description to be more like 6 months old at most.  I think this may have been an error.  I suspect that a few pages later he decided that the mother of the child should die in childbirth, so he changed the infant's age from 6 months to 18 to fit the timing, without changing the description.

At another point Gordon seems to realize that there's a sticky problem, so he solves it with a convenient horse bite.  I found it very difficult to accept that bite.  I couldn't imagine how it could have happened, and when Rob mentioned it to a friend, I couldn't imagine the friend not asking how.  Like, the child would have to have been lying naked in a manger or something.  (Huh?  Perhaps in this case appropriate.)  Also, it's impossible that no one had noticed the suspicious "scar" prior to that point in the story, and, having noticed, impossible that they would not have asked about it.

Later in the book there is a footrace in Persia.  The race is so long and in such heat that few runners finish, so the winner of the handsome prize is he who is last moving.  The Shah has also offered a further huge prize to whomever can continue to run a bit further after finishing the first race to a total of 126 Roman miles, completed within 12 hours.  One of the characters accepts the Shah's challenge and wins the prize.

I wondered how far 126 Roman miles was in English miles.  I hit the internet again.  According to several sources, a Roman mile was equivalent to approximately 1,620 modern yards.  Multiply, divide, and 126 Roman miles is 116 modern miles.  Wow.  But it gets more unbelievable.  To run 116 miles in 12 hours (let alone less) requires an average speed of 9.7 mph.  That's an average of  a hair over 6 minutes per mile, sustained for 12 hours!  In intense heat.

Sorry.  I don't buy it.

The author's notes at the end, dated May 3, 2012, describe his research and mention that there's a movie in the works.

I don't know whether this is good or bad.  A movie?  Impossible!  A PBS mini-series, maybe.  But if the movie is less than 6 hours long (I'd like to say 10), it just won't do the book justice.  I am disgusted that people will watch a 90-minute Hollywood synopsis, and then think they know the book.

Snarl.
.

3592 I am strong!

Thursday, August 9, 2012

One quiet word to a wise man is better than a year of pleading with a fool.

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I have grown stronger in my advanced age!  Today I easily carried $100 worth of groceries in four bags looped over my left arm!  One arm!

I can remember when I struggled to carry $20 worth in two arms.
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