That's it.
I'm bored.
It's New Years Eve, a night I've never particularly liked for it's enforced sense of....celebratory renewal. What makes tonight so special? What special magic should there be in rolling from one artificial, man measured year to another?
People - it just means we are ageing.
I've had dinner, I've done my weights...I'm about to go to the monumental task of removing my toe nail polish. I've only one book to read (that I want to read, I should mention, "Rhett Butler's People" seemed like a good idea but sits, still virgin, on my shelf), and I'm milking that because after that book...nada. This is the Year of Eliza's Fiscal Austerity, in preparation for any bad thing to come workwise. It will be simply dreadful. I even had my finger on the "purchase" button for two dresses I've been eyeing for awhile and I made myself close the browser window?!! Isn't everyone proud?
So let's see...politics: none of the candidates excite me. I like varied things about all of them, but no one really rings my bell. Politicians these days, of either party, seem to lack honesty and integrity. The debates are particularly worthless - nothing more than an air filled verbal joust between a handful of people who may or may not be idiots (one can't tell, these things simply aren't impromptu enough to catch people off guard or generate any spontaneity (?sp?)...in fact, I almost wrote degenerate instead of generate....). And people don't say what they really stand for.
So I will:
1. Don't spend what you don't have.
2. Don't invade other countries unless their ass attacks you first.
3. Keep your nose out of my bedroom, and out of my reproductive organs.
4. Do something about the value of the dollar, would you? It sucks having our currency at what surely is an all time low. The loonie is worth more than the dollar. Hello????
5. Please keep your personal religious beliefs just that - personal. I vote for a CEO, not a preacher (which I've said before).
6. Completely rid the nation of AMT.
I'm sure I'll think of more. The great thing about this nation is that everyone here has the right to think whatever they wish, and to vote however they wish, without fear of repercussions.
20071231
So I have been testing my new toy - my Christmas present - the Sirius Stilleto 2 hand held satellite receiver. It has a lovely design, fits in the palm of your hand, has a great interface, and gets both satellite and internet radio (assuming you have wi fi and pay for the service). And when it works, it's great. It records oodles of hours of play, and you can load mp3's on it if you wish (bye bye iRiver).
That brings me to the drawbacks...if you don't have a PERFECTLY clear sky (no branches, birds, roofs, etc.), you lose your signal. That sucks. You have a "booster" set of earphones with a proprietary jack - that sucks too - but they may help the signal (will try tomorrow). You can't listen to them inside the house without another receiver - no signal - although as soon as I figure out the MAC address of the device, it will be added to the home wireless network so I can pick up internet radio.
Literally - I walked 2.5 miles today and I lost the signal 46 times. Crazy! Couldn't even put it in a pocket - walked around like a dork with my arm straight out in front of me!
But...I love gadgets. I'm sure I can figure out a way to make this work for me - although I can tell you that the Polk in house audio system and antenna are coming soon to a kitchen near you!
That brings me to the drawbacks...if you don't have a PERFECTLY clear sky (no branches, birds, roofs, etc.), you lose your signal. That sucks. You have a "booster" set of earphones with a proprietary jack - that sucks too - but they may help the signal (will try tomorrow). You can't listen to them inside the house without another receiver - no signal - although as soon as I figure out the MAC address of the device, it will be added to the home wireless network so I can pick up internet radio.
Literally - I walked 2.5 miles today and I lost the signal 46 times. Crazy! Couldn't even put it in a pocket - walked around like a dork with my arm straight out in front of me!
But...I love gadgets. I'm sure I can figure out a way to make this work for me - although I can tell you that the Polk in house audio system and antenna are coming soon to a kitchen near you!
I’ve flat out done nothing for the past two days but sleep and watch cartoons.
In fact, after changing the sheets, de-ornamenting the tree, cleaning the kitchen (new faucet, new lights – another story), and doing two loads of laundry, I’m back in the bed. Previously, I was enjoying Heathcliff and Marmaduke…but have viewed such gems as the Smurfs, the Snorks (ugh), Tom and Jerry (hooray), Scooby Doo (new and old and still yucky), Duck Dodgers (yippee), The Jetsons (eh), Popeye (always good), the one with the Bears Yogi and BooBoo….now I’m watching some junk called the Hillbilly Bears.
The light set I put in when I remodeled the kitchen died. It’s one of those weird ass track lights where the wiring is run through the track, and then the lights screw on a particular way in order to make the electrical connection. Because it’s the kind that turns and winds in a serpentine fashion (if you chose), the track is in sections, and joined by some kind of plug/claspy thing.
Well, one of mine broke. You could, in fact, see the sparks jump from one part to the other…and irritatingly enough, only one light worked.
A trip to Lowe’s revealed that they don’t sell “parts” for this light. A quick visit to the manufacturer’s website revealed that they don’t either.
This necessitated the purchase of a new light.
In fact, in looking at lights, I found one that I liked better, and it was $100 less.
Dad was kind enough to put it in. It only required two more trips to Home Depot, three hours, and more swearing than a Thai sailor’s convention. But no throwing – a vast improvement.
Mr. Manners was then kind enough to put in my new faucet – I have a ginormous double sink, but at the time the only faucet I could find with a dark finish that wasn’t a gagillion dollars was one for a bar (didn’t register that fact at the time). Now I have a HUGE faucet, and the head comes off, with the hose inside the head. Wooohooo!
My ceiling in the hallway still leaks from the plumbing job…like the seal isn’t right. And all the rain we’ve had since Christmas has magically sprung a leak in the downstairs auxiliary bathroom ceiling.
And the gutter is falling off the front – my bad…never reconnected it to the post after project post rebuild. As soon as it dries out, it’s off to the roof!
Anyway, another Christmas has come and gone. Certain parties of the family seemed rather tense on Christmas Eve – I understand that some folks had a bad afternoon prior dealing with a parent or two, and I’m sorry I didn’t have more time to spend with everyone. As usual, I was running around like the proverbial chicken. None of the pictures we took with my camera are worth a shit – it REALLY doesn’t like low light pictures. Miss Ames took some good ones – where they at????
Sissy, Missy, Mom and Dad all left for the various points of origin on Friday morning. A quiet and peaceful night was had, and there was much rejoicing.
There are no big plans for New Years – I’m not a New Years kind of person. It is, after all, just another day, another year. It’s not like it’s a global night of epiphany.
Reading The Economist today, one of whose lead stories is about the rise of poker as a “sport”. I love poker – Hold Em the best. It got me thinking that poker is truly a democratic sport. Any idiot can play poker – you don’t even have to be good, or have good hands – you can bluff, and bluster, and win your way into a pot. You don’t have to be smart, or educated, or rich to play - and win. And you can make money. Capitalism at it’s finest.
In fact, after changing the sheets, de-ornamenting the tree, cleaning the kitchen (new faucet, new lights – another story), and doing two loads of laundry, I’m back in the bed. Previously, I was enjoying Heathcliff and Marmaduke…but have viewed such gems as the Smurfs, the Snorks (ugh), Tom and Jerry (hooray), Scooby Doo (new and old and still yucky), Duck Dodgers (yippee), The Jetsons (eh), Popeye (always good), the one with the Bears Yogi and BooBoo….now I’m watching some junk called the Hillbilly Bears.
The light set I put in when I remodeled the kitchen died. It’s one of those weird ass track lights where the wiring is run through the track, and then the lights screw on a particular way in order to make the electrical connection. Because it’s the kind that turns and winds in a serpentine fashion (if you chose), the track is in sections, and joined by some kind of plug/claspy thing.
Well, one of mine broke. You could, in fact, see the sparks jump from one part to the other…and irritatingly enough, only one light worked.
A trip to Lowe’s revealed that they don’t sell “parts” for this light. A quick visit to the manufacturer’s website revealed that they don’t either.
This necessitated the purchase of a new light.
In fact, in looking at lights, I found one that I liked better, and it was $100 less.
Dad was kind enough to put it in. It only required two more trips to Home Depot, three hours, and more swearing than a Thai sailor’s convention. But no throwing – a vast improvement.
Mr. Manners was then kind enough to put in my new faucet – I have a ginormous double sink, but at the time the only faucet I could find with a dark finish that wasn’t a gagillion dollars was one for a bar (didn’t register that fact at the time). Now I have a HUGE faucet, and the head comes off, with the hose inside the head. Wooohooo!
My ceiling in the hallway still leaks from the plumbing job…like the seal isn’t right. And all the rain we’ve had since Christmas has magically sprung a leak in the downstairs auxiliary bathroom ceiling.
And the gutter is falling off the front – my bad…never reconnected it to the post after project post rebuild. As soon as it dries out, it’s off to the roof!
Anyway, another Christmas has come and gone. Certain parties of the family seemed rather tense on Christmas Eve – I understand that some folks had a bad afternoon prior dealing with a parent or two, and I’m sorry I didn’t have more time to spend with everyone. As usual, I was running around like the proverbial chicken. None of the pictures we took with my camera are worth a shit – it REALLY doesn’t like low light pictures. Miss Ames took some good ones – where they at????
Sissy, Missy, Mom and Dad all left for the various points of origin on Friday morning. A quiet and peaceful night was had, and there was much rejoicing.
There are no big plans for New Years – I’m not a New Years kind of person. It is, after all, just another day, another year. It’s not like it’s a global night of epiphany.
Reading The Economist today, one of whose lead stories is about the rise of poker as a “sport”. I love poker – Hold Em the best. It got me thinking that poker is truly a democratic sport. Any idiot can play poker – you don’t even have to be good, or have good hands – you can bluff, and bluster, and win your way into a pot. You don’t have to be smart, or educated, or rich to play - and win. And you can make money. Capitalism at it’s finest.
20071229
Have you guys checked out "The Mean Kitty" Song on YouTube? A family friend showed it to us over the weekend, and it is very cute.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qit3ALTelOo
Cracks me up.
I could never film myself acting so...silly.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qit3ALTelOo
Cracks me up.
I could never film myself acting so...silly.
20071228
Who greenlight's scripts in Hollywood these days? Did someone think these are really a good idea?
First, let's start with the obvious - "Snakes on a Plane". First, you know you are hitting the bottom of your career (or alternately are richer than Croesus and don't give a fiddlers) if you are doing movies about evil, larger than life snakes on a plane. Better than that, the description on HBO says "An assassin releases a swarm of deadly serpents aboard an airline to kill an important witness".
I'm being told it's worse, if that is possible, than Anaconda. Definitely worse.
Next: an animated film about a dog that can't get no respect in Vegas. Guess who does the voice of the dog?
No wonder the writers strike is still ongoing. Who wants to pay them to turn out shit?
Zoe is trying to kill me. Did she eat a dead squirrel? Ugh.
First, let's start with the obvious - "Snakes on a Plane". First, you know you are hitting the bottom of your career (or alternately are richer than Croesus and don't give a fiddlers) if you are doing movies about evil, larger than life snakes on a plane. Better than that, the description on HBO says "An assassin releases a swarm of deadly serpents aboard an airline to kill an important witness".
I'm being told it's worse, if that is possible, than Anaconda. Definitely worse.
Next: an animated film about a dog that can't get no respect in Vegas. Guess who does the voice of the dog?
No wonder the writers strike is still ongoing. Who wants to pay them to turn out shit?
Zoe is trying to kill me. Did she eat a dead squirrel? Ugh.
In fact, I just lost the plot and yelled at two poor Indian gentleman.
Do you know...arg!
The company I work for reports to Equifax. I can validate my own damn credit line and balance; I can't validate the last time the dates were reported to Equifax.
Their policy is if you can't validate the information on your credit file, you have to FAX a copy of your Social Security Card and Driver's License to INDIA.
I declined to do that.
I am writing a nasty letter.
Do you know...arg!
The company I work for reports to Equifax. I can validate my own damn credit line and balance; I can't validate the last time the dates were reported to Equifax.
Their policy is if you can't validate the information on your credit file, you have to FAX a copy of your Social Security Card and Driver's License to INDIA.
I declined to do that.
I am writing a nasty letter.
Today I called the credit bureau; it's a good idea to check your record from time to time.
First, they haven't picked up my legal name change from months ago...right? Weird.
Second, uh, credit bureaus are only relative to your country of residence, really.
Third, Equifax is an American company, safe guarding the credit interests of Americans.
Fourth, an Indian guy called me "sir". In fact, I'm talking to him while I'm writing to you, and he is having me spell "B A N A N A". He is literally killing me.
That has only happened to me once before, when buying tampons at a drug store late at night. And it was another woman who called me sir.
When I was buying tampons.
Go figure.
First, they haven't picked up my legal name change from months ago...right? Weird.
Second, uh, credit bureaus are only relative to your country of residence, really.
Third, Equifax is an American company, safe guarding the credit interests of Americans.
Fourth, an Indian guy called me "sir". In fact, I'm talking to him while I'm writing to you, and he is having me spell "B A N A N A". He is literally killing me.
That has only happened to me once before, when buying tampons at a drug store late at night. And it was another woman who called me sir.
When I was buying tampons.
Go figure.
20071227
I hope everyone had a great holiday; things are slowly winding down here in Georgia. No snow, but sleet followed by rain, for Christmas Day. Breakfast burritos for lunch, and over someone's house for roast beast. Everyone liked their presents (really only two mis buys....how can you go wrong there?). The dogs (Emmy, Grffyd - whom we call Gwuffy - Maddy and Zoe) were all well behaved. People slept. Much rejoicing was held. La La Merry Merry.
Did I mention this great website called Etsy.com? I read about it, went to their site - they are a marketplace for people who make handmade goods - jewelry, woodworking, knitting - and people who want to support homemade industries. I spent a couple of hours randomly browsing through categories - a set of polished beach glass wind chimes for $30???? Great fun.
It inspired me to go to Michael's - I beaded as a miniature Eliza (and made pot holders, and tried to sew, and paint, and draw). In fact, that was my only real hobby outside theater in high school. So I wanted to give it a whirl and see if it still interested me.
Oh, I love it.
I've made eight different bracelets.
Did I mention this great website called Etsy.com? I read about it, went to their site - they are a marketplace for people who make handmade goods - jewelry, woodworking, knitting - and people who want to support homemade industries. I spent a couple of hours randomly browsing through categories - a set of polished beach glass wind chimes for $30???? Great fun.
It inspired me to go to Michael's - I beaded as a miniature Eliza (and made pot holders, and tried to sew, and paint, and draw). In fact, that was my only real hobby outside theater in high school. So I wanted to give it a whirl and see if it still interested me.
Oh, I love it.
I've made eight different bracelets.
20071225
Merry Christmas, everyone! I'm doing my favorite thing, and watching James Bond movies on Christmas day. The parents have gone to see Sweeney Todd (will watch that as a, well, whatever). I just watched Femke Janssen (whose names I can never spell) die in a tree, courtesy of a steel cable and a helicopter. You must admit, she made a great Bond Bad Girl.
Yes, there was work yesterday. I let most everyone either leave early or work remote, so that we had coverage, and after two p.m. it was a very quiet day indeed. I made spanikopita (also not spelled right, but known as spinach pie), dad made deviled eggs, we set out cheese, made banana pudding pies, set out pecan pie tartlets, baked fresh bread, Mr. Manners put together asparagus with cream cheese wrapped in proscuitto, and made stuffed and fried jalapenos. Limerick Gal popped into the middle of the madness, fell in love with my parent's corgis, and quickly made her escape. Would have had stuffed mushrooms as well, except....well, Eliza was washing out her heirloom crystal punch bowl - for cider, you know - when it slipped, hit the bottom of the sink, shattered upward, and sliced the ever living shit out of her left hand in five places, went all over the floor, and in the bag with the mushrooms.
I normally burn myself in the kitchen...have NEVER done that so was taken quite aback with all the blood. Looking at them today, there's only one spot that looks a bit dodgy...so I've kinda taped it together with a band aid and neosporin. It could probably use a stitch or two - I can see INTO my flesh. But...whatever. Sissy and one of my uncles were kind enough to get up the rest of the glass while I bled through a paper towel. Did I mention that I broke the ornamental top of a framed fan, which the corgi's then ate, and then dad broke the glass?
But everyone had a great time. The evening ended with the traditional Eliza family game of Trivial Pursuit 80's, 90's and Pop Culture Edition. Damn Hard! And for old time's sake, a quick game of Encore.
Santa has come and gone. Everything is cleaned up. Soon we're off to make more rounds. All my relatives are fending for themselves for dinner - no clue when we'll be back.
So Merry Christmas, everyone! I hope that you and yours are safe and happy.
Yes, there was work yesterday. I let most everyone either leave early or work remote, so that we had coverage, and after two p.m. it was a very quiet day indeed. I made spanikopita (also not spelled right, but known as spinach pie), dad made deviled eggs, we set out cheese, made banana pudding pies, set out pecan pie tartlets, baked fresh bread, Mr. Manners put together asparagus with cream cheese wrapped in proscuitto, and made stuffed and fried jalapenos. Limerick Gal popped into the middle of the madness, fell in love with my parent's corgis, and quickly made her escape. Would have had stuffed mushrooms as well, except....well, Eliza was washing out her heirloom crystal punch bowl - for cider, you know - when it slipped, hit the bottom of the sink, shattered upward, and sliced the ever living shit out of her left hand in five places, went all over the floor, and in the bag with the mushrooms.
I normally burn myself in the kitchen...have NEVER done that so was taken quite aback with all the blood. Looking at them today, there's only one spot that looks a bit dodgy...so I've kinda taped it together with a band aid and neosporin. It could probably use a stitch or two - I can see INTO my flesh. But...whatever. Sissy and one of my uncles were kind enough to get up the rest of the glass while I bled through a paper towel. Did I mention that I broke the ornamental top of a framed fan, which the corgi's then ate, and then dad broke the glass?
But everyone had a great time. The evening ended with the traditional Eliza family game of Trivial Pursuit 80's, 90's and Pop Culture Edition. Damn Hard! And for old time's sake, a quick game of Encore.
Santa has come and gone. Everything is cleaned up. Soon we're off to make more rounds. All my relatives are fending for themselves for dinner - no clue when we'll be back.
So Merry Christmas, everyone! I hope that you and yours are safe and happy.
20071223
Well, Ladies and Germs, Countdown to Christmas 2007 has begun. I felt exceptionally Christmasy all day yesterday; today not so much. Mr. Manner's nephew yanked out a handful of my hair. My family was a bit cranky (self included) and when carrying out the recycling I dumped the remains of someone's almost full and very cold diet coke all over myself and my new boots.
Sigh.
Tomorrow: working! Yes, working remote all day. Prepping for family - got to go to the grocery store and squeeze in a quick trip out. Before five.
Sigh.
Tomorrow: working! Yes, working remote all day. Prepping for family - got to go to the grocery store and squeeze in a quick trip out. Before five.
20071221
20071220
Here is why little sisters are great.
Sissy has told me that a) I have lovely skin and b) that I am really pretty (twice!).
Hehe.
Leak is fixed; only necessitated two trips to the Home Despot. And some rigging of some piping but hey! I have a drain in the tub that isn't a rubber stopper on a piece of string!
Best of all - the indoor waterfall has DRIED UP! I can use my own shower in the morning, and boy does that make me happy.
Phew! Sissy just walked by with the jar of peanut butter. It is disturbing the smell from my Peppermint Patty.
Sissy has told me that a) I have lovely skin and b) that I am really pretty (twice!).
Hehe.
Leak is fixed; only necessitated two trips to the Home Despot. And some rigging of some piping but hey! I have a drain in the tub that isn't a rubber stopper on a piece of string!
Best of all - the indoor waterfall has DRIED UP! I can use my own shower in the morning, and boy does that make me happy.
Phew! Sissy just walked by with the jar of peanut butter. It is disturbing the smell from my Peppermint Patty.
You know, I can see reenacting a video game. Missy and Sissy and I reenacted books enough as children that I can see the allure. Shoot, who wouldn't like to pick up a sword and whack at someone with it? Just to see what it was like (no Eliza family household had ANY substaintial sticks in the backyard at a given moment. Missy and Sissy and I used to have mock sword fights with big sticks...and you couldn't POKE...you had to WHACK).
I can see someone today picking up a gun and going on a shooting spree because he saw it in a game or a movie. Shooting is such an impersonal crime, right? You don't watch the light drain from someone's eyes, or watch their body shudder with their last breath. Your brain doesn't have to confront the ugly reality of death. You don't have to touch it or smell it. You can walk away with only a faint impression of death upon your soul.
At least, I think that's true. Otherwise, soldiers and cops would go nuts.
But practicing your Mortal Kombat moves on a seven year old child and beating her to death, even when she pleaded with you to stop? Breaking her bones with your fists, your feet, watching the blood running down her face as she screams and cries? Killing someone who was ten years younger than yourself, simply because you were in a position of power and were drunk? Whose trust did you betray?
I'm not sure what the fitting punishment is here. By admitting they were drunk, and by throwing in the Mortal Kombat excuses, they say to me they are too weak to be allowed to live. Own up to your actions, you murdering asshats. You killed a child.
There is no excuse for that.
I can see someone today picking up a gun and going on a shooting spree because he saw it in a game or a movie. Shooting is such an impersonal crime, right? You don't watch the light drain from someone's eyes, or watch their body shudder with their last breath. Your brain doesn't have to confront the ugly reality of death. You don't have to touch it or smell it. You can walk away with only a faint impression of death upon your soul.
At least, I think that's true. Otherwise, soldiers and cops would go nuts.
But practicing your Mortal Kombat moves on a seven year old child and beating her to death, even when she pleaded with you to stop? Breaking her bones with your fists, your feet, watching the blood running down her face as she screams and cries? Killing someone who was ten years younger than yourself, simply because you were in a position of power and were drunk? Whose trust did you betray?
I'm not sure what the fitting punishment is here. By admitting they were drunk, and by throwing in the Mortal Kombat excuses, they say to me they are too weak to be allowed to live. Own up to your actions, you murdering asshats. You killed a child.
There is no excuse for that.
Been reading the local rag again, and I just have one teeny tiny comment:
Stop playing the "race card".
It's getting old.
Seriously, every time I hear someone say "it's because I'm black" or "it's because I'm hispanic/chinese/pig/goat/monkey/ox" I'm going to scream.
By using that as an excuse every time something happens to go wrong, you make me think that you ARE actually a lesser form of human being. I don't walk around saying "oh, you hate me because I'm a girl" - I am a girl, yeah, and someone might hate me, but making a deliberate choice to link the two implies that anyone who happens to be a girl has this issue. WTF is that all about?
Last time I checked, we were all people. Made the same way, and yadda yadda. If you want to embrace your differences, fine...but what used to be a battle cry for equality and injustice now sounds like one large whining excuse.
Stop playing the "race card".
It's getting old.
Seriously, every time I hear someone say "it's because I'm black" or "it's because I'm hispanic/chinese/pig/goat/monkey/ox" I'm going to scream.
By using that as an excuse every time something happens to go wrong, you make me think that you ARE actually a lesser form of human being. I don't walk around saying "oh, you hate me because I'm a girl" - I am a girl, yeah, and someone might hate me, but making a deliberate choice to link the two implies that anyone who happens to be a girl has this issue. WTF is that all about?
Last time I checked, we were all people. Made the same way, and yadda yadda. If you want to embrace your differences, fine...but what used to be a battle cry for equality and injustice now sounds like one large whining excuse.
Sometimes I have a moment of realization, and I realized this morning that life is quite like slant rhyme. It might look ok on paper, but when you say it outloud you realize how really cocked up it is.
I also realized that what I miss about Christmas, or that I try and recreate every year, is that sense of wonder and amazement that comes with being an innocent child and believing in Santa, the Tooth Fairy, and the Easter Bunny. What lies within us as a species that we have to be able to believe in entirely fictional beings in order to disguise our generosity and benevolence behind fantastic myths? How do you take a person, make them into a saint, and build this entire cultural legacy around them?
Hopefully my leaking tub will be fixed soon. It would be nice to take a shower in my own bathroom, rather than the tiny guest bathroom downstairs.
I also realized that what I miss about Christmas, or that I try and recreate every year, is that sense of wonder and amazement that comes with being an innocent child and believing in Santa, the Tooth Fairy, and the Easter Bunny. What lies within us as a species that we have to be able to believe in entirely fictional beings in order to disguise our generosity and benevolence behind fantastic myths? How do you take a person, make them into a saint, and build this entire cultural legacy around them?
Hopefully my leaking tub will be fixed soon. It would be nice to take a shower in my own bathroom, rather than the tiny guest bathroom downstairs.
Imagine Eliza as a smaller, quieter version of herself, clad in footie pajamas and clutching a teddy bear.
Ok, so I still sleep with a teddy bear. Big deal!
So imagine little Eliza standing in the doorway of her bedroom, with her little sister Missy behind her, peering down the very long hallway towards the dim light of the living room. She and Missy are wondering if Santa has come yet; their bedroom is very far away from the living room, and necessitates a walk down a hallway that is to the girls very scary indeed. The hallway is long, and the ceilings are high, and if you look at the floor it appears there is no floor there at all.
Eliza is convinced that if she tries to walk down the hall, the lack of flooring will mean she will plunge right into the devil's waiting grasp, having fallen straight through to hell. Remember, if you please, that young Eliza is convinced that Jesus is buried in her back yard under a dogwood tree.
Missy has no such concerns, and pushes Eliza out into the hallway. She immediately begins to hold onto the wall and slowly inches down the edges of the hall as Missy patters down into the living room.
Aha! The glow of Santa delivery (really, the tree) wasn't a false alarm! Santa has been here after all! The girls are only allowed to play with the toys Santa left in their stocking...and quietly so as not to wake the parents.
Eventually, though, the excitement of Christmas gets too be entirely too much, and their shrieks of laughter wake their parents, who walk in with an admonishment to be quiet! please.
The girls spend the remainder of the morning playing with their newest toys, to later be bundled up and driven to grandmother's house, for the annual Christmas dinner. They are the only grand children, so they collect the attention like a dry flower collects rain.
Ok, so I still sleep with a teddy bear. Big deal!
So imagine little Eliza standing in the doorway of her bedroom, with her little sister Missy behind her, peering down the very long hallway towards the dim light of the living room. She and Missy are wondering if Santa has come yet; their bedroom is very far away from the living room, and necessitates a walk down a hallway that is to the girls very scary indeed. The hallway is long, and the ceilings are high, and if you look at the floor it appears there is no floor there at all.
Eliza is convinced that if she tries to walk down the hall, the lack of flooring will mean she will plunge right into the devil's waiting grasp, having fallen straight through to hell. Remember, if you please, that young Eliza is convinced that Jesus is buried in her back yard under a dogwood tree.
Missy has no such concerns, and pushes Eliza out into the hallway. She immediately begins to hold onto the wall and slowly inches down the edges of the hall as Missy patters down into the living room.
Aha! The glow of Santa delivery (really, the tree) wasn't a false alarm! Santa has been here after all! The girls are only allowed to play with the toys Santa left in their stocking...and quietly so as not to wake the parents.
Eventually, though, the excitement of Christmas gets too be entirely too much, and their shrieks of laughter wake their parents, who walk in with an admonishment to be quiet! please.
The girls spend the remainder of the morning playing with their newest toys, to later be bundled up and driven to grandmother's house, for the annual Christmas dinner. They are the only grand children, so they collect the attention like a dry flower collects rain.
20071219
Dogsicle
One night, as teenage Eliza was sitting in her basement bedroom with the door locked and her headphones on, reading a book in her rocking chair, she heard a knock at her door.
“Oh, who could be a knocking, a knocking at my bedroom door?” mused Eliza to herself, as she turned down Beethoven and put her book atop the turntable.
Lo! It was Eliza’s mother Susie inquiring if she might have a Coke from Eliza’s hidden stash (under her twin bed).
“Oh Mother!” exclaimed Eliza “Of COURSE you may have a Coke! But you look upset! Might I politely inquire as to what is the cause of your distress?”
“Oh Eliza” Susie sighed, “the cause of my distress is distressing indeed!”
“Praytell, Mother, and unburden yourself of this anguish!”
“I was out walking, and Scotia was with me, and she has been hit by a car! Your father retrieved her, but I fear she is no longer with the physical world!”
“How simply horrid! Whatever shall we do with poor Scopie?”
Susie sighed again “I think it is too late to awaken your poor sleeping sisters and burden them with such horrid news. They should enjoy a solid night’s sleep, and rise with the dawn and go to school, and we will discuss what to do with Scopie’s remains tomorrow night at dinner”.
Eliza looked at her mother quizzically “But Mother, where is Scopie now? Surely we aren’t going to leave her outside in the cold and alone until tomorrow evening??”
“No, dear, not to worry. Scopie is in the freezer”.
And indeed, upon close inspection, Scopie was in the freezer, wrapped in a plastic trash bag, sandwiched in between the fish that Eliza’s father was saving for the Smithsonian.
“Oh Mother! This is a tragedy beyond compare! Surely my darling sisters will be heartbroken. But…..”
“Yes Eliza? But what?”
“Does this mean we are having korean style barbeque for dinner tomorrow night?”
“Oh, who could be a knocking, a knocking at my bedroom door?” mused Eliza to herself, as she turned down Beethoven and put her book atop the turntable.
Lo! It was Eliza’s mother Susie inquiring if she might have a Coke from Eliza’s hidden stash (under her twin bed).
“Oh Mother!” exclaimed Eliza “Of COURSE you may have a Coke! But you look upset! Might I politely inquire as to what is the cause of your distress?”
“Oh Eliza” Susie sighed, “the cause of my distress is distressing indeed!”
“Praytell, Mother, and unburden yourself of this anguish!”
“I was out walking, and Scotia was with me, and she has been hit by a car! Your father retrieved her, but I fear she is no longer with the physical world!”
“How simply horrid! Whatever shall we do with poor Scopie?”
Susie sighed again “I think it is too late to awaken your poor sleeping sisters and burden them with such horrid news. They should enjoy a solid night’s sleep, and rise with the dawn and go to school, and we will discuss what to do with Scopie’s remains tomorrow night at dinner”.
Eliza looked at her mother quizzically “But Mother, where is Scopie now? Surely we aren’t going to leave her outside in the cold and alone until tomorrow evening??”
“No, dear, not to worry. Scopie is in the freezer”.
And indeed, upon close inspection, Scopie was in the freezer, wrapped in a plastic trash bag, sandwiched in between the fish that Eliza’s father was saving for the Smithsonian.
“Oh Mother! This is a tragedy beyond compare! Surely my darling sisters will be heartbroken. But…..”
“Yes Eliza? But what?”
“Does this mean we are having korean style barbeque for dinner tomorrow night?”
Wings!
Ok, so now I’m going to the ooky factor.
LG sent me a little email joke earlier, which I forwarded to Princess Fred and a lady here at the office…a joke about using sanitary napkins aka pads to make Christmas slippers (they were cute, in a sick, lime green sanitarium kind of way). Honestly, I would post the photo if my IE and blogger issues weren’t so darn…darning!
Princess goes on to comment…”who uses pads anymore? What a good way to get rid of the extra ones :-)"
Which got me thinking.
Didn’t we all start out with pads, when we first started having periods? And not the little, skinny, discreet things that are in the market today. Things that have anti smelly stuff in them, or that have wings, or that have EXTRA ABSORBENT MIDDLES for those really heavy days. Things that are tiny and wrapped in pink or blue plastic, or that might have butterflies printed on the outer cotton. Things that come in a tiny, discreet box.
Right.
We started out with HUGE pads that today resemble those Depends pads you use later in life. HUGE pads that made NOISE that sounded like you were a waddling duck…or worse like you were stuck wearing a pair of corduroy pants some well meaning relative had gotten you as a gift, the kind where the wale was really wide and when you walked it sounded like a burning Cessna? Yeah, that kind. So you’d have this….thing taped to your underwear, and every time you would move at ALL it would make this kind of slithery, crunching noise and you would turn bright red knowing that everyone could hear your pad, and everyone knew you were having your period!!!
You could just die, couldn’t you?
Now that I think about it…don’t we all know one girl from school who had an accident, and it always involved white pants? Maybe that’s a post for another day.
It made gym particularly challenging. Do you or do you not disrobe in front of others while wearing a pad? I must have missed that chapter of pad etiquette….until I discovered the joys of tampons (praise Jesus), I used to change clothes in the toilet, with the door shut and firmly latched. I was already being mocked for my mis matching underwear or purple bra (not that I needed a bra at twelve, and what was my mother thinking, letting me wear a purple bra to school? That is a sincere invitation to locker room mockery), and certainly wearing a large, lopsided and probably not properly secured diaper would have just given those teenage Lucy Borgia’s even more ammunition to use against me.
And if you hear some other girl make a crunchy noise as she duck waddles down the hall in an insane attempt to have her thighs NOT TOUCH, you cannot under any circumstances acknowledge that you heard a single solitary sound.
God forbid something should fall out of your bag during class. Something large and pink and plainly only meant for girls. Imagine the mockery!
Worse still was the monthly trip you made to the store for such products. What if you ran into someone you knew while at the store, with your box of large pads perched on top of the cart full of groceries? You know whomever you meet is going to automatically know that they are for you.
And what did you do if you were at someone’s house and had to change one? Stuff it in the bottom of the wastebasket? Put it in your bag and bury it in someone’s kitchen trash or take it home and bury it in your own?
Oh, I’ve made myself laugh. That’s enough insanity for now. I see a grindstone, and my nose is gravitating towards it.
LG sent me a little email joke earlier, which I forwarded to Princess Fred and a lady here at the office…a joke about using sanitary napkins aka pads to make Christmas slippers (they were cute, in a sick, lime green sanitarium kind of way). Honestly, I would post the photo if my IE and blogger issues weren’t so darn…darning!
Princess goes on to comment…”who uses pads anymore? What a good way to get rid of the extra ones :-)"
Which got me thinking.
Didn’t we all start out with pads, when we first started having periods? And not the little, skinny, discreet things that are in the market today. Things that have anti smelly stuff in them, or that have wings, or that have EXTRA ABSORBENT MIDDLES for those really heavy days. Things that are tiny and wrapped in pink or blue plastic, or that might have butterflies printed on the outer cotton. Things that come in a tiny, discreet box.
Right.
We started out with HUGE pads that today resemble those Depends pads you use later in life. HUGE pads that made NOISE that sounded like you were a waddling duck…or worse like you were stuck wearing a pair of corduroy pants some well meaning relative had gotten you as a gift, the kind where the wale was really wide and when you walked it sounded like a burning Cessna? Yeah, that kind. So you’d have this….thing taped to your underwear, and every time you would move at ALL it would make this kind of slithery, crunching noise and you would turn bright red knowing that everyone could hear your pad, and everyone knew you were having your period!!!
You could just die, couldn’t you?
Now that I think about it…don’t we all know one girl from school who had an accident, and it always involved white pants? Maybe that’s a post for another day.
It made gym particularly challenging. Do you or do you not disrobe in front of others while wearing a pad? I must have missed that chapter of pad etiquette….until I discovered the joys of tampons (praise Jesus), I used to change clothes in the toilet, with the door shut and firmly latched. I was already being mocked for my mis matching underwear or purple bra (not that I needed a bra at twelve, and what was my mother thinking, letting me wear a purple bra to school? That is a sincere invitation to locker room mockery), and certainly wearing a large, lopsided and probably not properly secured diaper would have just given those teenage Lucy Borgia’s even more ammunition to use against me.
And if you hear some other girl make a crunchy noise as she duck waddles down the hall in an insane attempt to have her thighs NOT TOUCH, you cannot under any circumstances acknowledge that you heard a single solitary sound.
God forbid something should fall out of your bag during class. Something large and pink and plainly only meant for girls. Imagine the mockery!
Worse still was the monthly trip you made to the store for such products. What if you ran into someone you knew while at the store, with your box of large pads perched on top of the cart full of groceries? You know whomever you meet is going to automatically know that they are for you.
And what did you do if you were at someone’s house and had to change one? Stuff it in the bottom of the wastebasket? Put it in your bag and bury it in someone’s kitchen trash or take it home and bury it in your own?
Oh, I’ve made myself laugh. That’s enough insanity for now. I see a grindstone, and my nose is gravitating towards it.
Did you think I was kidding?
Cobb County has released their list of top offenders in the contest to see who can waste the most water in Cobb County.
IE here at work is screwed up, so I can't link properly, but go here, and check out the map in the bottom:
http://www.ajc.com/metro/content/metro/cobb/stories/2007/12/19/cobb_water_1220.html
If you don't live here, let me tell you this the area featured on the map in an EXTREMELY affluent area of Cobb County.
Just another example of rich people thinking that the rules don't apply to them.
Cobb County has released their list of top offenders in the contest to see who can waste the most water in Cobb County.
IE here at work is screwed up, so I can't link properly, but go here, and check out the map in the bottom:
http://www.ajc.com/metro/content/metro/cobb/stories/2007/12/19/cobb_water_1220.html
If you don't live here, let me tell you this the area featured on the map in an EXTREMELY affluent area of Cobb County.
Just another example of rich people thinking that the rules don't apply to them.
P.S.
I didn't say I missed the ex husband...far from it. I've finally come to the point where I despise him. Still...you always wonder what you could have done differently, or what would have been different.
At any rate, I miss his sister's youngest daughter sometimes. That was the hardest thing about divorcing - figuring out how to tell Sally I wouldn't be around anymore. She was four when I met her - the perfect age for silly Christmas dresses and cool toys (a wooden necklace made up of the letters of the alphabet all painted silly colors), and old enough when I left to send me emails signed "SallyRuthRose".
Anyhow, back to reality.
I could touch on the whole Spears family debacle, but LG has already done a fine job with that one. I haven't done my daily reading yet, so give me a bit - I'm sure I'll have SOMETHING to say (I always do).
I didn't say I missed the ex husband...far from it. I've finally come to the point where I despise him. Still...you always wonder what you could have done differently, or what would have been different.
At any rate, I miss his sister's youngest daughter sometimes. That was the hardest thing about divorcing - figuring out how to tell Sally I wouldn't be around anymore. She was four when I met her - the perfect age for silly Christmas dresses and cool toys (a wooden necklace made up of the letters of the alphabet all painted silly colors), and old enough when I left to send me emails signed "SallyRuthRose".
Anyhow, back to reality.
I could touch on the whole Spears family debacle, but LG has already done a fine job with that one. I haven't done my daily reading yet, so give me a bit - I'm sure I'll have SOMETHING to say (I always do).
20071218
Apologies in advance. This is the most meandering, pointless thing I’ve ever written.
I realized this morning that with all the money I have spent, that I don’t have….I could have gone somewhere for Christmas rather than staying home.
Wait, was that personal information? Aren’t I supposed to be sticking to witty and urbane social commentary?
Sorry, not up for that today.
My earlier post was ironic given that I’m wearing one of Granddaddy’s jackets today. I was thinking about familial love, and in particular the love of a grandfather for his granddaughter, or a father for his daughter, and how special that bond is. I suppose this goes under the category of things you never realize growing up; but now I see how really wonderful all the times we (dad and myself, granddad and myself) spent together really are. I have granddaddy’s eyes, and my dad’s temper (sorry about that). I have dad’s work ethic, and granddaddy’s love of literature and the arts. I didn’t inherit any tall genes – both dad and g’dad are/were much taller than myself. And I have all these memories, 34 years worth, that reflect their love for me. Of course, my favorites are all situated at the beach – firecrackers in the eyeball, sunrise beach walks. When I was a child, dad played every John Denver or Simon & Garfunkel song ever written on the guitar. We used to beg him to play for us; it was always a special treat. The two daddies were always the ones you could go to who had the authority to overrule the mothers “Don’t tell your mother/grandmother”. Dad taught me to be fair, and they both taught me I was worth something. Hell, Dad and I both love popcorn with salt. Granddaddy and I loved peanut butter, banana and mayonnaise sandwiches (it’s not gross, try it sometime).
I don’t know where I’m going here, I think I’m just writing because it feels good. Sometimes you do that, you know? I really want to be at home with my girls right now; I could use a Maddy kiss prior to starting the madness that is pre Christmas cleanup.
Would I have been the better person if I had stayed married? I don’t know why that came up either; I usually only think of it in terms of the “mistake”…but…what if I had stuck with it a few more years? Could there have been some kind of compromise reached? In my heart, I know that it never would have worked, but I wonder who I would be today…
Christmas isn’t the same without children. I will admit that this is possibly the only thing I miss about my ex husband – he had such a large family, and he had young nieces for me to play with, to buy pretty dresses and cool toys for. Christmas for adults is about every disappointing thing your parents ever did to you, with a heavy measure of guilt, mixed in with rampant consumerism, and for myself the eternal drive to have the Most Perfect Christmas Ever! I seem to recall it being Grandmother Carol’s favorite holiday as well; velvet Polly Flinders dresses!
Maybe I would feel more like Christmas if I found a grownup version of the Polly Flinders dress?
It’s really about stress. And I impose all of this on myself – I don’t want anyone to be disappointed, I don’t want to be embarrassed by the state of my house, I want everything neat and tidy and clean and just sparkling with my ambition to be a freaking twinkling star of…I don’t even know. I want everyone to have a good time and to get along; I don’t want anyone to get in their car and say “well, that wasn’t very nice!”
I do love this time of year. I love what it represents to me – family. Because family stays with you through thick and thin. Because family loves you whether you are fat or skinny, poor or rich, ugly or pretty, or crazy or normal. Family loves you whether or not you have bad luck in life, bad luck in men, bad luck in women, or just plain ole bad luck. When you die, the only thing you have left is family. When you are born, you begin with family. Family loves you for you – not for who you could be (lose those ten pounds, grow up, man up, get a degree, get a real job, whatever) but for who you are. That’s the most important gift ever – being loved for who you are. Not what you do (or don’t do).
I guess I’m thinking about all this today because last Christmas was when Granddaddy really started to go south. Christmas wasn’t very happy. Rather, it was strangely impersonal and laden with those fabulous holiday twins guilt and sorrow. And regardless of what you believe personally, it really was better for Granddad to go ahead and die, rather than linger in what I have to believe was severe mental agony (a man of such pride would have been shamed at his state, and surely in some corner of his mind that shame ate at his disintegrating brain day by day).
And I’m also thinking that I haven’t had a Christmas in fifteen years that was happy. A Christmas where someone didn’t cry. A Christmas where no one walked off with hurt feelings. Heck, lately, we haven’t had a major holiday that didn’t involve undercooked meat! (please note that Eliza does not herself prepare holiday meats after a disaster a few years ago involving someone’s brilliant last minute idea to grill pork loins for Christmas Day dinner without checking the level of fuel in the propane tank. This necessitated much running by Eliza from the grill to the oven as she tried to force cook EIGHT tenderloins all while making seven other side dishes and frying shrimp. Oh, and kicking her cousin in the fanny when he stole some shrimp out of the oven.) I’d like a Christmas where no one got drunk at the family gathering. I’d like a Christmas where no one gossiped about other family members. I know with 100% certainty that this will not be another “Box of Socks” Christmas (and you’ve NO IDEA how happy that makes me). Or the last Christmas the ex and I shared, after I had told him I wanted a divorce, and he bought ridiculous things he could not afford, and cried and cried all throughout the holiday, which only made me angrier and angrier that he hadn’t cared enough in the previous years to bother.
So Christmas Day will find me, alone or with company, indulging in my Christmas ritual of visiting Carol’s grave. And I suppose I will have to rub the container that Granddad’s remaining ashes are in (a teeny tiny pot brought to me from an Indian tribe in South America). And I’ll say a prayer for Grandfather Virgil and his wife Wyoma, and for Great Aunt’s Dixie and Jeannette, and for my Great Uncles Alex and Bryant. And I will thank whomever is listening that I can still wake up every day, and walk, and think, and breathe, and live, and love.
I realized this morning that with all the money I have spent, that I don’t have….I could have gone somewhere for Christmas rather than staying home.
Wait, was that personal information? Aren’t I supposed to be sticking to witty and urbane social commentary?
Sorry, not up for that today.
My earlier post was ironic given that I’m wearing one of Granddaddy’s jackets today. I was thinking about familial love, and in particular the love of a grandfather for his granddaughter, or a father for his daughter, and how special that bond is. I suppose this goes under the category of things you never realize growing up; but now I see how really wonderful all the times we (dad and myself, granddad and myself) spent together really are. I have granddaddy’s eyes, and my dad’s temper (sorry about that). I have dad’s work ethic, and granddaddy’s love of literature and the arts. I didn’t inherit any tall genes – both dad and g’dad are/were much taller than myself. And I have all these memories, 34 years worth, that reflect their love for me. Of course, my favorites are all situated at the beach – firecrackers in the eyeball, sunrise beach walks. When I was a child, dad played every John Denver or Simon & Garfunkel song ever written on the guitar. We used to beg him to play for us; it was always a special treat. The two daddies were always the ones you could go to who had the authority to overrule the mothers “Don’t tell your mother/grandmother”. Dad taught me to be fair, and they both taught me I was worth something. Hell, Dad and I both love popcorn with salt. Granddaddy and I loved peanut butter, banana and mayonnaise sandwiches (it’s not gross, try it sometime).
I don’t know where I’m going here, I think I’m just writing because it feels good. Sometimes you do that, you know? I really want to be at home with my girls right now; I could use a Maddy kiss prior to starting the madness that is pre Christmas cleanup.
Would I have been the better person if I had stayed married? I don’t know why that came up either; I usually only think of it in terms of the “mistake”…but…what if I had stuck with it a few more years? Could there have been some kind of compromise reached? In my heart, I know that it never would have worked, but I wonder who I would be today…
Christmas isn’t the same without children. I will admit that this is possibly the only thing I miss about my ex husband – he had such a large family, and he had young nieces for me to play with, to buy pretty dresses and cool toys for. Christmas for adults is about every disappointing thing your parents ever did to you, with a heavy measure of guilt, mixed in with rampant consumerism, and for myself the eternal drive to have the Most Perfect Christmas Ever! I seem to recall it being Grandmother Carol’s favorite holiday as well; velvet Polly Flinders dresses!
Maybe I would feel more like Christmas if I found a grownup version of the Polly Flinders dress?
It’s really about stress. And I impose all of this on myself – I don’t want anyone to be disappointed, I don’t want to be embarrassed by the state of my house, I want everything neat and tidy and clean and just sparkling with my ambition to be a freaking twinkling star of…I don’t even know. I want everyone to have a good time and to get along; I don’t want anyone to get in their car and say “well, that wasn’t very nice!”
I do love this time of year. I love what it represents to me – family. Because family stays with you through thick and thin. Because family loves you whether you are fat or skinny, poor or rich, ugly or pretty, or crazy or normal. Family loves you whether or not you have bad luck in life, bad luck in men, bad luck in women, or just plain ole bad luck. When you die, the only thing you have left is family. When you are born, you begin with family. Family loves you for you – not for who you could be (lose those ten pounds, grow up, man up, get a degree, get a real job, whatever) but for who you are. That’s the most important gift ever – being loved for who you are. Not what you do (or don’t do).
I guess I’m thinking about all this today because last Christmas was when Granddaddy really started to go south. Christmas wasn’t very happy. Rather, it was strangely impersonal and laden with those fabulous holiday twins guilt and sorrow. And regardless of what you believe personally, it really was better for Granddad to go ahead and die, rather than linger in what I have to believe was severe mental agony (a man of such pride would have been shamed at his state, and surely in some corner of his mind that shame ate at his disintegrating brain day by day).
And I’m also thinking that I haven’t had a Christmas in fifteen years that was happy. A Christmas where someone didn’t cry. A Christmas where no one walked off with hurt feelings. Heck, lately, we haven’t had a major holiday that didn’t involve undercooked meat! (please note that Eliza does not herself prepare holiday meats after a disaster a few years ago involving someone’s brilliant last minute idea to grill pork loins for Christmas Day dinner without checking the level of fuel in the propane tank. This necessitated much running by Eliza from the grill to the oven as she tried to force cook EIGHT tenderloins all while making seven other side dishes and frying shrimp. Oh, and kicking her cousin in the fanny when he stole some shrimp out of the oven.) I’d like a Christmas where no one got drunk at the family gathering. I’d like a Christmas where no one gossiped about other family members. I know with 100% certainty that this will not be another “Box of Socks” Christmas (and you’ve NO IDEA how happy that makes me). Or the last Christmas the ex and I shared, after I had told him I wanted a divorce, and he bought ridiculous things he could not afford, and cried and cried all throughout the holiday, which only made me angrier and angrier that he hadn’t cared enough in the previous years to bother.
So Christmas Day will find me, alone or with company, indulging in my Christmas ritual of visiting Carol’s grave. And I suppose I will have to rub the container that Granddad’s remaining ashes are in (a teeny tiny pot brought to me from an Indian tribe in South America). And I’ll say a prayer for Grandfather Virgil and his wife Wyoma, and for Great Aunt’s Dixie and Jeannette, and for my Great Uncles Alex and Bryant. And I will thank whomever is listening that I can still wake up every day, and walk, and think, and breathe, and live, and love.
20071216
I've always held that you can't change the aspirations and inspirations of your enemy if your enemy is hungry and dying.
Read Africa War Wounds Begin to Heal Amid Progress", and the words of Fatuma Ndangiza, who says "If someone is hungry, or they don't have shelter, or they don't have the basics, you cannot go far in changing their minds."
An excellent idea to ponder on a Sunday night, a day of traditional rest and charity?
It's a far more insidious strategy to seduce your enemies civilians with food and drink than by outright slaughter. Televisions and immunizations to end jiihad.
Read Africa War Wounds Begin to Heal Amid Progress", and the words of Fatuma Ndangiza, who says "If someone is hungry, or they don't have shelter, or they don't have the basics, you cannot go far in changing their minds."
An excellent idea to ponder on a Sunday night, a day of traditional rest and charity?
It's a far more insidious strategy to seduce your enemies civilians with food and drink than by outright slaughter. Televisions and immunizations to end jiihad.
20071214
Maybe I will start adding a Mood: ?? at the end of each blog, because I swear people are trying to drive me crazy.
The girls are at the kennel. Zoe kills me. She HATES it there and cries so much when I leave her that I cry.
Oh, I do love Amy Winehouse "I cried for you on the kitchen floor"..."sniff me out like I was tanqueray"..."tear me down like Roger Moore"....at least, I think that's what she says. If it is, bloody brilliant. That's my favorite song. I had it up so loud once that I vibrated some glasses out of the cabinet. Thankfully they were plastic.
I have so much to do. I really do. I need my carpets shampooed. I need leak in my ceiling fixed, and I hope that doesn't need new pipes. If we weren't going out of town tonight, I'd have gone to Sherwin Williams for a gallon of touch up paint for the downstairs. The walls are looking a bit like shit.
mood: feck off, would ye? :-)
The girls are at the kennel. Zoe kills me. She HATES it there and cries so much when I leave her that I cry.
Oh, I do love Amy Winehouse "I cried for you on the kitchen floor"..."sniff me out like I was tanqueray"..."tear me down like Roger Moore"....at least, I think that's what she says. If it is, bloody brilliant. That's my favorite song. I had it up so loud once that I vibrated some glasses out of the cabinet. Thankfully they were plastic.
I have so much to do. I really do. I need my carpets shampooed. I need leak in my ceiling fixed, and I hope that doesn't need new pipes. If we weren't going out of town tonight, I'd have gone to Sherwin Williams for a gallon of touch up paint for the downstairs. The walls are looking a bit like shit.
mood: feck off, would ye? :-)
20071213
Go here for The Onion's AV Club's 23 songs that should never ever, as long as mankind still has lungs and vocal cords and can still sing, be covered by another band again.
I forgot to mention, LG has the pictures we took of the Taco Stand in my neighborhood. I was going to do this myself, but was far too lazy. For years, I've wanted to drive around and look at lights and take photos of the Tackiest Christmas Lights Ever. My dad always called them Taco Stands growing up - no, not to be offensive - but to imply those cheap caravans people outfit as kitchens, park, and set up lights to sell hot dogs or whatever. THOSE kinds of taco stands.
Anyway.
Blogger still sucks, btw. I can't upload any photos. Off to watch dead people on tv.
I really do hope everyone appreciates the outdoor lights. My shoulder is killing me, with one of those deep (UGH!!! dog fart nasty!) throbbing pains that pulses under your shoulderblade and runs down to your fingers. Ow! Ow! OW!!!! The heating pad and a wee bit of relaxation is taking care of it.
Oh yeah, I want a Roomba. I hear that they have improved a great deal. Wouldn't it be neat to have a little machine that zips around your house while you are gone and vaccums? Eh, Zoe might eat it...that would pose a small, and rather expensive problem.
Right, off to surf the internet.
Anyway.
Blogger still sucks, btw. I can't upload any photos. Off to watch dead people on tv.
I really do hope everyone appreciates the outdoor lights. My shoulder is killing me, with one of those deep (UGH!!! dog fart nasty!) throbbing pains that pulses under your shoulderblade and runs down to your fingers. Ow! Ow! OW!!!! The heating pad and a wee bit of relaxation is taking care of it.
Oh yeah, I want a Roomba. I hear that they have improved a great deal. Wouldn't it be neat to have a little machine that zips around your house while you are gone and vaccums? Eh, Zoe might eat it...that would pose a small, and rather expensive problem.
Right, off to surf the internet.
LG and I went off and had a nice dinner - a complete and utter reversal of our plans and we ended up quite pleasantly having "country cooking". Much to my dismay, and quasi panic when I realized I couldn't place her face, the girl who waited on us used to work at our local sushi place! She knows my name! Arg! LG thinks that I have a stalker. And evidently if you tell LG she's eating cabbage, she'll eat collard greens.
I was going to put up pictures of the tree, and the outdoor lights that I just finished. Two things prevent that from happening: 1) while hanging lights for your amusement (the who's down in whoville have invaded my yard in a tasteful non Grinchy way, I have yet again yanked the t living crap out of whatever it was I pulled last week in my shoulder, and am now in some not so small degree of pain 2) the batteries in the camera must be recharged before I can download pictures.
You will just have to wait.
However, weeks ago I promised hockey pictures. What good is a hockey game without a brawl?
Right, well, fuck that. Blogger is having an issue AGAIN and craps out when it's time to upload pictures. Might be time to think of retiring this bullmalarky....
I was going to put up pictures of the tree, and the outdoor lights that I just finished. Two things prevent that from happening: 1) while hanging lights for your amusement (the who's down in whoville have invaded my yard in a tasteful non Grinchy way, I have yet again yanked the t living crap out of whatever it was I pulled last week in my shoulder, and am now in some not so small degree of pain 2) the batteries in the camera must be recharged before I can download pictures.
You will just have to wait.
However, weeks ago I promised hockey pictures. What good is a hockey game without a brawl?
Right, well, fuck that. Blogger is having an issue AGAIN and craps out when it's time to upload pictures. Might be time to think of retiring this bullmalarky....
Things I Want to Know
Why are all ironing boards made for midgets? My ironing board doesn't get any higher than the top of my thighs, and I am constantly bending over to iron. Why is this?
Why was Madonna inducted in to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame? Madonna is not rock and roll; Madonna is pop. Why isn't there a Pop Hall Of Fame? There's a Walk of Fame, right? Why not a Walk of Shame?
Where does the monster that lived under your bed/closet as a child go when you reach adulthood?
And of course you have your standards: why do you call it a driveway when you park? Why is the interstate referred to as the freeway? It ain't free cost wise, and it certainly isn't free of traffic.
Why do we say "no taxation without representation"? I understand the original meaning of the quote (England)...but...I'm pretty sure no one in D.C. actually represents me. I might have the same hair/eye color as someone up there, but I'm certain that is as "representative" as it gets.
Why were people shocked when George Michael came out of the closet? Or Jodie Foster? C'mon people, wake up!
Why is being caught with any cocaine, regardless of portion, a felony? Under this thinking, a bag of resin left in your car could get you charged with a felony.
Oh yeah, it's not an ice box. A box implies that it is a square. Properly, it should be an ice rectangle.
A stove and an oven are two separate things, the last time I looked.
Do people run down a runway? Planes certainly don't. They taxi or take off or land.
I quite like the euphamism "greenway". This means a plot of grass paid for by the taxpayers. I quite like plots of grass as well; especially when filled with wild flowers.
Why can't you buy beer on a Sunday again? Wait, because certain denominations say that getting wasted on a Sunday is a sin? Uh, hello? Is anyone listening? Your God isn't my God, and so on. Besides...does it actually say in the Bible that you shouldn't drink on a Sunday? I'm pretty sure it doesn't; everyone drank in Biblical times. Drinking water would give you...well, something nasty and intestinally corrosive. The Torah might say "don't drink on Saturday" (their Sabbath)...but you don't see a bunch of dudes in yarmulkas running around telling you that you can't have a beer on a Saturday. Do I sound like a broken record yet?
Why do we pay professional athletes gazillions, and nurses and teachers and those of us who actually do something meaningful by investing in our community and our fellow people?
And you do know that part of the problem with healthcare is that you aren't just paying your doctor, you are also paying for all those twits who deny you when you call to have something authorized?
Algy met a Bear
The Bear was Bulgy
The Bulge was Algy!
More silliness will be brought to you later from the folks at the Ministry for Silly Walks.
Why was Madonna inducted in to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame? Madonna is not rock and roll; Madonna is pop. Why isn't there a Pop Hall Of Fame? There's a Walk of Fame, right? Why not a Walk of Shame?
Where does the monster that lived under your bed/closet as a child go when you reach adulthood?
And of course you have your standards: why do you call it a driveway when you park? Why is the interstate referred to as the freeway? It ain't free cost wise, and it certainly isn't free of traffic.
Why do we say "no taxation without representation"? I understand the original meaning of the quote (England)...but...I'm pretty sure no one in D.C. actually represents me. I might have the same hair/eye color as someone up there, but I'm certain that is as "representative" as it gets.
Why were people shocked when George Michael came out of the closet? Or Jodie Foster? C'mon people, wake up!
Why is being caught with any cocaine, regardless of portion, a felony? Under this thinking, a bag of resin left in your car could get you charged with a felony.
Oh yeah, it's not an ice box. A box implies that it is a square. Properly, it should be an ice rectangle.
A stove and an oven are two separate things, the last time I looked.
Do people run down a runway? Planes certainly don't. They taxi or take off or land.
I quite like the euphamism "greenway". This means a plot of grass paid for by the taxpayers. I quite like plots of grass as well; especially when filled with wild flowers.
Why can't you buy beer on a Sunday again? Wait, because certain denominations say that getting wasted on a Sunday is a sin? Uh, hello? Is anyone listening? Your God isn't my God, and so on. Besides...does it actually say in the Bible that you shouldn't drink on a Sunday? I'm pretty sure it doesn't; everyone drank in Biblical times. Drinking water would give you...well, something nasty and intestinally corrosive. The Torah might say "don't drink on Saturday" (their Sabbath)...but you don't see a bunch of dudes in yarmulkas running around telling you that you can't have a beer on a Saturday. Do I sound like a broken record yet?
Why do we pay professional athletes gazillions, and nurses and teachers and those of us who actually do something meaningful by investing in our community and our fellow people?
And you do know that part of the problem with healthcare is that you aren't just paying your doctor, you are also paying for all those twits who deny you when you call to have something authorized?
Algy met a Bear
The Bear was Bulgy
The Bulge was Algy!
More silliness will be brought to you later from the folks at the Ministry for Silly Walks.
Now I have a completely local topic to talk about.
A certain Roswell city councilman proposed a bloody brilliant idea to address our water consumption.
He proposed a three month ban on new residential and commercial development in the City of Roswell.
All the other council members immediately shot him down, with some relevant feedback.
I still think the idea is sound.
There are about 20 houses in my neighborhood that are for sale. A quick look at Realtor.com snags about 2000 for Roswell, GA. Some of these houses are new, most are resale. The houses in my neighborhood have been on the market for about for or five months. The for sale signs I drive by every day have been there just as long. There is a new plaza down the road from me that sits vacant, except for a dentist's office. There is an abundance of commerical space available, and retail.
So...why do we need new development again? Let's focus on redeveloping what we already have!
Certain things get grandfathered out - school's doing new construction, hospitals, jails, etc. They can continue to build. Things that contribute to our over-density...those get kicked out.
Yeah, I realize that it is likely to be viewed as a penalty for the builders. So what? They bear some of the responsibility for putting us in this mess in the first place. A developer would argue with me, I'm sure, saying he was just meeting demand. If there are 2000 + available homes in Roswell, I don't see too much demand. I see a hell of a lot of supply. I don't feel sorry for these guys - they took advantange of the boom and the mortgage industry's lunacy to make as much money as they could. Everyone knows you should save for a rainy day when you are plush - I hoped they saved, because the "rainy" day is now.
So...Mr. M, LG, those of you that live in this area....tell me why this won't work. I think it's a great...no, a frigging great idea.
And as for penalizing heavy residential users - just like everyone else, homeowners will continue to use water at their regular rates, and just pay the fees associated with their overage. Talk of tax credits for low flow toilets, etc. is ridiculous. If a developer wants to build anything, let's talk about impact fees! Let's talk about passing regulations to require any new development to use a reduced water plan!
I'm sick and tired of reading all the, pardon my french, fucking whining about this. The reason we are in this mess is because we over built, in the name of growth and prosperity, and sprawled sprawled sprawled until we have sprawled ourselves into clear cutting mountains for subdivisions. Shame on you!
A certain Roswell city councilman proposed a bloody brilliant idea to address our water consumption.
He proposed a three month ban on new residential and commercial development in the City of Roswell.
All the other council members immediately shot him down, with some relevant feedback.
I still think the idea is sound.
There are about 20 houses in my neighborhood that are for sale. A quick look at Realtor.com snags about 2000 for Roswell, GA. Some of these houses are new, most are resale. The houses in my neighborhood have been on the market for about for or five months. The for sale signs I drive by every day have been there just as long. There is a new plaza down the road from me that sits vacant, except for a dentist's office. There is an abundance of commerical space available, and retail.
So...why do we need new development again? Let's focus on redeveloping what we already have!
Certain things get grandfathered out - school's doing new construction, hospitals, jails, etc. They can continue to build. Things that contribute to our over-density...those get kicked out.
Yeah, I realize that it is likely to be viewed as a penalty for the builders. So what? They bear some of the responsibility for putting us in this mess in the first place. A developer would argue with me, I'm sure, saying he was just meeting demand. If there are 2000 + available homes in Roswell, I don't see too much demand. I see a hell of a lot of supply. I don't feel sorry for these guys - they took advantange of the boom and the mortgage industry's lunacy to make as much money as they could. Everyone knows you should save for a rainy day when you are plush - I hoped they saved, because the "rainy" day is now.
So...Mr. M, LG, those of you that live in this area....tell me why this won't work. I think it's a great...no, a frigging great idea.
And as for penalizing heavy residential users - just like everyone else, homeowners will continue to use water at their regular rates, and just pay the fees associated with their overage. Talk of tax credits for low flow toilets, etc. is ridiculous. If a developer wants to build anything, let's talk about impact fees! Let's talk about passing regulations to require any new development to use a reduced water plan!
I'm sick and tired of reading all the, pardon my french, fucking whining about this. The reason we are in this mess is because we over built, in the name of growth and prosperity, and sprawled sprawled sprawled until we have sprawled ourselves into clear cutting mountains for subdivisions. Shame on you!
20071212
Me! Me! Me!
Since no one is interested in any of my personal thoughts or feelings, your normal blogger will now resume publication. I will continue to offer my snarky and infrequently witty comments upon current events...whenever I feel like it.
I finished the Ann Rule book about Atlanta's own murdering dentist, Bart Corbin.
Bart is now in the Fred Tokars hall of fame.
Remember Fred? the sleazy lawyer who had the mother of his two children shot to death in front of two said children? Who hired a creepy "associate" to kill his wife, because she was going to divorce him and expose his illegal activities?
Bart murdered a dental school girlfriend, and made it look as though she killed herself with a shot to the head by a .38. She was planning to leave him.
Bart then later murdered his wife, the mother of his two boys (Sarah Tokars had two boys), by staging a suicide shot to the head with...you guessed it, a .38. She was planning to leave him too.
Never proven but alleged - one of his many mistresses was found dead, duct taped to the inside of her car, hands to the steering wheel, in a lake in Alabama.
Rather than face a jury trial, Mr. Corbin wisely pled guilty.
Unfortunately, he is only serving two concurrent life sentences, and not consecutive.
He might see the light of day.
But I hope that the 2007 Winner of the Fred Tokars Award for being a complete an utter waste of molecular, sociopathic, self centered, homicical space is enjoying the confines of his prison cell, which will be one of his only views for the next 28 years.
Congratulations!
I finished the Ann Rule book about Atlanta's own murdering dentist, Bart Corbin.
Bart is now in the Fred Tokars hall of fame.
Remember Fred? the sleazy lawyer who had the mother of his two children shot to death in front of two said children? Who hired a creepy "associate" to kill his wife, because she was going to divorce him and expose his illegal activities?
Bart murdered a dental school girlfriend, and made it look as though she killed herself with a shot to the head by a .38. She was planning to leave him.
Bart then later murdered his wife, the mother of his two boys (Sarah Tokars had two boys), by staging a suicide shot to the head with...you guessed it, a .38. She was planning to leave him too.
Never proven but alleged - one of his many mistresses was found dead, duct taped to the inside of her car, hands to the steering wheel, in a lake in Alabama.
Rather than face a jury trial, Mr. Corbin wisely pled guilty.
Unfortunately, he is only serving two concurrent life sentences, and not consecutive.
He might see the light of day.
But I hope that the 2007 Winner of the Fred Tokars Award for being a complete an utter waste of molecular, sociopathic, self centered, homicical space is enjoying the confines of his prison cell, which will be one of his only views for the next 28 years.
Congratulations!
20071211
20071210
Ok, one tiny comment.
The government's plan to bail out the approximately 1.8 million homeowners who "qualify" for bailout (must have an adjustable rate mortgage that resets between now and 2008, must be current - no later than one month late, and must be able to pay their current loan) is an interesting solution.
Wait, did I say solution?
I mean band aid.
So we've done the right thing by working with the mortgage industry at large and gotten them to freeze those jacked up rates. That's good. Woohoo.
How about addressing the predatory lending practices that brought this about in the first place, eh? Why are these kind of loans still legal?
The government's plan to bail out the approximately 1.8 million homeowners who "qualify" for bailout (must have an adjustable rate mortgage that resets between now and 2008, must be current - no later than one month late, and must be able to pay their current loan) is an interesting solution.
Wait, did I say solution?
I mean band aid.
So we've done the right thing by working with the mortgage industry at large and gotten them to freeze those jacked up rates. That's good. Woohoo.
How about addressing the predatory lending practices that brought this about in the first place, eh? Why are these kind of loans still legal?
Simply put, people, I am bored.
There's nothing newsworthy to blog about (of course the CIA destroyed those torture tapes. WTF were they thinking taping that in the first place). There's nothing gossipworthy to blog about (does anyone care that Titney employed a five finger discount for a lighter)? There's nothing even really politically interesting to blog about. Nothing. At. All.
So I'm sitting here literally whistling dixie and clock watching.
Woe is me!
There's nothing newsworthy to blog about (of course the CIA destroyed those torture tapes. WTF were they thinking taping that in the first place). There's nothing gossipworthy to blog about (does anyone care that Titney employed a five finger discount for a lighter)? There's nothing even really politically interesting to blog about. Nothing. At. All.
So I'm sitting here literally whistling dixie and clock watching.
Woe is me!
Ok, wow.
First, recent US studies have revealed an increase in teen birth rates: blacks, caucasians and hispanics (in ranking order). And yet no agency wants to make a correlation between the spike in birth rates (to teens) and the promotion of the "abstinence only" program. I wonder why?
And across the pond, I see that the U.K. has the highest teen birth rate in Europe, at 80,000 a year.
What gives?
First, recent US studies have revealed an increase in teen birth rates: blacks, caucasians and hispanics (in ranking order). And yet no agency wants to make a correlation between the spike in birth rates (to teens) and the promotion of the "abstinence only" program. I wonder why?
And across the pond, I see that the U.K. has the highest teen birth rate in Europe, at 80,000 a year.
What gives?
Here's my take on a gross injustice (of the week...maybe I'll start a new feature...Gross Injustice or Things that Caught My Eye?)
BBC News has reported on an Austrailian case regarding a 10 year old Aborigine girl who was raped by nine men.
The judge said, and I quote "In her ruling, Judge Sarah Bradley told them that the victim "probably agreed to have sex with all of you".
Six of the nine, who were not of age when the offense took place, were placed on probation for 12 months.
The three adults were given 6 months in jail.
This judge sought to escape the results of her own ridiculous position, by telling the media that the punishments were what was requested by the prosecution. Now, I think that she had the authority to override this as a judge, but decided (for some obscure reason) not to do so.
So, let's get this straight. The child was an Aborigine. No report I have seen has said anything about the race of the offenders (although one of them, the oldest, was an accused sex offender). She comes from a poor part of Queensland; these men were all from a more affluent district. No word on how these people crossed paths.
First, how can a ten year old consent to having sex? Much less with nine men? That would seriously injure a small child.
Second, as another news channel pointed out, if this were a caucasian or asian child, there is no way the sentences would have been so light (and given Australia's history of racism, oppression, etc. against the Aborigines, I'm not surprised to see this still exist as a social value, even if it exists on the fringe).
The judge should be ashamed, and should step down. How is that justice?
BBC News has reported on an Austrailian case regarding a 10 year old Aborigine girl who was raped by nine men.
The judge said, and I quote "In her ruling, Judge Sarah Bradley told them that the victim "probably agreed to have sex with all of you".
Six of the nine, who were not of age when the offense took place, were placed on probation for 12 months.
The three adults were given 6 months in jail.
This judge sought to escape the results of her own ridiculous position, by telling the media that the punishments were what was requested by the prosecution. Now, I think that she had the authority to override this as a judge, but decided (for some obscure reason) not to do so.
So, let's get this straight. The child was an Aborigine. No report I have seen has said anything about the race of the offenders (although one of them, the oldest, was an accused sex offender). She comes from a poor part of Queensland; these men were all from a more affluent district. No word on how these people crossed paths.
First, how can a ten year old consent to having sex? Much less with nine men? That would seriously injure a small child.
Second, as another news channel pointed out, if this were a caucasian or asian child, there is no way the sentences would have been so light (and given Australia's history of racism, oppression, etc. against the Aborigines, I'm not surprised to see this still exist as a social value, even if it exists on the fringe).
The judge should be ashamed, and should step down. How is that justice?
20071208
Ah, another peaceful Friday night.
Mr. Manners and I had a small social event last evening for a group of his friends, hosted here at La Maison d'Eliza, full of sake and sushi and appetizers, and it was quite a nice night. I had on my Hostess with the Mostest hat to the fullest, and Mr. Manners was his usual convivial self.
Of course, that turned this morning into another matter. I was working remotely, and as it was a slow day had plenty of time to catch up on some things I'd forgotten/managed to ignore this week.
We just returned from visiting my god dog, over at LG's gaff. Amazingly, my dear friend actually cleaned before she left, although I was forced to put the shamrock in the sink and water it! Poor thing was as dry as a bone. Wonderpooch then dragged us all around the neighborhood, and caused me to turn my ankle so that the bottom of my foot is aching. Damnit!
Mmmm. Salt and pepper calamari. Chinese take away is awesome on a Friday night.
So watching the god dog tomorrow, and heading to see The Nutcracker tomorrow night. May run around and see relatives during the day - or may take advantage of a weekend day to run all the errands I put off during the week (much, I suspect, like everyone else). I'm going to have a great time at the ballet; I'm going to wear something froo froo and seasonal and go prance around aforementioned Egyptian-esque theater for an hour and a half. Lovely!!!! Sunday I might rake my yard, and put out my lights.
Or I might sit on my ass and do nothing.
I'm only waiting for a handful of presents to arrive: Mom has two coming, Dad has one (must find something else) and there are some stocking stuffers coming in the post. Must also mail my Christmas cards. Everything else is wrapped and under the tree - and am trying desperately NOT to run out and buy a bunch more crap no one will appreciate so the tree doesn't look so bare.
Have a great weekend!
Mr. Manners and I had a small social event last evening for a group of his friends, hosted here at La Maison d'Eliza, full of sake and sushi and appetizers, and it was quite a nice night. I had on my Hostess with the Mostest hat to the fullest, and Mr. Manners was his usual convivial self.
Of course, that turned this morning into another matter. I was working remotely, and as it was a slow day had plenty of time to catch up on some things I'd forgotten/managed to ignore this week.
We just returned from visiting my god dog, over at LG's gaff. Amazingly, my dear friend actually cleaned before she left, although I was forced to put the shamrock in the sink and water it! Poor thing was as dry as a bone. Wonderpooch then dragged us all around the neighborhood, and caused me to turn my ankle so that the bottom of my foot is aching. Damnit!
Mmmm. Salt and pepper calamari. Chinese take away is awesome on a Friday night.
So watching the god dog tomorrow, and heading to see The Nutcracker tomorrow night. May run around and see relatives during the day - or may take advantage of a weekend day to run all the errands I put off during the week (much, I suspect, like everyone else). I'm going to have a great time at the ballet; I'm going to wear something froo froo and seasonal and go prance around aforementioned Egyptian-esque theater for an hour and a half. Lovely!!!! Sunday I might rake my yard, and put out my lights.
Or I might sit on my ass and do nothing.
I'm only waiting for a handful of presents to arrive: Mom has two coming, Dad has one (must find something else) and there are some stocking stuffers coming in the post. Must also mail my Christmas cards. Everything else is wrapped and under the tree - and am trying desperately NOT to run out and buy a bunch more crap no one will appreciate so the tree doesn't look so bare.
Have a great weekend!
20071207
Damnit.
The school I attend in my perpetual quest to obtain my degree has managed to piss me off again. This happens every six months.
Why?
I have tuition reimbursement at work. It requires that I submit my grades, and that they be a C or higher, to be reimbursed for these classes. A bill for two classes is $4,000.00...so you want it to be reimbursed! But grades don't come out until two weeks into the new term, and unless you have already registered for both sessions, you get put into suspense, on hold, etc etc until your head spins.
So my company is working with the school to go on the corporate program - reduced tuition, direct billing, etc. No holds! I'm so excited!
Except that it's the holiday season, and things are dragging, and I logged into today and I have been suspended due to inactivity!!!! ^&#*($&*#(!&$#*&!!!!!
I yelled at enough people on the phone; I finally got someone with a brain who could enroll me and enroll me in the right courses.
Thank you Amy!
The school I attend in my perpetual quest to obtain my degree has managed to piss me off again. This happens every six months.
Why?
I have tuition reimbursement at work. It requires that I submit my grades, and that they be a C or higher, to be reimbursed for these classes. A bill for two classes is $4,000.00...so you want it to be reimbursed! But grades don't come out until two weeks into the new term, and unless you have already registered for both sessions, you get put into suspense, on hold, etc etc until your head spins.
So my company is working with the school to go on the corporate program - reduced tuition, direct billing, etc. No holds! I'm so excited!
Except that it's the holiday season, and things are dragging, and I logged into today and I have been suspended due to inactivity!!!! ^&#*($&*#(!&$#*&!!!!!
I yelled at enough people on the phone; I finally got someone with a brain who could enroll me and enroll me in the right courses.
Thank you Amy!
Dear Santa:
This letter is to notify you that Eliza has been a VERY good girl this year, and would like to request the following items under the "Good Behavior" Clause contained in the contract you mutually executed in 1973 upon her birth.
Duvet Cover, King Sized (no flower print)
A nice ring that fits any of her other fingers, as all her other rings only fit her ring finger. A size 5 or 6 should do.
Calphalon Tri Pli Stainless Steel, 8 pc set.
A new winter coat that falls to mid thigh and that has nice, clean lines.
A tall dresser.
A free house cleaning.
A visit from the yard elves.
Two tickets to Venice, Italy.
A Sirius Satellite portable receiver (available for $200 at Best Buy)
If none of these items are available, the following items are suitable replacements:
Socks
Sweaters
New wooden cooking implements
New baking pan
electric toothbrush
the remaining 5 discs of the Warner Brothers collection (she already owns 1 - 3).
The new Laurell K Hamilton, Merry Gentry series book (she knows it's trash, she likes it anyway).
DVD's: Last King of Scotland, Labyrinth, The Dark Crystal, and The Last Unicorn.
Thank you. Please notify us 5 days in advance if you will be unable to fulfill your contractual obligations.
Merry Christmas!
This letter is to notify you that Eliza has been a VERY good girl this year, and would like to request the following items under the "Good Behavior" Clause contained in the contract you mutually executed in 1973 upon her birth.
Duvet Cover, King Sized (no flower print)
A nice ring that fits any of her other fingers, as all her other rings only fit her ring finger. A size 5 or 6 should do.
Calphalon Tri Pli Stainless Steel, 8 pc set.
A new winter coat that falls to mid thigh and that has nice, clean lines.
A tall dresser.
A free house cleaning.
A visit from the yard elves.
Two tickets to Venice, Italy.
A Sirius Satellite portable receiver (available for $200 at Best Buy)
If none of these items are available, the following items are suitable replacements:
Socks
Sweaters
New wooden cooking implements
New baking pan
electric toothbrush
the remaining 5 discs of the Warner Brothers collection (she already owns 1 - 3).
The new Laurell K Hamilton, Merry Gentry series book (she knows it's trash, she likes it anyway).
DVD's: Last King of Scotland, Labyrinth, The Dark Crystal, and The Last Unicorn.
Thank you. Please notify us 5 days in advance if you will be unable to fulfill your contractual obligations.
Merry Christmas!
20071206
20071205
Fortunate Son
Last night saw Mr. Manners and I attending the John Fogerty show at the new Cobb Energy Center.
Now, I'm partial to the Fox myself, even though the accoustics as well as the facilities are horrid...just because of the decor. Where else can you stroll through an Egyptian Ballroom, or go to facilitate in a facility that resembles the inside of some pasha's harem?
But I digress.
The Cobb Center is actually quite nice. Parking is reasonable (you know, to park in the deck across from the Symphony is usually between $10 - $15. So a night spent listening to the classics usually runs me about $135. ouch!!! And they wonder why I won't buy season tickets), safe and secure ($5). The facility is ginormous, clean, well laid out, and honestly there isn't a bad seat in the house, and it doesn't have that overwhelming, huge arena feel. The box seats...ah, now how cool would that be? The restrooms are palatial. The only bad thing is that they stop selling concessions rather early.
And Mr. Fogerty himself was up to his usual entertaining standards. I usually *don't* like the new stuff folks put out there (sometimes ageing rockers should gracefully retire...you know, I really liked Sting until Fields of Gold but felt he lost the plot - or rather, the Eliza - on that album); John played a nice blend of old and new. The new stuff was actually pretty decent, and something I'd consider picking up the next time I'm at the store. And he KICKED ass on the old CCR tunes...although I must say that I prefer Ike and Tina's version of "Proud Mary".
Anyway, two cents here is that he's worth the listen. Go to a show. You might have fun!
20071204
I’ve written about this before, but I cannot for the life of me fathom the process that went into making this a law.
First, read this article on the NY Times page. You’ve seen several like it recently in the Economist, the local rag (AJC) and (if memory serves correctly) the Washington Post and tons of other magazines…making it, I suppose, the new legal issue of the year.
So, the core of the issue is this (in this case): if you lend a car to someone, who commits a felony, and during the course of said felony commits a homicide, you can be held liable for the death of the person. One could also extract from this that if you lent a kitchen knife to your neighbor, and the neighbor later stabs someone, some over zealous re-election seeking prosecutorial office could decide to charge you with murder.
Do you think I’m kidding?
I can understand charging someone with being an accessory to a robbery – in this case, Mr. Holle has stated he had knowledge that a robbery was going to take place, although later admits to being confused and uncertain whether or not a robbery would occur or whether the perpetrators, his roommates, were going out for food after attending a late night party. So he admits to knowing that a robbery was going to occur – these guys were going to the home of someone they knew, whose daughter had been at the party, to relieve he and his wife of their marijuana supply.
What he did not know, indeed, what even the actual, real thieves probably did not know was that “knock out” would entail beating her head in and killing her with what I presume was the butt of a shotgun (although that detail is not mentioned).
And also, to pick on more quotes from the article, to say that without the car lent by Mr. Holle the robbery and subsequent death would not have occurred is a spurious argument. The house where the robbery occurred was a mile and a half away. If someone wants it badly enough, a mile and a half isn’t that far to walk.
One cannot later make a presumption of guilt based on an assumption of intent!!!! And that’s the bone I have to pick with the legal system. Our desire to inflict punishment is being carried too far. This is, to my mind, akin to a child of alcoholic parents being allowed to prosecute the parents for criminal negligence during their childhood. What???? How far is this going to be allowed to go? If someone buys gas at a gas station, is the station owner liable? Can you sue the carmaker in civil court for damages, even though the car itself did not commit the crime?
Sometimes, we hamper what is right with what we think of as our best intentions. The law is not meant to be applied with such a broad brush. Not everyone is equal, and not every action is equal. Punishing Mr. Holle for having some seriously shitty friends should not have resulted in life sentence.
First, read this article on the NY Times page. You’ve seen several like it recently in the Economist, the local rag (AJC) and (if memory serves correctly) the Washington Post and tons of other magazines…making it, I suppose, the new legal issue of the year.
So, the core of the issue is this (in this case): if you lend a car to someone, who commits a felony, and during the course of said felony commits a homicide, you can be held liable for the death of the person. One could also extract from this that if you lent a kitchen knife to your neighbor, and the neighbor later stabs someone, some over zealous re-election seeking prosecutorial office could decide to charge you with murder.
Do you think I’m kidding?
I can understand charging someone with being an accessory to a robbery – in this case, Mr. Holle has stated he had knowledge that a robbery was going to take place, although later admits to being confused and uncertain whether or not a robbery would occur or whether the perpetrators, his roommates, were going out for food after attending a late night party. So he admits to knowing that a robbery was going to occur – these guys were going to the home of someone they knew, whose daughter had been at the party, to relieve he and his wife of their marijuana supply.
What he did not know, indeed, what even the actual, real thieves probably did not know was that “knock out” would entail beating her head in and killing her with what I presume was the butt of a shotgun (although that detail is not mentioned).
And also, to pick on more quotes from the article, to say that without the car lent by Mr. Holle the robbery and subsequent death would not have occurred is a spurious argument. The house where the robbery occurred was a mile and a half away. If someone wants it badly enough, a mile and a half isn’t that far to walk.
One cannot later make a presumption of guilt based on an assumption of intent!!!! And that’s the bone I have to pick with the legal system. Our desire to inflict punishment is being carried too far. This is, to my mind, akin to a child of alcoholic parents being allowed to prosecute the parents for criminal negligence during their childhood. What???? How far is this going to be allowed to go? If someone buys gas at a gas station, is the station owner liable? Can you sue the carmaker in civil court for damages, even though the car itself did not commit the crime?
Sometimes, we hamper what is right with what we think of as our best intentions. The law is not meant to be applied with such a broad brush. Not everyone is equal, and not every action is equal. Punishing Mr. Holle for having some seriously shitty friends should not have resulted in life sentence.
The tree is finished, the Nativity is up, the wreath is on the door. We had issues with the Nativity; Baby Jesus did NOT want to stay in his manger. He said he's tired of hanging out in a wooden box for 2007 years, he'd like to at least get up and go for a walk!
I don't think I'm going to do outdoor lights and garlands this year. As LimerickGal has said, it's tooooo effing cold! It's so cold that I "forgot" to take out the recycling this morning, and have now missed it for the second week in a row.
Maybe I'll get snow for Christmas after all!
I don't think I'm going to do outdoor lights and garlands this year. As LimerickGal has said, it's tooooo effing cold! It's so cold that I "forgot" to take out the recycling this morning, and have now missed it for the second week in a row.
Maybe I'll get snow for Christmas after all!
20071203
Post Script to last post?
What does Eliza want for Christmas?
Well, she wants some things she won't put on the blog
BUT
Someone ELSE to clean her house from top to bottom would be nice. Or to do her yardwork.
Or a new set of Calphalon Tri Ply Stainless Steel pans?
Or someone who would do a day's worth of laundry and thus get everything in the wash done at one time? Yeah, that's a novel idea.
Or a week at the beach, on a un inhabited island?
What does Eliza want for Christmas?
Well, she wants some things she won't put on the blog
BUT
Someone ELSE to clean her house from top to bottom would be nice. Or to do her yardwork.
Or a new set of Calphalon Tri Ply Stainless Steel pans?
Or someone who would do a day's worth of laundry and thus get everything in the wash done at one time? Yeah, that's a novel idea.
Or a week at the beach, on a un inhabited island?
Whine
I have cramps, I feel entitled to whine, so get over it.
Christmas.
I love Christmas. It is by far my favorite holiday, and the only time of year that I expect to be wonderful and magical without fail every year. Why I expect this, I do not know....certainly my history has been filled with enough crappy Christmas's (Box of Socks, Bad Teenage Eliza No Biscuit) to have killed that sense of hope in me. However, I guess that eternal spirit of optimism does continue to live on, because every year around my birthday/Thanksgiving, I start to get excited. All my senses hum. I whip out money and throw it in the air (retail) with great abandon, searching endlessly for the one thing that will make the sisters, the family, Mr. Manners happy. Because everyone wants to be happy at Christmas, right? I listen to Christmas music whenever no one is around. I dance with my dogs. I break out all my ornaments, and usually decorate outside with tasteful lights and garlands (although this year....I just don't feel like it).
Now this Christmas is an Eliza's family Christmas. Just us chickens (and Mr. Manners). Well, it started out that way - now it has turned into: Lil Sis arrives Thursday mid day; parents are stopping at their friends house on the way down, and not arriving until Saturday. Mid Sis arrives sometime on the weekend - she'd better, or she won't get her interview suit as her Christmas present! And now, even though this is not what I wanted, I have graciously (although I'm complaining somewhat publicly about this, I don't really want to hear about it, thank you, family members) agreed to have everyone over for Christmas Eve Snacks and Drinks. That's about twenty folks in my house. Did I mention I'm also working Christmas Eve? I don't care if my parents bring the corgi's - I like them, and they keep Maddy entertained. I don't care that my house will virtually be a hotel - I'm quite capable of ignoring everyone, and everyone that needs to has a key. I don't even mind footing the bill for feeding the masses and entertaining the masses...I rather enjoy that sense of preparation masochism. I don't even mind the cleaning - I know that the Sis's can be pressed into helping me with that, and the cooking is fine and dandy as well.
But a fucking thank you would be nice.
Love ya!
Christmas.
I love Christmas. It is by far my favorite holiday, and the only time of year that I expect to be wonderful and magical without fail every year. Why I expect this, I do not know....certainly my history has been filled with enough crappy Christmas's (Box of Socks, Bad Teenage Eliza No Biscuit) to have killed that sense of hope in me. However, I guess that eternal spirit of optimism does continue to live on, because every year around my birthday/Thanksgiving, I start to get excited. All my senses hum. I whip out money and throw it in the air (retail) with great abandon, searching endlessly for the one thing that will make the sisters, the family, Mr. Manners happy. Because everyone wants to be happy at Christmas, right? I listen to Christmas music whenever no one is around. I dance with my dogs. I break out all my ornaments, and usually decorate outside with tasteful lights and garlands (although this year....I just don't feel like it).
Now this Christmas is an Eliza's family Christmas. Just us chickens (and Mr. Manners). Well, it started out that way - now it has turned into: Lil Sis arrives Thursday mid day; parents are stopping at their friends house on the way down, and not arriving until Saturday. Mid Sis arrives sometime on the weekend - she'd better, or she won't get her interview suit as her Christmas present! And now, even though this is not what I wanted, I have graciously (although I'm complaining somewhat publicly about this, I don't really want to hear about it, thank you, family members) agreed to have everyone over for Christmas Eve Snacks and Drinks. That's about twenty folks in my house. Did I mention I'm also working Christmas Eve? I don't care if my parents bring the corgi's - I like them, and they keep Maddy entertained. I don't care that my house will virtually be a hotel - I'm quite capable of ignoring everyone, and everyone that needs to has a key. I don't even mind footing the bill for feeding the masses and entertaining the masses...I rather enjoy that sense of preparation masochism. I don't even mind the cleaning - I know that the Sis's can be pressed into helping me with that, and the cooking is fine and dandy as well.
But a fucking thank you would be nice.
Love ya!
Question for you (the masses)....
Just noticing a few things lately, and idly wondering - has someone done a study that compares "engagement time periods" to "durability of marriage" broken down by lives with and doesn't live with?
I read a lot of junky women's magazines, and a lot of good magazines, and I notice a trend lately. Either folks are jumping right into marriage after a few months, or are waiting a few years. I don't seem to see an age distinction either - one might think that older couples got married faster (biological clock) than younger couples with time to spare. But no....these two trends seem to show everywhere.
So, what do you think? Based on your experience, or those of your friends.....what are your thoughts?
And NO, family members who read, I am NOT asking for myself!
Just noticing a few things lately, and idly wondering - has someone done a study that compares "engagement time periods" to "durability of marriage" broken down by lives with and doesn't live with?
I read a lot of junky women's magazines, and a lot of good magazines, and I notice a trend lately. Either folks are jumping right into marriage after a few months, or are waiting a few years. I don't seem to see an age distinction either - one might think that older couples got married faster (biological clock) than younger couples with time to spare. But no....these two trends seem to show everywhere.
So, what do you think? Based on your experience, or those of your friends.....what are your thoughts?
And NO, family members who read, I am NOT asking for myself!
Today is one of those days where I hate being female. The cramps that respond to no pain killers, the fact that I can’t stand up straight, the fact that my back hurts, my joints hurts, and all and all I feel like a big ball of hormone addled, womanly shit.
Advice: just…shut up! :-)
Weekend: a pleasant wash. My tree looked much larger in the parking lot of the store than it does in my living room. Now it looks rather sad. I’m not too much in the Christmas sprit, I confess. The Nutcracker is Saturday, maybe that will help.
In other news, the Atlanta Aquarium has lost it’s second beluga whale, who by all accounts was in some pain when she died.
I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again – I still think it’s wrong to hold wild animals in captivity for human amusement. And I think beluga whales are some of the most beautiful and most expressive whales out there. I’m very sad for Marina, and I’m very sad for her caretakers who held her while she died.
Lastly: Go Gillian!
Advice: just…shut up! :-)
Weekend: a pleasant wash. My tree looked much larger in the parking lot of the store than it does in my living room. Now it looks rather sad. I’m not too much in the Christmas sprit, I confess. The Nutcracker is Saturday, maybe that will help.
In other news, the Atlanta Aquarium has lost it’s second beluga whale, who by all accounts was in some pain when she died.
I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again – I still think it’s wrong to hold wild animals in captivity for human amusement. And I think beluga whales are some of the most beautiful and most expressive whales out there. I’m very sad for Marina, and I’m very sad for her caretakers who held her while she died.
Lastly: Go Gillian!
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