Ah, nothing to report, other than the fact it turned out to be much hotter today than I expected.
Still, Mr. Manners and I powered through, and cleaned up all the debris left by Fay, and with the help of Mr. Manner's brother, yanked down one very large pine tree. Perhaps three or four more will come down next week, after we borrow a chainsaw.
All in all, a very tiring weekend. I've just finished the paper and fed the dogs; it's only eight p.m. and I swear I'm ready for bed. See the exciting and fabulous life I lead?
20080831
20080829
If you haven't been reading the final chapters of Lynn William's comic "For Better or For Worse", you really should go check them out.
These last two weeks of strips have been especially poignant.
Go and see them: http://www.fborfw.com/strip_fix/
Sorry, I'm having problems with blogger again and don't remember (also see: too lazy) to look up the html to embed a link.
These last two weeks of strips have been especially poignant.
Go and see them: http://www.fborfw.com/strip_fix/
Sorry, I'm having problems with blogger again and don't remember (also see: too lazy) to look up the html to embed a link.
Spoiler Alert (if you read Karin Slaughter or Tami Hoag....you know who you are, so stop here!)
I just finished the last Karin Slaughter paperback.
I'm heartbroken. She killed off a major character whom we've all come to know and love despite their many faults. Not in a soap opera, oh my god they can come back in the next novel kind of way, but in a holy shit, they-really-died-kind of way.
But...in a positive note, were I Ms. Slaughter, there is an excellent plot hook buried in the interaction between said dead character and said dead character's spouse that just screams to be developed in the next novel.
The Tami Hoad was one of those modern day/olden day story in a story novels. I like her regular novels about the forensic pathologist and the detective. Chick crime novels. Like Scarpetta but not as overblown as those have become in recent years.
Now I'm onto more serious literature. I'll let you know how those turn out.
I just finished the last Karin Slaughter paperback.
I'm heartbroken. She killed off a major character whom we've all come to know and love despite their many faults. Not in a soap opera, oh my god they can come back in the next novel kind of way, but in a holy shit, they-really-died-kind of way.
But...in a positive note, were I Ms. Slaughter, there is an excellent plot hook buried in the interaction between said dead character and said dead character's spouse that just screams to be developed in the next novel.
The Tami Hoad was one of those modern day/olden day story in a story novels. I like her regular novels about the forensic pathologist and the detective. Chick crime novels. Like Scarpetta but not as overblown as those have become in recent years.
Now I'm onto more serious literature. I'll let you know how those turn out.
20080828
So...the other day, I read that Americans can't cook.
Imagine that.
Evidently, grocery store sales of ready made meals are suffering, as are the sales of restaurants. Ready made meals are more expensive, so people are passing those up in favor of making things themselves (and bypassing eating out). Like, from scratch. With real vegetables, dude, and like, meat and stuff that you have to touch with your hands, and it's like ewwwwww grosss! nastttyyyyyy!
You know, Mr. Manners and I both regularly make things from scratch. We never buy prepared meals. We order chinese or eat sushi once in a while. We do eat out at lunch, but try to keep that healthy (no fast food ever). So I'm flabbergasted that someone doesn't know how to make a biscuit, or can't make their own marinara sauce, or a burrito, or a pot roast, or toss together a spice rub for a pork loin, or make chili, or make soup, or stuff and roast a chicken, or make stuffing, or make a cake without a mix, or make muffins, or make salad dressing, or their own mashed potatoes or macaroni (ok, I admit to cheating on this one, but I confess that we add tuna, a jalo, and real cheese, and dill).
And while cooking during the week annoys me because I feel as though I'm under this enormous time constraint, cooking on the weekend can be a luxurious event to be enjoyed with good music and an occasional glass of wine.
When you learn to enjoy cooking from scratch, learn to grow your own herbs....
:-)
Imagine that.
Evidently, grocery store sales of ready made meals are suffering, as are the sales of restaurants. Ready made meals are more expensive, so people are passing those up in favor of making things themselves (and bypassing eating out). Like, from scratch. With real vegetables, dude, and like, meat and stuff that you have to touch with your hands, and it's like ewwwwww grosss! nastttyyyyyy!
You know, Mr. Manners and I both regularly make things from scratch. We never buy prepared meals. We order chinese or eat sushi once in a while. We do eat out at lunch, but try to keep that healthy (no fast food ever). So I'm flabbergasted that someone doesn't know how to make a biscuit, or can't make their own marinara sauce, or a burrito, or a pot roast, or toss together a spice rub for a pork loin, or make chili, or make soup, or stuff and roast a chicken, or make stuffing, or make a cake without a mix, or make muffins, or make salad dressing, or their own mashed potatoes or macaroni (ok, I admit to cheating on this one, but I confess that we add tuna, a jalo, and real cheese, and dill).
And while cooking during the week annoys me because I feel as though I'm under this enormous time constraint, cooking on the weekend can be a luxurious event to be enjoyed with good music and an occasional glass of wine.
When you learn to enjoy cooking from scratch, learn to grow your own herbs....
:-)
I am my Grandfather's Granddaughter
Tonight is perfect. The air is clear, courtesy of Fay. The sky is blue, and full of birds wheeling and swooping in search of a full belly. Full of song.
One can almost consider those things you remember hearing about from your childhood (but can't quite recall doing).
Hayrides. Bobbing for apples. Bonfires. Apple Festivals. Harvest Moons.
That sort of thing.
Early autumn!
One can almost consider those things you remember hearing about from your childhood (but can't quite recall doing).
Hayrides. Bobbing for apples. Bonfires. Apple Festivals. Harvest Moons.
That sort of thing.
Early autumn!
Just because
From: "PROFESSOR CHARLES C. SOLUDO"
The above "From:" address may be forged. Save Address Reminder
Subject: Diplomatic Courier Service
Date: Sunday, August 24, 2008 7:14:25 PM [View Source]
From the Desk Of:
Prof Charles Soludo
Executive Governor (CBN)
IMMEDIATE PAYMENT
REF: CBN/IRD/CBX/021/009
[OFFICE OF THE GOVERNOR]
DIRECT LINE:+234-803-926-7386
E-mail: prof_charles_2001@live.com
We have this 2008 received a payment credit instruction from the federal
Government of Nigeria to credit your account with your full contract funds from
the Nigerian reserve account with our bank. This is to notify you that you funds
has been programmed for immediate release into your nominated account but we can
not transfer this funds direct to your nominated bank account, because we are
having a little problem with International Monetary Fund (IMF) so our method of
payment is by Diplomatic Courier Service Be inform that every arrangement
regarding your cash payment through diplomatic services has been made; note
that your funds have been package like a consignment.
Be informing that the Diplomatic Agency has to move down to your Country in
order to deliver the Consignment to your doorstep.Note that as soon as the
Diplomatic arrive to your Country they will give you a call immediately to
enable you help them to get (Yellow Tag Paper).
You have to help the diplomats to get (yellow Tag Paper) so that the customs and
immigration will not stop them in Airport, for security reason you are advice to
follow the rules and regulation of the diplomats for easy collection of the
consignment, you have to welcome the diplomatic agent, to enable them deliver
the Consignment to you immediately, be inform that as soon as the diplomatic
obtain the above name certificate they will deliver the Consignment to your door
step.
To remind you that the diplomats has a transit to united state and finally to
arrive at your Country as the last destination on their diplomatic travel route
this week,I want you to send your direct mobile phone and your home address to
me immediately, so that as soon as the diplomatic arrive in State they will call
you immediately to notify you. call me immediately.
Your Full Name: ______________________________
Your Complete Address (Physical Address with Zip Code not
P.O.BOX) : ______________________________
Your Age________________________
Name of City of Residence:_______________________________
Country:____________________________________
Direct Telephone Number:____________________________________
Mobile
Number:____________________________________
Number:___________________________________
Occupation:________________________________
E - Mail______________________________
PROFESSOR CHARLES C. SOLUDO,
GOVERNOR, CENTRAL BANK OF NIGERIA (CBN)
NOTE: RESPONSE SHOULD BE MADE IMMEDIATELY BEFORE IT WILL BE TOO LATE
DIRECT LINE:+234-803-926-7386
E-mail: pcbn_2003@rocketmail.com
The above "From:" address may be forged. Save Address Reminder
Subject: Diplomatic Courier Service
Date: Sunday, August 24, 2008 7:14:25 PM [View Source]
From the Desk Of:
Prof Charles Soludo
Executive Governor (CBN)
IMMEDIATE PAYMENT
REF: CBN/IRD/CBX/021/009
[OFFICE OF THE GOVERNOR]
DIRECT LINE:+234-803-926-7386
E-mail: prof_charles_2001@live.com
We have this 2008 received a payment credit instruction from the federal
Government of Nigeria to credit your account with your full contract funds from
the Nigerian reserve account with our bank. This is to notify you that you funds
has been programmed for immediate release into your nominated account but we can
not transfer this funds direct to your nominated bank account, because we are
having a little problem with International Monetary Fund (IMF) so our method of
payment is by Diplomatic Courier Service Be inform that every arrangement
regarding your cash payment through diplomatic services has been made; note
that your funds have been package like a consignment.
Be informing that the Diplomatic Agency has to move down to your Country in
order to deliver the Consignment to your doorstep.Note that as soon as the
Diplomatic arrive to your Country they will give you a call immediately to
enable you help them to get (Yellow Tag Paper).
You have to help the diplomats to get (yellow Tag Paper) so that the customs and
immigration will not stop them in Airport, for security reason you are advice to
follow the rules and regulation of the diplomats for easy collection of the
consignment, you have to welcome the diplomatic agent, to enable them deliver
the Consignment to you immediately, be inform that as soon as the diplomatic
obtain the above name certificate they will deliver the Consignment to your door
step.
To remind you that the diplomats has a transit to united state and finally to
arrive at your Country as the last destination on their diplomatic travel route
this week,I want you to send your direct mobile phone and your home address to
me immediately, so that as soon as the diplomatic arrive in State they will call
you immediately to notify you. call me immediately.
Your Full Name: ______________________________
Your Complete Address (Physical Address with Zip Code not
P.O.BOX) : ______________________________
Your Age________________________
Name of City of Residence:_______________________________
Country:____________________________________
Direct Telephone Number:____________________________________
Mobile
Number:____________________________________
Number:___________________________________
Occupation:________________________________
E - Mail______________________________
PROFESSOR CHARLES C. SOLUDO,
GOVERNOR, CENTRAL BANK OF NIGERIA (CBN)
NOTE: RESPONSE SHOULD BE MADE IMMEDIATELY BEFORE IT WILL BE TOO LATE
DIRECT LINE:+234-803-926-7386
E-mail: pcbn_2003@rocketmail.com
20080827
There Will Be Lemons
I am still, hours later, quite angry.
I'm telling you people:
There will be flying lemons very shortly if you do not stop your egregious abuse of the keyboard.
I'm telling you people:
There will be flying lemons very shortly if you do not stop your egregious abuse of the keyboard.
More proof, as if it were needed, that dogs rock.
A fifteen pound, New Jersey cockapoo (I know, I don't believe that's a real dog either) treed two bear cubs by viciously barking at them incessantly because they were trespassing in the dog's backyard. Pawlee barked at the bears until they went up the tree, and kept barking until the bears came back down the tree and over the fence.
Even bears can't take that incessant shrill barking!
A fifteen pound, New Jersey cockapoo (I know, I don't believe that's a real dog either) treed two bear cubs by viciously barking at them incessantly because they were trespassing in the dog's backyard. Pawlee barked at the bears until they went up the tree, and kept barking until the bears came back down the tree and over the fence.
Even bears can't take that incessant shrill barking!
Perceptions
I think it's funny that people think I am well off. Perceptions are a bitch, aren't they?
Yes, I earn a good wage. I won't lie about that. I have a house, and a car, and a pool, and two dogs. I take trips. From the outside looking in, I suppose it looks pretty good, doesn't it?
Let me ask you an honest question - do you think I actually get to enjoy the fruits of my labor? Do you think I actually enjoy owning a home? Or having a pool?
Let's talk about that pool. That albatross. That pool has cost me, since I bought the house, about $6000 in maintenance and repair. I have gone swimming in that pool about...six times. That means on average each swim costs $1,000. It is not that I do not enjoy swimming; it is that the pool represents yet another chore that needs to be done before anything can be enjoyed.
The house is much the same way. It was a bad investment, although I did not know it when I purchased it. Something is always broken. Thank you for your concern, but I spend several thousand dollars each year repairing something that breaks, be it a blown bus (whatever that is) or a leaking pipe or an air conditioning unit (not something one can live without in Dixie). I do not discuss it with the family at large, and unlike other people in this family I have the luxury of a having a decent job (for now) so I do not have to ask other people to pay for my mistakes.
Do I need to underline the last part of that sentence for you?
Right.
Now, you will have to forgive me. The day is long. After we have put in a full day at work, and arrived home at six thirty or seven, and weather permitting I have walked the girls...and then it's time to work on school work, and then make dinner, and then do laundry, and perhaps watch some television, and clean a bit, and then off to bed. If I am lucky, this is eleven. It is usually twelve thirty, and back up at six thirty. This means that when I have free time, or entertain, I like people to come to me because my time I so limited, I like to make the most of it. Is that selfish? You bet your sweet bippy it is! All of you in blogland know about the disasterous family/work weekend a few weeks ago - unfortunately, that is not as rare as one might think. That is what a normal work DAY (even at night) can be like.
Trips...let's see. Mr. Manners and I have taken two trips this year that were not work related. We went to New Orleans, and we went to Charlotte for Kim's wedding. Orlando, Daytona and Destin were all trips where we worked. Yes, I do manage to work remotely when we travel, and I do help Mr. Manners some when he works (a very little). Those are not trips for pleasure (please note that for the Destin trip the bathing suit was not even needed). We are going to go on a road trip soon, a ROAD TRIP, requiring me to be in the car, driving, the two activities I despise the most, because we cannot afford to do anything different.
My EXTREME apologies if I don't fit into the image of what a you think I ought to be. Why don't you walk in my shoes? Come walk in my life? Get up every day, go to work, pay my bills, have my debt, my mortgage, my obligations, and my required level of normalcy?
Now, you've really pissed me off. You can all knock it off, or there is going to be so serious radio silence. I mean it.
Love and Kisses,
Eliza
Yes, I earn a good wage. I won't lie about that. I have a house, and a car, and a pool, and two dogs. I take trips. From the outside looking in, I suppose it looks pretty good, doesn't it?
Let me ask you an honest question - do you think I actually get to enjoy the fruits of my labor? Do you think I actually enjoy owning a home? Or having a pool?
Let's talk about that pool. That albatross. That pool has cost me, since I bought the house, about $6000 in maintenance and repair. I have gone swimming in that pool about...six times. That means on average each swim costs $1,000. It is not that I do not enjoy swimming; it is that the pool represents yet another chore that needs to be done before anything can be enjoyed.
The house is much the same way. It was a bad investment, although I did not know it when I purchased it. Something is always broken. Thank you for your concern, but I spend several thousand dollars each year repairing something that breaks, be it a blown bus (whatever that is) or a leaking pipe or an air conditioning unit (not something one can live without in Dixie). I do not discuss it with the family at large, and unlike other people in this family I have the luxury of a having a decent job (for now) so I do not have to ask other people to pay for my mistakes.
Do I need to underline the last part of that sentence for you?
Right.
Now, you will have to forgive me. The day is long. After we have put in a full day at work, and arrived home at six thirty or seven, and weather permitting I have walked the girls...and then it's time to work on school work, and then make dinner, and then do laundry, and perhaps watch some television, and clean a bit, and then off to bed. If I am lucky, this is eleven. It is usually twelve thirty, and back up at six thirty. This means that when I have free time, or entertain, I like people to come to me because my time I so limited, I like to make the most of it. Is that selfish? You bet your sweet bippy it is! All of you in blogland know about the disasterous family/work weekend a few weeks ago - unfortunately, that is not as rare as one might think. That is what a normal work DAY (even at night) can be like.
Trips...let's see. Mr. Manners and I have taken two trips this year that were not work related. We went to New Orleans, and we went to Charlotte for Kim's wedding. Orlando, Daytona and Destin were all trips where we worked. Yes, I do manage to work remotely when we travel, and I do help Mr. Manners some when he works (a very little). Those are not trips for pleasure (please note that for the Destin trip the bathing suit was not even needed). We are going to go on a road trip soon, a ROAD TRIP, requiring me to be in the car, driving, the two activities I despise the most, because we cannot afford to do anything different.
My EXTREME apologies if I don't fit into the image of what a you think I ought to be. Why don't you walk in my shoes? Come walk in my life? Get up every day, go to work, pay my bills, have my debt, my mortgage, my obligations, and my required level of normalcy?
Now, you've really pissed me off. You can all knock it off, or there is going to be so serious radio silence. I mean it.
Love and Kisses,
Eliza
20080825
This year's almanac claims it will be an unusually harsh (hallelujah) winter in most of the United States.
We here in Dixie like cold winters. We don't get them often, but they do fabulous things like kill mosquitos. Of course, they also do bad things like kill peach crops in Florida. But somehow I think there are fewer and fewer peach crops in Florida these days. I suspect that might be a relic of my childhood, like working strawberry farms in North Carolina.
Of course, our idea of a cold winter is a Thanksgiving or Christmaswhere the high hovers around an overcast sixty two, with a slight breeze. It might even be a bit...balmy, depending on whether we are under the influence of some spent high pressure system, or lolling about under some low pressure system sneaking up from the coast.
It might even...sleet in January. Followed by one to two inches of snow in February, which would cause utter panic in the city. Every single slice on Sunbeam bread, milk, and beer (even PBR!!!) will evaporate from store shelves as the city readies itself for a blizzard of Hollywoodian proportions.
Once in a great while, we get a wallop. A real blizzard. A real ice storm or two. I recall one in the seventies that was very bad for the city. I also seem to recall reading about one at the turn of the century, and another one in the forties that knocked the city for a loop.
I myself am hoping for a real fall and real winter. I don't think I'm going to be disappointed. Doesn't it already feel like sweater weather to you? Maybe it's the remnants of the hurricane, but I swear (oh, I know I mentioned this before) I'm ready to whip out the ole fireplace and start a fire, just because it's gray and nasty outside.
Hot chocolate, anyone?
We here in Dixie like cold winters. We don't get them often, but they do fabulous things like kill mosquitos. Of course, they also do bad things like kill peach crops in Florida. But somehow I think there are fewer and fewer peach crops in Florida these days. I suspect that might be a relic of my childhood, like working strawberry farms in North Carolina.
Of course, our idea of a cold winter is a Thanksgiving or Christmaswhere the high hovers around an overcast sixty two, with a slight breeze. It might even be a bit...balmy, depending on whether we are under the influence of some spent high pressure system, or lolling about under some low pressure system sneaking up from the coast.
It might even...sleet in January. Followed by one to two inches of snow in February, which would cause utter panic in the city. Every single slice on Sunbeam bread, milk, and beer (even PBR!!!) will evaporate from store shelves as the city readies itself for a blizzard of Hollywoodian proportions.
Once in a great while, we get a wallop. A real blizzard. A real ice storm or two. I recall one in the seventies that was very bad for the city. I also seem to recall reading about one at the turn of the century, and another one in the forties that knocked the city for a loop.
I myself am hoping for a real fall and real winter. I don't think I'm going to be disappointed. Doesn't it already feel like sweater weather to you? Maybe it's the remnants of the hurricane, but I swear (oh, I know I mentioned this before) I'm ready to whip out the ole fireplace and start a fire, just because it's gray and nasty outside.
Hot chocolate, anyone?
In the interests of fairness (Mr. Manchester)
http://www.crooksandliars.com/2008/08/24/mccain-camps-overplaying-of-pow-card-called-to-account-from-all-corners/?icid=200100397x1208039294x1200456964)
I never said he didn't overplay that card. It's part of who he is. And you see they make my point for me about his infidelity - I didn't say he was a great, moral man. I'm not electing a preacher, I'm electing a man who can defend the country if called upon to do so.
And I don't think Obama can defend the country.
http://www.crooksandliars.com/2008/08/24/mccain-camps-overplaying-of-pow-card-called-to-account-from-all-corners/?icid=200100397x1208039294x1200456964)
I never said he didn't overplay that card. It's part of who he is. And you see they make my point for me about his infidelity - I didn't say he was a great, moral man. I'm not electing a preacher, I'm electing a man who can defend the country if called upon to do so.
And I don't think Obama can defend the country.
PocketBook Economics
It's also not about who looks good on camera, who is the best orator, or who is the sexiest.
It's about who is best qualified for the job, based on a certain set of criteria.
Only you can be the judge.
And hell, the American public does such a good job electing their represented officials, I'm sure you all will do a fine job electing your next president. I'm sure you won't mind if I sit this one out (voting record: Clinton, Clinton, Gore, Kerry...and now McCain).
(Let's see in terms of economics, did well under the two Clinton terms, did ok under the first Bush term, and have sucked doozle under the Second Bush Term...so....).
But we all vote with our pocketbooks, don't we? We're in a recession, and the affluence we have enjoyed for the last decade has evaporated like one of your overpriced Starbuck's coffees left sitting on the dashboard of your overpriced SUV while you idle in rush hour traffic cursing $3.75/gas. Everyone wants change. Yeah, I do too...and not the kind I dig out of a jar each morning to take to work for snacks. I want real, material change. I want the government to shut up and stop rooting around in my couch cushions. I want the government to shut up and stop talking about things that are none of their damn business (like what goes on in my house, for example, or my bedroom, or my doctors office, or my hospital room). I want the government to NOT be able to get wiretaps without court approval (or gone snooping into someone's bank accounts, internet activity, personal life); and if they do go to such extremes, I want there to be legal penalties. I do not want government sponsorship or backing of the banking industry (in fact, I want the recent changes to bankruptcy laws granting favorable protections to banks and credit card firms repealed). I want the government to look at the laws of the land from the eyes of the consumer, and not from the eyes of PAC money (there's an idea!).
What is wrong with making your government accountable?
As a citizen, if you don't pay your income taxes (and earn an income) you go to jail. Accountability to the government, and to your fellow citizenry right there in a nutshell.
What makes the government accountable to us?
Do you honestly think changing elected officials every few years is in any way, shape or form a system that enforces accountability?
My final note: I could not vote for Hillary. As someone who has always considered herself a lifelong feminist and well acquainted with the history of the women's suffrage and liberation movements, as well as someone who has worked in a male dominated industry for...well, suffice it to say, years....Hillary is exactly the kind of woman I can't stand working with. Simply: you don't have to be a ball busting bitch to get ahead. She had a great platform, and some good points (although if you've been reading long enough, you know my thoughts on universal healthcare which is that all able bodied adults ought to have jobs) on education and domestic spending in particular resonated with me. But...but...but....she sounded shrill. You don't have to pretend to be a man to win. As a woman, I can't stand women who go that route. And I don't have to vote for another woman just because she's a woman candidate (Geraldine) OR because I happen to have ovaries. Sorry, everyone, but the ovaries do NOT trump the ole brain.
So do what everyone else does. I've said this once, twice, a million times: whenever the American public doesn't have faith in the lame duck, and the economy is weak....we have an exciting election year. We vote with our wallets. Whomever wins the election will determine whether or not retailers have a good holiday season, which will in turn determine how fast or how slowly we come out of this recession. You think I'm joking? The power of the consumer to spend or save us into oblivion seems so tiny, but it's all about confidence...in your leaders, in your economy, in your jobs, in your self.
So: Pocketbook Economics.
$$$$$$$$$$$
It's about who is best qualified for the job, based on a certain set of criteria.
Only you can be the judge.
And hell, the American public does such a good job electing their represented officials, I'm sure you all will do a fine job electing your next president. I'm sure you won't mind if I sit this one out (voting record: Clinton, Clinton, Gore, Kerry...and now McCain).
(Let's see in terms of economics, did well under the two Clinton terms, did ok under the first Bush term, and have sucked doozle under the Second Bush Term...so....).
But we all vote with our pocketbooks, don't we? We're in a recession, and the affluence we have enjoyed for the last decade has evaporated like one of your overpriced Starbuck's coffees left sitting on the dashboard of your overpriced SUV while you idle in rush hour traffic cursing $3.75/gas. Everyone wants change. Yeah, I do too...and not the kind I dig out of a jar each morning to take to work for snacks. I want real, material change. I want the government to shut up and stop rooting around in my couch cushions. I want the government to shut up and stop talking about things that are none of their damn business (like what goes on in my house, for example, or my bedroom, or my doctors office, or my hospital room). I want the government to NOT be able to get wiretaps without court approval (or gone snooping into someone's bank accounts, internet activity, personal life); and if they do go to such extremes, I want there to be legal penalties. I do not want government sponsorship or backing of the banking industry (in fact, I want the recent changes to bankruptcy laws granting favorable protections to banks and credit card firms repealed). I want the government to look at the laws of the land from the eyes of the consumer, and not from the eyes of PAC money (there's an idea!).
What is wrong with making your government accountable?
As a citizen, if you don't pay your income taxes (and earn an income) you go to jail. Accountability to the government, and to your fellow citizenry right there in a nutshell.
What makes the government accountable to us?
Do you honestly think changing elected officials every few years is in any way, shape or form a system that enforces accountability?
My final note: I could not vote for Hillary. As someone who has always considered herself a lifelong feminist and well acquainted with the history of the women's suffrage and liberation movements, as well as someone who has worked in a male dominated industry for...well, suffice it to say, years....Hillary is exactly the kind of woman I can't stand working with. Simply: you don't have to be a ball busting bitch to get ahead. She had a great platform, and some good points (although if you've been reading long enough, you know my thoughts on universal healthcare which is that all able bodied adults ought to have jobs) on education and domestic spending in particular resonated with me. But...but...but....she sounded shrill. You don't have to pretend to be a man to win. As a woman, I can't stand women who go that route. And I don't have to vote for another woman just because she's a woman candidate (Geraldine) OR because I happen to have ovaries. Sorry, everyone, but the ovaries do NOT trump the ole brain.
So do what everyone else does. I've said this once, twice, a million times: whenever the American public doesn't have faith in the lame duck, and the economy is weak....we have an exciting election year. We vote with our wallets. Whomever wins the election will determine whether or not retailers have a good holiday season, which will in turn determine how fast or how slowly we come out of this recession. You think I'm joking? The power of the consumer to spend or save us into oblivion seems so tiny, but it's all about confidence...in your leaders, in your economy, in your jobs, in your self.
So: Pocketbook Economics.
$$$$$$$$$$$
I've been asked why I'm voting for McCain, and I'll sum it up for you:
In a world where Putin (make no mistake, he still controls Russia) feels like he can invade other nations at will, and really there are no reprisals....
In a world where other nations develop nuclear weapons because they can...
In a world full of Kim Jong Il's, Robert Mugabe's, borderless and landless terrorist cell networks....
In a world where fortunes rise and evaporate at the click of a button....
In a world where some idiot can unleash a bio weapon on some kids at a mall just because he can...
I want someone who has been in the darkest places known to man and is not afraid of the consequences of his actions. I want someone who is not afraid to give the executive order to send planes scrambling if a plane full of explosives or people dreaming of however many sacrificial virgins is flying towards a specified target. I want someone who is not afraid to use force to do the right thing; I want someone who is also not afraid to stand there and say "it's not right for me to leave my friends, so I am going to stay put". McCain understands both force and diplomacy. Obama only understands talking; he's only ever had to whip out his mastercard to defend himself.
And honestly, I think McCain is the guy. Yeah, he's old. And it was a savvy move of Obama to pick Biden. He sure does have some smart advisors. No, I don't think Obama is a Muslim. I don't care about his church (although his minister/ex minister is, I suppose, the black version of a holy roller). I don't care about his wife, or his kids. Are they running for president?
So...my short list?
Foreign experience? (foreign policy, participation in the U.N., relationship with other governments, Security Council, NATO, engagements in military expeditions abroad, etc)
Fiscal experience? (see below)
Domestic policy? (economy, taxation, social security, medicare)
Constitutional Rights (2nd amendment, free speech, states rights)
In a world where Putin (make no mistake, he still controls Russia) feels like he can invade other nations at will, and really there are no reprisals....
In a world where other nations develop nuclear weapons because they can...
In a world full of Kim Jong Il's, Robert Mugabe's, borderless and landless terrorist cell networks....
In a world where fortunes rise and evaporate at the click of a button....
In a world where some idiot can unleash a bio weapon on some kids at a mall just because he can...
I want someone who has been in the darkest places known to man and is not afraid of the consequences of his actions. I want someone who is not afraid to give the executive order to send planes scrambling if a plane full of explosives or people dreaming of however many sacrificial virgins is flying towards a specified target. I want someone who is not afraid to use force to do the right thing; I want someone who is also not afraid to stand there and say "it's not right for me to leave my friends, so I am going to stay put". McCain understands both force and diplomacy. Obama only understands talking; he's only ever had to whip out his mastercard to defend himself.
And honestly, I think McCain is the guy. Yeah, he's old. And it was a savvy move of Obama to pick Biden. He sure does have some smart advisors. No, I don't think Obama is a Muslim. I don't care about his church (although his minister/ex minister is, I suppose, the black version of a holy roller). I don't care about his wife, or his kids. Are they running for president?
So...my short list?
Foreign experience? (foreign policy, participation in the U.N., relationship with other governments, Security Council, NATO, engagements in military expeditions abroad, etc)
Fiscal experience? (see below)
Domestic policy? (economy, taxation, social security, medicare)
Constitutional Rights (2nd amendment, free speech, states rights)
20080824
Oh yeah, I got one more for you:
What a great family man Obama is! He has all this wealth, this abundance of prosperity....
And yet he has family languishing in poverty half the world away.
Hm.
If the parties are going to insist on peddling the wholesome image thing instead of someone's actual qualifications....
What a great family man Obama is! He has all this wealth, this abundance of prosperity....
And yet he has family languishing in poverty half the world away.
Hm.
If the parties are going to insist on peddling the wholesome image thing instead of someone's actual qualifications....
Atlanta resident Ross Deadwyler today made what should be, if the law worked as it should, a fatal decision.
Deadwyler bit an Atlanta Police Officer, and immediately disclosed to said officer that he was HIV positive.
This, to me, is the same as discharging a loaded firearm. You don't know if you are going to hit someone. This poor officer doesn't know if he will become infected or not.
Deadwyler is currently charged with two counts of aggravated battery, aggravated assault, speeding to elude plus one count each felony obstruction and improper equipment.
I only hope that if the officer becomes infected the tally of charges becomes one more - murder.
http://www.ajc.com/metro/content/metro/atlanta/stories/2008/08/24/officer_bitten_hiv.html?cxntlid=homepage_tab_newstab
Deadwyler bit an Atlanta Police Officer, and immediately disclosed to said officer that he was HIV positive.
This, to me, is the same as discharging a loaded firearm. You don't know if you are going to hit someone. This poor officer doesn't know if he will become infected or not.
Deadwyler is currently charged with two counts of aggravated battery, aggravated assault, speeding to elude plus one count each felony obstruction and improper equipment.
I only hope that if the officer becomes infected the tally of charges becomes one more - murder.
http://www.ajc.com/metro/content/metro/atlanta/stories/2008/08/24/officer_bitten_hiv.html?cxntlid=homepage_tab_newstab
The ShamWow Dude Must Die
I have developed yet another pathological hatred for a late night infomercial spokesidiot.
The ShamWow Dude.
"Are you getting this, Camera Guy?" Mr. Manners likes to walk around saying that because he knows how horridly annoying it is.
He has the spiky hair, the skinny nerdy look, with I do believe some sort of ear piece to make him look techy, and he talks so fast you just know you are being conned into something.
"I just can't live without 'em".
I especially like his appeal to your image of yourself - you know, buy an extra one for your car, your RV, your boat. Those luxury items you have that you spend lots of time cleaning and drying by hand.
There was even a second rate ShamWow Dude at BuckARama; complete with fake hightlighted hair and everything.
He's almost as annoying as Dual Action Cleanse.
But what could be more annoying that constantly talking about nine feet of shit?
The ShamWow Dude.
"Are you getting this, Camera Guy?" Mr. Manners likes to walk around saying that because he knows how horridly annoying it is.
He has the spiky hair, the skinny nerdy look, with I do believe some sort of ear piece to make him look techy, and he talks so fast you just know you are being conned into something.
"I just can't live without 'em".
I especially like his appeal to your image of yourself - you know, buy an extra one for your car, your RV, your boat. Those luxury items you have that you spend lots of time cleaning and drying by hand.
There was even a second rate ShamWow Dude at BuckARama; complete with fake hightlighted hair and everything.
He's almost as annoying as Dual Action Cleanse.
But what could be more annoying that constantly talking about nine feet of shit?
20080823
Fay has brought some interesting weather to Atlanta. It's overcast, and warm, and windy. It looks like it ought to be cool outside, brisk even, but it isn't. The mugginess in the air makes you think it's about to rain any single moment, and yet I have watered my plants because they've begun to wilt. Go figure.
So: road trip it is. I won't tell you where we're going, but it's going to be an adventure.
So: road trip it is. I won't tell you where we're going, but it's going to be an adventure.
20080821
I blame the printing press.
You heard me. The printing press. Why else would we be literally inundated with such bad writing daily? There wouldn't be a market for fifteen John Grisham books. You know, Shakespeare isn't really a classic because he's such a fabulous writer. He's a classic because he wrote in a difficult style, and he wrote a lot. Given that bookmaking was a pretty laborious process at that point in history, the fact that his words remain today says a lot about their popularity. Everyone who could read would have had a copy, like people today...read the comics. Or Stephen King. Get it? Shakespeare wrote as a populist writer, just like Dickens did when he began the concept of serialization. So people who couldn't write more than one book, really, or if they were really on a roll two or three suddenly became GREAT CLASSICAL WRITERS because they got some chapters in print once upon a time in history and got lucky.
Obviously, I do not find much merit in the works of Dickens (but I am quite fond of Shakespeare, in my limited exposure...I can appreciate the complexity of writing reams upon reams of freaking rhyming narrative dialog. Plus, he does some awesome evil villians. Even if his historical depiction is factually incorrect ala Richard III).
I remember reading The Count of Monte Cristo as a child (I think I can be forgiven for mistaking the flamboyance of the French with brilliance) and thinking I'd made a brilliant discovery!! Such an inspired writer. Oooh laaa laaa. And then I read The Three Musketeers and Twenty Years After, and realized that they were...disappointing formula! Drivel! Standard and repeatable! Downtrodden, I took four valium, put on my second best Burberry coat, fully stone laden, and swanned off down to the Thames to do my best Chav tastic dive.
That kind of standard and repeatable. The one that makes you go; ok, the second Bridget Jones was actually...not good. At one stage, you enjoy it like comfort food. As a teenager, Barbara Cartland's were like grilled cheese and tomato soup.
So I blame the printing press. Without it, and certainly without this lovely tool that allows me to abuse it daily (dear, sweet internet), writers that we all would certainly otherwise would consider to be brilliant and inspired will continue to write lost past their creative expiration dates.
You heard me. The printing press. Why else would we be literally inundated with such bad writing daily? There wouldn't be a market for fifteen John Grisham books. You know, Shakespeare isn't really a classic because he's such a fabulous writer. He's a classic because he wrote in a difficult style, and he wrote a lot. Given that bookmaking was a pretty laborious process at that point in history, the fact that his words remain today says a lot about their popularity. Everyone who could read would have had a copy, like people today...read the comics. Or Stephen King. Get it? Shakespeare wrote as a populist writer, just like Dickens did when he began the concept of serialization. So people who couldn't write more than one book, really, or if they were really on a roll two or three suddenly became GREAT CLASSICAL WRITERS because they got some chapters in print once upon a time in history and got lucky.
Obviously, I do not find much merit in the works of Dickens (but I am quite fond of Shakespeare, in my limited exposure...I can appreciate the complexity of writing reams upon reams of freaking rhyming narrative dialog. Plus, he does some awesome evil villians. Even if his historical depiction is factually incorrect ala Richard III).
I remember reading The Count of Monte Cristo as a child (I think I can be forgiven for mistaking the flamboyance of the French with brilliance) and thinking I'd made a brilliant discovery!! Such an inspired writer. Oooh laaa laaa. And then I read The Three Musketeers and Twenty Years After, and realized that they were...disappointing formula! Drivel! Standard and repeatable! Downtrodden, I took four valium, put on my second best Burberry coat, fully stone laden, and swanned off down to the Thames to do my best Chav tastic dive.
That kind of standard and repeatable. The one that makes you go; ok, the second Bridget Jones was actually...not good. At one stage, you enjoy it like comfort food. As a teenager, Barbara Cartland's were like grilled cheese and tomato soup.
So I blame the printing press. Without it, and certainly without this lovely tool that allows me to abuse it daily (dear, sweet internet), writers that we all would certainly otherwise would consider to be brilliant and inspired will continue to write lost past their creative expiration dates.
Why I don't care about the Olympics
I'm here to make an announcement.
No, I'm not running for President.
No, I'm not pregnant, or getting married, or quitting my job.
Nor did I win the lottery.
I'm here to say: I hate the Olympics.
Why?
I'll respond by asking a question. Why do you watch? It's not like this is a real athletic competition that Sue from Podunk can win by practicing running long distances out in the country after she finishes her homework; no, people who participate in the Olympics are the products of the sports entertainment industry. Their job is to find talent, to find children, youth, and young adults with talent, speed and agility and introduce them to other people, coaches, trainers, backers who can introduce them to the wide world of international competition. It's not an honest, friendly rivalry between nations to see who produces the better athlete - all the athletes, regardless of country, look like they were raised in a field somewhere (let's see....I think the Chinese will do well if I plant them next to the Americans, while the Brazilians will do best if they aren't paired with the Italians).
Whatever happened to honest sportsmanship? Real competition? I just can't get excited about watching sports on a box.
Get rid of the fireworks, the teleprompter, the sponsorships, and all the artsy fartsy shit. It's nice that China went and built a big bunch of nice buildings for the Olympics. So...what did they do with all the people who lived in the shacks and tenements they tore down? What did they do with all that immigrant labor they allowed into the country to build the new stadia? And don't you want to go to a country where every third sign says "No Foreigners Allowed"? Nice place you got here!
And in a lot of ways, the constant media hype feels like a deliberate misdirect; the economy sucks, the dollar is in the crapper, our international reputation stinks, we're overrun with illegal immigrants who are putting a strain on our already burdened economy, we've got the government releasing (quietly) folks out of Gitmo saying they possibly made "mistakes", we've got what looks like (from my arm chair) a rise in crime of all sorts, unemployment is up, the fools at the Federal Reserve Bank have pulled their thumbs out of their tails long enough to discover that really, indeed, they are covered in crap, we're in a war we will never, ever win with people who will just despise us in twenty years if they don't already. Healthcare stinks, and is unaffordable (case in point: a month's supply of my migraine preventative without insurance is $400. There is no generic. Go suck an egg. If I lost my job, I would just...suffer!). Gas is so expensive that folks want to go for ethanol, perhaps not realizing that the costs of anything that uses corn has now had a corresponding increase.
So yes, by all means:
Turn on your television and watch that Communist backed, fake drivel while your nation completely shits itself into becoming a third world country.
No, I'm not running for President.
No, I'm not pregnant, or getting married, or quitting my job.
Nor did I win the lottery.
I'm here to say: I hate the Olympics.
Why?
I'll respond by asking a question. Why do you watch? It's not like this is a real athletic competition that Sue from Podunk can win by practicing running long distances out in the country after she finishes her homework; no, people who participate in the Olympics are the products of the sports entertainment industry. Their job is to find talent, to find children, youth, and young adults with talent, speed and agility and introduce them to other people, coaches, trainers, backers who can introduce them to the wide world of international competition. It's not an honest, friendly rivalry between nations to see who produces the better athlete - all the athletes, regardless of country, look like they were raised in a field somewhere (let's see....I think the Chinese will do well if I plant them next to the Americans, while the Brazilians will do best if they aren't paired with the Italians).
Whatever happened to honest sportsmanship? Real competition? I just can't get excited about watching sports on a box.
Get rid of the fireworks, the teleprompter, the sponsorships, and all the artsy fartsy shit. It's nice that China went and built a big bunch of nice buildings for the Olympics. So...what did they do with all the people who lived in the shacks and tenements they tore down? What did they do with all that immigrant labor they allowed into the country to build the new stadia? And don't you want to go to a country where every third sign says "No Foreigners Allowed"? Nice place you got here!
And in a lot of ways, the constant media hype feels like a deliberate misdirect; the economy sucks, the dollar is in the crapper, our international reputation stinks, we're overrun with illegal immigrants who are putting a strain on our already burdened economy, we've got the government releasing (quietly) folks out of Gitmo saying they possibly made "mistakes", we've got what looks like (from my arm chair) a rise in crime of all sorts, unemployment is up, the fools at the Federal Reserve Bank have pulled their thumbs out of their tails long enough to discover that really, indeed, they are covered in crap, we're in a war we will never, ever win with people who will just despise us in twenty years if they don't already. Healthcare stinks, and is unaffordable (case in point: a month's supply of my migraine preventative without insurance is $400. There is no generic. Go suck an egg. If I lost my job, I would just...suffer!). Gas is so expensive that folks want to go for ethanol, perhaps not realizing that the costs of anything that uses corn has now had a corresponding increase.
So yes, by all means:
Turn on your television and watch that Communist backed, fake drivel while your nation completely shits itself into becoming a third world country.
20080820
You know, Rosemary Beach sounded like a good idea, until I looked at the prices. Shocking!
Even the dumpy things at St. George and Mexico Beach are really frigging ridiculous, and in off season too! A freaking cinderblock SHACK on the beach that is nothing bigger than a...a....toilet rents in offseason for a thousand dollars. The nerve. The utter. nerve. I'm so distraught, I've lost the ability to punctuate. Or think lucidly on the subject. Oughtn't there to be some sort of nostalgic moratorium on beach rate rentals rising? Some weird sort of rent fixing like they do in New York...whatever it is in your childhood, it is through your adulthood. Ah, if only I could make that work!
If I thought I could talk him into it, we'd do a beach tour by tent (in some ways, I am my mother's daughter. I think NOTHING of public campgrounds as long as there is a hot shower and I can carry however unlawfully at the moment) of all the beaches up and down the coast. Car camp.
Interestingly, I have learned that if I wanted to, I could rent a converted chapel at an old abandoned village (now a converted fishing camp), a newly built town modeled entirely on the architecture of the Carribean (not the town itself, you understand, but an enormous amount of things within the town...expensive things), several condos with boat slips (and some with boats included! the trust people have!)
I hate it when my sense of capitalism and my sense of nostaliga collide. It hurts.
Even the dumpy things at St. George and Mexico Beach are really frigging ridiculous, and in off season too! A freaking cinderblock SHACK on the beach that is nothing bigger than a...a....toilet rents in offseason for a thousand dollars. The nerve. The utter. nerve. I'm so distraught, I've lost the ability to punctuate. Or think lucidly on the subject. Oughtn't there to be some sort of nostalgic moratorium on beach rate rentals rising? Some weird sort of rent fixing like they do in New York...whatever it is in your childhood, it is through your adulthood. Ah, if only I could make that work!
If I thought I could talk him into it, we'd do a beach tour by tent (in some ways, I am my mother's daughter. I think NOTHING of public campgrounds as long as there is a hot shower and I can carry however unlawfully at the moment) of all the beaches up and down the coast. Car camp.
Interestingly, I have learned that if I wanted to, I could rent a converted chapel at an old abandoned village (now a converted fishing camp), a newly built town modeled entirely on the architecture of the Carribean (not the town itself, you understand, but an enormous amount of things within the town...expensive things), several condos with boat slips (and some with boats included! the trust people have!)
I hate it when my sense of capitalism and my sense of nostaliga collide. It hurts.
No trip to the beach next month; we'll be staying home instead. I guess that solves the problem of what to do with the dogs while we're gone. We were offered the use of someone's house; I just feel odd about staying at a person's house while they are out of town (or while they are there, to be precise) if I'm not their sister or their daughter so I declined that offer (although it was quite nicely made). I also declined the offer of another work weekend (really, I hate my house every day when I go home and pull up in the driveway and am reminded of how really ugly my house is, how horrid the yard looks, and how embarassing my house looks right now?). And declined another offer to make a road trip elsewhere.
20080819
Well, pooh!
It's time to say a sad goodbye to someone who is unplugging from our digital domain to pursue other opportunities.
So, SolarisGal, I've always enjoyed reading your comments here and there, and only lately (I'm always late to the party) your blog, but the blogosphere will miss you. Don't forget that you are an intelligent, witty, and articulate woman, and nothing in the world changes that :-)
Good luck, girl, you go!
It's time to say a sad goodbye to someone who is unplugging from our digital domain to pursue other opportunities.
So, SolarisGal, I've always enjoyed reading your comments here and there, and only lately (I'm always late to the party) your blog, but the blogosphere will miss you. Don't forget that you are an intelligent, witty, and articulate woman, and nothing in the world changes that :-)
Good luck, girl, you go!
Peeling 'tots the other night, I was struck by how immensely popular movies about good versus evil are and how they find a home in our culture and become part of our vocabulary. Why? Name one good reason why nearly everyone in the U.S. has seen....the original (Yes, George Lucas, the prequels were shit) Star Wars Trilogy? Or Lord of the Rings? Or the Matrix?
These movies all feature a classic battle of good versus evil. We like to think that we have a monopoly on doing good things just because we can, just because we're human (research has shown that other species are motivated by what we would also describe as "charitable" acts - dogs and cats routinely adopt newborn animals abandoned by their parents and raise them, horses raise the horses of other parents, dolphins look after and protect the weaker members of the pod). We all want to think we are good, because we can't face the truth.
Evil isn't some alien invasion, some upwelling of artificial intelligence run awry machinery, some battle thick with spilled midoclorians, or some invading evil sorcerer looking to dominate the world.
It's the mother who kills her three year old, hides the body, and denies the crime.
It's the father who goes and gets planning permission to expand his basement, where he proceeds to rape and impregnate his daughter again and again over the course of twenty years.
It's the man who turns to his companion on the bus, and with no warning or provacation, slices off his head.
It's the police officer who shoots his wife to death, and then turns around to shoot to death a migrant worker he's hired for the day to frame him for the crime.
It's the man who strangles his wife, nearly full term pregnant with his first born son, and then tosses her body out into the ocean right before Christmas. Hey, asshole, I hope you are enjoying prison!
It's the man who has his wife murdered in front of his children because she was going to divorce him and expose his drug laundering activities.
It's the person who hits a six year old child and flees the scene, leaving the child to die.
Evil is much easier to deal with, to envision dealing with, with we give it an external focus, a name, and make it a big scary monster. Look at how heroic we are, lining up to go to our deaths as we fight the big evil alien invader; yet in contrast, look at how dumb we look, stepping in front of that homicidial maniac and trying to stop him.
These movies fascinate us, you see, because we can't bear to look under our own beds because we know the monster is, in fact, us. Bloody Mary, indeed.
I want to know when we stopped, as a society, trying to do the right thing. When did we become so enamoured of our homes as our castles that we stopped saying hello to our neighbors? We stopped talking to folks we saw on walks with our dogs? We stopped making idle chit chat with the bagger at the grocery store? If you saw something going wrong, would you step in? If you saw a crime in progress, would you call the police? Would you stop it?
These movies all feature a classic battle of good versus evil. We like to think that we have a monopoly on doing good things just because we can, just because we're human (research has shown that other species are motivated by what we would also describe as "charitable" acts - dogs and cats routinely adopt newborn animals abandoned by their parents and raise them, horses raise the horses of other parents, dolphins look after and protect the weaker members of the pod). We all want to think we are good, because we can't face the truth.
Evil isn't some alien invasion, some upwelling of artificial intelligence run awry machinery, some battle thick with spilled midoclorians, or some invading evil sorcerer looking to dominate the world.
It's the mother who kills her three year old, hides the body, and denies the crime.
It's the father who goes and gets planning permission to expand his basement, where he proceeds to rape and impregnate his daughter again and again over the course of twenty years.
It's the man who turns to his companion on the bus, and with no warning or provacation, slices off his head.
It's the police officer who shoots his wife to death, and then turns around to shoot to death a migrant worker he's hired for the day to frame him for the crime.
It's the man who strangles his wife, nearly full term pregnant with his first born son, and then tosses her body out into the ocean right before Christmas. Hey, asshole, I hope you are enjoying prison!
It's the man who has his wife murdered in front of his children because she was going to divorce him and expose his drug laundering activities.
It's the person who hits a six year old child and flees the scene, leaving the child to die.
Evil is much easier to deal with, to envision dealing with, with we give it an external focus, a name, and make it a big scary monster. Look at how heroic we are, lining up to go to our deaths as we fight the big evil alien invader; yet in contrast, look at how dumb we look, stepping in front of that homicidial maniac and trying to stop him.
These movies fascinate us, you see, because we can't bear to look under our own beds because we know the monster is, in fact, us. Bloody Mary, indeed.
I want to know when we stopped, as a society, trying to do the right thing. When did we become so enamoured of our homes as our castles that we stopped saying hello to our neighbors? We stopped talking to folks we saw on walks with our dogs? We stopped making idle chit chat with the bagger at the grocery store? If you saw something going wrong, would you step in? If you saw a crime in progress, would you call the police? Would you stop it?
For those of you wondering if I've dropped off the face of the planet, no, I haven't.
It's just that time again, that time of the month when it's time to stop taking pills and allow myself the ultimate luxury of being walloped for three days with the greatest joy being a carrier of estrogen and progesterone will buy.
Fortunately, this month did not see vomiting (as have almost all other previous months of my life). This month has just seen a two day headache that will not really go away. Past experience has taught me that it will eventually, but sitting around in the batcave, in the dark, walking slowly lest I accidently raise my heartrate and cause my head to pound further has become slightly wearing upon my soul. I actually took yesterday as an actual sick day, because I did nothing other than answer an email or two. I'm out of my normal meds, should get some from the drugstore tonight, and I'm out of solpadeine! (the horror!) with it's terrible two week lead time (I ordered some last night). So this sounds nasty, but vicks under your eye, nose, an ice pack on your head, and a heating pad on my shoulders, and no movement?
Just the ticket.
Sorry, gang, that's not much of a post. I have things rattling around in my little head, but I'm not in the best shape at putting pen to paper.
Countdown to Navarre: 23 days!
Note: I have not begun packing. I regard this as real progress. However, I have found a new cooler that I wish to buy from L.L. Bean, because it's perfect...perfect for the beach. And I can't even carry the one we have now. It's broken anyway.
Who am I kidding...what do you think?
20080815
Ah, a fine week here in our great State of Georgia;
Only here would we not only claim Bigfoot's residency, but proceed to shoot him. Go figure.
Providing more proof that we are an enlightened state, a man in Lavonia is charged with holding his family hostage in a roach and filth ridden trailer for something like more than three years. Can you imagine not leaving a trailer for three years?
I'm waiting for someone to see Jesus in a pancake.
Only here would we not only claim Bigfoot's residency, but proceed to shoot him. Go figure.
Providing more proof that we are an enlightened state, a man in Lavonia is charged with holding his family hostage in a roach and filth ridden trailer for something like more than three years. Can you imagine not leaving a trailer for three years?
I'm waiting for someone to see Jesus in a pancake.
A Dream Realized
Internet WonderWoman Heather Armstrong, of Dooce fame (I've the link below, you know) is featured in a lovely article in the NYTimes this morning having realized what is every bloggers dream:
Making enough money writing for an internet audience so that you can quit your job, and spend your days writing from your kitchen, in your pajamas, while raising an herb garden, and possibly a herd of alpacas around the mountain cabin you will be able to hopefully buy with your ridiculous earnings (if you haven't been on the Dooce site, their house is not shabby).
I wish!
Making enough money writing for an internet audience so that you can quit your job, and spend your days writing from your kitchen, in your pajamas, while raising an herb garden, and possibly a herd of alpacas around the mountain cabin you will be able to hopefully buy with your ridiculous earnings (if you haven't been on the Dooce site, their house is not shabby).
I wish!
20080814
Somehow the memories I have of Great Aunt Dixie have all rolled into one sort of continuous memory. When I remember her, and I'm not holding that excellent book of poetry and children's stories one of her students gave her, that she later gave to me as an infant (and that still graces my bookshelves today full of my mother's commentary to me when I was but a wee one), all my memories center around holidays and death.
Perhaps they weren't even holidays, but they had that magical feel in my mind. We were, you see, going somewhere different. Somewhere strange. Somewhere that was not our house. Yes, very important facts in a small child's mind. Someone's house that had a cookoo? clock, and a snapping dog, and a silent smoking old lady who always played cards, and a candy dish that was verboten.
Thanksgiving and Christmas Dinners (sometimes the second or third meal we'd have eaten that day, as the extended family is all right in this area, or was until recent years....pity, that whole DEVOLUTION OF AMERICAN SOCIETY thing we have going on) were alway special. Great Aunt Dixie was the only person I knew my whole life who had one of those weird, white glowy pre lit trees. Now...considering that she had this tree back in 1978 (Sears and Roebuck? Service Merchandise?), I'm guessing it was worth a pretty penny...and it was fascinating to we girls of the Charlie Brown Christmas Tree Family Fame to see such artificial beauty in all it's glory.
The true charm of Dixie's house, really, was the aroma that hit your nose the minute you opened the porch door. You'd first notice it the minute you shoved the car door open with your foot; a slight tangy smell drifting down the hill (you could barely smell it underneath the smell of roasting turkey and marshmellows and carmelizing sweet potatoes). The closer you got to the front steps, the stronger and more flavorful it became...just there, as you neared the bones of the hydrangea (butter)...close to Dixie's porch ash tray (hmmm...pepper?)...through the front door and around the dog (oh my gosh...is that....pig?)...and into the kitchen, where the most wonderful, delicious of all the smells just assaults your nose:
Green beans.
I made some the other day, and it obviously took me back.
Dixie's Green Beans (dad?)
fresh green beans, snapped and soaked in cold water
pepper
salt
butter
ham or fatback
1. Boil water.
2. Add beans.
3. Reduce heat to simmer.
4. Toss in meat, cut into small pieces.
5. Pepper to taste (pinch..PINCH! of salt..beans are finicky, esp. greens, and ham or fatback carries enough salt on it's own...it will cook into the beans, so don't go hogwire).
6. Onion.
7. Butter.
8. Cook until the beans make you happy. (or about three hours on a low boil on my gas stove - watch the water level)
If you don't like fatback/ham/butter - use chicken stock. That is, in fact, the basic recipe for making any bean except some peas....And honestly, I throw all the beans and meat in, and then half of everything else...and season the rest of it twenty minutes before I'm ready to serve it (when I'm doing it the right way and not trying to slam something on the table).
By the way, I've added a new link. Much to my surprise, I'm on the Georgia BlogRoll for Georgia On My Mind....
Perhaps they weren't even holidays, but they had that magical feel in my mind. We were, you see, going somewhere different. Somewhere strange. Somewhere that was not our house. Yes, very important facts in a small child's mind. Someone's house that had a cookoo? clock, and a snapping dog, and a silent smoking old lady who always played cards, and a candy dish that was verboten.
Thanksgiving and Christmas Dinners (sometimes the second or third meal we'd have eaten that day, as the extended family is all right in this area, or was until recent years....pity, that whole DEVOLUTION OF AMERICAN SOCIETY thing we have going on) were alway special. Great Aunt Dixie was the only person I knew my whole life who had one of those weird, white glowy pre lit trees. Now...considering that she had this tree back in 1978 (Sears and Roebuck? Service Merchandise?), I'm guessing it was worth a pretty penny...and it was fascinating to we girls of the Charlie Brown Christmas Tree Family Fame to see such artificial beauty in all it's glory.
The true charm of Dixie's house, really, was the aroma that hit your nose the minute you opened the porch door. You'd first notice it the minute you shoved the car door open with your foot; a slight tangy smell drifting down the hill (you could barely smell it underneath the smell of roasting turkey and marshmellows and carmelizing sweet potatoes). The closer you got to the front steps, the stronger and more flavorful it became...just there, as you neared the bones of the hydrangea (butter)...close to Dixie's porch ash tray (hmmm...pepper?)...through the front door and around the dog (oh my gosh...is that....pig?)...and into the kitchen, where the most wonderful, delicious of all the smells just assaults your nose:
Green beans.
I made some the other day, and it obviously took me back.
Dixie's Green Beans (dad?)
fresh green beans, snapped and soaked in cold water
pepper
salt
butter
ham or fatback
1. Boil water.
2. Add beans.
3. Reduce heat to simmer.
4. Toss in meat, cut into small pieces.
5. Pepper to taste (pinch..PINCH! of salt..beans are finicky, esp. greens, and ham or fatback carries enough salt on it's own...it will cook into the beans, so don't go hogwire).
6. Onion.
7. Butter.
8. Cook until the beans make you happy. (or about three hours on a low boil on my gas stove - watch the water level)
If you don't like fatback/ham/butter - use chicken stock. That is, in fact, the basic recipe for making any bean except some peas....And honestly, I throw all the beans and meat in, and then half of everything else...and season the rest of it twenty minutes before I'm ready to serve it (when I'm doing it the right way and not trying to slam something on the table).
By the way, I've added a new link. Much to my surprise, I'm on the Georgia BlogRoll for Georgia On My Mind....
Here's a question for you:
I routinely reward my team out of my own pocket.
Some folks hold that taking them to lunch and paying for it myself is stupid.
My position is that it isn't their fault that our employer is stingy, and if I have the capital wherewithal to spring for lunch here and there, and they've earned it, I should reward them.
After all, Tyona used to do it for me when I worked for Suin'Sam; I always felt like I learned a good lesson (sometimes good things still happen for no apparent reason; followed by work doesn't always have to suck and; not all bosses are bad).
Thoughts? Am I an idiot for forking out my own cash? Or am I doing the right thing by making sure my people are happy and taken care of when my company wants to stiff them?
I routinely reward my team out of my own pocket.
Some folks hold that taking them to lunch and paying for it myself is stupid.
My position is that it isn't their fault that our employer is stingy, and if I have the capital wherewithal to spring for lunch here and there, and they've earned it, I should reward them.
After all, Tyona used to do it for me when I worked for Suin'Sam; I always felt like I learned a good lesson (sometimes good things still happen for no apparent reason; followed by work doesn't always have to suck and; not all bosses are bad).
Thoughts? Am I an idiot for forking out my own cash? Or am I doing the right thing by making sure my people are happy and taken care of when my company wants to stiff them?
20080813
I'm appalled that we live in a country where we actually have to pass legislation to outline what is humane and appropriate treatment for immigrants detained by Immigration and Customs Enforcement.
Are we treating these people like criminals just because they happened to be detained in a jail or prison?
Or are we treating them like criminals because the word "immigrant" is attached to the front of their name?
I'm ashamed of our nation, and of our elected officials, for allowing such disgraceful and criminal neglect to continue.
Neglecting someone's health because you think they are trying to defraud the system is still neglect and, if they die, becomes murder. If they die while in custody of the United States Government (and I do believe that Immigration and Customs does "roll up" under there, doesn't it? Last time I checked? Unless someone rewrote all of our laws?), I do believe that makes us:
Legally and morally responsible for their deaths. It makes us bad people.
Names to Google: Jason Ng, Francisco Castaneda, Boubacar Bah, Edimar Alves Araujo, Rosa Isela Contreras-Dominquez, Abdoullai Sall, Young Sook Kim.
Or: http://www.hrw.org/doc/?t=migrants
Make up your own mind.
Are we treating these people like criminals just because they happened to be detained in a jail or prison?
Or are we treating them like criminals because the word "immigrant" is attached to the front of their name?
I'm ashamed of our nation, and of our elected officials, for allowing such disgraceful and criminal neglect to continue.
Neglecting someone's health because you think they are trying to defraud the system is still neglect and, if they die, becomes murder. If they die while in custody of the United States Government (and I do believe that Immigration and Customs does "roll up" under there, doesn't it? Last time I checked? Unless someone rewrote all of our laws?), I do believe that makes us:
Legally and morally responsible for their deaths. It makes us bad people.
Names to Google: Jason Ng, Francisco Castaneda, Boubacar Bah, Edimar Alves Araujo, Rosa Isela Contreras-Dominquez, Abdoullai Sall, Young Sook Kim.
Or: http://www.hrw.org/doc/?t=migrants
Make up your own mind.
20080812
Sometimes people really crack me up.
Today I got an email from one of my employees, letting me know she needed to leave early because:
"My daughter is experiencing some female issues with some pain so I needed to make an appointment today."
Let me translate this: "My kid has cramps, and is back in school, and is embarassed. I'm a nice mom, and am gonna let her come home early".
A great deal has been written about employees with children taking advantage of their employer's family leave policies (and flexible work arrangement policies). Of course, I told her to take the rest of the afternoon - she's an hourly employee, and if she wants to dock herself for an afternoon's pay, that is on her own shoulders. Where, however, is the line?
Today I got an email from one of my employees, letting me know she needed to leave early because:
"My daughter is experiencing some female issues with some pain so I needed to make an appointment today."
Let me translate this: "My kid has cramps, and is back in school, and is embarassed. I'm a nice mom, and am gonna let her come home early".
A great deal has been written about employees with children taking advantage of their employer's family leave policies (and flexible work arrangement policies). Of course, I told her to take the rest of the afternoon - she's an hourly employee, and if she wants to dock herself for an afternoon's pay, that is on her own shoulders. Where, however, is the line?
20080811
Jimmy Carter said it best by saying something along the lines of "I have committed adultery many times in my heart". That's certainly an adage I wish people in political public life would take to heart, although perhaps our politicos have been studying history more than the would like to let us know...
Having a mistress in the White House does have lots of historical precedence:
1. Bill and Monica.
2. John and Marilyn, John and a girlfriend of Sinatra's....shoot...anything that wasn't nailed down (provided his pain pills and steroid shots weren't causing him "other problems"). And who shares a girl with your brother? Ooky.
3. Thomas Jefferson had a black mistress (How do you think those bi racial children of Jefferson and Sally Hemings came to be? Osmosis?)
4. LBJ had Madeline Duncan Brown and Alice Glass.
5. George Bush senior reportedly had a long standing relationship with Jennifer Fitzgerald.
6. I find nothing on Ford. He seems to have been a good guy all around. And he owned a Golden Retriever.
7. Nixon, in addition to being a poor television debater, a bad wearer or makeup, and an even worse liar, DID have a mistress, but I'll be darned if I can think of her name.
8. Warren Harding had a relationship with Nan Britton during his campaign, his election, his tenure in the White House.
9. Franklin D. Roosevelt had most famously Lucy Mercer almost up until his death, I believe.
10. James Garfield canoodeled with the very married Lucia Calhoun.
11. Kay Summersby and Dwight Eisenhower.
This is a small sample, of course. If you disregard the Thomas Jefferson example as an oddity that exists today only because there are heirs, and DNA, and money, and press (TJ was a slave owning, sperm implanting bigot! - someone, somewhere is looking to cash in), you will note that most of these stories are from the last centurty, and from the last part of the last century, when the media really lost all respect for what should or should not be reported as news. What someone does in the bedroom is not news, no matter who important they are, unless they are raping children (and then it's a crime). We all watched Bill and Edwards lie about their extra marital affairs (really a simple "I'm sorry, that's a personal matter between my wife and I" would have been much more elegant..I think at some point, you have to refuse to play the game in order to get off the merry go round).
I guess that's my point; take your bedroom antics out of the press. Keep your fly and your mouth zipped. Practice the art of public grace and deflection. I don't want to know your business, and neither does the rest of the world. If you say "I did it" and move on, the rest of the world would too.
Having a mistress in the White House does have lots of historical precedence:
1. Bill and Monica.
2. John and Marilyn, John and a girlfriend of Sinatra's....shoot...anything that wasn't nailed down (provided his pain pills and steroid shots weren't causing him "other problems"). And who shares a girl with your brother? Ooky.
3. Thomas Jefferson had a black mistress (How do you think those bi racial children of Jefferson and Sally Hemings came to be? Osmosis?)
4. LBJ had Madeline Duncan Brown and Alice Glass.
5. George Bush senior reportedly had a long standing relationship with Jennifer Fitzgerald.
6. I find nothing on Ford. He seems to have been a good guy all around. And he owned a Golden Retriever.
7. Nixon, in addition to being a poor television debater, a bad wearer or makeup, and an even worse liar, DID have a mistress, but I'll be darned if I can think of her name.
8. Warren Harding had a relationship with Nan Britton during his campaign, his election, his tenure in the White House.
9. Franklin D. Roosevelt had most famously Lucy Mercer almost up until his death, I believe.
10. James Garfield canoodeled with the very married Lucia Calhoun.
11. Kay Summersby and Dwight Eisenhower.
This is a small sample, of course. If you disregard the Thomas Jefferson example as an oddity that exists today only because there are heirs, and DNA, and money, and press (TJ was a slave owning, sperm implanting bigot! - someone, somewhere is looking to cash in), you will note that most of these stories are from the last centurty, and from the last part of the last century, when the media really lost all respect for what should or should not be reported as news. What someone does in the bedroom is not news, no matter who important they are, unless they are raping children (and then it's a crime). We all watched Bill and Edwards lie about their extra marital affairs (really a simple "I'm sorry, that's a personal matter between my wife and I" would have been much more elegant..I think at some point, you have to refuse to play the game in order to get off the merry go round).
I guess that's my point; take your bedroom antics out of the press. Keep your fly and your mouth zipped. Practice the art of public grace and deflection. I don't want to know your business, and neither does the rest of the world. If you say "I did it" and move on, the rest of the world would too.
20080810
Ah, lazy late summer Sundays. Tried to relax by the pool, but couldn't quite do it. Bugs drove me indoors, now awaiting a delicious steak...mmmm...steak....Mr. Manners aka The Meatmaster (oh, take that as you will) is grilling lunch while I am in charge of potatoes and bread.
Reading the NYTimes booklist and see nothing really of interest (as usual). Anyone have any suggestions? I am currently chewing my way through two "crime" novels, and have recently finished the new James Bond (much as I remembered the old ones to be, appealing to my inner thirteen year old boy).
I'm excited that we're extending our stay in Navarre. A real vacation, one in which Mr. Manners has sworn work WILL NOT INTRUDE (hrmph). I am not working, myself, unless it is a dire emergency, and plan on doing nothing except sitting on the beach and reading a book, and listening to satellite radio, and perhaps drinking a strawberry daiquiri (simple pleasures I have yet been denied this year), while burying my toes in the wet sand. I plan to crinkle. And that’s as far as I’ve gotten. Oh, and perhaps eat some shrimp. So I need books (see request above).
Reading the NYTimes booklist and see nothing really of interest (as usual). Anyone have any suggestions? I am currently chewing my way through two "crime" novels, and have recently finished the new James Bond (much as I remembered the old ones to be, appealing to my inner thirteen year old boy).
I'm excited that we're extending our stay in Navarre. A real vacation, one in which Mr. Manners has sworn work WILL NOT INTRUDE (hrmph). I am not working, myself, unless it is a dire emergency, and plan on doing nothing except sitting on the beach and reading a book, and listening to satellite radio, and perhaps drinking a strawberry daiquiri (simple pleasures I have yet been denied this year), while burying my toes in the wet sand. I plan to crinkle. And that’s as far as I’ve gotten. Oh, and perhaps eat some shrimp. So I need books (see request above).
20080807
I'm frightened.
I noted tonight, whilst watching "Scooby Doo" ,that it has some certain similarities with the speech patterns of Odysseus. You know, where each verse or "after the commercial break", they repeat most of the dialog...just in case you missed it.
I'm frightened. Who knew that such a silly cartoon had something in common with classical Greek literature?
I mean, really:
Daphne “Oh, thank you Boy Wonder” (in one of those hybrid episodes).
And
“The hooded man! (pause) We’ll never catch him, he’s on a unicycle!”
Oh, the decline of civilization has been upon us for awhile now.
Coming Soon: The Rise And Fall of An American Empire?
I noted tonight, whilst watching "Scooby Doo" ,that it has some certain similarities with the speech patterns of Odysseus. You know, where each verse or "after the commercial break", they repeat most of the dialog...just in case you missed it.
I'm frightened. Who knew that such a silly cartoon had something in common with classical Greek literature?
I mean, really:
Daphne “Oh, thank you Boy Wonder” (in one of those hybrid episodes).
And
“The hooded man! (pause) We’ll never catch him, he’s on a unicycle!”
Oh, the decline of civilization has been upon us for awhile now.
Coming Soon: The Rise And Fall of An American Empire?
Summertime blues.
Mom said to us, when packing us into the car when we were very small, "You girls should just go to sleep. We're going to a very special McDonald's that is far away, and when you wake up we'll be there".
MidSis and LilSis were lulled to sleep by the rocking of the car, while I, being older and wise to the wiles of my parents stayed half awake.
Half awake long enough to exclaim, somewhere around midnight:
"We aren't going to McDonald's, we're going to the beach!" as I saw the signs for Jekyll Island.
It will always be my home. And I don't really care what anyone else in the family says, or whines about the lack of beach. You want a beach? Go somewhere else. It's not why we go. We go because this island is our childhood, and at the risk of repeating some overripe imagery, that damn ocean is our mother (and now parts of our grandfather). Those dunes? mountains to us as children (albeit forbidden as were the sea oats). Bike trails on the inner island? forbidden fruit as they were dangerous and untravelled. The pier? always a great treat and spooky at night, where you could listen to the song of the river as it lapped against the pillar, and forced its way into Clam Creek. Once or twice, you'd interrupt folk spear fishing in Clam Creek (crazy - snakes, sharks, muskrats and gators). And the Jekyll Island Hotel...ah, when we were kids, that hotel was literally an old lady with cats. It was hazardous to your health, and you didn't get too close because you didn't know what would happen. Shingles plunged to their death with great abandon. Ghosts regularly rocked on the porch chairs; nevermind that the chairs had long since rotted. There were rumors of drowned millionaire's kids, ghost horses, dead slaves and Indians. I think the hotel was closed much of my childhood (at one point there was a lending library in the basement?), and it was only in the much later (post high school graduation years) that it really took off and the entire historic district redone. If you get a chance, go. Look for granddaddy's brick at the Turtle Center (and do email me a photo).
As a child, you used to be able to buy shrimp off the pier that is now reserved for yachts. Fucking gentrification. We used to unroll the seining net on the shore and wade out into the water and fish, just for the heck of it. Me, MidSis, LilSis, CozAmes, Bullfrog and I all ran amok! We had tans, and we ran up and down the beach, and threw sand at each other, and built castles, and rode bikes, and skated, and ate ice cream, and play Laser Tag, and Monopoly, and Risk, and Trivial Pursuit, and had grandmom wiggle out loose teeth, and spent nights in the really cold ass basement room on the sofa bed, and had Spaghetti Wars, and had problems with bottle rockets, and broken arms, and Little Pink Houses.
Don't ask me to go to another beach and make it my home. You can't trade in all those memories; and I'm not interested in going to St. George (and no offense, but to me the Gulf is a bit like eating popcorn; it fills you up for the moment, but does do anything to satisfy the real hunger).
Mom said to us, when packing us into the car when we were very small, "You girls should just go to sleep. We're going to a very special McDonald's that is far away, and when you wake up we'll be there".
MidSis and LilSis were lulled to sleep by the rocking of the car, while I, being older and wise to the wiles of my parents stayed half awake.
Half awake long enough to exclaim, somewhere around midnight:
"We aren't going to McDonald's, we're going to the beach!" as I saw the signs for Jekyll Island.
It will always be my home. And I don't really care what anyone else in the family says, or whines about the lack of beach. You want a beach? Go somewhere else. It's not why we go. We go because this island is our childhood, and at the risk of repeating some overripe imagery, that damn ocean is our mother (and now parts of our grandfather). Those dunes? mountains to us as children (albeit forbidden as were the sea oats). Bike trails on the inner island? forbidden fruit as they were dangerous and untravelled. The pier? always a great treat and spooky at night, where you could listen to the song of the river as it lapped against the pillar, and forced its way into Clam Creek. Once or twice, you'd interrupt folk spear fishing in Clam Creek (crazy - snakes, sharks, muskrats and gators). And the Jekyll Island Hotel...ah, when we were kids, that hotel was literally an old lady with cats. It was hazardous to your health, and you didn't get too close because you didn't know what would happen. Shingles plunged to their death with great abandon. Ghosts regularly rocked on the porch chairs; nevermind that the chairs had long since rotted. There were rumors of drowned millionaire's kids, ghost horses, dead slaves and Indians. I think the hotel was closed much of my childhood (at one point there was a lending library in the basement?), and it was only in the much later (post high school graduation years) that it really took off and the entire historic district redone. If you get a chance, go. Look for granddaddy's brick at the Turtle Center (and do email me a photo).
As a child, you used to be able to buy shrimp off the pier that is now reserved for yachts. Fucking gentrification. We used to unroll the seining net on the shore and wade out into the water and fish, just for the heck of it. Me, MidSis, LilSis, CozAmes, Bullfrog and I all ran amok! We had tans, and we ran up and down the beach, and threw sand at each other, and built castles, and rode bikes, and skated, and ate ice cream, and play Laser Tag, and Monopoly, and Risk, and Trivial Pursuit, and had grandmom wiggle out loose teeth, and spent nights in the really cold ass basement room on the sofa bed, and had Spaghetti Wars, and had problems with bottle rockets, and broken arms, and Little Pink Houses.
Don't ask me to go to another beach and make it my home. You can't trade in all those memories; and I'm not interested in going to St. George (and no offense, but to me the Gulf is a bit like eating popcorn; it fills you up for the moment, but does do anything to satisfy the real hunger).
Prater's Mill
Prater's Mill, in Varnell Georgia, seen here in operation in 1905.
As children, we used to go once a year to the Prater's Mill Fair. In fact, back when I was in both 4H and Girl Scouts, I would go twice. For two years, if memory serves, I led the ponies for children's pony ride (which ended abruptly when one very mean pony decided to bite my shoulder; this was after I had earned both my horse back riding merit badges from the scouts, and before I learned to smack their noses hard when they bite you). Ponies are not nice creatures; would you be if you were the Napoleon of the horse kingdom?
The fair was truly a wonder of country delights. My favorite? Ah, you could have guessed it yourself had you known me as a teenager - my dresser was stocked with a glass unicorn, a glass dragon, a pegasus, a fairy, and any other small and fanciful concoction the glass blower had (that I could afford) for me once I got to the fair. Unlike my sisters, I was never one to be suckered into the land of funnel cakes or taffy or cookies or brownies or cobbler (still do NOT like baked fruit) but like a magpie I have always been drawn to the shiny things. Funny, really, I would be out of the car, up over the embankment, across the highway (whether or not the cop told me to cross), through the ticket booth and into the fairground (really a giant meadow next to the mill) before anyone else was even out of the car, off in search of my blown glass.
Now, this isn't the kind of fair like a mid-way fair. No, no rides, no screaming things, no neon, no whacking and jumping and clanking around of things; no, this is a crafts fair, where people make things and sell them to you, where you talk to people about what they do...you know, a fair for grownups. Where people do things like....watch clogging contests (I am not yet so old that I find this entertaining; seventh level of hell), or watch someone make pottery, or go to the mill and tour it while it is doing it's grist-work. That kind of thing. It was safe enough (omg) 15 years ago that we ran about totally unattended, and played in the stream barefoot. Oh, and ate, and ate, and ate and were expected to be back at the car by four thirty for the ride home.
It was that kind of fair, with that kind of people.
Anyway, this years fair is October 11 and 12th. Varnell is not that far away from Atlanta - Road Trip! It costs $5 - and I'm willing to bet that most of the Atlanta folk who read this blog have never, ever been. Go!
More info?
http://www.pratersmill.org/
20080806
As we were driving the other day, leaving the office, we were watching some random dude in a pink shirt walking down the sidewalk.
Mr. Manners: Man, that guy is GAY!
Eliza: Are you sure he isn't Asian?
(we both look)
Both: DEFINTELY GAY
(note to readers: men wearing pink shirts are either - senile, gay or asian).
Mr. Manners: Man, that guy is GAY!
Eliza: Are you sure he isn't Asian?
(we both look)
Both: DEFINTELY GAY
(note to readers: men wearing pink shirts are either - senile, gay or asian).
Seems that our friends in New York have picked up the story of the City of Atlanta firing arborist Tom Coffin and ran with it in their science section today.
In case you weren't aware (and living here, I'm not sure how you couldn't be), Atlanta is one of the most forested cities in the United States (major cities, I should say).
See this article.
In case you weren't aware (and living here, I'm not sure how you couldn't be), Atlanta is one of the most forested cities in the United States (major cities, I should say).
See this article.
20080805
Vindication!
I was walking into the office this morning, having just said adieu to Mr. Manners, when I heard someone say:
"I read your blog".
And I had to stop and pause because it was a conversation between to entirely different people, thus proving that other people, other real people, like people who work for my employer and not just me (because we all know I'm a fruitcake, right?), actually do blog.
See? I AM normal after all.
I was walking into the office this morning, having just said adieu to Mr. Manners, when I heard someone say:
"I read your blog".
And I had to stop and pause because it was a conversation between to entirely different people, thus proving that other people, other real people, like people who work for my employer and not just me (because we all know I'm a fruitcake, right?), actually do blog.
See? I AM normal after all.
20080804
I feel insulted.
Newsweek's article this week about the election in the south was entirely about race, and boy did we come off sounding like a bunch of black lynching racists, despite the little (ha ha) white wash the article tried to give us.
Except now we don't want to lynch blacks, we want to oppress hispanics by making them learn english, become citizens, and pay taxes.
Oh heavens above.
I almost feel like that was irresponsible journalism.
Someone else go read that article and let me know what you think.
Newsweek's article this week about the election in the south was entirely about race, and boy did we come off sounding like a bunch of black lynching racists, despite the little (ha ha) white wash the article tried to give us.
Except now we don't want to lynch blacks, we want to oppress hispanics by making them learn english, become citizens, and pay taxes.
Oh heavens above.
I almost feel like that was irresponsible journalism.
Someone else go read that article and let me know what you think.
20080803
The first rule to happiness in general is to learn to love one's self. No, not that happy self-affirming drum circle, hair-and-skirt whirling fire blazing forest setting on fire summer camping bullshit loving one's self kind of love, but truly loving yourself for who you are and more importantly, who you are not (and by proxy will never be). The kind of self acceptance where someone can insult you with the truth and have it roll off your back like water off a duck and you can shrug it off (hey, if you're fat, you're fat, and you know it, ya dig?). That kind of love gives you a certain confidence and inner beauty nothing can shake for the life of you, and a light that radiates from within. Some people think of this as your soul. Some people call it god, or the spirit. I don't know, but I know that when you have it, you have this incredible feeling of light and peace and happiness, like a moment of floating through space.
Heaven.
Now that you're there; now you have to learn to give it away. You've learned to love yourself, now learn to let go of that and give that love to another person. Learn to put all your eggs in one basket. Learn to let another person into your life. Learn to let another person go first. Put aside your wishes to help someone else succeed, and put aside your dreams for just a minute to help someone else achieve theirs ((it makes you both better people to do it together). Learn to do something you really hate because it makes someone else smile. Take dancing lessons. Smile more often.
The time you spend by yourself is worthless, ultimately. All the things you manage to accomplish are meaningless if you have no one to share them with at the end of the day. If you don't have someone to hold you when you want to be held, what good is everything you have?
And when all else fails, adopt a golden retriever.
Oh so serious on a Sunday.
Heaven.
Now that you're there; now you have to learn to give it away. You've learned to love yourself, now learn to let go of that and give that love to another person. Learn to put all your eggs in one basket. Learn to let another person into your life. Learn to let another person go first. Put aside your wishes to help someone else succeed, and put aside your dreams for just a minute to help someone else achieve theirs ((it makes you both better people to do it together). Learn to do something you really hate because it makes someone else smile. Take dancing lessons. Smile more often.
The time you spend by yourself is worthless, ultimately. All the things you manage to accomplish are meaningless if you have no one to share them with at the end of the day. If you don't have someone to hold you when you want to be held, what good is everything you have?
And when all else fails, adopt a golden retriever.
Oh so serious on a Sunday.
Ah, the weekend.
After dropping of MidSis and Brooklyn Jo, who must have been glad to escape the bedlam and extremely oppressive heat of Hotlanta in the summertime and run home, even if they had a few hours delay in the airport due to some freaky rain storm that only slammed half the city (my house, for example, had no rain), we headed to the BuckARama. Your typical hunting show. Elk meat was consumed. Some money was spent - I got a new pair of lightweight pants for the start of season, thanks for asking. But it wasn't as good as last year.
Braves game today was hot enough to fry an egg. Even the hecklers gave it up and collapsed in exhaustion by the third inning. I think my brain is fried now from the sun. Getting two and from the game, trying to bypass the utter madness that is the DOT's current plan to repave the only thoroughfare through downtown and my only route to the stadium, was in and of itself an adventure. I only magically sunburnt my shoulders. I'm quite happy to be home and in my bed, even though it's late at night and I haven't even started my homework.
After dropping of MidSis and Brooklyn Jo, who must have been glad to escape the bedlam and extremely oppressive heat of Hotlanta in the summertime and run home, even if they had a few hours delay in the airport due to some freaky rain storm that only slammed half the city (my house, for example, had no rain), we headed to the BuckARama. Your typical hunting show. Elk meat was consumed. Some money was spent - I got a new pair of lightweight pants for the start of season, thanks for asking. But it wasn't as good as last year.
Braves game today was hot enough to fry an egg. Even the hecklers gave it up and collapsed in exhaustion by the third inning. I think my brain is fried now from the sun. Getting two and from the game, trying to bypass the utter madness that is the DOT's current plan to repave the only thoroughfare through downtown and my only route to the stadium, was in and of itself an adventure. I only magically sunburnt my shoulders. I'm quite happy to be home and in my bed, even though it's late at night and I haven't even started my homework.
20080801
I just had to have the most upsetting conversation of my adult life with a relative who plainly does not give a shit what anyone else thinks, and I am most completely, utterly disappointed in this person, who used to be someone I cared for deeply, but has violated my trust and lost my respect.
So prove me wrong. Stand up, grow up, shake it off. Make something out of yourself.
So prove me wrong. Stand up, grow up, shake it off. Make something out of yourself.
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