*&$%@ Zephyrus with his swete brethe

I doubt that the pilgrims to Canterbury rode bicycles in a headwind. I don't know if their faith would have survived the experience.

Or maybe it would have. Maybe my problem is the absence of a hooly blissful martyr for to seke as the purpose of riding my bike. Riding is excellent for its own sake, though, and for testing ones fortitude, prowesse and hardynesse. And if the wind doesn't start blowing against you until you're 20 - 30 miles into a 40 - 50 mile ride, then there's nothing for it but to keep riding that day, and think better of doing so the following day, as I did when we were at the coast a week and a half ago (so long, already?)

I looked at the calendar last Friday and realized that my Tour of the Unknown Coast ride was five weeks away. As Chaucer would say (if he were trying to watch his language), Hooly Cowe.

Craving and suffering

In my Zen Sangha (it's a word that means a community of some sort) the teacher has recently been going over some of the basics. We started on the Third Noble Truth last week. I'm still working on mastery of the Second Noble Truth and getting pretty good at it. Today, for example, I thought I might die of wanting a new bicycle. But yesterday I felt almost the same way about wanting a new car, and last week I was practically bedridden with longing for a new computer, and the week before I was desperate for an electric guitar amp. Those are just (some of) the cravings to which I'm willing to publicly confess. I'm not going to talk about how many (boxes of) girl scout cookies I've eaten in the last couple weeks, for example. At least I can afford to buy a few (boxes of) girl scout cookies even though the price has gone up 228% since I sold them. (There's a story problem waiting to happen.)

And lest anyone doubt my mastery of wanting things, I am able to sustain any number of my cravings simultaneously. Like juggling bowling pins that stay up even when I'm not really trying to juggle them. I think I'm just about at the peak of my craving powers.

The discussion of the Third Noble Truth didn't go completely over my head, though. The teacher said all you have to do to stop suffering is stop craving. If you don't like what you're doing, just stop doing it. Anything that you can willingly start doing, you can willingly stop. Psh. Easy for him to say, Mr. Zen teacher smarty pants. Though he said that recently he really really wanted a new bike, too, and a 20-something year old body to go with it as opposed to the second-hand cruiser and the 70-something year old body he's got. He saw a college boy riding by on some little number with a carbon-fiber frame and felt a terrible pang. In a moment like that you can't really feel how fine a thing it is that you are able to ride around town on a bicycle of any description, or that your computer still sort of works and perhaps you can borrow one that works better, or that your current vehicle runs fine and you can drive it when you don't really feel like riding whatever bicycle(s) you have. I think it's easier to focus on things that seem to be lacking. I have so much stuff already that it would be too overwhelming if I were to focus on all of it instead.

"Support and Gear"

In my practice runs as a new crew member for the 2009 NorCal AIDS Challenge this weekend I learned the meaning of some cycling terminology I had long misunderstood. In long rides where there's a vehicle following along to help you if you need a ride up the hill or a new tube or packet of Gu, or help of whatever sort, that vehicle is commonly known as a "sag wagon." I always took it quite literally and thought it was the car that picked you up if you were 'sagging' too much in your cycling and needed a bit of propping up. But I learned on Saturday that it actually stands for "Support And Gear." On my way to being a very knowledgeable and helpful crew member.

Tomorrow night I'm taking a CPR class. Hopefully no one will be 'sagging' THAT much, but it seems like a useful skill to have regardless, and the class is being offered at the community center next door to my complex so I thought if I'm going out to get my mail I might as well get certified in CPR.

Special thanks to people who have already contributed to the ride...if you haven't yet taken that opportunity, it's easy and fun! Just click here!

When all else fails, make a list (or maybe a basket?)

I know that some people look to my blog for updates about / from me since I can be a bit underachieving in the phone-dialing department...maybe other communications departments as well. Don't worry, it's not just you, I'm behind on everything except taking the dog outside for her nighttime potty break. So there's something. And I was just telling somebody that no matter what else I have to do, I always take time to stare aimlessly into space. I should start putting that on my to-do list. I no longer have the advantage of being able to write a list and then lose it, since I started using Google Tasks. If you're unfamiliar with G-Tasks, it's a feature you can set up with your gmail account that allows you to make endless lists that you can never misplace, and when you finish something it puts a satisfying little check in the box next to the item and draws a line through it. Not only that but it lets you look up what you checked off going back for at least a month or so, after you've already cleared the 'done' items from your slate.

In terms of providing update, I haven't figured out whether that is one of the express purposes of this blog or just incidental to it. If it's the former, I'm not doing a very good job. But either way, since I would like to offer those who care some glimpse into current events beyond riddling Facebook status updates (and acknowledging that some who care are trying to give Facebook and the like a wide berth), and in homage to an ancestor whose diaries I was peeking at a few days ago, here's a recap of the week so far:

Sunday 15 March Bewared the ides. Woke 5:30 without the alarm and walked Ripley in the dark. Planned to ride around 7 or 8 or whenever it seemed less dark and cold. Tried to install new bike computer for next 3 - 4 hours, no success. All dressed up to ride, rode to bike shop for a cheap computer I could have the shop install. After 2 more hrs. they had me ready to roll out the door but their new computer didn't work either. Tried 2 more times, each time it seemed they would hope I would just not notice it still didn't work and go away. Finally decided to let them keep their computer and traded it for a new helmet. Very grumpy by then, whole morning felt wasted. Went home and sulked and then did laundry and took Ripley for a long run in the park. Felt better. Monday 16 March Went to work. Called to apologize to somebody for taking so long to finish their project, person was very kind and appreciative of help however glacial its pace (that expression might not work any more, what with the glaciers melting so fast). Didn't go to the gym after work as I planned. Played "Farm Town" on Facebook (don't ask me what the point of that is, no doubt there are less benign ways to completely waste time) in between reading paragraphs of a chapter on California housing element law and inclusionary zoning ordinances in anticipation of my speech to City Council the following night. Tuesday 17 March. Winced, but not visibly, when girl at front desk of the gym said "Top o' the mornin' to ya!" She said this to each and every person that came into the gym. I wonder if it was her idea or her boss's. Sat in the spa to warm up and then swam (outdoor pool) almost 20 minutes. Got to work, had a meeting, a staff birthday lunch, and the city council meeting. City council meeting was 3.5 hours long. But it was going well, so a coworker and I stuck it out. Got home and couldn't sleep for awhile. Wednesday 18 March Ran most of 3 miles with Ripley, walked some. Drove with her out to Elk Creek to visit the Native American cultural day at the elementary school. Some of the parents from the Tribe invited me.

That's as far as we get tonight. Falling asleep.

Christopher Smart (1722 - 1771)

For I Will Consider My Cat Jeoffry (excerpt, Jubilate Agno)

For I will consider my Cat Jeoffry.
For he is the servant of the Living God duly and daily serving him.
For at the first glance of the glory of God in the East he worships in his way.
For this is done by wreathing his body seven times round with elegant quickness.
For then he leaps up to catch the musk, which is the blessing of God upon his prayer.
For he rolls upon prank to work it in.
For having done duty and received blessing he begins to consider himself.
For this he performs in ten degrees.
For first he looks upon his forepaws to see if they are clean.
For secondly he kicks up behind to clear away there.
For thirdly he works it upon stretch with the forepaws extended.
For fourthly he sharpens his paws by wood.
For fifthly he washes himself.
For sixthly he rolls upon wash.
For seventhly he fleas himself, that he may not be interrupted upon the beat.
For eighthly he rubs himself against a post.
For ninthly he looks up for his instructions.
For tenthly he goes in quest of food.
For having consider'd God and himself he will consider his neighbour.
For if he meets another cat he will kiss her in kindness.
For when he takes his prey he plays with it to give it a chance.
For one mouse in seven escapes by his dallying.
For when his day's work is done his business more properly begins.
For he keeps the Lord's watch in the night against the adversary.
For he counteracts the powers of darkness by his electrical skin and glaring eyes.
For he counteracts the Devil, who is death, by brisking about the life.
For in his morning orisons he loves the sun and the sun loves him.
For he is of the tribe of Tiger.
For the Cherub Cat is a term of the Angel Tiger.
For he has the subtlety and hissing of a serpent, which in goodness he suppresses.
For he will not do destruction, if he is well-fed, neither will he spit without provocation.
For he purrs in thankfulness, when God tells him he's a good Cat.
For he is an instrument for the children to learn benevolence upon.
For every house is incomplete without him and a blessing is lacking in the spirit.
For the Lord commanded Moses concerning the cats at the departure of the Children of Israel from Egypt.
For every family had one cat at least in the bag.
For the English Cats are the best in Europe.
For he is the cleanest in the use of his forepaws of any quadruped.
For the dexterity of his defence is an instance of the love of God to him exceedingly.
For he is the quickest to his mark of any creature.
For he is tenacious of his point.
For he is a mixture of gravity and waggery.
For he knows that God is his Saviour.
For there is nothing sweeter than his peace when at rest.
For there is nothing brisker than his life when in motion.
For he is of the Lord's poor and so indeed is he called by benevolence perpetually--Poor Jeoffry! poor Jeoffry! the rat has bit thy throat.
For I bless the name of the Lord Jesus that Jeoffry is better.
For the divine spirit comes about his body to sustain it in complete cat.
For his tongue is exceeding pure so that it has in purity what it wants in music.
For he is docile and can learn certain things.
For he can set up with gravity which is patience upon approbation.
For he can fetch and carry, which is patience in employment.
For he can jump over a stick which is patience upon proof positive.
For he can spraggle upon waggle at the word of command.
For he can jump from an eminence into his master's bosom.
For he can catch the cork and toss it again.
For he is hated by the hypocrite and miser.
For the former is afraid of detection.
For the latter refuses the charge.
For he camels his back to bear the first notion of business.
For he is good to think on, if a man would express himself neatly.
For he made a great figure in Egypt for his signal services.
For he killed the Ichneumon-rat very pernicious by land.
For his ears are so acute that they sting again.
For from this proceeds the passing quickness of his attention.
For by stroking of him I have found out electricity.
For I perceived God's light about him both wax and fire.
For the Electrical fire is the spiritual substance, which God sends from heaven to sustain the bodies both of man and beast.
For God has blessed him in the variety of his movements.
For, tho he cannot fly, he is an excellent clamberer.
For his motions upon the face of the earth are more than any other quadruped.
For he can tread to all the measures upon the music.
For he can swim for life.
For he can creep.

Christopher Smart

[Thanks M.A. for sharing this!]

To Market

It's been awhile since I went to the Saturday farmer's market here in Chico. I'd forgotten what a cool place it is, especially heading into Spring. I was overwhelmed by all the flowers and winter / spring greens, and the plant starts for gardens, and people, talking, buying, selling, playing music -- a young woman (these days when I say that, it means somebody who I'm probably actually thinking of as a 'girl,' i.e. under 30, whether I'm supposed to or not) played her guitar and had a notebook paper sign on her open guitar case that said "ORIGINAL SONGS." I was full of admiration and a bit of envy, whether I liked her songs or not she'd written them, and that's something...how many times have I talked about doing exactly what she was doing but never done it, and to have all her own original songs, too. Girls these days.

It didn't occur to me to take a photo while I was there. Too bad. I found a robust looking potted rosemary plant, though, for Heather's garden. She's been looking for one for awhile. I hadn't set out looking for one, but after I found it, I looked all over the rest of the market, and it was the only rosemary.

And now for something completely different.

The one on the right looks a lot like my girl Ripley. If only I could take her with me to the gym.

Toxicomments

It's like feeling compelled to keep touching a hot stove. No, it's more like ordering a combo plate of assorted deep-fried appetizers with a side of ranch dressing at some restaurant where the fryer oil has traveled south for the winter, knowing that you'll regret it, and of course you do. Yet awhile later you go back and order it again, hoping maybe the result will be different. Not that I've ever done that, it's just a metaphor. That old saying about doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different outcome.

I love news via internet. I read print newspapers if they're lying around, but most of my news is online. Sometime last summer, though, I started reading the comments posted to various articles a lot more often. They are to public discourse as Taco Bell is to Mexican food but that doesn't help me at all (in either case). I know that the ability to post comments to online newspaper articles is not breaking news in itself. It's just taken awhile for me to start noticing them, and how asinine, ignorant, infuriating and reeking with meanspiritedness they are.

I don't mind a little snarkiness if it's clever. But people just aren't, terribly, most of the time. I don't know if the freedom of anonymity gives people license to say all the nasty things they really feel but wouldn't dare say publicly otherwise, or if sounding worse than the Grinch who Stole Christmas (or, more likely in this case, the Grinch who Accused Others of Stealing Christmas,) to see how many of your fellow citizens' buttons you can push is just part of the game. Maybe both. There is none of the weeding and editing that would normally occur in a "letter to the editor" either, as demonstrated by the following non sequitur gem in response to a Sac Bee article last week about Prop 8:

There is as much science in Expelled as thier is in the atheistic fundamenatlist fantacisim that labeles itself as science when it comes to the totally unproven T H E O R Y of eveloution.

If you chose to belive in that worthless pile of trash feel free. There are many scientist who don't believe it because of its lack of creduilaltiy and why do may believe in it? It lets them off the hook, because there is no higher authority if we all came form the ooze. So we can do whateve we want with no consequence.

Glad to see how much you hate churches and want them out of our life entirely. I guess your next step is to revoke the Freedom of Relgiogn and throw every Christian into pristion.

[Drat...however did s/he guess our next step? Foiled again!] I have a soft spot for the author of this; the comment was so recently come from a sort of verbal ooze itself that I was able to laugh and step away from the browser when I read it. Plus, as I discovered just now when I looked up the article link again, all the comments, nasty or nice, are dumped into the ether after a few days never to be seen again. Yes folks, this grotesque primordial comment specimen has been preserved in its glory and posted here on One Cheese Sandwich to amaze and horrify! Unique on the World Wide Web! Stay behind the red rope, no shoving! Only $0.02 to have a good look!

Yet too much of the time I keep reading the damn comments, and they're not even stupidly funny, and my blood pressure rises (good thing it has a pretty low starting point) and too often I waste a good 60 words engaging in completely pointless argument, and I don't feel all that much better after I do it. I wish I could permanently block myself from all comments on all the news websites I regularly visit. Like an ignition lock device in a car, or like the Taco Bell that was two blocks from my office that just up and closed a couple months ago. (No more jalapeno chicken melts...like a volcano in my tummy!) I don't want to know what people are thinking and feeling because it makes me feel like most everybody is dumb and hateful except for me and my little circle of friends and family. That's not a helpful approach to the world, whether it's true or not. I will refrain from expressing what I perceive as a big imbalance in the number of excessively vitriolic comments from one "side" of the sociopolitical spectrum vs. the other because no doubt my own filters and biases are at work. But I do perceive it.

My last comment on the subject of online news article comments is that they prove Yeats was right. The best lack conviction and the worst are full of passion without mercy. Little did he know he was describing the difference, generally, between Democrats and Republicans.

Spoonfuls of sugar

I've had this impending phone call to an angry client (and his angry wife) hanging over my head for awhile. Knowing they were angry with me, and that there was some legitimate if not exactly rational basis, I've been reluctant to call them back so that they could tell me how angry they were.

I had a little surge of feeling successful about my work this week and maybe that propped me up to just call them and get it over with.

So I did, and the wife told me I should be ashamed of myself because I'm supposed to be helping people like them, and that I should just "forget it!" (as if the chance to work with them was a cherished dream I'd been harboring for months). I didn't try to defend myself to her, but I'll say for the record that I ALWAYS give people my card when I meet with them and I implore them, if you don't hear back for awhile and you want to know what's going on, PLEASE call me (because I reckon there're 'bout a hunnerd'r so of y'all and only one of me). Did they ever call during the long period before they called my boss to say what a deadbeat I was? No. Did they fall into the paper abyss? Yes.

Zen Buddhism incorporates a sort of 'repentance' principle:

All the ancient twisted karma,
from beginningless greed, hatred, and ignorance,
born of my body, mouth, and thought,
I now confess openly and fully.

I don't claim to get that completely. I think it means that I'm human and some occurrence of error is utterly unavoidable, and it's best to freely acknowledge it when it occurs and fix it if it's reasonably fixable, but nothing / no one happens in a vacuum, and it's just as unhelpful to define myself by my mistakes as it is to define myself by my successes. Either way I'd be setting myself up for more trouble.

Sorry, angry people. I hope the opportunity to chew me out at last relieved them of some of the burden of their anger but I'm afraid it probably revived it.

The last days of Tooth No. 15

Several blog-worthy events have occurred in the past eleven days; for instance, I saw a funnel cloud north of Sacramento over a week ago. I took a cellphone picture and showed it to a friend who is doing graduate work in meteorology and, even though it was a teeny tiny cellphone photo, she said "Oh my gosh, that's a funnel cloud!" so I felt quite validated. Also, my sister Mary came to visit Sacramento (not long after the appearance of the funnel cloud, but if there's any connection at all it is a benevolent, auspicious one) and danced all day Saturday as if she were wearing magic slippers, but now I'm mixing H.C. Andersen with L.F. Baum and that seems dangerous, though I'll have to think about it for awhile.

Monday (yesterday) I took the Graduate Management Assessment Test and it looks like I remember 8th-grade math / algebra even less than one might have hoped. I'm not feeling like MBA school is quite worth the $60K it would cost to undertake it right now, 'specially since I already have at least one professional degree / credential that many people would probably take more seriously than they ought if I were to go into any kind of business for myself, and I'm not exactly attempting to climb a corporate management ladder. But I'd already signed up for the test so I thought, what the heck? how hard can it be? It was hard and didn't exactly play to my cognitive strengths. If only it had been a test of song lyrics and trivia questions. I was quite pleased with myself watching Jeopardy last night when I knew that the correct response to one of the statements was "Rashomon." I bet some engineering / economics type could score a 700 on the GMAT and yet not be familiar with the films of Kurosawa. I am grateful for my knowledge and skill base in all that it is and is not. Mostly.

This Friday I'm having a big ol' molar extracted. It's had a hard life...been done wrong by some fly-by-night HMO-type dentist back in the '80's, resulting in a root canal and crown a few years later, and at some point apparently one of the roots got fractured (no, pretty sure it wasn't a result of playing football, though I can see how you might suspect) and it has suffered...I should say I have suffered...a series of infections and inflammations over the last six months. So my dentist sent me to a periodontist and the periodontist said it is a "hopeless" tooth. Apparently that's the technical term. I say anything wearing a gold crown can't be all that hopeless, but whatever its emotional or existential state, it's leaving the place it has occupied in my head lo these many years. I sort of want to keep it. Maybe see if I can trade it in for a new electric guitar amp at the pawnshop. That $60K I could save on business school next year will have to go somewhere.

Let me tell you how it will be...there's one for you, nineteen for me

I've stayed up much too late this evening on an itemized deduction scavenger hunt...shuffling through piles of paper, scanning through electronic bank statements...realizing, hey, that book I bought on Amazon a few months ago is arguably job-related!

I wish TurboTax would add sound effects to the little refund counters up in the right hand corner that show (in green) the amount of your refund :) or (in red) the amounts you owe. When you enter some kind of deduction you can watch the numbers run up, and I can't help but hear that slot machine coin-dropping sound in my head, after losing money in the big government casino all year now I get to win some of it back! [I was in Vegas recently for a union conference and all that noise is still rattling around my brain.]

I am especially pleased to announce that in 2008 I hit the 7.5% requirement for medical expenses to be deductible. I made a spreadsheet with all the months and all my different bills, I'm very proud of it and I want to bring it to my mom so she can put it on the fridge to show how good I did.

There are a few people / entities I need to thank for making the 7.5% milestone possible: first, my employer, for doing its part to make 7.5% of my income such an attainable goal; to my insurance plan that requires me to pay full price for prescriptions until I reach the $2500 deductible; to the unknown Santa Rosa Scorchers player who ran up and slammed into me during that game in June 2007...I don't know why people kept trying to do that because it seems to cause injury. That hit was minor compared to what the hospital, physical therapist, surgeon, anesthesiologist, and knee brace manufacturer threw at me later. Like Ishmael said at the end of Moby Dick, "I only am escaped alone to tell thee."

In the squares of the city / By the shadow of the steeple / By the relief office / I saw my people

This was my favorite performance of the whole pre-inaugural celebrity beauty pageant. Pete Seeger leading the crowd in singing the best verses from "This Land is Your Land," with help from his grandson Tao Rodriguez-Seeger and the Boss. Just the smile on Pete's face, whether he did much singing or not, and his little knit hat. He called out the words and told everyone to sing. Like he's done for almost 70 years. How would that be, to work for what you care about, doing what you love to do, for 70 years?

What's wrong with this picture?

As a figure of speech, that is, since there isn't actually a picture with this post. I was down in the Central Coast this past weekend for the annual Benchmark Institute board & 'kitchen cabinet' planning retreat. In some spare moments I went to the beach...in shorts and a sports bra...and ran around in the surf. On Saturday and a bank sign in Watsonville said it was 75 degrees. Not everyone may realize that California in January isn't supposed to be this way, really. We're in trouble in the water department and I'm afraid next summer could be an unbreathable mess like last one was. So I figured I better enjoy summer wherever it turns up.

At least Arizona is going to the Superbowl finally. And there's that inauguration thing happening tomorrow too. Coincidence?

I heart miso broth

Good morning...and welcome to Day 5 of my (almost) 5-day New Year's liquid cleansing fast. Last Monday I ate small healthy meals for breakfast and lunch (oatmeal, tomato basil soup and cabbage / nut salad from the Co-op deli) and then had a glass of unfiltered apple juice with psyllium powder for "dinner"...chased with a lot of water. Since then it's been apple juice and psyllium 3 times a day, with hatcho miso broth in between (and water) with cups of herb tea a couple times a day as well, and some diluted unsweetened cranberry juice.

I've been a little hesitant to publicly announce / discuss what I'm doing because it seems kind of extreme, and I know from personal experience that it can even feel a little threatening when somebody appears to be 'rejecting' something held so dear and craved so intensely as is our food. I was never very good at or interested in fasting beyond the minimum religious requirements. This has been much easier, though, with the liquids, and as someone pointed out, it's only five days out of my whole life. When I came down with that cold a couple weeks ago I stopped drinking coffee. I don't think the hiatus will be permanent but I'm enjoying it for now. My energy level throughout the day is more consistent and I feel more rested when I wake up in the morning. It was a stressful week at work so maybe that kept me awake too.

Part of this has been an exercise in control. I'm very food-oriented and not always as picky as I should be, especially considering that I have kind of a sensitive tummy. It helped that the Taco Bell two blocks away from my office closed down last month...through no lack of my support. I would need my cheap seven layers of goo burrito and quesadilla or jalapeno chicken melt fix and almost invariably have a tummy ache afterwards. So my brain wants a lot of things that really aren't doing my body any good. I would like to develop a little more control over my mind.

I'm really looking forward to some solid food this evening. Day Three (Thursday) was probably the hardest in terms of being hungry. The miso broth is what made this all more or less tolerable. I've had a package of miso in the fridge for a year, not realizing how easy it is to make a cup of delicious, satisfying instant broth. I don't know if all of its reported health effects are for real but it is comforting to the belly and the mind. I like the dark "red" salty Hatcho kind. I plan to make it a regular part of my diet.

As I enter the later part of my mid-30's I've been feeling that some of the old patterns / habits may not be sustainable for a whole lot longer, and I'd rather try to head them off now of my own free will than wait for all the consequences to bite me. Age will inevitably bite but maybe it won't have to bite quite so hard or all at once. Sports nutrition advice is full of statements about how our bodies are machines that need good fuel for optimum performance. How many times to I have to suffer from Taco Bell tummy before I get the message that what I'm doing doesn't work? Why is it so hard to heed those little red flags our bodies wave at us? Dumb old greedy brain.

I was walking Ripley yesterday and she was charging along at the very end of her leash, making me wish I had roller skates, and a woman with an apparently very well- trained border collie walked by and smiled and said "I see who's in charge." My brain and Ripley both need some follow up classes since we graduated from puppy school.

why catch flies with honey when you can squash 'em with rolled up newspaper

Oops. It was just brought to my attention that the title of this post got posted without any post attached. I was going to tell a story about a case I'm working on, wherein I got so irritated with opposing counsel that I called him an ass, certainly not to his face but talking to my client, which still wasn't very professional of me but was deeply gratifying to my client. I had a raging sinus headache at the time too. Or maybe it was the cold medicine I took for the sinus headache. But I felt like I was divulging too many details in the post (even without including anybody's names) so I deleted it. If I had told the whole story you would probably have thought that I was being too kind and generous in my name calling.

There and Back Again

Ripley made her first visit to the snow over Christmas. Except for an agitated phase toward the end of our drive back that lasted through most of the evening after we arrived, to the chagrin of Mia and Dozo, who think Ripley not a very polite or properly deferential guest in their house, Ripley did great in the car. Here she is admiring the world as it goes by the window that is covered in her noseprints.

She was confused by the stuff at first, and understandably reluctant to squat in it, but very soon she made herself right to home in the snow.








Now we'll have a transitional photo that is mostly of my dog, but begins to incorporate human elements. Ripley got these lovely antlers in her stocking. Someone is no doubt really glad she painted her toenails for Christmas, because you just never know when they might be caught on camera.




LG walked around all morning saying "Santa." "Santa?" in a calm, observant voice. His calm was periodically shattered by Ripley's effort to communicate by barking. After recovering from the trauma of such a loud noise coming from a not very big dog, LG would remark, now and then, "Dog. Wuh wuh." Here he and Grandma (aka "Bama,") playing with his very cool new blocks. Later I wanted to play too and I learned the rules are that whatsoever ye build, LG will come knock it all down...thoroughly obliterate it, in fact, so that not one block is sitting atop another.


Not pictured are the three days of pie. I wonder what percentage of the cells of which I am currently constituted were made out of pie. It was a lovely visit...and I don't blame anyone but myself for my having eating myself sick on Friday. Though somebody gave me a cold, I don't know who, and I'd like to return it but don't know where it came from. If you have any leads send 'em along.

Folk jam

I wish I had a photo of this, and perhaps an audioclip. The Butte Folk Music Society has a website of sorts but it's more of a cry for help than a website. Nothing that captures how much fun it is to go to one of their jams. There were two or three banjos, a fiddle, a mandolin, a slide guitar, a couple harmonicas, and several guitars (including mine) in the circle yesterday, along with a few people who were just singing. They went around the circle and everybody took turns picking a song, which the whole group then would play and sing. Those who were able to play some lead / solo took turns soloing. (I'm not there yet with my playing.)

I happened upon the group several months ago at Augie's Coffeehouse (named for the Anglican "Church of St. Augustine" to which it is attached) and have been wanting to go back with my guitar ev'ry since. When my turns came around, I picked "Can the Circle Be Unbroken," "Goodnight Irene," and "Wildwood Flower." I learned some "new" old songs I want to add to my repertoire too, like "Hard Times" and...shoot. Should have been writing things down. I was reminded that a crucial piece of equipment I haven't yet acquired is the bible of group folk-singing books, Rise Up Singing. I don't usually think of it until I get into a group where people want to sing old-timey songs but nobody can ever remember all the words (not to mention the chords).

There were some really great bluegrass players in the group. I need to go to one of their "Bluegrass Jams" so I can learn some of that pickin'. I stayed for over two hours yesterday and finally had to stop because my left hand was getting a cramp and I was getting hoarse and my fingers were already sore from playing at the office holiday party the night before.

I'll try to remember to take a picture next time. Meanwhile here's the Carter Family to tide us all over. There is some great close-up footage of Mother Maybelle's guitar picking.

Holiday highlights, pt. II

Way back when I started this blog, under its previous title "Hamartia and Cheese Sandwiches," it was meant to be a record of my triathlon training efforts. Huh. Sort of like how my parents' business started in the 1970's repairing sailboats and now they manufacture and install corrosion resistant linings and coatings for industrial containers. I'm just glad they saved that part for when I was a little bit older because it's harder to say than "Sailboats."

But now and then, sooner or later, we all revisit our roots, and I want to fan the ember of cycling enthusiasm that I feel is trying to burst into flame, so I wanted to say that my roadbike trip meter says 24-something miles from last Sunday's lovely ride down River Road in West Sacramento. I heard the road was rough but compared to a notoriously bad stretch of road I can think of here in Chico, it might as well have been an indoor track. H took pictures, which I hope might appear sometime later on her blog, and I'll probably let her tell about how the ride would have been a little longer if not for the happenstance of a Clarksburg winery. The vintner was very gracious and friendly even though it is surely obvious that when people are wine tasting impromptu in their bike shorts, they're not likely planning to buy anything liquid in heavy glass bottles. Though...hmmm...that gives me an idea. Tell you later.

One of my favorite parts of the ride was when there was a long stretch of smooth / straighter road and I had a Burst of Power! Shifted into my big front chainring and sped up to 23 - 24? miles an hour. For about 30 seconds, and then I was really tired. I call this a "Corgi sprint" -- very dangerous over the short distances, as they say

There is something about having been for a ride, even a short, flat ride like that one with the pause for refreshment in the middle, that makes you feel so good when you get home, and you're hungry from riding. It makes any food taste better and your legs feel tired from too many corgi sprints, and it's a good feeling. It's a good feeling, to know you're alive.

Photos would have been nice with this post but I didn't have my camera (or even a cellphone camera) with me. You can look at the photos from the last post again if you need to look at something.

Holiday highlights pt. I

Ripley w/flamethrower in the original, iconic, unequalled "Alien." Yeah, special effects show their age, but I'll gladly suspend disbelief when necessary. We are introduced to the TRUE monster of the Alien series: THE COMPANY. The ultimate in corporate evil. Ripley gets in a lot of trouble with THE COMPANY for blowing up her ship and cargo just to get rid of the alien after it ate her whole crew. THE COMPANY keeps trying to get its claws on one of these creatures for bioweapons research, and doesn't care who is expended in the process.


"Aliens" was for a long time my favorite...the action and peril are made interesting by the excellent development of the characters. The classic showdown of the Muthas. The serious weaponry. The oft-quotable lines tossed off by the Colonial Marines. It is still a favorite but now in my mature years I am realizing that the first Alien is unsurpassed. The films are different genres under the
sci-fi umbrella so maybe it's not fair to compare them. Good thing I have both, I can compare them all I want.

Alien3. I'm sure there was all kinds of symbolism going on in this movie; some have compared it to the original, but the comparison breaks down when you aren't able to get to know or like most of the characters. I didn't like it at all when I first saw it in the theater, since then it has grown on me a little (or perhaps it's more correct to say 'grown in me, in this context).



Ripley at the other end of the series, "Alien Resurrection," which was an odd duck; normally in a movie there is at least one person you can really like. Sigourney's human/alien hybrid clone was the most likeable but she did creepy things. None of the humans were likeable. Winona's emotionally strident robot whined too much. But the movie has moments that make it worth sitting through, i.e. any scene with Sigourney. When you are part alien, you have superhuman strength and agility, and you have pointy black fingernails, and you have to wear a lot of leather. Just so you know, should you encounter an alien-human hybrid.

In the spirit of thankfulness for leisure time with friends, my friend L and I watched all four Alien movies--the entire quadrilogy--back to back, in
one day (Friday). We did take breaks to walk the dogs and check in on current events.

I tried to watch the dog Ripley to see if she reacted at all to her name being shouted on TV over and over again, couldn't really tell.

What part of Marbury v. Madison don't you understand?

That's supposed to be funny. Lawyer humor. But this quote engraved on the wall in the United States Supreme Court building is serious.
Marbury v. Madison was the case in which it was determined that the buck stops with the Supreme Court in terms of reviewing the actions of other governmental bodies to decide if an action is illegal, or reviewing laws and statutes for constitutionality. Nice that the first Chief Justice, John Marshall, figured all that out in 1803 so we wouldn't have to worry about it again.

I ate lunch in the US Supreme Court Cafeteria today. I was going to try to make some kind of joke about that too but I was actually quite excited to be there, and the food was reasonably priced and pretty good. My coworker and I thought about trying to pick a fight with each other outside the building so we could say we argued before the Supreme Court, but we couldn't think of anything to fight about.

got captions?

"A tisket, a tasket, a kitty in a basket."

"I Has a Baskit."

"Where are we going and what am I doing in this handbasket?"

"Take my picture already."

"I can't come back! I don't know how it works!"

from Discovery News: Lemming Numbers Dwindling Under Warming

Lemmings may be disappearing in Norway, but they're thriving in many parts of California and elsewhere.

May the best frame win

In preparation for a presentation I have to do in a couple weeks, I'm doing research on cognitive frames and their use in race equity advocacy. It's explaining a lot to me about how people can persist in believing things that are completely unsupported--even contradicted--by the facts. I don't claim to be exempt from this phenomenon. I don't think anybody can be completely. The power of frames is too strong. Something pretty dramatic has to happen for somebody to start seeing outside of their familiar, prevailing frames.

Just a little background: A frame is a core idea or 'story' that helps us create meaning and interpret the world around us. Frames come in clusters--one may be tied to another, and there are frames within frames. Frames not only describe our reality, but they construct it as well. Successful social and political (and religious) movements know how to trigger and play into these frames. For example, anti-affirmative action efforts have played into the individual merit frame and co-opted civil rights language so that white people will see affirmative action as unfair and will fail to see that women and people of color still encounter structural barriers to opportunity. This frame of "merit" is so powerful that even liberal whites often view affirmative action as unfair and unnecessary despite all the research to the contrary. People are likely to reject any amount of research, no matter how thorough and objective, that conflicts with their frame. When facts collide with a cognitive frame, the frame will win. People are not persuaded to change by facts.

While this phenomenon is frightening and unbelievably frustrating when one is in a position of trying to champion the real true facts (or marshal the facts! as Prof. Imwinkelreid would often say), it's some comfort to know that people are somewhat at the mercy of their brains. It's not because they're inherently mean spirited or ignorant. To the contrary, smart, kind, thoughtful people who are operating under a powerful frame may just not be capable of believing anything that doesn't fit in it. The only hope for change is to shift the frames. The good news is that it can be done. If this were not the case, there wouldn't have been a Prop 8 to begin with, because it wouldn't have occurred to anybody that sexual orientation should be a protected status such as race and gender and religious creed and so on. No one would have feared that 'traditional marriage' was under attack because no one would have recognized the diversity of family structures and decided that one type of structure should be promoted at the expense or exclusion of others. And certainly, no one would have had the opportunity to vote for a President who looks like Barack Obama. For that matter, women would not be voting, period.

I am hoping and praying for the frames of fairness and equality and opportunity for all to prevail by the end of the day today, because these are powerful frames in America too. Whatever the result, things have shifted a long way even for us to be able to fight our current fights or make the kinds of choices that are before us.

I'm off to stand 100 feet from a polling place with my Vote No on 8 t-shirt and sign and my guitar. I'm going to sing America the Beautiful, and maybe a few songs promoting the "love your neighbor as yourself" frame. Don't know if it'll have any effect on how anybody votes one way or the other but singing always makes me feel better, so there's that.

Travels with Ripley

Ripley here with her cousin Tango chez Elouise and Nancy. They've been in Corgi heaven, chasing each other, wrasslin', herdin', telling each other sheep jokes...We're leaving in a few minutes and it's hard to take Ripley away (without taking Tango with us).

Further trip updates are forthcoming, but one experience of note from the road was hearing a Barack Obama ad in Navajo while driving through eastern Arizona. I'm not sure why, but I got kind of choked up when I heard it. Maybe the idea that Obama would represent all Americans, including the original ones, and give us a chance to feel like this land was, in fact, made for you and me rather than us versus them. The Navajo Nation has endorsed Obama.

Glad to be a Mac.

Lesbian video from AfterEllen.com

Lesbian video from AfterEllen.com

From an article by Jon Hanson, "The Blame Frame: Justifying (Racial) Injustice in America"

"Because humans crave justice, salient suffering or inequalities activate an 'injustice dissonance' within us. Too often, we alleviate that dissonance, not by addressing the injustice, but by creating an illusion of justice through assumptions, arguments, or stereotypes about the blameworthiness of the victim."

Seems like a lot of folks are having to alleviate a lot of dissonance these days about a lot of things, and a lot of illusions have been created in the process. In the perennially apt words of Aunt Liza, "oh dear oh dear oh dear."

Word of the day

Most people who can't speak English can communicate pretty fluently in some other language. Maybe Sarah Palin's language difficulties aren't at all due to ineptitude or lack of education but rather that her home planet has its own English-like dialect, and to other aliens from that world, she sounds perfectly coherent. Clearly she tried to practice English extra hard for the debate but still spoke with a pretty heavy accent.

Maureen Dowd of the NY Times tries to analyze the dialect in this op-ed, "Sarah's Pompom Palaver." The problem I can see right away with this piece is that even a lot of people who aren't snowed by SP may not know what 'palaver' means, let alone the folks who think somebody's qualified potentially to lead the free world on the basis that she's cute as a bug's ear. [Palaver: (n) a. Idle chatter. b. Talk intended to charm or beguile. ]

Pretty good word for what comes out of her mouth, if a bit too polite and dignified. Here in down-home middle America we have another word or two for it.

Most Likely to Succeed at Making You Smile

Ripley graduated from Puppy Toddler class tonight. Her mama is so proud. She has 'sit,' 'down,' and 'come' mastered, though she also appreciates the value of her free will and sometimes chooses not to respond. She was by far the best looking dog in the class too, which we all know counts for a lot in this world.

I'm gonna pop!

Remember that scene in the Matrix after Neo gets rescued from the human-powered electric plant, and he just can't process the difference between the real world and the land of computer make-believe, and he barfs and passes out?

I had a moment of feeling a little bit like that when I read this on the McCain website:

The pro-life movement has done tremendous work in building and reinforcing the infrastructure of civil society by strengthening faith-based, community, and neighborhood organizations that provide critical services to pregnant mothers in need.

Is he talking about civil society in the United States? A quarter or more of children in rural and inner-city communities are living below the poverty level. A QUARTER. 23 - 25%. In Mississippi (ironically, the home base of the dear ol' American Family Association), it's 35%. Maybe the pro-life movement just hasn't gotten around reinforcing the infrastructure of civil society in Mississippi. Or maybe I have a different understanding of the word "tremendous." Or maybe the "life" in pro-life means something a lot more specific than what it sounds like.

Or maybe McCain - Palin are agents of the Machines, and Obama is the One. McCain = Machines, Obama = One. Coincidence?

Oh, I'm sure all the well-schooled evangelicals will recall that Bible story about McCain and Abel, how he flew off the handle in a fit of jealousy and killed his brother, and then lied about it when asked what happened. Oh...I said McCain when I meant Cain. I'm sorry. John McCain flies off the handle, but as far as I know he's never killed any relatives, just yelled and called them nasty names. No real harm in that.

No on Prop 8 TV Ad Airing Today

You can help it stay on the air by using the ActBlue thermometer link to make a donation, or clicking here.

Just when you thought it was safe...

McDonalds has really, really pissed off these folks in Mississippi because now the company is, as I understand this report, actively trying to turn all its employees gay(!!) and pays them to get sex change operations. Because all that sort of thing goes together, like parts of an Extra Value Meal.

Read it straight from the horse's... whatever:

A document shows McDonald's requested a 10% "group discount" to a recent pro-homosexual training seminar. Eligibility to receive the discount required "groups of 15 or more registrants for the full price 3-day (Out & Equal 2008 Workplace) Summit."

McDonald’s applied for the special "discount code" off the regular registration price of $775 per person. The registration price did not include the employee's air travel, hotel and meal expenses.

The conference, held in Austin, TX, was designed to train employees how to effectively advance homosexuality in the workplace and to persuade top corporate officials to embrace the lifestyle by offering special recognition and benefits to gay employees.

For example, McDonald's health benefits package includes full coverage for sex-change procedures, post-operative recovery, and mental health counseling throughout the process.

Wow! Special recognition and gay benefits. If only I'd known way back when I made different career choices. All the health food stores and the organic produce distributor I worked for didn't have special benefits, even though I worked for a number of top corporate officials who had obviously embraced the lifestyle. I feel like I was cheated.

the casserole gene

This time last year I was pretty laid up with my knee in a big brace, but enjoying the luxury of a hotel and my mom's TLC which in some ways makes it a rather pleasant memory (being on drugs helped too). After my mom had to go home and I was at least able to get up the stairs to my condo, H stayed for a couple days and between the two of them I had food for the next two months.

I'm seeing how good I really had it. My roommate had knee surgery today on his torn medial and lateral meniscii. Lucky for him they didn't have to take a piece of him from somewhere else to fix his knee, so hopefully the recovery will be easier, and he doesn't have to wear a brace. His pain pills aren't as strong as mine were (though it would be interesting to see a study on who gets prescribed what doses in what circumstances). He might not be doing so well in the morning. At any rate he's basically trapped here because he won't be able to get down the stairs, having just managed to climb up with his girlfriend and me spotting him. His mom doesn't seem to be available. [I had very strong pain pills AND my mom. I was so lucky!] For various reasons, staying at his girlfriend's house was not an option for him, so there he is on the couch with his knee all wrapped up. The least I could do was cook something.

I didn't actually bake a casserole. But I made a good pasta dinner with a jar of tomatoes my mom canned last year (the last one, I think), veggies, frozen meatballs and salad. It was one of the more balanced dinners I've managed to cook for myself recently too, and it made me feel lucky all over again.

The Universe According to Sarah Palin

Did you know that in her free time, when not on the campaign trail or being a loving mom to her five children, Sarah Palin enjoys clubbing baby seals and shooting wolves from low-flying aircraft? With a high-caliber rifle she learned to use in the family's stay at a right-wing militia retreat. She said a lot of compelling things in her convention speech and later condensed versions of it, so it's easy to forget the part where she informed the crowd that the earth is actually flat and located at the center of the galaxy, and the sun moves around it as is obvious to anybody who watches the sky, and was met with cheers and chants of "Flat! Flat! Flat!"

It's such a relief to make up whatever stories you like about other people and yourself and without concern for accuracy. I'm learning from Sarah Palin already, that if a fact doesn't serve your purpose, out with it! Make a new one. Either that, or just stick with the script they give you even if it means you will have to utter boldfaced lies. I hope her kids have picked up on these principles too, as they need to soak up as much of their mother's wisdom as they can during the brief periods that she'll actually be seeing them.

Another Big Gay Mac Attack

I'm continuing to find my American Family Association action alerts a source of considerable entertainment. The last one included a statement from Brian Unger, McDonald's Senior VP of something or other, excerpted and bolded in such a way as to imply that McDonald's is trying to make more people gay:

In January, McDonald’s paid for travel and accommodations for 56 employees to attend the “Pioneer Summit” in San Diego. The purpose of the meeting was to develop a plan to promote the gay agenda within the company. Those attending were thrilled that McDonald’s showed such support for their agenda.
“It was truly inspiring to see McDonald’s Lesbian, Gay, Bi-Sexual and Transgender members come together to share heartfelt, personal stories about their journeys, challenges and personal reflections. Better understanding these journeys … will help us better grow our people in the restaurants and across the company,” said Brian Unger, senior vice president.

AFA has asked McDonald’s to remain neutral in the culture battle – to neither oppose nor support the gay agenda. McDonald’s has refused, choosing to support those groups and individuals promoting the gay agenda — including homosexual marriage. A McDonald’s official (Bill Whitman) went so far as to say that those who oppose the gay agenda are motivated by hate.

(Exactly as it appeared on the AFA website except for the lavender text color that I added for contrast.) I can see how upsetting this all is...to be accused of hatred. What exactly does it mean to be hateful? (I could go on a tangent about the burgeoning use of the word 'hater,' as in 'don't be a hater,' and how it's almost but not quite up there with the expression 'my bad' on my list of trendy expressions that I hate. Or, I mean, I'm just standing up for my belief in traditional English and I'm fearful of its deterioration.)

vanity press

I gave up on the online karaoke sometime back because I couldn't get the vocals to synch up with the music. This is way more fun.

"Save Me a Saturday Night" (Neil Diamond)



"My Friends" (Red Hot Chili Peppers)

Del Martin: May 5, 1921- August 27, 2008

Del Martin and Phyllis Lyon fell in love and got married as soon as possible, 55 years later.

I think that's a marriage worth saving, don't you? The State can't do anything to hold back time, nor can it promise anything beyond time, but I believe Del and Phyllis will be seeing each other. They didn't need no piece of paper from the city hall keepin' them tied and true, but they devoted most of their lives to the right to have it, and they won!

See Del's obituary at Equality California here

The needle and the damage done

There is an I.V. bag hanging in the kitchen from the pots & pans rack. Next to the knives. Something is wrong with this picture, or at least it's got a certain chamber-of-horrors quality that I don't prefer as decor most days of the year. Medical equipment and cooking utensils are just not supposed to mix. I've probably seen Silence of the Lambs a few too many times but I think I'd feel the same way even if I hadn't.

The attempt to administer Kato's subcutaneous fluids by myself this morning was not successful (at least if one measures success by whether he actually received any fluids subcutaneously). It seemed much easier at the vet's office yesterday with the tech holding him down and telling me what to do. This morning I did actually get the needle into him, but he immediately jumped down from, the, er, butcher block table, which I had covered with a towel, knocking over a glass of iced coffee on the counter (it broke) in the process. I'd put the dog in her playpen just before this and she was barking like crazy and trying to escape, perhaps worried that she'd be on the block next, but actually she just really needed to poop. As she demonstrated on the carpet as soon as I let her out.

But I was able to get Kato to take a good long drink from his water bowl afterwards, and I had another glass and enough iced coffee still in the carafe to fill it, and I picked up the poop, and here we are. It happens.

Some say love it is a river that drowns the tender reed

Kato is back in the hospital. On his second night but sounds like he'll be ready to come home tomorrow. Monday morning I saw that he had another blockage and was pretty uncomfortable so back to the vet we go for the same damn thing over again. "Do you have a buy one / get one half off deal?" I said. Ha haha, said the vet, thinking I'd made a joke.

He needed some meds from the compounding pharmacy so for convenience (lest they add some delivery fee to my bill) I picked them up when they were ready and took them to the vet's office. They thought it would be good for me to visit Kato, or good for Kato, rather, and hoped I'd be able to get him to eat something. He's not real keen on the prescription food he'll now have to eat for months and months. He looked awful...his face seemed too thin and he had an IV in his front leg, and his fur gets all flaky and dull when he goes to the vet. Stress shedding. We had some good petting, holding and cuddling though. He was purring and growling at the same time. Not feeling his best. He ate a few bites of the yucky prescription food for me, but not much. Then I left and cried in my car for a minute.

Later the vet called to say that since my visit, he'd chowed down on the dry food and he'd been peeing on his own, quite enthusiastically and voluminously, all over one of the vet techs and on various other animate and inanimate surfaces. I don't know if she said this because it sounded like such a nice story to tell a worried and sad kitty owner, or because it was exactly truly what happened. Who am I to question the power of a loving touch and familiar voice and smell when you've been in a scary place for awhile. Some say love, it is a Big Gulp, or a waterfall, or a running faucet...

I'm lovin' it

Can't help myself. These comments raise another concern I have for the well-being of children of the right-wing zealots: their parents' and grandparents' spelling and grammar tends to be atrocious to the point of comedy.

Not only that, but some of these 'Christian' soldiers couldn't resist the opportunity to complain that not only is McDonald's morally bankrupt, but too many McDonald's employees speak Spanish. The AFA has a bigotry package deal you get when you sign up, I think.

• "McDonald I am a regular customer in your store but I will not be eating in your store any more because of your open support of gay. I am a christianand God says they are an Abolition and God will deal with them. joyce"

• "I will definitely boycott. Me and my family, including kids, grandkids, cousins, and parents have received message and agree on boycotting. If I figure right based on just my family alone, will keep about $1300 a year from these idiots. Others that follow should equate to less business."

• "Yesturday,I purposedly avoided going to McDonalds for dinner. They can count me out as a customer from now on."

• "I have no problem with you hiring, serving, etc of gays...I have a problem with your prejudice against those of us who are not gay. You should be equal. Do you put funds into the promotion of "normal" sexual relationships????"

• "I and my family will be buyers at burger king.. You need to change your gay position.."

• "I will no longer take any of my grand children nor my self to any Mc Donald's restaurant--I also intend to tell others about this decision of mine--I know you also sponser Planned Parent hood--which most of the finincial support they get are uded for abortions"

• "I won't support you with your gay agenda or hiring illegals."

• "No more cold limp fries, not so clean resturant and Spanish speaking non- English employees for us. So dad to see our America down the toilet. Married 38 years to a man and have a wonderful MARRIAGE and yes we are BREEDERS, isn't that what the queers call us traditionals that are a family. Funny how they want to adopt a breeders child. Poor choice McDonalds."

[Ed. note: Please please do not confuse this woman with that awesome alt-rock band The Breeders, fronted by the incomparable iron-throated bass-playing crusty rock goddess Kim Deal, whose child (if she were to put one up for grabs) I'd gladly adopt provided it was an open adoption. Don't really see how that's funny, though.]

I'm hungry.

We deserve a break today

Apparently part of the dread homosexual agenda now includes reduction / prevention of childhood obesity among the innocent offspring of right-wing zealots. The American Family Association has called for a boycott of McDonald's because of the corporation's sponsorship of San Francisco Pride and its efforts to stop workplace discrimination against LGBT people.

I confess to a lifelong weakness for McDonald's breakfast when I'm on the road, a weakness that has persisted even after watching "Supersize Me." And when I lived in France for a summer, some 17 years ago, I do declare there were times when I was so lonesome I sought some comfort "chez McDo." If only the Arches were the worst symbol of American power and influence throughout the world...I guess I'm just a little confused about how to feel about the right-wing boycott. It won't cause the Almighty Arches an ounce of grief. They have bigger fish to fry in transfat-free oil. Based on some of the comments I read on the AFA's website, it sounds like the Faithful are marching their children straight to Wendy's anyway, lest they miss this opportunity to develop better eating habits.

Dog is in her heaven and all is right

Or, "Chilly Dog."

The A/C registers are Ripley's favorite places. She likes to cram herself into this spot in my office, or just lie down on top of the registers in the floor downstairs. As if there were a sign over each one that said Dog Parking.

Almost Heaven...for Pharmacists

When a tag for this article came up in my Gmail, I couldn't resist clicking to see if Utah was in the top ten. It is not. With the odd exception of Iowa, the top 10 is completely dominated by the Southeast. The article links high rates of medication with high rates of obesity, diabetes, and / or tobacco usage. Not mentioned in the article, as I recall, was the fact that obesity and its accompanying health problems are linked to poverty, and poverty correlates with race. So no surprise that most of the poorest states in the country, with the highest percentages of African-Americans, are among the most medicated. Which comes back to the fact that it is very expensive both to be poor and to blithely allow poverty to persist. But maybe it's a price we're willing to pay in order to carry on with our biases.

California is in the bottom ten. You don't need a prescription for the Napa Valley (though technically you might need one for other medications grown in Northern CA).

I want to be 41.

41 like Dara Torres. Though by the Summer Olympics XXX in London I'll be just a few weeks shy of 39. Practically a baby. Then after I'm 41, I want to be 63 like Helen Mirren. (In a general sense. My proportions are more like a tree trunk, and I'm not really the bikini-wearing type.)

Then, I'd like to be 70+ like Margaret Bomberg, who you've probably never heard of because she's an attorney / triathlete here in town who, though I'm pretty sure I can outrun her (or can when my running is up to speed), swims circles around me and actually shows up for that 5:30 a.m. spinning class I haven't attended in four or five months. (I haven't been there to check but I just know she's there, on the mornings that she's not swimming or traveling to the world triathlon championships and so forth.) I wish I had a photo. She looks a bit like a 70+ year old version of Dara Torres (which means that she looks more like she's 60-something) except that Margaret's hair is shorter (as is Margaret herself) and she wears business attire to work.

It's a good time for strong grown-up women, recognizing that most of the many ways one can be strong and healthy do not involve having six-pack abs. But it's nice that some people can dedicate enough time to the project to remind us that we have all those muscles, somewhere.

Corgolympics

I wish this could be caught on video. I think Ripley has an inherent agility course-running proclivity. At least once a day, sometime in the morning, she does laps as if she's competing in the 400m. But she is not content to run around and around in a plain old boring oval. At work she does top-speed loops of the enclosed back yard that include detours under the picnic table and through the porch posts and around the trees. In my office (a much smaller area) she goes just as fast around my desk chair, behind the desk, and around the room. This morning at home (while I was watching footage of the opening ceremonies, no less) she invented a course that went around the coffee table, behind the futon, through the kitchen, and back into the living room. She repeats the same course for almost every lap. Tomorrow morning I'll try to count how many laps she does and report back.

Now that she's worn herself out maybe I should go for a run myself.

"It [is still] a pleasure to burn."

I am rediscovering an old favorite. I first read Fahrenheit 451 when I was 10 or 11 and again several times throughout my teens. I had a crush on Ray Bradbury when I was 15, give or take, (he was only 65 or so at the time) and wrote him a lovely warm letter to which he personally responded, saying "Dear Emily: Thank you for your lovely warm letter..."

Irony notwithstanding, I got the unabridged audio version of Fahrenheit at the library recently. Read by the author. I imagine it was produced several years ago and though his diction isn't always completely crisp (I just finished listening to The Picture of Dorian Gray which, as you might imagine, was especially crispy) his rather jolly-sounding voice somehow fits the bleak, chilling (but hopeful) story. I also wonder what it was about the book, and about me, that made me take to it as I did. A penchant for the bleak and chilling? In high school I read Camus' L'étranger several times, too. I snuck home from church when I was a mere tot to watch "Alien" and could probably recite most of Bela Lugosi's lines from "Dracula," in a Transylvanian accent, around that time. Religiously entered a place without time or dimension in nightly reruns of the original Twilight Zone and / or The Outer Limits on the little tv I had in my room from the time I was 8 until I was almost 17. In more recent years (and last Monday, in fact), of course there's "X-Files," though I admit that the casting of the show had as much to do with my appreciation of it as did the storylines.

I don't think it's just that penchant, though. Fahrenheit seems scarier and closer to social reality than ever. Flat screen TVs filling up the whole wall, ear bud communicators, random shootings, shutting down all the meaningful parts of public education, shutting down critical thought, social alienation...it's all there as if it came to him in a vision, which it probably did.

Somehow by 10 or 11 the I felt that the status quo was already highly suspect, and I knew it without really grasping what it meant to have Ronald Reagan in office. Fahrenheit stirred up my sense of righteous dissent and made me think that at least a little bit of the world could be saved by committing to memory passages of great literature and scripture (which I have often felt are essentially the same, but that's a subject for another post sometime). My English teachers and professors were subsequently warriors raging against the dying of the light of independent thinking and metaphor and all forms of linguistic art. I knew they would all be locked up when the thought police took over and I hoped I'd get to go with them.

Mr. Bradbury, thanks, for Fahrenheit and Something Wicked This Way Comes and Dandelion Wine and The Martian Chronicles and so many other wonderfully weird and human stories. I will always, always love you. Even if I am taken away for having too many books, or for any other reason. And happy 86th birthday on the 22nd.

Dentist's advice

My tooth still hurts (though not like it did on Wednesday), and it seems very loose. I tracked down the emergency dentist-on-call number for my dentist's office, and lo and behold, my dentist was the emergency dentist-on-call:

Me: My molar with the crown on it has been really sore, and it's loose! I can wiggle it!

Dr. Yu: Stop wiggling it! Take (ibuprofen) and don't chew on that side. I'll be back next Wednesday.

Me: I have an appointment for Thursday. Actually I've been taking vicodin and ibuprofen and I can't bite down on it. But I'll stop wiggling.

So at least there was some therapeutic benefit to the call. She took x-rays only a month ago and nothing was wrong then, so she thinks the tooth has just been pushed around too much by the night guard (which I've ceased wearing). But if I keep up the wiggling I'm sure I'll have the darn thing out in another day or so. It's a gold crown...hmmm...the dentists don't work on Saturday but I'll bet the pawnshops are open.

Since we're on the topic

of health and run-ins with vets and doctors and dodgy dentists, I can announce that my blood pressure is 102 / 70. Not too bad. I wonder what it was when I was training for the NCAC ride. I need a new Event. Or something.

Kato update

I just talked to the vet and she says K is doing fine, though not especially happy about his urethral catheter and Elizabethan collar. He had a pretty big blockage but she said it looked like I'd caught it almost immediately after it happened...his kidney levels and so forth were still normal. Phew. I'm glad Kato waited until I got back from my vacation to have a health emergency. While my roommate is a CNA, I wouldn't expect him to monitor the kitty quite that attentively unless I let him know ahead of time that he needed to watch for something.

What's next?

(Kato, relaxed and making air biscuits, a few months ago)
I don't know if I want to know what's next, actually. My tooth is much better today after a night of no mouthgard...amazing that it could be so painful and then almost fine (I can almost chew on it again!). Whatever I would have spent on the extra dental visit will now go toward Kato's vet bill though. Last night he was sitting forever in his litter box without 'results' of any kind, and he kept getting back in again, still without success. He's never had this problem before but I know cats (especially boys) are prone to this trouble, what with their little ductworks being so little, and that it is very serious. So this morning everyone was packed in his / her respective carrier and taken to the vet. Ripley had her 14-week checkup and next round of booster shots and was pronounced healthy; Kato's bladder was the size of an orange, the vet said, and he'll be staying at the vet overnight for maybe two nights (though I'm hoping he doesn't have to stay two...it's not exactly a cheap motel). He has to be anesthetized for the, er, procedure that will unblock him. Vet said I caught it early. He wasn't showing any other symptoms of illness--no fever, no vomiting--just obviously uncomfortable.

Owwww charlie

I wish Rite Aid carried these. I think they'd work a bit better than what I'm using and the ad suggests that even little children like them. I'm having some kind of dental adventure mystery that won't begin to be solved until tomorrow at 1:45. I haven't experienced this level of pain since the morning after my knee surgery. Though I seem to be still able to blog about it and think of things to which it compares (Dustin Hoffman vs. Laurence Olivier in "Marathon Man" comes to mind) so it can't be all that bad. The toothache drops must be kickin' in.

More than the sum of our chromosomes

My first thought as I read this NY Times op-ed, "The XY Games" was resentment for the sexism behind the requirement that female athletes have to prove they are sufficiently female. As the author of the article points out, merely testing for the presence of a Y chromosome is inconclusive. It seems like the difficulty and scandal in screening out all the performance enhancing drugs and blood doping makes trying to figure out for sure who's genetically male or female not so relevant. The Greeks had an Olympic gender test too lest any girls try to sneak in. Change is a long time coming. If an athlete who knows inside he's male wants the gold so bad that he's willing to sacrifice his male privilege on the altar, goddess bless him.