And Then. . .

The sewer backed up into the guest bathroom at 10:30 last night. Essentially, my entire bath-full of water drained down from upstairs, and finding no place to escape, bubbled up from the bottom of the guestroom toilet. When I came down from my bath, I had one inch of warm bath water standing on the bathroom floor--and seeping out under the brand new wood floor in the hallway.

Plumbers are on the way to figure out what happened.

Flooring guys are on the way to see how far the water went and hopefully save part of the floor.

Uggggh.

Sooooo Frustrating

What follows is a record of my correspondence with the security department at my ISP this afternoon. This exchange took place a day after I realized that I was not receiving statement notifications from my credit card provider, and,therefore had not paid my bill since MAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Luckily for me, the credit card customer service folks took my long and excellent payment history into account and took pity on me, reversing over $200 in late fees and interest charges. However, as you will read, I have not been able to solve the problem that caused this to happen. So, back to paper statements for me. Environment be damned.

Message 1: Me to ISP security department
I've just gotten off the phone with someone at the [ISP] national help desk. He was not able to help me with my problem and suggested that I e-mail this address. Sooooo, here goes.

Recently I have stopped receiving e-mail from at least two addresses I am aware of. One of the addresses is my credit card company, who tells me that my two most recent electronic statement notifications have bounced back to them. I've received electronic statement notifications from [credit card company] for well over a year, and I have not changed my software or updated my security settings on my computer lately, so I can't understand why e-mails from them would no longer be getting to me. The last message I received from [credit card company] (NOT my statement notification) was on 6/19.

I have also apparently stopped receiving e-mails from [other organization]. I received an e-mail from this address as recently as 7/8/08, but more recently they haven't been getting through. I have no idea if they're bouncing back to the sender or disappearing.

What I DO know:
None of these messages ended up in my Anti-Spam folder or my Deleted Items folder, so the problem must be happening before the are downloading to my computer.

The [ISP] helpdesk guy had me check my webmail settings, and I do not have it set to block messages. There are messages going automatically into a junkmail folder at webmail, but as far as I can tell, they are all flagrant spam (pharmaceutical stuff, etc.).

My usage stats are fine. When we checked, this account had 0% usage, so a full mailbox on the server shouldn't be the problem.

PLEASE HELP ME. These are just the two addresses I KNOW I'm not getting mail from. I'm not even sure how to figure out if there are others. This is not acceptable--especially since it resulted in a late payment on my credit card account.

Message 2: ISP security department to me
Unfortunately, [ISP] cannot act on your request at this time because you have not supplied enough information regarding your problem. Any blocks that might be in place focus on servers and networks used to send mail, not the email address of the sender.

We invite ##BLOCKED_PARTY to direct his/her attention to the following
websites, where he/she will be able to request removal of the
affected mail server from our block list, if appropriate: [redacted]

Alternatively, he/she may reply to this message and include any error
messages received (this address refuses mail from no one, regardless of
their sending server's block status) and we will investigate the matter
further.

Thank you.

Message 3: Me to ISP security department
Now I'm getting truly frustrated.

I have NO IDEA what other information I need to supply. I'm a customer--not
the helpdesk. I was speechless when the helpdesk guy told me *I* would have to
*e-mail* another department because he couldn't help me. And now, that other
department can't act on my request because I have not supplied enough
information?

I did the best I could to describe the problem as I see it. I need somebody
to HELP ME!!!!!

Message 4: ISP security department to me
If we are blocking [credit card company], we are the department that can help.
However, as the previous message states, we need them to supply any
error messages they are receiving directly to us from them. Without
their error messages and IP's (obtained from the headers when they e-
mail us directly) we are unable to troubleshoot this issue properly.

Thank You

Message 5: Exasperated Me to ISP security department (I don't suppose I'll get a response)
Thanks for your quick reply.

I just got off the phone with tech support at [credit card company]. The guy I talked to said they are routinely blocked by major internet service providers because of the number of notifications they send out at one time. Unfortunately, while it was noted in my account that e-mail to my address had bounced back,
there is apparently no record of the specific error message they received.
So I seem to be flat out of luck. The [credit card company] tech support guys swears
you guys can fix it with just the sender's address. You tell me you can't.
and I'm just the helpless customer in the middle who is screwed because I
can't get my e-mail. . .

Although, frankly, I can't imagine why a company like [credit card company] would be
blocked. That's silly. It's not like [credit card company] is trying to trick people into buying penis enlargements or diplomas. It really irks me that the system
will block real mail from reputable senders,and yet I continue to receive countless offers to meet hot Christian single women from my neighborhood. Something is not right.

I cannot tell you how frustrated I am right now. But maybe you can sense it.

Hmmmmm. Can't figure out why there are hard returns at the end of the lines. Maybe because I copied and pasted from e-mail? Maybe I should call blogger tech support and get some help with that. Because me and tech support--we're like peanut butter and jelly. (*&^&^%$_@#@#*(@&^($*&@^$&^%*&^%

Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog

Do you like Joss Whedon? How about Nathan Fillion?

Do think Neil Patrick Harris should rule the world?

If you answered yes to any of those questions, or even if you did not, you MUST, MUST, MUST watch this.

Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog

But here's the thing. You only have until Sunday, July 20th, to watch it for free. After that it will be available for download for a nominal fee. Then, sometime later, it will be available as a DVD. Here's Whedon's explanation of his master plan for the project. Very entertaining!

I'm a Bonehead

For being relatively smart on paper, I can be pretty stupid in real life. . .

When we got home from vacation yesterday, I noticed something strange floating around in the hummingbird feeder. Closer inspection revealed that the feeder had been competely taken over by enormous red ants. I mean LOTS of BIG, FAT other-worldly critters, the likes of which I've never actually seen in my yard. Most of them were dead, but some of them were still wiggling around. So, smart cookie that I am, I took the top off the feeder and put it out on a bush in the hot sun to boil those nasty critters.

Heheheheh.

Now I have a writhing mass of bees and wasps on a bush beside my front walkway. Nobody can get in or out my front door without dodging the bees.

Oops.

Home.

Tired.

Sandy.

Satisfied.

If you asked my girls right now, they would probably tell you that one of the worst things about vacation is that sometimes we make them eat ice cream for breakfast.

Two Happy Kids and a Dog

I know. Enough with the dog pics already. It would be different if I could take a decent picture (like my friend Ann. Dang, her new dog shots are award-worthy), but I don't have the patience for it.

Nonetheless, these make me smile.

Out of the Mouth of My Babe

Last night Davy, Zoe, Mia and I were all suffering from some strange insomnia. At about 11:30 we all ended up cuddled up in my big bed talking. Ever since the girls were small we've done something we call "thankfuls" where we take turns telling what we're each thankful for. Sometimes our thankfuls are deep and meaningful, but more often they are pretty shallow and reflective of what has happened on a given day.

As you can imagine, the new dog is a current source of thankfulness among my girls. And so during Mia's turn, she said she was thankful for Mr. Pink. And Jade (the cat).
When I asked if she was thankful for Felix, her fish, she answered, "I guess I am, but he's not so much a pet as a decoration we have to feed."

Truer words are rarely spoken.

Dog Update

I know you're all waiting with baited breath (Mr. Pink sure is!) to find out how things are progressing between the dog and the cat at our house. I'm happy to report that things are definitely looking up. As soon as I realized that the cat's problem was that she was too terrified to get down the hall to her litter box and made the box more accessible to her hiding place, that problem was solved.

Now, I'm not saying our house is a feline/canine lovefest or anything, but it's tenable and getting better all the time. The cat actually spent a few hours downstairs yesterday, which is a huge change from the previous week. So, we e-mailed the folks at Blue Dog yesterday to let them know that we were 100% committed to being Pink's "forever family" (sorry for the preciousness, folks, but that's what they call it.)

We're now waiting for the adoption to be finalized.

Yay!

Well, that was . . . Interesting

The Austin Symphonic Band traditionally plays the 4th of July fireworks show in Round Rock. It's been rained out the past two years, so last night was our first Round Rock performance in some time. And it was a doozy!

Rather than the sticky, hot, still, uncomfortable weather we're used to on July 4th, last night was actually pleasant. There was a strong, cool breeze that made things unexpectedly comfortable for the audience. For the band, though, it was another matter entirely.

First, the Round Rock sound guys failed to bring wind guards for the microphones. So when we played, the mikes picked up the wind--which sounded like continunous thunder, or maybe a fighter jet circling about 20 feet overhead. But it turns out that might have been a good thing. Because with the conducter directing with one hand and holding his score down with the other, and with players' music blowing away at regular intervals if it wasn't clipped to the stand, and the STANDS blowing over if the music WAS clipped down, it was an interesting performance, to say the very least.

The good news is the fireworks ended just right during the final strain of Stars and Stripes, and when that happens, nobody remembers the rest of the music. So in the end, it was all good.

AND, we get another go tonight at Bastrop. To save our dignity, if nothing else.

But, man, that was some performance.

My Cat is Not Pleased

The new-dog-to-existing-cat introductions have not gone as smoothly as we had hoped they might. The first night seemed too good to be true. Jade (feline) and Mr. Pink (canine) met face to face, did some sniffing, and that was that. Mr. Pink proceeded into his crate to sleep, and Jade slept about 2 feet away.

Hooray, right?

Well, no.

Because the next day Mr. Pink chased Jade through the entire house exactly one time. And Jade spent the next 24 hours in Davy's closet. Emerging only to pee on our bed.

Shit.

I mean piss.

The vet believes all is not lost. I hope she's right. But remember the part where I felt that it was too good to be true? Well, duh!

Just Playing Around with an Idea

Most of you know all about Sister--the sweet, old, too big, neurotic doggy Davy and I had for years--since long before the girls came to be. You also know that she died about a year and a half ago. And it was kind of a relief. Because as much as we loved her, she had gotten old and tired, and she couldn't really muster up the energy to do anything other than bark every time the doorbell rang (which grew quite tiresome).

But being as she was around before the girls were born, Zoe and Mia grew up with a dog in the house. And while Davy and I may have quietly celebrated being relieved of the responsibilities that go along with geriatric dog ownership, the same cannot be said of our children. The "Can we get a puppy?" chorus began very shortly after a very brief period of mourning. And until very recently, the answer had remained a firm "No!" Well, the answer to "Can we get a puppy?" is still no, but we're actually considering adopting a young dog.

Behold, Mr. Pink:


On paper, he looks like a perfect dog for us: 2 years old, 17 pounds, playful and easy going. And, well, he's got an awesome name! Theoretically he's good with kids and cats, but we'll have to meet him and see.

I'll keep you posted!

Vanna, I'd like to buy W T and F, please.

This was brought to my attention by the ever-vigilant Sean. Apparently, the Associated Press wants to charge bloggers for quoting excerpts from AP stories of five words or more. AND, if you pay for the "license" to quote more than 5 words, but they don't LIKE how you use the experpt, they want to be able to revoke the license.

How can they do this? Can a media company actually make up new rules regarding how open media is used? And enforce them? For real???

For some reason I can't get my head around this at all!

A Cry For Help

It occurred to me today that there are really cool things to do around here that I've never done simply because (and this is hard to admit) I don't know how and I'm too lazy to find out.

For example, I understand that there are great places to hike along the greenbelt, but I've never done it because I don't know which areas are safe. I don't know where to get in. Where to park. Which trail to take to get to where. You get the picture.

I've walked around Town Lake maybe 5 times in the 18 years I've lived in Austin. Why only 5 times? Because I'm never quite sure where to park. I don't know which way to go once I'm in. I don't know where to cross over if I just want to walk for an hour (as opposed to circling the whole damn lake, which, I'm relatively certain, would take three days.

I've never been to Hamilton Pool and it's been years since I've been to any of the lakeside beaches. I don't know where they are and I'm too lame to figure it out.

I don't go to many festivals downtown or to free concerts at auditorium shores because I'm overwhelmed by the idea of not knowing where to park my car.

Do you see a pattern? It turns out, and I'm honestly just figuring this out, I don't try new things because I think it's going to be too complicated--not the actual activity, but the coordination of the little details that lead up to the activity. How lame is that? The funny thing is it's completely different when I'm traveling. Give me a public transportation map in strange city and I'm ready to roll. But somehow, at home, it's easier to do the same old things that I know how do do, than to leave my comfort zone to try something new.

Sooooo--here's where you come in, my friend. If there's something you do in Austin that I OUGHT to be doing, tell me about it. In fact, I'd appreciate it if, just once, you'd take me under your wing and show me the ropes. Or you can tell me where to freakin' park and I'll take it from there. I promise I'm a quick learner. I won't follow you around for the rest of your days. I'm just tired of inertia. This town is full of possibilities. I just need to get off my ass and TRY some of them.

Democracy Revitalized!

Or at least the Democratic Party? I'll be fascinated to see how things go from here.

Obama Claims Democratic Nomination

Democracy Fatigue

Honestly, I don't remember when I've ever found democracy so exhausting. How many time have we been to the polls this year? Primaries, primary run-offs, local elections, bond elections, and now this.

Early Voting Begins. . . AGAIN

You've got to be kidding me. Another election? Holy hanging chads, this democracy thing is wearing me out. I guess there IS an alternative, though. I could take our commander in chief's approach to democracy (thanks, Jake, for bringing this to my attention):

"Kick ass! If somebody tries to stop the march to democracy, we will seek them out and kill them! We must be tougher than hell! This Vietnam stuff, this is not even close. It is a mind-set. We can't send that message. It's an excuse to prepare us for withdrawal."

"There is a series of moments and this is one of them. Our will is being tested, but we are resolute. We have a better way. Stay strong! Stay the course! Kill them! Be confident! Prevail! We are going to wipe them out! We are not blinking!"

George W. Bush

Killing in the name of democracy certainly sounds like more fun than all these silly elections, no?

Untitled, by Mia Cz

Am I Raising the Aesop of the Modern Age?

You be the judge. . .

Once upon a time there lived a pig. He was a fat one. Because he loved to eat slop. "I am tired of slop!" he said. I want to try something new like BUGS! Then a CLEVER butterfly flu over head. Would you like to have lunch with me? Shur! I'd love to. Just come to the the table. What are we haveing? Butterfly! A fly with butter? Or Me? You'll see.

Editor's note: I'm not sure what makes this butterfly so "clever" (especially in all caps). I may have to check with the author and add a footnote.

Somebody at Whole Foods Is Having a Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

A Sports Post? WTF?

Mark your calendars, folks. Today is the day hell reaches 32*F (which must be why it's do damn hot up here). For I am about to post about sports.

What could have possibly inspired this shocking leap out of my don't-give-a-rat's-ass-about-sports comfort zone?

It's the Spurs, my friends. Well, technically, it's the fact that over the past two days I've either read or heard no fewer than four separate sports analysts or columnists, the most recent on this morning's Morning Edition, opining on why the Spurs are such an unpopular team. You see, living in Austin, with two pretty serious Spurs fans in my home, and being admittedly quite ignorant regarding all things sporty, I had no idea that the Spurs weren't universally loved. I guess I assumed, based on their record and demeanor, that they were like the Dallas Cowboys of basketball or something. But it turns out that's not the case. It turns out, in fact, that people hate them.

So, why are the Spurs so disliked among American sports fans? You might assume it's because they continue to kick everyone else's butts, despite the fact that they're so old (I guess basketball counts in dog years or something). But that's not it! According to the experts (Or at least the sports media--are they experts? I really don't know how this works.), people don't like the Spurs because they're not flashy enough. Because they don't get in trouble off the court. Because they treat basketball like a job and they go to work and do their jobs well. Because they behave like good sports on and off the court. Because the players get along and don't air their disagreements in the media. Because there's no Rodman or Kobe or Shaq to simultaneously rile up and engage the sympathy of the masses.

Essentially what these people are saying is that Americans don't like the Spurs because they seem to be decent people who do their jobs well and choose not to make public asses of themselves.

Shit, that makes them my favorite team regardless of their record. And regardless of the fact that I don't have favorite sports teams. . .

Here ends my one and only sports post.

Grrrrr. Flooring Update

Well yesterday started off with a bang. The work crew arrived early and immediately set to work moving furniture, ripping out carpet, removing tack-strip, and demolishing the tile facade around the fireplace. They hauled it all away and even got started laying the wood in my office.

Today started off well, too. One (out of three) guy arrived at the agreed upon time and started working. He soon finished the office--and that's when things screeched to a halt. Guy Number Two was out picking up the quarter-round, so Guy Number One couldn't move ahead. Then Guy Number Two finally got here and they cut the quarter-round for the room. Then, suddenly, they had to go back to the store. Both of them. That took forever, during which time I could not leave the house because they hadn't taken a key. The finally reappeared, slapped on some floaty cementy looking stuff to smooth the ripped up dryway around the fireplace, and then, lo, it was lunchtime.

They've been gone for a long time now. Long enough for me to go to the bank, go to Target, have lunch, get home, and stew for a while.

NOTHING is happening today. On top of that, I haven't gotten shit for work done and now I have to go to school for a volunteer appreciation shindig of some sort.

I'm annoyed. Can you tell?

Dread vs. Reality

You know how when you're really dreading something, it generally turns out that you end up expending more energy worrying about the event in question than on the dreaded event itself?

Well, this isn't one of those times.

We're having some work done on our house tomorrow (smelly dog carpets OUT, lovely wood floors IN) and while the work crew is going to *move* our furniture, we have to empty it of its breakable and/or heavy contents. I'm talking about the china cabinet in the dining room, the entertainment center and bookcases in the den, and worst of all, the bookcases, desks, hutches, and filing cabinets in our office.

So we started a couple of hours ago. The china cabinet was a piece of cake. The stuff in the den wasn't too bad, either. But the office is going to kill me. This room is PACKED with crap. I started to itemize it for you, but I had to stop and delete the list because it's just so demoralizing.

Those of you who have been in my house--does it strike you as being full of crap and clutter? Until today, I didn't think so. I thought we were doing okay. I was WRONG. WE HAVE TOO MUCH STUFF.

This day sucks.

(Oh yeah. And Davy's sick in bed. And the girls are determined to "help" me by washing my car.)

AGHGHGHGHGHGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHh.

Help! I think PETA may be after me!

You may or may not know about Felix. Felix is a betta fish who has lived with us for so long, none of us can remember exactly how long we've had him. We *think* he's about three years old, which is probably something like 314 in $1 pet-store fish years. He lives happily (it seems) in a large cylindrical vase (stolen from Sara's wedding centerpiece--thanks, Sara) on the bar between the living room and the kitchen.

Somehow, during the time our German friend Jenny was living with us last year, Jenny and Felix really bonded--maybe because she fed him everyday (we, um, sometimes forget). And unbelievable as it may sound, it seemed that Felix started to recognize Jenny. He would swim up to meet her (and only her) each time she walked by his bowl. We were all a bit concerned about Felix when Jenny left us last June. Would he notice? Would his little fishy heart break? Would he die of starvation when the rest of us forgot to feed him?

Well, none of that happened. Surprisingly, Felix is still with us, and although he isn't as spry as he used to be, he seems to be hale and healthy.

So, when Jenny turned 18 last week (Happy Birthday!) a betta seemed like a perfect gift, but not one that seemed practical to ship overseas. I enlisted a friend of hers to do the local footwork for me, and on Friday, the installation was completed. Anna had procured a lovely bowl, some fish gravel, a live plant, some food, and a lovely blue betta for Jenny. She named him "Mr. Maroo" after the mascot at Austin High School. And mother and little fish seem to be doing swimmingly.

Only Mr. Maroo doesn't seem to like his food that much. So today Jenny visited her local fish store to see what her options are. And the fish store guy told her that keeping a betta fish in a bowl (as opposed to an aquarium) is illegal in Switzerland*. WTF? Why would that be? What am I missing? Just think about the grocery bags--that took me 18 years to understand. What if I'm torturing Felix and I don't even know it?

*Incidentally, I know I said Jenny was German and then went on to write about the legalities of betta ownership in Switzerland. She lives on the border. It's complicated. . .

Well, hell!

Unfortunately, due to a scheduling conflict by the City of Austin, the Austin Symphonic Band's Mother's Day concert at Zilker Park has been cancelled. And somebody owes the ASB a huge apology.

Dinner Guests

Last night, as part of teacher appreciation week, we had Mia's teacher and her two sons over for dinner. The boys are younger than my girls (2 and 4), so Zoe and Mia were given the task of entertaining them and keeping them out of trouble. At some point, Zoe took 4-year-old Esai out back to teach him how to make crowns out of vines and flowers. I overheard her explaining to him, "I know it's not a very boy thing to do, but it will come in handy when you're in high school and you go on a picnic with a girl."

It makes me wonder where she's getting her information!

Mia, for her part, showed the 2 year old how to play darts.

Sigh.

Because I'm So Green

Way back when I was living in Germany, some 18-20 years ago (yikes!), I was stunned by the fact that grocery stores made customers pay for plastic bags. It wasn't much--something like 5 Pfennig per bag, but it baffled this consumer-driven American. I simply couldn't believe that the bags cost the stores enough that passing their cost directly down to the consumer was worth the loss in "customer good will" or whatever we call it.

I didn't get it.

Pie-eyed and liberal as I was, I didn't understand that it wasn't about profit. It was about environmental responsibility. The stores were charging for the bags to deter customers from using them unless they absolutely had to (duh!). Most shoppers brought their own bags and baskets to carry their items home.

I guess it took a couple of years for the concept to sink in, but I'm proud to report that today I did a whole week's worth of grocery shopping and did not use a single plastic bag. I've been shopping with reusable bags for some time now, but the produce has been my sticking point. I've long stuck the produce label to directly to a bunch of bananas or an individual watermelon, but I was still using the store-provided plastic bags for bulk items like green beans, or for multiple items, like 5 apples. But that all changed today when I used my reusable cotton produce bags for the first time. The checker at my HEB had never seen them before, which kind of surprised me. For, although Circle C/Legend Oaks is certainly NOT central Austin and my HEB, fancy as it is, is no Whole Foods, lots of people here do use reusable bags. I'm surprised to be one of the first to find the produce bags.

Anyway, I walked out of HEB today feeling quite virtuous. Until I climbed into my minivan and turned the key. . . Baby steps, right?

In honor of my impressive green-ness, I offer you the following link, which was brought to my attention by the ever fabulous Jake.

Green Porn by Isabella Rossellini

This is absolutely worth watching.

Ignore this post

I have to post some blurry pictures here so someone can help me figure out what I'm doing wrong. The rest of you can go about your business (unless you know why my candid, group, indoor, far-away photos are all coming out blurry with my new camera--in which case feel free to speak up).

Now, carry on. . .

The Artist and Her Work

You might remember this post from a couple of weeks ago about Mia's artwork earning a space in the district-wide art show downtown. Well, we went, and it was interesting and fun. It was pretty cool to see that much student art in one space--as well as many of the artists (most of whom were far more interested in rolling down the grassy hill outside than viewing the art inside). I finally got around to uploading the images from my camera, and for those of you who weren't able to make the show, I am proud to present to you. . . Mia and her Pink Flower:

I'm Getting a New Toy

I (and a couple hundred thousand of my closest friends) have been doing word-of-mouth marketing for an outfit called BzzAgent for a couple of years now. Periodically they'll send out an e-mail announcing a new campaign and ask if I want to take part. Then they send me a "product experience" (free stuff) to try and sometimes some samples and coupons to share with friends. Then I'm supposed to talk about the product, share what I like and don't like about it with people I know--to create "buzz."

Over the course of the last two years, I've taken part in some very cool campaigns (Storyville Coffee, Sonicare Toothbrush, and LypSyl lip balm have been some of my favorites) and a couple of clunkers (which I will leave nameless). They've all been interesting, and it's been kind of cool to get to try things out, sometimes before they've hit the market, and to introduce friends and family to brand new products.

But I've just signed on to the best campaign yet. At least I'm hopeful that it will be. In a few days I should be receiving my very own Logitech Harmony One Advanced Universal remote control. WOOT!



You can PRETEND you're not jealous, but I know you are. And yes, I know that NONE of the other universal remote controls that we've ever tried has actually worked. Either they haven't been able to control all our components (stereo's too old; dvd player's too new. . .) OR they've been able to turn one component on and off and control the volume on another, but never all the functions for any one component. But THIS time it's going to be different. This baby's going to do the trick. And if it doesn't, it'll be no skin off my back because it's free, free, free.

I'll keep you posted. . . whether you want to be or not!

Somebody Check My Math

So, this guy in Japan gets busted at work for logging 780,000 porn hits on his work computer over 9 months.

Japan: 780,000 porn site hits earns demotion

Unless I'm confused, that works out to 86,667 hits a month. That's 2889 hits a day (and I'm even giving the guy some leeway here, because I divided the month into 30 days instead of calculating for a five- or six-day workweek.) Assuming an 8 hour work day, that's 361 hits an hour or (drumroll, please) 6 porn hits a minute--every single minute this guy was at work. And nobody even noticed because "the desks are set apart."

Huh? Admitedly, I don't "get" porn. But I really, really don't get this. On so many different levels. . .

Free Concert at Zilker Park

The Austin Symphonic Band will be performing a free concert at Zilker Park's Hillside Theater on Sunday, May 11 at 7:00 p.m. If the weather's nice, it's a great opportunity to come sit on the hillside and enjoy an evening of live symphonic band music. I know several of you have kids who are starting band next year. Bring them out for a listen.

For more information, including our playlist for the concert, check out our website at www.asband.org

For Jake

Absinthe's Mind-Altering Mystery Solved

Moving on to Less Controversial Topics. . .

Poll: Bullshit Is Most Important Issue For 2008 Voters

Editorial Disclaimer

So, it turns out some of you may have found my previous post disturbing. And for all the wrong reasons. What was SUPPOSED to be disturbing was the fact that women are risking their lives for bizarre cosmetic procedures. BUT NOOOOOOOOO. Some of you are disturbed by the fact that I have labia. And that I admitted it. And that my husband seems to know about them.

Actually, I believe the real misunderstanding stems from my reference to the attention paid by my husband to the aforementioned body part. And I'll admit that it could be easily misread. My point was not that that he no longer pays them any attention, but rather that he no longer paid them any CRITICAL attention. Like my earlobes, you know? They're the same earlobes my husband has known for the past 18 years. They are what they are. They're not exceptionally beautiful earlobes. They're not unattractive earlobes. They're just my earlobes. And they serve their purpose. THAT's what I meant.

P.S., You're a goofball! (And yes, I'm talking to YOU.)

Wow! Have women ALWAYS been this messed up?

As a continuation to yesterday's (day before yesterday's? I don't know, the days all blur together somehow) theme, I offer you the following article from Glamour. This is admitedly not a magazine I read, but somehow this article ended up on my MSNBC homepage.

You want a prettier what?!


Now I understand that beauty ideals evolve and devolve over time, but why is it that so many women today are willing to risk everything to acheive more "beauty"? And in such seemingly silly ways? Shorten your toes? Remove your belly button? Reduce the size of your labia?? Yes, it's been a LONG LONG LONG time since anyone other than my husband has seen them (and, frankly, it's been a long time since my husband paid them any critical attention), but I can't think of a single intimate situation in which a partner reacted positively or negatively to the size of my labia. Maybe it was the era, maybe it was the guys I was with, but I think they were, without exception, pleased to have access to labia in general.

But my real question is this. How do I save my daughters from this? How can I, as their mother, protect them from a world full of images that could lead one of them to think she "has to" fix her pointy elbows, or reshape her flat shins or take some other similarly ridiculous surgical measure to repair a feature of her body that is quite perfect as it is?

My Beautiful Mommy

This book showed up on a forum I frequent and I find it more than a little disturbing.

Apparently, this fancy schmancy plastic surgeon, Michael Salzhauer, M.D wrote it to help kids cope with mommy's plastic surgery: "Dr. Michael Salzhauer, a renowned plastic surgeon, wrote My Beautiful Mommy to help patients explain their transformation to their children. The story guides children through Mommy's surgery and healing process in a friendly, nonthreatening way."

That's all fine and good, I guess (well, other than the cover art, which is, frankly, AWFUL). But what I want to know is where I can buy a copy of the book My Short Chubby Mommy: She May Not Be Beautiful and She Has No Business Wearing Low-Rider Jeans, But She Loves Me, Protects Me, Gets Me Where I Need to Be, and Plays with Me Every Single Day. I think my girls might need some friendly, nonthreatening help learning to cope with ME.

A Whole 'Nother Country

The kids in Zoe's class are working on a social studies research project. Their assignment is to create a poster about a country. Zoe chose Germany (Hi, Jenny!). Today she asked me to drop by her classroom so I could see how it was coming along. I looked at her poster and then glanced at the work of some of her classmates. One child had chosen Iraq. Another was researching Italy. There was France, Tunesia, Ireland, Mexico, Egypt, and Louisiana.

Louisiana?!?

I caught the teacher's eye and we exchanged grins. It turns out she grew up in the New Orleans area. She knows as well as I do that Louisiana is in fact a whole 'nother country.

And Then There Was Nothing

Last week I had Things To Say. This week--nothing.

How can that be?

Perhaps I used up all my brain power working on puns for my imaginary Catholic stand-up routine. And if you don't know what the hell I'm talking about, consider yourself one of the lucky ones.

Anyway, I'm still here. We're still busy. It seems we've entered the crazy-busy last weeks of school early this year. . .

As much as I'm NOT looking forward to the heat of the summer, I sure am looking forward to not getting up at 6:25 and rushing around like a crazy chicken all day long.

And the Honors Keep Rolling In

As much as I don't want to turn this space into a virtual bragbook of my children's accomplishments, we've had a full week of honors at the Cz house this week, and I'm pretty much bursting with pride. Not to be outdone by Zoe's essay award last week, Mia brought home this note today.

To the parents of Mia Cz,
I am pleased to inform you that your child's art work has been selected for exhibit in the 2008 Student Art Show of the Austin Independent School District. Outstanding art work of students in kindergarten through grade twelve will be on display at Once Congress Plaza, 111 Congress Avenue, from April 4 - April 21, 2008.
. . .
You can take pride in the excellent, creative work that your child has done in art class, and in this recognition of his or her achievement.

Mia is pretty stoked, to say the least. She can't wait for the exhibit opening on Sunday.

In other news, Zoe had her first bass guitar lesson today. She LOVED it. We'll have to see how she feels about practicing every day. . .

How in the world did Davy and I end up with these amazing little people????

Ridiculous Household Mishaps

While today's episode is admittedly no match for "Robyn Blows Out Candle Too Forcefully and Splashes Hot Wax in Eyes" in terms of danger and pain, "Robyn Opens Coffee Grinder Too Soon and Covers Entire Kitchen in a Rich, Aromatic Dust" ranks right up there on the basis of sheer stupidity.

What a mess.

News Flash

Oak pollen makes me grumpy.

Shostakovich, Prokofiev, and Tschesnokoff, Oh My!

The Austin Symphonic Band has a concert coming up on 4/12: "From Russia with Love and More" The title may not just roll off the tongue, but the music is good. And I even have a teeny, tiny little solo in a Frank Ticheli piece. Yeah me!

Here's a link to the relevant info: http://www.asband.org/

If you're interested, let me know and I can get you some tickets.

How to Get Money from a Giant Grocery Bag

Zoe had a big day yesterday! During the weekly assembly at school, she was awarded two $25 gift cards by a big fuzzy grocery bag. Our neighborhood HEB sponsored an essay contest for second graders, which Zoe won with her fabulous essay entitled "Nutrition" (catchy, no?).

It's possible that her grandfather and her first-grade teacher stuffed the ballot box, but who's to say? Either way, she was proud as could be. And so was I. Especially when she returned to her classroom and gave her teacher one of the gift cards "because I think you buy a lot of supplies for our class with your own money." Her teacher and I were both stunned.

After school, Zoe and I hit HEB and threw caution to the wind. She spent her bank in one shot.
* grown-up scissors
* a battery-powered pencil sharpener
* a 64 pack of crayons
* a lipstick for Mia
* a bookmark
* a lucky bamboo plant
* a box of yellow cake mix
* a tub of chocolate frosting

Then we came home and she baked a layer cake (pretty much) all by herself.

I tell you, it was a big day for an 8-year-old!

Nutrition
Nutrition is an important part of eating right. Fruits and vegetables play a big part in nutrition. If you'd ever herd of a food pyramid, that's balnced nutrition. Eating right isn't all you have to do to stay healthy. There's exercise to but that's a nother S.A.* Balenced nutrition is five servings of fruits and vegetables, two meats, a tad of oils, some oats or grains, and starches. If you didn't have a balnced nutrition, body fat would bild up and you would get fat.

* editor's note: This is my favorite part of the whole essay (or should I say "S.A."?).

It's All About What We Feed Our Children

It just occurred to me yesterday that this presidential election is the one my kids will remember. They'll be seven and eight when our next president is elected, and they're already very cognizant of the campaigns. They understand that we've never had a female president or a black president, and for that reason alone, they're fascinated by the possibilities. Zoe says she's vote for Obama. I don't know if that's because she knows I'd prefer Obama, or because she likes the timber of his voice. I do know that she can recognize his voice in under three syllables. I turned on the radio in the car yesterday and I changed the station as soon as I realized it was a news report so I wouldn't have to listen to the girls complaining. But as soon as I pushed the button, Zoe said "Go back, Mama. That was Obama!" I was surprised, especially since, in the less than two seconds the radio had been on that station, I hadn't processed who was speaking.

Mia, on the other hand, supports Clinton. She thinks we need a girl president. She's all about the girl-power, I guess. And being somewhat less emotionally needy than her big sister, I suppose she's able to look past Hillary's slightly prickly demeanor.

Also telling, neither one is talking about McCain. Perhaps because he's already been annointed as the Republican canditate and his name just doesn't come up as much. Or perhaps it's because they don't hear US talking abut him--although I'm fairly certain we do, just not nearly as much as the others.

That being said, I'd like to quote yesterday's post from an online acquaintance (a totally one-sided acquaintance--he's my owl-cam guru, and he also maintains a blog) describing his observations of another local child about Mia's age. I do not believe his post requires any additional commentary.

That's Not Politics, Lady

I walked into my neighborhood pharmacy this afternoon to collect a prescription. Standing ahead of me, picking up a prescription of her own, was a woman and her young son. The woman had red hair in quantity and she was dressed in a manner that made me think of her as middle- or upper-middle class, which wouldn't be uncommon in the area. Her son was, perhaps, five years old. The pharmacist behind the counter was asking her for a signature. The woman paused just long enough that the pharmacist began to explain, but the woman cut her off, saying "I understand; it's so I won't use it like crack cocaine." The woman laughed loudly at her own humor.

I stood there reflecting to myself that the woman had no idea what she was talking about, and that the sudden, specific reference to crack cocaine was odd, in any case. Apparently, however, the reference was familiar to her son, who promptly began speaking animatedly: "Yes, Mommy wants McCain. Mommy doesn't want that other one. That sea-monkey. Do you, Mommy?"

The woman, now angry, told her son: "Not now! I am not going to discuss politics in a pharmacy."

I can only assume from the context that "sea-monkey" was a reference to Senator Obama specifically, and to black people in general. I stood there lost for words, but convinced that when such a viewpoint was expressed in front of me, I had some obligation to stand up and say that it was wrong, lest my silence be taken for some level of sympathy with the viewpoint, thereby bolstering it. Unfortunately, I couldn't think of a single useful thing to say. The best I managed was a glare at her when she turned to leave.

As is usually the case, the right words came to me shortly after they were of no use to me – while I was walking through the parking lot. Since they weren't said when they were needed, I'll at least say them here: "That's not politics, lady, that's racism."

That woman makes me fear for my state and nation of today. Her son makes me fear for their future. Though started-off in the moral and intellectual dead-end of racism, in the long run the boy has the potential, and the responsibility (shared by us all), to think his way through the errors of our personal and collective past. Good luck, kid. The great state of Texas and our United States are depending on people like you to further their redemption.

Lexical Bling-Bling

Linguist Jeff Nunberg broadcast this commentary about the life and language of William F. Buckley earlier this month on Fresh Air. I never had much of an opinion of Buckley one way or the other. He seemed like a smart guy, but he might have slightly overplayed his hand with the Big Impressive Words. And besides that, he was a (ahem) Conservative. Nonetheless, this line toward the end of Nunberg's commentary made me giggle. And I could easily apply it to any number of writers that I edit on a regular basis: "His penchant for lexical bling-bling helped make him a cultural personage, but it also left him a lesser writer than his gifts might have allowed him to become."

Heheh. That's a good one. "Lexical bling-bling." I'm totally stealing it.

Tonight I Shattered My Daughter's World

It started out simply enough. A kid on the bus had told Zoe that Santa and the Easter Bunny aren't real. "But they are, aren't they, Mama?" she said. "I know because you wouldn't lie to me."

"Oh shit," I thought to myself. I was prepared to continue with the subterfuge until she played the lying card. But that was serious. You can't continue to lie to your child after she calls you on it. I just sort of stared at her, frozen in indecision.

"They are real, right?" she tried again.

I had to make a choice, and quick.

"The spirit of Santa is definitely real," I said, pleased with myself for my quick thinking.

"But the presents, Mama. Who brings the presents? It's not like YOU'RE putting the gifts in the stockings and hiding Easter eggs. . ." Her eyes filled with tears as she realized what she was saying.

And really, things went downhill from there. Zoe cried like her whole world had been ripped apart. I was hoping the realization that she was in on the big grown-up secret would make her feel better. But no. She simply took a mental inventory of everything Santa had ever given her, and the memory of each special gift was like a punch in the gut. I haven't seen that child cry that hard in a L O N G time.

And all that misery was brought to her by ME.

I need a really strong drink . . . or a time machine. If we could just go back to 8:03 tonight, everything would be fine.

From My Ivory Tower

I'm going to post this image (stolen from Sean) even though I know it makes me look like a snotty elitist snob. And maybe I am. It is possible this poor woman is the nicest woman walking the Earth. But still. . .


Allison--I think you should post this to your neighborhood's listserve. . .

A WhoWhat?

Yesterday I met the father of one of Zoe's friends for the first time. He'd been out of town for the last two months, and he'd just gotten back to Austin. He surprised his daughter by showing up at school for lunch, and we chatted for a few minutes while we waited for our kids to get settled in the cafeteria. It turns out he's a millwright. Anyone who knows what a millwright is, raise your hand.

Yeah. I'd never heard of it either. Turns out Zoe's Friend's Dad travels around the country moving, assembling, and maintaining heavy equipment at construction sites. There's an interesting entry regarding the history of millwrighting(?) millwrightery(?) at Wikipedia: Millwright job description.

Discovering things like this fascinates me. You get to a point in your life (let's call it 40), when you have a pretty good feel for the world around you--at least the little piece of it you inhabit. You sort of know what jobs there are--even if you don't know specifics about them. And then something like this--millwright--flies out of left field and smashes you in the face. How the heck had it never even occurred to me that highly-skilled people have to get that stuff where it needs to be and make sure it works?

Honestly, my ignorance astounds me.

Millwright!

That's your word of the day.

TLC

The best thing about Kashi's Oatmeal Dark Chocolate TLC Tasty Little Cookies isn't that they're made with all natural ingredients. It's not the 3 grams of fiber or the 7 grams of whole grains. It's certainly not the fact that they taste remarkably like hamster bedding with chunks of dark chocolate.

Nope. The very best thing about Kashi's Oatmeal Dark Chocolate TLC Tasty Little Cookies is that you can leave them out on the counter for a week, and they'll taste exactly the same as they did when they came fresh out of the wrapper.

I think perhaps the word "tasty" has a meaning I'm not aware of. I must consult my Oxford English Dictionary toot sweet!*

BLECH.

* Yes. I know that's not right. But I don't have a clue how to spell it in French (?) and I like the way it looks this way. In fact, I've just decided that if I ever become a roller derby queen or a burlesque star, I'll make "Toot Sweet" my stage name. . .

The Primary Thing

Today, for the first time ever in my 6-days-shy-of 40 years, I voted in a primary. Technically I early voted in a primary, since the Texas primaries are scheduled for March 4th. But I had to drop by Randall's for some milk and there they were.

I actually only voted in one of the elections on the ballot. I figure people more informed than I can choose the candidates to run in the races I don't know anything about. I'll educate myself between March and November, and I'll be ready to vote the full ballot then.

A funny conversation took place as I was paying for my milk after I voted. The cashier looked at my "I voted" sticker and said, "Is this the real election? Or is it just the . . ." Her voice faded off as she searched for the right word.

"Primaries," I said, and she nodded. "There seem to be an awful lot of people voting in the primaries," I said.

"Yeah, well I haven't," said the cashier. "I'm not even registered."

"Well, get registered!" I said, with optomistic enthusiasm.

"No," she said, "It was a personal decision not to." Her tone of voice was clearly meant to convey that she had solid ideaolgical reasons for abdicating her democratic right (responsibility?).

But what the hell? This woman (in her mid-20s, I'd guess) opened the conversation by letting it be known that wasn't informed enough to know for sure what the gobs of people were coming into the store to vote for, but somehow she was so disenchanted with the democratic process that she had made a conscious and informed choice not to register.

Well, I guess that's one less dumb person voting.

Oh crap. Did I say that out loud???

Sometimes my job is funny.

Take today. I'm working on state assessment preparation for New York, Georgia, Pennsylvania, and Texas. I'm editing passages and test items designed to practice and review specific elementary reading and writing skills as outlined by each state. Let me tell you, this is some dry, dry, dry stuff. But most of the writers I edit are outstanding. They can write quality passages and valid item within parameters that would paralyze most mortals. But every now and again they start to lose it.

Today has been one of those days.

This morning a writer submitted a 6th grade fable in which a rooster character was named "Cock." Thankfully, the cat character was named "Cat."

A few hours later, I received this gem of a passage:

Last week we held a meeting. As the unlikely leader of the group, I was in charge of getting the volunteers back on track. I prepared this speech before the meeting, and then read it to the group of volunteers.
“I know I don’t need to remind you again. Forming this group is likely very important to you. If we don’t follow the rules exactly, we risk being intermingled with those other groups. Now, I know there are a lot of boxes to unwrap. But if you get started now, it shouldn’t take too long. Once the boxes are open, you’ll be able to move on to the next task. You have to comb through the papers inside to find out if there are any preexisting groups like ours. You know, likeminded groups that have already been approved.”

I understand all the words, but I can't even begin to fathom what the writer was thinking about when composing this piece.

I think it's time to turn off the computer and call it a day.

EVOL

To shoot this short film, the director had the two lead actors do their roles in reverse. Then he reversed the film so the main characters are moving one way and the whole rest of the world is moving backwards. I think it's beautiful, even though I can't quite get my head around it.

I'm so happy there are people in this world who can surprise me with this kind of whimsy. It's like a poem on film. I love it. (Which means I must have a mushy sentimental side after all. . .)

Are you listening "Super" delegates?

My die-hard conservative daddy--the one who, to the best of my knowledge, has voted Republican since he voted for Reagan when I way yea' high--told me something interesting today. He's worked out his voting plan.

If McCain gets the Republican nomination (which seems inevitable at this point) and Obama gets the Democratic nomination, he's voting Dem.

However, McCain is the Republican and if Hillary Clinton takes the Democratic nomination, he'll vote Pub.

Interesting, no?

A Stupid Vent--feel free to skip this one

Those of you who know me well know that I love to give gifts. I truly enjoy choosing gifts for people I care about, and I'll often see something perfect for someone and have to wait months for the appropriate opportunity to give it to them. Maybe I do it because it's so hard for me to say how I feel--and this is an easier way to show people they're important to me and that I care enough about them to think about what they would really enjoy, or what would make them laugh, or what they need and don't even know it.

I *KNOW* that not everyone sees gift giving the same way I do. In fact many of the people I know and love actually find it to be an unwelcome obligation.

So, these are my disclaimers. I get that I'm a freak, and I get that you might not derive as much pleasure from choosing a gift for me as I do for you. I'm cool with that. I really, truly am.

But what I'm NOT cool with is somebody asking me what I would like for, let's say, an upcoming birthday. And asking me again. And asking me again, more insistently. And then, once I've finally come up with something out of sheer guilt, deriding me because what I suggest isn't something they would want or because it's not "special" enough. Are you kidding me? They why the hell not just get me what YOU want to get me? Or get me nothing. Or donate some money to a charity in my name and be done with it. Really! Any of those options are PERFECTLY fine with me! But don't freaking put me down after you've been on my ass for a month just so you can check me off your to-do list.

It occurred to me today. What I *really* want for my 40th birthday is for you to stop riding me about what I want for my birthday. Just be nice to me. THAT's what I want for my birthday.

Now, if only I could figure out how to get that message out to the right person.

Heavy sigh.

News Flash

One of the hardest things about freelancing is forcing yourself to work when you just don't wanna.

And in other breaking news. . .
Working out isn't fun.

These earth-shattering revelations are being brought to you by cedar and heavy winds. Because they have apparently sapped me of the will to get off my ass and do anything.

Martin Luther King, Jr.
by Mia

For homework (which she conveniently forgot to tell me about until after dinner the night before it was due), Mia had to write a short essay about a famous American. Mia selected MLK and wrote her "essay" based on her prior knowlege.

Martin Luther King jr. is a vayery good man. He died in 1968. He was a good man because he led many marches. And his bigist one was the march for the colerd peple and the wight peple to have pece!

How sweet is that?

(Editing to add--"1968" was not part of Mia's prior knowledge. She asked Davy for the year MLK died.)

What Would YOU Do?

I need to learn how to do a poll. I'm sure blogger has a tool for it, but I don't know where to find it.

But we can still do a poll without the fancy graphics, right? We're all well educated here. We can add up the 3-4 votes in our heads and interpret the results on our own. Yeah. That's right. We don't need no stinking automatic poll thingy.

So here's the question. . .

Assume you are having an instant message chat with a friend. Someone you know-in real life, not just online. Let's say this person is a good friend with a questionable sense of humor. So, in the middle of said IM chat, good friend sends you a hyperlink. Then, in the next line, good friend says "Don't click that link." Next line: "Really. I mean it. Don't click that link."

What do you do? Do you click the link? Be honest now. And if you're reading this but you don't ever comment for some reason or other, tell me in person. I need a good statistical representation. Because, well, I just do.

I Don't Know About This

According to a report on KXAN, Austin is one of the 20 most romantic cities in the United States. Based on what, you ask? Well, apparently Amazon.com compiled the list based on the sale of romance novels and relationship books. Austin is #18 on a list that includes Cambridge, Irvine, and Ann Arbor.

It doesn't take much in the way of critical thinking skills to see that they've drawn the wrong conclusion. If these cities were so damn romantic, why would people be buying romance novels and relationship books?

Seems to me, at least based on Amazon's criteria, this would indicate that Austin is actually one of the LEAST romantic cities in America, or one of the least romantically successful.

Or--and I'm going out on a limb here-- MAYBE people who live in Austin (and Cambridge, Irvine, and Ann Arbor) buy a lot of books from Amazon.com in general. But that doesn't make for a very sexy headline. . .

LOL!

So, I'm proof reading a work-related document for the husband, which is kind of funny, because I understand very little in it. But lo! Here's something I didn't know!! My very own brilliant husband is the GeT SME in the IBM GNA.

Who knew?

Also Interesting

Me: Why don't you ever read my blog?
Husband: You never sent me the URL.
Me: You never asked for it.
Husband: I figured if you wanted me to read it, you'd send me a link.
Me: I figured if you were interested, you'd ask.

Hhhhhhhhhhhhhhmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.

Interesting. . .

This afternoon I ran my dad, a moderate-to-conservative Republican, through the questions of the candidate matching quiz that I posted a few days ago. As I asked the questions, I realized that the survey is very, very biased toward Democrats. In many cases there was no answer he could get behind at all and the "Republican" answer was almost always phrased in a way that was blatantly negative. But Daddy did his best, and came out with an 81% match with Hillary Clinton.

Believe me when I tell you---if there is one candidate that my father would NEVER, EVER, EVER vote for, it is Hillary Clinton.

He had a good sense of humor about it though. And he surprised me with a few of his answers--most specifically his support of the legalization of marijuana. I read the question twice because I thought he had misunderstood the answer choices. But no.

So now I'm asking myself: Who was that man in my house this afternoon?

Andrew Olmstead

This is the last post of a U.S. soldier who kept a blog for the Rocky Mountain News. He wrote this entry and asked a friend to post it in the case of his death.

It's worth the five minutes it will take you to read it.

Wow.

www.andrewolmstead.com

Who the Hell is Chris Dodd?

I answered a few questions about current issues at gotoquiz.com 2008 Presidential Candidate Matching Quiz. The answers matched me up with the following candidates according to how I feel about the issues.

I'm stunned to see Giuliani at the top of my list of Republicans. I'm not sure how that can be. Other than that, and the fact that I have no idea who Chris Dodd is, these results make sense.

P.S. Sorry about the blue font. It imported that way and I'm too lazy to figure out how to make it more readable.

84% Chris Dodd
84% Barack Obama
82% Hillary Clinton
81% John Edwards
78% Joe Biden
77% Bill Richardson
74% Mike Gravel
73% Dennis Kucinich
52% Rudy Giuliani
45% John McCain
35% Mitt Romney
34% Mike Huckabee
29% Tom Tancredo
27% Ron Paul
23% Fred Thompson

My family is CRAZEEEEEE

The following is an excerpt from an e-mail I got from a near relative. Believe it or not, it was part of a Christmas greeting. I love said relative, but let's just say we stand on very different sides of the political fence. He frequently regails me with new ideas and theories he has picked up from talk radio. Sometimes I'll take the bait and rebut, but more often I just let it go.

But I don't even know what to make of this one. For what it's worth, I've changed the names of his wife and daughters. "Alice" is the wife, "Suzi" is the 15-year-old daughter, and "Monica" is the 22-year-old daughter.

Taxi driver in San Diego yesterday morning was a "Political refugee" from some "Small Shad-Like country" Elytra?? in Africa,
He is one of the thousands that I question , worry about and let Suzi know she needs to worry when in large cities. He has been here since 1986 and before the priest signed his U S Immigration documents he had been in the "War' of that nation since 1970" had both parents and siblings murdered and burned; joined the "Rebel forces' and was a "Killing Machine" my interpretation of 50 questions he answered for me killing anyone his rebel leaders told him to kill prior to him being 20 years old. Back in his day there was no DOPE just guns and blood!
He was the third African, one Eithopian, one Sudanese and him all have been allow in the country since 1986, two from "Rebel armies"
That is one very simple reason I pick up my "Concealed weapon permit" tomorrow cause I have already done the first coarse, as Monica and Alice have, and plan to do 8 courses!

What the hell is that supposed to mean? Lordy. Methinks he forgot to take his crazy meds. . . Best I can tell, he's using an African immigrant taxi driver, who has apparently been in this country legally since 1986, as his justification for needing to carry a concealed weapon. But I can't be entirely sure.

And what, exactly, does "DOPE" have to do with any of it?

God help us all.

Fuck you, Rubik. And your damn cube.

Davy and I had a great time in Chicago. The weather was unseasonably warm while we were there and our hotel accomodations were AMAZING. I simply can't recommend the Palmer House Hilton highly enough--especially the executive level in the towers. It was fantastic!

My mom stayed in Austin to take care of the girls while we were gone, and they seem to have had a great time with minimal meltdowns, although that is surprising considering how much they did while we were gone.

Unfortunately, Mom took them to see Santa while we were away, which is always a disaster in the making after wishes have already been communicated and accomodated. But, well, what are you going to do?

Both girls had previously asked for Nintendo DS's and a couple of other small items, all of which had been purchased and prepared for Christmas Eve. But, as always happens when you let a child talk to Santa right before Christmas, they came up with some new ideas on Santa's lap.

In addition to the Nintendo DS, a certain Webkinz, and a skateboard, Mia suddenly developed a desperate need for a "real" magic wand. Can you imagine the havok that would be wrought if Santa were to go around giving out real magic wands? Oy ve. We pointed out that it could be very dangerous if a magic wand were to fall into the wrong hands. Mia agreed with this idea, but she pointed out that she was only planning to use it for two things: to get a cell phone and to fly.

She didn't get a real magic wand. . .

And then there was Zoe. Zoe wants to play the double bass (aka bass fiddle or string bass) and she's wanted to for years. Trouble is, the bass is an enormous instrument and miniature versions (1/8 scale) are relatively rare and quite expensive. Plus, kids outgrow them pretty quickly and have to move up to 1/4 scale and then 1/2 scale in a matter of a few years. So, with her agreement, we've put it off until she's a little bigger. However, while sitting on Santa's lap, she came up with a brilliant idea. "Santa," she said "I know it's kind of late notice, but I was thinking since miniature bass fiddles are so hard to find, maybe your elves could make me one."

Luckily, we were able to find a *really* miniature wooden bass in Chicago--two inches tall. . . We put it in her stocking and she thought it was very funny. She's not sure if Santa misunderstood or if he has a really good sense of humor. But she admitted that she got "exactly" what she asked for.

At least they didn't ask for a pony. . .

Experience is a strange word.

Think about it for awhile. Say it a few times. I think you'll see what I mean.

That's what it's like inside my head. . .

Ridiculous!

To my ever-growing list of things that drive me NUTS, I'd like to add the following: catsup.

I don't care if it IS a valid spelling. It's ridiculous. Ketchup is also a valid spelling, and much less ridiculous.

Use it.

Dumb Kids

I often forget how fortunate I am. All the children in my immediate circle of friends are very, very bright. They are, without exception, charming and fun kids with whom I enjoy spending time. However, they've spoiled me for "regular" kids. And I'm always stunned when I'm forced to face the reality of a child who is, um, not so smart.

For those of you who think every child is gifted, well, perhaps you should stop reading now. Or you and I could agree to disagree. Because I'm going to be blunt .

My daughter (and I'm not going to tell which one at the risk of outing the child in question) has a friend who is not smart. In fact, she's just plain dumb. I'd say she's dumb as a rock, but frankly, that would be giving her far too much credit and the rock far too little. This child is not developmentally delayed. Apparently she's perfectly average at school. She's hitting her benchmarks, blah, blah, blah. But she doesn't have the sense God gave an earthworm. Critical thinking skills? They must be banned at her house. Along with curiosity, humor, and books. She's perfectly nice, and I can take her in small doses, but after a few hours she tries the absolute limits of my patience.

Man. I love my kids. And if you're reading this and you have kids, I love yours too. But the dumb ones?

Not so much.

There's. A. Dead. Rat. In. Front. Of. My. House.

Legs up in the air.

Dead.

I'm afraid I have to move.

One Down

Thanksgiving is behind us, and for that I give thanks. The meal itself was good and my mom and I did much better than I expected in the kitchen. In fact, this visit has, across the board, gone much better than any in the recent past. And I'm thankful for that as well.

What I'm NOT so thankful for is the attitude my father gave me when he showed up yesterday. Davy and I had decided that we would eat around 2:30--so that we'd have time to get to the gym and I could prepare our meal in a comfortable time frame. Plus, we knew that Daddy would stay for the Cowboy game no matter what time we ate, so it made since to schedule dinner right before the game. So, we called Daddy and told him 2:30. "Okay, I'll be there at noon so we can do Zoe's birthday," he says. "Hmmm," says I. "I think it would make more sense to celebrate Zoe's birthday after Thanksgiving dinner, since I'll be busy cooking and getting everything ready. Why don't you come around 2:00."

So he shows up at 2:00 and he doesn't say a word to me, only I don't realize that because I'm busy finishing everything up for dinner. As we're getting ready to sit down at the table I ask how he had spent his morning. "I worked," he says, tersely. "You worked?" I replied, not quite *getting* it yet. "Why did you work?" "What else was I supposed to do?" he says. "I wasn't allowed to come over here until 2:00." "Are you pissed off?" I ask, as it finally seeps into my reluctant brain. Oh yeah. He was pissed, and the injustice of it made me so angry I just walked away. And I ate my dinner in silent fury. As I washed the dishes and drank half a bottle of wine, it faded into self pity.

You know, there's no way for me to win in the holiday battle between my parents. And I'm tired of it.

In other, absolutely terrifying news, Tom is very sick. Several of you have heard pieces of the story as I vented to you about his unexpected hospitalization (in Round Rock!) and our unexpected hosting of his rambunctious yellow lab, Boris. The news just keeps getting worse. The procedure they did last week to relieve his jaundice was not effective and will have to be redone on Monday. In fact, the doctor wanted to do it when he saw Tom on Wednesday, but because of the Thanksgiving holiday, he couldn't get the surgery scheduled. All signs point to cancer--and a shockingly dire prognosis if they're right. If his biliary tumor cannot be resected, the anticipated survival rate is less than one year. If it can be resected, the 5-year survival rate is 20%. But that's up from a whopping 0% survival rate 10 years ago. . .

With that elephant sitting in the middle of the table yesterday, I'm not quite sure how Davy was able to find the right words for the Thanksgiving blessing. Tom didn't eat much, and he slept through much of the football game. But he was here. And it is flat-out impossible for me to imagine that next year he might not be.

If this makes you laugh as hard as I did, you need a life, too.

Here is an excerpt from a recent instant message conversation in which I amused myself mightily.

Robyn: Does he still have the super-long hair? I'll be interested to see/hear what/if my girls have anything to say about it.
Innocent Friend: he does indeed still have super-long hair
Robyn: Notice I did not say super, long hair.
Robyn: Because I'm an editor.
Robyn: I pick and choose my punctuation carefully. . .
Innocent Friend: Nice use of the elipses there...
Innocent Friend: My punctuation would probably best be characterised as "random"
Robyn: There will be no mocking of my elipses usage.
Robyn: Although, jumping off my high-horse for a moment, I do note a certain unintended irony
Robyn: "I pick and choose my punctuation caefully. . ."
Robyn: That might be the most absurd sentence I've ever typed.
Robyn: Crap
Robyn: "carefully."
Robyn: Editorially speaking, I just get funnier and funnier.
Innocent Friend: Recursive editorial comedy. Pure gold, that is.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHA

This morning I'm editing a 2nd grade social studies reader and I come across the following line: "Our president makes important choices for our nation with help from Congress."

It sounds so innocuous when you put it that way.

Add this to the list

In case someone out there is keeping a list of words I hate, please add "pricey" to the list. As in, "the food at [name of restaurant here] is okay, but it's a little pricey" or "those new-fangled electronic toys are pricey, don't you think?"

There are real words to express that idea. You know them. Use them.

Just so we're clear. . .

I hate the holidays. I wake up the morning after Halloween with a pit in my stomach just thinking about what's coming. It's not that I hate the idea of the holidays. Not at all. I hate the reality--of juggling obligations with relatives and knowing that no matter what I do, there's no way to make everybody happy.

I'll exhale again on January 1st.

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW

This just isn't right. He's old enough to have seen her as baby Michelle on Full House.

Ick.

AWKWARD

So, in the industry (the publishing industry, that is), there's a term for all the stuff that comes at the beginning of a book. You know, it's the stuff on the pages that are numbered with Roman numerals instead of, um, regular numerals*. The term is "front matter." Similarly, the stuff printed in the back of the book, the glossary, the index, anything that comes after the "real" content of the book, is called "back matter." Also prevalent in the publishing industry is the use of alpha-abbreviations (Heh--I just made that word up, but it sounds GOOD, don't you think?) for everything. For example, text that is missing but will be inserted later is marked "TK" ("to come"--go figure). A table of contents is a TOC. And, as you can imagine, front matter is FM and back matter is BM. Unless you have a particularly sensitive client that prefers to use EM (endm atter). Which, apparently, I do.

Today my client pointed out to me that the publisher of a project I'm currently working on would prefer to use the term "end matter" for obvious reasons. Ever the professional, I popped off the following IMHO hilarious e-mail.

I'm disappointed that they're using EM instead of BM. It takes all the fun out of a hard day of work. "Someone is going to have to help me knock this BM out if we're going to make that deadline." "There's no way I'm going to finish this BM by the end of the day." "Could someone run to Starbucks and get me an espresso? I'm only halfway through this BM and I've been working on it for hours."

I could go on and on.

'Cause I'm so mature.

And you know what her response was? Nothin'. Nada. Stony electronic silence.
Man, I hope there wasn't a no-potty-talk clause in my contract, because if there was, I'm screwed!

I think I'll go take that shower now. . .

* Why can't I remember that word? There are Roman numerals and ??? numerals. Aggghhh. Once again, I place blame on the brain damage.

Ode to Dr. Bronner's

Okay, it's not really and ode at all but a declaration of love. I placed my annual Dr. Bronner's Magic Soap order last week, in honor of the cooler weather, and it arrived today. And this year I branched out, too. In addition to the peppermint, my old standby since college, I ordered eucalyptus and tea tree. I'm officially ready for winter and all the upper respiratory crap it wants to send my way, baby. I can't wait for my next shower.

Zombie Kid Likes Turtles

Happy Halloween!

Boring for You = Therapeutic for Me

I spend a little bit of time on a good-sized message board, the focus of which is healthy cooking and lifestyles. The board is frequented, in general, by a large number of intelligent, interesting people from all over the world, several of whom I've met in real life.

For the most part, people behave and are nice to one another, although sometimes discussions will disintegrate into ugly battles. The battles can be pretty entertaining, but sometimes they're just uncalled for. Instead of starting one of those battles, I'm going to vent here about two unrelated topics that have pushed my buttons over the past couple of days.

1) Maybe I'm wrong, it wouldn't be the first time, but I'm pretty sure that when someone with a terminal illness goes in to hospice, the idea is that they're not going to recover. A woman posted this week that her friend with recurrent breast cancer can't take any more treatments and is going into hospice care. She got lots of sympathetic and sweet responses, and one that was just stupid:

I am so sorry to hear about your friend's fight with breast cancer. She
will be a winner with your support and the support of the other supper club members. A positive outlook is key to her recovery. I wish her all the good things that are sure to come her way with your love and support.

While I'm certain the woman who posted this meant well, it makes me want to kick her in the cyber teeth. Did she not read the original post or is she simply ignorant? Either way, something about it annoyed the crap out of me and I just needed to say it out loud.

2) There's a guy who posts frequently and adds a lot to the discussion. He is friendly, helpful, and has a good online demeanor. He lives in San Diego, so he's had a lot to say about the fires in California this week. He's been very helpful to several people who were looking for information about people they haven't been able to reach. He seems to be a truly nice guy. But he posted this today and it really rubbed me the wrong way:

4 more bodies found. Although it sounds like they may have been illegals as border patrol agents found them. News is saying death toll is up to 10 as a result of firestorms. Sad.

"Although"? Although what? Four more people died, although they don't really count because they were here illegally? What the hell?

If it were any number of other people who regularly tick me off with careless shit like this, and I were in the mood for a fight, I'd call him on it. But he's a decent guy, and he CAN'T have meant that the way it sounded.

So, there you have it. I realize it's of no interest to anyone but me, but I had to get those two things off my chest before I got too much more worked up about it.

Now I'm off to eat Thai food with my husband. Anyone want to place bets on what he's going to say to tick me off? I seem to be ready for a fight!

Random Thoughts

1) I have huge respect for people who do this blog thing every day. As I've mentioned before I *thought* I had a lot to say, but I seem to have overestimated my need to express myself. It turns out that the longer you go between entries, the more difficult it is to dive in. It's sort of like when you put off returning a phone call, and then you realize it's been too long, and you can't call now because that would just be weird. . .

2) I've become inexplicably addicted to Dancing with the Stars. There's really no way to explain it. I don't like "reality" programming (well, except for Top Chef and Project Runway, and one other that I absolutely REFUSE to admit to publicly) but I started watching Dancing with the Stars last season with my kids and somehow I got hooked. I'm fascinated by the motivation of the celebrities who agree to do it, and by the skill of the professional dancers. I also love the fact that the show provides a lucrative and public outlet for professional ballroom dancers who have worked their butts off in an area that traditionally provides little (if any?) financial reward or notoriety.

3) Today, thanks to my infidel friend Jake, I've been thinking about toast. I love toast. I love the smell of toast toasting toastily. I love the scritchy scratchy sound a dull knife makes as I spread the butter on across the crumby golden surface. I love the slightly crunchy but still tender toothsomeness that indicates toasty perfection. I especially love a warm piece of nutty whole-grain toast topped immediately with a thin slice of mild white cheese--so the cheese softens slightly but does not truly melt. Toast, in the words of my 7-year-old, rocks.

For Sara. . .

Two things. . .

Today I discovered the fascinating tool that is the Stumbleupon toolbar. Available at stumbleupon.com, this cool toolbar gathers users' interests and offers up seemingly random websites based on those interests. The user then "rates" each site according to whether he or she likes it or not. This, in turn, allows the tool to fine-tune the data and provide more "relevant" sites.

First, let me say that I realize this is a real time killer. Nonetheless, it's oddly compelling. I've spent the last half hour surfing idly through the sites it's given me, and it's been fascinating, to say the least.

Transition now to the following List of unusual deaths from Wikipedia.

My first thought when this popped up was what the hell?? But then I started reading. It's rather like an accident you just can't turn away from. I couldn't make myself stop reading. I have no idea what among my interests lead me to this, but I've learned a lot. I can't decide, though, which are more interesting: the unusual deaths among the early Romans or those of today's men and women. I think this may be my personal favorite--207 BC: Chrysippus, a Greek stoic philosopher, is believed to have died of laughter after watching his drunken donkey attempt to eat figs.[2]

It Would Be a Better World If My Friends Were in Charge!

I just read a journal entry by my friend Jake that is, in my opinion, the best commentary I have read on the Jena 6 controversy. Here, in Jake's words, is my opinion of situation . . .

Drastically reduce the charges against the Jena 6!

Granted, that doesn't have quite the same ring as "Free the Jena 6", but I have difficulty believing the justice is served by freeing six men who are apparently guilty of beating a fellow student. It is my belief that justice is better served by charging, trying, and, if found guilty, sentencing these gents appropriately.

And then going after the authorities who let this happen. Going after them hard.

Let's go back to the start on this one. The tree incident. Or rather, the nooses hanging from the tree. I'm not aware of any cultural context in which nooses hanging from a tree constitutes a welcoming gesture, but in the south, they send a very specific and unmistakable message. I give credit to the school principal for not playing dumb and immediately recommending the expulsion of the three students involved. Unfortunately, he was overruled and the incident was labelled a "prank" by the authorities.

This is precisely the sort of things our hate crimes laws are for. They're not about punishing someone for being a racist or beating someone up because they're gay. Hate crimes are crimes that are intended to terrorise a targeted segment of the population. They send a Message. I think it's safe to say that the nooses sent a message that's so clear that it would be condescending to try to explain it. That's what a hate crime is.

The rest of the story isn't very complicated. Race relations deteriorated and, in every incident, if a white person beat up or pulled a gun on a black person, they were either not prosecuted or else given probation. If a black person beat up a white person or had the audicity to wrestle away a gun that had been pulled on them, the prosecutor threw to book at them. It's really that simple.

And, when I say "threw the book", understand this: The white kid was beaten unconscious. It was not an inconsequential beating, although it wasn't serious enough to keep him from attending a function later that night. However, the prosecutor insisted on trying the men for attempted murder. Aside from the fact that, in a six on one fight, any serious "attempt" at murder is going to be more than just an attempt, the prosecutor had to claim that a tennis shoe was a "deadly weapon" in order to make the charge.

The Jena 6 face decades in jail. Obviously, that isn't right. I'm all for reducing the charge to simple battery, the same thing that the white kid who beat one of the Jena 6 not long before was charged with. Give them probation, or a few days in jail, or what ever is appropriate. That strikes me as more just than just letting them free.

I don't even really care about the noose-hangers at this point. They are effectively damned to their own pissant little lives of fear and stupidity. Sure, they probably should go to prison for what they did, but I'm not certain that's any worse than just letting them be who they are.

But the law enforcement community in Jena? Oh yeah, nail those bastards. One thing that has been made abundantly clear by this episode is that there are two justice systems in Jena, separate but not remotely equal. These folks are entrusted with serving the community and they have failed. They're like a priest who diddles choirboys, or a soldier who changes sides, or anyone else in a postion of trust who abuses and corrupts that trust. There's supposedly a special place in Hell for these types, but I don't have much faith in Hell. I am quite certain, however, that there's a special place in prison for them.

Leonard Pitts, if you ever need a smart white apprentice, I know just the right guy for the job. . .

Thanks, Jake, for letting me quote you.

My Geriatric Moment

This evening I was at a local restaurant with Davy and the girls. The chatty young server (her name was Synthia--with an "S") told us this story about one time when she was at Applebees playing Dungeons and Dragons with some friends. The point of the story is irrelevant, but I was fascinated by the idea of this group of people going to Applebees, of all places, to play D&D. Even more than that, I was surprised by the fact that people were still playing Dungeons and Dragons. And we're not talking about people my age.

So I ask Synthia how old she is. "Twenty-one," she tells me. To which I reply, "Wow. I didn't realize kids were still playing Dungeons and Dragons." KIDS???? WTF? Who am I, George Burns? Next thing you know I'm going to be out on the lawn with my Sansabelts hiked up to my chest, hollering at the neighborhood kids for riding their bikes in my grass.

When, exactly, did I turn 70?

I'm certainly not doing a very good job at keep up with this blog. I'm not a "blogger" by any means. But I'm determined to keep it, and here's why. Every now and then I feel like I have something important to say. Something absolutely worth the effort that I make by posting the entry and the effort that you make by logging in to read it.

Now is not one of those times.

And yet, I continue to type.

The incident that compelled me to post for the first time in a month is that I read a funny word--an insult, actually--on a comment to a blog entry at bravotv.com. In reaction to a blog entry about last night's Top Chef elimination, a viewer referred to a particulary dickish judge as a "jackhole."

Hah! Jackhole.

That made me laugh.

And that, my friends, is the end of this entry. . .

That took way too long. . .

Gonzales Resigns

Although I feel a little bit sorry for him. It's got to blow when you screw something up as badly as he has and everybody knows about it.

Just to get that other post off the top, I have one thing to say. . .

I hate mosquitoes.