Smart Women, Stupid Women, Marriage Equality and Your Right to Remain Silent

First off, right off the bat, WENDY!

That's right, Wendy Davis--holy cow, what an amazing person, huh?  Wendy for Governor, Wendy for Senate, Wendy for President!  Thank you, Wendy, for putting yourself out there for women.  I hope you can turn Texas BLUE!

Here's a video from her last campaign, and I'm posting it because it segues into something else I wanted to discuss:



You see, just a couple of days ago, I saw a piece about what may possibly be the most ill-informed woman alive.

Jodie Laubenberg

Yes, that's a live link.

Now, Ms. Laubenberg, who has been stumping for an amazingly restrictive abortion law in, of course, where else, TEXAS, stated that (and I'm paraphrasing here) there's no reason to keep abortion safe, legal, and available, because women can just go to the emergency room and have a RAPE KIT performed.  Which, according to this silly person, "cleans women out."

I may scream myself to DEATH.  

I spent years working with rape and domestic abuse victims, mostly in the Emergency Room.  I'm wondering, Ma'am, precisely what part of a RAPE KIT "cleans a woman out?"  Is it the swabs for gathering DNA/semen samples from the victim's rectum, vagina, and/or mouth?  The baggies and vials into which those swabs are deposited?  Perhaps it's the DROP CLOTH the victim is required to stand on as she removes her clothing (meant to catch any evidence that may drop off as she disrobes).  Maybe it's the PUBIC COMB used to comb through the victims pubic hairs in search of any left behind by her attacker?  The fine-toothed comb used on her head for the purpose of finding her attacker's hairs?  Is it maybe the combing and sampling done to her loved ones and friends to eliminate their evidence from consideration?  Oh, wait, I know!  Duh!  It's the little "orange sticks" used to dig evidence out from under the victim's fingernails, isn't it?

You misinformed (and misinforming) woman.  You slow, dangerous creature.  It's bad enough when mean, cruel old men turn on women, but when one of our own does it, and does it in such a spectacularly Sarah Palin-ish way, it's particularly painful.

And enraging.

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So, this meme came across my wall yesterday.  Not the first time.  Heck, might not be the first time I've blogged about it.  But, as always, it got me going.

Okay, one, I almost never share anything that admonishes me to share.  It's just a thing.  Two?

I don't necessarily agree.  There are . . . issues.

First, when I shop ANYWHERE with employees who have kids, I'm helping with dance lessons, team jerseys, moms and dads putting food on the tables, paying mortgages, etc.  That goes without saying, and I find it disingenuous to suggest that those things are only true if I shop small and local. That said, I do NOT shop Walmart.  Why?   Well, because their business model offends me and their treatment of employees horrifies me. I shop Wegmans and Costco, both of which are known for their fair treatment of workers.

In addition, shopping small and local is, almost by definition, more expensive.  Some of us are able to make that financial leap.  For others?  Not so much.  Plus, shopping small and local often leaves us either unable to find products we need OR having to drive from place to place to shop rather than doing it all at one central location.

Which  brings us to the environmental impact of shopping small and local.  It can be a CO2 disaster.  It can be a pesticide and herbicide disaster.  It can be an irrigation disaster.  You see, when large operations produce large amounts of food, they tend to do it far more efficiently than small farms.  In addition, when foods are shipped en mass, it tends to produce a lot less CO2 per pound of food.  And finally, when we drive from market to market, store to store to find our locally grown foods and whatever-friendly products, we're pumping an astonishing amount of exhaust into the air and chewing through a breathtaking amount of fuel.  

I'm not arguing against locally grown or local businesses, but understand that there are trade-offs.  For the benefits (and there are benefits, to both individuals and communities as well as to any livestock involved), there are definite drawbacks.  Some smaller farms are pooling resources and combining harvests for more efficient shipping and distribution, which is wonderful.  Some are making weekly shipments to large, central distribution areas rather than having individual consumers drive dozens (or more) miles to make pick-ups.  Again, this is wonderful, and it helps address the above concerns.  Some small farmers are engaging in friendlier, more responsible, more conserving methods of irrigating, fertilizing, etc.  And, again, that's wonderful.  We should encourage that.  But the next time you gear up to go nuts on someone who shops at a larger grocery store, remember that YOUR way has it's own drawbacks and downsides.  

Here, a couple of links:

http://www.salon.com/2012/06/16/eating_local_hurts_the_planet/singleton/

http://www.freakonomics.com/2011/11/14/the-inefficiency-of-local-food/

CO2, wasted water, and chemicals aside, there's also the "opposing" side's issues of "factory farming" livestock, widespread mistreatment of animals, and the use of various substances to treat infections, encourage wowser growth, etc.  Oh, and we have the whole GMO thing going on with larger agribusiness.  So this is NOT an easy issue, and what's the TOP concern for me might not be for you.  You may have your own "thing."  It's been my experience that farmers who sell animal products at the Farmer's Market don't tend to box their animals up in small cages and treat them like hell.  That's not a guarantee, just an observation.  And that might be something that sways you.

All of that said, we shop at the Farmer's Market for specific products one day a week.  Our Farmer's Market is close (less than three miles) and the farmers who come there are, in fact, LOCAL.  They aren't driving 100 miles to sell a tiny bit of produce.  They are open about their growing practices, and those we patronize use water-saving, low-chemical methods of growing.  Still not as efficient or as clean (CO2 per pound of produce-wise) as huge agribusiness, but improving, and, for us, worth the trade-off because we're not driving from place to place and our food isn't being driven long distances in small amounts.  For us, it's worth the trade-off one day a week.  And that's what I'm talking about--I'm not condemning small growers (gosh, no!) or local businesses.  Instead, I'm saying we should all be aware of where our stuff comes from and how it gets to us rather than embracing dippy memes aimed at influencing without real information.

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An extremely mixed bag from the Supreme Court this past week or two.  On the bright side?  Well, the repeal of DOMA and the striking of Prop h8, of course, plus the decision that human genes cannot be patented.  On the not-at-all bright side?

Chewing away at the underpinnings of the Voting Rights Act.  It only took HOURS for various legislators from various "red" Southern states to start hatching plans to interfere with voters of certain "groups."  When Governor McDonnell said he was handing it over to Ken Cuccinelli, something cold grasped my heart.  Virginia is a state vulnerable to the effects of "redistricting."  Virginia is a state that has already seen interference at the poll, limited poll access, and interminable polling lines.  This can't get anything but worse.

Another not-good SCOTUS decision?  The attack on our "right to remain silent."  

If this doesn't scare the daylights out of you, it should.  Refraining from answering police questions now considered admissible evidence of guilt?  

Here, from the piece:  " . . . 

prosecutors argued that Salinas’ silence during a police interview prior to his arrest was a “very important piece of evidence” and that only a guilty person would have remained silent when questioned about his connection to a crime."

That is terrifying.  "Only a guilty person would have remained silent."  How breathtakingly McCarthyish.  How happy Edwin Meese must be right about now.

What a mess.

So, while I'm thrilled about DOMA and Prop 8 (and the gene patents), fact is, we lost a lot of ground to what has shaped up to be a conservative activist court.  The damage they do could last . . . forever.

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Boy, that was pure-D politics.  That's all I've got today.   Oh, except the Boy is 1/3 of the way through his annual exams, and seems to be doing quite well.  Love him like nobody's business, you know.

Trapped in Coach with a Nazi

So, I think this whole "class reunion/looking up dead people/preparing memorials for them thing is getting to me.  I dreamed my boy dead yesterday.  Not the first time I've done that (about the fourth, I think), but this was was particularly rough because I couldn't make it stop.  I'm on my knees, touching the glass over his face (horrid, cheap glass-topped coffin), and willing the dream to stop, but it won't.  Waiting for that rising sensation that tells me, "Oh, okay, this is a dream, and I'm waking up now."  It didn't come.  Not for a long time.  Not until I had come to the devastating realization that it wasn't a dream.  I wasn't crying when I woke up, but boy, I sure was after I awoke.  My boy came in, hugged me, and I had the sinking feeling THAT was the dream, you know?  That he really was dead, and I was dreaming he wasn't.  I cried a lot, and it left a shadow on the rest of my day.

Today, I didn't kill anyone in my dream, but I did dream reunion.  The whole time.  When I'm drifting, I dream Photoshop and Excel because of all the memorials and spreadsheet work I've been doing, but once asleep, I dreamed miserable "hammering out the details" stuff.  Bill showing off his fancy 10 inch Galaxy tab, and me feeling like I was expected to explain why I've only got a wi-fi iPad 3 (I won it in a contest, if you're wondering).  That self-aggrandizing wanna-be actress, Wendy, was there playing bad wanna-be Irish folk songs to anyone she thought might be impressed while Melanie floated authoritatively about in a flowing mu-mu, declaring this and that.  Except she kept turning into the other Melanie--the poor, breathtakingly tall, kind, acne-scarred girl who had such a hellish time in school.  Trying to figure out how I was going to broach with Bill just what a crappy, scary, high-crime area he lived in, and how hosting a huge class reunion in his front yard was probably NOT a good idea.

I may be too absorbed in this.

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You  know, we watched an excellent six (?) part documentary on Auschwitz a couple of weeks ago.  Mostly for our boy's benefit, but I admit, I learned things I hadn't known, too.  It was very well done, and I really recommend it:

  

There was one part that I had a hard time explaining to my boy.  How one of the women interviewed, a camp survivor, could tear up and talk about how terrible it was to return to her family's home after the war and find it occupied by people who wouldn't let her in, who wouldn't give her back her home.  In effect, the Poles moved into these Jewish homes and, when the true owners came home (those few who did), they saw nothing wrong with saying, "No, go away, this is my home now."  Horrible, no?  Yet this woman, and so many like her, seem to completely miss the horrifying hypocrisy of descending upon Palestine, violently driving the Palestinians from their homes and out of the country or into camps, moving onto their farms, their orchards, their neighborhoods, and then condemning them for wanting their homes BACK.  Labeling them "terrorists" (a term Israelis once used to describe themselves in their attacks against British soldiers and Palestinians) for fighting back against occupation, exile, and murder.  My boy was angry--how can she not see?  How can they not see that the very thing they're (rightfully) decrying in this documentary (not being allowed back into their homes, being robbed of all they had) is what they have visited upon the Palestinians?

It was hard.  It was very hard, finding a way to explain that because, objectively, there is no excuse for it.  But we explored it together, and here's what we came up with:

Maybe, after being exposed to pain, terror, horror, and suffering to that extreme degree, you lose sight of the suffering of others.  Maybe it becomes nearly impossible to really empathize with others because you have been viciously tempered to focus on your own survival and the survival of those you consider your own. Maybe you come to view your group as more deserving of good because you've suffered such bad.  Maybe you become so focused upon the goals and hopes and dreams of your people that you completely lose sight of how achieving those things affects others.

Maybe you stop seeing the humanity in others because you were treated so very inhumanely yourself.

It was a good talk.  No, it doesn't make me any less determined in my defense of the Palestinians or my condemnation of Israeli apartheid, but it did bring me in from a different angle, and it was eye-opening.

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Speaking of Auschwitz, I was reminded of my flight home from Frankfurt back in 1995.  Unlike the heavenly flight TO Frankfurt, which left me sharing coach (smoking coach, even--I smoked a LOT back then) with only two other people, the flight home wasn't a red-eye, and it was PACKED.  Jammed in next to me?  A small German woman who spent hours explaining, excusing, and flat-out lying about the camps.  The extermination.  The "Final Solution."  How I had to understand how much better things were for the German people while this was going on.  How there was finally WORK for the Germans (yikes), how the Jews had brought so much of it on themselves (an argument always guaranteed to bring up my hackles, regardless of the victims' ethnicity), how the "holocaust" was nothing more than a Jewish media creation, and, finally, how, if we Americans really understood Gypsies/the Romany people, we'd know that anyplace with fewer Gypsies is a better place.  As for homosexuals?

She grimaced and made an ugly "Tchah!" noise.  

I was very lucky when I was a teen.  I had a friend whose mother was German.  Her name was Inga (Ingaborg), and her family had been Lutheran, though they converted to Mormonism when they fled Germany.  Yes, fled.  See, the German military started making noises about inducting boys, and Inga's family had no intention of becoming a part of what Hitler was doing.  When the questions about their ideology became pointed, they fled in the night.  They eventually wound up in Utah, where their family spent weekends traveling to Topaz, the site of a Japanese internment camp, to bring food, clothing, games, and blankets.  She said they lived in terror that, after fleeing Germany, they would wind up in an AMERICAN camp because of their German-ness.  Inga taught me a LOT about Germany, Naziism, war, and she was the first person to ever speak to me about Japanese internment camps.  No public school did that for me.  With that grounding, I was finally inspired to look at my Frankfurt to Camden row-mate and say, "Ma'am, I'm sorry, but I'm all done listening--you defend the indefensible, and worse, you paint victims as deserving.  You should almost certainly shut up now."

It's probably a good thing I don't speak German, because she responded energetically in her mother tongue.

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The dog's first training session is tonight.  Four months was all we could scrounge together for, and it's going to have to be enough.  He's already "trained" in that he does tricks, he comes when he's called, he stays when he's told, and he even "self disciplines."  You know, he growls at the TV, then jumps down and slinks off to his kennel without being told.  He's great with people (even with the house full of new folks we had last month, he was in heaven).  His problem?  He's not so good with other dogs.  He CAN be--if the circumstances are right, he's completely thrilled to run and play with new dogs.  But his greetings are inappropriate (a lot of tugging and whining, which degenerates to growling when he can't get in close to sniff), and other dogs interpret it as aggression.  So we're hoping to teach him how to better interact with other dogs.  Barring that, we're hoping to teach him to not respond at all.  Wish us luck!  Wish HIM luck!

Oh, and in case you're wondering, there will be NONE of that "Dog Whisperer" claptrap!  Our dog isn't a WOLF, we're not WOLVES, and that silly "alpha roll" crap is no way to treat a dog.  

Our Charlie is the Cairn in front.  That's Charley, the Corgi, behind.  One of Charlie's successful doggy encounters.

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And that's it!  Day two of mostly meatless.  Last night's stir-fry?  Bleh.  Bland.  And that's not because of the missing meat, that's because I was limited, sodium-wise, to two tablespoons of "less sodium" soy sauce.  So things were very plain. The rice mix was tasty (Wegmans whole grain five rice blend), and the peppers were good, but overall it just wasn't very satisfying.  It was filling, though.  Definitely that.  Tomorrow night, we're going to try the "Don't Have a Cow" imitation ground beef crumbles with tacos.  See, I can't do fake meat by itself because I like meat.  But in a taco, surrounded by salsa, cheese, lettuce, tomato, and onion?  I'm thinking it'll be just fine.

I Love Canada. And Fruit, too.

So, I never knew much about Canada growing up.  Sure, I'd been to Ontario, I'd been to Quebec, I'd even been to New Brunswick, but these were all short jaunts, not opportunities to explore or really learn.  I mean, after all, how much am I going to learn about Canada from that tawdry cheese-fest that is Niagara Falls (make no mistake, I love it, but it's utterly gaudy)?  These were all, of course, pre-Passport-at-the-border visits.  Canada's not as convenient these days.

Niagara does tacky so well!

I learned nothing about Canadian geography when I was in school.  Nothing.  No provinces, no capitals, nothing.  I learned more about Canada watching Mick Jagger cavort with Pierre Trudeau's wife than I ever did in a public school setting.  And I was okay with this--I mean, I made a few efforts to memorize the provinces and such, but my brain just didn't want to grasp and really retain the information.  I didn't really care until I had a child and decided I didn't want him to be as ignorant as his mother when it came to Canadian geography.

And then came the Toronto Song.

I don't remember how I came by the Toronto Song.  I think my sister may have tossed it my way. All I know is that my then six year old grabbed it and RAN.  And I thought, "Okay, the song's a bit rude, but it's funny, and more important, it's making this stuff STICK in a way it never has."  And it wasn't just sticking for ME, it was sticking for my boy, too.  At six years old, he knew more about Canada than I did at 39.

Now, that's not the visual version I prefer, but the video I like can't be embedded.  But here's the link:

The Toronto Song (my preferred video version)

Yes, it's rude, but understand, it was written by a Canadian comedy team and meant to lampoon the rivalries that pop up between provinces.  I KNOW Ontario doesn't suck, I KNOW Quebec isn't revolting.  But this is a fun song, and it really did lay those provinces down in a way that has stuck in our heads.  I mean, I always knew Nova Scotia, New Brunswick, Prince Edward Island, Newfoundland, and Quebec were "East-ish," along with Ontario, which was "a little less East-ish."  I always knew the Northwestern Territories and Yukon were way north and way cold.  I knew British Columbia was seriously west.  I knew that  Manitoba, Saskatchewan, and Alberta were somewhere in the middle, and that Calgary was in Alberta and has a big rodeo.  Probably better than many Americans, but not great.  But now?  Thanks to this marvelously snotty, silly song, I know where they ALL are!

I have shared this with Canadian friends.  Only one was openly hostile about it--in fact, she got downright ugly.  In a "provincial rivalry" kind of way.  It was adorable, and I never played the song for her again.  My other Canadian friends either liked it or were polite enough to pretend they did.  Those Canadians can be marvelously polite, can't they?  It's one of the many things I like about them.  Seriously.  I like the heck out of Canadians, I think sometimes I'd like to be one.  They're smart, funny, saner, and take better care of their own.

We bought a whole slew of really beautiful produce at Wegmans Thursday night (that's night before last).  Some amazing, giant, knobby-looking oranges that resemble nothing so much as Rocky Flats minneolas--you know, used to be a minneola, but has been radiated to something more muscular and scary?  LOL, these are called "Sumo" mandarins, and they are a wonder to behold!  They're huge (as tall as the star fruit, markedly bigger than the other oranges), and they're gorgeous and I can't wait to eat one!  We also got blood oranges (haven't had a blood orange in ten years, easy), our minneolas, plus Macoun, Jonagold, and Opal apples.  Never seen Opals before.  I wasn't the only one oohing and ahhing over them, either.  Here's a pic of part of the haul (left out the bananas and salad fixings).

I didn't pull out ALL of it, just representative pieces.  Those are D'anjou pears, a kiwi, and a star fruit, too.  Along with bell peppers, of course.

The gigantic Sumo, surrounded by (right to left) blood orange, minneola, and navel.

I came across a blog the other night, folks were talking about the strange dolls they'd found while on vacation.  They were piled next to light posts and road signs.  Not tons of them, just a few.  I was strongly reminded of the dolls my ex and I found in the cemeteries in Paris.  Some were very plain, very basic, but some were more colorful, like this:

Note the funky little bag she's carrying.  If you watch any "Supernatural," you'll probably think of that as a "hex bag."  Many of the little grave dolls had these.  Now, don't mistake me--there were many graves that had DOLL dolls--you know, baby dolls.  Especially children's graves.  This was something else.  Am I an atheist?  Of course I am.  Am I deeply skeptical and not given over to much superstition?  Absolutely.  And when my ex bent down to pick one up as a "souvenir?"  I leapt forward and said, rather sharply, "DON'T TOUCH THAT!"

Sure, it sucks that he was contemplating lifting something off a grave, and I'd have yelled at him over that, too.  But this was something more.  It was a deep, from my gut reaction.  I laugh about it now, and no, I don't believe the little dolls can curse you, and yet there's just enough of me that still raises hackles at such things that . . . well, better safe than sorry?  I feel ridiculous saying it, but it was a strong, "No, I don't believe in it, but why mess with it?" feeling.

No, I will not turn in my Atheist card.  Thing has cost me far too much in so many ways.  Or, rather, people's response to it has.  It's mine, I've earned it.  I'm proud of it.

Today is a dietary day off.  So's tomorrow.  I've lost nine pounds in two weeks.  If I gain back two, and then lose another four or so next week?  Hey, net loss.  And I'm not being AS crazy this weekend.  Plus, I'm finding it easier to get back on Monday mornings.  And that's good.

Oh, and bad paneling, too.

Pre-planned Badness

I never had any use for the "diet during the week, go crazy on the weekends" method of dieting.  Mostly because I didn't think I could do that without my weekends getting longer and weeks getting shorter until every day was a "bad" day.  But I had to try something new.

I had to, because, after 180 lbs lost, I was all outta steam.  My weight loss had stalled, I'd tried all the tricks alleged to get things moving again, but there I sat, gaining and losing the same five pounds.  Until I gave up.  Until all my "just this once" excuses converged into a 65 pound gain.  On the bright side, I'm still down a hundred and fifteen pounds.

On the not-at-all bright side?  Instead of being at my goal weight, I'm 65 lbs heavier than I was a year ago.  So it's time for a new approach.  And that new approach is this--Monday through Friday, I'm good as gold.  The weekend?  I'm free.  Just finishing up the second week of this, and I'm down seven pounds.  Please.  I need something to take.  I've tried being reasonable and good all the time, making positive changes (most of which stuck), but 1200 calories a day isn't a heck of a lot of food.  I need the break.

Went to Wegmans tonight.  Found some amazing fruit, things I'd never seen before, like "Sumo" oranges (look like giant, knobby minneolas) and Opal apples.  Also grabbed more of my Macoun apples, a few Bosc pears, and star fruit and kiwi for the boy.  Oh, and blood oranges!  Haven't seen those in ages!

It wasnt a good night at Wegmans, though.  Normally, the folks there are super-friendly, but tonight we got stuck with the surly, impatient, snotty checker from hell.  Name was Eunice.  Funny, her name was the closest to "nice" she got.  A lot of impatient sniffs and tuts, a lot of slamming our groceries around and bagging carelessly, and even a pissy sigh with an eye roll when hubby handed her seven whole coupons.  Oh, and she actually demanded that hubby count the oranges.  Packed the Eclairs (for the weekend) sideways so the chocolate scraped off on the lid.  It was very disappointing--we go to Wegmans, in large part, because it's NOT a Walmart experience.  But Eunice sure made it feel like one.  We actually sent a complaint in to corporate.  This is only the second time in a year-and-a-half we've gotten rude service at Wegmans.  The first time was at the Wegmans near Fairfax, but we let it pass because it's not our usual store.  This one is, and I won't put up with it.  I don't want Eunice fired, I just want her to be spoken to, I want her to do better.

Hubby sort of has five days off.  He has five days home, anyway--Friday and Tuesday teleworking, and the days between off.  We like that.  A lot.

Set up an appointment for Charlie's vaccinations and heartworm test.  90 bucks.  Would have been more than twice that at our regular vet.  Astounding.

Speaking of medical crap, I've got a mammogram, a pelvic, an annual physical, and the stupid basal cell thing, all needing to be taken care of in the next three months.  Aren't I the pricy girl?

On the iPad.  I'll stick pics in tomorrow.

Sad, Crazy SoCal Gunman

Have a friend in Glendora, they're watching this pretty closely.  We were talking about how some are already screaming that this is proof background checks don't work.

That's like saying dying in a car crash is proof seat belts don't work.  Hey, nothing is fool proof.  Nothing.  Doesn't mean doing our best to improve matters isn't worthwhile.

Anyway, guy's been holding onto this grudge for a long time, and, to be honest, I've known more than one cop who seemed to be dancing on that edge.  And this guy's got a more recent Navy stint under his belt, too.  That's a lot of stress and a lot of access to weapons for a guy who feels he was devastatingly wronged by the LAPD.

I hope he doesn't kill anyone else.

So, I was thinking I would post about dinner, since I was talking about it earlier.  With my diabetes, we like to keep the carbs lower (not LOW, I don't play any fad diet game).  So here it is:

2 ounces Dreamfield's Spaghetti (yes, it does make a drastic difference in my blood sugar)
2/3 cup Wegmans Parmesan and Romano Sauce
4 ounces julienned carrots (mixed in--that's what keeps me from heaping on the pasta)
1 Bistro Sensations sausage (low cal, lower fat)
3 homemade parmesan crisps--they're made in a muffin pan with home-ground parmesan and herbs.  Each crisp is 1/3 ounce of cheese.  They're super-tasty, and they keep me from wanting garlic toast.

Dessert, if we have it, will be smoothies--that's light vanilla almond milk, plus frozen blueberries, strawberries, black berries, and raspberries.  Oh, and banana.  Gotta have banana.  It's markedly lower in calories than most store-bought smoothies, and everything is fresh.  After sampling our boy's Dragonfruit the other day, I'm wondering if it might not go nicely in a smoothie, too?

I just reviewed Gold Bond Ultimate body powder over on Epinions.  Was looking over here to see if there's a picture, and instead found an advert for James Bond 007 Signature Gold Eau De Toilette.  Spray, of course.  Dang.  Okay.  Hey, maybe it smells super, duper good, right?  After all, my favorite perfume is called "Unforgivable."  Doesn't get much more stupid than that, fragrance name-wise.

Well, dinner is started, carrots cut, and here comes the hubster.  So here, have some bad paneling!

First Candle-making Supply Buy

We bought five scents, some wick tabs, some zinc cored wick, and some little bow-tie doohickeys to hold up the wicks while the candles cool.  Our batch last night was red, with a nice, not-too-strong scent.  Just paraffin, but they burn nicely and not too hot or fast, with no going out.  When our new stuff comes, I'm looking forward to making some palm and beeswax candles.  Not sure if we should have gotten glue dots for keeping the wick tabs in place.  We'll find out.

Reviewed a hair brush on Epinions today.  Hey, I have the brush, why not review it.  In fact, I think I'm going to go through and review all my brushes.  And, of course, my fancy new keyboard.

Hubby hasn't been in the office for a long time--between three days sick a couple weeks ago, scheduled telework, and unscheduled telework due to weather conditions, he's been home.  They're predicting an ice storm between five and ten tomorrow morning, so we're hoping for another telework day.  It's actually smart to have folks work from home--they don't have to commute, they use their own internet, their own computer (yep, it wasn't provided us), their own electricity.  It keeps cars off the road, and saves the Feds any commute benefit.  Everyone wins!

Having pasta tonight.  Dreamfield's pasta (easier on the blood sugar, and yes, that is true for me--I've compared my blood sugar after Dreamfield's vs after regular pasta), Bistro Sensations sausages (they're markedly lower in calories and super-tasty), Wegman's parmesan and romano red sauce (2/3 of a cup), with julienned carrots with the pasta.  One of my favorite meals, and not disastrous.

Movie time.  Finishing up Order of the Phoenix.  Wish I could shake this cold and stop being so headache-y and exhausted.  Wish I could shake this down feeling.

Could we ALL just THINK for a minute?

A few days ago, some Australian radio station "pranked" a UK hospital, managing to convince a worker there that they were Royals with reason to be privy to information about Prince William's pregnant wife's condition.  A crappy, nosy, immature thing to do, but crappy, nosy, immature things are what we've come to expect from "radio personalities." 

This morning, it's come out that the poor nurse who was initially fooled by their act (and was almost certainly reprimanded) has committed suicide.

No, I'm not blaming the dimwitted DJs.  At some point, we have to take responsibility for our own stuff, and the blame for her death lies with her.

But.

Can we all agree that maybe a little forethought here might have taken things in a different direction?  It's no stretch to predict that making this sort of call would almost certainly cause folks grief.  That, if they did manage to fool someone, that someone would likely be in a world of trouble.  The DJs call theirs "lighthearted intentions."  Of that, I have no doubt, but add to it carelessness, a disregard for the circumstances of others, and a complete lack of concern for the effects their actions might have on on the people unfortunate enough to be caught up in their prank. 

Personal responsibility.  What a concept.

And, since I'm on a roll, let's talk about rape, shall we?  More to the point, let's talk about teaching women not to get raped.  This is something near and dear, as I used to both teach 'rape avoidance" classes and work with rape and domestic abuse victims, mostly in the ER. 

We used to tell women that rape is like dodgeball.  In a just, moral, RIGHT world, we'd teach the men to stop lobbing that ball.  But it's not a just, moral, RIGHT world, and we seem incapable of inspiring the men to stop targeting us, so we're forced to teach the women to dodge. 

And that's crap.  Straight up. 

Every excuse you've ever heard, every lousy question that's ever come up when a woman's been raped?  Stop it!  Unless you really believe that what a woman wears, where she walks, how much she drinks, or who she dates should possibly earn her a rape, stop it!  And if you DO believe those things?  You scare the hell out of me.  This is AMERICA, I am an adult.  I should be able to walk where I want, wear what I want, drink where I want, and date whomever I want and not have to worry that I might wind up splayed on a bathroom floor somewhere with a goose egg on my head and a crushing societal condemnation because somehow something *I* did made me deserve that. 

I get why our culture does that.  It's not just the lingering religious ideas that make women the temptresses and men the tempted.  It's also because we don't want to be the victim.  Who does?  Even more so, we don't want to believe that we COULD be the victim, just as easily as anyone else.  So we scrutinize victims closely, and we decide that something THEY did must have drawn the violence to them, like some twisted "The Secret" garbage.  We give ourselves a pat and tell ourselves that WE would never dress like that, WE would never walk there, WE would never hang out with those kinds of people.  And when an octogenarian is raped in her home?  We ask things like "Was her window open?" or "Had she locked the door?" or "Why did she open the door without asking to see his ID?"

All of these things shift the blame for a sexual assault from the ASSAULTER to the woman assaulted.  And we have got to stop that.

STOP IT!

Stop comforting yourself on the backs of victims.  Stop sending the message to our kids that the reasons for rape are tied up in a woman's wardrobe and recreational habits.  The reason for rape is simple--there are rapists.  Put an end to THAT, and rape ends.  Stop trying to convince yourself that *YOU* could never be raped because *YOU* behave better/smarter/more morally than do the women who've been victimized.  You're wrong.  you CAN be raped, and it doesn't matter where you are or what you're wearing.  So instead of blaming the victims, let's all stand together WITH the victims and put the blame where it belongs.

And let's do something about those messages we send our kids, daughters and sons, about rape, sex, and equality.

And that's all.  Went shopping at Costco and Wegmans last night.  Came out cheaper than the usual Wegmans/Walmart combo, and for more stuff.  Feels good to take Walmart out of the equation.   

Christmas Tree Day/I May Scream Myself to Death

Well, we bought a lovely tree yesterday--nothing from Walmart, we're not doing that place anymore.  After today's revelation about creatively cutting employee hours to deny them even the abysmal health benefits they were getting?  All done with Walmart.  We have Wegmans, we have Costco, both of which have terrific records when it comes to pay and benefits. 

Anyway, the tree.  It's a Fraser Fir, same as last year.  Got it from a little lot over by Sudley.  Local folks who bring in trees from North Carolina.  Sad about the Fraser Firs, though--apparently, some nasty non-native insect has decimated the old growth Frasers.  They reproduce eagerly, so there are plenty of babies, but once they're large enough for their bark to start cracking and giving an opening, they may be toast.  Apparently, they thrive in Scotland, so that's something.  Until some dip introduces some awful non-native thing there, too.

Our Fraser Fir--pay no attention to the horrendous mid-decorating mess.

We were a bit worried about the dog with the tree--after all, is it realistic to bring a live tree in the house and expect a dog to not lift leg?  Luckily, we've had no issues thus far.  Of course, the decorations aren't on yet.  Let's see how that goes, chewing-wise. 

Last night, our boy announced that he'd found a louse on his arm earlier in the day, after his Hapkido session.  He had tried to put it aside, but it had escaped somewhere in his bathroom.  So I took the fine-toothed, rat-tailed comb and went over him.  Nothing.  This morning, I was taking a shower.  After shampooing my hair, I looked down at my hand to see two strands of hair being held together by . . . what was that?  Was it moving?

Was it a damned LOUSE?

Yeah.  Yeah, it was. 

One is a coincidence.  Two?  Two is something more sinister. 

Once again, it was time to check heads.  This time I checked our boy's while hubby checked mine, and then I checked hubby's.  Nothing.  NOTHING!  Now, it's not like I don't know how to look for lice--last go-round, I mastered parting off the hair and checking, line-by-line, for those bastards.  No lice on either of my men's heads.  Our boy does have what looks like maybe nits, but not down near the scalp--these are 1-2 inches up the hair shaft, which isn't indicative of a going infestation. 

After all the combing through and checking, I feel a tickle on my bare leg.  I look down, and, sure enough, there's a LOUSE on my leg.  Smaller than the first ones, but absolutely a louse.  No mistaking it's blood-filled little abdomen. 

What the hell?

So that's another 40 bucks in lice treatments.  It's not that this has been an ongoing thing--the last (first) infestation, which only affected our boy, was  back in early July.  Five months ago.  This is a whole new group, and here's the thing--we don't hang out with anyone, really.  The closest contact we have with anyone is shopping, visiting various historical sites, our boy's Hapkido, and hubby's daily bus commute.  My money's on Hapkido, since that involves a lot of close contact and rolling around on the mats.  Whatever it is, I've gotta say, I'm unhappy.  You know I hate ticks, but at least ticks don't lay EGGS on you.  Of course, lice don't have the potential to give you possibly deadly diseases, so I guess it's "ick" factor vs really dangerous. 

But ICK, you know?  I really may scream myself to death.

Our boy just started another online course, this time with hubby.  A course on logic and arguments, offered up by Duke University.  We're really liking this Coursera gig--gives us the opportunity to fill in any gaps in our boy's education.  He's got the basics, but this gives him those electives. 

Anyway, I need to give up my post on the computer so they can get back to work.  It makes me very happy to have them sharing the time!

The tree--not done yet, I'll likely fiddle with it for a few days.  But done-ish.

More on "Deathicane Sandy"

Oh, a big thank you to the folks over here who've informed me, advised me, and given me the wonderful phrase "Deathicane Sandy!"  No, laughing at it doesn't make it any less likely to flood my utterly non-flood-insured basement, but it does make the waiting a lot easier.  Deathicane Sandy?  No worries, New Jersey--no way this things gets past my web of crappy luck.  Prince William County, Virginia is gonna be where this storm starts, lingers, and finishes.  Right over my head. 

Betcha.

Also, I forgot to post this little Halloween beauty.  It's brought me joy every year since I discovered it, and I want you to have some joy, too!


Jonathan Coulton--Eat Your Brains

Hours later--went to Wegmans for the usual shopping, plus to grab some extra waters for Deathicane Sandy.  They were almost out of waters--luckily, we've already got a fair bit, so only needed a couple of packages.  It was Halloween Trick-or-Treat at Wegmans, so the store was crawling with little kids in costume.  During checkout, a poor woman with three little princesses lost one.  Little Courtney, who is only six, had poofed, and her mom was increasingly panicking.  I don't blame her--our boy's done that to us more than once.  I asked her who she was missing, and then offered to watch her other two (who were a very small four and eight) while she looked for Courtney.  At one point, I saw her running to the customer service desk, frantic, and I started to really worry.  I had been asking people as they went by to keep an eye out for a little girl in a bright yellow princess dress, but no one had seen her.  After about ten minutes, Mom came back with a very teary and contrite Courtney.  I was very happy--almost crying happy.  Because crappy things happen and this needed to not be one of those crappy things.  I'm happy that Courtney is safe at home with her Mom and sisters. 

I was right to worry

So, my concerns about letting our boy wander about the neighborhood? 

Dead on.

Hubby and I were out cleaning out the old car when we witnessed a near massacre--ten or so kids trying to lure the rat-children across the street off to a place where they could beat their asses.  Listening to the rat-kids, it became clear that they (and the punk behind us) had ambushed one of these kids and, at close range, knocked him around and shot him with their Airsoft guns.  This was the attempted payback.  It got ugly, and the rat-kids' mother came out and shouted these kids (some of whom were mid-to-late teens) away.  Then we were treated to an hour of listening to the rat-kids plan their revenge.  Serious stuff, talking about baseball bats and sneaking around to flank one boy while he walked to the bus stop.

I was chilled, listening, because it's exactly the sort of thing I feared when I told our boy that, no, he may not just wander around the neighborhood hoping to find someone to hang out with.  These kids will start in on him--we already know that, they've already done it.  But away from home, where there's no safe haven?  I have no idea what might happen. 

The lice kids, after months of completely blowing our boy off, have started showing up again.  Always, when turned away, they head directly over to the rat-kids' house.  No art, no attempting to be smooth.  They come over from there and return there when turned away.  One of them actually came over after dark and asked if our boy could come out to "hang" when the rat-kids were standing right on the sidewalk, waiting. 

Goodness.

Sadly, with the car situation, it's looking like moving away from here next fall isn't likely to happen.  Hopefully, the landlord will rent to us for another year.  If he doesn't?  Wow, I don't dare even think about it.

Considering a Costco or BJ's warehouse membership.  Have a free 60 day membership to BJ's, went once to take a look.  Some things markedly cheaper than Wegmans and Walmart, some not.  Costco may have better prices, we don't know--they aren't offering free trial memberships.  BJ's accepts manufacturer's coupons, whereas Costco does not.  However, Costco sells gas, and they do it for around 30 cents less a gallon than the local gas stations.  BJ's doesn't sell gas.  So we're trying to decide what to do here.  If anyone has any money-saving warehouse tips that might help us make a decision, please share!

Speaking of cheap gas, if we want to drive 44 miles to Front Royal, gas there is 40 cents cheaper a gallon.  But it would take over two gallons to get there and back.  But we have an 18 gallon tank.  Which means it would cost $6.78 in gas to get there and back.  We would save $7.20 over local prices to fill the tank.  Add the wear on the car that comes with smacking an extra 88 miles on it a week?  Not worth it.  But it sure is a pretty drive, huh?


Our boy downloaded a new game on the computer last night, which riddled our machine with malware.  Game was called "Slender," and wow.  Browser hijacked, "adware" everywhere, homepage hijacked, even ads showing up on my blog, which is a concern because I'm not supposed to have competing ads on my blog.  I don't know if those ads were showing for anyone else (I should have three ads--one top, one body, and one bottom) or if it was just for me, but I'm hoping it didn't screw up my ad deal.  There was no "uninstall program" under "add or remove," so I ran Malwarebytes (it found 8 registry key entries and four malware/adware programs), isolated and deleted, rebooted, and manually deleted the game files.  Hopefully, that'll cover it.  The ads and browser issues seem to be cleared up. 

A sad day, thus far.  Hope it gets better. 

Green, Green Grass

So the grass seed we put out a few weeks ago?  Still alive, still green, still sprouting.  Despite my best efforts, I find myself getting weirdly excited.  What if it works?  What if, next spring, we'll finally have green grass?  I'm planning on heavily overseeding next month, hoping to see a real difference next year!

I'm proud of Vice-President Biden.  A little surprised, sometimes his mouth is a problem, but proud. But more than anything, I want the stress of this over--I want our President re-elected and I want to stop worrying about it!

Speaking of worrying, the car is due for inspection, and I'm scared to death.  Added to the worries inherent when you own a nine year old car that was once submerged in a FLOOD is this gem, presented me by my husband--what if the mechanics decide they don't like our political bumper stickers?  I know, it sounds paranoid, but I've been floored by the number of Romney/Ryan folks who pull up behind us, then swerve out and around so they can get in front of us to display their Romney stickers.  Worse, they speed up so we can't merge, they slow down to prevent us from changing lanes--it COULD be coincidence, but it doesn't FEEL like coincidence.  It feels like aggression.  So now I'm worried about that, too, especially since our usual shop is closed for remodeling.  We're trying a new place near Old Town Manassas, and hoping for the best.  A devastating inspection could sink us, and there's nothing we can do about it.

Went shopping at Wegmans last night.  Turned out to be a lot more expensive than I had hoped.  How does that always happen?  I try to be good, thought I had been.  Dang.

Used my new "Clean and Clear Morning Burst" face cleanser last night, only to have my neck break out in a vicious rash.  Emailed the company, but no response.  I see a review shaping up.  Speaking of reviews, Epinions is switching over to Paypal for payments.  Some folks are very upset about this, but I'm thrilled--no more missing checks, no more iffiness on the timetable.  I'll KNOW when my cash is coming, and I'll always have access.  I'm happy.

I used to have a link to my Epinions reviews here, but I worry that somehow clashes with my Google deal, so I pulled the link.  Wish I had a clearer idea of how that works, because I liked having my reviews associated with my blog.

Oh, hey, Glade has a wonderful spray out right now, it's a limited release called Autumn Harvest.  It's smoky, sweet, spicy--really nice.  Even the hubby likes it.

Just got back from the local Halal market.  Hubby needed tea, but, of course, we wound up with the sweets, too.  The usual ma'amoul, plus fancy baklava.  Blood sugar, shlud sugar, huh?  Hoping to hit the farmer's market after tomorrow morning's eye appointments--on a quest for muscadine grapes.  They were so plentiful last fall, but we've only found them once at the store this fall. 

And out I go.  Not a lot of substance today, just a lot of worry.  The neck's been nicer to me the last couple of days, but the fingers have been a mess thanks to an all-out war with a marinara bottle's lid. 

Have a marvelous today!

**Updated to say that Johnson and Johnson, the makers of Clean and Clear, did get back with me.  They emailed, I called, they had me talk to a nurse, dug around for symptoms/medication clashes/reasons, and then they refunded my money.  It was a good customer service experience. 

Thunderstorms and Rude

So, we were headed to Wegmans last night, the every pay-period shopping disaster (though it was far less disastrous last night than usual--maybe we can stop dropping a grand a month on groceries, huh?).  As we were leaving the house, we noticed that the lightning was pretty wonderful.  As we got out onto Sudley and headed toward Wegmans (a 20 mile drive), the weather really ticked up.  The lightning was everywhere--no one direction, but rather the entire bowl of the sky lighting up from all directions, with each flash coming directly on the heels of the last, no break. 

And, strangely, no thunder.

Many of the strikes were quite vehement and angry--three, four, sometimes five strikes straight to the ground in the same general area.  Think Tom Cruise's take on War of the Worlds.  It was amazing.  And then the rain started!

The wind picked up first, buffeted us about, and then the clouds burst.  More rain than I have ever seen.  Truly.  It wasn't like drops anymore, it was like water being poured from a bucket.  It hit the road so hard that it bounced back up and made a mist so thick we couldn't see the ground.  The water fell so heavily that each lightning flash reflected back and made it seem we were in a blue cloud.  We think we may have been hit--there was a loud BANG on the top of the car, and a simultaneous blinding flash.  Could have been a branch falling, but no scratches or dents on the roof, and no sound of anything rolling off the back.  Who knows?  Either way, it was exciting.

After shopping (I made some poor choices, diet-wise--what else is new?  I'm down 180, back up 35 of that), we came home and I hopped on Facebook while Tommy made his and Sean's pizza.  Made the mistake of visiting a thread posted by a rather intense vegan on my list--this one going after folks who are overweight with heavy kids.  She, of course, prefaced the thread with "Now, I'm not one to engage in fat-shaming . . ."  Right.  One of her friends posted something like, "Who would ever want to look like that or even LIVE like that?" 

I've struggled with my weight all my life.  I've lost and regained an entire (U-12, of of course) AYSO soccer team's-worth of weight.  Thanks for, once again, letting me know that being heavy is so awful, so disgusting, so sickening that you can't even imagine WANTING to live like me. 

That was good for a half-hour's cry.  Thanks, lady.

Still waiting for a call back from the PCP's office about those x-rays.  No news is good news?  Or no?

Hubby's working overtime in the city tomorrow.  Thank you, Tom.  Love.