And So This is Easter

And so this is Easter, huh?

Best Easter Bunny EVER courtesy
Awkward Family Photos

Really, the only point for us is a candy bar and an excuse to eat ham.  Except we don't have any ham.  We have a spare turkey hanging around in the freezer downstairs, but I think I'd rather have hot pastrami with melted provolone.  That's like ham, right?

Ish?

Came across an amazing advert in my old local rag yesterday--a breathtakingly gaudy thing, calling folks to Easter Services at the "Old Catholic Church."  The building used to be Emmanuel Baptist--I remember that because the old joke always was, "Who is Emmanuel Baptist and why does he have a church?"  I visited the website, and find they refer to themselves as an "American Catholic Church."  A little more digging?

The Pastor/Reverend (not priest) is a gay  man who is married to his partner of 30 years.  A gay man who always, since childhood, wanted to be a priest.  A Catholic priest.

See, I copied their advert because the picture is so garish and the image of Christ so . . . I don't know, oddly expectant, with a strange bit of shyness or embarrassment?  Oh, and he looks like he's got a lip full of chaw.  Like a vaguely ashamed Buddy Christ with a tobacco problem, you know?  I was going to make fun of the picture, and, in fact, I AM doing that, but I'm also impressed that this gay preacher from Texas had the stones to found a "Catholic" church in the heart of Mormonville.  You know me, I don't think ANYPLACE needs MORE religion, but in a place already swimming in it, I do think it's nice to see something different, something a little more kind and accepting, move in.

Oh, here's the poster:

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So, I wound up part of some Facebook group dedicated to my graduating class.  Had to go down my block list and remove half a dozen people I really think are crusty wounds just to make sense of the conversations.  There's one skeezy creature I WILL not unblock because she is incapable of being around anyone who doesn't share her teabagger ideas without sliding in with as many digs and dull-witted insults as she can.  Because she was very popular in school, she actually still has little groupies who follow her around and soak up her every bigoted word (and yes, she is astoundingly bigoted--of the "papers please/build a wall/armed civilian patrols/blame the Mexicans/our President is a MUSLIM/why should homosexuals get to be married when their leaders SUPPORT MURDERING BABIES" variety), meeting each sick political spray with sycophantic cries of "YEAH!" and "OH, MY GOD, I'LL PRAY FOR AMERICA!"  It makes me want to scream.

But instead, I keep her blocked.  She was the one that really broke me on the "give folks a chance--just because they were scuzzy morons in high school doesn't mean they haven't changed for the better" thing.  Turns out most of them are just the same as they ever were--like high school ended and they decided that was it, that was the end of learning, growing, developing, changing, etc.  The majority of people I went to high school with still write like . . . well, like below-average high school students.  A lot of their/there/they're mistakes, almost universal pluralization vs possessive issues, and a near-uniform inability to look at anything from a logical or scientific viewpoint.  A lot of woo and "natural news" and "water has memory" and "share this idiot meme and good things will happen, don't and your heart will be broken" sort of crap.  

It's depressing.  Even more depressing is the number of these people I thought were smart back in high school.  I thought they were a lot smarter than me.  Some, in fact, WERE, and some of those STILL ARE, but the majority?  Not really.  So either I was wrong about them then or they've all suffered serious brain injuries over the intervening years.  And before you get on me about the brain injury crack, I am the product of a wowser brain injury thanks to having my car wrapped around a tree at 60+ mph.  So blah.

I don't know how long I'll make it in that group.  Maybe I'll just hide notifications and pretend I'm there.

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Speaking of that group, have you ever been momentarily stunned by a  name on your computer screen?  I was last night.  There's not a thing I can do about it, but I'm shaken just the same.

You see, back in junior high, there was a vicious rape.  It happened down in the girl's bathroom near the gym.  Three boys followed a girl into the bathroom and raped her.  I know about this because I was in the nurse's office, trying to nap off a migraine, when they brought the girl in.  I heard everything, the cops talking, the cops questioning the victim, the nurse and the cops discussing it, the principal weighing in.  I didn't know the girl, but I knew the boys.  All three of them.

They were tried as juveniles, did their juvenile stint, and by high school they were back among us.  Something that always left me nervous.  They were, after all, rapists. 

Well, one of them is in the above-mentioned group.  I saw his name and felt that immediate jolt.  I took a look at his profile page, and it's all "Jesus" this and "God" that.  And hey, maybe that keeps him in line.  But I sure am glad that group is virtual and not real.  

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We went for a drive last night--looking at a house I'd found a lovely story about online.  Had you asked me to describe my dream house, it probably wouldn't be this, and yet you know what?  It's my dream house, absolutely.  Here's a real estate listing for it, and here are some photos I took.

 There were more--pictures of the horses, pictures of the stable, pictures of the solar panels, etc.

Yeah, solar panels.  This place is totally off the grid.  There's a swimming pool, Jacuzzi, eight stall stable with interior corridor, guest house, barn, run in shed, tenant house, etc.  Radiant heat, heated floors, lovely gardens, and over 17 acres with streams, bridges, beautiful trees, and varied wildlife.


And the asking price?  Around two-and-a-half mil.

That actually makes it markedly cheaper than some of the gigantic places around there.

I know, barring a lotto win (hard to do when you don't play the lotto), nothing like this is ever going to come our way.  But wow.  What a lovely place.  Not too palatial, not too grand, not snobby and grotesque in its opulence.  But real.  Seems a like a place real people could live real lives.

It didn't occur until late last night that we had just gone traipsing all over these people's property.  No, we didn't get out of the car and snoop about, but we did traverse little side roads and check out the stables, barn, guest house, etc.  In our 2009 Sonata, I'm sure no one mistook us for potential buyers, A gentleman who clearly works there did come over on his four-runner and ask if we needed help, and we blithely smiled, said we were good, and thanked him.  He nodded and moved on.  That was when I had the first, "Um,  maybe that was code for 'get lost?'" thought, but it wasn't until we got home that I really realized that we were being rather . . . oogy.  Ill-mannered.  To my credit, I'm pretty sure the home is unoccupied, and we did just follow the Sotheby's signs to the site.

I swear, I used to be classier.

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The arm is still unhappy when I use it or twist it, and it still looks like it's going to be a pretty solidly disfiguring scar--all pulled and puckered.  Not at all what I was expecting, but certainly too late to do anything about it now.  I've got a gang of pictures, but I'll wait until the stitches come out to post a series.  No pictures of the actual cutting--I didn't think anyone would appreciate that.

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So, Happy Easter--or if, like me, you don't list that way, Happy Rene Descartes' Birthday!  And if that doesn't do it for you?  Happy Passover!  And if THAT's not your gig, either?  Well, just have a beautiful day, huh?  Be happy, it's spring!

Do not reprint without permission. © KAQ

It's always something scary. Or irritating.

So, our boy had an appointment for a panoramic dental x-ray today.  You see, a year ago, he had one done, which revealed a small "radiolucent spot with a radiopaque outer rim."  Or some such crap.  We took him to an oral surgeon, much to Blue Cross's chagrin, who didn't want to do much of anything.  He said that, with the placement (directly under the roots of his bottom incisors), anything he did would be potentially devastating.  He recommended a "watch and wait" approach.  He recommended x-rays in a year.

So here we are.  The small spot below the incisors?  The same.  But now there is a much larger, irregularly shaped radiopaque spot underneath our boy's wisdom tooth and extending to just below the adjacent molar.  #31, I believe.  This is big, it's not tiny like the thing under the incisors.  So it's back to the oral surgeon.  The dentist said "it might just be swelling from the wisdom tooth starting to impact," but this is the same dentist who totally missed my salivary stones and insisted that pulling our boy's deciduous canine wouldn't inspire the adult tooth to come in (even though, a year earlier, that's exactly what his old dentist did for the canine on the other side, and it worked).  So I don't know.

I don't know.

What I do know?  Is that we don't have dental insurance.  We have GEHA, which is a supplemental thing, but when you're knocking a three grand bill down to fifteen hundred, it's still a grand more than you have.  No idea how much this is going to cost, only know that we don't have it.  But we have to know what's going on here.  Our insurance really balked at covering the Oral Surgeon last time, tried very hard to insist it was DENTAL, which they don't cover.

Oh, sweetie.  Be okay.  Please.

Today's x-ray, unmarked

And labeled for your viewing pleasure

So, the dog's training is paid for.  I actually thought we were going to wait a month, see how my medical stuff comes out, but it's done now.  Gotta tell you, I don't want a pelvic, I don't want a mammogram, I don't want to step on that scale and have to feel like hell about myself.  But I DO want the CLEAR results of that mammogram, I DO want someone to say, "Everything looks normal," and I absolutely NEED my metoprolol script re-upped.  And if I don't go for the pelvic, then I have to go to the GP/PCP and ask HER, and I sure don't want to do that.

Medical care exhausts me.  Co-pays exhaust me.  But, being someone who's lived without health insurance for long periods?  It could be worse.  I recognize that.  

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Been reading a lot about the Steubenville rapists.  Been seeing all the sympathy rolling their way.  

Because, hey, if you can't blame the victim, who CAN you blame?  Not the RAPISTS, clearly.

Let's get something straight here--no matter what she wears, says, does, no matter how she acts or how much she drinks, no matter where she walks, drives, or passes out, the RAPIST is the one who calls the tune, the RAPIST is the one who decides to RAPE.  I don't want to hear about the rapists' promising athletic careers or academic whatever-the-hells or, gosh, how sad that they'll be registered sex offenders.  What else do you suggest they register as?  They are, after all, SEX OFFENDERS.  Stop acting like they're poor little victims.  Their poor little victim had her name, her reputation, and her very life strewn out and torn to bits in court in defense of rapists.

Of rapists.

If you don't like rape, don't rape.  If you don't want your sons serving time for rape, teach them not to rape.  Teach them to respect women--all women.  Teach them that their hands and their penises stay to themselves unless expressly invited.  Teach them that alcohol poisoning and Rohypnol  are not forms of consent.  Unconscious or barely conscious can NEVER give consent.  

Period.

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Hubby picked up The Hobbit on Blu Ray last night.  From what I understand, the wonky 48 frames per second gig won't translate.  I get the feeling I'm glad about that.  Just finished watching it, and I'll get into it tomorrow.  Not feeling all that charitable tonight, will probably be less critical after a night's sleep.

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I want to take a moment to discuss "slactivism."  You know, the whole "I clicked a button, I forwarded an email, I shared a meme, I've DONE something!" thing that seems so common these days.  

Hey, I share memes--not because I think I'm raising money or making change.  I know better.  I share memes because they're funny or because they reflect my feelings about something, and I share them with folks I know likely share my opinion.  Every once in a while, if I know someone's open or on the fence, I'll share something that I think might nudge them over.  If it's something not wildly inflammatory or insulting, that is.  I don't consider that "slactivism" because I don't think I'm being an "activist," I don't think I'm accomplishing anything other than amusing myself and my friends.

I guess, to me, the term "slactivism" refers to people who post a meme (or a magnetic ribbon on their SUV) and feel they've done something, like their obligation to be active and humanitarian has been fulfilled.  You know, with stupid crap like this:

Which came with the following stupid caption:  

I am not asking you to hit like but i am asling

you to please Share .

Poor baby Suffering from Cancer , For every

share of this pic , Facebook will donate $1 to

the parents of this baby .

___________Sharing will Take Secs ___________

_______________ Please Help____

Okay, folks?  People?  Please?  This sort of thing is ALWAYS BS, okay?  ALWAYS.  Facebook/Microsoft/Apple/FEMA/Walmart/WHOMEVER is NOT going to donate WHATEVER amount to WHATEVER sick baby based upon your clicks, forwards, or shares.

Period.  So stop it.  You're like a virus, you just eat up bandwidth and waste people's time.  Stop it.

STOP IT!

On a related note?  "LIKE this soldier/baby/child-in-a-wheelchair/legless-dancer/bedraggled puppy, SCROLL if you hate them" memes?  Those are also not activism, they don't accomplish anything, and trying to guilt people into sharing your stupid crap is . . . well, it's stupid crap.  Stop that, too.

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And now that I'm all done yelling about stuff, do me a favor?  Check out my comparative reviews of CAMERAS and CHOCOLATE.  Because they really do go together, and if it weren't for cameras and chocolate, I'm not sure life would be worth living.

And that's all, I think.  Except for some bad paneling.  I know, I know, I promised bad RED paneling, but that's on my iPad, and I haven't sent it over yet.  Until I do, have some turquoise with  . . . is that coral?  Salmon?  LOL, what ever it is, it's perfectly precious!

Do not reprint without permission. © KAQ

Everything Must Go!

Once again, I was faced with the Utah "sell" for "sale" thing.  You know, "Target's having a big SELL on electronics!"  Except this time it wasn't the usual, expected-type source.  This was a well-spoken (or well-written, actually) person with a lovely way of expression and terrific spelling.  Broad vocabulary.  And somehow managed to use the word "sell" in the place of "sale" repeatedly. But this person isn't from Utah, but rather the south.  I guess it's a widespread problem.

We were talking today about Charlie, our Cairn, and how he loves each of us for different reasons. Me?  I'm the boss, flat out.  When he's too wound up to obey anyone else, my voice almost always cuts through the excitement and gets a response.  Oh, and I'm the one he comes to when he's scared or worried about things.  Hubby?  He's the face licking and and tug-o-war playing guy, the go-to for ice cubes and the guy whose feet he most wants to rest on during the day.  And our boy?

He's the fetch-playing king.  Charlie will grab a toy and begin trotting through the house, looking for his boy.  If he can't find him, he becomes increasingly upset, crying and searching.  While he will tolerate one of the adults taking the toy and throwing it for him, he'll only go after it once, then go off in search of his boy again.

All three of us are good for sleeping on.

Here's a video of one of Charlie's favorite things.  You may find it a bit disgusting.  Sorry.

I think I've decided to have the basal cell (why do I keep trying to capitalize that, like it's deserving of some honor?) excised instead of using the Aldara.  Yes, it would be cool to use the Aldara and keep a running photographic commentary on my blog, but you know what?  Stuff's gonna be four times as expensive to use (provided there are no problems), and it's not as effective as excision.  Yes, I'll have a scar.  Oh, look, another scar!  Another!  Let's see--gallbladder and appendix (before the days of laparoscopic surgery), C-section, car accident face, and various horse and hiking related scars (plus stretch marks!), and I'm going to worry about a little scar on my arm?  Yeah, I think I'm going to go for the more effective, cheaper treatment.  Maybe I'll take "stages of healing" wound pics, instead.

Found out today that Charles Trentelman of the Ogden Standard Examiner is retiring.  No, I had no inside scoop, though I've been Facebook friends (and a little more than that, I'd like to think) with him for years.  He gave my boy a beautiful Desert Storm coffee mug (black with gold) and a terrific, BIG framed pic from the RAF.  I like Charles, even though our first experience with each other was a rather heated discussion of the relative qualities of Northern Utah vs Upstate New York.  Needless to say, we disagreed.  And that's okay--fact is, I like the heck out of Mr. Trentelman, and I'll miss his writing.  He often gave voice to the thoughts in my head.

Speaking of the end of an era, I've stepped up  my attempts to find some information about Sister Mary Jane and Sister Elizabeth from St. Benedict's in Ogden, Utah.  It's been 35-40 years since I've seen them, and I'm sure Sister Elizabeth has likely died.  But Mary Jane was much younger, and could conceivably still be around.  I'd love to know how she is, see how her life turned out.  She may have originally been from Minnesota, and may have gone back there after she left Ogden. If anyone knows/knew her, please let me know (or let her know she's remembered).  If you think someone might know her, please pass this along.

This came across my wall again.  Well, it's the first time for this meme, but we've covered the point before.  It bears repeating.

No politics today.  I read a bunch of slime that dribbled out of Lance Kinzer and find I can't even go there today.

Really quick, check this out--figured it out in just a couple of minutes, and it only took me AND hubby!  Which means that, between us, we're smart!  

So here--have some really crappy paneling to round out the day!

Did we ever think this was okay?

Do not reprint without permission. © KAQ

Don't Believe Everything You Read

So, I was cruising various news sites this morning when I came across a funny (ish) piece about yet another chunk of Wikipedia misinformation, this one in the form of an article made up out of whole cloth.  It's the story of a war that didn't happen, and the article has been in place for five years.  It took five years for someone to catch wise to the hoax.

The lesson there?  Don't get your information from Wikipedia.  It might be a good launching point, but don't ever let that be the foundation or "proof" upon which you base anything.

Speaking of internet hoaxes, there's one making the rounds again--the whole "Through a Rapist's Eyes" pile of trash (I won't post it--it's that awful).  It's spreading like wildfire because, once again, we have a bunch of folks who WANT to do good.  Sadly, spreading dangerous misinformation isn't "doing good."  It is, in fact, doing exactly the opposite.

In a nutshell:

Rapists do NOT seek out women with long hair.  Short hair will not protect you.

Rapists do not seek out women in particular types of clothing (and they don't carry scissors to cut through overall straps--grip!).  Dressing dowdy or wearing layers will not protect you.

Rapists are rarely the mask-wearing stranger lurking in the back seat of your car or in the grocery store parking lot (which doesn't mean you shouldn't be careful).  Instead, most rapists are KNOWN TO THEIR VICTIMS.  You have more to worry about from your DATE (or your sister's best friend, or your husband) than you do from some stranger stalking you.

Rapists are not a "one size fits all" phenomenon.  What will deter one will enrage another.

The majority of rapes do not occur in the morning hours (?).  In fact, according to The Department of Justice, most rapes occur between 6 pm and 6 am.  As you'd expect.

In fact, the only accurate part of this idiotic spam is this:  rapists thrive on seclusion.  The more alone, the more isolated a place, the more a rapist will like it.  His crime depends in large part upon his ability to keep his victim from being heard.  So the warnings to stay out of alleyways and stairwells and darkened streets are worthy of heeding.  Yes, you're more likely to be raped in a home (over two-thirds of rapes occur in homes), but it still pays to be where there are people and lights.  Still pays to lock your doors and windows, too.

Now, if you know me at all, you know how much I hate the whole "teaching the girls to dodge rape because we can't teach the boys to stop it" thing.  I spent a few years as a rape and domestic abuse counselor, and one of my duties was teaching "self-defense/rape-avoidance."  Again, even today, the entire idea pisses me off.  By teaching women to stay away from here or don't do that, we're conferring a sense of responsibility onto the potential victims rather than letting that blame rest where it should--entirely on the rapist, regardless of where the victim was, what she was doing, what she was wearing, etc.

I just found this piece, and I think it's worthy of a read.  And, of course, the obligatory Snopes article.

Back to the missing/tampered-with mail issue.  No word yet from the USPS, but the local police refused to take a report because it's a federal crime.  A terrible thought occurs.  We sent out 34 Christmas cards.  We got six in return.  Eight, if you count the two that showed up on January 2nd (11 days after being mailed), already opened, one cleared of its monetary contents.  Right before and after Christmas, we had a number of days with no mail--unusual for us.  Very unusual.  Plus, when we moved in, the real estate agent handed us the various keys and remarked, "Hmmm, only one mail key, I guess."

Here's my fear--the woman who lived here before?  The one the cops came looking for over and over?  Including once in a door-banging 2 am raid-style visit?  She moved back onto the street a few months back. Now lives across the street and four houses down.  What if she kept a key?

What if she kept a key?

What if that's why my Epinions checks keep not showing up?  What if she's snatching credit offers and the like out of the mail?

Please tell me I'm just being paranoid, huh?

Looking to take Charlie in for his annual vaccinations plus a heartworm test.  Personally, I don't agree that he needs a heartworm test--he's been on Heartgard since he was five months old, never missing a dose.  But the vet insists.  However, we won't be taking him to the vet for this--see, the vet wants $190 bucks for the vaccines plus heartworm test.  The local wellness clinic wants $75.  Kinda like the neutering thing last year.  The vet wanted $560 with microchip.  Local "Neuter Commuter" wanted $65 with microchip.  Amazing.  Yes, I get that the "Neuter Commuter" is subsidized by the ASPCA.  But I also get that, when we had Bodhi fixed back in 1996, it only cost $95 bucks at a regular vet.  Hard to believe the vet's costs have gone up by five-plus times.

Walgreens emailed me last night, said I had a script needing refilling, all I had to do was respond to the email.  I did, then got an email telling me there was a problem with the script and they were contacting my physician for renewal.  I crack open the medicine cabinet and can't find a script with that number.  I call them, and it's some script from over a year ago from the wildly personable and spectacularly inattentive urogynecologist who absolutely missed that mass, even when I told her exactly where it was, what it felt like, how big it was, etc.  So I told them to cancel the request.  I have no dealings with Dr. I up in Maryland any more.

On the paneling front, I found a gem, a pure-D miracle of awfulness, but I've dropped a line to the owner of the website to make sure it's okay for me to post it.  It's really amazing.  If I don't hear back in a day or so, I'll post it with a link-back to his page and, if he later objects, I'll remove it.  It's amazing, I'm excited to post it!  Until then, here's ME, in 1987, with my Mom's bad (but could be so much worse) upstairs paneling:

Note the mallard duck lamp.  

Yay!  The owner of the blog says I can display the picture!  Look for it tomorrow--it's an explosion of awfulness!

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.