Word Wednesday: Marketing

I was planning to blog about how it seems that once neuroscientists get their PhDs, they have to relinquish their abilities to read simple directions (I would have said all science PhDs, but then the Consort would have taken umbrage), but that will have to wait. Because my business domain name needs to be renewed soon, and in my Inbox yesterday, I got this:

Let's dissect this puppy, as the Consort would say.

First, the highlighting. Usually, highlighting emphasizes the best deal (especially when the text in green, right before the green highlighting arrow/bar combination, actually says "best savings."

Is it really the best savings? No. I only save 42% if I renew for five years. I could save 57% if I went with nine years, so they are lying. (Because in my math, 57, being a larger number than 42, means that that provides a better savings. How does it work out in your math?).

--But wait! Holy mackerel! Do you see what I see? If I renew for one hundred years, I can save 70% -- yes seventy percent! Oh my gee (as my younger daughter would say), what am I waiting for?

Well, let's see. If, in 1850, I was offered a chance at investing in horse-drawn carriages, and could purchase 100 years of ownership at 70% savings, then in 50 years I would be very, very, sad.

Let's think back, not that far. Let's think back 15 years. Did you know some people actually used Word*Star as their word processing software? Never heard of it? That's because you are a whipper-snapper (one of the rights of turning 38 is that you can start calling people whipper-snappers).

Even if we are generous and allow that domain name registration stays stable for twice that amount of time (30 years, if you weren't paying attention), I will probably be out about 500 dollars. (And where do I go having $999 to spare now, anyway?)

So, what kind of idiot puts together this kind of marketing table?

The kind that won't be getting my renewal. I'm switching to aplus.net.

Conversations

In one of these conversations, I am italic. In the other, I am not.

***

A conversation between a mother and a daughter

These pants are too short.

No, they're not.

Yes, they are. You can see ankle. They're practically floods!

They look just fine to me.

New pants must be bought. This is ridiculous.

They've got several months still in them. No new pants. These are fine.


A conversation between a woman and her cat

Meeow. I want to go outside.

You can't. It is literally freezing outside, and when we let you out after 7 PM you don't come back by the time we go to bed at 10:30.

Meeeooooow. If you loved me you'd let me go outside. Mrawl!

It's because I love you that I won't let you go outside.

Just open the door. Come on, I neeeeeeeed to be outside.

No.

All the cool cats are outside!

No.

You just hate me!

[moving away from the back door].

Meeeeeeeooooooooooooooooow! I hate you!

. . .

What? Is that a cat treat you've got there? [rubbing up against a leg]. I looooove you. You're the best.

Now, can I go outside?

***

Word for word, conversations I have had recently in this realm. True dat.

Green Risotto

Here's the risotto recipe:

1 lb fresh spinach, washed, or 10 oz frozen spinach
4 Tbsp. butter
1/4 c. heavy cream
7 c. broth, kept at a low simmer in a saucepan
1 onion, finely chopped
2 c. arborio rice
1 c. dry white wine
1/2 c. parmesan, plus more for the table

1.) Cook the fresh spinach, with the water that clings to the leaves, over high heat for a few minutes in a covered pan until wilted. Or, thaw the frozen spinach. Pulse in a food processor with 1 T butter (melted) and the heavy cream. Set aside.

2.) In a large casserole, heat 2 T butter over medium heat. Add onion and cook 2 minutes. Add the arborio rice and stir with a wooden spoon until coated (another 2 minutes). Whent he grains become translucent, add the wine and cook, stirring, until absorbed.

3.) Start adding the broth, 1 cup at a time, stirring frequently, until each time the liquid is almost completely absorbed. Adjust the heat if necessary to keep the risotto is always at a gentle simmer. After about 15 minutes, add the reserved spinach mixture. Contine adding broth in increments until the rice is al dente yet creamy (probably another 5 minutes or so).

4.) Add the parmesan and remaining 1 T butter. The cheese has adequate saltiness to it, but if you want, add salt to taste before bringing the pot to the table.

Serve and enjoy!

This makes four main-course servings. I made 1.5 times the recipe, and we had generous leftovers.

Like I said before, just enjoy the process; don't worry about stirring constantly. At a low simmer, nothing bad should happen. And, since you opened a bottle of wine for the risotto, have the rest with dinner (of course!).

Musique du Jour

If I had a time machine, then I'd make it so that in my teen years I’d be less of a book nerd and I’d:

Learn to play the Spanish guitar so I could jam with Ojos de Brujo (like on Memorias Perdias [scroll down]) .

Then I’d switch over to the electric guitar so I could jump onstage for Chop Suey! when I went to a System of a Down concert.

And I’d be able to visit with Audioslave and help not remind them of anything [scroll down to track 4].

But mostly, I would become a world-class ice skater and win Olympic gold in the pairs competition, choreographing our long program to The Crystal Method. Something from their Vegas album: Trip Like I Do or Keep Hope Alive [yeah, I'm not very creative, they're what everybody likes on that album]. But the boys would have to tighten it up to the 4.5 minute mark. But we’d be buds, so they’d be happy to help out.

Can you guess what I did yesterday? I finally used my Christmas stocking iTunes cash. I’m still pondering getting a music podcast up — but it isn’t on the front burner. So, enjoy 30-sec snippets of the random stuff I bought. (But I bought the entire Vegas album. Oh, yes I did!).

In writing this post I discovered calabashmusic.com. I will definitely be checking it out. And one day I will give Last.fm a spin. So much music!

Risotto: Squisito!

I made a spinach risotto last night. So good! Perfect comfort food for these blisteringly cold days we are having.

And really, so easy. Sure, you have to add the broth cup by cup, but it isn't like you have to stand over it, worrying that it will scorch. And by that time, the other ingredients (simple and few) are already prepped and beside you.

If you've never tried a risotto, you should. Two rules: 1) definitely use arborio rice, and 2) don't stress. It really is very forgiving.

A perfect meal in a bowl.

(And arborio also makes the best damn rice pudding you ever ate. I only allow it once a season, it tastes so rich. But the ingredients are the very same as other recipes that use more pedestrian rice.)

"It was battle conditions ... "

The Louisiana attorney general's office is investigating whether mercy killings took place in a New Orleans hospital after Katrina hit. I heard it this morning in on NPR, but it seems CNN reported it back in October, as well.

I understand the fear many people have about euthanasia, how easy it would be to get caught up in a slippery slope of convenience and deafness to the desires of those who would become victims. But, one of the results of advanced medical research is that today more and more people are living longer, but are dependent on highly sensitive hospital environments for survival: special diets, life-supporting machines, consistent drug intake, etc.

The CNN piece gives a clear picture of what life was like at the hospital in the days after Katrina:

Food was running low, sanitation wasn't working, and temperatures inside soared to 110 degrees. Floodwaters had isolated the hospital, where about 312 patients -- many of them critically ill -- were being treated when Katrina hit.
...

No one knew when rescuers would arrive. Without power to operate medical devices, staff could only provide basic care. Evacuations were sporadic -- an occasional boat or helicopter picking up patients.

"It was battle conditions," said Fran Butler, a nurse manager. "It was as bad as being out in the field."

The NPR story focuses on the seventh floor: a floor dedicated to long-term care. In other words, the patients surviving on the most delicate, most highly advanced equipment and medical care.

I can't help but think that the doctor and nurses involved were doing the best they could in terrible circumstances. I'm not seeing maliciousness, I'm seeing people stuck in a problem not of their making, trying to alleviate pain and discomfort to those they are bound to help. Sometimes, help means ending pain. Imagine the reality of what survival without 21st-century medical care would have meant for these critically ill patients.

Yes, mercy killing. With emphasis on mercy.

Big Dreams

Oh, readers. For the past couple of weeks I've been thinking about being able to make up a podcast from time to time, for the elite few who visit this site, to introduce you all to some of the more interesting and fun music I listen to.

I looked into a bit, and I'm not sure it's going to work. I downloaded Audacity from the web, but it doesn't seem to be able to import m4p's (what you buy off of iTunes) And that's what alot of my new music is, since I've gotten more daring as to music choices thanks to NPR reviews and iTunes.

I tried using GarageBand, but we only have version 2, and it looks like it's version 3 that has podcasting capabilities.

I realize this is a stupid question to ask this readership, but: Anyone have any ideas for me? It's got to be Mac-usable, and free software would be best. Or maybe there's some way to get Audacity to recognize m4p's? Right now, when I try to import, all I get is one second of PzzzZZZZTTTTTzzZZZTT.

Hey -- Did you know that there is a Belgian competing in the Men's Figure Skating? Yup: Kevin van der Perren. There's also a Frenchman named Brian Joubert competing.

And I wonder, why do they have such American-sounding names, hmmm? I checked them both out, and they say they were born in the country for which they are competing.

I can't even begin to imagine how one says Kevin in Dutch. And "Bree-an" doesn't sound too good, either.

Word Wednesday: Teachers Who Don't Proofread

I think I freaked out some people with my post yesterday. But golly, I can’t always be the hostess with the mostess! So for Word Wednesday, I offer you the following, reproduced verbatim [my comments are in square brackets]:

***

Dear parent/Guardian [oh, so biological parents aren’t as important as court-appointed adults, eh? You fosterist!]:

I would like to take this opportunity to introduce myself. My name is Student Teacher; the students may call e Mrs. Teacher [How do you know e? And are you sure she wants to be known as Mrs. Teacher? I know she prefers Ms. Purple Pen!]. I am a student teacher from Local Barely Accredited Pseudo-College teaching in Mrs., [actually, I thought Local Barely Accredited Pseudo-College was within the city limits] Normal-Teacher’s room […yes?]. I began at C— Middle School on Jan. 3rd and to date I have given all students one typing project that was due on January 13, 2006. My policy is to allow students to make corrections and resubmit their assignment for a higher grade. I firmly believe that students learn from their mistakes [So, when will you be resubmitting this letter for a higher grade? Right now, you’re getting a “D”].

…

Thank you for allowing me to work with your children. [I don’t remember approving you -- show me the paperwork]

[Some teachers don't get any respect. But when 6th graders can find all your typing mistakes, well, you've got to *earn* yourself some respect.]

This is What Happens When You Don't Have a Project to Keep You Busy

So. This whole Danish cartoons thing. I haven’t blogged about it, because there are more than enough people on all sides of the issue discussing this on the radio, on TV, on blogs, in newspapers and magazines. (Plus I’ve been talking the Consort’s ear off about it here at home, so whatever I’d write, I’d feel like I had already said it and was repeating myself.) But I did hear something on NPR yesterday afternoon that surprised me. I had heard a few days before, in passing, about the peaceful protests by British Muslims. Reporters were saying that this was the way to do things: March, but with no threat of violence, blah, blah, blah. Yeah, OK, I thought, that’s right.

But it seems that during the protests, there were placards calling for the “extermination of the enemies of Islam” or for the “beheading of the enemies of Islam”. Can anyone reading this confirm the presence of these posters? Were they prevalent, or was it just a small fringe group? I’m trying to get a clear picture of these “peaceful protests”.

It’s disappointing that everywhere we see this reaction of answering any disagreement with violence. No one is immune of course (viz. US aggression in Iraq), but really, does no Muslim see the irony in this: “How dare you show the prophet, a man of peace, with a bomb in his turban!…. We will … exterminate you!!!!”—but here I am, rehashing what many others have said.

It saddens me that only 17% of Britons polled by the London Sunday Times can envision a peaceful coexistence with their Muslim communities. But I have to agree. I don’t see much positive outlook to the future. Either between different religious groups in the international arena, or between different religious/cultural groups here in the US.

Cowgirl, you may want to stop reading here.

I’ve been mulling over for a while the fact that, when I had my girls, in the mid 1990s, things were looking so positive for the future. And that definitely had something to do with my agreement to have kids at all (growing up, I figured that when The Bomb was dropped—as it surely would—I would run towards the explosion, not away from it; it took the Consort a long time to get a promise out of me that if a bomb was dropped, I would run away from the blast, with him).

If I was fast-forwarded to the present, would I still make the same decision to bring children into this world? I don’t know. I really don’t.

A Guest Blogger

I had no inspiration today. (Well, I've got a great photo for a mini blog-skit, but I want to wait a bit [I've used lots of pictures in the last few days].)

And then I got this from Three of Four. Now that I've posted it, I better ask her permission to post it!

In case you were looking for inspiration today, you *so* have to blog on this article: http://tinyurl.com/c53y2.

This is the hosed up little state we live in. I've long been pushing for secession by everything north of I-66 in order to form a more reasonable political entity. Now I am reminded why.

Where does one begin? The act itself -- breaking the law to catch crooks? Profiting personally from police investigations? The lame justification "that only unmarried detectives are assigned to such cases" just doesn't quite cut it for me... Of course, we could peel back more layers and question the wisdom of outlawing the practice in the first place. After all, if everyone's a consenting adult, what a great source of tax revenue!

My favorite part, though, has to be the respect and sensitivity shown by chief prosecutor Horan when describing the individuals who find themselves in the trade: "there aren't a lot of Phi Beta Kappas in that field."

Apparently, there aren't a lot of PBKs in the Spotsylvania Police Department, either.

And in case you don't want to sign in at the Washington Post site (it's free though), here's the intro:

Spotsylvania Deputies Receive Sex Services in Prostitution Cases
By Tom Jackman
Washington Post Staff Writer
Monday, February 13, 2006; Page B01

They enter the massage parlors as undercover detectives. They leave as satisfied customers.

In Spotsylvania County, as part of a campaign by the sheriff's office to root out prostitution in the massage parlor business, detectives have been receiving sexual services from "masseuses." During several visits to Moon Spa on Plank Road last month, detectives allowed women to perform sexual acts on them on four occasions and once left a $350 tip, according to court papers.

Of Pins and Pens

As we all know, people in the south of the United States have a very distinctive accent. And this accent can cause confusion in conversations. Take, for example, the words “pin” and “pen”. In all other parts of the US, there is a distinct difference in pronunciation for these two words.

Not so, in the south! They are both said “piyun”. And when people complain about how confusing this is, southerners explain that when someone asks, “Kin I have uh piyun?” the correct response is, “Do ya wahnt a stick piyun or a ink piyun?” And in that way, all your confusion about meaning is resolved!

Well, I asked the Consort to buy a pack of pens when he went shopping today, and he brought us back this:

"But, Bubba," she whined, "Ah tole you Ah needid ink piyuns!"

Olympics

I love sports competitions that come every 4 years: Olympics, Soccer World Cup. In fact, I was heavily pregnant with the Elder Imperatrix-in-Training when the US hosted the World Cup -- right in our backyard! Someone even offered us tickets to the local stadium game (with the US team, no less!), but that was her due date, and being a first-time parent, I didn't think it was a good idea. She arrived a week late, so, damn! I could have gone.

It's at times like these that I wish for cable television (we're weirdos who only get the standard stations). It sure would be nice to watch an entire event, rather than just (a) highlights of Americans doing really well or (b) highlights of others doing really poorly (Remember the German figure skating couple a few years ago who fell early on in their routine, and the young man scooped up his partner in his arms, her face all bloody, and skated her off the ice? We had to watch that replay every frickin' 15 minutes that night).

The girls are looking forward to the Olympics, but they've already said they can't wait until the summer Olympics because they want to watch the fencing (Note to self: We will *definitely* need cable in 2 years, because little do my girls realize that there is no way a US station is going to show *fencing* on TV for an extended period of time! ... or, could we perhaps be in a different country by then? Hmmmmm.)

Anyways, I'm wishing everyone an enjoyable 15 days of winter sports watching.

Go Apolo! Go Bode!

The Beast is Slain

All hail Imperatrix! The dread monster Big Job, which has been terrorizing these parts ere this past month, is no more. Her Grace, with her fell red pencil, Always Sharp, and her trusted steed, Sticky Note, dispatched the monster this very afternoon (via her squire, FedEx).

Our Lady Knight plans to feast joyously this evening, then march swiftly to the next encounter early on the morrow.

Huzzah! The kingdom is safe once more!

Out of the Loop

What does it mean when I know and love the punk record of the year (Green Day's "Boulevard of Broken Dream"), own and like the country album of the year (Alison Krauss and Union Station's "Lonely Runs Both Ways"), yet have NEVER heard of the U2 stuff that won awards?

I'll tell you what it means: I have been taken over by aliens. The Green Day is understandable (I am the one in our house that owns Korn, Kid Rock, and Soundgarden, after all). But the *country*? I hate country! What am I doing with country music? And why haven't I heard of the U2?

Damn that NPR and its eclectic mix of music.

Word Wednesday: Language Hijackings

Anybody in the US back then: Remember the early 1980s? When you could stuff your LaChoy crispy noodles (“LaChoy makes Chinese food that [rat-a-tat-tat] swings American!” — ay ay ay, those heady 1970s; thank god I was too young to be responsible for them; but the LaChoy isn’t really important here, stay focused!) into your Le Bag, get into your Le Car, and zip off home for dinner, hoping for the day someone would “discover” quiche so you’d have something really tasty for dinner? And then you wouldn’t have to add “Le” in front of everything anymore to make it cool?

Well, I have just observed the mid-oughts new euro-cool catch-phrase (really, “catch-word”, but anyway): Boo-coo.

I first heard it a couple weeks ago by a woman in her late 50s. Born and bred Midwesterner. Very snazzy in her purple flats to go with her purple pants to go with her purple appliqued sweater, with her mega-body chin-length silver hair framing her face and shiny silver jewelry around her throat. She was talking about a young therapist dealing with a difficult psychological case, and to make her point mentioned that the young therapist in question found herself feeling boo-coo stress trying to make this case work out.

I let it go. I pretended to know what she was saying. (I don’t like to look a fool.) Later, in the car, I realized what she said. “Oh! She meant—” But then I was distracted by a driver, cell phone at ear, trying to make a left turn across my lane, so I was distracted and moved on to other thoughts.

On Saturday night, the two Imperatrixes-in-Training were at their first night “party”, 5 pm until 10 pm, so the Consort and I went out to dinner with a couple we know. Being the liberals we are (all 4 of us), the conversation got to state politics, and one of them, who works for the Natural Resources section of the state government, mentioned that all those out-of-state “consultants” this state is fond of using costs us all boo-coo bucks.

One is weird. Two is a trend. Why boo-coo? It sounds stupid. English has more words than any other language (so I’ve heard). That’s great, but I really don’t want to have to experience first-hand the word-swiping that keeps the language vibrant, especially when the word in question is said “boo-coo”. Yes, in fifty years it will be a part of the English language: used in newspapers and speeches, found in Merriam Webster’s 18th edition. But I tell you now, I will cringe every time I hear it. I will be boo-coo irked. Every time.

Mark 11:15

There is a new club at the Elder Imperatrix-in-Training's middle school. I know because when I went in to run the lunchtime book-chat club last Thursday there were huge fluorescent posters everywhere announcing it. The Elder IT also says they made announcements over the PA urging kids to attend.

The club is called Youth for Christ. The posters and the announcements all urged the same thing: Come to our meeting and get FREE pizza and pop (soda to us non-Midwesterners). AND, you may win one of three iPods!!!!!!

Too bad Christianity has to stoop to bribery. What say you: WWJD*? (Hint: Check out that bible verse I gave ya.)


*WWJD = What Would Jesus Do. It's been a big fad on keychains, bumper stickers, jelwelry, etc., for the past few years. Not that anybody really pays attention to what it means. There's a lot going on in this country that I'm pretty sure Jesus wouldn't approve of. But then, I'm a heathen, so what do I know?

Time Keeps on Ticking

Sorry everybody. We are awaiting a big decision today (it was promised on Tuesday, and has been postponed again and again). So I am a bit scatterbrained and I just can't focus.

You'll know when the decision is announced, because I will either be vindicated or really, really pissed off. And you'll know it. Trust me.

Blogichef Recipes

I’ve been spending my time visiting some British blogs for a while, and e and KW have been very nice to let me blib and blab on their sites, so here is where I submit my two entries for Blue Witch’s Blogichef Quick and Easy Recipes week.

Having been raised in a European household in the US, I’d notice when the cultural edges wouldn’t quite fit, but we (my sisters and I) would come out ahead. For example, where US kids would get pancakes on the weekend, we’d get crepes. And where they’d have that traditional American staple, macaroni and cheese (often, if homemade [which is rare], made with that unnatural Velveeta “cheez product”), in the winter we’d get my mother’s twist on it, which has been reborn for my kids as Bonne Maman’s Macaroni and Cheese.

Bonne Maman’s Macaroni and Cheese

Note: This one is 1) quick and 2) comfort food. No claims as to healthiness are implied

1.5 lbs elbow macaroni
1 brick Emmentaler cheese
1 package sliced ham (for you meat eaters. We vegetarians just leave it out)
bread crumbs

Cook the macaroni al dente. While it is cooking shred the cheese. When the pasta is done, drain it and return it to the pot. Immediately mix in the shredded cheese. It will start out as a blobby and tangled mess. *Don’t worry*, keep stirring until the cheese (and ham, if you’re a carnivore) is/(are) relatively distributed.

Dump it all into a greased baking dish, sprinkle on the bread crumbs, and pass under the grill until the top is a crispy light brown.

The best way to enjoy it is with ketchup (for the kids) and ketchup and Tabasco sauce (for the adults). A salad on the side would be nice, too.

You may think 1.5 lbs is a lot for 4 people, but man! the kids just snarf it down. Very addictive—just don’t have it every week, is all.

Also, my parents (both of them) really took to American football. Many a Sunday afternoon, my sisters and I would be off in our rooms, while my parents would be shouting and cheering in front of the TV, following every game (every week) with the zeal of born and bred Americans. We’d just roll our eyes.

My father would often make this soup (I’m pretty sure it’s the only time he’d cook on a regular basis) on football Sundays, because he could do the prepping while watching the game. So, in honor of my father’s soup-making skills and the upcoming Super Bowl on Sunday, I offer you Papa’s Sunday Soup. (Yes, he’s Bon Papa now, but this soup was named way before my kids were around.)

Papa’s Sunday Soup

Leeks
Potatoes
Water (we vegetarians use broth)
Some kind of meat bone (don’t ask me, I never paid very close attention, because even as a carnivorous kid, I was grossed out by the whole sucking out the marrow part)

Wash the leeks and potatoes (I keep the skin on the potatoes, you may prefer to skin them; whatever works—but my way’s healthier). Slice the leeks, cut up the potatoes, traditionally done sitting in front of the TV. You should have the same volume of each (I’m thinking, start with 6 cups’ worth). During a commercial break, place leeks and potatoes, water/broth, (bone, *shudder*), and salt in a soup pot. Bring to a boil, reduce heat. Cook until veggies are tender. (Take out bone, if you’re using it).

During half-time, blend up the soup (using a Mix-Soup is a lot neater than the US way of using a blender or food processor). My father would always leave it a bit chunky because he knew I liked it better that way (Awww, isn’t he sweet? No, I was the oldest, so of course my desires should take precedence over my sisters. It’s just the natural way). Serve up and eat in front of the game, maybe with some hot bread, or add croutons (our favorite when we were kids). Whatever you do, make sure you are focusing on the game (dampening out any other sounds) while the inevitable Sucking of the Marrow from the Soup Bone ritual takes place beside you on the couch.

Sidebar Changes

I've added a couple of items to the sidebar. How does it look to folks? (On Safari, it looks fine).

I'll be trying to get a better font for the "Need A Laugh" section, but the template I'm using has very pretty gifs for "Recent Posts, Links,", etc. What I've got right now is scripty, italic, but not quite the same.

And don't think I'm not doing real work -- I actually got most of this together yesterday afternoon, but am just putting it up now. This is really a 5-minute break from the rapidly shrinking Monster!

Word Wednesday: The Copyeditor Makes the Book

At first blush, I'm sure most authors would disagree. And some might point out that my being a copyeditor somewhat biases me, but let me share from my current reading.

I'm a SciFi/Fantasy junkie, but I had never read any Octavia Butler. She's important to the field for several reasons. Her story ideas are fresh (that's most important, to me), her characters are African American (a severely underrepresented group in SciFi), and, at least in this novel, the main character is a woman (many others have been writing from a female POV, for sure, but I'm always up for a strong female character).


I decided to read The Parable of the Sower, which describes a dystopian near-future of ineffectual government, dangerous gangs, and drug addiction. When the main character's small enclave is destroyed, she decides to find a better life in a trek north from LA through California, Oregon, Washington, into Canada. (I don't know if she goes all the way, I'm at the point where her family and neighborhood is destroyed by drug-addled thieves/rapists). Anyway, when she writes in her journal, or talks to other people, about going north, everyone points out how there are "dangerous boarders" between LA and Canada. And this happens *every* time. This is not a one-time typo. Each time I hit one of these, I get pulled out of the story, and it is pissing me off.

You may think, "But maybe because these are her journal musings, it's just part of who the character is." Maybe, except I'll take her word for it that she's intelligent and top of her class, and there is the added annoyance that there is also a constant mix-up between its and it's, as well as random start-quotes in descriptive paragraphs. So I think it's just bad copyediting (if it was copyedited at all!).

And if I didn't already know that Butler is a Big Name in SciFi, I may have given up on this book. And that would have been too bad.

Now, I'm reading the original 1993 edition put out by Four Walls Eight Windows, and a visit to their site shows that it was bought out by Avalon in 2004. I hope that subsequent editions were fixed, because it is a very good story, and I recommend it to all of you.

Just be prepared for those jolts.

Consider, if you will, the following *exact* quote:

"If it looks like someone has run rampage thrice and again in my room, it isn't my fault -- the dog and cat were chasing each other in there"

What if you knew that this was a 9-year-old talking? Would you be worried? *I'm* not worried, but would the general population think that we are allowing too much Role Play Gaming in our household? As I've mentioned before, we're each in the middle of a Neverwinter Nights adventure. But it's only a hour a day, *if* they have time, after chores, homework, and other activities.

Now, add in the fact that the girls are both really into the Fencing Club they joined in the Fall. And that they *love* attending Ren Faires. . . Would the general population think we are allowing our escapism to..., well,... run rampant?

If we stop answering the phone and email, shout "Have at thee, foul knave!" to ruffians in the street, and greet you with a "Well met!", *then* you should worry.

Just Kill Me Now

“Our results follow from two basic observations. First, zero-sum distribution shocks have aggregate effects if, and only if, there are asymmetries in the reactions of winners and losers to change in wealth. If the individual response of, say, labor supply to a marginal change in wealth is the same for everybody, then wealth changes that sum to zero generate changes in labor supply that also sum to zero.”

Good news: 14 of these done.

Bad news: 16 more to go.

See, I wasn't exaggerating when I said it was a monster.

"Little Pitchers..." Complete

Well, KW got it, even if she wasn't *sure* she got it.

"Little pitchers have big ears" = "Watch what the heck you are saying because the kids can hear you and they understand more than you think they do!"

I am sorely disappointed in the rest of you. I distinctly remember learning this one in elementary school in a lesson on idioms. I can't believe this was taught only once, in the spring of 1978, say, in one school in all of the United States.

The Consort said, "if you ask me if there's a saying that's been around since 1546 and nobody's heard it, it's not a saying any more. Of great import for something to be a saying is that people somewhere have to be saying it." Well, Mr. I-bet-that-isn't-even-an-English-saying-I-bet-you're-just-remembering-a-French-saying, I am SURE that Faulkner, at least, used it (he must have, it just *sounds* so Faulkner-esque). Maybe if my sample size were larger, I would have gotten better responses (not that I want to data-mine -- no, not me!)

The Consort also said, "Because, you know what they say: 'A saying that most people don't know is like a unicorn.'"

True. And isn't it sad that you can't see the lovely unicorns?

A Craft Post

I mentioned in passing that I needed to finish a crochet project for the Elder Imperatrix-in-Training. I finished it! Now both girls have a granny-square sweater.

This all started in the summer, when we were preparing to spend a week at a family camp with my father-in-law and his family. I wanted to bring something other than books to read (I didn't want to be impolite and go off to do something antisocial like that [as I am wont to do] at every possible moment). Knitting didn't seem right because the piece of work can get pretty big and cumbersome. So I found this crochet pattern and decided it was perfect: The largest a square got was 4.5 inches; it was repetetive, so after a while I'd get into a groove and be able to socialize as I did it; and I would make this for the Younger IT, who is such a good sport about getting hand-me-downs that she deserved something made especially for her. It didn't take long for me to teach myself the very basic stitches need to make the squares, and voila!

Of course, everybody else brought books to read, so I ended up crocheting in silence as they all were antisocially reading around me. Hmph!

After I put it together, the Elder IT said, "You know, maybe I'd like one of those, too, if you think you could..." (But the time span between Aug 1 and Sept 1 had lots more free time in it than the time span from Sept 1 to Jan 22!) (This last paragraph is to cut short any thoughts you may have that I am a most terrible mother, to not only make GRANNY-SQUARE sweaters for my kids, but to make them BOTH THE SAME SWEATER -- and make them wear them AGAINST THEIR WILL.)

And finally, I received gift certificates to a local knitting shop for Christmas (from the Consort) and for my birthday (from the Cowgirl). I admit that probably one reason the sweater finally got done was that I told myself I couldn't start on a project for me until the sweater was finished. . . But what would I choose for myself? I much prefer knitting and crocheting for kids, because the pieces are smaller, and the projects are actually do-able. But thanks to the Internet, and blogging, I came across blogs that raved about a particular stole/shawl project. I was intrigued. I checked it out. It came highly recommended. And so I began. I won't show you what it's supposed to look like, you'll just have to wait until I'm done.

But -- you can take a look at the luscious silk/mohair blend I picked out with my gift money:

Not a Perk of Home Offices

... Is when the city decides this morning would be a good time to do a little sewer work on my street, meaning that the smell of rotten eggs is permeating my house (via any open drains [i.e., all of them] and cracks through the windows).

I can't even "open a window" to get some fresh air, because it is even worse out there!

On a different note, I find it interesting that when I specifically ask for comments, I only get one (see yesterday's Word Wednesday), yet when I say I am oh so busy, folks want recipes.

"Woe is me, I am SOOOOOO busy -- I sure hope no one responds to my Word Wednesday query about 'Little pitchers have big ears'!"

Word Wednesday: Is It Idiom, or Idiot?

Quick!

"Little pitchers have big ears"

Ever heard this phrase? What does it mean to you? Where does it come from?

Take this quiz. All will become clear after I get enough responses. (And one day when I have more time I'll figure out how to make a real Internet button-select quiz. But not this week.)


*And yes, I realize it isn't Wednesday yet, but I kind of wanted to get this thing rolling.

Who Says Blog-Surfing Wastes Time?

Look what I just found.

I'm betting The Imperator Consort and Three of Four will enjoy this muchly; you others, maybe not so much (but maybe I just don't know you that well yet).

Driving Restrictions

Teens are all up in arms here in the Corn and Soy state because the governor wants to put some restrictions on teen driving. He says distractions make young drivers dangerous drivers. They say he's stopping them from enjoying the very things they like to do while driving.

Let's review these onerous suggested new restrictions, shall we?

1) No cell phone use while driving. Personally, I think this should be a universal law. Unless you have a hands-free phone, my guess is that if you try to swerve and talk at the same time, you will not drop the phone (it's ingrained in us not to just let go of the phone during a conversation), hence making it highly likely that you will crash, and potentially kill me or my kids as we innocently walk down the street.

2) Teen drivers may only have one passenger who's not an adult or family member. Remember when you started to drive? Remember how it seemed like you had to be looking front and back, side and side, all the frickin' time? That's because it takes a while to do those things authomatically. And teens, who haven't been driving as long, will probably get distracted by the three different conversations going on at the same time as they drive their 4 best friends, each of them on a cell phone with *their* other best friend, to someone else's party; making it highly likely that they will crash, and potentially kill me or my kids as we innocently walk down the street.

3) Teen drivers also would be barred from driving between 11 p.m. and 5 a.m. unless an adult or family member is riding with them. Now, there are exceptions for getting home from a job (but wait -- teens shouldn't have jobs that let out after 11 p.m.!) or school functions. But aren't teens always complaining about how tired they are? Why would I want someone out there driving at 2 a.m. when they're tired, enhancing the likelihood that they will fall asleep at the wheel and crash?*

Driving is not a right, it is a privilege, and new drivers should not be let loose (at the age of 14 here in Iowa) to wreak havoc because they feel they have the right to do it.

To be fair, I also feel that older drivers should be reviewed more often than every 5 years, because I am tired of reading about mothers and their children being killed as they walk into the grocery store or the farmer's market because some grandparent "mixed up" their accelerator and their brake pedal.

Really, we could all save ourselves alot of grief if we had a good public transportation system, but that's just pie in the sky, right? Now pardon me while I deal with my liberal self freaking out because of these very conservative thoughts.

*Although I acknowledge that falling asleep at the wheel can happen at any time. Once I was out taking a walk with the two girls (when they were still in the double stroller). A man fell asleep at the wheel. His car left the main road, drove diagonally across the access road (on which we were were walking) and crashed into the tree in someone's front yard. I only turned around when I heard the crash -- the car ran silently behind us into the tree. If we had been 30 seconds slower, the car would have hit all three of us, and you wouldn't be reading this post right now.

Foods Through the Ages

**UPDATE: Some people wanted the soup recipe. It's in the comments.**

Three of Four gave the Elder Imperatrix-in-Training a medieval cookery book as a gift last year, and we use it from time to time for a themed dinner. I adapted a few recipes last night (it's interesting that in a world where so many people could not afford meat to eat, every recipe in these types of books are meat-laden; the classism inherent in this area of historical research is amazing). It was a good meal: winter squash soup, garlic and pork [aka Boca Bratwurst] pie, salad, and poached pears. But every plate (except for the salad, because I added that in myself and made the vinaigrette) was flavored with the brown spices (mace, cloves, cinnamon, nutmeg).

This mix of the sweet with the savory on the same dish is something I just couldn't eat every day. It's more of a cultural thing than a generational thing, I believe, because this mixing reminds me very much of current Phillipino cooking (thick sweet crepes sprinked with sea salt, or three-bean ice cream, for example).

Hmmm, as I write this I'm thinking that maybe these dishes are so sweet because there'd also be roast beast of some kind or another as part of the meal (remember, if we went back in time we'd ALL be lords and ladies), and that would be the counter to the sweet-scented vegetable dishes and pies? Maybe. Especially if it were wild game.

I'm sure I'll be thinking on this as I tackle the monster project, which I will begin this morning, after a quick shower.

Update 2.

I decided I really shouldn't cut out early, so I began Project 3 (Project 2 was just too much of a monster to think about starting it on a Friday afternoon). But I learned something. Thomas Dolby is alive and well. He is working with data sonification: he takes data and transforms it into music in order to better understand and interact with the data. Hmmm. Okay, if you say so. And this helps you understand the data better ... how, exactly?

Anyway, I also learned that he has a brother who teaches at the University College of London and works at Microsoft Research (blech to that!). Neat-o. You never think of 1980s pop sensations as doing anything "serious", nor of their having siblings who do real work in a related field. (Can you envision Adam Ant talking at academic conferences? No? Neither can I. Sorry, Adam.)

Update 1.

12:15 and the package with project 1 is on the porch and waiting for FedEx to take it away. It was hard, though. About halfway through I had to open an email to retrieve some author changes, and it took all I had not to click on "Get New Messages". Someone was looking out for me though, because right then my connection went out (not that I *did* click on "Get New", but my iTunes radio stream got cut, so I glanced at the modem. Honest!).

I decided to let the dog out before the snow got hard & heavy. She's an African dog. She hates winter. I usually don't force the going-outside issue until midmorning in the winter months, because she's such a passive aggressive type when she doesn't want to do something ("What -- oh, you want me to go OUTside? Is that what you were calling me about? Oh, sure, just let me, um, streeeetch my front legs. Sure, hey, I'm moving, but next I've got to stretch my baaaack legs. Surely you don't want me to strain a muscle, do you?").

When she finally got outside, it took her 10 minutes -- I am not exaggerating -- to find a convenient place to pee. She'd circle widdershins in the dead daylily patch, squat, then run over to the dead lemongrass patch and frantically circle clockwise, squat, find it unacceptable as well, and move on to the sunflower stalks, do some sniffing, and, off again she'd go. Silly dog.

And as soon as she finally did do her business (I saw her, I can confirm it), she ran right up to the back door and started whimpering. "I'm sooo cold, I can barely feel my toes!" (That's because you HAVE no toes, silly.)

Now, I will have lunch and decide what to do next. I hate starting a project after lunch. What I really want to do is work on the crochet hoodie I've promised the Elder Imperatrix-in-Training I'd have done soon. Oh, so soon. Really. Before Spring arrives. I promised.

Slow Out of the Gate, Today

I've got one project that I should finish today. It will take me about 1-1.5 hours and then it'll be out the door.

I've got a monster project that I've been delaying starting, and now I've got 3 weeks to do it. (Yeah, 3 weeks sounds great until you actually see the huge pile of material for it!) And this is a new-ish project, so I need to continue impressing them. I've got another project that is due in a month, and I am putting my money on it being placed on the back burner for a while.

So, what have I done? Read some blogs, participated in comments. Had some tea. Put some chocolate chips out of their misery ("eat me, eat me, PLEEEEASE eat me!" they cried in their pitiful little voices). Taken a shower. The rat really looks like she'd like to be taken out, and that makes me feel guilty. But, holy camoly, it is almost 10 a.m.!

OK, I am posting this, then quitting Safari until project 1 is out the door. I will update later to let you all know how it's gone.

Jon Swifties -- Better than Tom Swifties!

Take a few minutes and read these beauties.

Word Wednesday: Sometimes Tried and True is Best

Sorry for the late post today, but l've got some deadlines looming, so I actually buckled down to work first, with only 5-minute breaks for email and blogs.

It was so nice out this afternoon that when the girls came home we took the dog for a long walk around Gray's Lake. I was feeling irresponsible in not having a Word Wednesday topic, but serendipity always comes through: at the lake I noticed something that's bugged me for quite a while. Since the lake renovations were complete, in fact.

After making the walking paths smooth, and stocking the lake with fish, and adding a boathouse for canoe and kayak rentals, the city added, at half-mile intervals, plastic bag dispensers / trash cans for doggie-doo. What a great idea this is. I really think it keeps the place cleaner than if we had to count on some dog owners to bring their own bags. But what bothers me is the phrase they've placed front and center on each of these dog centers:

"Please pick up behind your dog"

??!? ??!

Obviously, someone thought that the old "please pick up after your dog" was just plain overdone, so they must have taken out their handy-dandy thesaurus and chosen "behind" as an appropriate synonym.

But I ask you, what if consequent to doing her business, your dog spins around and is facing in the direction of the little pile -- you wouldn't be picking up behind your dog, would you? Maybe you wouldn't think of picking up the pile in FRONT of your dog. But considering that wherever the pile is in relation to your dog, your action takes place AFTER your dog's business, that is obviously the apt word. Dontcha think?

Birthday Wishes

As I embark on a new year today, I hope all of you are having a good day, too!

Mother Earth must have an internet connection, because a few days ago I wrote here that I needed snow, and what do I see out my window right now? An eeety-beeety bit of flurrying. Happy birthday to me!

Bill Gates is such a copycat

The Imperator Consort just shared some videos with me, so I share them with you.

Folks have been curious for a while now about the new Windows version. Which has already been delayed. And won't be out until September 2006.

Are *you* one of those who stay awake at night wondering what tantalizing super-new features Vista with incorporate? Here we provide you with an actual audio stream from a recent Windows conference:

http://tauquil.com/archives/2006/01/06/re-introducing-the-real-windows-vista/

(you need Quicktime to be able to watch the videos)

As I expected, most of my plans of things "to do" yesterday were waylaid by a busy sort of laziness (although the feeling is fleeting and I already regret not having done more). BUT, I did go for a long walk in the sunshine (it was too hot though -- 49 degrees in January? not good. And it will be even worse today they say: 54 degrees. I really need some cold and snow, people).

I ended the walk by going to The Best Place Ever (their name, not mine -- although I agree completely) and renting "The Constant Gardener." Anyone who has a hard time imagining what things are like for people in Africa, and particularly anyone who does not have a clear picture of what the atrocities in Darfur are like (i.e., most of us coddled non-Africans), really should see this movie. Only a brief part happens in Sudan, but during that short time there is a Janjaweed attack on a poor village. Trust me, the images will stay with you. As they should.

The Consort and the girls have gone north for a skiing weekend. I've got all sorts of plans. I wonder how many I'll actually get done? Hmmm...

Friday Time-Waster

I've just found this site, engrish.com.

This is another time I am sooo happy I don't have to worry about co-workers hearing me laugh uncontrollably. I suggest starting with the Menu section.

Update: No! I changed my mind! Start with this one.The caption is what made the tea spew.

Rah! Rah! Siss-bang-boom!!

I never have "gotten" the school spirit thing. It just seems so fake and stupid to me (but then again, I find many of the people who are into that sort of thing fake and stupid).

In high school, I once went to a pep rally, and it was soooo boring. The team ran out onto the gym floor and did some basketball drills, the cheerleaders shook their pom-poms, and we sat on the bleachers and screamed.

So what was that going to do for the team — get them in a fighting frenzy? Come on, that would only work if they were going right into a game; you can’t hold a buzz in check for a few hours! (Plus, this was a girls’ private high school, you can’t really “get down” in a houndstooth skirt, polyester blazer, and knee socks. [And who would we be "getting down" for? -- *Gasp!* OMG! Could we really have been in a hothouse of lesbian lasciviousness? Pat Robertson has been right ALL ALONG!])

I’ve been reminded of this because it is Student Appreciation Week at the Elder Imperatrix-in-Training’s middle school. Some parents got to the school at 7 am today and stood out in the freezing cold until 7:40. They waved banners and shook noisemakers, cheering the kids as they entered the school. Why? Because we are proud of them. How lame is that? No *wonder* kids begin to alienate themselves from their parents in middle school.

There will also be a 6th grade dance during the two last periods of the day today. They sent home a note earlier in the week. Here are some of the choicest parts (punctuation and capitalization as in the original):
-----
Are you READY??? . . . Get FIRED UP!!
The Student Appreciation Day
6th Grade Cougar Pride Party
will be held Friday

Show you SCHOOL SPIRIT
Wear your COUGAR COLORS

All parents/guardians are invited and welcome to attend […]
Stop by and visit a class, cruise the hallways and/or hang in the lunch room!

[OUR SCHOOL’S] 6TH GRADE STUDENTS ARE GREAT … COUGARS ROCK!!!
-----

Hot damm, that just PUMPS ME UP! Who WOULDN’T want their ole ladies cruisin’ the halls, hangin’ wid’ da ho’s in the caf’? Am I going to be there? Fo’shizzle, mah nizzle… NOT.

Puh-leeze.

*But I will say that the Elder IT was one of 15 kids who were recognized during an asssembly earlier this week as a (I’ll have to check with her, I don’t remember the exact term: ) Student of Character. She got a school t-shirt, which she is wearing to the dance. She likes her school, just feels this stuff is a bit over the top. It made me laugh because every year since first grade all the district’s schools do this module on “Character Counts” (responsibility, trustworthiness, etc. – there are seven Pillars of Character). Every year it’s the same old thing, and the Elder IT got really fed up with the repetitiveness and hokey-ness of the whole thing. And here she is a pillar of the Pillars! Very funny.

Word Wednesday: Let's Hand out Some Recognitio!

Back when I still participated in the slave market (before I started hiring out my lance for free, that is), I worked for a year at one of those ubiquitous consulting firms (let’s call them ABC Technologies) that spends most of its time forcing workers to participate in meaningless, meandering staff meetings. And because half our workforce happened to be at the client’s site most of the time, we office drudges would be sitting around a conference table, chatting with a phone set up in the middle of the table.

Now, ABC Technologies understood the need for a happy workforce, and a happy workforce is one in which achievement is acknowledged. So, when someone did something particularly noteworthy, we’d give them kudos [from the Greek kydos; praise given for achievement].

I’d like to interrupt the story here to tell you about a college friend of mine, named Lucie. Now, Lucie liked language, and at gatherings she always would mention how the plural of octopus should really be octopodes, because the roots for the word were octo [eight] + pous [foot] (both Greek words), and the Greek plural would be formed by “podes”, not “pi” as those upstart Romans did in their language. And we’d nod, hmphh, roll our eyes, and hand her another Milwaukee Beast (or chug our own, depending on our mood).

Fast-forward back to the ABC Technologies meeting, where one fine day the office manager decides to mention the good acts of one of our workerbees. He described the project she was working on, the stuff she did above and beyond the call of duty (or paycheck), and ended by saying, “M— deserves a great kudo for her work on this!”

A kudo? A KUDO? It took all I had not to groan out loud. Let’s not back-form in front of the children, please. Sheesh.

Lucie, wherever you are: I’m sorry I rolled my eyes. I get it now. And I totally agree. It should be octopodes.

Definitely.

Someone please explain to me why it seems reasonable for it to be my fault if my phone line was not working until about half an hour ago and somebody couldn't get through.

(Yes, I will take responsibility for many things, but I have never screened my calls and I have never purposely disconnected my phone to bother anybody).

True Nature

Yes.

I admit my treacherous and evil nature.

I am a demon from the Seventh Level of Hell, sent as a trusted minion of the Lords of the Underdark for one purpose, and one purpose only: To torment innocent maidens by brushing their hair. I insist on uptails, using as an excuse the need to keep hair out of one's eyes during the school day. I take joy in forcing ponytails on gym days and fencing nights, for no other reason than that I am a successful and powerful demon.

None shall escape my talons.

The Most Subtle Use of Psy-Ops Ever

In today's (award-winning) Des Moines Register, there is an article about the new streamlined "Critical Assets" list that every state had to create after 2001. It seems that our list of 11,600 or so critical assests was too large and confusing. So, they trimmed the list to 1,360 of the most important.

To accompany the article, in the print edition there were pictures of three of the most critical assets still on this pared down list. You can see the photos online at http://tinyurl.com/chfta on the left-hand side if you scroll down a bit.

And what are these oh-so-valuable sites, you ask? The Field of Dreams (because if you build it, they will come), the Krispy Kreme in Clive (a DM suburb), and the Ruan Tower (Mr. Ruan is a very wealthy DM developer and land owner).

Sigh. Yes, this is one of those times when we imports wish we could change our driver's license and not have to tell anyone we live here.

The *Krispy Kreme*? You have GOT to be kidding. I can so see a cell of al Quaeda operatives hunched over a table, mapping out places to target in the midwest, and one of them saying, "No, no -- I tell you, if we just take out the Krispy Kreme in Clive, the people's morale will be broken, and we will be able to CRUSH them like the little bugs that they are!"

Confession of a Lapsing Environmentalist

We own a chest freezer, and I love it! We didn’t buy it new, we weren’t even looking for one. It found us. Our neighbors were moving to Colorado and didn’t want to take it with them, so they asked if we wanted to buy it at 30% of the price (it was only 2 years old).

Yes, I feel ashamed to revel in such wanton energy use, but I can’t deny that the freezer is darn useful. I rationalize that thanks to the freezer, we can buy ORGANIC frozen vegetables in bulk through our buying club, we always have ORGANIC frozen dinners on hand, we can buy our ORGANIC nuts and flour in bulk and they won’t go rancid, and we no longer have bread that goes bad because some loaves can’t make it through the week (we go through 4 or 5 per week).

But really, I love it because we can finally make homemade ice cream that WORKS! Our freezer compartment never froze the bowl completely, so the finished product would be more of a slushy than soft-serve ice cream. And when we would try to harden the ice cream by keeping it in the freezer, it would harden into a big clump.

But no longer – nay, now what comes out of the 20-minute ice cream process is soft-serve ice cream, and a brief stay in the freezer produces real, honest-to-goodness, ice cream!

Last night we made candy cane peppermint ice cream. Deeeelicious! (and the peppermint was, yup, you guessed it – ORGANIC [so that ain't so bad, right?])

Word Wednesday

As an editor, misuse of language really bugs me. I mean REALLY bugs me. So on Wednesdays I will share my [anti] favorites. We'll start with a local one. There is a Denny's style chain here in the midwest called Bakers Square. And their tagline? It's "Baker's Square: Restaurant and Pies".

Sure, both those things to the right of the colon are nouns, but does it make sense? No! How would you scan that, "Baker's Square, it is a restaurant and it is pies"? Sounds stupid. How about, "Baker's Square, we sell restaurant and we sell pies"? Nope, that doesn't make sense, either.

Just because you can find two things that describe your business, doesn't mean you can just slap them together to the right of a colon and expect people to make sense of it. There's another similar chain, and at least they hired someone who understands English for their tagline: "Perkins: Restaurant and Bakery". That's more like it: both those things make sense together, they are both eateries. See, if I ruled the world, advertising would have to make sense [what an outlandish thought!].

But the sad thing is, their pies are terrible. At either place. Better to eat pie less often and eat good pie. (In our household, it's thanks to the Consort's magic way with fruit pies that we are kept happy throughout the Spring, Summer, and Fall.)

OK, So I Was Wrong

No real post, today. But the Consort and I went to see "The Squid and the Whale". It was very good, but very depressing. Most depressing of all was that they used the melody to "Figure 8" (one of the Schoolhouse Rock vignettes) in some of the more poignant scenes, so now I won't be able to hear it without feeling a bit sad.

People do rotten things to their kids.

Back in the Saddle Again...

Yikes! I haven't posted in six days! Sorry about that to all those who have been coming to see wassup. The frivolity of the season just took over. (That means there was WAY too much chocolate!*)

One of the nice things about freelancing is that you can work from anywhere, pick your time off... but it also means that when you stay close to home, and the rest of the family is on vacation, you still have to make your deadlines. Bummer. But that's OK, I guess. Because it means that the Imperatrixes-in-Training can focus on things like Neverwinter Nights and The Sims without their mother saying that we should all go out for a walk, or play a game ("we _are_ playing games, mother!" -- but I meant board games, sheesh!). And the Imperator Consort can continue his conquests in Warcraft III without feeling guilty.

Anyway, I should be posting on a regular basis again, starting now. (I've got some opinion posts bubbling around that I need to get down in binary [heh heh, lame joke].)

*The Imperator Consort says he wants to invent a carrot and broccoli Christmas treat. Because that way, when you're putzing around the house over the holidays, and you've got a little rumble in your tummy, you can think to yourself, "Golly, I think I'll have me a little carrot and broccoli Christmas treat!" rather than "Let's see, I've already had five gingerbread men and a handful of coconut sticks. That's no good, I need a little variety in my diet ... I know! I need a couple of mini Toblerone bars!"

Hey, Look Who's in the News!

It's the Younger Imperatrix-in-Training!
Supposedly, they interviewed her for a long time. The principal said she was a hoot. But they didn't use any of her material in the actual article, which you can read here, at least for the next few days, I'm guessing.

Someone from the Metro Waste Authority came to talk to them at the beginning of the school year about the proper way to recycle, so since then she has insisted that we "respect her authoritah" on things like rinsing out the conditioner bottle before tossing it in the bin.

Non-IDentification

In a week that should have been joyous, but is turning out to be less so, a glimmer of hope: Judge Bars 'Intelligent Design' From Pa. Classes.

"Intelligent design cannot be mentioned in biology classes in a Pennsylvania public school district, a federal judge [John E. Jones III] said Tuesday...'The citizens of the Dover area were poorly served by the members of the Board who voted for the ID Policy,' Jones wrote... 'We find that the secular purposes claimed by the Board amount to a pretext for the Board's real purpose, which was to promote religion in the public school classroom,' he wrote in his 139-page opinion."

Here's where I shout "yea, verily":

"Jones wrote that he wasn't saying the intelligent design concept shouldn't be studied and discussed, saying its advocates 'have bona fide and deeply held beliefs which drive their scholarly endeavors.'"

But, he wrote, 'our conclusion today is that it is unconstitutional to teach ID as an alternative to evolution in a PUBLIC SCHOOL SCIENCE classroom. [emphasis mine]'"

Rock on, Judge Jones.

How Cold Is It Where You Live, Imperatrix?

Well, I took a shower this morning. Afterwards, I started a big mug of tea to take up to the office with me. While my tea was steeping, I decided to go fill the bird feeder. It took me all of five minutes to take the feeder off the post, open the bucket of seed, fill the feeder, close it up, and return it to the post.

In that time, my damp hair froze into solid strands.

THAT's how cold it is here.

Family Game Night

Last night we played Blokus, and awesome game, indeed! So, how was it? Well, the girls are going through a bickering stage, so I now present to you some highlights from the game:
---
Do you even know what broiled means, or do you just think it's "boiled" with an R?!
---
Wait, I just had a revolution!
---
[after being told to stop looking for a spot for her piece, because there wasn't enough space anywhere on the board:]

What's wrong with a little blossom of hope?
---

Today, they are both down with a cold.
Maybe that was the source of the crankiness.

Dingle Berries

Sigh. Have I mentioned the cat yet? Oh, yes, that mighty hunter of waters. He actually turned on the water in the tub yesterday (we’ve got those up/down old-fashioned levers, not the 1960s era circular knobs) to get a drink.

A few days ago, the Elder Imperatrix-in-training comes to me, holding him up in her arms and sticking his butt in my face. “Does he smell like poop to you?”

Why, yes, as a matter of fact, he does! And what to my wondering eyes should appear, but a soft turd tangled in the fur around his, um, you know.

As the one responsible for some of the grossness of having pets (the Imperator Consort takes care of puke, thank the gods), I cleaned him up and sent my offspring to sniff couch and bed to make sure his little dangling bits hadn’t smeared on any fabric.

And today, as I am adding the sugar and milk to my favorite hot drink, what to my wondering ears should I hear, but the scratch, scratch, scratch of a cat covering up his business. Except that he was in the kitchen. Scratching at the linoleum. Trying to cover up a little package of yuckness.

Again, I clean up the mess. I call the vet to see how much a “hygienic clip” costs (oh, am I sorrowful for the mockery I made of my sister’s cat who would get these hygienic clips twice a year!). We’ve got a feisty little bugger, so the clip ($20) plus sedation ($30) is more than I choose to handle at this time.

Hmmm. The Consort’s electric razor is in the bathroom. . . Maybe I’ll give that a try. I bet the Consort wouldn’t even notice (since he hasn’t visited the site in a while!).

Christmas Tree Water

What's the best way to serve water to your Christmas tree? I know that the first batch should be hot (to get that caramel-like sap moving), but should each new addition be hot, too? (Although that just means the tree gets warm water, since the stuff already in the holder is cold.)

Also, in vases of flowers, I always add a teaspoon bleach to keep the water from getting algae-y and smelly. Do some add bleach to their tree water? Or soap, maybe?

Does it make a difference to your answer if you knew that the cat needs to "hunt" for his water, and so prefers toilets, tubs, and Christmas trees as his hunting grounds?

Trials and Tribulations of a Freelancer, Part I

I have a new project. Same client, different manager. And I really think that come January, I will be dropping this project. Why, you ask me? Well, let's consider the facts.

A long-time project was moved overseas (you know, I was just Friedman flat-worlded). The freelance stablemaster then put me onto this problematic project. I was thrown right in, just "Here's the style guide, here are a couple of previous issues, and here are ten files to work on!" Great, except that the style guide was not clear on several points. And the file info I was given wasn't complete. I start sending emails to the manager, but I get no responses. I do the best I can, finish up on time, and send my first invoice.

By now, I've gotten more files (still no closure on the queries from before), so I start working on them. My first invoice is currently unpaid. Now, I've been working for this client for over 5 years, so I know I'm in their system. I email about that. "I'll check into it again for you," he says. [my internal monologue: Again? This is the first time I've asked.]

The list of unresolved style issues is getting longer. I even ask the manager if his work schedule is uncommon. "Nope," I'm told, "I am usually here between 8:30 am and 4 pm." [Ho-kay.]

Second batch goes off, but now, with the first invoice over a month late, I tell him that I will stop work on any files in my possession (I've gotten batch 3 by now) until I get paid for invoice 1. [I'm a freelancer, dude, and I can't pay my bills until I have money in hand. How would you treat a freelancer that just sat on stuff and made your deadlines slip? You'd FIRE his ass, dude!]

Still no word from him.

Soooo, I call.

"Oh, yes, I found your invoice, it was covered by all these piles of paper on my desk." [Rickin, frickin, &^%( #$@!] "I'll be submitting it this week."

I finally receive payment, so I alert the manager that I am resuming work on batch 3. One big file is not a typical file, and so I ask the manager for guidance on Tuesday. Nothing. Wednesday, nothing. Thursday, nothing. Friday, I email (subject header: "Are you there?") that I am ready to send all the other files, but I really need feedback on what to do with the big file.

"Oh, we had to get that one out in December, so I took care of that one myself." [Why the blasted bleepity bleep didn't you TELL me then?].

I received another batch yesterday. "Got it," I email. "I notice that there is some info we weren't getting before that now we have. Should I incorporate it, or has the style changed?"

Haven't. heard. anything. back. yet.

[You better be getting COAL in your stocking this year, buddy! Santa, are you reading this? He has been a VERY NAUGHTY BOY this year! And I don't mean it in the good way, either!]

Where's the "Service" in the Service Industry?

So, I had my first really frustrating holiday shopping experience today. And at one of my favorite stores, no less.

We are big book fans, so we love to shop for books, we love to hang out at bookstores, we love to listen to the music they play in the bookstores, and we love to drink the coffee drinks they sell at bookstores. And our favorite book store franchise is Borders Books. Barnes & Noble seems bigger and less personal, their staff isn’t as friendly, and their seats aren’t as comfortable.

I went in to our Borders today looking for a gift for my nephews. I know I’ve seen the kind of story I was looking for at school libraries and other places, so I didn’t anticipate a difficult time finding what I needed. After browsing in the Children’s Department for a few minutes I think to myself, “Hey, this may take me a while to find, and the Customer Service folks have always been so helpful -- golly, I’d probably save myself a lot of time if I just go ask them directly!”

So I skipped over to the desk, la di da, waited my turn in line, and, when it was my turn, I smiled to the Borders employee (not one I’ve noticed before, and I can recognize many of them on sight, we spend so much time there) and started to explain what I was looking for. The guy looks at me superciliously and says (now, you must read this with deep open vowels), “Well, do you have a title for me, because I don’t think I’ve ever heard of this type of story.” He gives me one of those fake sympathetic eyebrow frowns, purses his lips, and shrugs. I have just been officially blown off.

That sound you hear is my internal holiday background music screeching as the needle scrapes across the record and the arm flies into empty air. Then what you hear is silence.

I take a breath. “That’s all fine and good,” I respond, with an edge of ice in my politeness, “but maybe someone from the Children’s Department may know a bit more about this than you?”

“Sure, there should be someone back there,” he replies, tilting his head towards the back of the store, “you might want to go and check.”

I still just look at him, no smile on my face now. He continues, “Unless you’re already been back there?” I nod my head and give him one of those oh-so-impatient closed-lip smiles. [Yes, damn you, of course I went back there to check. I had ignored the irritation of not finding anyone back there because I am in my favorite store, and I was willing to give Borders the benefit of the doubt!]

He messes with some papers on his desk. “Unless she’s at lunch [people, it is 10:30 in the frickin morning] . . . no, she should be back there,” he looks towards the back of the store. “It looks like she’s helping someone in . . . DVDs.” Now, he hasn’t looked at me since I gave him the Freeze-o-smile, so I know he’s feeling uncomfortable, but whether that’s because he realized he had made a faux pas or because he didn’t like me by this point, I didn’t know.

So I decided to simplify this unknown variable by asking in a terse and frustrated voice, “Would you mind give me a NAME or a description of what she’s WEARING, so I can go back there and try to find her myself, then?”

There, now he definitely won’t like me. He runs off to go to her and calls to me over his shoulder that I should go to the Children’s Department and he’ll send her right over.

The long and the short of it is, they didn’t have the kind of book I was looking for. And he didn’t even offer to help me order it through them.

Now, I agree that I got pissed. But I wouldn’t have had to get pissed if he had taken my question seriously in the first place, and if he had actually made some effort to help me find the answer, rather than base his inaction on whether he, personally, had ever heard of this type of story.

Maybe we’ll have to go check out Barnes & Noble.

The Next Generation is Getting it Right

Wow. The Elder Imperatrix-in-Training is so amazing. Remember that post a couple days' back which I suggested she not read? Well, she didn't read it! She was checking out the blog here in the office, turned to me and said, "So, I shouldn't read this?" When I told her that she could, but she wouldn't like it, she shrugged her shoulders and said, "OK, then I won't read it."

Boy oh boy, do I need me some of that self-restraint.
"Today I will have no chocolate."
"Well, I won't have any more than this piece here."
"Hmmm, maybe my chocolate-free state will begin tomorrow, so I might as well have three pieces right now."

Or,
Me: "You really shouldn't do that. It will only make you not happy."
Myself: "But won't not doing that make me not happy?"
Me: "Don't do it, I'm telling you. . . . See, What did I tell you? How do you feel now?"
Myself: "Not happy."

I Spent My Last $3...

...on being a community sucker. Some dude (white, kempt, and in his late 30s/early 40s) came up to my door with a gas can in hand, saying his car was out of gas & wouldn't start. Could I PLEEEEEASE lend him $3-4 , which he would pay back after his car started. So, I had exactly $3 left in my wallet, which I gave him.

It's been 1 hour, and he's not back yet. I did see him approach the house across the street, probably to get some cash off them as well.

This being the "transitional" neighborhood that it is, I'm not really surprised that this happened. I do this sort of thing in the belief that I am storing up some good karma for myself and my kin, to redeem at some nebulous point in the future. What? You say karma doesn't work that way? I can't keep track of it to withdraw some at a time of my choosing? Oh, well.

The gas can was a nice touch, though.

Oh, My My. Oh, My Oh My.

[Note to the Elder Imperatrix-in-Training: You’d be less discomfited if you didn’t read this. Trust me.]

Someone just pointed me to this article on Scooter Libby’s 1996 sex novel, “The Apprentice.” Jeepers creepers, those Conservative Leaders are pervs. Deer necrophilia, and – bears and little girls, fer crissakes! And to think it took him twenty years to write this. My oh my. Really, you should go read the review for yourself, but don’t be drinking anything while you are doing it – you may ruin a perfectly good keyboard. And don’t do it at work with the door open, your gales of laughter will disturb your co-workers.

I really shouldn’t be surprised. For instance, I’m sure there's a very easy paper to write there about the whole domination thing (“Giving it to The Man: International Roles in Third-Rate Pornographic Writing”). And what better way to write about that metaphorically than with Asian women (e.g., T’sa Li) and Western men [How do I know it’s Western men? Rand’s glans, you know – not Gua Yong’s dong (… as in “ding dong bell” Elder daughter, la di dah, the world is sweet and peaceful…)].

This is probably why they work so hard to continuously criminalize homosexuality: They can’t get their jollies unless something is against the law (VPs dying of heart attacks *with their mistress* [in this case, biblical law, "That Which Trumps all Other Law"], etc.). Homosexuality is becoming so mainstream these days they can’t really reach levels of pleasure (she still may be reading, folks) unless we’re talking Cervidae and Carnivora Ursidae. And remember, these people don’t want to be anything like the liberal elite, so who can get Mr. Big happy using THOSE big words?

Wait! I thought of another paper topic: “Goldilocks and the Three Bears: Turning Fantasy into Reality, The First Step in Proving that Saddam Actually Had Ties with al Qaeda”.

Anybody else want to try? Just pick something from the article (Buckley would be hardest, I think), and give me a serious paper topic. Let’s give Haloscan a workout. USE that Comments feature!

Manly Style

OK, so I have a hard enough time living without ever having found a justification for opposite button placement on clothes for males and females. But this morning, the Imperator Consort tells me that when men wear button-down sweaters (maybe it's just button-down sweater vests, that oh-so-sexy accoutrement of the academic), it is de rigeur to leave the last button undone.

???

What, so you can call attention to The Bulge?

I just don't get it. Can someone explain it to me?

Gift-Giving Dilemma

Let's say there's an acquaintance with whom you exchange gifts. You know what you want to get them, and see that gift at a locally owned business where you shop often. And you buy it.

Then, at one of those nasty nasty mega franchises, where you seldom set foot (and you are there looking for something else), you see the deluxe edition of the gift for the same price as you purchased the regular edition of the gift (we're talking a 30% differential here, comparing the regular to regular or deluxe to deluxe prices). And you buy it, too.

Do you upgrade at the nasty store? Do you exchange for the regular edition at the nasty store? Do you suck it up and stay local?

What do I do, people?

Charitable Giving

We recently subscribed to Mother Jones (because what better way to spend $10 than by receiving another magazine that agrees with your political bent?), and the theme for the December/January issue is “God and Country: Where the Christian Right is Leading Us.”

There are some very interesting (and scary) articles on the insinuation of evangelical beliefs into American culture and (closer to home here in our realm) the weakening of the philosphy of academic freedom.

I know, I know, some of you are tuning out as you’re reading, but let me suggest you take a look at the information in “Who Gives a $%&T?”, which is available online for free. Some of my favorites:

--In 2002 Americans deducted $654 million for cars they donated to charity; 7 times what the cars were actually worth.

--8 in 10 dog owners buy their pet holiday gifts. 6 in 10 cat owners do.

--Americans spend $8 billion on Christmas decorations, almost 4 times what they give to protect animals and the environment.

--There is a graph which shows the percentage of income donated to charity, by bracket. You really should check it out, because the words don’t have the same impact as the graph. But the numbers, for 2003, were: $200,000 and over (3.4%); giving stays in that range down to $30-50,000 (5.3%). People who make between $15,000 and $30,000 almost double giving, to 9.2%; and those who make under $15,000 gave 26% (yes, you read that right, TWENTY-frickin-SIX percent) of their income to charity.

Pa-the-tic.

So go out and donate to your charity of choice, preferably a local one that gives directly to the needy; go through your kids’ toys and thin out the herd (another number: the typical American child receives 70 [SEVENTY!] new toys in a year, most of them at Christmas); clear out your closets and bring those coats and jackets (and hats and mittens) you never wear to a shelter; and do your part.

Today! Stop reading this blog and do it!

(But come back tomorrow. Lonely Imperatrixes can do dangerous things when left to their own devices too long. You can tell me what action you took to help the poor!)

Secret Santa or Sinister Snake?

We had our first real snow last night (2-3 inches). I decided to go shovel the sidewalk before all the early-morning class students packed it down. But when I got out there, it was cleared, with the unmistakable treadmarks of a snowblower! It must have been done by the person who clears the sidewalk of the apartment building next door.

My first thought: Wow, people in the Midwest are so nice. What a great way to start December (the REAL holiday season start)!

My second thought: Hmmm. I bet those nasty landlords (the favorite way for those two brothers to address me is "Bitch") are trying to butter us up for something, like adding another big barky dog to the building.

The Consort's thought: Jeez, I bet the new hired man doesn't know where the property ends and made a mistake.

Too bad my East Coast survival training kicks in so quickly.

Winter Visitors

A few years ago, the Consort gave me a bird feeder for Christmas. I really enjoy birdwatching out my kitchen window in the wintertime. Sure, there are fewer birds around, but you really get to know them, the foliage doesn’t hide them, and they have a decent chance of escaping the cat (Who doesn’t seem to realize that his big black furriness is visible when the herbs under the bird feeder are wintering over [Plus, whenever I let him out, I shout out “Fly away birds! Here comes the cat!” – I bet our Somalian neighbors think I’m very strange (But not as strange as the neighbor’s brother thinks the Consort is. Earlier this spring the Consort was shouting at some chattering squirrels on the roof. The squirrels stopped to look at him, and so he asked them, “Oh, alright, what’re your names?” [I kid you not]. Just then, the Consort noticed that our neighbor’s brother was standing by his car, right on the other side of the fence. They greeted each other, and then the brother drove off. . .).].).

The majority of our visitors are sparrows, followed closely by a number of black-capped chickadees.

We’ve got a cardinal couple that have been coming to our feeder since we put it up. He’ll usually eat first, but then she’ll take a turn, nudging off many of the smaller birds in the process.

I just recently noted the return of our white-breasted nuthatch (OK, the link is to a red-breasted one, but just use your imagination!) and our downy woodpecker. There’s never more than one, so in my mind that means it is the same ones returning each year (how long do these guys live, anyway?).

But today! Today, my friends, I saw our backyard’s first red-headed woodpecker. How cool is that? I wish my digital camera did fancy zooming, because I sure would like to take pictures of all my visitors, but then I’d have to wash my kitchen window more often, and that would just not happen. Oh well, they’re still there for us every day, in real life.

One of Those Times I Wish I Believed in a Wrathful Deity

Because of this. (If you haven't registered with the New York Times, you'll have to do that first. But it's free and they don't send spam.)

"The piece that fell was over the figure of Authority, near the peak of the building's pediment, and to the right of the figure of Liberty, who has the scales of justice on her lap."

Isn't that appropriate in the current climate of misuse of Authority by those on high? And poor Lady Liberty, being attacked (but so far surviving) attacks from the Right.

Clear proof that God is getting pissed off.

No Thanks Today

Well, today I was going to find something else I was thankful for, but I can't do that when my mail connection is down so I can't download those 100+ messages of spam I get everyday. I keep checking every 12 minutes (or so) in case they got it online yet, but I haven't even heard back from my people!

And these are good people, who run an intentional community and all (I won't link to them right now because this is a bad-mood post, and I wouldn't want to pass on any negative press or anything).

But, to think that I switched to them to PAY for web space! My previous domain-space outfit had lost my file (I know it because they cc'd me on internal communiques that made this loss abundantly clear to me) so I was still getting email and web space, but I didn't get a bill in over 18 months. But then I switched to my friends' server. Just to be nice. Just to help the telecommuting thing work for them. And now, how do they repay me? By going on Thanksgiving break, obviously. Ah, you bleeding-heart liberal, Imperatrix.

[I should say that my "free" web space was unavailable at least once every six weeks, but since I didn't want them to take too close a look at my account, I would often just bear it for 24 hours or so. And this is the first time in 17 months that I've had an unavailable account, so really, I'm just being dramatic.]

I mean, they haven't responded to the email I sent TWO hours ago. PEOPLE, I have SPAM to delete! Don't you realize how the only way I can get myself to finish some of the duller articles I have to edit is by promising myself I can check email again, if I just finish the Results section?

(OK, sometimes I break the promise and check for messages before I finish the Results, but don't worry, I don't tell the boss-lady. She's probably at her own desk checking email, too.)

And when NEITHER of us get to check email, WE CAN'T WRITE THANKFUL POSTS!

I ain't so peaceable right now, let me tell you.

This One is Brought to You by the Letter Ahw

The Elder Imperatrix-in-Training (I will have to find a better moniker soon, but I haven’t the time [read ahead]. She wants it to be Xenith, but what the heck does that have to do with Imperatrixes, I’d like to know) is impatient for a new entry, so, I offer you the first in a series of thanks-giving entries.

Some background (although most of my readers [oh, alright, all of them, at this early blogging date] will know this): One of my sisters and her family are gracing the realm with their presence for the holiday this week (hence, not much time for anti-social activities like blogging), so we’ve got a Hobbit (“Is it time for elevenses? Or is it third-breakfasts?”) and a Princess around. And they have reminded me that I am very thankful that little children do not have a strong grasp of all letters of the alphabet, because the confounding of, in most cases, the “rrrr” sound with the “www” sound will always tickle me. Here is a string of examples, from the present day back into the mists of time, from a variety of nieces, nephews, and even the Imperatrixes-in, ahem,-Twaining:

“Do you know that stwanguhs can weaw wed pants or shorts?”

“Tante Impewatwix, do you see this dwahwing I dwew for the Wat?”

“Tante Impewatwix, my mommy says that I can go see the Impewatwixes -in-twaining at fencing tonight. It might be bohwing for me[the Hobbit’s eyebrows are wiggling up and down at this part, because he doesn’t believe it, but it will make his mother happy to hear him acknowledge this low-probability occurrence], but that’s okay.”

“We made wazzles for breakfast!”

As heard on a preschool playground: “Don’t you be mean to my big bludder!”

“Look at the squillows running in the tree!”

“For Halloween next year, I want to be a squarecoe!”

“Can we feed some nuts to the skee-roles?”

I’m looking forward to the future Missing-Letter Entries of the younger batch of nephews and nieces!

First, They Drive Us Insane

About seven weeks ago, I got a recorded message call: “Please call America Online for some important information. This is not a sales call.” At first, I ignored it. We do not have (nor ever have had) an AOL account, so I figured I had no reason to waste my time calling them (Let me just say here that I really don’t like the new modus operandi of many corporations [credit cards, mostly] of calling you with a recording telling you to call them back for an important message. What, the 5 rupees a day that you pay your live slave labor getting to be too much for you, you big multinational life-sucker from hell?!)

In the back of my mind, I was bugged that I was getting a call from AOL at all. We’re on the Do Not Call list, we have a telemarketer zapper phone, … we thought we had all the bases covered.

Then the recorded calls got more frequent. They would call before 8 AM. They would call after 8 PM. Finally, I had had enough. I called the 800 number they gave in the message to tell them to knock it off.

“Do you know Peggy Sue?” they asked. Erm, that’s my sister-in-law’s name, but I sure wasn’t going to tell them that. I just said there was no Peggy Sue at this number and to quit calling us.

They kept calling us. And calling us. AND. CALLING. US.

Every person we spoke to at AOL (by this time we were pretty sure it was a collection agency for AOL, not AOL directly) promised us that they would take our number off their list immediately, but it might take 24 hours for it to run through the system—This was one hell of a long 24 hours, let me tell you! So, my Imperator Consort mentioned to his sister that we were getting these calls for her at our number. She has had an AOL account for ages, and had no idea what they’d be calling us for; but she asked us to ask AOL next time they called. Sure enough, the next day we got another important call from the AOL recording. I hung up, waited until the message was done (It was one of those hijacking phone messages. You know the ones, they keep running even after you hang up [I thought those were outlawed, weren’t they?]), and called the 800 number (again).

After we got the formalities out of the way (“Hi, my name is Jeanine, blah blah blah, what number are you calling from, …”), she asked the inevitable: “Do you know Peggy Sue?” Yes, as a matter of fact, she’s my sister in law. So, what’s this message about?

Shocked silence. “Well,” said Jeanine, “I can’t tell you. It’s private.” But you’ve been harassing my phone line for weeks! Why can’t you just tell me? Peggy Sue asked me to find out what these calls were all about! “That would be against the law. Privacy issues. No can do.”

Ho-kay. I hang up with Jeanine, call Peggy Sue (probably interrupting her dinner, I realized afterwards) and tell her tersely that they won’t tell us anything. She’ll just have to make the call. She promises to get right on it. I hang up, and try to absorb all the adrenaline that the phone call with Jeanine has pumped in my bloodstream. Deep cleansing breaths, deeeeep cleansing breaths.

Five minutes later, Peggy Sue calls back. She just spoke to AOL. Her account is paid up and they have NO IDEA why we’ve been getting these calls. My only response at this point is: Grrrrrrrrrrrrr.

The calls keep coming. Now, when we get the call, it’s for Dennis. Who the fuck is Dennis? We both only have sisters! Meanwhile, the Consort has emailed the FCC. The people at AOL (or its collection agency) keep promising that they are personally deleting our number from their list, as we speak. Bullshit! I shout. I cajole. I joke. I tell them that this experience is leaving me no choice but to tell everyone I know, and strangers, too, not to use AOL. Nothing works.

We get a letter from the FCC with a case number. The Consort answers the next call from AOL, gives them the case number, and tells them to stop calling.

Last night, after realizing that we haven’t gotten a call in about ten days, I tell the Consort at dinner that his reading them the case number must have worked, because we are finally free of AOL. He is definitely my Knight in Shining Armor, and the realm is still pleased with Our choice, lo these thirteen years ago. La la la, the world is good.

At 8:15 PM the phone rings. “Hello, this is America Online. We notice you don’t have an account with us. Would you like to try us risk-free for 90 days?”

And Thus it Began

I've been bitten by the blog bug (about two years behind everybody else, I'll wager). I will tell it to you truly, but anonymously: Because strong opinions and work do not mix. Either for me or the Imperator Consort.

I am a freelancer in the publishing industry, so words are very important to me. I'm a leftist living in a world gone mad, so politics is very important to me. I'm an environmentalist living in a degrading world, so pick up your damn trash, get rid of your gas guzzlers, and don't touch ANWAR, you self-absorbed capitalists!

But don't worry, I'll start with a funny story.