Really, Jeeves?

Jeeves is in the Cornell Companion Animal Hospital right now awaiting
surgery for an obstruction of the small intestine.  He should be
having the surgery this afternoon, and will stay in the hospital for
two or three days afterward.  His prognosis is good.

The first signs of the bowel obstruction showed up yesterday morning
when he puked up his breakfast.  He continued to throw up fluid
throughout the day.  We brought him to the vet in the evening when he
turned down his dinner and then puked up the dog treat that Alice gave
him to see if he had any appetite at all.  They took x-rays and didn't
find anything one way or the other.  So, they gave him fluids and sent
him home with instructions for how to treat "dietary indiscretion,"
the most likely and easily treatable cause of vomiting.  This morning,
when we gave him water, after twelve hours without, he puked it all up
about 20 minutes later.  So, we went back to the vet, where they were
able to take a look inside of him using ultrasound.  They found a
bolus in his small intestine, approximately 11 cm long with a 2.5 cm
diameter.  So, they recommended surgery.  We agreed, and they kept
him.

We caught the obstruction very soon after it happened, so everything
should go well.  The vet seemed very positive---she thought that
getting the obstruction out as soon as possible was the very best
thing to do.  So, it's up to the surgeon and Jeeves, now.  Good luck,
little buddy.
-Ryan


Thursday I came home to dog sick all over the rug and in the closet and in all sorts of other strange places. I called Ryan and asked him if he had been the one to throw up all over the rug and he said, "No. But Jeeves did throw up his breakfast."


He seemed fine, so I chalked it up to a dog being a dog and bundled him and Barnaby over to the barn. He ran around and played as normal and then we went home. 


Then he refused dinner. I gave him a treat, which he took, albeit almost more out of custom more than any interest. Then he threw it up, whole. At which point I called Cornell and they said bring him in.


After many hours of waiting and a massive tornado/thunderstorm, we went home with an inconclusive diagnosis. That is to say, they looked at the radiographs of his chest and stomach and found nothing, which didn't rule out anything except something mysteriously called "mega-esophagus". Our instructions were to not feed him for 24 hours or give him water for 12. They also gave him subcutaneous fluids so he had a wobbly, jiggly, camel hump that he spent most of the evening trying to get away from. 


"It's under your skin, Jeeves. You can't actually get away from it."


The thunderstorm or the intestinal distress or the fact that it's probably hard to find  comfortable sleeping position when you have a blob of saline solution quivering like jelly sitting on your back made him restless and I don't think he slept a wink. Then, in the morning, after watching him shift his weight repeatedly trying to find a comfortable position, we gave him a little bit of water. He responded by spewing bright green (it was quite a pretty colour) liquid and undigested grass all over the carpet. I put on some pants and we packed him off to Cornell. 


Ryan sent out the above email a few hours after we'd received the diagnosis. In a way it was a relief that they found an obstruction - much worse things like cancer or liver failure had crossed my mind repeatedly. 


The surgery, that they did on Friday, resulted in the discovery of a winter squash stem. I have no idea where he found a squash stem this time of year, particularly because he has been on house arrest for the last two weeks due to a completely unrelated injury (a mysterious black eye). 


Anyway. His prognosis is very positive. He apparently tried to leave when they took him out of his crate for the first time after his surgery - which is very Jeeves. 


I still can't get the look of his little face as we stood in the hall watching him be led away. They asked us to stay until he couldn't see us anymore because it would be easier to get him to come with them. He kept craning his head around trying to see us. 

Sorrel Soup

I made a sorrel soup the other night. It was a recipe my mother sent me a long time ago that I had never tried, because I never got around to looking for sorrel. I bought some at the farmer's market last weekend and then realised that it grows all over the place. It is, in fact, not only a weed, but the same weed I spent my childhood smearing myself with after encountering a stinging nettle (there is no scientific evidence that it is actually effective, but to my memory, it worked. There is definitely something to be said for the placebo effect). 

Ingredients: 


A big bunch of sorrel leaves, stems trimmed off.  Wash well as for spinach.
Potato scrubbed but leave skin on.  Chop into cubes and  parboil or put in microwave for 4-5 minutes.
Bunch of spring onions chopped fine including greens
3 Cups of vegetable stock
2 tablespoons Olive oil
Nutmeg, salt & pepper

Heat oil, medium, add onions and sorrel leaves, stir and cook for three minutes till leaves turn bright green.
Add potato, vegetable stock, cook for about 6 minutes or until potato is fully cooked.
Grate in nutmeg
Leave to cool a bit and blend til smooth, return to pan to heat through if necessary.
Taste, add salt & pepper to liking.

Has it's own flavor, doesnt taste like anything else.

Oh I also added a large pinch of dry mint with the potato & veg stock.

enjoy elaine

It's a teensy bit poisonous though, do you shouldn't have gallons of it. And the nutmeg is key! I used regular onions instead of spring and started the onions first - before adding the sorrel. In the future, I would leave the onions in longer to get them to sweeten up a bit more as a counter to the sour sorrel, although that wouldn't be necessary with spring onions.

I had it with two whole grain Ryvita crackers with some peanut butter. So satisfying.  

Electrical Fire

Today my office mate stood up in shock saying, "There's something burning in here!"

We systematically and quickly checked all the sockets and found nothing. Next, I ran downstairs and checked the kitchen. The smell was stronger downstairs but there was no discernible source. I decided, after looking in the other downstairs rooms, to call the maintenance manager.

While waiting for him to come and see what he could do, I checked the Norwegian Ugly Man's office. He was on the phone. He looked up at me and held his nose to indicate there was a bad smell. His door to the outside was wide open.

The maintenance man showed up and I went upstairs to my office. It then occurred to me that 1)The smell was much, much stronger downstairs. 2)He works downstairs. His office door was wide open. 3)He works in an office that was full of a smell (I mean a BAD SMELL, a GET OUT OF BUILDING! smell, a Chemicals! Burning! Don't breathe it in or you will suffer irreparable damage! smell) of an electrical fire and he did NOTHING about it, failing to alert the others in the building (me) or call the people who could potentially prevent our deaths.

Another flag for you, Mister Norwegian Ugly. Although, I am surprised that my office mate was able to smell the burn smell above the mold smell in our office.

Yay! I had a root canal!

Yesterday I had the third root canal attempt done on the cranky, nasty, MEAN tooth that has plagued me since it decided not to grow into the nice little gap that its predecessor had left for it and rather grow sideways, along the gum line, hoping to never see sunlight. It had to be tortured into submission by way of a tiny set of chain links bolted to it that was gradually shortened every few weeks, link by link.It recently decided to exact further revenge by abscessing.

I am terrified of the dentist. I have that thing where going to the dentist makes you scared and nauseated, then you lie in the chair and they say open your mouth and you have to fight back tears of absolute terror and repress the urge to scream (which is not easy with your mouth open). I have been focusing on trying to be a more responsible person though and that means things like going to the appropriate medical person when in severe pain. So, instead of ignoring the pain in order to avoid going to the dentist, I went to the dentist. Shaking and sweating all the way there. I had a bit of concern when I described the pain and they wanted to see me immediately. I started to try and say things like,

"Well, it isn't that bad. Maybe I just have a really low tolerance for pain..."

"Can you come in at 2:30 today?"

I went (see "responsible person") and they did some x-rays, after which the dentist walked in and said, "Well. You have an abscess. You have a couple of options. One, we can remove the tooth."

At which point, the room started spinning and I'm sure a look of horrorfear slid across my face and I probably stopped breathing.

"Or we can do a root canal."

To which my reaction was actual relief, then horrorfear, then the room started spinning.

"I'll take the root canal" I whispered.

"That's what I'd recommend."

But he couldn't actually do the root canal because the tooth itself is so damaged and full of ill will that it has "calcified" which means he couldn't actually get to the root canal.

So, still in pain, prescription for antibiotics in one hand, phone number for an endodontist in the other and a little dizzy from oxygen deprivation, I drove home and cried for awhile.

The next day, I took a bunch of ibuprofen and called the endodontist for an appointment.

Yesterday was actually the second trip to the endodontist who had the same issue as the dentist and had informed me that I would probably need surgery.

"Yeah. Well. We'll try again. But, there's so much calcification in there...."

The good news is that despite everyone's skepticism and the general stubborn nature of that stupid tooth, she managed it and I don't have to have surgery.

Which is why I'm excited that I had a root canal.

Deep Freeze

I really want a deep freeze.

We've decided to buying a pressure cooker for this summer, which will help, but I really want a deep freeze. 

I eat a lot of frozen fruit this time of year (a favourite breakfast/snack: frozen peaches and blueberries with yoghurt, nuts and ground flax seed), because I really want to eat fruit and nothing is in season yet. I'd like to freeze my own fruit this summer, but there just isn't room in our freezer.

Last summer we picked peaches (among other things) at Indian Creek Farm. We kept intending to freeze some but ate them all up before we had a chance to prepare them. I mentioned this to a friend who scoffed: "Indian Creek is not organic - they spray everything". 

I came to the conclusion a long time ago that organic is pretty much meaningless to me, as far as labeling goes. It's nice that our CSA farm follows organic practices - which is more interesting to me because what they do contributes to the overall health of the land they are farming, rather than their resistance to using pesticides - but I'd pick local over organic any day. Give me a "conventionally" grown peach from 3 miles down the road over an organic one from California. Our CSA, incidentally, is not certified organic. 

It's also nice that I have the option of choosing a local peach though. There is so much good food, so near by and yet, I can't fit it all into my freezer! 

Norwegian Ugly

Several months ago, I overheard a man in my building complaining about a student who wasn't just ugly, she was Norwegian ugly.

I wasn't entirely sure what he meant by Norwegian ugly, but it sounded to me like he was personally offended by the fact that she had the nerve to be unattractive, in addition to being a poor student.

This man is also morbidly obese. The bathroom is directly below my office and I can tell you that he either needs more or less fiber in his diet, but the amount that he is getting is not right. Once, I was leaving work and I caught him shuffling out of the kitchen, towards the bathroom, gripping his trousers around his waist, apparently having preemptively started unbuttoning them. The top of his underwear was visible and the bottom of his pendulous stomach, peaking out from bottom of his polo shirt. I looked shocked and then I looked away and he mumbled sorry and scuttled (as well as he could) into the bathroom.

Just now, I overheard him in the kitchen (he's got a loud voice, so it's fairly easy to echo-locate him as well as hear and understand what he is saying, no matter where you are in the building) talking about Ron Paul. Someone walked into the bathroom and turned on the fan before I could figure out whether he was supporting or denouncing him. I found myself making an effort to hear him because I really wanted another story.

Tonight's dessert

Tonight I melted chocolate chips and poured the result into Jersey cow yogurt from Meadow Creek Farm in Interlaken.Yum.


Yesterday, I went on the first trail ride of the year. I took Ruby. Here is a blurry picture of us:

Last night, among other things, I went to the Shop for an espresso and looked at my friend Ken's artwork.

Right now, a huge ant is frantically trying to escape Barnaby and Jeeves is nursing a black eye from an unknown source (we spent all morning at the vet...).

Mother's Day conversation.

I talked to my mother on Mother's Day. Two of my parents neighbours have been diagnosed with something life threatening (congestive heart failure, metastasizing cancer) and my father's long time friend has to have a stent replaced.

The neighbour that has cancer has had a crappy time of it. Her son died of cancer several months ago, somewhat unexpectedly and she didn't tell anyone about it until she flew into a rage at my mother, lashing out because no one had asked her about her son. No one had asked, because no one knew - she hadn't told anyone that he was dying.

It was a pretty dramatic situation. She was screaming at my mother through her closed door about how she wanted nothing to do with her or anyone else in the cul de sac. We talked about it a little during this conversation. My mother said she didn't mind that it had happened because she understood that people might need to behave badly when they have terrible things happen to them. Although the situation was distressing at the time, she was glad that the neighbour felt comfortable enough to scream at my mother and call her lousy things.

Adult Prom

If a New York time trend piece is to believed (and it probably isn't), people who are no longer in high school are attending "adult proms". Well, I guess only women are, because they only interviewed women for the article.

I went to prom my junior year in a borrowed dress and my boyfriend's Dodge Neon. He really wanted to go - he had gone the year before (he was a year older than me) and had had a blast. All I remember from the evening is eating strawberries at Margo's house beforehand, standing in line to check my coat behind two girls discussing whether or not they should "do it" with their dates (they didn't feel like it, but they felt it was a breach of etiquette not to put out after he'd spent all that money), standing in line to get our picture taken and standing in line to get my coat back.My limited memory of this event has nothing to do with alcohol (my boyfriend, at the time, didn't drink and I had limited access to alcohol and also was fairly unaware as to its abilities improve an otherwise tedious situation) and mostly to do with how unmemorable the evening was for me, the prom was the awkwardness of the forced romanticism, the terrible, terrible (terrible!) music and a Mean Girl atmosphere..

These women, trying to "re-create one of the best times of their lives" baffle and depress me. For example, I enjoyed college, but I'm not really interested in recreating the best times I had, not just because of the legal implications,but also because of the fact that as fun as it was, there are other things that interest me more. I guess what I'm asking is, don't these women have better things going on in their lives?

Rampy pasta and lentil salad

I've not posted anything food related in a while, so here goes:

On another note:

Last night I experimented with ramps. I thought, originally that I felt like having one of our brothy asian style soups (it's a component of our repertoire - tasty, savory, usually spicy broth poured over raw or barely cooked vegetables and then, possibly, a poached egg, lovingly added to float on top of everything) but decided that, since it was my first time cooking and eating ramps, I wanted to do something a little more classic and something that would feature the ramps more, seeing as I wanted to determine what there actual flavour was.

So I put a pot of spaghetti on and while waiting for the water to boil I washed my ramps and separated the leaves from the bulb ends. I sliced the bulbs up and tossed them in a pan with some olive oil (rather more than I might have otherwise - I intended it as a dressing for the pasta), oyster mushrooms (sliced to be a similar size to the ramps and at ratio of 1 to 1, mushrooms to ramps), salt and pepper. I took the leaves, rolled them up and sliced them into ribbons. Then, when the pasta was drained and returned to its pot, I poured the sauteed ramps and mushrooms over the spaghetti (and scraped out all the olive oil with a spatula). Then I added the ramp greens and tossed it all together. Yum. Sweet and woodsy but nice and mellow oniony too.

For protein, and before I made the spaghetti dish, I threw together a lentil salad. I put green lentils on to cook until still firm (cooked all the way, mind you, just not falling apart) with a bay leaf. While this was cooking, I diced a small onion fairly finely (I wanted them to be at least similar in size to the lentils, but still wanted actual pieces of onion, so I refrained from actual mincing) and put half of it in a bowl (the rest went in the fridge). I squeezed 2 lemons into the onions and also added 2 cloves of crushed garlic and salt and pepper. I let that sit while the lentils finished cooking, then I drained the lentils and added them to the bowl with a drizzle of olive oil. Tossed it all together and let it sit while I made the spaghetti dish.

Hurried Bees

There are news stories every day about the rainy spring we've been having. Unfortunately all the rain means the farmers are behind on just about everything (including horse farmers - all the ponies are suffering from scratches that we have only just got a handle on -because we had a few days where the mud started to dry up - and thus haven't gotten them fit enough to jump yet, let alone go to a horse show). Our CSA has not sent us a start date because they do not know when they are going to actually start.

Regarding this small crisis, I read this article in the Ithaca Journal today and had to laugh because of the line (emphasis mine):

More rain could also result in scabby apples and hurried bees trying to pollinate flower blossoms. 

True to form, the Journal doesn't add any context to that, so all we are left with is the scratching of our heads and muttering to ourselves, "Aren't bees rather usually in a hurry? As in Busy-As-A...."

Paleo Diet

The Kitchn featured a thing on some people doing a Paleo diet barbecue. I responded to someone a few months ago on facebook regarding my take on how idiotic the Paleo diet argument is. It's a little trite, but it gets my point across, mainly that using the argument that we should all eat like cavemen for some as-yet-unexplained-clearly-to-me reason is silly reason as it has no bearing in science or fact. Also, on a pettier note, Paleo dieters are smug. Like pregnant women. 

 

"This diet suggests that we should all eat like "cavemen" (I assume they mean homo sapiens during the Pleistocene era). The idea is that all of them lived on a specific diet (a ludicrous idea - considering that at this point, humans were scattered all across Africa, Europe and Asia - hardly likely that we were all eating the same food) and therefore, if we all live on this specific diet, it is "healthier" and more "natural". That specific diet is low-fat meat, nuts, fruit and vegetables, no legumes and no grains. This is because of the suggestion that we only started eating legumes and grains after the advent of agriculture - something I find hard to believe, considering we would have had to have eaten them before agriculture - why else would we have started cultivating them??

Humans were probably scavengers and definitely omnivorous. Our teeth are a great clue as to what we were eating - you don't develop large molars for high meat diet, you need them for breaking down fibrous plants! Look at a dog's mouth - known omnivores - and compare to ours and to a horse's mouth. Not to mention that it is VERY HARD to catch an animal without a gun. So hard, in fact, that lots of hunter-gatherer tribes developed interesting ways of deciding who owned the food. For example, someone kills a deer, they get part, but the man who made the arrow also gets a part as does the leader of the hunt...etc... a typical diet more likely consisted of lots of what was "gathered" combined with occasional meat. But once again, this absolutely depends on where one was. People of Scandinavian descent have a much easier time digesting milk and dairy than people of Asian descent due to available diet. Another thing to remember is that there are differences between humans then and humans now - not enough to warrant speciation, obviously, but we see changes in things such as aforementioned digestive enzymes and the intelligence not to follow fad diets.

There are more reasons I could go into, but that's the gist of it. Eat a high protein diet if one find that it is best, but rationalising it with science one barely understands makes for a weak argument."

Disgusting Scenario

My dogs will eat sick. They aren't picky: they'll eat their own, they'll eat each others' and I'm sure, given the opportunity they would anyone's that happened to be presented to them.

I asked Ryan today, why is it that they don't have the same aversion to vomit that we do and he responded,

"I don't know. They're more practical, I guess."

To which I responded,

"Are you saying that there is a circumstance under which you would eat sick?"

He shrugged. Then I asked,

"Say you were on a desert island. You'd been there a month. You have access to running water, but no food. A ship shows up to rescue you and two people come in a dinghy to bring you back to the ship. One of them is made seasick by the dinghy and upon landing, before they can say or do anything, they vomit in your lap. What would you do?"

He said,

"That's an excellent scenario."

And then kissed me on the cheek and went to work. I called out to him,

"But you never answered."

"Yes, Alice. Under that circumstance, I'd probably eat vomit."

Arguing on the Internet (redux)

Broke a personal rule today. Regretted it.

I don't regret it because I was called obnoxious (yes, someone on the internet called me obnoxious - I think that's like what, OT I of the internet?) but because these things are so pointless (see above). I was called obnoxious after I made a point about how people take themselves too seriously and how if everyone took things less personally, we'd all be much happier, in general.

I am aware of the irony of posting the above mentioned sentiment in an anonymous comment section.

NY Times sez "It's fashionable to be rude"

Okay. So I only read the first couple of paragraphs of this article, (because after the first couple of paragraphs it became apparent to me that it was another NYT fake trend piece) but I don't know anyone (and I've lived in Silicon Valley) who thinks it's polite to constantly check ones phone during a conversation unless the phone can provide direct information pertaining to said conversation ("What time did you say we were meeting her?" "I don't remember, let me check what her text message and/or email said."). I don't think people who are texting and emailing and checking facebook while they are talking to me are "wired, well-put-together [people]" - I think they're people who suffer from issues with self-control or a pathological inability to be comfortable in their present situation.

Milk(?) Moustache

Cornell has a really awful picture up on its main page today of President Skorton with something white smeared across his upper lip, in an effort to suggest we should all drink more milk.

I don't like milk. But even if I did or even believed that we should "all drink more milk" this detestable campaign would be off putting. BLECH.

Bread, soup, tea, nap, Dan Savage.

We joined a bread CSA. I like to make my own bread and usually do so instead of buying it, but I don't have own an oven modeled on the great Spanish ovens of the late 19^th century. The flour comes from a local miller and the bread is the best bread I've ever had.

***

Last night I made one of the better leek and potato soups. Thyme, bay and both black and white pepper were my herbal additions. Yum.There are leftovers. YUM.

***

I'm more tired than I normally am on Mondays. I have to be at work earlier than is comfortable for me and I am, oddly enough, usually early. I get in early which means I can leave a little early, although since I do it every day, it doesn't feel early which has made getting in "on time" feel late because it means I have to stay later than normal. Which means I have less time for the nap I take after work to catch up on sleep. This might seem silly, however, because of the fact that even if I were to get to work on time instead of early, I would STILL want to nap afterwards and most likely for the same amount of time. I'm trying to break this nap habit, because I end up feeling like I'm wasting the afternoon. I've been failing at that and have recently adopted a compromise: scheduled napping (instead of passing out on the couch for 2 hours as soon as I've finished my post-work tea and then waking up realising that the laundry still isn't folded and I've got to go to the grocery store). 

***

Dan Savage is speaking at Cornell tonight. I'm pretty excited to see him - not so much for his recent work, although I think it was a great campaign, but because I think that if everyone followed Dan Savage's advice (which could be paraphrased as saying: Treat Everyone With Common Decency), everyone would be a lot happier. 

***

Stupid Sweater

I saw this knitting pattern the other day for the "Atlas Shrug", thought that the absurdity of the design (why would you wear a shrug when it most certainly will do nothing to keep you  shoulders warm, but be uncomfortable to wear in warmer weather?) must be the reason it was named as it was: to illustrate the absurdity of Ayn Rand.

Notes from when Ryan was away.

A few nights ago, I was walking to Madeline's to meet someone for late night drinks after a strange evening. As I crossed Lincoln Street, I heard screaming from two blocks up, from someone standing by the Creeker.

"Imonna kill you! Imonna fucking kill you!!"

And so on.

I would have been more alarmed if I hadn't spent more than a few nights at the Creeker myself: generally the atmosphere is very friendly and family-like, but, as with all real families, there are going to be times when someone will threaten to kill someone else over something seemingly trivial.

The next morning, I ate at a diner and read this poem on the menu:

Spoon

Spoon

Spoon

Oh how it feels

to be dipped into the soup.

Knife

Knife
Knife
A knife
Watch out I will get you.

Fork
A fork
A fork
Oh how it feels
to be stabbed into a cake
A fork
A fork.

Lastly, I had very long an involved dream last night that involved me winning a radio contest to spend a day with a celebrity whom I can't bring myself to name. We got along great until he attempted to rape me, which I talked him out of by explaining that I wasn't going to remove my shorts and he shouldn't rip them off of me because they were my favourite pair (I pondered this upon waking up and in my half asleep state came to the conclusion that the weirdest part of that scenario was that I don't really wear shorts very often, as I prefer skirts and dresses for hot weather).

Then he left and I spent a good deal of time trying to convince my ex-boyfriend that I had actually spent the day with this celebrity and aside from him being psychotic and rapey, he was kind of fun to hang out with, as long as I avoided giving him coffee or any other kind of stimulant. 

Tender moment.

I just watched a tender moment between the two dogs: Barnaby ambled over to Jeeves, who normally rejects affection at this time of day (noon), gently nuzzled Jeeves' right eye and followed it with a gentle wipe of the tongue.

Mammals are amazing!

Granola

It's the nearing the end of winter (according to the calendar). I've had a weird couple of months, but finally (as of this week) am possibly starting to feel normal again.

I made a delicious loaf of bread the other day out of sprouted whole wheat flour. It made me want to go and buy big sacks of wheat berries for sprouting. Which then made me thing of granola, something I'd been meaning to make but never gotten around to. It was surprisingly easy and definitely one of those things that is worth the effort to make yourself. I used rolled oats and rolled barley (3 cups of each). Once these had toasted in my large (12"? maybe bigger?) cast iron skillet for about 5-7 minutes (with occasional stirring to prevent burning)- until the grains were fragrant. I added 2 cups of a combination of chopped almonds, chopped cashews, poppy seeds, flax seed that I ground with cardomom seeds and sesame seeds and stirred those around. I then added maybe 1.5 teaspoons of cinnamon and a 1/2 teaspoon of vanilla. Finally, I added 1/2 cup of honey, stirred that as best I could (the heat helps) and then popped it into a 350° F oven for half an hour, occasionally opening it up and stirring. When that came out of the oven, all toasty and smelling heavenly, I added some raisins.

I had this with homemade almond milk (also worth it! so much better than that sweetened store stuff!)and felt, well, pretty granola. Well fed too, though.

White Bean Celeriac Puree.

What I am eating right now:

Last night I was feeling sick and lazy. I also was well aware of the celeriac sitting in my fridge, needing to be eaten. Enter Mark Bittman (again!):

Can of white beans in the food processor, with 1 cubed cooked, celeriac, a teaspoon of better than bouillon. Pureed, then put in the pan with at least tablespoon of butter, salt and fresh ground pepper to taste. In the meantime, toast slices of homemade bread in the toaster oven. Once the puree is hot and the toast is toasted, spread the puree on the toast, drizzle olive oil and sprinkle with black pepper. Enjoy with a green salad.

I say I'm eating it now because I'm eating what's left today for lunch. Leftovers one of my favourite things ever.

Pumpkin & Cashew Pasta Casserole

I'm making this this afternoon but I am modifying it because I really don't like super cheesy anything - I usually feel pretty awful after consuming a lot of dairy (except yoghurt). This version has all the creamy-ness and savory-ness that cheese would provide. Here we go:

Pumpkin & Ricotta Pasta Casserole
serves 6
Olive oil
1 pound pasta, such as farfalle, small shells, or elbows
One 15-ounce container ricotta 1 3/4 cups of cashew cream (cashews in the blender with enough water to puree it into a similar texture to ricotta - I didn't make it smooth on account of the nuts that are supposed to be in it anyway)
One 15-ounce can pumpkin puree 1 3/4 cups carnival squash puree (made by chopping up 2 carnival squash, drizzling with olive oil and roasting in the oven, then peeling and putting in the blender)
2 eggs 2 tablespoons of ground flax seed plus 6 tablespoons of water whisked together in a bowl.
1/2 cup yogurt
2 teaspoons salt
Freshly ground black pepper
1/2 teaspoon ground nutmeg pinch of thyme
1/2 teaspoon ground ginger pinch of rosemary
3/4 cup pecans, roughly chopped (the cashews provide the nutty texture that these would give)
1/2 cup loosely packed fresh sage leaves, finely chopped
2 large garlic cloves, finely chopped (I actually did more than this, typically in recipes that call for garlic, I -at the least- double the amount)
3/4 cup grated Parmesan, divided
Heat the oven to 375°F. Lightly oil a 9x13-inch baking dish with olive oil. Set aside. Bring a 4-quart pot of water to boil over high heat, and stir about 1 tablespoon of salt. Add the pasta, and turn the heat down to medium. Cook for a slightly shorter amount of time than specified by the package. (For instance, if the package specifies 10 to 12 minutes, cook for 9 to 10, or until just barely al dente.) Drain the pasta and toss lightly with olive oil.
In a large bowl, whisk together the ricotta cashew cream, pureed pumpkin carnival squash, eggs flax seed, and yogurt. Whisk in the salt, pepper, nutmeg thyme, and ginger rosemary.
Stir in the pasta and coat completely with the pumpkin squash mixture. Stir in chopped pecans, sage, and garlic. Stir in 1/2 cup Parmesan.
Spread the mixture evenly in the prepared baking dish and sprinkle the remaining 1/4 cup Parmesan over top. Bake uncovered for 35 minutes or until golden brown on top. Let stand for 5 minutes before serving.

Lists: Current Things

-I have taught myself CSS. The website is not perfect yet, but its a nice update on the original and I'm learning a lot.

-My house smells like bread. Ryan made a delicious loaf although for lack of a lemon, he did not make the apple pie he intended. He is now knitting his sweater.

-I had a strange experience a few weeks ago that reminded me of being in middle school. I am still mulling it over.

-Middle school was horrible.

-My mossariums and succulents are thriving. My fern, however, is struggling after its near death experience in the jaws of Barnaby.  I think with some TLC, it should recover. I'd never cried for a plant before.

-I spent a lovely weekend in Connecticut last weekend. It was especially interesting because I'm reading Michael Pollan's Second Nature, which takes place in Connecticut.

Colony Collapse Disorder

Scientists and the Army have found that Colony Collapse Disorder might be caused by a virus and a fungus. Apparently not cell phones as JohnTheHippie tried to convince me all those years ago. Far be it from me to call anyone a hypocrite (I actually do it all the time) - but for someone who pretty much only has a social life (as opposed to any other kind of life, hobby or interest) and who runs that social life primarily from one's cell phone, nagging me about my cell phone usage was...well..inappropriate.

I hear he has a computer now, but I'm not going to email him. I received on or two from him in the past and theY wereALL writTTTNE ss thouhffh HIS CAT WAS wakking acorst thE keeeeeebord.

Too excruciating for this grammar snob's eyes.

NY Times fail again.

Following last week's article about some guy losing his pants, here's an article in the New York Times about people who have dogs and gardens, featuring photographs of a morbidly obese Elkhound. Seriously. And they wonder why there is a decline in newspaper sales.

Slow News Day? Poor Attempt at Humour? Both?

Why did the New York Times write an article about some guy losing his trousers?

Mortages and White Nightgowns.

I wrote this entry in 2008, with the following passage:

Last night, Ryan and I came to the conclusion that we could possibly afford to own a home in Ithaca. The median house price there is $255,000 as opposed to where we live now, where the median house price is $1.5 million.

This was an amazing excitement and I went to sleep thinking about what color I would paint the walls and what sorts of bulbs I would plant in the garden and how much money could go towards horse shows if we were spending less on a mortgage than we would on rent.

This has become a looming possibility. We have an actual meeting with loan officer today. The house is pretty much what I was picturing, in a scary sort of way.

I'm really anxious, though, because I am worried about the commitment and the expense and whether or not Ryan thinks this is a good idea - or even whether or not I think this is a good idea. It's a difficult situation because no one can tell me whether or not it is a good idea. Everyone has their own ideals.

I don't buy into this idea that owning a house is always better. Take for example property taxes in our area. Some houses have taxes that are the same as our rent. Would it make any sense at all to buy a house when we'd be "losing" the same amount of money per year with nothing to show for it and our savings severely depleted? This house we're looking at has property taxes of quite a bit less than that but still possibly more per month leaving our bank account than if we just rented. On top of a mortgage payment, it seems potentially not worth it. So how to get around this? Do we buy out of town? We're less likely to be able to rent it out after we leave and might have a harder time selling it. Ryan is perfectly happy living in a "suburb of Ithaca" but I would rather live in town, in very specific areas (I'm such a snob) or completely out of town.

I just think it's really weird that people can be so sure about buying being the right answer - this is one of those things that goes on that long list of things that I think I didn't get a memo about. A few other selections

-Women being obsessed with babies that happen to be in the same room as them regardless of relatedness said woman has to either the baby or the parent of said baby.

-Women going to the bathroom together, among many other social behaviours that I find baffling.

-Okay, I've reviewed the list and most of it is female behaviour in general (wedding fever comes to mind, rather strongly).

But the house thing isn't female behaviour, it's just current culture: It comes down to status/conspicuous consumption. You are considered a success if you can afford a house. You are considered weird if you can't afford a house/haven't bought one by a certain age. This is not to say that purchasing a house is not the right thing for certain people at certain times in their life. I liken it to my feelings about marriage or may be more specifically weddings: there is too much pressure to do it and not enough thought about it. Similarly, before I got married, I never assumed I would get married. I just thought I would continue as I had, (because there was very little chance I'd like anyone enough to want to stay with them forever) one long term relationship after the next with a few dalliances in between, until I was a crazy lady in a long white nightgown.* I never assumed I would be a homeowner, maybe because I'm just not really all that mature enough to do adult things like "plan for the future".



Obviously there are some pluses to owning a house, but I'm pretty sure everyone is quite familiar with those. Now, off to Apartment Therapy and think about paint colours along with sofa cushions that might match them.


*From an old blog:

James told me my future today. I was telling him about a guy I went on a few dates with that I just couldn't get interested in, despite his many good qualities. He was older and I don't think he'd spent much time with a girl like me.

I was explaining to James what I meant about "like me".

"You know...different. My friends are like me...but..you know..."

"Yeah Alice, you're fucking weird."

I didn't know how to take that, however he then told me that he'd seen my future.

"You'll have you're own house and a white nightgown. You won't get married, but you'll have friends. Everyone will think you're crazy except you. You'll be one of those ladies that goes to the same restaurants all the time but always orders something not on the menu."

Patent medicine at its finest

"Step right up, folks, and witness the magnificent medicinal miracle of Simpson & Son's patented revitalizing toniiic.

Put some ardor in your larder with our energizing, moisturizing, tantalizing, romanticizing, surprising, her-prizing, revitalizing tonic."

-Abe Simpson, closet huckster.


The latest in medical quackery? Drink bleach to cure your HIV, cancer or whatever else ails you. Probably more damaging than homeopathy in the short run. At least homeopathy won't kill you outright.

Roller Coasters and Preserves

An 78 year old man, a member of American Coaster Enthusiasts rode a Pennsylvania rollercoaster 90 times in one day. I can only think how totally boring that must have gotten, even for an enthusiast.

In other, more personal and more-interesting-to-me (maybe not to you) news, we spent the day preserving things yesterday. I woke up at 7:30 and then went back to sleep at around 9:00. During my "morning nap" Ryan made 2 peach not-quite-pie things. The peaches were marinating in sugar and seasonings all night. He split them between 2 baking dishes and covered them with a sweet biscuit dough and crumple topping.

Then I woke up pickled some turnips with beets, garlic and parsley, cleaned out the fridge and made plans for the vegetables and fruit we didn't get to this time. Then Ryan made Mexican escabeche.

We still have 2 lemon pies to make, piccalilli and tomatillo sauce. For dinner, I steamed some courgette ribbons and tossed them with lemon juice, olive oil, salt and pepper and had that along side spaghetti with olive oil and nutritional yeast and a lettuce salad in a miso-sesame dressing. Which sounds a lot more planned out than it was. Truthfully, it was 9:00 and I had a courgette and a head of lettuce that were both at a now-or-never stage and Ryan wanted spaghetti (he had his with pesto). The ribboning of the courgettes was because if I never have to eat another soggy, pan fried summer squash again it will be too soon.
 
I just love this time of year because of the amazing varieties of food that is in season. Most of our bounty has come from our CSA or Indian Creek Farm, the exception being the lemons - lemons are just one of those ingredients that I cannot do without, despite the fact that they have to come from far, far away. Maybe when we buy a house, I'll try and grow a lemon tree indoors.

Fall Creek Lunatic Loses Phone Outside My House.

This morning I was woken up at an even earlier hour than I normally wake up these days. Having gone to bed far too late for my regular wake up time, let alone this particular wake up time, I was unhappy about this. The only silver lining I could glean was that perhaps I should wake up fully and go outside to watch the meteor shower. I didn't do this, because I was concerned that I would run into what had woken me up in the first place, namely, a man wailing at the top of his lungs.

It started with a bit of a scuffle and then some loud moaning that at first, I mistook for cheering. It soon became apparent though, that it was not cheering, it was someone who was very very unhappy that someone else had removed his phone from his person.

At some point, after wailing and slurring, "I can't believe he took my pho-one!" repeatedly, he changed his refrain to be a combination of "I can't even call the police! He took my fucking phone!" and "Somebody help me PLEEEEEEASE!" There were also quite a few angry screams in the mix as well.

Ryan got up and phoned the police.

There were more angry words that I couldn't hear because he had moved further away from our house. The angry words were presumably with the police as it sounded like there was a second and possibly third party involved.

I still haven't caught up in sleep from my red eye flight back from Vegas last weekend, which involved spending 7 hours in the Las Vegas airport and another 4 in the Detroit airport. Needless to say, I am tired and I'd like to have my own set of angry words with that man.

Elvis Wedding in Vegas

I'm going to start by saying that I love Karen dearly and she is one of my closest and oldest friends, but she summed the trip up perfectly, on the night of the bachelorette, while some guy in a bad shirt gave her a fake lap dance at the first club we went to. She leaned over his gyrating posterior, peering out from under her devil horns and veil, clutching a penis shaped straw in one hand and said,

"I know you must really love me. You came to Vegas for me."

She's right and I knew it was true when the stripper grabbed my wrists and tried to run my hand down his baby's bum-smooth, waxed, nauseating chest. 

The wedding itself, however, was lots of fun. Easily the best ceremony to which I have ever been. Elvis was very sincere and had a decent voice. He sang us all down the aisle and then punctuated the vows with appropriate songs. It managed to be meaningful and lighthearted at the same time. They left the chapel each wearing a (plastic) ball and chain that was painted in baby blue and had "Just Married" stenciled on.

To celebrate our getting home last night after 17 hours spent getting home (most of which was spent in various airports), I made our version of comfort food: lentil curry. Puy & green lentils in coconut milk with asofoetida, home made curry powder turmeric, tomato, hot peppers, 2 kinds of basil, onions and bok choi (basically as many of our CSA vegetables tossed in as I could manage). 

Larval Humans

My father sent me a picture of a friend of his' new grandson. He sent it because in our family, our bonding is mostly done by being snarky (it was an ugly baby).


Remembering an email Ryan once sent me: 


Alice!  I don't know what to do.  I've been invited to the first
birthday of that pair of larval humans we met in the Baylands
yesterday.  It's in Sunnyvale.

I feel like I have to go because Jeff is just beyond the cubicle wall.
 But a baby birthday party?  In Sunnyvale?  Thrown by the guy who
accused me of being a food snob for not wanting to eat at some fresh
Mex trash chain?  Sounds questionable to me.

-Ryan



I responded by saying I thought it looked like an old man, but then again, I don't really think babies are cute. Once they leave their "larval stage" and hit about two or three, they become much more interesting to me. Five and six are my favourite ages and then it's all down hill.

I laughed for hours at the term "larval humans" in Ryan's email and still giggle about it. The larval humans in question were drooling red headed twins that seemed half asleep and one had a cheerio stuck to its cheek (also: what is it with little kids and Cheerios in this country? Why do they seem to always be covered in them?)

I am not one of those women that coos or gurgles or squeals or spontaneously combusts when they see tiny babies. I have no interest in holding them and often find it seems disingenuous when other women perform that silly baby dance because I just cannot fathom how anyone can be interested in a baby that isn't a direct relation. They aren't cute or soft. They don't enjoy particularly enjoy being held anymore than they enjoy existing - at least when the are really young, being held is the only non-bodily function related of which they are capable and it doesn't really count as "action" now does it?

I'm not saying that women are actually being disingenuous, it just seems that way because I am completely unable to sympathise/understand the emotion. I'm sure it's me projecting my own feelings on the situation.

Raw foods, Elitism and Grocery Stores

I read this article in the Washington Post, about a new raw food restaurant opening this morning, which is funny because I was talking about this very subject the other day with Ryan.

I like raw food. I've been to raw food parties, I've made raw food (beyond salads...) and I like that it explores new ingredients and forces creativity, most likely caused by the strict parameters. I'm also really sceptical of the whole movement - I've never known anyone who managed to stick to a raw food diet. If it is so much healthier for you, and you feel so much better on it, then shouldn't you feel good enough to continue on it for at least a long time, if not forever?

The idea, however, that cooked food is "unhealthy" is total bollocks though. There is evidence that we have been using fire for cooking for at least 125,000 years. I've read arguments from raw foodists that claim that food loses all nutritional value after being cooked at a certain temperature and that cooking food results in toxicity.

Anyway, the menu in that article sounds really yummy - but they serve maple syrup, which it impossible to make without boiling ("Finished syrup boils at 7.1F above the boiling temperature of water"). Maple syrup -part of that stupid, stupid lemonade cleanse - is often touted as "pure" and "clean" but honestly, refined, processed sugar is probably "cleaner". That's not to say we should be pouring refined, processed things into ourselves and feel free to use maple syrup for other reasons (delicious, delicious taste for one) but you can't claim that it is a) raw or b) clean.

So, as delicious as some raw food is, I'm fairly certain that the movement can be filed away in the same category as self-diagnosed-food-allergy people and Whole Foods shoppers - people who want to feel better about themselves by buying "expensive" food and deeming themselves intolerant/allergic to things as a way to prove to the world that they are worthy of attention. I'm not saying don't spend more for quality (which I certainly do - or else, if I can't afford it, I don't buy) what I am saying is don't spend more for nothing. Whole Foods and similar shops are mainly just marketing ploys - you can get the same quality basic food at shops without a philosophy for a lot less money. And we should be supporting those kind of grocery stores and encouraging their healthy options because those grocery stores are the ones that are going to be providing "food for the masses". Whole Foods is never going to open up in urban Baltimore, but perhaps Tops might. What I'm trying to say is let's take the elitism out of healthy food.

Here's a great article by Ben Goldacre, MD about Gillian McKeith, one of the worst offenders and purporters of this kind of thinking.This quote here explains my thinking (it's about two thirds of the way through the article, in the section I found most interesting):

"And that's the most sinister feature of the whole nutritionist project, graphically exemplified by McKeith: it's a manifesto of rightwing individualism - you are what you eat, and people die young because they deserve it. They choose death, through ignorance and laziness, but you choose life, fresh fish, olive oil, and that's why you're healthy. You're going to see 78. You deserve it. Not like them."

Situational Comedies

I watched an episode of a TV show called the Robinsons last night. In it, the main character gets a girlfriend who becomes, in a short time, very involved and obsessed with his family. He breaks up with her after she stands him up on their trip to Prague. The final scene is him walking into his parents house with his entire family plus the ex, plus the ex's new boyfriend all playing charades.

Ryan burst out laughing during that scene.

I said,

"It's fucking Pétra."

and he said, while laughing,

"I know, I know!"

Then we both laughed.

Instant Frozen Yoghurt

I made a ridiculously easy, ridiculously yummy dessert tonight. Frozen strawberries in the food processor until they are a icey paste, add a couple spoonfuls of yoghurt, honey and a bit of vanilla.

Instant frozen yoghurt!

Verizon Wireless Held My Phone Hostage

Yesterday I tried to make a phone call using my cellular telephone. Instead of the phone call, I was sent straight to Verizon Wireless.

I had to sit through a very nice woman trying to sell me more minutes. I had gone over my monthly minutes and she was trying to convince me to buy more. They literally held my phone hostage, forcing me to listen to a sales call. When I told her that I certainly wasn't going to make that kind of decision just on the fly and on her recommendation, she suggested she go through my current billing and we could talk about it some more. I told her, "I really have to make a phone call." she said, "Oh, I understand, but are you aware that you have reached your new every two and are eligible for a new phone? Would you like to explore your options?"

"No. I would like to make my phone call."

"Okay, well.."

And she continued with a few more things before finally telling me that the "block" had been lifted on my phone and I was free to continue making phone calls.

I think that this is a really annoying, shitty way to treat customers. I don't think that I should be disallowed to make phone calls and forced to listen to a sales call just for going over my minutes. Perhaps I am in a minority, but it made me want to think about switching carriers rather than buying new minutes. I am out of contract at the moment, by the way, which is why I think they decided to harass me.

Anti-vaccination. More exercises in wilful ignorance.

I watched this Frontline documentary on the anti-vaccine movement. The selfishness and idiocy of the anti-vacciners is astounding and appalling. Seemingly intelligent people, people who can form complete sentences and supposedly read incapable of understanding the implications of their choices.

One woman was whining about the polio vaccine and how polio doesn't exist in the US anymore, so why should we continue to vaccinate for it. I can only assume that she lives in such an insular world that she doesn't anticipate her children nor anyone her children will ever come into contact with won't leave the US. This same woman was annoyed at a nurse trying to vaccinate her newborn child against hepatitis on the grounds that it's a sexually transmitted disease. I guess she assumed no one has ever caught it any other way or and this is worse, that the chance of her child catching hepatitis from a blood transfusion or the various unknown ways hepatitis is transmitted are so low that her child would be safe. The reason I say that is worse is because she's basing her arguments against vaccinations on a minuscule chance that her child is not only part of the the tiny population people who have an adverse reaction to vaccinations but also part of an even smaller population within that tiny population that will have actual serious side effects.

In the wake of the original paper that linked autism to vaccinations being retracted and the author being thoroughly discredited, it seems that the anti-vaccinators have shifted from the hard line of "vaccine causes autism" to "vaccines might cause something". These same anti-vacciners claim that there is no harm done by their not having their children immunized, even as we see outbreaks across the world of diseases that have been under control for 50 years. (Recently: http://www.businessweek.com/lifestyle/content/healthday/637218.html). As I've said before, these people are idiots.

Locally sourced, seasonal fruit at Waffle Frolic.

The cashier at Waffle Frolic offered me bananas as my fresh fruit choice yesterday. This or preserved blueberries were my only choices because it's really important to them that they use only locally sourced, seasonal fruit. Bananas are never in season anywhere north of Mexico. It's May. Somewhere, not too far south of here (at least not as far south as Mexico) it is strawberry season. I'm not just complaining because I hate bananas, either.

That said, I enjoyed my waffle and I wished I'd ordered the...um..."twin". It wasn't as good as my sister-in-law's, but what can you do? She lives in California.

We left thinking that we should just break down and buy our own waffle iron, despite our principles against "one use kitchen appliances" (the way I rationalise the pasta maker: I use it to make my own crackers in addition to pasta).

***

Crud: Inflammation and Discharge.

More illness in the family, this time not me. My beloved Jeeves has an ear infection. More specifically, a yeast infection.

I'd been wondering why he's been cranky for the last day or so when I discovered a cruddy ear last night. His discharge notes claim I described "inflammation and discharge". I know I said cruddy, so I think that cruddy must be layman for "inflammation and discharge".

This word "cruddy" is an American term I picked up at the barn. It describes all manner of flaking, oozing disgustingness that anyone who ever has anything to do with animals is completely familiar with.

In Which Alice is Still Whinging About Being Dizzy, Learns That She is Not Going Deaf and Also About Colour Therapy

I have been having severe dizziness problems. So much so that I spent a good several days pretty much convinced that I had Meniere's disease and that I was going to go deaf. Yes, I cried about it. I was afraid to even talk about it because a diagnoses would mean that Meniere's disease definitely runs in the family, as my father has it.

"You can love a healthy person as you can love a sick person."

Anyway.

I went to the doctor for a second time, because the Flonase from the first visit hadn't resulted in less dizziness, only more anxiety and no appetite or interest in food for 3 weeks. That's right, ladies and gentlemen. I had No Interest In Food. I also had more side effects, but they are potentially of a nature too indelicate to discuss with potential strangers and certainly of a nature too indelicate to discuss with people I know in real life.

As I was saying, I went to the doctor for a second time, which I realise now is inaccurate. I went to the Cornell health office for a second time regarding this problem but saw a doctor for the first time, because I insisted. I reasoned that the higher copay would balance out because hopefully I wouldn't have to fight a massive antibiotic resistant strain of some nasty infection later in life after having been given unnecessary antibiotics by an incompetent, well intentioned nurse who should have more or less access to the internet (I'm not sure which, just different than what they have now).

The doctor told me I a) probably didn't have Meniere's (the inevitable "woohoo!" was in order, but I was trying to get him to take me seriously) and b) probably had really severe allergies. He seemed surprised that I'd had any reaction at all to the Flonase, but in my experience doctors are always surprised when you tell them you had side effects, so I didn't let that worry me. At least he didn't say what the one who prescribed me birth control pills did, "High anxiety and an urge to break things or strangle people starting approximately 15 minutes to half an hour after taking the pill and that feeling wearing off slowly over a period of 24 hours, only to start again after taking the next day's dose? Impossible. It couldn't possibly be the pills. That never happens with these pills." This doctor gave me Nasonex and told me to take it once a day, in combination with loratadine and pseudoephedrine. Apart from an increasing amount of blood clots coming out of my nose and a daily sore throat, nothing much has changed.

Anyway.

The possibility was raised by a friend of mine who is a competent nurse that I might have low blood pressure. Further questioning of my parents lead me to discover that while my father suffers from high blood pressure, my mother, in fact, suffers from low blood pressure (yeah, I thought that should make it average out too, but Ryan said that "it didn't work that way"). I thought I might try some "home remedies" for low blood pressure, to see if there was any improvement on the dizziness. That lead me to the following:

If you click on the image or follow the link, you will see the highlighted portion suggests "colour therapy". As in, wear a colour and that will help you get better.

I don't really have much to say about that. I'd like someone to give me a credible explanation of how that is supposed to work but I think that's asking too much. I'm not sure if this is "better" or "worse" than homeopathy.

Two Things I Take Issue With "Name Misspellings and People Who Just Learned What The Internet Was For"

Two Things I Take Issue With.

One, misspelling the name "Alice" like this: "Alys". Aesthetically, 5 letters is more pleasing than 4 and the nice slope made by the gradually decreasing heights of the A, l, i, and c makes for a pretty triangle as opposed the dramatic shift from the l to the y. Additionally, I abhor the substitution of the letter "Y" for an "I", almost as much as I abhor the substitution of the letter "I" for a "Y" just for the sake of being "unique". Same goes for the letter S and the letter C. If you're so desperate for your child's name to be unique, name them something like Fork and be done with it. (Incidentally, Ryan and I came to an agreement this weekend that we like the name Wilberforce).

Two, stupid people who just learned what the internet was for a week ago, being horrified that their little babies are going to be targeted by child molesters.

I read this article sometime last year and may have written about it, or if I didn't, meant to. I remembered it this morning when I read a sensationalistic entry on Open Salon about a woman discovering that one of her high school friends was in the midst of a child molestation charge. She seemed horrified that, this man, because of the innocent action of accepting a Facebook friend request, he now knew where she lived and had seen pictures of her children. She had taken all the precautions and still a pervert had "gotten in". No one pointed out to her that Facebook is simply a communication device. Him knowing where her children lived was not any information he couldn't have gotten elsewhere, supposing he was as good a childhood friend as this woman suggested. I'm not sure how Facebook really had much of a role to play in the story, except as a way to jump on the knicker twisty bandwagon, screaming, "Please, won't someone think of the children". At that rate, you shouldn't go to high school reunions, talk to people you know or take your kids to the grocery store.

I'm not saying don't be vigilant. What I am saying is don't get so caught up in the media hype that you think posting a picture of your child on Facebook will make them a target for paedophiles. I'm also saying your child is no more special ("molestable") than the one that lives next door to the molestor. So, sure, go to Megan's Law websites, trust your guts when it comes to "odd" behaviour, and pay attention to your child. There is NO evidence, however, that posting your child's picture on the internet will result in raising the odds that they are targeted by a paedophile, but it is something about which to get all worked up, have an opinion, that actuality not very controversial (everyone agrees paedophiles are bad).

The New Supreme Court Justice Nominee.

What? David Mitchell is the new female nominee for supreme court justice? 

Evil City Stringband

Scrawling on Things.

Ryan "made himself" a "new" t-shirt.

When I was in college I had a boyfriend, James, who drove a 1980's dented, abused, white Toyota Camry. He'd taken some sort of acryllic paint and scrawled across the back and the side, the word "Ferrari". He'd also taken the pain to find large Ferrari decals and stick them on the doors and stuck a smaller one on the back of the trunk.

A girl approached my roommate at the time, who was also good friends with James (he had introduced us) and asked him why James had scrawled the words Ferrari across the back of his Ferrari.

"I mean, it's a really nice car. Why would you ruin the body work with paint like that?"

I wonder if that girl would think that Ryan was really Superman.

Ignite Ithaca

The other night I went to an event called Ignite Ithaca - it was one of these events and was lots of fun. You can see some of the presentations I saw here.

One of the presentations was called "Childhood Dreams: Why They Are Important". I was reminded of it the other day when, standing in the line at the grocery store, I picked up a children's book about horses just because I (still) like to look at pictures of horses.

More on the McDonalds Ban.

"Since you've worked with the people that this ban would effect the most, I'm not sure why you think it's a bad idea. You know that some people don't have the mind to be trusted with decisions of this magnitude."

I don't think getting rid of Happy Meal toys will stop people taking their children to McDonalds or stop their children eating McDonalds ("Sunnyvale blogger said that once her child tasted fast food, it took years to coax her back to the healthful variety"). I think getting rid of McDonalds will stop people taking their children to McDonalds (and I'm all for that). I say that based on my experience working with those people.

Consider neighbourhoods where there are no grocery stores. The only choice people have is convenience store food that they have to purchase through a glass window or fast food. Banning Happy Meals is not going to stop people who grew up in that world from going to McDonalds or taking their kids there. And here, in Ithaca, there's no way my students would have stopped eating crappy fast food because their kids don't get a toy. One student used to put her 7 year old to bed at 5pm so she could be rid of him and then would make runs to fast food places throughout the evening.  Even the "healthier" options at McDonalds are not going low enough in calories to be allowed to include a toy.

The legislation is aimed at an entirely different demographic and a demographic that should know better at that.

A far better option would be to legislate what can actually go into a meal that's marketed to children. We ban tobacco for underage kids, why not fast food? It's addictive and will kill you too. And the children who grow up eating meals with lower fat, salt and additive content will develop a taste for healthier foods. 

Banning Happy Meal Toys

As much as I hate McDonalds, I think that Santa Clara County potentially banning the toys in Happy Meals is an exercise in legislating common sense, and therefore stupid.


If you don't want your child to be rewarded for eating crap with a cheap plastic toy that people "end up recycling or they end up getting left in the car" then don't take them to McDonalds.


Why is that so hard? I ask that question without any attempt at facetiousness (okay, maybe a small attempt). I really want someone to tell me why it's hard not to take your child to McDonalds, or at the very least not order a Happy Meal, if it's the toy you find so abhorrent.

Friends of the Library Book Sale.

I was really, really hoping to make it to the Friends of the Library book sale this year, but I found this article in the Ithaca Journal yesterday. I think the only person who will find local theatre actors shouting lines from Shakespeare (sorry, "reciting the works of the Bard") more unendurable than I will is my husband. 

Ways to Start Arguments in Bars I

If at a bar and you're interested in antagonising strangers or friends of friends that you may never see again, say this:

"I don't think the Beatles are amazing."

This is not to say I don't like the Beatles' music. Well. Some of the Beatles' music. It's just a really great way to piss off a stranger, I've discovered.
The conversation will start out on some musical discussion and then someone will, for some reason, mention the Beatles and then you say, 

"I don't think the Beatles are amazing."

Which is followed by an askance stare and then someone saying, "Whoa, whoa, whoa. The Beatles? They're, like, the most influential rock group of all time." 

And then, you can say, "Yeah, well, as far as the early Beatles goes, I think the black people they were ripping off are a lot more interesting."

At this point, you have made a cardinal sin. Because you are asking them to accept that the Beatles weren't entirely original. And this shatters a deeply held belief that they have probably been holding close to their heart since the first time they heard "Ob La Di." 

Then, you can start with attacking Ringo. Because he wasn't all that great, in the grand scheme of drummers. And his songs? The worst ones. Well. Unless you're 5. When I was 5, I thought "Octopus's Garden" was maybe the best song ever written. I also thought the Sound of Music was the best movie ever and trying to see if I could put my toes in my mouth was a good idea, so that might tell you a little something about my tastes as a 5 year old. 

At this point, you have thoroughly convinced them that you are one of those people who just likes being contrary because everyone likes the Beatles. 

Also, at this point, for me, I have started to pretty much disregard any musical opinion the other person might have, Beatles related or otherwise. Why? 

1) because they just abjectly love things without having much reason, or at least have failed to give me any satisfactory reasoning, beyond, "They're the Beatles. How can you not like the the Beatles?!" 

2) they are usually shouting at me at this point or at least looking very, very irritated. 

I was at the Phone Booth in San Francisco when a man told me I was a bitch for having this opinion. 

"Man, you were, like, not even born in the 60's, so how the hell would you know?"

"Well, according to what you've told me, you were born in 1967, so how the hell would you know? The Beatles weren't even touring then." 

"You're don't know what the hell you're talking about. You're just a bitch." 

Like I said before, I don't dislike the Beatles. I understand that they were very influential, particularly with regards to recording and creating. They have some really pretty songs. I just think their early songs are pretty cheesy and annoying and the people they were copying don't get enough credit.
Do not, however, get me started on the Eagles. I hate the fucking Eagles. 

Dog Ages

Just a note to people that refer to their pets as their children:

This morning, I was sitting on the floor by the bed. Ryan was sitting on the side of the bed, his legs hanging over the side, drinking a cup of tea. Jeeves was between me and the bed and Barnaby was lying on his back in front of me.

I scratched Barnaby's belly and he reached up and grabbed Ryan's toes with his mouth, causing Ryan to squeal and almost spill the tea. Jeeves leaned over and licked the side of my head. The thought occurred to me that if I had children the ages of 11 (Barnaby) and 40 (Jeeves), while chewing on someone's foot might be considered okay for the 11 year old, licking the side of my head would most certainly be unacceptable for the 40 year old. So would crying and screaming during thunderstorms and being unable to share.

The Joke's On Me

After receiving further text messages and one phone call from the aforementioned strangers, I got a text message this evening from my friend Casey. She texts me from her husband's phone because she always loses hers. I have neglected to save her husband's phone number, mainly because I'm afraid I'll call or text him, trying to reach her and he'll be at work in an important meeting or something (in fact, I think I've actually already done it).

Her husband's number and the aforementioned strangers number are quite similar.

You can guess what I did (at least I wasn't rude).

Random text messages cont.

I did get a response.

"So this works as a form of communicating?"

"Well. In some respects. Although I don't think you're texting who you think you're texting. I believe you are texting a wrong number."

"If this is a wrong number, then how are you receiving my texts?"

Pure gold.

Random text messages.

I received a random text message the other night. It read:

"We're here. Are you?"

I knew it most likely wasn't from anyone I knew, because it was sent from a bay area area code. I still have a bay area area code, so when I get random calls from 607 (Ithaca) numbers, I know that the person is very likely trying to reach me, as opposed to random calls from the bay, which are almost always wrong numbers. Like that woman who left me 3 messages for her son, trying to get him to call her back.

I forgot about the text, until this morning:

"Got your phone on?"

To which I responded,

"Yes. Who is this?"

The response an hour or so later,

"Papa"

My father doesn't use the word papa. He doesn't even use the word "dad". I call him by his first name and always have. He also doesn't use text messaging.

Just now, I got another message from the same number.

"I mean, Joe's Bar."

To which I responded (of course),

"Okay, Joe's Bar. See you there."

I'm not expecting a response, but I really hope I get one.

Absent Minded Ninny.

I am an absent minded ninny. I also suffer from "anxiety".

Today I left the house to go on a trail ride at Kathy's. An hour after getting to Kathy's and three minutes before I was supposed to get on, Casey mentioned something about the fresh bread we have been making everyday. I remembered the huge bowl of rising bread dough sitting on the counter and I remembered this story. I could not remember if I had put it away. I assumed that because I did not remember putting it away and because I am an absent minded ninny, that I had not put it away. I called Ryan, frantically, asking him to run home.
Fairly convinced that I had killed Jeeves (Barnaby goes in the crate when we are out), I handed the pony off, jumped in the car still wearing my half chaps and helmet and drove home, as fast as I could considering the state police station on the way and the big storm that slowed the traffic down.

Ryan called me when I was 5 minutes away (the drive should be half an hour from Kathy's, it was longer on account of the conditions) to say, "You put the dough away. All he got was a spatula."

***

Ryan says I shouldn't beat myself up about my absent mindedness, that instead, I should use positive reinforcement when I'm not absent minded. The problem with that is that I don't know whether I'm going to forget something until I've forgotten it. I can't pat myself on the back for remembering to do things that any normal adult would remember to do. 

***

Throwing Bricks at Rothko.

Here's a silly little joke my husband and I share:

Before we got married, my husband's Crazy Ex Girlfriend sent him several emails escalating into a final you're-a-terrible-person, your-mother-must-be-so-devastated and I-never-want-to-speak-to-you-again essay. This was all because he told her he was getting married. I could go into further detail and discuss the circumstances that led up to this, in order to satisfy my claim that she is indeed crazy, but you'll just have to take my word for it because I don't have the energy to go into it and also I have to take her possible feelings into consideration. I mean, does she really want the whole world to know that she took a bath with another one of my husband's ex-girlfriends and then called my husband's mother to tell her about it?

It was a strange thing to happen but we've somehow managed to glean some humour out of the whole situation. One of her main complaints was that we hadn't been together long enough, particularly long enough to have had a "real" fight:

"Have you guys even fought yet? I don't mean a mild disagreement either. I mean the kind of fight that makes you want to hit the other person with a brick for just a split second."

(I found that quote by searching for the word "brick" in my email)

Now, I don't know about anyone else, but I have never, ever wanted to hit anyone with anything, let alone a brick. At the time I thought it was a weirdly violent thing to say (and still do) and pointed it out. Then one of us suggested that maybe we couldn't get married because we didn't have any bricks to throw at each other and that we would need to obtain some bricks in order to be able to have a proper fight. It's a nice way to bring out the real absurdity in her statement. Ryan's mum's in on the joke too.

We see bricks lying on the side of the road and one of us will say, "Hey! Should have a fight? I see some bricks." or, we'll start a small argument about something and one of us will say, "Whoa. We can't do this. No bricks on hand."

Today on CL I noticed that there were free bricks available in Lansing.

me: Someone's giving away free bricks on CL.

Ryan: Maybe they just had a break up and don't need them anymore

me: I read the ad. Apparently, they are overwhelmed with responses.


Ryan: like, "We're getting married in May and don't yet have our bricks. Could you deliver them?"

me: "I really want to buy an expensive piece of equipment that my wife thinks is unnecessary. Are the bricks still available?"

"I'd like to bring up certain things about the way my husband puts his pants on in the morning, but I ran out of bricks last week discussing the way he takes the garbage out. How many bricks do you have to offer?"

Ryan: "I really need your bricks. man. I am totally sick and fucking tired of the way she picks at her toenails."

"My wife thinks I am lazy. I think she's fat. I can pick up and haul away as many bricks as you can offer."

"My wife spends money like its water. So, obviously I can't afford to pay much for the bricks, but as you can see, I really need them."

me: "I'm planning on asking the woman of my dreams to marry me. I want her to understand how committed I am to her and this marriage, so I'd like to stockpile some bricks."

Ryan: "My husband and I have been in a wonderful, loving relationship for 8 years, and we just recently ran through the last of our wedding bricks. Not having bricks to hand has been a real strain on our relationship. Are your bricks still available?"

To date, Ryan and I have only had two real arguments. Neither of which resulted in us wanted to cause bodily harm to the other. One was when Jeeves got too rough with me and grabbed at my head with his paws, getting his claws right in my scar. I curled up in a fetal position and tried not to vomit (I don't like people touching my scar, let alone digging their claws into it) and Ryan instructed me that I had the wrong reaction, that I should have disciplined the dog. He's right in some regards, but in the other, more pressing at the time regard, I was in too much pain and too upset to deal directly with the situation. He came around later, when I explained to him exactly what had happened and showed him the scratch marks.

The other big fight was in the Tate Modern, with extenuating circumstances. It takes some amount of talent to have a huge fight in a museum and we never resolved. Rather, we just agreed to joke about it instead of fight about it from then on with Ryan periodically sending me Rothkos that he made with Microsoft Paint. 

"The border didn't turn out as well as I wanted it to, but my three minutes ran out."

My Own Rothko

by Ryan