The news? It's all lies.

Maybe you heard this item on Weekend Edition last Saturday: a bunch of lobsters escaped their tank in a Stuttgart grocery store, and made a run for it. They were able to scuttle out under a loose shutter or metal grate and into the street, where were found by a passerby, apprehended by animal control, and brought to a shelter. Apparently the store has not claimed them. The source cited in the NPR story was this story in Spiegel Online International, but when I looked it up, I also found a link to the same story on the Australian site news.com.au, but the escapees were identified in that story as crayfish.

So which is it? The Spiegel Online story was posted first, but both stories were online well before the NPR story aired on Saturday. They had time to figure it out, I should think. I suppose if I had a choice, I would go on the air with the lobster story, as it offers the cheap but totally worth-it opportunity to play the song "Rock Lobster," which one doesn't hear often enough on the radio, but accuracy is kind of a key thing for me. On the other hand, maybe it's one of those weird Aussie "you say tomato, we say crayfish" type things. But still, which is it? Can we believe anything we hear on NPR? Anything we read online? I mean, a coupla dozen lobsters walking down the street is one thing, but a bunch of crayfish? I mean, they're a hell of a lot smaller than lobsters, in my experience.

Still, it would be weird to be walking down the street at 2 a.m. and see either one, so I guess the difference is maybe only important to certain types of people. Sort of like the whole octopus vs. squid thing. I mean, why would you find either of them in your driveway in Wisconsin while you were clearing snow out of the driveway? What does it really matter which it is?

Yeah, OK they're similar, lobsters & crayfish; they belong to the same phylum, subphylum, class, order, and infraorder (Arthropoda, Crustacea, Malacostraca, Decapoda, and Astacidea, respectively), but lobsters belong to the family Nephropidae, while crayfish are either Astacoidea (Latreille, 1802) or Parastacoidea (Huxley, 1879). Generally, lobsters live in saltwater, crayfish in freshwater, but in New Zealand there is a saltwater-dwelling crayfish commonly called the spiny lobster. And most lobsters are bigger than most crayfish, though there are some smallish lobsters and some biggish crayfish that are around the same size.

Anyway, I had to look this all up because when I heard it on the radio Saturday, I thought I was dreaming. Do you ever do that? I mean, have really wacky dreams when you're half-asleep, and then later you find out that they weren't actually dreams, but stuff you heard on the radio? Or that it was a dream, but the subject matter was heavily informed by the story on the radio? During the week, I have the radio on from about 6 am until noon, so I usually hear the earliest Morning Edition stories over again and realize what's going on, dream-wise, because the show is only two hours long and repeats itself. But on Saturday, they don't repeat it, at least on my local NPR station. So I had to look this story up on account of it was just so weird, and I couldn't tell if I was making it up or not.

Not least because it had one of my favorite B-52's songs underneath the brief story.

Suggestions, requests welcome

The lovely and talented Sara, of Moving Right Along, posted a while back about National Blog Post Month (a.k.a. NaBloPoMo), in which participants agree to post on their blogs every single day during November. I'm not really much of a joiner, but I've decided to give it a go.

In case you haven't noticed, I'm not always very good at posting regularly. I run out of ideas, or time, or sometimes I might have an idea but don't bother to write about it because I don't think anyone will be interested (not that that stops me the rest of the time, but you know how it gets). So your suggestions for posting topics and requests for recipes are entirely welcome. It will certainly be a challenge to post something every single day.

Is there something you've always wanted to ask me? Need to know what to do with all those leeks? Want advice from a total stranger with no particular authority or qualifications? Have questions about alternative fuels? Sex? Epidemiology? Leave a note in the comments or write to me at contact.alphagal -at- gmail -dot- com and I'll make something up and post it during November.

Don't set your clocks back just yet

I really hate this whole daylight savings thing anyway. But this year they've made it even worse -- twice! It's been delayed until next week. So if your cellphone or Palm Pilot or computer or that fancy light timer that you just bought has an auto-DST feature, it might have already removed an hour from your day. Be on guard.

I don't really understand how the twiddling around of time saves energy or money. But I just heard on the radio that delaying the switch will save like ooty pazillion barrels of oil or some such. Which makes me wonder whether it wouldn't be better not to switch at all?

I mean, the quantity of daylight is not mutable, right? But human activity marches on, I guess. And it's expensive, here in the land of time=money. So maybe it makes sense to manage the timing of it in such a way that as much of it as possible takes place during the part of the day. And it makes sense that it's easier to get people to agree to set the time back than it would be to get everybody to get up an hour earlier. Or later. Or whatever.

Want to know what time it is right now? Check out this animated clock [requires flash] from designer Yugo Nakamura.

Dept. of things I wish I'd thought up myself

Because I really do love my dog enough to post flyers all over the neighborhood. The black duct tape, though, really makes it perfect. Can you read the text of the flyer? It says:

"Have a look at this beautiful motherfucking dog. He was last seen being awesome in my huge ass back yard which is where he is right now being awesome as usual. He is about the most beautiful god damn dog in the whole world and chews on expensive food all the time. Responds to 'Xerxes."

I am totally in love with this dog, and with this flyer, which is posted on flickr, and I found via Shakesville via Monkeys for Helping via boingboing. You've probably already seen it, but just in case you missed it, there it is.

Just, wow

I think Barbara Ehrenreich is a terrific writer, plus really smart. And I like her politics. If you don't read her excellent blog regularly, consider adding it to your list. She doesn't post every day, but when she does, it's worth reading. This week she takes on David Horowitz' Islamo-Fascist Awareness Week. Which is just, well, crazy. Horowitz*, a one-time Marxist/Leftist and now an occasional analyst for Fox News, is perhaps best-known for his efforts to secure "academic freedom" for conservatives amid the overwhelming liberalism of college campuses; he is also the one who put together the website DiscoverTheNetworks.org, which seeks to document the Vast Left-Wing Conspiracy controlling the world.

Anyway, Horowitz is particularly keen to target feminist academics with his Islamo-Fascist Awareness Week efforts, as Ehrenreich notes in her post:

"A major purpose of this week is to wake up academic women to the threat posed by militant jihadism. According to the Week’s website, feminists, and particularly the women’s studies professors among them, have developed a masochistic fondness for Islamic fundamentalis[m]. Hence, as anti-Islamo-Fascist speakers fan out to the nation’s campuses this week, students are urged to stage “sit-ins in Women’s Studies Departments and campus Women’s Centers to protest their silence about the oppression of women in Islam.”"

The official speakers for the week-long event include Ann Coulter, former Sen. Rick Santorum, Daphne Patai* and Christina Hoff Summers*. Which, as Ehrenreich puts it: "These are the people who are going to save us from purdah?"

The word "fascism" is flying around a lot these days, on the left and on the right, and it's been making me nervous. If you're interested in the subject, check out the blog Orcinus. David Niewert and Sara Robinson have been documenting the activities of right-wing extremists in the US (and elsewhere) for quite a while, with special attention to eliminationist activities and rhetoric. Niewert's series of posts "The Rise of Pseudo Fascism," is particularly interesting (scroll down on the left column for links to the blog posts; they're also available, for a small donation, collected in a .pdf file).



*Yeah, yeah, I linked to the wikipedia entries on these folks. I know that wikipedia is often inaccurate and biased and part of the vast left-wing conspiracy & all, but there are links on all of those posts to source material -- including the original writings of each -- which may or may not be of interest to you. You want more balanced views of these folks? Follow the links in the posts.

Bummer

Some sad news: Sarah Watson's blog "Fat Girl on a Bike" is on indefinite hiatus. The story is over at Shapely Prose, but what happened, basically, is this: she got fed up with comments from assholes who saw fit to comment about her weight, health, looks, fuckability, etc. both on her blog and elsewhere. She started her blog to track her progress as she trained for and competed in triathlons. Big deal, right? Except that she had the nerve to do alla that (with photos!) and still be fat. Had she lost weight in the training? Probably. She sure as hell got fit, and inspired a whole lot of us to get off our butts and have fun being as athletic as we wanted without worrying that we were too fat to be seen in public exercising.

And sure, when you post stuff on the internets, you get feedback, and not all of it is nice. But the whole thing got out of hand when she agreed to post a photo of herself, in running clothes -- running, no less!-- in Kate Harding's BMI project (which, check it out). And every creep on the internet descended to mock, or act shocked, or point & laugh, or what have you.

I don't blame her for going offline, but it sure makes me mad.

Medico-cultural shock for the uninsured patient

Lymphopo, over at As the Tumor Turns, had a mammogram last week. If you haven't been following her story, she's a 50ish gal who, just about a year ago was diagnosed with a very aggressive Stage IV lymphoma -- sort of out of nowhere, as she'd been living the good life, well, all her life: a nonsmoker, eater of wholesome and organic food, an athlete. A bodybuilder, for dogssake.

The story of her year-long oddysey through medical diagnosis and treatment was harrowing enough, but, as an uninsured freelance writer (I think), she was forced to seek treatment at an institution she referred to as "Our Lady of the Damned Charity Hospital." Not one of your nicer facilities, if you know what I mean. Fortunately, she educated herself about her illness, the available treatments, and became a fierce and articulate advocate for her own care. Talked back to the authorities. The "squeaky wheel" procedure does help, sometimes. It's not something that everybody can do (nor should they have to) while gravely ill, though.

It was not pretty, (nor in fact cheap), and she still ended up deeply in debt and having to sell her gorgeous, funky old house. And her personal relationships suffered, not uncommon when someone faces a life-threatening illness.

But, hideous as that chapter in her life was, it's turning out to have a happy-ish ending; she is cured of the lymphoma. It's gone. Except for the fear that many cancer patients experience after successful treatments: every little change, every twinge of pain -- is that more cancer? She is still trying to recover from the effects of the treatments she underwent, trying to pull her life back together, trying to regain the muscle mass and strength she lost.

Plus she is expecting her first grandbaby, studying art, making plans. Adopted a beautiful new dog. All in all, hers is an amazing story. Inspirational, even, in a way. Certainly sheds light on the hideous inequalities of our medical system. Especially the mammogram story the other day.

See, she didn't go back to Our Lady of the Damned; rather, she went to the new-ish "Deep Inferno General Hospital" facility, where she'd been a few times before the lymphoma diagnosis, and which she'd previously found nice enough but unremarkable. But her experiences at the publicly-(under)funded charity hospital had changed her. The differences between the two places -- from the ease with which she found a parking place to the clean floors to the current issues of magazines in the waiting rooms -- were mind-bending, causing her to burst (publicly) into uncontrollable, snot-spewing laughter:

"Is there a word for this, a clinical term, for a semi-hysterical reaction to the culture shock of being swung like Tarzan on a vine across the nation's great yawning medical gap, flying through the air and landing with a thud on its radically, irreconcilably opposite shore?"

Alas, my friend, I can't think of any such word. Most people don't have the opportunity to see it up close and personal like that. It is shocking. It isn't fair. It is not right, not on any level.

The Rubber Duck knows no frontiers

I read this article called "Moby-Duck: Or the synthetic wilderness of childhood" by Donovan Hohn, in the January, 2007, issue of Harpers magazine (it's online, but only to subscribers; I think you can find it at your public library or online via your library's website). Unfortunately I gave away the magazine, but I highly recommend that you find it and read it. Failing that, here's an article from The Daily Mail last summer about how these 29,000 rubber ducks and other bath toys fell off a container ship and floated all over the world. For fifteen years. Oceanographer Curtis Ebbesmeyer has devoted his retirement to tracking the toys and their journey of over 17,000 miles.

It's a fascinating story.

I have no idea, actually, whether Dutch artist Florentijn Hofman was inspired by the story of those brave little ducks, but he nevertheless offered the world this enormous Rubber Duck:


The installation, earlier in 2007, was on the Loire river in France. The duck is made of inflatable, rubber-coated PVC, with pontoons and an on-board generator. The notes on his website (translated from the Dutch) say of the project:

"A yellow spot on the horizon slowly approaches the coast. People have gatherd and watch in amazement as a giant yellow Rubber Duck approaches. The spectators are greeted by the duck, which slowly nods its head. The Rubber Duck knows no frontiers, it doesn't discriminate people and doesn't have a political connotation. The friendly, floating Rubber Duck has healing properties: it can relieve mondial tensions as well as define them. The rubber duck is soft, friendly and suitable for all ages!"

See also his Zwarte kraai ("black crow") and Beukelsblauw, an entire block of derelict buildings in Rotterdam that he painted bright blue. Be sure to click through the slide shows for each of the projects.

And no, I'm not really sure what mondial tensions are either, and my handy Dutch-English dictionary isn't spectacularly helpful. I think it means "universal." Or maybe "worldly."

The Friar's Tale + lego animation

I sure hope this kid got an A on this highly excellent animation project. I especially love the part (spoiler alert) where the harmless looking green-hatted elf/gnome guy spins around and turns into a demon from hell:

Gotta love Chaucer, eh?

You mean they don't really fry those frijoles twice?

Do you have questions about Mexicans or other Spanish-speaking immigrants that you're just, well, afraid to ask? Because you know in your heart that they're tasteless and rude and you'd just be embarrassed? Fear no more, gringo. Gustavo Arellano is here to help:

"Can you please explain the pecking order amongst Spanish-speaking peoples? And don’t deny that there is one.

Curious Gringo

"Gabacho: Sure—Mexicans on top, everyone else is a bunch of Guatemalans."

The guy's funny and irreverent (it's satire, people) and manages to offend those with delicate sensibilities of pretty much every color.

Here's the OCWeekly's ¡Ask a Mexican!® archive.

via Magpie

More fun with duct tape

It's almost Halloween, I gather, so maybe you'll find yourself wearing some kind of sexy electrician costume and you don't want to invest in highly specialized foundation garments just for one outfit, but you might want a little more in the cleavage department. I'm not here to judge you for this, but I did find some highly amusing instructions from the always charming Plumcake over at Manolo for the Big Girl! She says that she learned it from some drag queens in DC back in her modeling days, but her instructions are much funnier (and much more helpful) than the ones I found via my search string log the other day.

Alas, no photos. Not from me, not from Plumcake.

Did you want fries with that data?

I've mentioned the good work of Sandy Szwarc over at Junkfood Science before. She's just posted two articles about the findings of the dietary intervention study that is part of the ongoing Women's Health Initiative. Here is Part One and here is Part Two. It's fascinating. You want the details? Go over to Sandy's place, but here's a quick summary:

The Women's Health Initiative study itself is huge, and was set up to examine a large number of assumptions and hypotheses. In this particular case, researchers were able to look at the effects of "healthy eating" on a wide range of health problems, including cardiovascular disease, a variety of invasive cancers, and weight loss. Earlier, smaller studies had found correlations between "unhealthy eating" and all of these health issues, suggesting there might be a cause-and-effect thing going on.

And given our willingness to ascribe virtue to "healthy eating," I think we've all (scientists and the rest of us) taken it as pretty much a given that eating virtuously will protect us from cancer, heart disease, obesity, and moral decay. This particular study was designed to get the numbers to back that up. Well, maybe not moral decay, as such. But certainly, if health risk can be attributed to personal choices, then we can blame sick people for their problems, right?

The deal was this: a very large group of women were taught the precepts of "healthy" eating, and most were remarkably compliant throughout the study period (which was about 8 years). An equally large group, matched to the first in age range, socioeconomic status, ethnicity, and so on, served as a control group and was allowed to eat whatever they wanted. There were in fact real, statistically significant differences between the diets of the two groups: the "healthy eaters" ate much less fat, much more fiber (including whole grains and vegetables) and fewer calories overall than the control group.

The differences at the end of eight years? Extremely minimal, and not even remotely statistically significant. The two groups had very similar incidences of heart disease, cancers, and obesity. Some of the women in the "healthy eating" group lost weight initially, but had gained most of it back by the end of the study.

There were some suggestions in the data that some of the cancer risks, for example, changed a little over time; it would be interesting to see a longer study period. I think that there are some folks who would maintain that the "healthy" diet was not restrictive enough. And there are others who have been saying all along that dietary changes are not by themselves sufficient. But what's most fascinating is how the media and some of the researchers alike are grasping at these tiny differences as if they are a sure ticket to good health. And, of course, virtue.

Again, go check out Sandy's posts: Part One and Part Two. She's got links, statistical explanations, you name it.

It's Ruby Tuesday!

I've said it before, but it bears repeating: a tired dog is a good dog. That shredded rubber thing near her on the ground had been a slightly deflated, but intact, rubber bouncy playground ball only about half an hour before the picture was taken.

Bizarre search strings

OK, this is funny. A little over 24 hours ago, someone in Monongahela, PA, arrived here at alphabitch.org while searching for a sexy pharmacist plus size costume." And my little blog post was the second item in the search.

Which I gotta say I think is kind of strange. But hey, whatever. They didn't stay long, whoever they were. Less than a minute.

Another interesting search: "tape without shaving," which lists my post on hair removal with duct tape first. I'm nearly famous. That visitor was also here for less than a minute. From Columbus, OH. Incidentally, the second item in that search has instructions for men who wish to create the illusion of cleavage.

Go crazy, dudes. It'll look great under that sexy pharmacist costume.

Taking dieting to a new philosophical level

I gave up on diets almost 20 years ago, when I realized that I had -- no lie -- doubled my weight in my 16 years of increasingly crazed dieting. It was the best thing I could have done, and I stopped gaining weight almost immediately. Regaining my sanity took a bit longer.

But as I noted in a previous post, I have gained some weight lately as a consequence of some changes in my pharmaceutical regime. Well-meaning friends have offered dieting advice, but I'm reluctant to try anything radical or crazy beyond trying to eat well and exercise more, which of course I try to do anyway, just because one feels better doing those things. Or at least I do. And in fact, now that my, um, pharmaceutical issues have settled down, I've already lost a few pounds and am feeling much better.

I did, however, get a recommendation I'd like to pass along. The article is a couple of years old, but I somehow missed this book when it came out (finally!) in translation: Friedrich Nietzsche wrote "Fat is Dead" in the late 1880s, but his advice to dieters is surprisingly relevant:

"One must strive to eat dangerously as one comes into the Will to Power Oneself Thin," Nietzsche wrote. "What do you fear? By this are you truly Fattened. You must embrace your Fears, as well as your Fat, and learn to Laugh as you consume them, along with Generous Portions of Simple Salad. Remember, as you stare into the lettuce, the lettuce stares also into you."

The first part of the diet, I gather, is to identify the food(s) that you most deeply dread, and then to eat superhuman quantitities of each until you are no longer appetized nor frightened by them.

According to the article, "Dieters report that they are reveling in the powerful Nietzschean weight-loss message of self-realization, transcendence, and the personal freedom to eat certain foods which are not allowed on the Atkins and South Beach diets." Which, I mean, how cool is that? Naturally, no diet is without its critics.

Detractors say the diet's actual nutritional requirements are vague, that it provides no concrete plan for progression toward weight-loss targets, and that the book consists mostly of unclear and unusually harsh sets of inspirational logical lacunae.

"Those on Nietzsche's diet must remember that, while discipline and mastering one's fear are desirable, the specter of a man striving willfully and joyfully against a frigid universe while drinking deep of 'life's bitter broth' will not precipitate weight loss," nutritionist Dr. Frank Stearns said. "A few more non-allegorical recipes would have been nice, too."

"Stearns said it was worth noting that Nietzsche died depressed, delirious, and overweight in Zurich after 10 years of near-catatonia.

"Those wishing to begin a diet, let alone a highly moralistic pre-Freudian diet, should consult with their physicians," Stearns said. "Otherwise, they run the risk of long-term health problems—not to mention the possibility of their diet being misinterpreted by a rabidly cuisinophobic nationalist sect and used to justify a world takeover by diet Nazis."

Of course, it may already be too late for that last bit.

What I really think

Tidying up my desktop, I found this list. I think it was written in response to some skirmish(es) in the ongoing feminist blogwars. I try not to get too intensively involved in online discussions of these topics, because it activates my PTSD. But I do have an opinion or two:

• The Patriarchy: Heavily armed and oppressive as fuck-all, and it's everywhere you look -- including inside your own head. And mine. Largely imaginary and mostly useful as a metaphor, it nevertheless must be dismantled, or at least seriously marginalized and its effects neutralized. Pointing at it and laughing sometimes helps, as long as you're not in a situation where that would compromise your physical safety. Also known as "The Man," "The System," and western civilization.
  
• Racism: See above. They are in fact related (and might even be the same); they feed each other and give each other power. Neither is "worse," and it doesn't matter which one we dismantle first. Both have got to go. Also known as "The Man," "The System," and western civilization.
• The Transsexual Menace: As menaces go, not a very menacing one. Some of my best friends, etc. I don't really care which restroom they use, unless they're ahead of me in line, in which case I'll use the other one if I'm in a hurry.
• Sex: Fun! Also funny and embarrassing and weird and full of emotional peril. Frequently re-purposed into a surprisingly effective weapon by The Patriarchy. Is it political? Yep. So is everything. Be careful about what thrills you. Not fun for you? Do something else. No need to apologize or explain. "Fun!" just happens to be my experience of it. YMMV.
  
• Blowjobs: Hilarious! Also wildly entertaining, unless you'd rather be doing something else, in which case: do something else. No need to apologize or explain.
• Rape: Not at all funny. Way too popular. Not in fact caused by alcohol, skirt length, chicks who leave home unsupervised, lipstick, high heels, or even pornography. Caused primarily by rapists, working on behalf of The Patriarchy.
• Shoes: I like them. I want more of them, no matter how many I have already. I don't care if that makes me a tool in the hand of the retail/advertising arm of The Patriarchy. Life is fucking complicated. Shoes support your body and comprise the very foundation of your relationship to the planet.
  
• Lipstick and the removal (or not) of body hair: Surely we have better things to quarrel about. Call me a sparklepony; I don't care. Be as pretty as you wanna be. Or don't. You're under no obligation, either way. You are free to ignore anyone who tells you otherwise.
  
• But alphabitch, what about the men? Yeah, yeah, you're oppressed too, dude. Quit yer whining and help us smash the damn patriarchy already. It's keeping us all down. You didn't build it, I know that, but you happen to benefit from it a little bit more than I do (just as I benefit every day from the structures of racism, which I did not cause and do not support). Yes, of course it limits you too. That's part of the problem. Join us.
  

Any questions?

It's National Coming Out Day!

So I'll take this opportunity to state (yet again) for the record that I am bisexual. I've written previously about my discomfort with that label, with the reputation that bisexuals have, and about how I sometimes wish that my sex life were even half as interesting as people seem to think bisexuals' sex lives are. I do not, in fact, have twice as many partners as monosexuals. I do not, in fact, even have twice as many potential partners to choose from. I am as discerning as the next person and will not in fact fuck anything that moves. Also: I am not an unstable whackjob murderer. Those movies about hot bi gals who go all nuts and ruin some innocent straight girl's life and kill her husband/boyfriend or whatever? Not about me. I'm about as hot as your average middle-aged rocket surgeon-princess-geek, and sort of temperamentally allergic to high-drama type situations.

But still, sometimes, when asked if I'm a lesbian, I say yes. It's easier. Interestingly, no one has ever asked me outright if I'm straight (ahem). But if they did, I'd say no. But I really don't like to answer the next questions that follow the revelation that I'm bisexual: Well, which do you like better? [I like both. A lot.] When are you going to make up your mind? [I have made up my mind; I like both men and women.*] Isn't this just part of your refusal/inability to make a commitment to anything? [No more than your attraction to members of only one gender makes you unable or unwilling to make a commitment to one individual within that group.] Aren't you just trying to cash in on your 'heterosexual privilege' while still claiming membership in an oppressed class? [I'm especially baffled by this one.]

But I came out as a lesbian -- to family, friends, community -- in my early twenties, and in fact was in a relationship with one woman or another until my mid-thirties. I was surprised as anyone to find myself attracted to a man, and even more so to act on that attraction. At first I thought of it kind of as a 'relapse,' but there was more to it than that. In the years since then, I've become more comfortable admitting to myself, to my lovers, and to my friends that I'm bisexual, for real. I still haven't told my parents, though I'm pretty sure both of them have their suspicions. I figure that, especially at my age, my sex life is none of their business. If I were in a long-term relationship with a man, I would certainly tell them. But they both worked very hard to come to terms with the whole lesbian-daughter thing in the first place, and were extremely supportive and kind about it. I have occasionally suspected that they rather enjoy the notoriety, even. And they love love love my lovely ex-wife, and think I'm an idiot for leaving her, or driving her away, or whatever it was that happened. I forget what it was, exactly. Seemed important at the time, and probably was.

Anyway, I am grateful that I never experienced a hostile family, never lost a job, never felt threatened or oppressed on a personal, individual, or even remotely dangerous level on account of being a lesbian or a bisexual. Never belonged to any church or social group that would ostracize or ban someone for being queer. I am very lucky, and my heart goes out to people who did not, do not, or would not experience all of that if and when they choose to come out, today or any other day.

So that's where I'm at. You?


*UPDATE: No one's commented about this (yet) but on re-reading this, I certainly want to be clear that I don't intend any slight to transexuals; I like them also, and absolutely support what is going on with them. I guess I could more accurately state that I like all genders. Or sexes. Or whatever. Does this mean I have to call myself "omnisexual?" That does sound a little kinky, but maybe I could get used to it. Yet another reason I don't like labels. But that's for another post, I think. I'm not a monosexual, is all. Not that there's anything wrong with that. Some people just can't help it, I think.

One of life's little mysteries solved

Porridge. I never really knew what it was, only that it's served in bowls and shouldn't be too hot or too cold. I figured it was something like cream of wheat, or cornmeal mush. You know, something porridge-y. Doesn't really sound like something I'd like.

But it's sort of like bon-bons. I mean, what the hell are they, really? I did ask around once, about bon-bons, and I gather that they are those awful chocolate things like you get in the heart-shaped boxes. That there's always one kind that is good and the rest are full of gross gooey stuff and you never know until it's too late. But I've never really been curious enough about porridge to look it up or ask anyone.

Curds and whey? I remember asking my mom about that, because I thought it sounded interesting; and because of its association with spiders, I thought I needed to know. I like cottage cheese, which is basically what curds and whey is. As a kid, I used to eat it hoping a spider would show up. Couldn't get mom to get me a tuffet, though. Or even to tell me what a tuffet is.

But thanks to the BBC, I now know what porridge is. It's oatmeal. Duh.

"A dozen cooks from across the UK had gathered in Carrbridge, in Strathspey, for the contest to see who can make the finest bowl of the oatmeal dish.

"Judges marked the entrants on their porridge's appearance, consistency and taste, before deciding on a champion.

"The winner of the coveted Golden Spurtle, or stirrer, was Maria Soep from Kilchrenan.

"Ms Soep, who reached the final last year, came out victorious after a three-way cook-off."

Her secret? Really good oatmeal and a pinch of salt, soaked overnight in some good water. How hard is that? I really love oatmeal made with those steel-cut Irish oats. But the rolled oats, or the instant oatmeal? None for me, thanks.

Said a spokesman from the contest sponsor: "The standard was incredibly high and the final was very tense."

I can only imagine.

[Update: Obviously mom didn't have the internets to help her out with my incessant questions. A tuffet is just a small hassock or ottoman-type thing. It's also an English unit of capacity, equal to 2 pecks, or half a bushel.]

Sexy? Scary? Whatever. Still not funny.

I first saw this item over at Kate Harding's blog Shapely Prose (which is terrific, btw). Kate also blogs at Shakesville and a couple of other places, and she recently invited two excellent co-bloggers, fillyjonk and sweetmachine, to join her at Shapely Prose. She and her colleagues are writing some excellent critiques of the whole 'obesity epidemic' thing, the weight-loss industry, plus fashion, fitness, and links to accurate health information for fat chicks. And lots of stuff for all of us, whether or not we're fat or female, to think about.

Anyway, Kate was pretty disgusted by this Halloween costume, which was apparently advertised at HalloweenStreet.com, among the usual costume options for adult women: Sexy Nurse, Sexy Demented Housewife, Sexy Brick House (?), Sexy Schoolgirl, etc. ad naus. The name of this costume is "Sexy Anna Rexia," and it comes with a belt and choker that look like tape measures. Hahahaha. I share Kate's disgust. Mental illness is just not funny, especially a devastating one that can cause death.

And I'm not amused by the pairing of sexiness and a debilitating disease that makes a person anything but sexy. I spent way too much time during my teens and early twenties hunched over a toilet bowl puking the rare complete meals I had to eat. Measuring and weighing myself every time I ate, drank, peed, or took a (laxative-enhanced) shit. And when dieting didn't work, I added exercise, eventually up to 5-6 hours a day. Which made me ravenously hungry, and sort of cut into the little time I had for socializing. And despite increasingly desperate efforts, still failed to make me skeletally thin.

But I also agree (to a point) with Carol Lloyd over at salon.com, [you'll have to watch an ad if you're not a subscriber] who said, "Even as Anna Rexia makes my skin crawl like no other Halloween costume ever has, I'm also not terribly comfortable getting worked up about a costume for a holiday that is all about embodying our fears." Which, yeah. The holiday is about dressing up as the things we fear.

So I went over to halloweenstreet.com to see whether the Sexy Anna Rexia costume was available in plus sizes. I would probably not have purchased it, had I found it, but I do in fact fear that obsession, and I still do have to fight with it sometimes.

I couldn't find it in the plus size costumes; nor, in fact anywhere on the site. The links I found all led to something else, and the site search function gave zero results. A lot of feminist bloggers and eating-disorder-recovery bloggers wrote about it, and I guess halloweenstreet.com responded to all the negative feedback they must be getting, and removed it from their site. Maybe you'll find them on eBay or something, after all the fuss is over.

Back on halloweenstreet, though, I was kind of startled by the number of options available in the "sexy" category, at least for women. I know that others have commented on this phenomenon, this increased sexualizing of halloween dress-up options (which does extend to teenage and even little girls' costumes, also kind of alarming in some ways -- I didn't see a lot of that on halloweenstreet, but I've heard parents complaining about it generally).

I do think that it's an interesting answer to the question 'what is it we most fear?' Sexy women? That kind of scares me.

Anyway, the Halloween costume I really want? And have never once worn, even though I already have my very own tiara? Fairy princess ballerina.

Be very afraid.

Nutty McNutcase

I have had this poster in my kitchen since my very first apartment; I think it was a housewarming gift. I couldn't find a legible online version; but each item includes, in addition to the picture, the number and symbol (same as on the real periodic table), the Latin name of the item, and the number of calories per 100 grams uncooked. It's come in handy a couple of times lately as I have several fruit and nut trees in the back yard that I'm not sure what they are.

Whatever they are, Ruby is enormously entertained by both the falling fruits and nuts and the wildlife that comes to investigate. Her new nickname is Nutty McNutcase.

I have a couple of what I think are pecan trees next to the patio, and there are lots of nuts falling down and they're driving poor Ruby, well, nuts. A lot of them fall directly onto the patio, and a couple have actually fallen on her (and one hit my neighbor, who'd stopped by for a glass of wine). They also roll off the garage roof and she catches them on the bounce, and tosses them in the air, and then searches kind of frantically for a place to bury them. These are more exciting than the ones that fall directly from the tree, as there's some warning they're coming.

She'll accumulate several in one spot, cover them with dirt, and then notice that I've seen where she put them, so she'll dig them all up and hide them somewhere else. I've had to actively discourage her from bringing them in the house, because I'm tired of finding them under my pillow, in between the sofa cushions, and on the floor, where I step on them and twist my ankles. Confiscating them at the doorway is harder than one might think; the pecans, especially, fit right in her mouth and I don't always notice that she has one. She does not want to surrender them.

There's also, apparently, a black walnut tree either on the very edge of my yard or in the neighbor's yard, and sometimes those nuts hit the garage roof and roll down onto the patio. They're bigger and heavier than the pecans, and rounder. Even more entertaining, though less numerous.

And just to the side of the patio there's a tree with some kind of fruit that might be a persimmon? It's shaded by the house next door, so all the fruits are up too high to get a good look at them, and the few I've found on the ground are too rotted to tell for sure what they are. Not anything I'm very familiar with. Do persimmons even grow here? From what I can see, they are going to start falling off en masse any day now, so I'll be able to check them out. If the birds don't get them all first.

But last night Ruby brought in an item a little bit bigger than a golf ball, but smaller than a baseball. I'd heard something heavier than the usual nuts fall in the back yard. Ruby investigated and returned, looking very pleased with herself, with what I thought might be a smallish pear. I got it from her on the way in, and brought it into the kitchen to get a closer look. It was too round to be a pear, and the outside was the texture & color of a lime that's been in the fridge a bit too long. So I rinsed it off and cut into it with a sharp paring knife. The cut didn't go all the way through, but I opened it enough to see a dark, kind of fig-like fleshy glop, and maybe there was a hard central pit-type thing (like a black walnut?), but I didn't look any closer or cut any deeper because it was also full of tiny white squirmy worms that didn't seem too happy to be disturbed.

My first thought? Take a picture! But I left the big camera at work, and the little one I have at home has no flash. Dammit! Second thought? Eeeuuuwww! Get that thing out of my kitchen!!! So I tossed it out the back door. Ruby was not very happy about this. It was gone when we went out this morning, but I found a couple more whole ones, which I left where Ruby can't get them. Gotta remember to bring the camera home from work. But I'm cutting it open outside.

When jokes just write themselves

I've seen this logo around the net a few times lately, with snarky comments about the elephant's 'wide stance,' the Minneapolis-St.Paul location (stay out of the airport bathrooms, yall!) the prison-striped shirt, and the starry eye (are there drugs in the coolaid they're drinking, or does it symbolize starry-eyed optimism?). With various comments about the array of phallic-seeming tusks, trunk, tail, etc. -- and what's with that big red 2008? Is it meant to suggest an extremely Grand Old Phallus, or is the elephant attempting to, um, fuck 2008? Cause that's kind of what it looks like, at first glance. And why is the elephant's tongue hanging out like that? That's just weird.

But I thought that surely the version of the logo that everyone was snarking about was digitally altered, because, I mean, that's just too easy. Seriously. A logo like that would never make it out of the first meeting with the client. Were there no focus groups? Though if there were photoshopping going on, I'd be tempted to add the suggestion of a bathroom stall divider in the background. But I'm mean like that.

So I went straight to the source, the GOP Convention 2008 website. And clicked on the prominent "Official Convention Logo Unveiled" button. And there it was, in all its glory. Not photoshopped at all. It was designed, on purpose, by New York City-based Creative Director Robert Matza, who has, it says there, "overseen many aspects of creative development for a broad range of corporate identity clients while at Landor Associates [...]." So he obviously knows what he's doing.

In any case, they've certainly got people talking about their new logo. And there's no such thing as bad publicity, right? And according to convention President and Chief Executive Officer Maria Cino, "This design highlights the spirit of the Republican Party and it will adorn everything from the Xcel Energy Center to t-shirts and other souvenirs." To which RNC Co-Chairman and Convention Chairman Jo Ann Davidson adds, "By the time our convention is complete, this emblem [...] will have been seen by millions around the world."

Well, then. There you have it. It's the spirit of the Republican Party, highlighted. Get your minds out of the gutter, people. Personally, though I don't plan to attend the event, I would like to acquire a coupla souvenir items.

Via Suburban Guerrilla, who credits Sadly, No (which, read some of their comments for more snark. If you like that kind of thing).

How I almost bought an iPhone last night

Maybe I've mentioned before that I have narcolepsy. I've been taking medication for it for many years, and it worked really well. But it's the kind of drug that, over time, your body starts to require more and more of, and I was taking a lot of it. Like, enough speed to keep four truckers on the road all night, but I took it every day.

When I tried once, a coupla years ago, to have the prescription filled at a new pharmacy, they refused. Thought it was forged. Told me this was the wrong dosage, that this was an overdose, that my insurance wouldn't cover it. In a total panic, I took it to my regular pharmacist, who explained about the tolerance thing and calmed me down. And of course my insurance would cover it. And, with the support of my doctors, I experimented to find the lowest effective dose possible.

Even so, over time, the side effects became intolerable, and I started skipping doses, not taking it on weekends, sometimes not taking it for days at a time, or taking only half. Or drinking shots of bourbon to relax enough to un-clench my jaw, undo the knots in my back. Don't even talk to me about the fractured teeth. And then my face started twitching.

Taking it was starting to feel worse than not taking it. Predictably enough, my sleep cycle, always eccentric to begin with, got further disrupted, and the whole thing spiraled a bit out of control: memory problems, general flakiness, inability to track things, perception issues. Oh, and weight gain, which is not my favorite thing in the world. I have some issues about that. Despair all around.

So we tried some new drugs. I am now taking #5, and it's working moderately well, and the side effects are tolerable. Yay. Better living through chemistry, etc. The first three things I tried did nothing, and the fourth worked OK, not great, but the side effects were unacceptable. I am still uncomfortable with the idea that a drug-free life is probably not possible, not if I want to remain employed, have friends, etc.

I'm lots better, but I'm still flaking out a bit -- some of the same old same old, and also in some new (for me) and exciting ways. I've locked my keys in my house about 5 times in the last month (plus lost the key that I'd hidden outside in case I locked myself out). The parts of my work that I normally find the most fun and satisfying are nearly impossible to do. My coordination is bad (which is saying something, as I've always been a bit of a klutz).

But that's not what this post is about. I'm telling you all of this because it's background for a kind of funny story. Funny interesting, more than funny haha, but what happened is last night after work, one of my colleagues invited me to join her and some others for a beer & a snack at the restaurant/bar down the hill from our workplace. I said yes, because it sounded like fun, and she's invited me a bunch of times before and I almost always say no, because this place is usually so loud and chaotic right after work. So we had a beer, and part of another, and then everybody wanted to head over to some other event, one I didn't want to attend, so my friends dropped me off on their way.

No biggie, nothing terribly unusual, really. Not my usual routine, but I can handle it, right? So I fed Ruby and we were hanging out in the back yard and I checked my cellphone to see if anyone had called. That bar was so loud I'd never have heard it, even in my pocket.

No cellphone in my pocket. Or my pocketbook, for that matter. I'd just that afternoon switched to a new one, so I thought it might be tucked inside some internal zipper pocket or something. I love zipper pockets. It'd turn up, I thought. Someone'll call, and I'll find it. It's got a nice loud ring that sounds like an old telephone (and only rings one time). And then I started thinking where is it? what if I left it somewhere? what if I need to call someone and I can't find it? I tore the place apart, looking for it. It was not there.

What to do? I couldn't call the bar to see if anyone had found it. I couldn't drive back there to see if it was there, because I don't actually have a car. Couldn't call a cab. Didn't want to walk because it was dark already, and what if it wasn't there? What if I'd dropped it in my friend's car? She lives miles & miles away, and I don't have her phone number because it's, um, programmed into the damn cellphone.

I decided that if it didn't turn up I would buy myself an iPhone to replace it. I was kind of hoping it was really lost, for a minute there.

But then I got obsessed with finding it. I emailed all my friends, and sat there waiting for someone to respond. I actually opened all the IM clients I usually ignore and messaged a friend on the West Coast about my woes. She was still working. Nobody else was online, as it was Friday night and all. Miss Magpie was quite sympathetic, and I'm sure would have been willing to call the bar, see if my phone was there, and then call me a cab. And another friend came online who would've also been happy to help, but just at that moment, Julie emailed back. She'd arrived home and gotten my message and then tried to call me to see if I needed help, which we both thought was pretty funny. So I walked over there, borrowed her car, and drove back & got my cellphone. Which the bartender had found and set aside for me.

And it didn't work. Maybe I could have an iPhone after all?

It appeared to have battery power and a signal, but no calls would go through. So I turned it off and then on again after a little while and it worked fine after that. Go figure.

But the whole incident really surprised me. How isolated and vulnerable I felt sans cellphone. Stupid, yeah, but this was about more than just losing my keys, or my place in the book I'm reading, or where did I put the soda I'm drinking oh hell I'll just open another one.

Maybe a landline is a good idea, for security porpoises. But no iPhone, not today.

I think I'm going to make cheeseburgers tonight

Worried about all the recalled meat, E. coli scares, etc.? Read this.

Sandy Szwarc, over at Junk Food Science, is really smart.

Out in the yard this morning

Ruby and I were just out in the backyard. We got a little rain the night before last, so it's neither excessively dusty nor muddy. It's been kind of grey and cool, but the sun is starting to shine.

She found a very new, very large black corduroy slipper somewhere, and was having quite a big time with it. It was difficult to persuade her to let go of it, but she did not damage it. I suspect it belongs to the guy who lives in my carriage house apartment, who was moving boxes of stuff out last night. No one stays in that apartment for very long; within six months they meet their dream dates and move out into some kind of happily-ever-after scenario. OK, n=2 (so far!), but this has happened to 100% of them. I'm thinking that I should call it the Love Shack, and double the rent.

But after I'd liberated the slipper, and Ruby had gone on to bark wildly at some tree-dwelling mammals in the way back yard, I started to hear a persistent tapping noise. I looked up and saw what I think is a Hairy Woodpecker. About two feet away from me. I think it was too big to be a Downy Woodpecker. He noticed me and moved to another tree about six feet away and up higher than I can reach, but kept on with the tap-tap-tapping, flipping from one tree to another. Not sure he found what he was looking for, though, as he did not hang around very long.

Four posts in a row with no Ruby pictures???

OK, you whiners, here's Kalei chasing Ruby onto the patio from the back yard. They were having way too much fun.