Something is seriously wrong with you, boy . . .

After years of struggling on my own, dealing with the aftermath of unmatched freedom and competing ideas, I finally did it: I bought my own MacBook Pro and joined the Dark Side. And I have to say, I love it. A trackpad that actually works? A trackpad that provides useful navigation and input? What novel ideas! A UI that is stable, and programs that don’t mysteriously crash or include text that matches the background (I’m looking at YOU, VLC on LXDE!!!)? What a novel idea! Yes, I still love my various Linux laptops, but I think I’m stuck in the beauty and simplicity of the Mac world for a while now. I’d better be, now that I have the wireless trackpad, keyboard and number pad.

So, California, or more precisely, Humboldt County, California: Majestic redwoods, foggy mornings and sunny afternoons, beautiful windswept beaches, and the mighty banana slug. I do not think I could give up the ocean again. Humboldt is beautiful, but suffers from a poor economic base and the high cost of California living. Everything from land to gas to milk to taxes is more expensive here, even though so many here are poor. Maybe if we weren’t paying $4.47 per gallon of gas, we would have more money for more important things, like cookies.

Idaho, or Coeur d’Alene anyway, is flat and cold and filled with people who believe the current President is a Kenyan Marxist Socialist Nazi Communist Manchurian Candidate (i.e. “the sheriff is near”). It is also quite affordable. And unlike Humboldt, Kootenai County has no shortage of doctors and great libraries. It may not have as many breweries as Humboldt, but it does have Trader Joe’s, Lowes, Home Depot and Spokane, WA nearby. I would sell my wife for a Trader Joe’s in my area (hey, TJ’s people, are you listening?) . . .

If I switch to driving a UEV and move the family into one of these, California might just match Idaho on the affordability front. Idaho will never match California on the oceanfront and banana slug front, however.

And since I am complaining already, $1097.00 to interpret a single X-Ray? Really? Oh well . . . it’s not like I had anything better to do with that money. Hopefully, at some point part of the $1097.00 will include actually discussing it with me.

It is Friday . . . what are you going to do? I am going to step out into the sunshine, walk to the beach, then come back and finish work. I need the sea, I need the sand, I need the breeze. I need to quit spending my work breaks listening to the best and brightest the GOP has to offer explaining why segregation is good, access to safe, affordable abortions (and health care in general) is bad, drunk driving is a treasured American way of life, and the President (you know, the secret commie muslim socialist nazi Kenyan) is creating his own private army, with socialisms and health care. Something I come away with is that perhaps we need some better ethics laws for our elected representatives. And that perhaps it is time to let the Republican party have what they want. Do these people really believe any of what they say, or is the idea to come up with the most outrageously stupid idea and see if they can get people to believe it? Surely it is time that the self-proclaimed Party of NO, the “cow on the tracks”, find somewhere that embraces their concept of religious law, child labor, no environmental or social protections and spirit of rugged (and short-lived) individualism. I hear Somalia is beautiful this time of year. And this will put them closer to all the good elephant murdering hunting grounds, so win-win!

Perhaps I am old and addled, but I thought that, at one point, there was something called a “fiscal conservative.” This mythical beast actually was supposed to believe in fiscal responsibility (which one would assume includes not starting wars and then giving everyone tax cuts specifically so that we could not pay for said wars) rather than focusing so much on uteruses, gays and the dreaded threat of socialist Kenyan muslim nazis. Yeah, I must be old and addled.

So anyway, happy damned Friday. Enjoy your day. And yes, we had another lamb at the end of March. This brings us to a total of nine for this year, seven in just last month. And at least one of the three remaining pregnant ewes looks like she is ready to pop at any moment. Of course, we’ve been saying that for a week now. By the time she DOES give birth, the lamb is going to be as large as she is. I am afraid the birth will look more like a very gruesome metamorphosis.

Starfish at low tide says "Relax, dummy!"

When I was growing up, General Electric claimed “We Bring Good Things To Life.” Sometime in the last decade or so, they must have accepted that this is not always so, as now they offer “imagination at work.” So, does providing a risky containment field count as “imagination at work” or as “bring(ing) good things to life”? Either way, I would have thought that forty years would be enough time for GE to focus a little less on imagination and a little more on reality. And to maybe consider that risking bringing an end to lives, good or otherwise, might not be such a good thing. (pssst! There’s a NAUGHTY WORD later in this post (although in all fairness, it is balanced out by being attached to a picture of kittens), so don’t click on the continue link if you are offended by NAUGHTY WORDS!!!!!!!1!!!ONE!!!ELEVENTY!!!

And because PANIC!!!!! is the American Way, thank you Surgeon General Regina Benjamin for your well-considered words of wisdom at a time when others might call for calm and rationality. Really, let us repeat the excitement of the anthrax threats of ’01 and urge everyone to make a run on duct tape and plastic sheeting. (note to self: Start selling plastic sheeting on eBay, claim it is lead-lined for your comfort and protection. Maybe lead-lined adult diapers as well, so everyone crapping their pants right now can feel that much safer. Is there time to get them Astronaut-endorsed?)

So, for anyone who listened to the Surgeon General rather than calmer voices, here are some kittens someone posted just for you:
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It is a day off from school for the boy-child, which must irk the girl-child to no end. Since our stovetop is electric (not making THAT mistake in the new house . . . ), it was crêpes at Renata’s for breakfast. He had the Hungry Farmer and hot chocolate, and I the Bacon Avocado Tomato and double mocha. My crêpe was drizzled with Crème Fraiche, and Aaron’s had a dollop of sour cream. I could probably coast through the rest of the week without another meal and still have consumed more than my share of calories.

The challenge to hot drinks at Renata’s is finishing them. The are not served in cups, but instead in a bowl. A goldfish would have found my mocha bowl roomy, if a bit warm and caffeinated. This means a large surface area at the top, insulated by freshly-whipped cream. Definitely a drink for two. Unlike most mochas, the focus is more on the coffee and chocolate and less on the sugar. Starbucks mochas run away and cry in shame when confronted by a Renata’s mocha.

The initial excitement of no school and a Renata’s breakfast has worn off, and the realization that there is no Wii, no Netflix, no Hulu and no video games of any sort is starting to set in. The boy-child has decided to take a bath to kill time, as he also has no book to read and does not want to clean the house (my suggestion to pass the time). Maybe I will challenge him to a game of Cribbage or Scrabble when he gets out.

I can live without the lights a bit longer, although it would be nice to be able to fire up the pellet stove and dehumidifier. A night of four humans, three gerbils and six dogs exhaling, not to mention the dishwater someone (cough!–boy-child–cough!) forgot to dump last night has left the house both very humid and horribly stale. It does not help that at least two of the three large dogs are highly gassy . . . What I really do not like, though, is that one of my dear, sweet children did not close the freezer last night. So the menu for the week will likely include a massive Mahi Mahi fry, four or so whole chickens, several pounds of various chicken bits (thighs, breasts, drumsticks), Tilapia madness and a mound of lamb chops. I do not know that we will have time or room to fit vegetables into this flesh-fest. Gentlemen (and women), start your stomachs! And once again, it all comes down to food . . .

It is unfair, I suppose, to say that this is through the eyes of Jennifer, as she forgot to take her camera. So really, it is through the memory of Jennifer. I expected unhappiness her first day there, as the eight hour delay in SFO did not exactly set the tone for fun. Sure, she was able to catch up on her Malcolm Gladwell reading, but neither of us are fans of spending the day in transit. By the time she got there, she was tired, sweaty and in need of food, drink and sleep. She was not, apparently, in need of drunk 14 year old girls in thongs and nipplecatchers, downing margaritas and stumbling through the streets. Nor was she in need of being the only person in the state who doesn’t smoke. I still think she was off on the age, but who am I to doubt? Watching drunks wandering the sidewalks of Las Vegas was a common experience for her trip, thanks to the alcoslushies available pretty much everywhere. Fortunately, getting to the actual street was a challenge, so being drunk and mobile is not that big a problem.

She recovered by the next day and spent the rest of the week searching for good food and shortcuts to her conference. She found the shortcut. Good food turned out to be a bigger challenge. The common theme for food was red bell peppers. Canned red bell peppers. Which were well-matched with the canned asparagus, canned mushrooms and excessive use of salt. Pretty much every meal she had contained red bell peppers. I assume that the red bell pepper (canned) is the state vegetable. Or is it just a city ordinance that requires their use in all foods? Either way, a week of canned bell peppers does not put one in the mood for more. Jennie did manage to get away from the bell peppers and other canned vegetables twice, once by going to China Grill for yummy Chinese food, and once by having a delicious breakfast at Red White and Blue. Both meals cost a bit more, but considering every other meal in Vegas was over-buttered, overpriced and over-salted, it was worth it to finally have some edible food. And now, from the far end of the house, I hear the shout of “Oh by the way, I never did get away from the red bell peppers! For breakfast, I had a Denver Omelet, which had red bell peppers, and my noodles also had red bell peppers. But at least they were fresh.”

What do you do in Las Vegas if you do not gamble, do not feel like wandering around drunk and naked, and you do not have the time to get away from the strip? If you are Jennie, you wander the hotels and search for the Hard Rock Cafe. Jennie wandered between the Luxor, where she was staying, to Mandalay Bay and to Excalibur. All of them had impressive water features, with bridges, streams and waterfalls. They were also all pretty much filled with smoke and drunks and were engaging in psychological warfare: Every section, from the various shops to the restaurants to the casino to the lobby to the street out front had its own set of speakers, and was playing a completely different bit of music. The result of which was a disorienting and irritating cacophony. Perhaps that is why everyone was drunk — to tune out the music overload.

Her favorite sight in Las Vegas was watching it disappear behind her as she drove to the airport.

It only took an extra two hours to leave here, with the result being her thirty minute layover in San Francisco will now be seven hours. At least she made it out. When the delays were first announced, we wandered over to Alaska Airlines, the only other airline at the airport, to see if we could get a flight out on a different airline. They have one flight for today, leaving at noon. United, and its eternal delays, is the only choice unless things get really bad.

While she is gone, I have to give up being a manchild and practice being an adult single parent. No more wandering around, demanding that someone helps me put on my socks. Definitely not a good week to have to have given up coffee. Now I have to make lunch and get the girl-child to school on time. Fortunately, the boy-child has the week off, so I can make him my slave child. Brilliant! He will make the lunches and put my socks on me. Maybe I don’t have to grow up after all.

While waiting for the flight to leave, Jennie kept me abreast of all the latest pre-flight gossip via text. Apparently, one of the people in her row is a nervous flyer and highly flatulent. The flight may only be an hour long, but it will smell like an eternity. And hey, look at that: Another text! They have just been told there will be another forty minute delay. If she is still there at noon, I will swing by with some lunch. And some charcoal tablets for the farter.

Incandescent Heaven

And with a crackle-pop, another compact fluorescent bulb explodes in a cloud of mercury and burning plastic. I get to air the house, clean up the mess and reflect on the differences between packaging (“bulbs last 10 years or more”) and reality (bulbs die a flaming, smelly death in a year or less). This probably explains the two year warranty on the ten year bulbs. Is it wrong of me to think the warranty should last as long as the bulb is expected to last? These bulbs are supposed to be built to strict energy efficiency guidelines. Hopefully some day they will be built to strict quality guidelines as well. I also hope that I have saved some money on electricity, because the yearly replacement of CF bulbs is definitely lightening my wallet. If I were less selfish, I would consider the amount of fossil fuels that weren’t burnt because I chose the CF route, both because the bulbs are much more efficient, and because I typically leave the sockets empty and curse the darkness for a few months before replacing the bulbs. I think my daughter has almost given up on begging me to put a light back in the hallway. I figure as long as there are still working flashlights in the house, who needs real lights? Some day, my lights will shine again.

Our green approach has expanded lately to include not only our usual recycling and compost, but a separate chicken bin for things that might not go into compost and various green bags for shopping. Recycling is a challenge in a small house, so we have had to resort to keeping the bins on the back porch, which makes for an exciting game of hide and seek after windstorms. After last night’s winds, I know I need to search the treeline for milk cartons. I never imagined stalking runaway plastics to be a part of responsible citizenship. I suppose it would be wrong to melt it all into a giant lump so that it cannot get away . . .

Shopping with reusable bags is supposed to be better for the environment as well, so we picked up a number of different bags for doing so. Most came free after large enough purchases at the Co-Op and other places, and some we paid for. Unfortunately, it looks like we may not get a gold star for green bags, but a lead one instead. Great, now I have to worry about my smart and healthy choices killing me. Fortunately, our green veggie bags should be lead-free. Unfortunately, it appears that our refrigerator crisper drawers do not work properly, as everything we put in them rapidly desiccates. This makes for nice chewy mushrooms for a morning omelet, but rather depressing salads. It looks like we will need to add some glass or plastic storage containers to the mix to get this green idea working properly. Although after enough food travels in our lead-filled shopping bags, perhaps we will no longer care so much about whether our spinach is shriveled and crunchy.

Some day it would be nice to cut back on what I assume is our main pollution source (other than the boy-child’s flatulence, that is), and switch to electric vehicles. Living in Humboldt makes that difficult, however, as there are few charging stations, and charging at home in California is prohibitively expensive. I am all for doing my part to improve the environment, but I would rather not go broke doing so. I am sure we will eventually figure out how to make clothing out of dryer lint, which will cut down on clothing costs a bit as well as show our dedication to reusing and recycling, but until then, I am going to continue burning dinosaurs to power my car. As Kermit says, it isn’t easy being green.

Some days you learn way more than you ever wanted to know, whether it be about home remedies for depression, or the latest in yoghurt toppings.

I am still trying to decide if the PT article is an attempt to convince women to have more unprotected sex with psychologists (“Hey baby, what’s your sign? Want a little injection of antidepressant?”) or completely serious. Somehow I missed the sourced article in Scientific American, although I am guessing it was only in the online version, not the print version.

As for Mr. Yoghurt, all I can say is I hope you have developed a taste for the stuff, because you are probably going to be receiving your own tainted samples in prison. Sorry dude, but what you did is WRONG!

And as disgusting as Yoghurt Love was, the majority of the commenters on both of the yoghurt links are just as offensive and wrong. They bounce between claiming she deserved it because she can identify the taste of semen, and claiming that, with a last name of Garcia, of course he is going to do something like this be he is obviously here illegally. I am not sure if these people fall into the category of stupid or evil, or if it is a bit of both. First, no person, deserves to be assaulted, sexually or otherwise. There is no dress code that excuses rape or assault. Neither is there a conduct code.

As for identifying someone’s legal status in this country — really, are you that stupid? Even if he were here illegally, which is not stated in the article and should not be an issue, how does that make it more likely that he would do something like this? Illegal immigrants manage to stay here by avoiding possible confrontations with the law. Donating to the Jizz of the Month club is not an inconspicuous action. Assholes who hate women do this sort of thing, which is a description that crosses nationalities and residency statuses. This was not about immigration, this was about power and hate.

So let us have a quiz. If you can answer yes to any of the following questions, congratulations!- your a complete and utter douche:
1. A woman deserves whatever happens to her if she is dressed alluringly.
2. A woman deserves whatever happens to her if she is sexually active.
3. A woman deserves whatever happens to her if she can identify semen.
4. You can tell whether someone should be in this country or not by their name.
5. You find slipping a little sperm into other people’s food amusing.

Hopefully everyone I know scores a zero on today’s quiz.