Queen Mediocretia of Suburbia

In Which I Am Fully Aware of My Limitations

A Cooking Slump on the horizon. I planned to make some risotto with some of the remaining Rice Pudding rice. Here is where it went off the rails: I saw Caroline leaving TeddyJ with some fried chicken. Therefore, I must have fried chicken, and I rationalized it by saying (stifle your laughter), "I can take the bones from the fried chicken and simmer them in pre-made chicken stock and then I'll have really tasty extra strength chicken stock for my risotto. Oh! And I can take the meat off the chicken first and chop it up for the risotto. And add squash and asparagus and carrots and celery and corn. YUM." Yum, I thought.

I got as far as eating the skin off the fried chicken. (Yum.) I decided to boil off the meat. But, it never really got to the boiling point. Eventually I gave up and strained out the stock, so what I have now is chilled spice and grease flavored smelly chicken stock. However, since I have recognized the nascent cooking slump, I am waiting for fresh stock and will just proceed carefully from there.

I am profoundly lazy. This marks the second day of lying in bed and watching the debt limit debate. Four guitars within arm's reach. No, I'd rather watch CNN. I actually saw this on CNN today: Big BREAKING NEWS logo followed by Wolf Blitzer: "There has been no further progress in the negotiations." They need a GENERALISSIMO FRANCISCO FRANCO IS STILL DEAD" logo.

Even worse, I am xeno - not xenophobic ... xenoennuic. Or, put simply, Fareed Zakahri bores me silly. "Why is he boring?" Gary asked. I answered, "Because he will explain the debt crisis and how it impacts the Pakistani economy." And I should care, but I do not. I hope other countries are bored when they are told how their news impacts the Amercian economy.

I did just get up and set the Scooba on its path of cleanliness and virtue. And I switched to MSNBC. Andrea Mitchell is 67 AND married to Alan Greenspan. Damn, girl. And she only has an English degree.

Plans

For a few days there  I had nothing to look forward to after the BNL concert was over. No jaunts to other cities (frail dog, funds re-routed to the Mom House Debt, what if the car breaks down in the heat).

Things looked bleak. I couldn't see getting Gary off the couch for any reason. But, now I do have a few things on the horizon just to entertain myself.

There is a TeddyJ trivia match I have somehow missed the last two years. Our team will make a showing. Celebrity Hat has been invited. Gary will not join me.

That's not till September. The Emmy's are in September as well. Usually we tuck in on the couch and watch the Parade of Boobs and then the awards.

My brother has been asking me for years if I had started watching Breaking Bad. I have succumbed as far as recording all the episodes. So I will schedule a long dark weekend of all Breaking Bad, all the time. Gary will not join me.

My birthday is coming up. I think I'll insist that Gary take me out for Peking Duck. This will be extra-special because he will have to prepare for my birthday 24 hours in advance. Gary will join me. (I might demand a flat screen tv. Gary asked for one for his birthday and it is still (grit teeth) in the box. He could just re-gift it.)

The banquet of life still looked a little thin until Friday, when I found out I had won VIP tickets (I know!) to the TeddyJ seats at the Blink-182 concert at the Verizon Sweat Lodge. Actually, at Verizon amphitheatre VIP just means better parking, not better air circulation. That's still a plus!

I am almost to the point of going to the Museum of Transportation. When Gary and I were kids, the Museum of Transportation was a lot of abandoned rail cars out in a weedy, dirty field. I understand it has improved. Has anyone in Saint Louis been? I've never been to the toy museum either. What I'd love to have in Saint Louis would be one of those preserved Golden Age mansions, like the Biltmore.

It's not a packed social calendar, but not as bleak as it seemed a week ago.

Science Fiction

Here's a sci-fi plot. If the terrorists really wanted to win, all they would have to do is add a chemical to ... not the water supply ...but to the ink supplies for Bic. It would have to be some chemical that would have a delayed reaction, so that one day all the pens would dry up simultaneously. Commerce would grind down because no one could endorse checks or sign contracts. We would turn on each other within hours. The economy would collapse. Communicable diseases would run rampant because we'd eventually have to sign everything in blood.

This plot came to me while I was tearing apart my car to find an ink pen that had not been baked to a crisp. Three pens, all dried up, couldn't endorse a check.

Speaking of Sci-Fi, I just saw an ad for Rise of the Planet of the Apes. I have affection for the Apes genre. The last scene of Planet of the Apes is a scene I always make time for. Say I'm surfing the tube, I see Charlton riding the horse on the beach, I am there until I see the Statue of Liberty.

Other such scenes are: the end of the Usual Suspects, Aretha singing "Think" in the Blues Brothers, Cell Block Tango in Chicago, Bluto's speech in Animal House, and "No,it's MY place" in Pillow Talk.

Not to mention when WIzard of Oz goes from black and white into color. What are yours?

Hazard to Ya Booty / Maury

After this I'll shut up about the BNL concert. (Most fun I've had in weeks. Sigh.)

There were two opening acts. I only caught a little of the first: a comedian. Perhaps. He was not making the crowd laugh. Picture a comic who gets uncomfortable laughs in a tiny club speaking in generalities about all races. Okay! Now! Put him in the middle of a two-block-long city park. It was just awkward. The crowd ignored him.

They followed the bad comic with a funk band. Allow me to present: Hazard to Ya Booty

Oh, they had the funk. Here is their page. Rachel was a little concerned that two band members were wearing long sleeves. Gary felt they needed a sax. They moved my booty.

Then BNL came on and sweated. 

 

Amusingly, there were two hot young girls hanging over the rail, trying to get some band love. This was easy for them. They used this technique: a) wave your arms in the air b) jump and down when a band member makes eye contact with you c) be seventeen. This irked me because I was all up for the eye contact. Since I had the experience at the Kentucky Derby with Fans Who Dare Not Look Directly at Celebrity Hat, I was ready to hold a steady gaze. But no. Seventeen-year-olds got alllll the love. Such is the way of the world.

Besides Hazard (to Ya Booty), the other new musician I saw was BNL's Kevin replacement. His name, I believe, was Maury. This is what made me fall in love with Maury:

 

He looks at his hands when he plays. I don't even do that. Also, at times I think I saw him strumming the air, not so much the strings. But he was UP there and he bantered and sweated on.

So, I cheered Maury on. In fact, I tried to get a Mau-RY Mau-RY chant going. And, I tell you,the seventeen years olds started waving madly at Maury. Mauuuurrrryyyyy! Mauuuurrrrryyyy! Look at me!

Of course, Maury was looking at his hands.

==================================

And I know I stopped talking about them earlier, but it's so fun to say.

Hazard.
To Ya BOOTY.

UPDATED: Banter (Just BEARS. With documentation. SHEESH.)

Other bands come to Saint Louis. Here is their banter:

"Hello, Saint Louis!"

"Go Cards"

"I love Budweiser. Really. It's my favorite beer."

"I remember playing the Kiel Opera House in this town." (They are not playing the Opera House.)

"I went for a walk before the show and saw Blueberry Hill." (They are playing the Pageant. They walked two blocks.)

====================================

 BNL comes to Saint Louis. Here is their banter:

 "I went to the zoo [Friday] morning, and it was so hot all the animals were balled up by the doors of their enclosures, and all you could see was a snout. And the polar bears were lying on their backs, saying,"SHAVE ME." And then I went to the Penguins and Puffins exhibit, where it's like 40 degrees, and there were sixteen thousand people in there, none of whom cared about penguins. Or puffins."- Ed

============UPDATE

YOU WERE RIGHT. My MEMORY was wrong.

It's just "bears." At  2:10 or so.

 I misremembered.

=============

"I drank at the piano bar, then I had a Ted Drewes pumpkin pie concrete, then I shat myself." - Tyler 

"I was trying to get to the Chippewa Ted Drewes, and your traffic construction is seriously messed up. So I wound up at Killer Vintage guitars, and I bought this guitar." - Ed  (A personal aside, Killer Vintage guitars is two blocks behind my grandparent's house.)

Oh, and Ed described his trip up into the arch, and like every tourist he was freaked out by the tram. Jim mentioned how pleasant the air conditioning is in the Arch museum. This actually was some pretty standard banter, as was the abuse of the sign language interpreter.

However, the security guys did deserve some abuse. They do look like throat punchers.

 

They also danced about and played music. But the banter is really what sets apart a BNL show, and this was one of the best I've seen.

Rachel and Ed

This is the first in a series of blog posts about the BNL concert, since it is the only thing of note that I have done in a month.

 

So, my sister and brother-in-law not only scored us VIP seats at the concert; the package included free parking, a backstage area with huge cooling fans, snacks and drinks...

 

... and our own personal mobile bathroom with multiple interior stalls and doors.

 

Gary, Rachel, her dad and I were sitting in the seats when I excused myself to use the VIP bathroom. I had peeked in earlier and really, it looked like an actual office building bathroom in there. The "bathroom" line looked long until I realized they all had tags marked "Meet and Greet." Those people weren't in line for the bathroom, they were on their way to meet the band. Still, I'd already decided against the bathroom and committed to the bar line instead.

In line, I passed a table of well-dressed young people who were taking about the long line.

Of course I forced myself into their conversation. (The tent constitutes an introduction.)  I turned to them and said, "Those people have tickets for the Meet and Greet. I suppose they bought them."

"I have Meet and Greet tickets," one of the women said.

I said. "Oh! Well then you should get in line!"

Then I excused myself from their conversation. I assumed they were drunk. They had tickets to meet the band, and they didn't know how to use them? Really?

I  turned back to the bar line, away from the stupid, clearly drunk people, when one of the women opened a folder filled with stacks of Meet and Greet tickets. "I have Meet and Greet tickets," she said, more slowly, "Would-you-like-one?"

I airily waved her away with, "Oh, I've met them," and began to turn back to the line when two neurons connected. I whirled back and said, "But my friend Rachel would love one!"

Eventually Rachel came back from the Meet and Greet and reported that Ed asked "Now, is this where you actually live?" because he recognized her from previous regional concerts. The most recent concert was Louisville, and no doubt he'd seen her on the cruise. She also came back with the scoop on where Kevin was: touring Italy with Lou Reed. (Yeah. read that link above for the irony.)

So she made noises about thanking me and I almost made some sappy pay it forward noises, not knowing that soon she would do me an enormous favor that would wipe the slate clean.

It was almost the end of the concert, and Rachel, Gary and I were standing three rows back, watching the sweat spread make patterns on the band's shirts. It was hot, but there had been several lovely cold breezes, and some kind person brought a super soaker or something and sprayed it once. I was doing okay, trading the Frogg Togg cooling towel on and off with Rachel.

 Rachel leaned over and said, "I feel sick."

I said, "Are you clammy?" (And I thought, Disoriented? Having heatsroke?)

"I have to sit down." She looked at the crowd."I can't make it out." Then she said,"I have to make it out," and weaved into the mob.

"Where did she go?" asked Gary.

"She got too hot ..." (And my silence added, "Whereas I am fine." I didn't say it, but I thought it, and Gary mentally heard it.)

"You are an Ironwoman!" Gary said admiringly.

So, Rachel has done the impossible, make my husband shut up about me and the heat. I can take it! Lots of water, breeze, fans in the VIP tent, and a cooling cloth. And a friend who gets dramatically faint at opportune moments.

Rachel looked better when we found her at her seat after the concert. I only had a little dehydration headache today, I hope she feels better.

Rachel from the cruise just met Ed

 
 

Excited!

EEee! I'm going to a Barenaked Ladies CONCERT!

Oh, I know. I've been before.

But still, it's exciting. By their presence in Saint Louis I'm guessing they aren't attending ex-singer Steven Page's wedding, purported to be today. Perhaps they are. Hard to say.

Similarly, maybe Amy WInehouse slipped in the shower.

Additionally, maybe we will be able to get the debt issue resolved before the market opens in Japan, like Boehner wants to.

Perhaps it really will drop from 97 at 6:00 tonight to 85 at 9:00, like Weather.com says it will.

Don't you wonder how this person feels about toilet brushes?

If They Do It Again I Will Secede

I have been following the political puppet show closely, because my brother is truly concerned the government will shut down, he won't get his disability check, his healthcare will be cut off, he will be homeless and take to the drink again.

The sorry thing is that we both remember when this happened before in 1995. (I think the checks did still go out then. Then again, it wasn't my check. Then again, he was competing with Lance Armstrong. Rapid Cycling! Classic bi-polar joke.)

I went to Wikipedia for a refresher on the past, should we be doomed to repeat it.

The players: Pres Clinton, favoring Medicare, versus "a majority of Congress members and the House Speaker, Newt Gingrich, [who] had promised to slow the rate of government spending." I forgot Newt Gingrich had the John Boehner role. You would think he would have a lot to say about the current situation. He might be saying it; I haven't been listening to him. He is full of biological debris.

The plot: Cinton wouldn't make the budget cuts, Newt & Congress threatened to refuse to raise the debt limit. They had a deadline of -- not August -- but October.

The ticking clock: Somehow, they voted in a stay of execution and got the October deadline pushed to November 13 at midnight. Interestingly, Congress pushed for another extension and Clinton called bullshit. (I don't know if I can see Obama doing that.)

So that was the first shutdown, then they got another stay, continued to disagree, and it all shut down again in December. Sometime in January they got a balanced budget.

I don't remember the two shutdowns. What I remember best is the Arch shut down, plus there was some type of all-night pizza party while the political parties battled it out.

It cost a lot of money, everyone was thoroughly disgusted with Washington, the President's approval rating went up, but then the Republicans won a lot of seats because they were so committed to fiscal responsibility.

Is it possible, is it possible they think we don't remember it at all?

If they have an all-night pizza party because they are working so hard then we'll know.

Heatbound!

Every year, around late November, Mom would go to the Sams and stock up on fluids, soups, bagels, and such. We'd come home, freeze and store all the comestibles, and she'd declare herself "at home for the duration." Socked in for winter. And, truly, she did not set foot outside of the house until April.

Well, I'm socked in for summer. Or, I would be if I didn't have to go to work. I've planned my path from the parking garage in to work for minimal heat exposure.

So, 99 tomorrow. "Heat index near 110F."  Seriously, I may wake up early and go in to work early to bury my car in the cool basement of the parking garage. Of course, my self-destructive psyche chooses now to think, "Oh, I need to garden." "Wouldn't it be nice to go for a stroll down to the river?" And tonight, "I need to get steamed buns and Peking Duck at one of the non-air-conditioned Chinese places east of I-170 on Olive."

Of course, I fight off all those urges. But, you all know the big upcoming conflict: Barenaked Ladies concert on Saturday night.

Here's my plan. First off, the weather is supposed to break Friday.  Saturday is to be cloudy and 94. Still, I might even pack two of those mini-coolers with ice and washcloths. Two coolers. One for each foot. Cotton shirt. Cotton capris. I don't think the sun will require a hat at 8:00 pm. Then, one of those spritzers with a fan packed with ice water. And why not a battery operated fan in my lap? I would buy all these things at the Walmart but then I would have to walk from my car into the store.

Adaptability. I'm going to have my own manufactured environment.

Now That the Shuttle Program is Almost Over...

... I can tell you how I really feel about the space shuttle.

LAME. I waited ten years after the Apollo program for a plane? A plane that goes up to low earth orbit, whoop-ti-dozzz - zzz - huh? Wha? Fell asleep there watching your lame-ass plane touch down with the dinky pointless parachutes "helping" with the jet engines. I also somehow remember it riding on top of a 747, and that was also humiliating.

I grew up with Apollo. There's a space vehicle. Saturn V. Lunar module. Weird moon spider. Splash-down with yes, a parachute, but a parachute with a purpose. A parachute versus GRAVITY.

I think I can best express it with a picture. On the left, the Apollo Saturn V rocket. In the middle, the pathetic shuttle-plane.

 

And then thankfully, on the right, another American Pride-sized rocket for the next stage in 2017. I don't see any USA branding on that rocket though. That concerns me.

They start testing un-manned liftoffs in two or three years. Thank God. You young kids, you don't know what it's like to see a real rocket launch, a real rocket fall apart into a bug of a module, and a real module splashdown. That's all back in the plans! They are doing it old style. Eeee!

Updates

Shanon Swickheimer (patient who escaped for the psychiatric hospital) is still at large. They have a photo now.

 

There is no more news about Catherine Kieu, Penis Disposer Woman, except that her husband is in "suprisingly good spirits."  Penis is now described as "mutilated," but not "ground penis," so that's encouraging.

But you don't care about that. How are Spunky's heels? I got some "Seen on TV" HeelTastic and then put the foot in some spa socks with gel heels. Marked improvement this morning.

Toilet Brush

In my youth, the brush used to scrub the toilet could be found in the closet with the other cleaning supplies. I used it once a week. Of course, I cleaned the toilet. I was the only one without asthma, polio, or cancer. Well, now that I have MS, I feel that's a "Get Out of Toilets Free" card. My toilet scrubbing has gone down to ... hmmm ... twice a year.

Now, some might think I'm nasty for not scrubbing my toilet weekly. I beg you to remember I only move my bowels once a week. I poop in dog years, so I shouldn't have to scrub on a regular schedule. Gary flushes the toilet over ten times per visit. The continued erosion from water is very powerful. I present to you the Colorado River and Grand Canyon.

However, Gary has noticed some mold growing in the bowl, and it concerns him. I told him where the toilet brush hangs in the laundry room. He scrubs far more often than I do. However, he would prefer a toilet brush that stands in the bathroom.

I've seen the brushes in the plastic containers with the sanitiser fluid. Geh. I said ewwwww, gas station bathrooms have that. Not going to find that in the Four Seasons. The gas station scrub-brush does not say to me "Sanitised for your protection," it says "We know YOU are a sloppy pooper. You leave brown streaks. We don't want you to leave a wad of un-flushed toilet paper in the bowl. We all know what you're hiding."

But, let she who has not cleaned shut up about the supplies. (And no S______ would put Ti-D-Bowl in a toilet with a dog in the house.) So, off to Bed Bath and Beyond.

We both agreed that seeing the brush and fluid is disgusting. 

  
"In many cultures it is considered impolite to clean away biological debris without the use of chemical toilet cleaning products, as this can potentially leave residue on the bristles. By contrast, others consider it impolite not to clean away biological debris immediately using the toilet brush." - Wikipedia

 

Then Gary became enchanted with this cat-shaped toilet brush holder. It wraps your "biological debris" in a  cunning disguise! Everyone puts long-neck cat sculptures next to the toilet.

My apologies to anyone with this cat sitting next to their toilet. Gary felt it was elegant. It was better than his other early choice, a squat brown irregular blob. Because that's what I want sitting by my toilet.

(There is also a toilet brush holder on the internet that looks like a teeny tiny toilet. It did make me smile.)

I eventually convinced him that cat was an abomination. Instead, the medical bathroom now has the toilet brush hidden in a container marked "Brush." "Poop Remnant Brush" would have been better.

Of course, I know the entire conflict is my fault because I don't scrub the toilet every week. Then again, maybe Gary wants to scrub daily. What are your views on the brush in the bathroom and biological debris?

The Beauties of Nature

Anne at Work forwarded me this link. Essentially, there is a plant called Giant Hogweed blooming in New York. Giant Hogweed looks like Queen Anne's Lace, if it grew twice as tall as a human.

If you are exposed to the sap, you might be fine at first, but if the sap on your skin is exposed to sunlight it reacts by burning your flesh.

The two-foot-tall flesh-burning plant captured the imagination of my co-workers. The music aficionados found a Genesis song devoted to the Giant Hogweed.

(They also said, who's that weird guy? That's not Phil Collins.) 

As you know, I am all about the lyrics. This song does not disappoint. (My favorite line? "They seem immune to all our herbicidal battering.")

Turn and run!
Nothing can stop them,
Around every river and canal their power is growing.
Stamp them out!
We must destroy them,
They infiltrate each city with their thick dark warning odour.

They are invincible,
They seem immune to all our herbicidal battering.

Long ago in the Russian hills,
A Victorian explorer found the regal Hogweed by a marsh,
He captured it and brought it home.
Botanical creature stirs, seeking revenge.
Royal beast did not forget.
He came home to London,
And made a present of the Hogweed to the Royal Gardens at Kew.

Waste no time!
They are approaching.
Hurry now, we must protect ourselves and find some shelter
Strike by night!
They are defenceless.
They all need the sun to photosensitize their venom.

Still they're invincible,
Still they're immune to all our herbicidal battering.

Fashionable country gentlemen had some cultivated wild gardens,
In which they innocently planted the Giant Hogweed throughout the land.
Botanical creature stirs, seeking revenge.
Royal beast did not forget.
Soon they escaped, spreading their seed,
Preparing for an onslaught, threatening the human race.

(The Dance Of The Giant Hogweed)

Mighty Hogweed is avenged.
Human bodies soon will know our anger.
Kill them with your Hogweed hairs
HERACLEUM MANTEGAZZIANI

Giant Hogweed lives

=============================

So, I told Gary about the Giant Hogweed Infestation of 2011, and he had just read that it was a good thing we didn't touch that dead armadillo in the road a few years back, because the armadillos that are coming up into Missouri from the South are ...

LEPERS!  

It seems only humans and armadillos can catch leprosy, and the healthy Southern armadillos have cast out the hordes of migrating leprotic armadillos. I checked to see if the Issue of Scientific American Gary quoted was perhaps dated April 1st, but no, here is the source. (April 27.)

They need an armadillo Jesus to come and heal them. Or send them off a cliff. I wonder if the scales make them immune to giant hogweed? One might kill the other.

I Immediately Emailed Gary and Told Him I Would Never Do This

Lorena Bobbit, but worse. Lorena just winged the severed penis into a field. This woman ground it up in a garbage disposer.

"She told arriving officers 'he deserved it' before pointing to the room where the victim was found bleeding profusely."

Horrible. Who would do that to a penis? Penises are happy bouncy things. Don't put them into garbage disposers.

We do not approve.

Like Visual-Spatial Perception, but for Tongues

Gary is on the red and yellow grape tomato diet, so I am on my own for dinner. I decided gourmet sandwiches would be a good easy dinner for one. I went to the grocery without a recipe. It's a sandwich! I thought it would be fun to invent some sandwiches.

White and pumpernickel bread. Havarti and cheddar cheese. Easy vegetables like Alfalfa sprouts and spinach dip. Then I bought deli meat, using price as my only criteria. The two most expensive meats were seasoned roast beef and virginia ham.

I thought it would be fun to pair different flavors and invent new sandwiches. Mania? Perhaps.

My creative streak had one sandwich influence, the turkey - stuffing - cranberry sauce sandwich. I read a few web sites for inspiration and saw a recipe for ham - Brie - pear slices. That sounded tasty. Sadly, I had none of those ingredients. But, I decided, both were essentially meat - creamy thing - fruity thing.

I laid out the pumpernickel. I put the ham nearby. I tried to imagine what ham and pumpernickel would taste like, and I realized I had no idea. I have a good imagination, pretty good visual-spatial perception. What I evidently don't have is an idea of how something will taste.

I had a bite of ham. Salty. Had a bite of pumpernickel. Pumpernickely. Still no idea what they would taste like together.

Well, I thought, I could put them together, take a bite, then see what needed to be added to the sandwich. Which I did. Next, cheese. Then I couldn't imagine what cheddar cheese or Havarti tasted like. Then I thought, this is frustrating! This was meant to be fun and inventive. Throw it together and it will taste good!

Now the world can know: pumpernickel, orange marmalade, ham, cheddar, spinach dip and alfalfa sprouts is not a good sandwich. It was edible, but I needed more ham, less cheddar and no sprouts.

I tried again tonight. I just did pumpernickel, roast beef and cheddar, and it was good ... but boring. Plus, 1) there was no vegetation, and 2) I really like fruit on sandwiches.

So that started me thinking, are there pre-set minimal combinations that are rules of thumb? Not as specific as ham + swiss + rye = good, but something more like pumpernickel + sprouts = bad. Sweet + salty = good. Sweet + salty + cheddar = my sandwich above. Bad. Pick one from column A, one from B, etc.

Since there is no way I can be a chef and imagine what tastes good together, I need those rules. Maybe I could look at casserole recipes and convert them into sandwiches by leaving out the cream of mushroom soup. For pork chop dinner it would be sliced pork, sauteed onions, sliced mushrooms and applesauce. For the cornbread casserole recipe it would be white bread, sour cream, ham, and cheddar cheese and corn chutney.

Do you have an imagination that can tell what things will taste like? It must be wonderful.

Health Update

Remember the bad health news about the S______ relative? He was tested for possible lymphoma. Gary told me the news: the results came back and it was Stage 0 cancer.

I said, "Oh, I've never heard of Stage 0 cancer. I think stages start at 1. They might have said it was the lowest stage, maybe that's where the misunderstanding came in."

No! I am an idiot! There is Stage 0 cancer. I would think that never having had cancer would be Stage 0, but I now suppose that would be Stage -1 cancer.

The nice thing is that this guy has had to visit doctors for a year, if not two, and he didn't give up when they all assured him everything was okay. As opposed to the other men in the S_____ family, who disclose nothing to the doctor. They will never be found to have Stage 0 cancer.

==============================

Mac the dog has an ear infection, so I have to give him four ear-drops in each ear canal at night. Each night I wonder two things:

1. If I had to give a child ear-drops, would I be allowed to lie on top of him and pin him down to administer the drops? Or is that abuse?

2. If I have to put the nozzle entirely within his ear canal, how do I know how many drops I have given him?

He also has hideous gas because Gary is now chopping just a touch of pork Mighty Dog into Mac's expensive prescription KD food. (And: stacking it as they do on the food network. No cone. Stack is in.)

==============================

My MS has been pronounced "boring" by the MS doctor. I can feel the tuning fork tingling against my ankles, which evidently I could not before. Also, I can walk a straight line and not be "all over the place" as I was before. And I didn't realize it because I hadn't laid in any dizzying positions since I found the dizziness was positional, but my dizziness is actually gone. 

Of course, he didn't ask me to do anything challenging, such as standing on one foot longer than three seconds. I got the feeling he wanted to encourage me.

He was a little taken aback we are considering going to Norway in February, but it can't be worse than walking from the car to the building in Missouri in July.

Numbers and Errands and Fees

... put me in a foul mood.

Do other states / countries have to deal with this b.s.? I need to renew Gary and my license plates this last month.

So, I must do the easy stuff (get my passport to take to the department of revenue, check that I have my recent insurance card in my purse) and the annoying stuff (un-file up last years property tax, get my 6 year old car inspected, but not Gary's 3 year old car) and the absurdly annoying (bring a CHECK to the office (not cash, not a card) and get Gary's 2008 emissions checked because it's an even-year model and this is an odd-year. Hence, not checking my 2005 Mini emissions.) This is why I put it off every June and end up paying that late fee.

Then, since I was in a foul mood, I got everything pulled together for the financial adviser. By that, I mean I went through my expenditures and Garys for the last six months and they should just re-name our grocery store "S_____'s" One third of our discretionary income goes to the grocery. One third goes to gifts, and the rest is divided up between dinner out and vacations.

 What I need to do to get out of my foul mood is:

Watch some vampires explode on True Blood
Eat some eclairs
Fondle my VIP seats for the BNL show under the arch (Rachel from the cruise, aren't you on Twitter anymore?)

Yes, BNL is coming to Saint Louis. That's a huge cost-savings right there.

Spunky at the Spa

Painting / carpeting / re-wiring Mom's house has added up to a debt that will take several months to knock down. Spunky Labia, International Toe Porn Superstar, is helping with the family finances: she's turned her heel on the snooty West County salon and spends half as much instead at the local mall. She even chose a less conspicuous nail color so maintenance is easier.

In the middle of today's pedicure, the ESL pedicurist stopped delicately rubbing the callous shaver over Spunky's heels and said "Lotion."

The Appendage answered, "Oh, I know, I buy lotion and then I never use it. I'm supposed to put in on my heels before I sleep, but I always get up in the middle of the night and then I make footprints across the wood floor."

"Clear ... thin ..." the pedicurist said, and then went to great pains to explain Saran Wrap without knowing the words cellophane or Saran Wrap or Glad Wrap. The appendage kept saying "Yes! Saran Wrap," and even mimed tearing off a sheet of plastic wrap and getting it all stuck together.

Then the Appendage thought, you know, this doesn't sound like a good idea. This does not add up to a safe cross-section: heel, lotion, cellophane, floor.

The pedicurist said "Your feet very pretty, curvy. Need to look nice."

Spunky gave her a ten dollar tip. And since the woman had appealed to Spunky's vanity, we gave it a shot.

 

(Really, those toes are painted. It's just a flesh shade.)

Spunky and I have been walking carefully through the house, feet in lotion-smeared Saran Wrap tucked into slippers, and it is kind of like driving on ice with sport tires.

There needs to be a better way. This cannot be safe. "Don't get up in the middle of the night," is not an option. On the other hand, Spunky is very pretty and must not have goat heels. What to do?

Crazy on the Loose

Crazy man named Shannon! Loose in The Lou!  He stopped to tie his shoe. He knew just what to do.
Actually, he ran across a parking lot and out of sight. He has been gone all day. This sounds like one of those situations where Shannon the crazy man is actually Shannon the fifty year old woman. There IS no photo available. Men don't look closely at the ladies in the upper forties: I bet Shannon went and had her hair done, and is in the mall right now in an Alfred Dunner ensemble.

Ew. Creepy personal touch: I just looked up images of Shannon's home, the St. Louis Psychiatric Rehabilitation Center, since I saw it was on Arsenal, and that is indeed the crazy hospital my Grandceil pointed out to me. It has a dome just like the Lammerts formerly on the corner of Jamieson and Chippewa. It was a long time before I realized they didn't house crazy people at the Lammerts. And where would my long-denied pedophile great-uncle have been housed? Right there. No wonder his sister could spot it from her window.

 

Lammerts is on the left. You can see how I would be confused.

I have no personal connection to our last crazy person, Gifford's near-assassin, Jared Loughner, even though he's also being held almost nearby at the federal pen in Springfield, Missouri. As of yesterday they hadn't decided if he could be forcibly medicated so he could stand trial. Even so, it turns out he's possibly going to realize what he's done. Now I wonder if once he's been judged guilty, will they let him stop his meds again? Or tweak them so he's just mildly delusional instead of aware? Where does that fall into the spectrum of cruel and unusual?

A New Phillip K. CHICK Movie

The Adjustment Bureau must be the most poorly marketed movie I have ever seen. This would be Gone With the Wind if they'd marketed it as a war movie. Star Wars if they'd said it was a quirky indie film.  Reservoir Dogs? Animated film about puppies.

 

What would you assume from this poster?

1. Emily Blunt plays a woman with one leg.

2. Emily and amputee Matt Damon have made it to the top of a NY skyscraper.

 3. They were chased by a giant man with a hat.

That poster says Chase! Excitement! Spooky shadowy stuff! Intrigue with hats! A dick flick. Not to mention it was inspired by a story from Phllip K Dick, so you know it'll be like Blade Runner or Minority Report.

BUT NO! This is a sweet romantic picture. Sweet, I tell you. Total chick flick. Yes, there's a chase scene - maybe two? But mainly it's about how the two leads keep meeting accidentally, falling in love, and how the Men In Hats try to keep them apart. It has a perfect weepy sappy ending and everything.

 Star-crossed lovers! THIS is the shot they should have put on the poster:

 

On the other hand, because some new analytics tool tells me HALF of you are men:

Don't go see The Adjustment Bureau, guys. Total chick flick.

Closure

Closure on Words With Friends
There are several downsides to Words With Friends. First, I can't play WWF if Gary is around. I can't play even if the man is watching Stargate and I am only in his peripheral vision. I can't play if he is reading his email on his Blackberry. I certainly can't go in to a public bathroom and play. "Bloop bloop BLOOP."

Oh, also I was losing. So I have turned my back on WWF, resigned all my games, and waved the white flag.

Closure on Casey Anthony
Lo, ye MSNBC anchors, ye are too cool for the Casey Anthony trial, but I am not. She's not guilty. I mean, of course she is, but like OJ, they can't prove it. I'm glad that one criminal finally figured out that if the police can find the physical evidence, then you can just as easily hide it. She did miss that one hair. Still, one hair and a bad smell is not enough physical evidence. I'd have to toss out all the testimony because everyone was lying. Mom lied about the google, Dad lied about the affair. The only thing to connect her and the body was the bad smell. Can you have a nosewitness? Or a dogwitness?

I can say if the Anthony family continues to live together and there is a reality show based on that I will boycott that channel.

Bring Your Children to Work Day

Last week we had Bring Your Children to Work Day. My co-worker across the cube hallway brought his children, then participated in Leave Your Children At Work While You Go To a Meeting Day. His children had been well-behaved while he was there, I don't quite know because ignored them.

I have enough difficulty with adult human interaction. I'm able to hurt grownup feelings, when there are children involved you can take the hurt feelings and egos and quadruple them.

So he left for a meeting. When co-worker was away the kids would play. They were doing some in-cube wresting when the cubemate on the other side popped his head over the divider and mock-threatened, "Hey you kids, settle down. Don't make me come over there."

I thought, it takes a village. And the village border runs right next to my cubicle. Don't talk to the kids.

Then the kids started pulling and pushing each other out of the cubicle. Then they ventured into the hallway by me. Then they began to look up and down the hallway.

I lifted my head, fixed my gaze on them, and said, "I will call security."

Oh! The young ones eyes got very wide. The older one just stepped back into his cube and dragged his brother back there.

All was quiet for ten minutes, until I heard the younger whisper to his brother that he had to go to the bathroom.  I wondered if there was some rule that if an adult scares the crap out of you then she has to take you to the bathroom. I glanced over at them and smiled. They just stared at me. Then I nodded, and the little kid darted off for the bathroom (or to do heroin in the stairwell).

A few minutes later his brother followed. I have no idea where they were for the next ten minutes, but then they showed up with their father, packed up at four o' clock and left.

Would have been fine. Would have been fine if he'd left someone in charge, or even taken them with him. Sigh.

In Which I am Shuled in Jewish History

I've been mulling this blog post over since it happened about a week or so ago. Two days ago, Marcia said, "I wouldn't put that on your blog." Hah! This isn't Marcia's blog!

(Marcia doesn't like offending people. DISCLAIMER: This blog post is offensive.)

A week or two ago a team leader gave a long account of how he killed a spider by putting it in an oven.

"Ug," I said, "Like you were in a concentration camp."

Marcia, who is Jewish, gave me one of those "Christ, you are a moron," looks and said incredulously, "They didn't burn them alive. The ovens were for cremation."

I had to give her the bad news. "Um ....  I heard they didn't waste bullets by the end of the war, and they burned people alive in the ovens. They found fingernail marks on the roofs of the ovens."

Thankfully, Susan was also at the table to back me up. "I've heard that about the fingernail marks too."

Marcia said, "Well, maybe I'm wrong. I've never heard of that."

I said, "I'm sorry."

"Well, don't be sorry! I don't know everything."

"No, I'm just sorry ... you know ... about the war." Don't mention the war.

Of course, I still believed what I had been told in school, and there was an even more compelling argument: the joke about what's the difference between cookies and Jews.

Cookies don't scream when you put them in the oven.

Offensive. Even offensive by my extremely lax standards of offensiveness. So offensive I did not proffer that as an argument against what Marcia was telling us at the time. Especially with a team leader there.

A few days later, I caught Marcia by the elevator.

"I have to tell you this joke, It's relevant. But it's awful. Really awful. No, I can't tell it."  Didn't tell that joke under TeddyJ's roof.

Then I did further research, which was difficult because questioning any part of they Holocaust means you have to dance among the land mines of Holocaust denial blogs. I restarted my computer every time I found I'd touched one by mistake.

I did find something about people being burned in the ovens in a school Instructor's Guide, and then I thought maybe I'd heard about it during the unforgettable half-hour my class watched Night and Fog. That would explain why Susan was so convinced too.

Night and Fog is a grim half-hour documentary on Nazi atrocities which I saw in junior high. (See the link? See Night and Fog WITHOUT COMMERCIAL INTERRUPTION for $1.99! I'm sure it's on Hulu too.)

Night and Fog segues from the visuals of fingernail scratches on the gas chamber ceilings to discussion of the ovens, and I think that might have confused my thirteen year old self. I would have been dazed after seeing dozens of dead skeletal naked men (many not circumcised, as I notice now). (I'll bet you anything the Ferguson-Florissant School District no longer shows Night and Fog.)

So, my research did show me people tried to break out of the gas chambers with their fingers, and that one camp had a gas chamber with a floor that tilted and slid the bodies right into the crematorium, but I'm focusing instead on the happy news that the reports of oven deaths had been greatly exaggerated. I told Susan first, and then I told Marcia she was right. (Of course I told her the cookie joke. She covered her smile with her hand.)

And you know what? Discovering millions of people were murdered but evidently NOT really that many made into soap (more happy news) makes it more horrifying to me. Because the atrocity stories are what distance us from the Nazis. "Sure, we fed the Japanese rice with maggots, but we didn't throw them into ovens." "Sure, we killed those people in Abu Girab, but they froze to death, they didn't burn alive."

So tonight I go to sleep feeling a little more like a Nazi. Or at least dirty, like one of the German citizens who boycotted soap.

Happy Fourth of July!