Queen Mediocretia of Suburbia

Notre Dame and My Poor Google Skills

I was at work, mourning Notre Dame, and a friend consoled me by saying:

“All the wood and stained glass? It’s not that old. It’s only 100 years old, because Notre Dame, the inside? It was all shelled during World War I. They were these long guns the enemy hauled with a train, and they shelled the cathedral. But they rebuilt it all in 100 years. They’ll just do it again.”

“Why, that makes me feel just a little bit better,” I said. I can get over the loss of a 100 year old pew much more quickly than a 700 year old pew.

It made me feel so much better, that I tried to find more information about the WWI shelling of Notre Dame, especially after Rachel Maddow referenced it in her show.

I found two things:

1. In the Wikipedia entry on the Paris Gun:

 A parody of the Paris Gun appears in the Charlie Chaplin movie The Great Dictator. Firing at the Cathedral of Notre Dame, the "Tomanians" (the fictional country that represented Germany) succeed in blowing up a small outhouse.

“Did my friend watch The Great Dictator and remember that scene?” I wondered. “It is the very first scene.” You can watch it here.  Notre Dame does not make an appearance, but it is mentioned.

2. There was a Notre Dame in Reims, France that was destroyed in WWI, and it certainly did resemble the one in Paris. Here it is mid-shelling.

I was feeling almost chipper after I found out that - with the exception of the northern rose window - the stained glass dated was all new as of 1965. But then, I looked through my own photos.

What has happened to these angels?

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

Update: Apostles, not angels, and they were beheaded and packed up well before the fire.

... and my friend did indeed confuse the Reims Notre Dame with the Paris Notre Dame.

Hoarder

The deer turned their noses up at the apples in the manger.  They chose instead to eat the woody debris from the Black-eyed Susans. Gary did some research and reported that deers’ bellies are seasonal, and they can die if they eat something in winter that they would usually eat in summer. Were I a deer, I would die from this. 

Gary is now using the manger to hold peanuts in the shell. He still throws shelled peanuts on the ground, but he thought some of the raccoons might like a challenge. 

After a few days, some smaller raccoons investigated the manger but ignored the nuts. This went on for weeks, until this guy showed up. The raccoon in the video below performed that same move over and over and over and - I would say thirty times in one night, he walked up to the manger, got one peanut in the shell, and left with it. The next night, same thing.

 

We thought at first he was the Meals On Wheels service for invalid or overweight raccoons. But Gary chatted with the man at the feed store, and it appears that peanuts in the shell are popular with Wildlife Dads who need to go on food runs for the New Moms who are stuck in the den. 

Why are nuts in the shell popular? You get two nuts for one run. Also, the discarded shell is a good nesting material. 

The math adds up - babies stay in the den with Mom for six weeks, and historically the babies arrive early June. 

Gary thinks all the wildlife whimpering earlier that week (when the raccoon jumped the fence to see the uproar) was a Mom giving birth outside the den. I suppose early births can happen in Raccoon World as easily as anywhere else. I’ve never thought of it, but since there are no Raccoon Epidurals, birth would probably cause some whimpering.

Improvement: Backyard

In addition to the impending improvements in the side yard, the backyard needs so much work I cannot even begin to think about it. I only know one thing: the patio has dropped six inches and that is exposing the dining room subfloor to the elements.

 That's the only known thing. The rest of the backyard is up for grabs.

• It needs a raccoon feeding station and play area.
• It needs a raccoon highway so no one needs to jump the fence when there's a raccoon in crisis.

 

• If I decide to get rid of the trumpet vine (the official weed of Missouri), the vine bed needs to be encased in concrete. Only way to defeat a trumpet vine.
• It needs a cactus garden in the back corner where the sprinkler doesn't quite reach, where last year I planted sedum that the rabbits ate in a day.
• It needs a special shrine where I can house the parental ashes that are currently under the brass sundial. Ask me where the brass sundial is. I don't know: it has been overgrown by Lamb's Ears the past five years.

Improvement: Side Yard

We are staying close to home again this vacation season, so that means we will again invest in home improvements instead of memories. The driveway absolutely needs to be resurfaced or replaced, and if I put in a large, slow-growing evergreen, a mugo pine perhaps, the front bed will be done.

The side yard and back yard also need to be attended to. I am at a loss on the side yard. We've had a side yard like our neighbors: a bed extending a few feet from the side of our house, only ours had the added attraction of a rotting wood border. 

I have been looking at a lot of Pinterest images of side yards. I do not need a spectacular side yard: just a place to keep peonies and flowering plants and one evergreen to cover up the spot where the hail dinged the siding. 

I want something between this, which everyone has:

and this Pinterest extravaganza:

Mick Jagger

Mick Jagger thanked the staff at the hospital following his emergency heart valve replacement. I suspect this was Mick’s first time in the hospital. He seems very healthy for an old man. In fact, all The Rolling Stones seem oddly healthy. When I imagine myself in a rock band (and you know I do), I get as far as imagining the bathroom facilities on the tour bus private jet (my imaginary rock band: very successful) and it all falls apart. Do they make private jets that have a bathroom for every member of the band? I don’t think they do. 

I believe I have been to the doctor more in the past month than Mick Jagger has in his entire life. One visit to the GP was canceled, but the neurologist visit begat an OB-GYN visit and an extra blood test in two weeks.

I understand that Mick devotes much of his time to a very intense training regimen. The neurologist pointed out my lack of exercise as just one example of my non-compliance to doctor’s orders. It’s just hard to spend a half hour a day when there is no result. No muscle gain,  no fat loss, even after three months of it. I suppose Mick is the result of fifty years of it.

Killer Software

This Boeing air disaster story is just a nightmare. Now it seems that Boeing was warned about the software problems four days before the most recent crash.

I feel like I dodged a bullet. Boeing (nee McDonnell-Douglas) is one of the biggest employers in Saint Louis. I don't work for Boeing, but I do write software. Happily, I don't write aviation software. When my software fails, people have to ask questions instead of looking something up in a database. No one dies.

I cannot even imagine what those Boeing software developers are going through. There must be William Mulholland levels of guilt.

 

Trivia: Bad

What was bad about 90's trivia?

Two words: Free. Beer. That may sound great, in general, but free beer served to competitive people? Bound to get rowdy.  In fact I did see two adult men in superhero costumes literally swatting each other, and it seemed all in fun, but one foul slap and it's kindling for the eventual melee.

The rowdy crowd was packed in a church basement. (As an aside, as a former Southern Baptist (feel free to laugh), it's always odd to see beer served at church (second only to wine on the altar).)  Church basements aren't known for their acoustics, so we in the back of the hall couldn't hear anything. No problem, we said, the questions are on a projector. The projector was set a smidge too low for the people mid-hall, so they stood up to see it, so back of the hall really couldn't see it, and while blocking the crowd by standing up may fly at a concert, it really doesn't fly at trivia. The hall was divided against itself all night.

But I addressed the real problem to my table during round six of ten. "Trivia's no fun when you aren't winning!" We have aged out of 90's trivia. We failed so badly on round 1 that we were in 16th place out of 50 tables. We were 28th out of 50 at the penultimate round. Unthinkable!  I don't know where we ended up, because Ann and I left the lost cause early to beat the exit traffic (free beer).

Trivia: Good

The usual team of friends went to a ‘90’s trivia match.

Costume: (If you don’t know, Saint Louis trivia matches expect you to dress up in harmony with the trivia theme.) I intended to go as Madonna, I still have my costume saved from back in the days when Madonna and her yearly metamorphosis made for an easy Halloween costume. When I found that the cone bra, a vital part of the Madonna costume, would have only fit now if I entirely removed my own breasts, I put on my Late Night With David Letterman sweatshirt instead. Oddly, I still kept the cone bra. I suppose I could tailor it later if I attend a trivia match where the theme is Fat Celebrities.

Food: (If you don’t know, you bring food for you table at Saint Louis trivia matches. It does not need to be themed.) Bindu brought samosa and strawberry wine, which were delightful apart but did not pair well together. Anne brought excellent wings from Lester’s. Since half the table is in the Keto diet, I felt I had to bring a high and a low-carb offering.

Carbs: flavored popcorns (cheesy, chocolate toffee, salted caramel, and grape). The grape popcorn was vile, but the others were very good. 

Keto: Friend 0.5 is a cheese expert and her favorite cheese is Midnight Moon, so with such a solid recommendation I had to try that. It was well received by the Keto people.

Mulligans: (If you don't know, well, then you have never played golf. A mulligan in trivia is a sticker you can put in place of a blank answer once per round, and it counts as correct). When flummoxed as to what the correct answer is, people tend to give the "answer" using mulligan syntax. Which president threw out the most first baseball pitches? President Mulligan. Highest peak in the Hawaiian islands? Mauna Mulligan. 90’s actress? I said Carey Mulligan, but she was a 2000s actress.

The best answer for "Name the song and the 90's band" was "Mulligan" by Mulligan and the Mulligans.

So, the company and the food and the mulligans were all good.

Tomorrow: the rest.

April 1

Today is April Fool’s Day. Trust no one.

I feel a bit that the Internet has ruined April Fool's day. Before the internet, if NPR would tuck a facetious story in with the rest of Morning Edition, it was delightful. It was a special treat you only got on one day of the year, and there wasn't much chance anyone else you knew was listening at the same time. You'd never hear it again, either, God knows if you missed something on the radio it was in the ether on its way to the cosmos.

Now, various sites have recaps of all the corporate April Fool's jokes, and you can access them all day. It's just not the same.

UPDATED: I Weigh In On the Saint Louis Bagel Controversy

 I went out, and while I was getting the car washed, a Saint Louisan tweeted this photo of vertically sliced bagels:

His tweet says, "Today I introduced my co-workers to the St. Louis secret of ordering bagels bread-sliced. It was a hit!"

And then of course the internet turned on him. Can you imagine, you send out a nice little tweet and suddenly you're you are the number one topic on Facebook?

I have had bagels sliced this way, and as I replied to Alex:

1. More cream cheese delivery surface.
2. Less than 250 calories per serving.
3. No one gets the crappy side vs the puffy side.*

I don’t ask for this slice pattern, but I think it's polite to slice bagels this way. I support, you, bagel guy.

* Of course, equal portions isn’t always important in Saint Louis, given that we deliberately slice pizzas in squares, not wedges.

=========

UPDATE: Panera (which operates here under the "Saint Louis Bread Company" name) has peppered the metro area with these billboards.

Pixies/Weezer

When a friend posted on Facebook that he had to unload some Pixies tickets, I thought back to our missed Pixies concert. "This is meant to be," I said. After an easy transaction the tickets were on my printer.

And, even better, the seats were great:

And, even better, when I posted that photo on Facebook, I discovered that Friend #2 was at the same concert, and she came by to say hi.

And, even better, Pixies were great in a legendary, historic kind of way, and Weezer was great in a  showmanship kind of way.

People sat for Pixies and stood for Weezer, which seems a little wrong given how influential Pixies were. I liked their music better, but I could not make out most of their words.

The sitting and standing proved to be difficult for Gary. He seemed to get stuck in his seat. I couldn't understand why. Then, after the man next to me almost elbowed me in the bosom during a Weezer-inspired air punch, I moved to Gary's seat and found it was a full third smaller than all the other seats.

Gary even danced a little, and he's been quite the homebody lately, so it was good to see him enjoy himself again.

Muzak Timeslip

I went in to Wendy's the other day for what must have been the first time in thirty years. Last time I went there, the burgers were square and the tables looked like this:

The tables no longer have the antique newspaper ads printed on them, and I can't tell you if the burgers are square because I had a baked potato.

The baked potatoes are the same as thirty years back, and so is the music. I was alone, with an hour to kill, so I was able to listen closely to the Muzak, specifically Caribbean Queen.

As best as I can tell, Billy Ocean is singing "Caribou Queen." When I listened closely, I made out "Caribyew Queen." I had to go to the internet to find out the lyrics, and then Wikipedia to see that in other countries it is "African Queen" and "European Queen." ("Yuropeen Queen," to my ears.)

From SongFacts:

The first version of this song was titled "European Queen (No More Love On The Run)" and released in the UK. In went nowhere, so Ocean and his team edited the song, changing it to "Caribbean Queen." This version was a hit in both the US and UK. A third version, "African Queen," was made for that continent. The video was edited for the different versions so Ocean would be singing the right words.

Only, you know, he isn't singing the right words. The "Caribyewn" isn't a place. Caribbean is four syllables, no matter how you pronounce it.

Later that night I was in the grocery and I heard Heart and Soul over the muzak, of all things. Evidently Train made a single that uses the tune. I wanted to yell at the ceiling, "Why did you change the words? They were adorable!"

Apollo 11 Part Two

Last Friday I was really cranky because neither Gary nor I had gotten a good sleep the night before, yet while Gary spent that day sleeping I spent the day working. To cheer me up, Gary suggested I go see Apollo 11 again, but this time he went with me.

I noticed a few things I missed the first time.

1. I confused Florida Launch Control and Mission Control, so it is still possible I got pushed out of Mission Control.
2. Michael Collins jaunty moustache grew quite a bit during their 18-day post-voyage isolation.
3. Three cinematographers listed in the credits are the Apollo 11 astronauts.
   I looked it up on IMDB, and it says, "Several of the recordings captured by the astronauts during the mission are featured in this documentary. These recordings by Neil Armstrong, Buzz Aldrin and Michael Collins earned them honorary memberships in the American Society of Cinematographers."

What Sparks Joy

Though I've never read Marie Kondo's book or seen her show, I like the term "Sparking Joy."

Here is a list of what consistently sparks joy in my life.

1. Watching the opening credits of Last Week Tonight and hitting the pause button at just the right second to see the weekly custom title card.
2.  Saying "Alexa, turn on the light" and having the light magically turn on.
3. Walking from the house into a fully-lit garage or basement ... those happy welcoming lights are on every minute.
4. Coming home from work and seeing Gary's car in the garage, after years of coming home to an empty house.
5. Coming over the hill on Page heading West after Bennington and looking at that fairly unsullied horizon.
6. The key change when Pete Seeger sings We Shall Overcome at Carnegie Hall.
7. The morning hair-washing / tea-making ceremony without a wasted second, in which I wash my hair in the four minutes it takes to steep my tea.
8. The way my soda can fits in my pulled-out bedside table drawer, and how the power-strip and music books fit in the side panels of the guest room sleigh bed.
9. The pantry, with the pots and pans hanging on hooks and the spices in tins on the back of the door.
10. The black-eyed Susans outside the kitchen window.
11. The daffodils that still come up outside the laundry room at the end of February.
12. Mom's picture filed in my bill basket.
13. The powerstrips installed under the desk and table that so there are no droopy wires. Everything is dressed so snugly that it looks as if  the table is wireless.
14. Waking up every day without an alarm, because I'm done sleeping.
15. The framed silkscreen of me from high school.

High School

I heard some co-workers comment that their teenager feels self-conscious all the time. Of course, everyone dismissed it with "every teenager feels that way," but then later it occurred to me that perhaps yes, teenager, you ARE being watched all the time.

1. I distinctly remember when I was dating Virgil, a lunch lady mentioned to me that she enjoyed his performance in a recent play. "He's your boyfriend, isn't that right?" Well, yes, but I didn't think the lunch ladies followed our entanglements as if we were featured in US Weekly.

2. It was astonishing how many utter strangers remembered me at my tenth reunion. There were 700 people in my graduating class. The strangers would explain that we had lockers in the same hall, or that I was in their geometry class. I never ever said a word in geometry, yet this stranger watched me closely enough to remember my name ten years later.

3. You don't even need a reunion now to realize how many strangers were watching you, you just need to get on Facebook and see all the friend requests from people you should remember from your teens, but don't.

Add to that all the times you met a friend's mom and she exclaimed, "Oh, YOU'RE Ellen. My daughter talks about you all the time." Remember how you and your friend would want to die of shame? That Mom was speaking the truth: all teenagers should feel self-conscious because they are indeed being watched.

Public Service Announcement

This is a public service announcement.

If you have an expensive drug, a high insurance deductible, a mail order specialty pharmacy, a very nice Co-pay assistance program, and a health savings account, know one thing.

This is the order of billing:

1. First billed: Your husband’s HSA card, because it is on auto-pay.

2. Then they bill: Anything else.

Even if you say, “Be sure to put any payments on the two co-pay assistance cards, and don’t touch the HSA.” Doesn’t matter, because you explained that to the human, but the computer does the billing, and the computer taps into the auto pay card immediately, even if it is your husband’s card used for his dinky little non-specialty stuff.

Luckily Gary did something that caused me to look at the HSA and I discovered to my horror that my year’s deductible had been sucked out of there (instead of handed over to the co-pay program). I spoke to a very nice man at Express Scripts pharmacy and he explained that auto-pay doesn’t play well with others.

I would have been very calm and mindful, but regrettably this happened after Gary got me up at one am with a false alarm saying that he had lost his medicine. Happily, he found his meds, I found the deductible issue, and everything got straightened out eventually after one sleepless night. 

I’m trying to turn this into a positive by raising awareness of the evil that is the auto-pay pharmacy card. FYI.

China?

Ah, jeez. I read that now if I want to travel to Europe I have to get a visa (though I also read that maybe I don’t).

I might as well get a visa, because the way Gary's been waking me up to show me photos of temples perched on top of spiky Chinese mountains, I suspect he may want to go to China.

He woke me up to look at that photo at two in the morning. I asked if he’d like to see that.

"No," he says, "I could never climb that high."

I just sent him a link. China for Seniors. I bet a helicopter would drop us at the top.

 

Shape-Shifters and Double Agents

If I'm watching a movie, the second any character is revealed to be either:

1. A shape-shifter or

2. A double agent

... that's the moment I groan and check out. I am not going to invest any energy in a movie that intends to confuse me.

Oh, and while I'm complaining, add all those Mission Impossible movies to that list. I'm not going to follow each scene on two tracks: the one in which I believe that's Tom Cruise, and another in which I guess which evil character has donned an absurdly accurate Tom Cruise mask.

 

Spam Spam Spam Spammity Spam

Recently I read my gMail spam folder. It's all scams: they'll send a huge payout if I send them what seems like a relative pittance.  Scammers have branched out from the Nigerian prince's millions and are promising a variety of things as payout. The most intriguing was a red diplomatic box I supposedly forgot in a locker at Heathrow airport.

The pittance I was supposed to send to secure the payout varied as well. Most emails were looking for a few hundred dollars as a "processing fee" or to cover the FedEx bill, but this request surprised me. (Edited for incomprehensible content.)

THE BOARD [of] DIRECTORS OF WESTERN UNION AND FEDERAL MINISTRY OF FINANCE ... STATED THAT YOU ONLY HAVE 5 HOURS GIVEN TO RECEIVE YOUR FIRST PAYMENT OF $3,000 USD BUT YOU [must first] SEND [this] DEMAND WHICH IS ANY AMOUNT OF MONEY YOU HAVE, JUST TO PROVE HOW SERIOUS YOU ARE.

CapsLock scammers, you got me going with the Western Union / Finance Ministry alliance. Why back down with “ANY AMOUNT OF MONEY YOU HAVE?” Points off for lack of commitment to your craft.

I thought it was interesting that the most creative scammers only wanted information instead of cash. The humblest request came from a Mrs. Grace Felix: a lovely woman regrettably trapped in Syria who would send me her all funds if I just sent her my name, address, and cell phone number. I liked her immediately.  You get an A+, Grace Felix email scammer. I'm sure you would not have been as nice on my cell phone when the real scam began.

Another request for information came from a diplomat, who had a been visited by some Australians assuring him that I was dead. “You are giving 24hrs to confirm that you are still alive. If you are still alive, You are to contact me back immediately with the below information.”

The emails from the scammers who only wanted information were much better written than the ones that demanded up-front good-faith cash. I suppose scammers going for the long con paid more attention in school. 

A number of the writers were advanced enough to employ irony. Christopher Wray, F.B.I. agent, was concerned that I had not yet received my funds.

I notice that you have being receiving numerous emails from people who claims to have funds coming to you ... those people has being investigated and confirmed to be a Fraud.

(The F.B.I is not the only agency looking out for me. The combined forces of the BRITISH HIGH COMMISSION and THE AMERICAN GOVERNMENT warned me about corrupt and frivolous Bank officials diverting my funds to "their private accounts in order to satisfy their selfish interests.” That little bit of self-awareness tickled me.)

But the very best spam email came from the Widow Calista Gibson. It's well capitalized, and punctuated, and it had some nice exposition and character development too. In just a few paragraphs she sketched out her cancer diagnosis, her millions, and her spat with her brother-in-law. Go here if you want to read it in full. I've read other Dying Widow scam emails now, and the one that came to me is just a work of art. She ends with:

Please reply now as my health is pretty bad, It’s urgent and very important you keep this email confidential.
Have a blessed day and do not forget to pray for me.

Balls. Ballllls, Mrs. Gibson. If the Nigerian Prince has his own Wikipedia page, I think The Widow Calista Gibson deserves her own entry.

 

What Passes for News

This story was on the local news a few days ago. It's the tale of Saint Louisans who rally and come to the funeral of a local veteran who had no relatives.

I anticipate that I will die with no relatives. I have a brother who isn't in good health, I had step-relatives but we don't keep in touch, and my closest cousins are second cousins once removed whom I have never met, and  so I read this with special interest.

I think the article was written very ambiguously. Since the article does not say specifically that the crowd at the man's funeral consisted of total strangers, I think what I am reading about here is a funeral well attended by a man's friends and acquaintances.

It is remarkable that someone has friends? Is it remarkable that elderly people have friends? Is it remarkable that veterans have friends? Why is this news?

Late Fifties Comedies

I have a soft spot for late fifties comedies. You know, the ones with the cartoon-like soundtracks, in which a trombone makes a wah-wah editorial comment after a particularly wry joke. The ones with a calypso number in the middle. The ones that, for some mystifying reason, cost $3.99 on Amazon Prime.

I recently watched Will Success Spoil Rock Hunter, so I could hear:

"She couldn't speak English, being from Texas," (Mean!)

and

(On being told that kissing a celebrity puts him in the major leagues) “I guess all my kissing up to now, that was bush league.” (Nasty!)

And then, since I had sick days to fill, I watched Send Me No Flowers, Lover Come Back, Let’s Make Love, and Down With Love, because I became hypnotized by Tony Randall. Watch Will Success Spoil Rock Hunter and tell me you aren’t watching Stephen Colbert. I can’t tell you why, though: it’s something about his timing or inflection.

And, if you are wondering why I didn’t watch Pillow Talk, I have every word of that movie memorized, so it isn’t funny to me anymore. Well, except for “it’s MY place,” that line kills me every time. 

 

Disease

It is cold and flu season and, right on schedule, I have a cold.

Last cold and flu season I asked Gary, "Why is there a season for colds and flu? Why would a virus care what the temperature is? Do they only reproduce when it's cold?" He did some research, and it turns out that it's not the heat, it's the humidity. If the air is dry, as it is in winter, viruses fly farther, are lofted higher, and can be transported directly into other people's noses. Whereas in summer, it is humid, so the viruses cannot fly and they sink in the damp air. There are just as many viruses in summer, only they are on the soles of your shoes.

This season, even though I have been wiping my workspace down with Lysol and avoiding human contact to the point of rudeness, I have caught a cold. I don't know where it could have come from. Sure, eight days ago I had a staff meeting with two people who had been out sick the day before, and then a week ago I went to a happy hour, but I have been working at home every day since that. I haven't spoken to anyone but Gary. I have received packages: perhaps the FedEx driver or even someone at Amazon is sick.

This particular cold is remarkable in that symptomatic relief seems to make it worse. You feed it Coricidin or Tylenol Cold and Flu, and it laughs at you and then it opens up the mucus valve. Disgustingly, I have been lying with my face on a tea towel all day and just letting my nose drain.

Yesterday I got out of my sickbed, just energetic enough to cook dinner. I washed my hands vigorously, fished the roast out of the sous-vide,  and made new potatoes in the new stockpot. (I thought of KC and lifted the strainer insert out slowly.) Then, I seasoned those new potatoes to taste. (Nibbles potatoes.) "Not enough garlic." (Nibbles potatoes.) "Not salty enough." I am sure if I fed those potatoes to someone with a raging head cold they would say the potatoes are delectable, but Gary does not have a head cold, and I fear he finds them over-seasoned. 

And then, this morning, at four in the morning my body decided to expel the virus via all digestive routes. Happily, the chicken soup I had for lunch seems to be staying put and rehydrating me. 

Every time I have a cold I think, “This is the worst cold I have ever had,” but people, this really IS the worst cold I have ever had.

Breakthrough

I have arguments in my head. Considering what has gone on in my head in the past, arguments are an improvement, but still it's exhausting arriving at work when you've spent the drive to work stating your case over and over to someone. In my head, those people just argue back, and I never make any headway. Sometimes, in my head, they attack me and I spend the drive in defending myself. Usually some tangential person also weighs in on how I am wrong.

I though at first that this is the Voice of my depression from the link above, and that I'm just projecting my self-criticism on to other people. So there's an improvement, at least I'm putting up a fight this time.

Now, though, I think I'm just bored while driving, I need a little argument drama, and since I'm headed to work I'm getting my brain into problem-solving mode. Only, of course, these problems and people cannot be solved. It is what is is, they are who they are. I tell myself that, as soon as the arguments start, but that doesn't fill up my imagination as dramatically as the thought of me making all the points that I can't make in real life.

I decided, since all this is going on in my head anyway, why not go the extra step and fantasize the other people seeing my side? Even my imagination couldn't make that leap, and believe me, my imagination concocts unrealistic scenarios in which I end up in bed with celebrities.

So then I decided — and this is the breakthrough — when I hear these arguments beginning I am going to channel my imagination  into fantasizing some way my opponents agree with my position entirely on their own, through some deus ex machina that visits their lives. They are converted to my point of view, sometimes through positive life experiences, sometimes traumatically, sometimes through industrial mishaps that deliver what amounts to electro-shock therapy.

It's much more entertaining and challenging, and not boring at all.

The Yearly Post in Which I Complain About Winter

God in Heaven, I hate winter. It isn't the snow or the ice or the dry air. I hate the light in winter.

Summer is a candle. Winter is an LED.

Winter light comes in to my house and makes it look filthy, even when it's clean. It's like a flashlight held at ground level that shows every speck and crumb. Give me an overcast gray winter day over a sunny one, because at least I don't have the harsh white winter light.

If I hated the snow and cold, I could drive someplace warmer in a day or so. The winter light, though, you can't get away from it in the entire hemisphere. I would have to go to Bolivia to get the quality of light I need.

Given that I hate the winter light so much, it is odd that I drove to work last week, pleased that I had driven to work after dawn and home before sunset, so the days are longer. You would think I'd like the Arctic circle instead, given that the light is gone for entire days, but I just watched this amazing narrative of the Greely expedition on PBS and I am sure I would be the first person to go mad in the long dark.

Oscars

I remember hearing that the Oscars were going to start a new policy this year of having a separate category for "popular" films. That was a real thing, even though you might read this delightful article and think otherwise.

Some blockbusters must have been promised nominations in that category, because I can think of no other reason to give a Best Picture nomination to A Star Is Born. Black Panther might fall into that category, but I don't know, since I only made it a third of the way through.

Were there an Oscar category for Best Picture I Did Not See and Have No Desire To, that category would include Bohemian Rhapsody. I think this is because A Star Is Born soured me on all movies with concert footage. Concert footage, chase scenes, edit that plot-killing crap out.

Nominated for Best Picture I Wanted to See But Could Not Convince Gary: BlacKkKlansman, Green Book, and Vice. I was sure he would want to go see Vice, but he heard bad reviews, and on second thought did I really want to trigger Gary's political rants? Better to save it for later when he can pause the TV and go off in private.

And, finally, other Best Picture nominees I actually saw: The Favourite (excellent), and Roma (huh?).

Of course, I will be watching the Oscars tonight, and I am sure that Roma will win, and Lady Gaga will get Best Song, and other non-deserving nominees will take home awards. Thank heaven for Twitter, so I can commiserate with people who share my unpopular tastes.

Two Reviews: I Am The Night and Roma

I Am the Night
What I expected: True crime
What I got: Family drama

While I was looking for good podcasts, my niece attended a live broadcast of My Favorite Murder, so I started listening to that. My first MFM broadcast did not get to the murder quickly enough. Instead, there was a lot of pre-murder giggling that turned me off, but now that I know to ignore the non-murder silliness I quite enjoy the murder silliness.

A few weeks ago MFM focused on the Black Dahlia murder so they could promote the new I Am the Night TV series, which - and this may surprise viewers of I Am The Night, and also SPOILERS - is only tangentially about the Black Dahlia murder. Instead, it's all about the peculiar family dynamics of one of the primary suspects. Granted, he's the most interesting suspect, but I signed up for murder and I'm getting incest and baby-selling and other lesser crimes, yawn. I think I would have preferred an anthology series in which each episode deals with a different Black Dahlia suspect, because I am four episodes in and I am tired of this weirdo and his family.

Roma
What I expected: a plot
What I got: As Kathleen Madigan tweeted, "#WhatTheFWasThat #WhenDoesItStart #WhyStuffedDogHeads"

Had I known there was no plot to Roma I would have watched it with a completely different attitude. Instead, I kept checking my watch, thinking the plot was going to kick into gear any minute now. There's an earthquake an hour or so in, and I felt relieved, because now we were going to see how the family deals with the earthquake, but no, fooled you, this is the director remembering an earthquake and making it look lovely and striking and black and white.

And it wasn't even episodic like Huckleberry Finn, where Huck and Jim wander toward the resolution of a conflict. They're on the river to get Jim to freedom, and Jim [SPOILERS! And HOW DO YOU NOT KNOW THIS EVEN MY NEWLY INTEGRATED HIGH SCHOOL HAD TO READ IT] is re-enslaved and then freed at the end.  Of course, maybe it's more like War and Peace, my favorite Giant Slice of Life. Still, in both of those books, the characters end up someplace different from where they started.

I don't know. Maybe I should watch it again without expecting a plot or a revolution or an earthquake.

Art Careers

A friend with an artistic teenage daughter reports that she’s considering becoming a video game artist.

I couldn’t help but smile when I imagined myself in her place, a teenage girl, being paid to draw the ladies below: 

“If it were me, I couldn’t do it,” I said. “I couldn’t make my hands draw those bodies.”

I mean, I already know the insecurities that exaggerated comic book bosoms gave me in the late 70s. “MY cleavage doesn’t touch in the middle! MY nipples aren’t that high!” Can you imagine having to not only look at but draw video game bosoms every day?

Noom, Huh.

Noom has been advertising all over the news channels, and now the demographic oracles on Facebook have decided I am in need of a diet, and they sent me this Facebook ad:

Noom claims to help you lose weight with a combination of "small bowls and psychology." I looked closely at the image to see what psychological mind games they are playing.

Most of the foods look barely edible - whole wheat bread and greenery - looks like cream cheese, pesto, bell pepper, baby spinach, basil, and some ornamental shrub there in the middle.

But the foods on the left top and bottom are, if I am to believe my eyes:

An open face sandwich of whole wheat topped with unpeeled limes and unpeeled avocados.

An open face sandwich of whole wheat topped with five pickle spears.

Is... is this the psychology? "Next to the whole wheat bread and lawn clippings, that cream cheese and okra looks delectable." 

 

 

Calypso: a Review

Usually, after I read the latest David Sedaris book, I am amused for a day or two. This last one, Calypso, gutted me for a day or two. Or, more like a week or two, since I'm still thinking about it.

Calypso is the one I ordered in German. A reminder: “Tiffany ... Cool. Stoned. Hacke. Durchgeknallt.” (It's notable that the first words I read were about his sister Tiffany.)

After I got the English version, I started reading, expecting the usual David Sedaris book. I had already read the lovely essay about the fox: that was typical fare. I wasn't prepared to have him bump up the stakes in Calypso.

Did you think you knew the Sedaris family from all the other books? No. You might have had a few hints, but no, not really. There are some just gut-wrenching revelations. And he crafts it and weaves it in so skillfully. It's remarkable. There's a theme. And who knows, there might have been themes in all of his other books, but those themes didn't resonate with me.

You might think you know me, too, but I have my own “Tiffany” about whom you hear very little. I don't know if I could ever be as frank about that as he is. Maybe someday.

Again, go read Calypso, a real memoir instead of this craven blog.

Embarassing Bezos Photos?

So, Jeff Bezos has out-balled the National Enquirer after they threatened to publish "embarrassing" photos. Were I in the same situation, even minus the Bezos billions, I wouldn't have given in to that blackmail either. Because they had nothing.

Here are the photos the Enquirer threatened to publish:

"· Mr. Bezos face selfie at what appears to be a business meeting."

Is it a naked business meeting? How is this a threat?

· Ms. Sanchez response — a photograph of her smoking a cigar in what appears to be a simulated oral sex scene.

I could see this in any cigar advertisement in any magazine.

· A shirtless Mr. Bezos holding his phone in his left hand — while wearing his wedding ring. He’s wearing either tight black cargo pants or shorts — and his semi-erect manhood is penetrating the zipper of said garment.

Okay, I'll give you that one, that would be embarassing. If I were him I would hang my hopes on the word "semi." I'm betting it's entirely floppy. There's something fishy about how they described it as "penetrating the zipper," as if they needed to give it some imagined firmness.

· A full-length body selfie of Mr. Bezos wearing just a pair of tight black boxer-briefs or trunks, with his phone in his left hand — while wearing his wedding ring.

So, he's essentially in his underwear, while married. Is the point of mentioning the wedding ring to undermine his contention that he was having the affair while separated?

· A selfie of Mr. Bezos fully clothed.

Shocking. I must delete all the fully-clothed selfies from my phone this minute.

· A full-length scantily-clad body shot with short trunks.

Is he supposed to be ashamed of this because it might get him thrown out of McDonalds?

· A naked selfie in a bathroom — while wearing his wedding ring. Mr. Bezos is wearing nothing but a white towel — and the top of his pubic region can be seen.

Naked selfie? You aren't naked if you are in a towel. Look up naked. I'm pretty sure. And Michael Phelps opened up the top of the pubic region for public consumption years ago.

· Ms. Sanchez wearing a plunging red neckline dress revealing her cleavage and a glimpse of her nether region.

... and ...

· Ms. Sanchez wearing a two-piece red bikini with gold detail dress revealing her cleavage.

So they will show photos of his girlfriend in clothing that she purchased and then wore in public. I don’t get how this is embarrassing. Also, am I to assume the neckline plunges down to her nether region? In addition, why does she only have one nether region when the term I have always heard is “nether regions”? 

Minus the semi-dick pic, none of that would even embarrass me. And given that they've already published the revelation that there is a full-dick pic, why did they think a semi would give him the fantods? They can't publish either photo without blurring it, so one blur will be smaller than the other.

I thought Jeff Bezos was a baller, but he isn't making a big noble sacrifice here, at least this time.  

Emergency Alert

This is what the Emergency Alert test in my area looks like:

Two colors. Fixed width. Old school. Shit is going down, people, no time for graphics or kerning. 

That’s why I was surprised to see this on my screen when I heard the familiar sounds of the Emergency Alert system ths past week:

It’s the CBS-specific version of the Emergency Alert graphic. Evidently, CBS feels that a graphic that evokes a city burning down is enough to make us perk up and pay attention. It's interesting that "This is a test of the" is in a smaller font. So, when it is a real event, what happens? They leave off the top line? Perhaps the letters are red too?

I'm concerned that people are going to become habituated to the above EAS message, because the graphic is too much like a commercial. That, and because there have been a number of false alerts in this new-fangled Emergency ALERT System - six in twenty years, as opposed to the original Emergency BROADCAST System, which plugged away for over thirty years with just one mistake. Which sounded like this.

It's all too easy to ignore. The tornado sirens go off once a month. so we ignore those. Even the Emergency Presidential Text Alert they debuted this past October sounds too much like an Amber Alert.

I think they should do what the cable company did when there was a tornado three miles from my house: make the screen go black and only show only the block printed words "THERE IS A TORNADO IN YOUR AREA. TAKE COVER IMMEDIATELY." No weather reporters anymore, no map, nothing to see but the marching orders.

I fear no one would listen unless all the TVs and all the iPhones and all the Applebee's digital menu screens went black with all-caps white letters that say "THIS IS NOT A TEST."

 

Further Vindication

So, about a dozen years ago I told my friends about a Clydesdale mass murder that had happened in the 1980's, and was ridiculed, but was eventually - partially - vindicated.

You'll notice the vindication above doesn't come with a newspaper citation, though. Every once in a while, when I think of Clydesdales (as one does during the SuperBowl), I go scouting the internet to see if I can find a 1980s article about the crime. I usually can't, and I assume that's because the Busch Family owns this town and all its newspapers.

Well, here's an excerpt from a New York Times article from the mid 70s, four years before the one I recall:

ST. LOUIS, Oct. 9 (AP) — Vandals armed with a high‐powered rifle shot and killed a pregnant Clydesdale mare yesterday. The mare had produced several colts for the Anheuser‐Busch Inc. brewery's famed eight‐horse hitch teams.

Veterinarians were unable to save the unborn animal that the 18‐year‐old mare Peggy Lyndale was carrying. Three other mares were wounded. The incident occurred on the Budweiser brewery's Clydesdale breeding farm in St. Louis County.

See that? Years earlier, when I was in high school there had been another Clydesdale murder, and an attempted mass murder at that. And, this is pretty scary: it was done with a high-powered rifle. Watch out. Clydesdale serial murderer is still at large.

Posts: Where Are They Now? An Update On Three Recent Posts

Pie Crusts - Four pies ago the gods cursed me and I had a massive systemic failure. Three pie crusts ago I made an ideal quiche. Two pie crusts ago, I doubled the recipe, but neglected to double the flour. I tried pre-baking that, and you can imagine my dismay when I pulled it out of the oven and found butter-shortening soup in the bottom of the pie tin. Then this past week I tried to make a cherry pie and forgot the salt in the crust. That was vile. Gary won't even eat it. He has the grace to 1) keep it in a bowl on the counter and not just pitch it in the trash and b) encourage me to try a chicken pot pie next. Instead, I made another one apple pie last night - which I overbaked.

Gary Cheating - Gary and I played our game by the book, finally, and he exclaimed it's much more fun when you play by the rules. It's also much muuuuuuch slower. We played three hours and moved two spaces because every detail had to be researched in the rule book.

Elevator - I spoke to some people who have hired on in the last ten years and they say "Ladies first" is no longer taught in orientation. In fact, they laughed at the idea.

I Need to Try Some of this Beer Beverage People Speak Of

So, at the moment I am writing this (8:30 CT Saturday night) the currently current, regrettably Democrat Governor Northam of Virginia has (let me check) decided not to resign because he does not recall having posed in blackface as shown on his yearbook page, and claims now that he is not the man pictured. I understand he spent today calling old classmates to see if any one of them could jog his memory (or take the fall for him, she muttered cynically, rolling her eyes).

Here is an interesting excerpt from this article:

Beneath the photo, Northam lists his alma mater and his interest in pediatrics and offers a quote: “There are more old drunks than old doctors in this world so I think I’ll have another beer.”

This, after Supreme Court Justice Kavanaugh indignantly employed the Beer Defense, made me think: "Damn, maybe I should give beer another try.  It seems to be the favorite of successful politicians. Like, they defiantly adore this stuff. Like it fucks you up enough to sexually assault women while wearing blackface, but it makes you a 'man of the people' at the same time."

I mean, I don’t like beer because it tastes like flowers. (Really, people, don't drink flowers. It is wrong.) I did not realize until this last scandal that it has hallucinogenic properties and a Get Out of Jail Free card that goes with it.

 

This Must Be A First

I’ve been telling everyone that i’m working at home because it’s just too cold, and it is: the wind chill is below zero. I am taking their word for it. I didn’t leave the house yesterday and I won’t be leaving today.

Signs it is cold:

• The weather forecasters are telling us the temperatures at which antifreeze freezes.
• Schools and businesses are closing.
• Only one raccoon ventured out of his den last night.
• The U.S. Mail delivery has stopped in some parts of Missouri. They say Kansas City is still delivering, but I don’t know yet about Saint Louis. I’m fine if they skip it: I don’t want someone to die so I can get the direct-to-trash grocery circular.
• CNN says if I’m outside for five minutes I will get frostbite.
• I saw that there was a layer of ice on the inside of the window frame. I thought at first that perhaps a rubber window gasket had frozen and broken like an O-ring, but what’s actually happened is that the metal window frame is so cold that the interior side is ice cold as well, and the scant humidity in the house has collected into a block of ice in the interior.

What’s awful is that it is worse in Chicago and Minnesota. What’s worse is that some people think that ours is the only hemisphere on the globe and use this as a global ”waming” rebuttal.

Hot Cocoa Limbo

Last week Baby was cold, so I thought I would serve up some hot cocoa. This thought came to me at the grocery. I thought I'd pick up some packets of Swiss Miss instant cocoa.

I know, I could make my own, but I wasn't inclined to buy dry milk and sugar and cocoa and make my own mix and then have to store it. I didn't know the difference between hot cocoa and hot chocolate at the time. (Here's the difference: one is heated wet cocoa powder and one is a heated wet chocolate bar.  YES, I know, it seems obvious now.)

So I went to the far reaches of the store to find the hot cocoa. Powdered drinks - no, just Koolaid. Coffee? No - just K-cups of hot cocoa. K-cups that will fit in my Nespresso machine? No.

"How do kids today make hot cocoa?” I wondered. “I know they don't make it from scratch."

I never worked out the answer. I called an audible and bought chocolate milk and heated it up in the microwave. Tasted hot and chocolate.

Of course, that left me with too much chocolate milk. I got the bright idea to put it through the cappuccino milk frother. It came out hot and foamy and utterly tasteless. Peculiar. I'll have to start using it on my granola, instead.

That was last week. This is the east side of the same store this week:

And here is the west side:

I should have bought some hot cocoa when I saw the hot cocoa aisle and hot cocoa armoire, because evidently this is the week the hot cocoa Brigadoon is visible, and it will disappear next time I want to find it.

This Russia Thing with Trump and Russia

The recent Buzzfeed kerfuffle made me question some fundamental assumptions we are making in our house.

Of course, in this house we think Trump is guilty (guilty guilty guilty, as they said in Watergate). However, I did react to the initial Buzzfeed accusations by calling for evidence, which didn’t go over too well with Gary.

“EVIDENCE? HE IS GUILTY WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?”

And then, of course, Mr. Mueller stepped in and flopped an icy wet blanket over all the impeachment talk.

It made me think - and question - why are we so sure, in lieu of evidence, that he did something underhanded to win the election, like conspiring with Putin?

Like the conspiracy theories that still bedevil the Kennedy assassination: it’s unthinkable that something so earthshaking could happen if there wasn’t an earthshaking cause.

Some pipsqueak murders a president? No way, had to be the Russians/Mafia/CIA. 

Some pipsqueak becomes president? No way, had to be the Russians. 

Scary thoughts. Can’t talk about them with Gary, though. Not going to be a happy house here for the next few years.

Vacation Urge

The people at Viking River Cruises are sending me one brochure a week. I am only a little tempted.

    1) When I think of Vikings and bodies of water:

2)    Were I going to spend seven grand on a European vacation, I would rent a car and plant myself in one city and do it up right.

Instead, I read Facebook posts like: "I didn't want to shovel out my car so we went to Mexico for three days instead" (followed by photos of Tulum), or "Baby was cold" (followed by photos of the couple in shorts on a plane).

I started to wonder, "What would it cost to go to some cheap all-inclusive place on the spur on the moment?"  I was researching that when Gary burst into the room and said we needed to schedule a high-energy vacation next, since the new meds are working and he no longer sleeps all day.

That's not going to happen, though. Well, it could happen. Nah, it's not going to happen.

(Could happen.)

Snowpuppy / Snowgiant

Last week's snow was perfect for packing. There were several excellent snow sculptures on my drive to work.

(Not my photo - it was taken by Friend #4, who lives nearby.)

I took this photo - even though I took it a week late. The snowman below was originally ten feet tall. They must used a ladder to add the head. The warmer weather melted off a third of its height, its hat, and the facial details.

There was supposed to have been another snow storm yesterday, but it fizzled out.

Volatility

I distinctly remember the 2008 crash, because it was my first year working at a financial firm. I remember the groan that went up after every closing bell when we - and we were just the support staff - realized how much the market fell.

I was particularly excited by the prospect that they would throw the "circuit breaker," which happens when trading is halted because too much money has been lost. I find the idea very comforting. The market can't lose 30% in a day. Sure, it can lose 6% a day for six days in a row, and then we're all screwed, but not all in one day.

Since 2008 they have changed the circuit-breaker rules. Now, If the S&P loses 7%, trading halts for fifteen minutes.

So I have decided (and this is just for me, this isn't advice) that I am going to stop looking at the lower right corner of any news channel on volatile days. Dow drops 1,000 points? Don't care. Wake me up when the S&P drops 150.  Anything else I'm just going to write off as political instability leaking into the market.