The Toots is almost back to normal and all set to head out to the park, so that's what we did this morning--a cool, breezy morning, nicely clouded over. What a reprieve from our usual May weather! And, Happy Mother's Day to all the moms, today is the big date in Mexico.
What the world needs now is bloopers because since Bush left office, we have been left high and dry in the whacky language department. My mom gave me a book of her brother's, an ancient tome from 1938, with bloopers so brilliant we should all be humbled.
In the first place, kids are no longer challenged by such questions as "What is Socratic dialogue?" or vocabulary words such as "psaltry" or "abbatoir". Some of the bloopers are so inspired that I've decided to include the Blooper of the Day when I have time to write in this blog. Hats off to the blooperers of yore, who have let us know that acumen is the white of an egg, and a tantrum is a two-seated bicycle. It is almost impossible to choose among the jewels offered, so it's just going to be whatever hits my funny bone the hardest on any given morning.
"Coroner's inquest means when you have died unexpectedly you are cross-examined by a coroner."
"An eavesdropper is an icicle."
Gosh, what inspiration!
jueves, 10 de mayo de 2012
lunes, 7 de mayo de 2012
The God-Awful Bores
Happy to report that WeightWatchers has finally kicked and I lost weight this week. Part of the reason may be stress since TootSweet had to have some cysts removed, and I went against medical advice and wisdom and did not allow the vet to dig out two probable cysts under his skin.
My reasoning is simple: If the two tumors are cancer and not seborrheic cysts, then the cancer has already spread and there is no point in subjected the dog to the procedure. If it isn't cancer, nothing is going to happen to him by leaving the tumors there. One has gotten smaller in size and become encapsulated, which doesn't happen with lymphoma (the most common kind of canine cancer). Of course, it could be some other kind of cancer, but it is also a fact that standard poodles have a definite tendency to develop these cysts. If he should have a cancer that is limited to just those two tumors, well, that will have been my mistake.
I almost never go against reasonable medical advice, but this time I did. The Tooters is eleven years old and with the energy of a puppy, but if he has something serious, I'll know soon enough. There are people who subject their dogs to chemotherapy and radiation in order to gain a few months of life, but the gain is for the owner, not the dog. No animal should be subjected to chemotherapy unless you have a HUGE probability of curing the animal. It is unlikely that pets suffer when sacrificed humanely, but you can bet your little butt they do suffer when subjected to chemotherapy, hair loss, etc.
On one of my WW message boards, with the theme of "Writers", a new guy has joined the group, a "Christian minister", no brand name given. He has written a couple of "Devotional books", note that capital D, and he hopes we will check out his blog. Fat, oh, so Fat chance that. These purveyors of the word, or as they would say, the Word, have got to be the most boring people under the bright, hot sun. They don't know it, of course, because they are so excited about having been saved that they think we haven't heard all this a million times before. I can't think of a worse way to live than to slouch around wondering what sin you've committed today--does that extra piece of cake count, both in calories and sin? Can I lust after Johnny Depp in my mind and get roasted in Hell for it? It is always disquieting when someone comes up to you and claims to have foregone that chocolate fudge cake in order to support your dieting efforts. Hey, I didn't ask for that, and if you think it puts me in your debt, you'd better think again--well, imagine the guilt trip when your figure of divinity says he sacrificed a child for you, and that child was tortured to boot. The guilt alone would have you grovelling abjectly in the dirt, hoping against hope that your miserable, sin-ridden life will get the Big Reprieve--that being, of course, the reward for hauling around all that sinfulness from birth unto death and, in passing, making sure the word purveyors don't lose their jobs.
Let's face it, if this guy's god was going to do him any favors, he wouldn't be fat. He must writhe in misery at the idea of going to Hell for the sin of gluttony, poor bastard.
My reasoning is simple: If the two tumors are cancer and not seborrheic cysts, then the cancer has already spread and there is no point in subjected the dog to the procedure. If it isn't cancer, nothing is going to happen to him by leaving the tumors there. One has gotten smaller in size and become encapsulated, which doesn't happen with lymphoma (the most common kind of canine cancer). Of course, it could be some other kind of cancer, but it is also a fact that standard poodles have a definite tendency to develop these cysts. If he should have a cancer that is limited to just those two tumors, well, that will have been my mistake.
I almost never go against reasonable medical advice, but this time I did. The Tooters is eleven years old and with the energy of a puppy, but if he has something serious, I'll know soon enough. There are people who subject their dogs to chemotherapy and radiation in order to gain a few months of life, but the gain is for the owner, not the dog. No animal should be subjected to chemotherapy unless you have a HUGE probability of curing the animal. It is unlikely that pets suffer when sacrificed humanely, but you can bet your little butt they do suffer when subjected to chemotherapy, hair loss, etc.
On one of my WW message boards, with the theme of "Writers", a new guy has joined the group, a "Christian minister", no brand name given. He has written a couple of "Devotional books", note that capital D, and he hopes we will check out his blog. Fat, oh, so Fat chance that. These purveyors of the word, or as they would say, the Word, have got to be the most boring people under the bright, hot sun. They don't know it, of course, because they are so excited about having been saved that they think we haven't heard all this a million times before. I can't think of a worse way to live than to slouch around wondering what sin you've committed today--does that extra piece of cake count, both in calories and sin? Can I lust after Johnny Depp in my mind and get roasted in Hell for it? It is always disquieting when someone comes up to you and claims to have foregone that chocolate fudge cake in order to support your dieting efforts. Hey, I didn't ask for that, and if you think it puts me in your debt, you'd better think again--well, imagine the guilt trip when your figure of divinity says he sacrificed a child for you, and that child was tortured to boot. The guilt alone would have you grovelling abjectly in the dirt, hoping against hope that your miserable, sin-ridden life will get the Big Reprieve--that being, of course, the reward for hauling around all that sinfulness from birth unto death and, in passing, making sure the word purveyors don't lose their jobs.
Let's face it, if this guy's god was going to do him any favors, he wouldn't be fat. He must writhe in misery at the idea of going to Hell for the sin of gluttony, poor bastard.
jueves, 3 de mayo de 2012
Keys to the kingdom
This morning, in spite of a bone-deep laziness, I took TootSweet to the park. Once there, we warmed up for a kilometer and trotted a kilometer. The Tooters behaved like a pro. I walked toward home, planning maybe to leave the dog and go back to trot a bit more. When I arrived at the front gate, I reached down to get the keyring attached to the dog's collar hook, only to find that the keys no longer formed a part of our ensemble. Horrified, back I went to the park. One of the team trainers offered to walk with me back to Narcissists' Corner, searching along the way.
Nothing. We asked the other trainers at the Corner, looked on the bulletin board there where lost keys are hung (some had been there for weeks and weeks), but no sign of my keys. I went home and left the dog--fortunately my husband was still there--and went back to the park to do a last search before calling for reinforcements to change the locks--four of 'em.
While I was searching, my son showed up. He had finished his morning run, so I introduced him to my trainer. Rodrigo will soon finish his master's degree and will have time to train again for half-marathons.
When I told Rodrigo I had lost the keys, he had the gall to laugh. He said it was just one more adventure of mine at the park. He seems to think I'm the only person in town for whom the park is actually dangerous. He may have a point. Considering the times I've crashed and burned, tripped over my dog, had to fight off yowling beagles, and now this, well, there is a lesson here for us all.
All I can say is that my knees are still holding up.
Nothing. We asked the other trainers at the Corner, looked on the bulletin board there where lost keys are hung (some had been there for weeks and weeks), but no sign of my keys. I went home and left the dog--fortunately my husband was still there--and went back to the park to do a last search before calling for reinforcements to change the locks--four of 'em.
While I was searching, my son showed up. He had finished his morning run, so I introduced him to my trainer. Rodrigo will soon finish his master's degree and will have time to train again for half-marathons.
When I told Rodrigo I had lost the keys, he had the gall to laugh. He said it was just one more adventure of mine at the park. He seems to think I'm the only person in town for whom the park is actually dangerous. He may have a point. Considering the times I've crashed and burned, tripped over my dog, had to fight off yowling beagles, and now this, well, there is a lesson here for us all.
All I can say is that my knees are still holding up.
martes, 1 de mayo de 2012
Shoot 'em dead, no matter who they might be
Anyone who wants a few moments entertainment should check out the NRA webpage. They seem to be having a hissy fit over the movement to make gun shops register multiple assault weapons purchases along the border with Mexico, since the assault weapons used by the Mexican drug cartels mainly come from these sources--smuggled, to be sure, but purchased along the border. The NRA tries to convince everyone the guns are coming from Guatemala, but hey, please, put down the Acapulco Gold and get real.
You can certainly understand how they feel. No red-blooded, big-dog Southern citizen wants to have home and hearth put at risk by having to register the purchase of machine guns, AK47s, bazookas, grenade launchers, ground-to-air missiles and other items necessary to stand off the....well, let me see...people ringing the doorbell? Jehova's Witnesses? A massive attack by...hmmmm...okay, a ravening, wife-raping gang of liberals, for example. A bunch of foaming-at-the-mouth lawyers from the ACLU. Or even, God forbid, some very pigment-blessed folks trying to register voters door to door. The skin crawls at the danger, women swoon, men go around with solemn faces and glower determindly into the sunset while attempting to pull in that beer gut so as not to ruin the effect.
Who knows why they worry. It is now legal to mow down that guy at the curb who gave your vintage Mustang a longing glance, as long as you claim self defense. And that little girl two houses down in a brown uniform selling Girl Scout cookies...well, I mean, brown, for the love of Christ! The very color suggests a nightime raid by some kind of mob determined to rip those stuffed animal heads from the wall and run off with them. With that kind of danger looming, there is full justification for breaking out the bazooka and having at it.
You could stay up nights in a sweat just thinking about opening the front door to find an African American teenager standing there trying to get you on his newspaper route, or a Mexican gardener wondering if you'd like him to mow your lawn. Nothing says "security" like a machine gun behind the door.
Nothing says "paranoia", either, as well, or "I've left the bonds of earth and now float several feet above Myrtle Beach, dressed in my cowboy outfit, because I stopped taking my medication."
You can certainly understand how they feel. No red-blooded, big-dog Southern citizen wants to have home and hearth put at risk by having to register the purchase of machine guns, AK47s, bazookas, grenade launchers, ground-to-air missiles and other items necessary to stand off the....well, let me see...people ringing the doorbell? Jehova's Witnesses? A massive attack by...hmmmm...okay, a ravening, wife-raping gang of liberals, for example. A bunch of foaming-at-the-mouth lawyers from the ACLU. Or even, God forbid, some very pigment-blessed folks trying to register voters door to door. The skin crawls at the danger, women swoon, men go around with solemn faces and glower determindly into the sunset while attempting to pull in that beer gut so as not to ruin the effect.
Who knows why they worry. It is now legal to mow down that guy at the curb who gave your vintage Mustang a longing glance, as long as you claim self defense. And that little girl two houses down in a brown uniform selling Girl Scout cookies...well, I mean, brown, for the love of Christ! The very color suggests a nightime raid by some kind of mob determined to rip those stuffed animal heads from the wall and run off with them. With that kind of danger looming, there is full justification for breaking out the bazooka and having at it.
You could stay up nights in a sweat just thinking about opening the front door to find an African American teenager standing there trying to get you on his newspaper route, or a Mexican gardener wondering if you'd like him to mow your lawn. Nothing says "security" like a machine gun behind the door.
Nothing says "paranoia", either, as well, or "I've left the bonds of earth and now float several feet above Myrtle Beach, dressed in my cowboy outfit, because I stopped taking my medication."
The team picture
My training team got together at the park this morning with our new t-shirts and had our picture taken. I think I managed to close my eyes for every shot. Being shortest and oldest, I was in the front line. Well, it was fun, no matter what I looked like! And TootSweet was outstanding; our only problem occurred when an idiot with two untrained beagles on long leashes went by. The beagles barked and went slightly mad, but I couldn't swear in court that the owner didn't bark too.
An article came out in a news magazine about the new "Christian right"; I didn't read it, I must confess, since I've had enough of Christians on the right to choke a hog. They don't seem to understand the most basic precepts of their own beliefs, poor devils. Starting with the fact that "Christian right" is an oxymoron, and in fact many of the said individuals are also morons.
For those who believe in the figure of Jesus, it should occur to them that he was a rebel of the first order, not some fundamentalist jerk trying to get people to believe the earth is six thousand years old and man walked with the dinosaurs. Jesus didn't give a hoot how old the earth is. He was much more concerned about not judging people because of their gender or occupation (Mary Magdalene, for example). He was incensed at the economical exploitation of others, and he had the poorest opinion of the hidebound, the prejudiced, and the excluders. The things that Jesus are supposed to have said make up an infinitesimal portion of the writings in the Bible; everything else is editorializing, politicizing, and pure fantasy. As far as actual history goes, the accuracy of what Jesus is supposed to have said is no more reliable than the flood of "pieces of the True Cross" that circulated among the royalty during the middle ages and later.
But among people who take him seriously, they should realize that he was an enemy of orthodoxy, yet they have now turned his figure into an excuse for out-Poping the Pope. They are a form of American jihad, willing to sacrifice anyone who doesn't believe as they do, willing to subordinate half of humankind to the category of slaves devoted to reproduction--since this half of mankind, according to these people, has no right to govern its bodies or determine how they are to be used. These folks are willing to accord a collection of cells incapable of living outside the body of the mother more rights than the mother herself, who is not a potential human being, but is one already. Jesus never said a word about reproductive rights, by the way. This stuff has been invented since his time and to serve other interests.
To end on a positive note, the NYTimes had an article last week about how Cheney's heart treatments have more or less followed the entire history of heart health. Funny, isn't it, how someone like Cheney doesn't seem to have any trouble at all getting a heart for transplant while others have to wait unto death? But, as one perspicuous reader noted in the comments section, settling the issue once and for all, Cheney's heart transplant is to be celebrated since he didn't have one before.
An article came out in a news magazine about the new "Christian right"; I didn't read it, I must confess, since I've had enough of Christians on the right to choke a hog. They don't seem to understand the most basic precepts of their own beliefs, poor devils. Starting with the fact that "Christian right" is an oxymoron, and in fact many of the said individuals are also morons.
For those who believe in the figure of Jesus, it should occur to them that he was a rebel of the first order, not some fundamentalist jerk trying to get people to believe the earth is six thousand years old and man walked with the dinosaurs. Jesus didn't give a hoot how old the earth is. He was much more concerned about not judging people because of their gender or occupation (Mary Magdalene, for example). He was incensed at the economical exploitation of others, and he had the poorest opinion of the hidebound, the prejudiced, and the excluders. The things that Jesus are supposed to have said make up an infinitesimal portion of the writings in the Bible; everything else is editorializing, politicizing, and pure fantasy. As far as actual history goes, the accuracy of what Jesus is supposed to have said is no more reliable than the flood of "pieces of the True Cross" that circulated among the royalty during the middle ages and later.
But among people who take him seriously, they should realize that he was an enemy of orthodoxy, yet they have now turned his figure into an excuse for out-Poping the Pope. They are a form of American jihad, willing to sacrifice anyone who doesn't believe as they do, willing to subordinate half of humankind to the category of slaves devoted to reproduction--since this half of mankind, according to these people, has no right to govern its bodies or determine how they are to be used. These folks are willing to accord a collection of cells incapable of living outside the body of the mother more rights than the mother herself, who is not a potential human being, but is one already. Jesus never said a word about reproductive rights, by the way. This stuff has been invented since his time and to serve other interests.
To end on a positive note, the NYTimes had an article last week about how Cheney's heart treatments have more or less followed the entire history of heart health. Funny, isn't it, how someone like Cheney doesn't seem to have any trouble at all getting a heart for transplant while others have to wait unto death? But, as one perspicuous reader noted in the comments section, settling the issue once and for all, Cheney's heart transplant is to be celebrated since he didn't have one before.
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