Labor of Love

It was not a silent night;
There was blood on the ground.
You could hear a woman cry
In the alleyway that night
On the streets of David's town.
And the stable was not clean,
And the cobblestones were cold,
And little Mary full of grace
With tears upon her face
Had no mother's hand to hold.

It was a labor of pain, it was a cold sky above.
But for the girl on the ground in the dark,
With every beat of her beautiful heart,
It was a labor of love.

Noble Joseph by her side,
Callused hands and weary eyes.
No midwives to be found
On the streets of David's town
In the middle of the night.
So he held her and he prayed,
Shafts of moonlight on his face.
But the baby in her womb,
He was the maker of the moon.
He was the Author of the Faith
That could make the mountains move.

It was a labor of pain, it was a cold sky above.
But for the girl on the ground in the dark,
With every beat of her beautiful heart,
It was a labor of love.

For little Mary full of grace, with tears on her face,
It was a labor of love.

It was not a silent night, on the streets of David's town.
~Andrew Peterson

Christmas.

Christmas has a lot of non-Christian origins, and even though I am a Christian and I celebrate the gift God gave the world through the miraculous birth of Jesus, I still think the old traditions have merit too.

Winter is an incredibly depressing season, especially in the north where there's less daylight. Most of your crops are harvested and since it would be difficult to keep cattle over the winter, most of your herds are drying in the smokehouse as well. Pretty much all the work is done and you're sick of solitaire, so you settle back and look for something to do. Since sex only results in more mouths to feed, that's out of the question. So you throw a party. But you can't have a party for no reason so you wait until the winter solstice, and celebrate the return of the sun.

You decorate your house with holly, which because of its thorns, traps mischievous fairies like its flypaper. You want to remember the summertime, so you cut evergreen branches and ivy and decorate the house. You take the biggest green log you can find and burn it for hours 'cause... fire is cool and mesmerizing, and green logs make sparks, which are fun when they aren't burning down your house. If you've been good, a little elf man rides an elk to your house to give you a present. If you are bad, a giant cat comes and eats you.

Apples, like potatoes, will last for a while if you put them in a root cellar. But around December, they'll be shrivelly, so you mush them into cider and heat it up and spike it with alcohol, 'cause who ever heard of a party without alcohol? The alcohol warms your soul, so you go out wassailing (ie, singing loudly, offering alcohol to your neighbors, and generally bringing the party out of your house and into the streets.)

Doesn't that sound like a cool party? Since the shepherds were out watching their flocks by night, we can assume it was lambing season, the only time you really need to stay up all night with the flocks. Lambing season is in the spring, so I'm thinking I'd like to celebrate Christ's birth in March, and this December, sing loudly with a cup of spiked apple cider in hand, waiting for Jultomten to come riding up on his elk and fight it out with Santa over who gets to give me the present I want.

Incidentally, the gift-giving tradition came about in the Victorian era when parenting was becoming less strict and parents wanted a way to lavish gifts on their children without giving the appearance of spoiling them. The morality of being generous to others at Christmas time traces directly back to Charles Dickens' A Christmas Carol, and although it is important for Christians to be generous in sharing the love of Christ, Charles Dickens is not a religious figure and I see no need to follow the example Scrooge sets at the end of the book. However, I WILL share my wassail.

California is full of Dinosaurs.

So, Mom's cousin Nancy turned 70, and Grandma turned 80. So, all the ladies of my family who were able to flocked to California to celebrate. We had about 10 days of girl talk, birthday parties, tourism, and "a few good laughs."

Here we are at the rental place. Question: How do you fit 6 women and their luggage into a 2009 mustang? Answer: Only in your dreams. We ended up with a van.
L-R: Me, Mom, Aunt Charnell, her daughter Molly, Grandma, Aunt Jill


After loading all our stuff up we followed the Garmin to our first destination, chosen for us by our hosts, Mom's cousin Dawnne, Nancy the birthday girl, and Nancy's daughter Dianne. We followed that Garmin along a pretty steep and winding path that we later discovered was one of the most dangerous roads in Southern California. Finding ourselves on the desert floor in Palm Springs was a relief, and felt like entering a different world. I imagine in the summer its kind of like Mordor: hot, rocky, and surrounded on all sides by mountains.

Friday night we checked into our hotels (some of us were staying in a hotel that was more on the luxury side of life because, well, a couple of them happen to be insanely rich). After we settled into our hotel, we headed over to the resort hotel where we planned to have a birthday party involving 12 of the ladies of the family. The mexican food was delicious and abundant.

Despite reminding me of Mordor crossed with some pretty darn expensive hotels, the entire Palm Desert area put on a wonderful display of mountains, palms, and clouds.
Saturday, Dec 5. While Aunt Charnell went to urgent care to get treated for a sinus infection, a few of us went to a street fair, which is what the rich folks call a flea market.


Saturday morning, at Aunt Charnell's insistance (despite her sinus infection) we drove to a tram station for a ride to the top of the highest mountain. On the way, we passed a wind farm. I once saw an episode of Mike Rowe's Dirty Jobs in which he cleans the grease (yes, carbon-footprint-grease) out of the inside of these things. I don't think they are the "clean energy" everyone thinks they are. But they are definitely photogenic.


Me at the top of Mount San Jacinto (pronounced, "huh-SIN-toe"), elevation 8516. It was 30 degrees and windy and snowy up there. Incidentally, NJ was having the same weather. I could have stayed home and watched the Discovery Channel.
If you look closely, you can see that the tram passed through the cloud cover and out the other side in order to get us to the top of the mountain.


Sunday evening we had dinner at a gorgeous and expensive house owned by mom's cousin's daughter and son-in-law. Despite being in their home, it was a really dressed-up affair, complete with plates that go under your dinner plates. I didn't find out until Friday that these are called chargers. I honestly don't see the sense in using a charger unless it is made of wicker and goes under your paper plate so your hot dog and potato salad don't spill all over the lawn.

Monday morning it was raining buckets, and all of California was happy since it hadn't rained since June 15th. We were ok with the rain, but the temperatures were incredibly cold. We went on a trolley tour of San Diego, which included some interesting stories about the history of San Diego and how it was founded. Most of my pictures came out with water droplets, since I took them through the windows of the trolley.

After the trolley ride we returned to our host home- Dawnne's house- to get dolled up for a Ladies' Tea. We had been told to bring one good outfit to wear to the tea but when I pulled out the dress I'd brought I realized I'd die of hypothermia if I wore it. Luckily, most of us are close in size and we all had a giant clothing swap, since we were all feeling cold from the rainy weather.

The tea was interesting. Several women from the church volunteered to be "hostesses" which means they decorate the table and the caterers (children and men from the church?) come first to the hostesses to be sure each teapot is correct and nothing is wrong with the teacakes and finger foods. Each table is decorated differently, but each table should have been featured in some home or living magazines. It was a nice experience, and now that I have done it once, I never will again.


Tuesday morning we got up and headed to Los Angeles. Notable experiences were: the snow capped San Bernardino mountains in the distance, my Aunt Jill posing with Samuel L. Jackson and Molly kissing Justin Timberlake at Madame Tussaud's, all the footprints in the cement, the Hollywood sign, Rodeo Drive, and having your picture taken with actors playing famous characters.
Me with Charlie Chaplin.


Very quickly, the time came when we had to pile into the car and head over to the filming studios, where my grandmother's surprise waited: A filming of Jepardy. My grandmother actually argued with Alex Trebek about the weather in California, and I got no pictures because the security in Hollywood is heavier than at the airport. Note for your calendar: watch Jepardy March 1 and 2, because you might be able to see the audience and we were in the front row, in front of the contestants' family members.

After Jepardy, we drove down Sunset Boulevard and found a relatively inexpensive place to eat that claimed to be the favorite of some celebrities or other. You can tell how much I care about rubbing elbows with the rich folks. A favorite quote of the evening was, "We picked a place with a mechanical bull so that we would fit right in."

A table with seven women attracted some attention, and somehow we were blessed with a ginormous martini glass full of cotton candy (on the house). While the cotton candy was fun, the glass was also a good photo op.


A guitarist and a violinist came over to serenade us (Runnin' down the road tryin' to loosen my load I've got seven women on my mind... hey, there are seven of you, oh sorry, I missed that chord, ok wait we'll start over). They played a LOT of songs for us and I think they kept coming back to us because we sang along at the top of our lungs, while the other dinner patrons just sat and listened politely.

And yes, I did mention a mechanical bull. We took pictures first, and then Molly, Aunt Jill, and I all rode it. The only thing missing was the "Hick and proud of it" t-shirt. And line dancing. That place should have had line dancing.


Wednesday morning we got up way too early and went to tour San Diego's harbor on a tour boat. Things we saw: birds, sea lions, dolphins, battleships, the Star of India, the HMS Surprise, Tijuana, a coast guard cutter, more battleships, submarine sailors above deck returning from a tour of duty, helicopters, the hosptial ship Mercy, and a small vessel that nearly caused two accidents. Ask me about the Pterodactyl and Dinosaur Eggs story.
Mom got to turn the ship's wheel.


After the tour we drove to Cabrillo National Monument, the second most visited monument in the US (after the Statue of Liberty). We were blessed with a unique photo op by the little guy at the top of the cross, below.


Still not done with the tourism that day, we stopped in Del Mar to see the sunset and have a $4 Mai Tai.


And pole dance with the heat lamps. That was BEFORE the drinks came.


After that we headed to Nancy's for a home-cooked meal, which we appreciated and then, as if we didn't do enough tourism for the day, they dragged us out to the race track to see the Christmas light display.
Dinosaurs for Navin.


Thursday morning we were supposed to sleep in. Dawnne came into our room at about 8 am, saying, "The weather is gorgeous even though it was supposed to rain. Lets go for a hike!" I now know why coffee shops started on the West Coast.
Me, with the mountain behind me. I climbed to the peak and back in 3 hours. Iron Mountain, elevation really-dang-high.


Thursday after the hike no one was available to give us a tour of anything, due to previous engagements. So we had the afternoon to ourselves. We spent most of it lost, had another trip to urgent care for someone else's sinus infection, and ended up at Balboa Park, where I took a bazillion pictures, but liked the irony of this one:
A photograph of a photographer.


Friday, despite more rain, we bundled up (four longsleeve shirts for me, including two hoodies) and headed to the San Diego zoo, where for some reason every time I tried to take a picture of a big cat, it squatted for bathroom reasons. There were some pretty neat exhibits about the animals that once roamed North America, including statues of them so we could see how big they would have been.
I give the San Diego Zoo some big-time props for their optimism.


Friday evening was another birthday dinner, cooked by Ray, Dawnne's husband. It was fancy like the rest of them, except everyone knew we had come from the Aquarium- I mean the Zoo- so it was ok that we were not dressed up and were soaking wet and chilled to the bone. Somewhere during the week I overheard the comment, "I'm about sick of dressing to impress the rich people." Which was entirely true. At a certain point I decided my internal body temperature required a big heavy water polo hoody regardless of the presence of chargers and if you don't like it, leave. But I have to admit, I think I liked Ray's cooking the best of our meals out there (but don't tell him; he'll get a big head!)

On Saturday it rained again. We drove 2.5 hours to Santa Monica to meet mom's cousin Rick (the Saxton side) and mom's cousin MaryLee (the Wilson side). We then sat in a restaurant for 4.5 hours while I learned more about my family's history than is good for me. Then we drove 2.5 hours back to the San Diego area.
We passed a dinosaur on the way to the restaurant.


After getting back to San Diego, a few of us had the urge to find a place to go line dancing. I guess 9.5 hours of sitting down can do that to you. Unfortunately, all we found was a tiny smoky bar with loud music I didn't like. But when you are having a 10-day-long girls'-night-out, you can find fun anywhere. While some of us made fun of the dancers ("that guy dances like an orangutan, that one dances like an epileptic gay man, white people sooo cannot dance, and wow I feel like I'm still at the zoo") a few of us sipped a beer, I used mental jujitsu to get rid of a guy with a bad pick up line, and grandma flirted with the young men. When she let one of them lead her to the dance floor, we all scrambled for cameras, but it was too dark for me to get any good shots.

On Sunday, we were awoken once again for a tourist destination even though it was the day of our flights back home. First we went to a really awesome botanical garden where the dinosaur in me felt right at home in the prehistoric-looking palms and ferns. Then we were off to Del Mar for a walk on the beach. And here are some seals on the beach in La Jolla (pronounced "hoya"):


And the skyline of La Jolla. There is a reason it is hoity-toity. Look at that view. No, not me, look at the cliffs behind me.


Our plane landed in NJ at 4:45 AM Monday morning, and I slept from 6 till 2 pm. I came back to 62 new emails. My life will continue to be crazy until after Christmas.

Convo.

~ She is smoking hot!
~~ I'd hit that.
~~~ You'd hit particulate soil in a colloidal suspension.
(Pause)
~~~ Mud.

I knew what it was without the explanation hahaha, I'm so smart.

Good immune systems

So I went to a seminar on using herbal extracts to keep your body healthy. I told Steve I wasn't going to blog about it, but I think everyone should know how to stay healthy, especially as winter is coming. So, here are a few pointers for staying healthy and avoiding media-hyped-but-still-present Swine Flu, as well as the far-more-dangerous Regular Flu.

Use a humidifier. Viruses live longer in dry air.

Use oregano instead of aspirin. Last year 16,000 people died from NSAID complications. Oregano has 37 known anti-inflammatory compounds and no one has died from oregano poisoning.

In India, mothers chop up ginger and let it soak in honey for an hour, before giving it to sick children to eat. They know what they are doing. Ginger has 32 immuno-supportive compounds, 21 anti-inflammatory compounds and 31 mental health compounds. In Japan, sushi is paired with ginger. Recent studies have shown ginger to be an anti-parasitic, specifically dangerous to the parasite found in bad sushi.

Elderberry significantly reduces the impact of influenza. It coats a viral cell before the virus can enter one of yours. (This doesn't kill it just makes it ineffective.)

If you work somewhere where a flu vaccine is mandatory, stay calm. Vaccines can be taxing to your body because of the chemicals and agents used to transport the virus to your system. To counteract those effects you can use dandelion, artichoke, and chlorella extracts to cleanse your system.

Hormonal much?

I enjoyed my cousin's wedding immensely. It made me think about how much fun my own will be someday. But today I looked at pictures of another friend's wedding, and I felt this strange feeling of dread and annoyance creep over me. I have decided to go all Dr. Cox on tradition's a$$.

~ The cake cutting ceremony is dumb, just cut the cake already, don't smear it on each other's faces. In fact, serve ice cream. It tastes better and doesn't require a ceremony.
~ And the dancing... I'm not crazy about loud music, flashing lights, and crowds of people. If I have a reception, I'll be miserable. And ugh, white people. Learn to dance, ok?
~ And quit throwing flowers at the single women. Its quite obvious they no longer feel pressured to catch the bouquet because they no longer feel pressured to marry. In fact, at my OTHER cousin's wedding, I was the only one who didn't dodge the bouquet. Women in this century are capable of being self sufficient without a groom or a bouquet of flowers promising a groom.
~ "Considerate" confetti throwing. Confetti is hard to clean up. Some weddings have guests blowing bubbles at the bride and groom. Others throw birdseed because "rice makes birds explode." Well it doesn't, that's a myth, and anyway who cares? At my wedding, my guests better throw exploding birds at me, because that would be way cooler than millet and sunflower seeds. Or if I happen to get married in a state where its legal, I think giving each guest a sparkler would be cool. Mostly because its burning and releasing carbon into the atmosphere.
~ There's no need for a speech at a wedding, from anyone, except maybe the happy couple, to say thanks for coming, now get out of here because we only rented the VFW hall for 2 hours. Fathers of the bride or groom are too emotional and the best man usually tells stories the groom ends up hating him for. Just tell everyone to shut up, sit down, and enjoy the food.
~ Definitely keep the garter tradition. Having the groom slide his hand that far up the bride's dress was WAAAY ahead of the times when the tradition was begun. Now that the tradition has caught up to the sexiness portrayed in the movies, people suddenly feel modest and try to skip it. No way! Touch her there! Let us all see it! Thats what we go to the movies for anyway. And while you're at it, let the guy who catches the garter put it on the lady of his choice (since we've outlawed the whole throwing-bouquets-at-single-women tradition).
~Bachelor/Bachelorette parties/bridal showers. A dumb excuse to throw a party before the actual party (reception). Also a dumb excuse to ruin a good relationship with the inclusion of a stripper.
~ Superstitions regarding luck... Just to prove everyone wrong, I'm going to choose the unluckiest month, day, and hour. I'm going to have a black cat as my ring bearer, and instead of breaking the glass, I'm going to break a mirror.
~ Ringing the bells signalling the bride and groom to kiss. Ok, they are not dogs that have been trained to perform tricks. I'm not going to submit myself to PDA at the whim of a guest I haven't seen all year. I'll kiss my new husband whenever I darn well please.

Alright I think the rant is over now. I will now go back to enjoying weddings again, and dreaming up my own as I've done since I was 7.

Been a while

It's been quite some time since I last posted here. I've been busy, and also I have had less of an urge to write, to get things off my chest. Could be why I had a meltdown yesterday, but that's all over and done with. Now, I'm looking for Christmas stories for the Sunday school kids to perform in the Christmas service.

I found one that made me want to write WTF all over the page, and I really can't do that in a children's book. So I'm putting it here, paraphrased.

The Little Fir Tree dreams of becoming something exciting like a mast on a sailing ship or an important telephone pole. LTF didn't enjoy the birds and the breeze and the sunshine. Then one day he gets cut down and taken to a house where candles, colored glass balls, silver icicles, and a tinsel star are placed in the branches, and presents put at his feet. He's thrilled. The children sit around him and open their presents. Then the next morning he is taken out into the yard and thrown onto a brush heap. LTF wishes he was back in the forest enjoying his life. Then the man of the house comes out and sets fire to the tree and LTF disappears forever in a cloud of sweet-smelling smoke. The end.

Thats about as awful as the story of the girl in Struwwelpeter who plays with matches and her cats cry rivers of tears around her as she burns to death. Or how about every single one of the stories by the brothers Grimm? On the upside, I suppose with stories like these, who needs to give their kids rules?

sigh... this feels normal...

The wake is Tuesday afternoon and evening.

Mom: If you aren't comfortable doing that kind of thing maybe you could stay at the house since its a common thing for people to break in when they know everyone is away mourning.
Me: And do what, jujitsu them?
Mom: Yeah, you've done it before- you and I stayed at the house when A_____ died.
Me: You took a three-year-old to a house thats a prime target for a break-in? What kind of mother are you?

Random Neural Firings.

I have nothing to blog about anymore.
I am prone to sabotage.
I have way too many interests.
I sometimes think I'm being shallow.
I sometimes think that's fun.
I found a direction and lost my passion.
I found my passion burning inside me, and it left me with no direction.
I wonder what else is out there.

I'm a freaking geek.

Its 3 am. I have a test in the morning. I can't sleep because Hollywood annoys me. Why?

I decided I needed to unwind a little, since I've been running since Monday. So I watched a little TV. The guy was poisoned, the antidote bottle shattered on the pavement. Analysis revealed the chemical makeup of the antidote, which could be replicated except that it was missing A antigens. The guy had AB blood which means that he has both A and B antigens. Since he was poisoned by a neurotransmitter affecting the nerves and brain, I would think his blood would be safe, but lets just assume they can't use his own blood to get the A antigens to make the antidote to pump back into him. They made a fuss over the girl also having AB blood and "sacrificially" drawing blood from her arm to make the antidote. But AB simply means she can be any blood type and give her blood to him. Since her blood was not going directly into him, but was going to extract the correct antigen she could have been type A and he would have lived. Instead, the characters must be fated to love each other because they have the same blood type and her blood saved his life.

Come on Hollywood, cut the sap and do your research. For once, choose the LESS sappy plot line, just to throw us off.

Ok now I can sleep. If I know chapters 7 and 12 the way I apparently know chapter 8 (the circulatory system), I'll be fine tomorrow.

Neil Patrick Harris

Typically, actors playing themselves on film are listed "as Himself" in the film's credits. Due to the over-the-top, outlandish nature of his role in Harold & Kumar Go to White Castle and Harold & Kumar Escape from Guantanamo Bay, he requested that his credit read "Neil Patrick Harris" instead of "as Himself". This was to make clear that he was playing a fictional character that was in no way a true representation of himself.

I'm glad he's not a total sellout. I respect him a little more now... but I don't think I'll forgive him for having anything to do with those awful movies.

EDIT: The first paragraph is a quote from IMDB. The second is my own writing. In response to the person who commented on this, I "left NPH alone." In fact, I painted him in a positive light. I had thought that he was a washed up actor with nothing better to do than make fun of himself in a God-awful movie but now I find that he does have dignity. It is the movies I am bashing, neither of which were his own conceptions and he had nothing to do with the writing, directing, or production of them (if he had, they might be good movies). In bashing the movies, I am not bashing Neil Patrick Harris.

Doe a deer!

The world needs more spontaneous musical numbers. I find it hard to believe that ALL of these people were in on it in the beginning- if people just started dancing on the street, I'd be VERY tempted to join them if I could figure out the moves easily enough.

junk mail

I frequently check my junk mail file, because hotmail tends to err on the side of caution in distinguishing friend from foe. Here is the latest intriguing possible phishing attempt.

to:
from: gonzalezparanoidym@someemailprovider.com
subject: ssm
text:

she will present the new year program in the meeting next week so be sure to exist there.

A mystery...

There's something weird going on. This is a picture of our long-term mulch pile. Its where we throw tree clippings, weeds we've pulled, and various other things that won't decay fast enough to use as mulch right away.


Here is a close up of the same mulch pile. There is a greenish-yellow goo underneath everything, it extends throughout the entire mulch pile. I know. I poked it with a stick. It is a little scary because it jiggles like its alive and must be the inspiration for a bad alien movie.


The goo was there before NJ was bombarded by the rain monster. But in the recent steady-month-of-rain, I have discovered that it has spread to my outdoor potted plants, which are located no where near the mulch pile.


The shiny parts, where it looks like the soil is wet, is actually that jelly-like goo. The weird thing is that it is a peach-yellow-red color in the mulch pile. In the pots, it is clear.


I used a stick to scrape it off the top of the soil, so some of the clear bits got dirty, but I managed to keep one piece dirt-free. Interesting to note is that it has that sunlight-through-a-glass effect like a magnifying glass.


It gives off no odor, does not appear to have any root system or a base like a mushroom would, has no visible spores, does not appear to have a nucleus like a fertilized egg sac of some sort, and it bounces.


A google search did not reveal anything useful. A few other people have had similar questions but no one has provided answers. "Slime mold" is an actual mold, but none of its variations seem to look anything like this. Of several species of jelly fungi none look like this. The closest wikipedia article I could find was on a bacterial colony eaten in Asia called Nostoc or Fat Choy. It looks like this on the inside, but the outside forms small circles, rather than just a big shapeless blob. (Note: Nostoc is considered toxic by some scientists but apparently the Asians don't care. It seems they will eat anything, but thats a mystery for another day.) The last possible explanation (for some- but its not suitable for me) is that it is star jelly, which is a compound of organic matter of extraterrestrial origin that falls to earth during meteor showers.

If anyone reading this is better at web research than I am, feel free to try and find an answer. For now I have to assume that I somehow have Flubber living in my yard.

(Note: I wish this website had pictures: http://gardenline.usask.ca/yards/slime2.html This describes it pretty well except that its not in the lawn, and has been around for quite a long time without having developed "fruiting bodies" or spores. Apparently, its not confined to NJ either, as this link from the UK shows: http://www.geograph.org.uk/photo/1000481)

Rainy days

I'm a little irritated right now. It probably has something to do with hormone levels, but it also goes back a few days.

April showers happened in June this year. I don't listen to the news because news stations suck, but if I did I bet I would be able to find a station oohing and ahhing about this month being the wettest on record since some date.

The other day I noticed the horizon was bright, but all the rest of the sky was covered by a dark cloud so it felt like 9 pm at 4 pm. There was very little light coming through, and what did come through was the color of pea soup. It was gross looking. I went around cracking the windows open a little and went upstairs for a few minutes to check the forecast for storm warnings. I went back downstairs to find Jack whining to be let out. I opened the door and he bolted for the garage. Within seconds, the sky opened up and there was sudden torrential rain.

The gutters couldn't drain it fast enough...


The driveway couldn't drain it fast enough... (that little flood going down the drive is about 2 inches deep all the way across)


There's my garden, washing away...


A little hail for good measure...


And a puddle over the septic field (nice...).


After getting about 5 inches in 15 minutes, the rain let up. I went out to survey the damage and discovered a groundhog in my garden, eating what the rain didn't kill. I hit him with a stick a few times, so I could see where the hole in the fence was. I should have killed him, but maybe thats just my hormones talking.

That was Monday, Tuesday we will skip right over so it won't get me started on a long tirade. This morning also did not start on the right foot. I now have a running list of beings/entities on my lista di merda.

~The rain for flattening my plants
~The groundhog for eating my plants
~The garden itself for simply not growing
~My school for bouncing my class around to a new teacher every week
~Mom for shouting and throwing shoes out the window while I tried to sleep
~The bear for ignoring Mom
~The bear cubs for walking in the road and slowing down traffic while I'm trying to get to the farm
~Bailey for blowing his nose on my shirt and (more importantly, on my diaphragm which I need to breathe)
~Shiloh for headbutting me in the ribcage and then spooking
~Al Gore for not realizing how damn cold it is in JUNE
~My wrists, knees, and ankles for not realizing that I never actually broke anything so there is no need to tell me when its about to rain
~The weather, for being "about to rain"
~Estrogen for making me think I need a list like this

Thats all for now...

World News

My email provider puts headlines with links to the latest news on my home page. Here is my response to them:

Topic, Oprah: She had someone on her show who said something and some doctors said she was an idiot for endorsing a quack, and it got picked up by Newsweek so now she's upset.

My response: Oprah, get over it. We all know you can say whatever the heck you want on your show and your rating might go down for a week but it will be back up again in no time. Much like your weight.

Topic, TV's Digital Switch: a 3-page article on how to know if you will be affected by the switchover and why its happening.

My response: Its happening because they want your money. Will you be affected? No. TV is already digital, its called a computer. Search Wikipedia for Hulu, then search BitTorrentz. Be careful, one is legal, one is sketchy.

Topic, Myths about Sex: Can you get an STD on the toilet? Can you get pregnant on your first time or during your period? Find out here!

My response: You CAN get pregnant by being an idiot, so... read away. Cause if you clicked the link just because it had "Sex" in the title, you probably need the answers to those questions.

Topic, My Parents are Jealous of my Happy Life: A "Dear Dr. Counselor" type of letter.

My response: You're whiny. Grow up.

Topic, Shia LaBeouf's Dad Sold Weed to the Hawaiian Mafia: I really can't elaborate, the title says it all.

My response: Wow. Just wow. Since that headline was so utterly useless I thought certainly I could find something more important to living life as an intelligent being on a world news website. So I headed over to BBC to see what was there. Apparently, all they are concerned about is an Iranian election that isn't really an election, and what was on Michele Obama's dinner table last week.

I am forced to repeat myself. The media is useless. All of it.

EDIT: My apologies. I apparently am not in a good mood.

two things unrelated

I officially have 500+ hours of massage school under my belt. Thats what I need to be certified in NJ, and yet, my schooling is not yet complete, because we exceed the minimum requirements. I am in the last stretch of the race when I am completely exhausted yet the end is in sight.

Not to change the subject at all, but I was reading a blog asking the question, "Where exactly is Judas Iscariot?" He demonstrated remorse, was it also repentance with a belief that Jesus has the power to forgive him? In that case he would be in Heaven. But if it was only remorse that he'd lost his standing in society, or if he gave in to despair that nothing could be done about his sins, or simply the act of killing himself, one would think that perhaps he's not in Heaven.

Someone made this comment: "I fail to see how sending to Hell the man who brought about what was needed for salvation is considered justice."

Which makes the topic even more complicated, because then we get into the debate about fate vs free will. Anyway. I'm sort of just thinking out loud here. Anyone want to weigh in on the topic?

Gardening

I spent some time today working around the house. I planted a few things, pruned some stuff, dug up some roots. The usual. But it gave me lots of quiet time, to think.

I was thinking about the economy and politics, and how no one is quite sure whether the No Child Left Behind is working or not. I thought also about the debate about taxes- equal taxes or tax based on income?- and all of a sudden, it came to me. The answer to at least two of our problems.

The government should set taxes based on the average IQ and GPA of the high school from which a person graduated. This would eliminate the debate about whether or not to tax based on income. It would also cause schools to strive for better teaching standards, and would cause towns to put more towards the school budget in an effort to attract more people to move into that school district (better school = lower taxes for the kids when they grow up = parents securing their kids' future). The down side is dumb kids won't be allowed into the school because it would bring the averages down.

So instead of the rich get richer while the poor get poorer, we'll have the dumb getting dumber and the smart getting smarter. Which is actually a better deal because you can get infinitely richer or poorer, but we are already pretty much at the limits of dumbness in this society and the human brain is only capable of so much intelligence.

If you couldn't tell, this was more about the presence of dumb people than a brilliant political solution to anything.

In other news, I was wondering if a couple could, as a prenuptial agreement, sign their wedding vows as a binding document in a court of law. Meaning, they couldn't get a divorce if they wanted to. I'll have to ask a lawyer about that.

Last thing, my great aunt sent my dad some 91-year old letters from my great grandfather on my dad's side to my great-grandmother. He had good handwriting for a guy, and he always started his letters with "My dear girl" which I thought was cute. However, apparently he was a womanizer, though I am not sure to what incident my (m)patriarchal relatives are referring when they say that. Still, it was fascinating when a piece of my history arrived in a large manila envelope in the mail today.

So there's an update, the first in a while. Hope its enough to last you for a while.

Quote

"You should read Lamb by Christopher Moore, where Jesus's best friend learns Kung Fu. Since Jesus was opposed to hitting, they invented a martial art for him where he used the other person's force against him. They named it Jew Do, or 'the way of the Jew.'"

I love it...

The only problem
with Haiku is that you just
get started and then
~Roger McGough

Joke

Hans Grapje was raised in a Catholic school in The Hague and, as a young man, aspired to become a priest, but was drafted into the Army during WWII and spent two years co-piloting B17s until his aircraft was shot down in 1943 and he lost his left arm. Captain Grapje spent the rest of the war as a chaplain, giving spiritual aid to soldiers, both Allied and enemy.

After the war, he became a priest, serving as a missionary in Africa, piloting his own plane (in spite of his handicap) to villages across the continent. In 1997, Father Grapje was serving in Zimbabwe when an explosion in a silver mine caused a cave-in. Archbishop Grapje went down into the mine to administer last rights to those too severely injured to move. Another shaft collapsed, and he was buried for three days, suffering multiple injuries, including the loss of his right eye. The high silver content in the mine's air gave him purpura, a life-long condition characterized by purplish skin blotches.

Although Cardinal Grapje devoted his life to the service of God as a scholar, mentor, and holy man, church leaders agree: he will never ascend to the Papacy. No one wants a one-eyed, one-armed, flying purple Papal leader.

Illness

So, a while back, F spent two weeks in the hospital. The week he was released ($400,000 debt later), N went into the hospital for an organ removal. The week HE was released, J went in for an angiogram and is scheduled for triple bypass surgery tomorrow. He should be released Friday or Saturday. NOBODY is allowed to get sick next week.

Growl...

Its done and gone, its been over a month, and I don't even remember the person's name. But his pretentious comments are still bothering me. After realizing that he wasn't going to listen to my voice of reason, I shut my mouth, but I still sometimes daydream about correcting his ignorance with verbal abuse. He made my view of his professional field drop about 12 notches.

Studying for my test

I have a test on chapters 8 & 9 (Cardiovascular and Lymphatic systems). I'm reading over the section talking about the heart.

"The two atria are separated by the interatrial septum. In the fetus, the two atria communicate with each other through an oval opening, the foramen ovale, shunting the blood from the right to left because the lungs do not function and the placenta takes the place of lungs. This opening closes at birth when the baby takes its first breath and remains as an oval depression (fossa ovalis)." (Emphasis mine.)

Ok, so it makes perfect sense to do it that way. If the lungs aren't working yet, it is useless to send blood there to be oxygenated. But it makes sense to me, a thinking, intelligent being. Considering that this whole entire course has been focused on the chemical reactions that cause cells and parts of cells (that are non-intelligent) to do things that cause muscle contraction, blood clotting, hormone release, and phagocytosis (immune system cells "eating" foreign bodies), I don't think the developing human body does anything "because the lungs do not function." Using those terms implies that the developing heart has some sort of plan or thought process or intelligence behind its actions, rather than a response to a chemical that the pituitary or hypothalamus has released. I'm willing to accept that there's an intelligence behind the wonders of the human body. But I highly doubt the authors of my textbook are willing to accept it.

Oh well.

Education

At church yesterday, they asked all veterans or current servicemen to stand so that we could recognize their service to the country.  That's great, I'm thankful they served (every day, not just holidays).  But that's not what this particular holiday is about.  The living veterans can have Veteran's Day and Armed Forces Day (although, it can be argued they don't even get Veteran's Day since that day was originally called Remembrance Day to remember those who died in wartime).  But Memorial Day, once called Decoration Day is: "designated for the purpose of strewing with flowers, or otherwise decorating the graves of comrades who died in defense of their country".  I wish more people would understand the meaning behind the days they celebrate.  (Cinco de Mayo is another perfect example).

Leesport PA

So, Friday morning I stayed up till 5 am trying to fix my computer. While waiting for things to load on it, I was simultaneously packing for the weekend, making lists of things my car needs done to it, and putting away my winter clothes/having a sneezing fit.

3.5 hours later, I was up and at the student clinic, massaging ungrateful wretches, I mean poor poor people with lots of shoulder injuries. As soon as clinic was over I turned on my trusty Tomtom (which by the end of the trip I desired to throw out the window on the Turnpike) and began to program it to tell me how to get to the jujitsu clinic in Pennsylvania. As it turns out, the address I got from the clinic website does not exist, according to Tomtom, but a quick call to mom to look up the address I used last year set things straight. Its a good thing I don't throw crap out and am somewhat organized about where I keep googlemaps directions.

I arrived safe and sound, and opted out of the "pay-$20-a-night-for-a-cabin-with-no-electricity-and-no-heat-and-no-locking-door-and-no carpeting-and-bugs" deal, and chose to sleep on the mats in the dojo. That was a better experience than last year, where I felt that the "martial" spirit had never left the mat and therefore kept me awake all night. This year air was peaceful. Perhaps it was not the mat that changed, but me.

Sheela working with a green belt.


Cara and I-forgot-his-name-already! working on some judo stuff after classes.


Peter... every time we turned around he was on the mat with someone. Or so it seemed.


After classes, we were stuck in the dojo avoiding torrential rain. We grabbed a deck of cards and began Rorshack tests on ourselves (Cara's idea- psychology major that she is.) Apparently, I keep all my assets hidden. Some are organized, some are scattered, and a good deal of them are all in one big pile of crap (sound like my bedroom to anyone else?)


Peter has a scorpion. But at the risk of revealing everyone's innermost psyche, I'm not going to share their card-psycho-analysis. Read into it whatever you want to. We did.


Cara's horseshoe.


Wu's whatever-shape-that-is.


Done with the psychology class, we began a game called heart attack which ended up being almost as violent as jujitsu. Maybe it was because we were on a mat, and it was easy to hit people without thinking about it.


The dojo picture. Wu, me, Barb, Peter, Sheela. And Professor Okazaki above the mantel piece.


Last year, the clinic was in the same location. Ben and Amish got it in their heads that we were all going to go visit a Chinese Pagoda that happened to be somewhere in Pennsylvania. I was following them in my own car and as it turned out, they left me in the middle of Reading at a stoplight. I managed to get lost enough to make it to the "other" side of the tracks, where no one spoke English and I had to keep my doors locked, drive slowly, and avoid one-way streets. As you can tell, I made it out alive, and decided that THIS year, Tomtom was going to bring me to that darned Pagoda if it killed me.


As you can see, it did.


So anyway... I had a good time at the clinic, took quite a few bodywork and therapy classes, and got a whole brainful of stimulating information to mull over during the drive back. Speaking of which... I mentioned an incident with my Tomtom. It cost me $.75 to get to Camp Joy via Interstate 78. Instead of sending me back the way I came, which would have been intelligent, Tomtom sent me from 78 past Philadelphia, to the NJ Turnpike, which cost me $8.55 and 25 minutes of stop-and-go traffic. I should have trusted my instincts and taken 78 to 287.

But at least I didn't get lost in Reading this year (twice last year!). Thats the important part. That, and learning jujitsu.

I know too much...

So, a friend of mine posted this picture on her blog:


My reaction was this: "Wow, look at how perfectly the bicep fits under the deltiod. Oh wow, look at that brachioradialis. I didn't know you could develop that muscle enough to be able to see it from a distance. Ok so then the brachialis is THERE and the coracobrachialis is THERE..."

Somehow, I don't think that was the reaction K was fishing for when she put that picture on her blog.

I feel like I am taking this Anatomy and Physiology thing way too far.

Old Movies Vs. New Movies

On hulu.com, there is an hour-long video called "The Best of Abbott and Costello Live." Around the 50-54 minute mark, Abbott pushes Costello backwards. He staggers into the side of a waitress who is cleaning a nearby table. She proceeds to do a stime over the table and flying dishes, and sits up, straightening her blouse. Costello comes behind her to see if she is ok, and she reaches up and throws him with a seated version of Kesa Nage. It is things like this that make old movies so wonderful. Old movies use no bad language, no raunchy jokes, and no flashy fancy martial arts moves. They stick to the unadorned jujitsu throws, and make us laugh with a bucket of nails and a mouthful of milk.

Now for my observation of new movies. They're good. They're entertaining. But what's with the actors who accidentally slip into past roles? Take Orlando Bloom. He played Legolas, a sharpshooting archer elf. Then he was cast in Troy. Ok, good he's got a nice role he can sink his teeth into and he actually kind of looked masculine in it. But all of a sudden his character has a bow and arrow. And then all of a sudden, he was wearing the Legolas face. Ok we mess up, it happens to all of us, but why didn't the director catch it and refilm? Here I am, and the movie has brought me to ancient Greece, and my brain suddenly is expecting him to shout some Elvish curse at an orc.

It happened again last night. Zachary Quinto plays Sylar, the evil bad guy stealing the superpowers of our favorite genetic mutants (Heroes, not X-Men). We watch with baited breath as he seduces our favorite character only to pick their brains (quite literally) to gain more understanding and power. So then last night I went to see Star Trek (first time in a theater since maybe August with Dark Knight) and there's Zachary Quinto playing Spock. Excellent job. But then, Uhura follows Spock into the elevator, and looked him in the eyes asking, "What do you want from me, Spock?" Something about the way he looked at her, made my brain scream, "He's going to cut open your skull and absorb your powers! RUN!!" Then the moment was gone and he was Spock again.

What do you think? Do you think this is something actors do accidentally? Or do you think this is something my brain creates because I have seen them in other movies before?

Massage Clinic

If you didn't already know, I'm working for credit in a student massage clinic at my school. In order to "further the profession," and for insurance purposes, we have to be able to speak medical, just like anyone else who is required to wear scrubs for their profession. This means that the medical abbreviations used on insurance forms and by doctors and nurses are the same abbreviations we use in clinic. Usually. Today, there was a clerical error discovered.

In case you are not aware of basic anatomy, the Erector Spinae group is a set of three muscles (Iliocostalis, Longisimis, Spinalis) that runs up the side of the spine. It keeps your spine erect. If a therapist finds any muscle to be tense on a client, we are supposed to note it in their chart. Today, Janna was handed the chart of Client C, and looked back on the previous massage session to see if there were any problems.

The last therapist to work on C happened to make a mistake. Instead of marking that there was "(Mild/Moderate/Severe) tension in the erectors," this therapist wrote, "Tight erection." The clinic supervisor, Sandy, was called in to have a look. It took her half a second to process it, and the look on her face as she came to the realization of what it said was priceless. She then had a knee-jerk reaction somewhere between getting a tooth pulled and grabbing a high-voltage wire. Then she sighed and said, "One of these days I'm going to lose my job..." And walked out.

California

Ok so, every year there is a Jujitsu convention in the West Coast. This year it was in Santa Ana. I had been hoping and planning to go this year, and made sure to write the dates in my calendar before making my school schedule. Then the bookstore went out of business so I wasn't sure if I should go or not, but anyway bottom line is several people convinced me to go, and I really needed to get away from school for a short time. My school doesn't believe in spring break.

Anyway, my teacher has been teaching us the difference between good and bad business names (so that we can work on our business projects). I saw this one and decided I really needed to preserve it for memory. Here Jim, this one's for you:


On the lines of a good and memorable name (and also good and memorable food), I found this:


Unfortunately, our hotel was surrounded by nothing but Asian food, and one Pollo Loco (Crazy Chicken in Spanish). Don't get me wrong, I love Asian food, but after eating it breakfast lunch and dinner for 5 days straight... I need something new and exciting.

Here, Steve successfully lands a fighter jet on the playground.


The beach. We bus hopped for most of the day to see where our wanderings would take us. The buses are much better on the East Coast, but fortunately, God saw fit to bring the correct bus when we needed it and never spent too much time waiting.


This picture is for my brother, whose plan for Iraq involves bringing the soldiers home and employing them to shoot pedestrians who disregard common sidewalk ettiquette.


In the evening, we made our way to the neighborhood of Knott's Berry Farm, where we had dinner on board a pirate ship. For anyone familiar with the concept of Medieval Times, its that, but cooler. We were rooting for the red pirate, Cutthroat Jack, whose colors Steve is proudly wearing on his armband.


The cool thing about pirates is you never know who the good guys are and who the bad guys are. There were so many twists and turns in the plot that I can't tell you what's going on here, except that I think Sebastian the Black is fighting someone, perhaps the yellow pirate Antonio or the traitorous First Mate Andre the Orange or the privateer trying to rescue Princess Anita and the Gypsy. I am not sure because there were so many people fighting each other.

**Edit: Steve says its a picture of Antonio fighting Benjamin. But it could be Andre fighting Benjamin. Not sure. Everyone fights everyone else by the end of the show.**

Here, the blue pirate Benjamin, Treasure (Sebastian's wife), Mr. Magee, Jack, and all the pirate squabbles are stopped in their tracks by the British army, who happens to be all children from the audience (yes, they gave GUNS to children- clearly we are no longer in New Jersey).


Steve and I are joined by the red pirate, Cutthroat Jack.


After the show, I got a few pictures, mostly of the ship with a few abs thrown in for good measure. I think thats the purple pirate Saxon, and either Jose or Antonio (green or yellow). Interesting to note is that everyone picked on the purple pirate. That would be ok except that the actor playing him happened to be black. More evidence that we're no longer in NJ. The place would be shut down for racism if it opened in NJ with him playing the picked-on character.


The show was amazing, and musical, so not only do these pirates have to perform gymnastic feats, stage fighting, and acting, they also have to carry a tune, dance a little, interact with the audience, and flex their muscles.

Speaking of muscles, I found a review of this place online. While many people bashed the food (I thought it was great, so perhaps they have improved it recently), I liked what this person had to say: "The best part, of the night, of course, is when the three 'good' pirates decide to throw down for the women they love, and STRIP SHIRTLESS to fight the 'bad' pirates. Yes, there you have it, ladies and gentlemen: Fifteen minutes of shirts-on-skins pirate naughty swordplay. I found it hilarious. I think quite a few of the people around me were drooling. It was, in a word, hilariouslyawesometasticallyuncomfortablelicious."

So after our one day of sightseeing, the convention commenced. In the next couple of pictures, you will see the competition. Competitors demonstrate their techniques by being attacked, with a judge watching. Judges award points based on creativity, effectiveness, safety, etc. Here, Steve B. has dropped his crutches (he has little ability to use his legs) and is demonstrating his defense techniques from the ground.


Steve breaking an arm while his second attacker reaches for the gun. Oh I forgot to tell you. In the blackbelt divisions, there are weapons involved and in the third round, its two attackers per competitor.


Cara on the far right defending against two attackers, shortly before my camera died. I had the flash turned off, and there's no sport setting on my camera, so many shots came out blurry.


The blackbelt competitors posing with their judges.


Steve showing off because he is allowed to have a flower now.


An awesome dessert.


Barb killing someone.


The centerpiece. A fish etched into the glass, and a real fish suffocating inside (no oxygen bubble maker).


Random person in a class throwing someone. It was a cool shot.


Jake discovers Green Tea Mochi.