I thought it was bad at work when I discovered that someone had done a global search and replace in our software, finding "material" and replacing it with "appearance". So now part of the software instructs users to work with "a appearance." Unfortunately, this happened in our online help, too, which I've been cleaning up over the last few weeks.
Even better, I just read over on Joe My God about a conservative news outlet that reprints mainstream articles, replacing the word "gay" with "homosexual". Of course, they've drawn some attention to themselves. There was a recent track event, which a young man with a notable last name won. The conservative site included many references to "Tyson Homosexual."
How many friends would love to sport a last name like "Homosexual?" Maybe we could be "homos" for a day, perhaps Pride Day, which darn it, has just passed. Kind of reminds me of the time that dear Mark and I were getting ready to go out and he asked "Do I look like a homosexual?" Today, I could say, "You certainly do bear a striking family resemblance."
Monday, June 30, 2008
Friday, June 27, 2008
dance like nobody's watching
This video made me smile. It's completely SFW, btw -- so safe you could show it to your elderly aunt and make her smile too.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Elizabeth Faxon Augustine 1911 -- 2008
The phone rang at 10:30 last night, rarely a good sign. It was my father calling to say that his mother, my grandmother, died yesterday evening. She was living in a home for twelve elderly people, had gone to dinner last night, collapsed, was taken to her room, and died 15 minutes later.
Just earlier yesterday, he'd written an email that said in part "By now her brain is extremely leaky. She has things to say, but by the time she gets to the end of a sentence, she has forgotten what she started to talk about. She is very aware of this, and frustrated. Unable to keep her thoughts in order, she is running almost entirely on instinct, which works well for her, since her instincts are regal, mannerly and frank."
Granna was such a mixed experience. She was very smart, very funny, very talented, and very exasperating. She'd lived with one kidney since she was young -- I only found out about that when my cousin was studying to be a nephrologist. She smoked until about six months ago and drank martinis like they might be taken away from her (they were, but again, not until a few months ago). In later years, she developed a taste for her Leee-mahn (Limoncello, introduced by my father) and enjoyed an evening nip. Or two.
Granna dropped out of Oberlin to marry my grandfather who died a little less than 20 years ago. She suffered my grandfather's loss in silence, rarely letting on how much she missed him. And she admired other widows who didn't complain. She also survived the death of her middle son a few years ago, an event that I know pained her deeply but about which she did not speak.
In her younger days, she collected antiques before they became popular, kept a gorgeous house, canned loads of fruit and vegetables, many of which came out of my grandfather's garden. She was an excellent cook and baker and turned out biscuits, pies, cakes, and incredible meals, night after night. She told funny stories and loved her family, all of it, even when they aggravated her. She loved to play golf and bridge. She invested in the stock market even though my grandfather thought it a foolish pursuit. After he died, she got serious about it and did impressively well. She wasn't wealthy, but she did support herself with her gains nearly up to the end.
She not only survived two sequentially broken hips (one on her own, one when she was being neglected in rehab) but learned to walk again -- I got to witness her first few cane-free steps. She refused to move into assisted living because all the people there were old, so she lived at home until a year ago. In fact, she was totally against microwaves and thought them useless. However, when she was told that if she couldn't use a microwave, she wouldn't be able to stay in her home, she learned and in a hurry.
I know she loved me and was proud of me, but she had a mean streak a mile wide. Once, when my sister and I were introduced to one of Granna's friends in the grocery store, my sister (who was tiny at the time) said from her perch in the cart "She's MEAN." Granna thought this was so funny that she proudly told everyone she was "the mean grandmother." In fact, my father's note from yesterday started off with "Your mean grandma..."
She especially had it in for girls -- her granddaughters and her daughter-in-laws --and was so very cruel to all of us. I have so many wonderful memories and so many traumatic ones. She had a wide capacity for hateful behavior mixed with sweet love.
No matter how much I weighed, whether I was in good shape or not, she always told me I was fat. She could be passing the biscuits or inviting me to take a second piece of pie, but the message was always there. She also told me that I had obscenely huge ears. She hoped that when I grew older, I'd have them surgically pinned back. More recently, on the eve of a girl cousin's wedding, she went up to my aunt at the rehearsal dinner and said "Your girls (the bride and her maid of honor)... look... like... sssslllluuuttts." She was mean to our faces and bragged about us all behind our backs.
On the other hand, this is the woman who taught me to love cats -- "A house is not a home without a cat." I remember rubbing noses with her from the time I was a little girl into my adulthood. Because I was named for her and because I was the first granddaughter, I always felt a special connection with her. I remember going along on golf expeditions and sitting quietly in the cart, going to the farm stand to fill in what my grandfather hadn't grown, going to the hair salon. We had a lot of adventures together.
About ten years ago, she came to Boston for a visit. Her plane was horribly delayed but when she arrived nearly in the middle of the night, she was being pushed in a wheelchair, looking like a queen on a moveable throne. On her lap was a basket filled with ripe peaches that she had carried with her from North Carolina. She could walk, just not long distances, and we had a fun visit together. We went to a special folk art exhibit at the Museum of Fine Arts, which we both loved. And we stayed up very late putting together a jigsaw puzzle. She took occasional cigarette breaks on the back porch. After a short weekend, back she went. I marvelled at her stamina.
She lived in a condo to which she could bring animals when she moved in, but she was not allowed to acquire new animals. A few years ago the rules changed, and she was accompanied to the humane society to select a cat. She found a fine specimen, Blackie. She told me on the phone that when they brought him home and released him from his cage, he put his tail up, and "walked around like the Keeeng of Peruuu."
Her passing has left me churned up as I think through the memories, both bitter and sweet. She loved us all. She simultaneously drove us away while gathering us close around her.
Just earlier yesterday, he'd written an email that said in part "By now her brain is extremely leaky. She has things to say, but by the time she gets to the end of a sentence, she has forgotten what she started to talk about. She is very aware of this, and frustrated. Unable to keep her thoughts in order, she is running almost entirely on instinct, which works well for her, since her instincts are regal, mannerly and frank."
Granna was such a mixed experience. She was very smart, very funny, very talented, and very exasperating. She'd lived with one kidney since she was young -- I only found out about that when my cousin was studying to be a nephrologist. She smoked until about six months ago and drank martinis like they might be taken away from her (they were, but again, not until a few months ago). In later years, she developed a taste for her Leee-mahn (Limoncello, introduced by my father) and enjoyed an evening nip. Or two.
Granna dropped out of Oberlin to marry my grandfather who died a little less than 20 years ago. She suffered my grandfather's loss in silence, rarely letting on how much she missed him. And she admired other widows who didn't complain. She also survived the death of her middle son a few years ago, an event that I know pained her deeply but about which she did not speak.
In her younger days, she collected antiques before they became popular, kept a gorgeous house, canned loads of fruit and vegetables, many of which came out of my grandfather's garden. She was an excellent cook and baker and turned out biscuits, pies, cakes, and incredible meals, night after night. She told funny stories and loved her family, all of it, even when they aggravated her. She loved to play golf and bridge. She invested in the stock market even though my grandfather thought it a foolish pursuit. After he died, she got serious about it and did impressively well. She wasn't wealthy, but she did support herself with her gains nearly up to the end.
She not only survived two sequentially broken hips (one on her own, one when she was being neglected in rehab) but learned to walk again -- I got to witness her first few cane-free steps. She refused to move into assisted living because all the people there were old, so she lived at home until a year ago. In fact, she was totally against microwaves and thought them useless. However, when she was told that if she couldn't use a microwave, she wouldn't be able to stay in her home, she learned and in a hurry.
I know she loved me and was proud of me, but she had a mean streak a mile wide. Once, when my sister and I were introduced to one of Granna's friends in the grocery store, my sister (who was tiny at the time) said from her perch in the cart "She's MEAN." Granna thought this was so funny that she proudly told everyone she was "the mean grandmother." In fact, my father's note from yesterday started off with "Your mean grandma..."
She especially had it in for girls -- her granddaughters and her daughter-in-laws --and was so very cruel to all of us. I have so many wonderful memories and so many traumatic ones. She had a wide capacity for hateful behavior mixed with sweet love.
No matter how much I weighed, whether I was in good shape or not, she always told me I was fat. She could be passing the biscuits or inviting me to take a second piece of pie, but the message was always there. She also told me that I had obscenely huge ears. She hoped that when I grew older, I'd have them surgically pinned back. More recently, on the eve of a girl cousin's wedding, she went up to my aunt at the rehearsal dinner and said "Your girls (the bride and her maid of honor)... look... like... sssslllluuuttts." She was mean to our faces and bragged about us all behind our backs.
On the other hand, this is the woman who taught me to love cats -- "A house is not a home without a cat." I remember rubbing noses with her from the time I was a little girl into my adulthood. Because I was named for her and because I was the first granddaughter, I always felt a special connection with her. I remember going along on golf expeditions and sitting quietly in the cart, going to the farm stand to fill in what my grandfather hadn't grown, going to the hair salon. We had a lot of adventures together.
About ten years ago, she came to Boston for a visit. Her plane was horribly delayed but when she arrived nearly in the middle of the night, she was being pushed in a wheelchair, looking like a queen on a moveable throne. On her lap was a basket filled with ripe peaches that she had carried with her from North Carolina. She could walk, just not long distances, and we had a fun visit together. We went to a special folk art exhibit at the Museum of Fine Arts, which we both loved. And we stayed up very late putting together a jigsaw puzzle. She took occasional cigarette breaks on the back porch. After a short weekend, back she went. I marvelled at her stamina.
She lived in a condo to which she could bring animals when she moved in, but she was not allowed to acquire new animals. A few years ago the rules changed, and she was accompanied to the humane society to select a cat. She found a fine specimen, Blackie. She told me on the phone that when they brought him home and released him from his cage, he put his tail up, and "walked around like the Keeeng of Peruuu."
Her passing has left me churned up as I think through the memories, both bitter and sweet. She loved us all. She simultaneously drove us away while gathering us close around her.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Koa kitty
I realized recently that with each cat, we can fight two to three battles at a time. With Theo, it's about not getting on the counters or tables, not climbing the screens, and not punching the screens when a bug is on the other side. We're seeing huge improvements as he continues to mature and lengthens his attention span.
Koa continues to make good progress, too, though it's always slow and in tiny increments.
My projects with Koa are teaching her to be picked up and passing her in the hall or on the staircase without her freaking out and running away.
In bed, one of her safest zones, I try to pick her up at least once a day and move her just a few inches. Sometimes I put her on my lap and pet her until she wriggles -- usually after a few seconds -- then I pick her up again and put her back on the bed. She flattens herself out as if to allow gravity to take over, to let it pull her down so that she cannot be lifted up again. I try to keep her purring throughout and am usually successful.
Very occasionally, when I am brushing her on my desk, I've picked her up, or at least put my hand under her chest, while keeping her purring and convincing her not to run away.
Walking by her is getting better too. We work on moving slowly, stopping and starting, catching her eye so she knows we've seen her. She sometimes begins to run away, but now frequently stays put, allowing us to pass without squeaking or running for cover.
One of the pleasures of working with Koa is that the more fear she lets go of, the happier she gets. She is turning into an affectionate and joyous little animal. More and more frequently when I come home, she is there to meet me along with Theo.
Partly because all four of us eat at the same time, I often have the company of both cats while I prepare dinner. Often a few treats are distributed. Theo, who used to be too aggressive around treats, now has to sit for treats and dinner. Koa has watched the ritual for a while and often sits too, perhaps out of solidarity. I haven't taught her to sit. Last night, I was pleased when I asked her to sit for a treat and she did. Smart kitty.
Time for bed and a little petting and picking up session with Koa. The work continues. The results are incredibly worth while for both of us.
Koa continues to make good progress, too, though it's always slow and in tiny increments.
My projects with Koa are teaching her to be picked up and passing her in the hall or on the staircase without her freaking out and running away.
In bed, one of her safest zones, I try to pick her up at least once a day and move her just a few inches. Sometimes I put her on my lap and pet her until she wriggles -- usually after a few seconds -- then I pick her up again and put her back on the bed. She flattens herself out as if to allow gravity to take over, to let it pull her down so that she cannot be lifted up again. I try to keep her purring throughout and am usually successful.
Very occasionally, when I am brushing her on my desk, I've picked her up, or at least put my hand under her chest, while keeping her purring and convincing her not to run away.
Walking by her is getting better too. We work on moving slowly, stopping and starting, catching her eye so she knows we've seen her. She sometimes begins to run away, but now frequently stays put, allowing us to pass without squeaking or running for cover.
One of the pleasures of working with Koa is that the more fear she lets go of, the happier she gets. She is turning into an affectionate and joyous little animal. More and more frequently when I come home, she is there to meet me along with Theo.
Partly because all four of us eat at the same time, I often have the company of both cats while I prepare dinner. Often a few treats are distributed. Theo, who used to be too aggressive around treats, now has to sit for treats and dinner. Koa has watched the ritual for a while and often sits too, perhaps out of solidarity. I haven't taught her to sit. Last night, I was pleased when I asked her to sit for a treat and she did. Smart kitty.
Time for bed and a little petting and picking up session with Koa. The work continues. The results are incredibly worth while for both of us.
Monday, June 16, 2008
Where's Waldo?
This afternoon, I received an email from my brother in Barcelona. He was wondering if I knew where my mother was. Oh dear, I replied, I thought it was *your* turn to watch her. Turns out, friends in Costa Rica are trying to arrange a trip to DC, where my mother actually is, so my bro thought that perhaps his sister in Boston, a mere 500 miles away, might be doing a better job of tracking than he was, several thousand miles away. My mother was out of her apartment but on the grounds for about one and a half hours. During that time, two people were trying to reach her for completely different reasons. She came home to several messages, including one from me, and had a bit of 'splainin' to do.
I think this incident was perfect practice for a few years from now when my nephew starts wandering off.
Next time, I'm sure my mother will alert all of us when she needs to leave the apartment.
I think this incident was perfect practice for a few years from now when my nephew starts wandering off.
Next time, I'm sure my mother will alert all of us when she needs to leave the apartment.
Saturday, June 14, 2008
yikes! it's a meme!
I've been tagged for a meme. The rules are as follows:
1. write the title to your own memoir using six words.
Hmm... How about...
Learning to Love, Learning to Live
too dorky? hmm. this is why people have editors and publicists.
Cats, Men, and Others I've Loved
I Can Write, Really
I dunno...
2. post it on your blog.
Done. In a manner of speaking.
3. link to the person that tagged you.
The ever handsome, kind, and witty Kenneth.
Can I be a bitch, though? Shouldn't that be "who tagged you?"
4. tag five more blogs.
How 'bout if I make some suggestions and if you feel so moved, go for it -- jck, kah, cdp, kjm, fjw (and of course, anyone else I've inadvertantly omitted here)
1. write the title to your own memoir using six words.
Hmm... How about...
Learning to Love, Learning to Live
too dorky? hmm. this is why people have editors and publicists.
Cats, Men, and Others I've Loved
I Can Write, Really
I dunno...
2. post it on your blog.
Done. In a manner of speaking.
3. link to the person that tagged you.
The ever handsome, kind, and witty Kenneth.
Can I be a bitch, though? Shouldn't that be "who tagged you?"
4. tag five more blogs.
How 'bout if I make some suggestions and if you feel so moved, go for it -- jck, kah, cdp, kjm, fjw (and of course, anyone else I've inadvertantly omitted here)
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
on heat waves
To take things totally out of context, Margaret Cho's mother, who ran a "Variety store" in the Castro, was once looking at a book of porn and seemed shocked by what she was seeing. Margaret said, "But mother, you knew it was porn and you knew what kind." Her mother said "Yes, but it was so sudden. I was expecting a table of contents or something."
I think one of the reasons this heat wave hit us so hard was there was no leadup to it. We were all doing our New England things -- having fires in the morning, sleeping under down comforters at night -- and boom, upper 90s. We all just about melted. Allegedly, we have one more hot day and then it gets pleasant again. Hooray.
There are a few distinct pleasures associated with the heat.
Last night, we went to Erickson's Ice Cream after dinner, where about half the town turns out on a hot night. We park in giant semi circles as if worshipping the great frozen altar. This place won Best in Boston a few years ago, and deservedly so. It's not as famous as some of our other local stands; perhaps that's because there's no minigolf or petting zoo, just ice cream, a few hot dogs, and free dog treats. They no longer have cows but they do still make their own ice cream in a little shed next to the place where you buy it. And the owners live on the other side of the shed. Despite the yumminess of the homemade stuff, we usually try to restrain ourselves. Last night, we got some nicely cooling sherbet freezes, which did put a pleasant chill on our insides.
Another thing I like doing on a hot night is to take a shower before bed. I'm usually a shower-when-I-get-up kind of a gal but on hot nights, a late shower washes the day's stickiness off and gets me a little cooled down. Sometimes I even catch a slight breeze through our skylight.
And then, most nights, it cools down enough for me to consider putting a blanket on toward morning. The night before last, that never happened. Last night, it got cool enough for me to consider the thought, but I just hunkered under my sheet and felt almost cold. Tonight may be the night.
I think one of the reasons this heat wave hit us so hard was there was no leadup to it. We were all doing our New England things -- having fires in the morning, sleeping under down comforters at night -- and boom, upper 90s. We all just about melted. Allegedly, we have one more hot day and then it gets pleasant again. Hooray.
There are a few distinct pleasures associated with the heat.
Last night, we went to Erickson's Ice Cream after dinner, where about half the town turns out on a hot night. We park in giant semi circles as if worshipping the great frozen altar. This place won Best in Boston a few years ago, and deservedly so. It's not as famous as some of our other local stands; perhaps that's because there's no minigolf or petting zoo, just ice cream, a few hot dogs, and free dog treats. They no longer have cows but they do still make their own ice cream in a little shed next to the place where you buy it. And the owners live on the other side of the shed. Despite the yumminess of the homemade stuff, we usually try to restrain ourselves. Last night, we got some nicely cooling sherbet freezes, which did put a pleasant chill on our insides.
Another thing I like doing on a hot night is to take a shower before bed. I'm usually a shower-when-I-get-up kind of a gal but on hot nights, a late shower washes the day's stickiness off and gets me a little cooled down. Sometimes I even catch a slight breeze through our skylight.
And then, most nights, it cools down enough for me to consider putting a blanket on toward morning. The night before last, that never happened. Last night, it got cool enough for me to consider the thought, but I just hunkered under my sheet and felt almost cold. Tonight may be the night.
Monday, June 09, 2008
i'd like to give my finger the finger
I mentioned Mr. Thumbkin the other day, the thumb on my non-dominant hand. I've also been having mildly irritating problems with the middle finger on my other hand, the hand I use a lot. Today, I was checking in with Robert on the phone while pouring some coins into my wallet. Something clicked and didn't unclick. I couldn't move my finger from its clenched position. I massaged it a bit at the base joint, and got my other fingers moving. But this one was stuck.
I actually drove my stick shift home -- all 4.5 miles -- with finger curled up and thumb wrapped around it to keep it steady. When I got here, I thought -- ok, now what? Do I go to the e-room? Wait for Robert to get home to take me? Call Robert's sister (the MD)? Who do I know who does PT? Will the accupuncturist schedule an emergency session? I sat down and tried to relax. Eventually, with no ceremonial popping noises, the finger started moving again, without a lot of pain. I iced it for a while. It's sore, but not terribly so. I'll try to flex it gently and ice it a bit this evening and hope for the best.
Ugh. I think the effects of arthritis have been drummed home at this point. I get it already!
I actually drove my stick shift home -- all 4.5 miles -- with finger curled up and thumb wrapped around it to keep it steady. When I got here, I thought -- ok, now what? Do I go to the e-room? Wait for Robert to get home to take me? Call Robert's sister (the MD)? Who do I know who does PT? Will the accupuncturist schedule an emergency session? I sat down and tried to relax. Eventually, with no ceremonial popping noises, the finger started moving again, without a lot of pain. I iced it for a while. It's sore, but not terribly so. I'll try to flex it gently and ice it a bit this evening and hope for the best.
Ugh. I think the effects of arthritis have been drummed home at this point. I get it already!
Sunday, June 08, 2008
nice weekend
It was a very pleasant weekend, starting with lunch on Friday with an old friend, someone I met way back when I volunteered at AIDS Action. I managed to maintain touch with him before email, when he moved to Belgium, to Saudi Arabia, and to someplace else I can't now remember. Now he's living back home and we have email and occasional lunches to stay in touch.
Our cabinet guy finished everything on the list except for a special cabinet he's making for us. It'll be about six inches wide and will sit between the stove and dishwasher. We'll probably use it to store cutting boards.
Yesterday, we attended a very sweet outdoor barbecue hosted by a former coworker and her husband. They live way south, south of Ikea, even, which, except for the cape, seems like beyond the beyond. Her parents had driven out from Ohio with their new tiny kitten who was too young to leave behind. Parents were lovely in keeping with their reputation, and the kitten at five weeks was beyond adorable, tail still pointy, colors still coming in. At a certain point, though, he completely crashed and slept deeply.
We stopped off at Ikea on the way home to buy a few more things, including a bookcase, and to replace a light fixture that had gone south. I told the returns lady that it was the electric equivalent of a roach motel -- the electricity was going into the transformer, but it wasn't coming out.
And today, despite our mini heat wave, we got a ton done. The kitchen is 99.9% put back together. The bookcase is assembled and the ratty pieces of furniture it replaces are in the garage. The new light fixture is mounted. I even bought a new (interim) minimally offensive paper towel holder until we find a better one.
Because of the heat and lack of a/c, the cats laid under the bed most of the day. I've been brushing them, creating what Robert calls ghost kitties -- piles of cat hair. They seem to like the process.
First farm pickup on Tuesday; heat is supposed to break some time late Tuesday or Wednesday.
For readers who are out of town, the heat is going up to mid-to-high 90s during the day, down to 70s at night. This is hot for us, especially this early in the summer. I can only assume that the weather will turn again in a few days or weeks and we'll want to start up the wood stove at that point.
Our cabinet guy finished everything on the list except for a special cabinet he's making for us. It'll be about six inches wide and will sit between the stove and dishwasher. We'll probably use it to store cutting boards.
Yesterday, we attended a very sweet outdoor barbecue hosted by a former coworker and her husband. They live way south, south of Ikea, even, which, except for the cape, seems like beyond the beyond. Her parents had driven out from Ohio with their new tiny kitten who was too young to leave behind. Parents were lovely in keeping with their reputation, and the kitten at five weeks was beyond adorable, tail still pointy, colors still coming in. At a certain point, though, he completely crashed and slept deeply.
We stopped off at Ikea on the way home to buy a few more things, including a bookcase, and to replace a light fixture that had gone south. I told the returns lady that it was the electric equivalent of a roach motel -- the electricity was going into the transformer, but it wasn't coming out.
And today, despite our mini heat wave, we got a ton done. The kitchen is 99.9% put back together. The bookcase is assembled and the ratty pieces of furniture it replaces are in the garage. The new light fixture is mounted. I even bought a new (interim) minimally offensive paper towel holder until we find a better one.
Because of the heat and lack of a/c, the cats laid under the bed most of the day. I've been brushing them, creating what Robert calls ghost kitties -- piles of cat hair. They seem to like the process.
First farm pickup on Tuesday; heat is supposed to break some time late Tuesday or Wednesday.
For readers who are out of town, the heat is going up to mid-to-high 90s during the day, down to 70s at night. This is hot for us, especially this early in the summer. I can only assume that the weather will turn again in a few days or weeks and we'll want to start up the wood stove at that point.
Friday, June 06, 2008
seen on the innertubes
Two incredibly precious discoveries this week:
The first is from a bumpersticker and seems to be in response to bragging bumperstickers and other communications -- you know the type -- "My child made honor roll at Universal Kindergarten" or "My rottweiler can beat up your honor roll student". The founders claim to have started "a movement that allows people in America to come out of their messy closets and embrace “imperfection.”" It's called Shut Up About Your Perfect Kid -- http://www.shutupabout.com.
The other site was started by a woman who adopted an abandoned baby squirrel, named her Sugarbush, and started making costumes for her. Several thousands of costumes later (including Benazir Bhutto, Fidel Castro, a Japanese emperor, and members of different military branches), a web site was born -- http://www.sugarbushsquirrel.com/.
The woman herself is a former (I think) country-western star as well as a pinup model and general military cheerer-upper. Pictures of the human that grace the site are nearly as entertaining of the ones of the superstar rodent. Sugarbush is touted as the "World's Most Photographed Squirrel," which I don't doubt for a second. Her big sister is a lime-green parrot named Rio.
The first is from a bumpersticker and seems to be in response to bragging bumperstickers and other communications -- you know the type -- "My child made honor roll at Universal Kindergarten" or "My rottweiler can beat up your honor roll student". The founders claim to have started "a movement that allows people in America to come out of their messy closets and embrace “imperfection.”" It's called Shut Up About Your Perfect Kid -- http://www.shutupabout.com.
The other site was started by a woman who adopted an abandoned baby squirrel, named her Sugarbush, and started making costumes for her. Several thousands of costumes later (including Benazir Bhutto, Fidel Castro, a Japanese emperor, and members of different military branches), a web site was born -- http://www.sugarbushsquirrel.com/.
The woman herself is a former (I think) country-western star as well as a pinup model and general military cheerer-upper. Pictures of the human that grace the site are nearly as entertaining of the ones of the superstar rodent. Sugarbush is touted as the "World's Most Photographed Squirrel," which I don't doubt for a second. Her big sister is a lime-green parrot named Rio.
resolution to the "storm in a teacup"
Ms. d'Arbeloff has written "If you're happy to let there be confusion about same-name blogs, then go ahead and keep the same name, I'm not going to do anything about it."
I think my readers are astute enough to neatly avoid potential confusion over similarly-named blogs. Those who aren't, well, perhaps they will discover some gems at Ms. d'Arbeloff's site.
The naming crisis seems to have ended and we will continue on as before. Thanks to all who wrote to this site and to me privately. Your counsel has been quite helpful.
I think my readers are astute enough to neatly avoid potential confusion over similarly-named blogs. Those who aren't, well, perhaps they will discover some gems at Ms. d'Arbeloff's site.
The naming crisis seems to have ended and we will continue on as before. Thanks to all who wrote to this site and to me privately. Your counsel has been quite helpful.
Thursday, June 05, 2008
another blaugustine crawls out
I received the following message today as a comment on one of my blaug entries and would appreciate your thoughts. I've already received some advice from the hubster --
I have been aware of this woman and her behavior-that-resembles-bullying for a while. I believe she's in the UK. Let's just say that there used to be more blaugustines on the web and that her methods can be fairly unpleasant.
Any thoughts? You can email me if you don't wish to make your comments public. Thanks.
[edit] Interesting. Just found this on http://snipurl.com/2e7sy [inventors_about_com] --
"What cannot be copyrighted? [...] Titles, names, short phrases, and slogans ..."
So I could copyright my lovely writings in this blog, but not the name of the blog. More to ponder.
Hello. I've just been made aware of your blog and would like to inform you that
"Blaugustine" is the registered and copyright title of my blog since 2003 and on
my website since 2001. You are welcome to verify this
at: http://www.nataliedarbeloff.com/ and www.nataliedarbeloff.com/blaugustine.html. I also
have a mirror-blog with Blogger (Blaugustine's other blog)I'm sure you didn't
intend any infringement and probably didn't know that the title was already
taken so I'd appreciate it if you would now change the title of your blog. Thank
you and best wishes.
I have been aware of this woman and her behavior-that-resembles-bullying for a while. I believe she's in the UK. Let's just say that there used to be more blaugustines on the web and that her methods can be fairly unpleasant.
Any thoughts? You can email me if you don't wish to make your comments public. Thanks.
[edit] Interesting. Just found this on http://snipurl.com/2e7sy [inventors_about_com] --
"What cannot be copyrighted? [...] Titles, names, short phrases, and slogans ..."
So I could copyright my lovely writings in this blog, but not the name of the blog. More to ponder.
Monday, June 02, 2008
whoopee!
The cabinet project is nearly at an end. Of course, the last 7.5% of the project will likely take 92.5% of the time, at least as the calendar goes. OTOH, we have wall cabinets! Base cabinets! And as of today we have a rolling island cabinet! Knobs and pulls are attached. Countertops are on. All old cabinets are either in the garage or are already in their new home waiting to be installed. A lot of cardboard is reduced to pieces smaller than two feet by two feet for recycling. Most everything is put away, some of which happened this weekend and some this evening.
And man, it looks slick. I quipped to the install guy that it looks so grown up that I might have to start acting like an adult. He gazed at the cabinets, then looked at me and said Naaaah. Phew.
And man, it looks slick. I quipped to the install guy that it looks so grown up that I might have to start acting like an adult. He gazed at the cabinets, then looked at me and said Naaaah. Phew.
email shmemail
At a party over Memorial Day weekend, we talked for a while to a young man in his mid-20s. He's just finished a year of getting a master's degree and practice teaching and he's ready to go to work. He marveled to us that "kids these days" don't use email anymore. He mused that when it was time to turn in their assignments, several students asked for help with attaching files to an email. At 50, I'm so out of touch that I actually know how to do that.
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