Tuesday, April 14, 2009

The Three Caballeros and the $40 hotel room

So I was standing by the side of the road doing research, when three cabaelleros came riding up.



Jake did not find the episode as interesting as I did. Funniest thing, I think, is that when I returned in the evening to collect scent again, here came the fellows on their way home. They thought I had been there all day.

And if you are wondering what I am doing posting all these blog entries today...I have a $40 hotel room and I'm doing laundry. I'm going to take my second 30-minute shower in just a few. FYI, Motel 6 is very dog friendly and they don't charge a $10 pet fee.

Monday, April 13, 2009

What a Difference a Day Makes


If my trip had only lasted 24 hours, even that would have been something.

It started off at Saddleback State Park. I set up camp, but immediately headed off to collect scent. You see, I had found these little beauties.












So I waited til the sun went down.And I went out and looked for pollinators and took some scent.

And the next morning.... (P.S., I hope Liv is suitably impressed that I have so many sunrise pics.)


I decided to fix breakfast.

And everyone knows that oatmeal is so much better with a little bloodletting and dog hair. Plan B. Search for adventure.

I found some wary friends.I found a black man and his three sisters.

I found some happy flowers.
I climbed a mountain of sand.


All this before lunch even! Wait til you see what the evening held.

Wednesday, April 8, 2009

Big Ethel files for divorce

Well, I've pissed off my newest flame. Big Agnes Ethel, the 0-degree-rated, $200 down sleeping bag with $100, 15-degree-rated pad remains disturbingly unused in the trunk of my car. Turns out there is a paucity of tent camping places in the Albuquerque area. I found 3 RV parks, none of which allow tent camping, and one real campground that doesn't open until May 1.

Thus, I am staying at the Days Inn in Moriarty, NM. Right next to the Fireworks warehouse. Jake doesn't care. He got to explore a garbage dumpster and some prairie dog holes. Life is good.

Yesterday, I swung up north of Amarillo to a site at the Canadian River that Liv and I explored last year. Only I was new at this instead of finding Abronia I found Rumex and mistook the former for the latter. Which means...yes, I admit it...that I did all the measurements, etc. on a plant not remotely related to the genus of interest. Well, that sandy spot seemed to me to be the bees knees, Abronia speaking, so I gave it another shot. Took me about 3 minutes to locate the Abronia. I believe it is fragrans, so I collected some leaves, took some pics, and like a rusty field worker, forgot to take a voucher specimen. I'm not too woried, the advisor is bound to visit her home turf again eventually.

I am finding I can't drive 700-800 mi a day. I'm averaging about 600. This is going to mean I spend more time behind the wheel and less time on foot searching for plants. In any event, I am determined to make it to San Bernardino today. 782 miles. Well hell. Maybe I'll make it there today. I better get on the road. Happy motoring everyone!

Some pictures to tied you over until I get an internet connection again.

Monday, April 6, 2009

Good New on the Medical Front

Chocolate is good for your math skills.

Sunday, April 5, 2009

On Delays and my Lack of Patience

I was supposed to leave last Wednesday. Then Jake got a good case of the runs. Lasted about 3 days. So Wednesday was a bust after about Monday. So I said Saturday. And then I decided not to rush it and give myself a good long day to remember EVERYTHING I might possibly have forgotten. Ok, I realize the folly of that thinking, but something was holding me back. Sunday for sure, I said. But sometime late Saturday evening, I had to stop by a store to pick up something for the trip I had forgotten. (See? It WAS a good idea that I delayed a day, else I'd have forgotten a camp shovel.) And that's when it sunk it. I didn't have my bank card.

I searched the car. I searched my purse. Yes, the big one that could hold 3.5 gallons of water. I searched the house. I searched Jake. You never know. He's wily. I wracked my brain. When was the last time I used the card? Friday evening when I got money to go to the fish dinner at the Catholic church. Ugh. I forgot it in the ATM machine. Canceled the card right away.

But that means no cash. No cash for trips isn't very smart. Especially when you have no way of getting any more cash. So I have had to delay my start until Monday after the banks open.

So today, I've been cleaning up my house. Doing the laundry I delayed last night. Put the final touches on the car packing. I'm heading back down to school in a bit to get even more potential site locations. Just in case. Going to reload the GC software on my computer and pick up my chromatograms. Then I'm back here and back to bed early.

Oh, did I mention that it is supposed to be 29 degrees and snowing in Amarillo tomorrow night? With gusts up to 30 mph? I fear my first night will be spent, not in my nice new sleeping bag, but sleeping in the car with the heater running. And to think, I was worried about the air conditioning working.

I hear it's going to be 80 tomorrow in San Diego. I can't get there fast enough.

When Girls Just Aint Good Enough

When I was a kid, I had to listen to a lot of crap. Not just from boastful boys, but also from well meaning adults. Things I remember being told as a child include:

Boys are just _________________ (smarter/faster/better) than girls.
I can't believe your father lets you ________________________ (play baseball/go fishing).
A man needs a son to carry on the family name and daughters to care for him in his old age.
Girls should play with dolls. Boys should play with trucks.
Girls would be hurt badly if they were hit by a baseball (as if boys wouldn't be).

I used to be shooed out of garages and off back stoops were boys and men congregated. I was told that my mother had called to ask me to come home when she hadn't. You can imagine how these things went over for the tomboy that I was as a kid. It didn't help that all the kids in my neighborhood were boys (with the exception of Sheila Arrington, who didn't like to play outdoors at all). I recall being singled out by other parents from within a group of neighborhood boys and asked, "Does your mother know you are out here?" I used to reply, "My mother wants me out of the house", and that usually satisfied them. But there was a spirit-crushing moment when all my friends were off to sign up for Little League and I couldn't join them. It was worse when they showed up with their brand new baseball gloves and bright white uniforms and colored socks and team baseball hats. I just had to make do with my hand-me-down baseball glove and no cap at all. I can't tell you how lonely it was to come out after Saturday morning cartoons and have the entire block be void of children to play with. I couldn't do much about not being allowed to register for Little League, so I signed up to play slow-pitch softball. Only softball didn't have uniforms or hats. We didn't have team sponsors to pay for all that. I had to go down to the sporting goods store and have my own shirt made. We had a rag-tag league, and worst of all, we had softball gloves that were useless for playing baseball on the block. In all the years I played softball, I don't think I ever broke that glove in. Something else I just remembered. My softball coach was black. In all my years hanging around baseball games with my brothers, I never recall seeing a black Little League coach. I am pretty sure that never happened. I liked our coach. He was waaaaaaaay better than having one of the mothers coach. He knew something about playing ball.

A chum of mine from grade school located me on Facebook yesterday and we got to reminiscing about the old days at good ol' Charles Russell Elementary. In particular, we remembered the school year that girls were required to stay on a 2500 sf asphalt pad that had nothing but hopscotch games and "balance beams" painted on it, while the boys had the run of the playground including all of the playground equipment (swings, teeter totters, monkey bars, baseball diamond, and basically any area containing dirt). The female teachers who supervised children outdoors following lunch militantly enforced these rules. So not only was there institutional discrimination, but there was also segregation. Girls had no balls or any other playground equipment with which to play. I have no idea why this rule was established suddenly and why it was applied only to girls. But I do recall that after about a month of this, we took matters into our own hands and began to protest. We organized. We got our 12" rulers out of our desks. Attached paper with protest slogans on them, taped up our protest signs and began to chant and march around the perimeter of our imprisonment. We had our own little women's movement. I can't recall now if we were successful. I do recall that we garnered the ire of the teachers and principal. We were told by the teachers to "stop being silly". Our protest signs were confiscated. All the evidence, including our names, were given to the principal. The male principal. Mr. Wheeler. The man was a troll. I remember something else. I remember that as the worst year of my young life.

Is this sinking in now? When I was a kid, denying girls equal opportunity was not just some sports issue solved by Title IX. Denying girls equal opportunity was a way of life. An accepted way of life. An enforced way of life. By everyone. Television showed women thrilled to be in subservient positions. I never understood why those damn girls on Little House on the Prairie always seemed to happy to be reading constantly and playing in a 20' perimeter around the cabin. They only hung on the fence and never went inside to ride ponies or poke cows or examine cow shit. They just hung on the fence and had meaningful conversations with Pa.

That was total bullshit. I hated that show.

Memories are funny things. I expected the sting to lesson with age. It hasn't. I recall a serious justification being made by grown men for excluding girls from Little League baseball surrounded the requirement that all ball players wear a "cup". And vaguely suggestive comments about girls needing bras and what would happen if a ball hit a girl in the chest. Hee hee. Funny, huh? Not.

My parents weren't ground breakers. They weren't stereotype busters. They were average parents who never questioned the rules. Oh, they told me things like "you can be anything you want to be" and didn't seem to mind that I wanted to be things that included the word "first". As in "the first woman president" or "the first woman astronaut" or "the world's first female architect". I think this is why I developed this sense that I was going to be notable or celebrated in some way as an adult. After all, I was going to be "the first". It seemed like everything I wanted to do just to be a well rounded person seemed to include the word "first".

When I went to college the very very first time, I trained to become a draftsman because, you know, girls couldn't actually be architects. And I tried to get out and get a job in the construction field. And no one would hire me. No one. In all that time, I had one interview in which I was informed that I wasn't going to be able to wear dresses to work because I'd have to go out to job sites and there would be mud. I tried for months to get a job and finally had to accept a job as a clerk at a pharmacy. I also had to go back to school. I had wasted 'the first" attempt at a college education.

I encountered similar discrimination in the workplace. If there wasn't overt discrimination against women in supervisory positions, there was the added bonus of the fear of competition wherein female supervisors passed over competent women who might compete with them. Let's face it, I just don't have a personality type that is compatible with second-tier status. I think this is a prime motivation why I am seeking a doctorate. I'm tired of being at the mercy of anyone. Good will and staff development my ass. I am so f'ing done with that. What's next?

Being a girl should be good enough. Someone needs to alert China.

Friday, April 3, 2009

Justice System Gone Wild?

Just a quick note this morning. I've got to get back to it. But a nice little opinion piece by John Farmer on the danger of overreaching by prosecutors and another reason the justice system is broken.

As I mentioned yesterday, the thing I find most disturbing is how far some people are willing to play their power under the mandate of "prosecutorial discretion". As Farmer says,

Above all, Mr. Holder should promote the idea that the prosecutor’s job, understood properly, is an end in itself, not a stepping stone to higher office. The powers to accuse, to arrest and to prosecute are the most fearsome conferred by our society. The abuse of those powers, historically, has been the very definition of tyranny. Accordingly, the attorney general should consider supporting a rule barring prosecutors from seeking higher office for two to five years after their tenure ends.
[Emphasis mine.] I coudn't have said it better myself. Although I do believe I said something similiar just yesterday.

Thursday, April 2, 2009

Robert Powell Resigns

The prick with a badge resigned. Do I feel badly? Nope. Sorry. Not a bit. There is a lot of sympathy for this guy being dispensed on the blog-o-sphere, mostly of the sort that "no one deserves to lose their job over one lapse in judgement."

First, it wasn't his first lapse in judgement and it most certainly wouldn't have been his last. Second, we aren't talking about the guy who screws up your order at McDonald's. We aren't talking about someone giving you a hard time because your credit card payment was processed on Monday instead of Friday. We are talking about someone turning of the power to a hospital because those damn doctor's need to be taught a lesson about following the rules. We are talking about the actions of a peace officer.

Cops are held to a higher standard precisely because we give them authority over just about everyone and under just about every situation imaginable. They carry a deadly weapon strapped to their side. They have the authority to shoot to kill. They can run down a citizen, throw them to the ground, handcuff them and lock them away. Not only that, but we demand that every citizen must submit to this else risk prosecution. That is an extraordinary amount of power and as Spidey-Man says, "with great power comes great responsibility."

You don't give a citizen a gun, a badge, and power like that and set them out on the street unless you know damn well they have the intelligence, training, common sense, and experience to do the job and do it well. It is too much power to risk otherwise. We need to have absolute confidence in the people we put in such positions. We also need to have absolute confidence that the weaknesses, biases, opinions, personality, and attitudes of the people in these positions will not interfere with their execution of the job. Unfortunately, we all know that there are people who thrive on power and authority and are attracted to such jobs, not because they desire to serve the public, but rather because they desire to serve their own egos. Not all police officers are like this, but that a stereotype has emerged indicates that they are out there in great enough numbers to become a parody. Only problem is, this isn't a joke.

Do I hold police officers in high esteem? Absolutely. Do I hold them equally to high standards of conduct? You bet your ass. This guy Powell did not make the cut. I'm glad he resigned. I'm glad he did so under investigation and I'm glad that it will prevent him from returning to the force. He was not up to performing the job to the standards the community demands.

Beyond getting rid of one bad cop is another issue--and that is the discretionary power we grant to the police.
According to Judge C. Victor Lander, the city of Dallas' chief municipal judge, under Texas law a person can be arrested for any Class C misdemeanor citation except speeding and having an open container.

When an officer does decide to make an arrest for a minor traffic offense, it's usually because of how the person behaved during the traffic stop, Lander said."The defense bar refers to it as contempt of cop," Lander said. "If the officer was offended by something the person said or did, they may arrest them."

WTF? In the land of personal liberties, I take offense to the idea that my attitude should matter as to whether or not I am arrested, harassed, lectured, or detained on a minor traffic offense. Anyone who takes someone to jail for a freakin' U-turn needs to seriously review the behavior they find objectionable. (Powell did this, too, and to the wife of another football player. Maybe it isn't minorities he has a problem with. Maybe it's the football team.) Anyway, I don't really give a shit about whether officers are personally offended by the behavior of the people they encounter on the job. I'm personally offended by the behavior of my fellow grad students half the time, but I keep my freakin' mouth shut and realize that it doesn't reflect on me. But saying that it is okay for a cop to detain someone for five hours because they didn't show sufficient deference, respect for authority, or whatever else sort of unspoken offense-o-meter crap they are walking around with is insane. If this is how these cops operate, I think it is time to review whether or not they deserve the power we've granted them. I don't believe anyone ever asked me whether it was ok for an officer to apply a different set of rules to some citizens than others because he's got a bug up his ass one day about something. Or because I've got a bug up my ass one day about something and act a little grumpy about getting pulled over by the po-po.

In any event, I find the party line towed by the justice system to be equally disturbing.

Assistant Chief Floyd Simpson, who oversees the department’s seven patrol divisions, added:

“It’s a judgment thing on the cops at that moment,” Simpson said. “The core of what we do is just discretion, and it needs to be that way.”
Yes it is Assistant Chief Simpson. Yes it is. You need to do some serious soul-searching and a more thorough house cleaning.

Sunday, March 29, 2009

Let the Ass Kicking Begin


Take a look at this guy. This is Robert Powell. Young guy. Not bad looking. A nice, young Texas man who serves his community as a police officer.

Know what else is he? A shining example of everything that is wrong with the police in this country.

Thanks to this idiot, we have yet another indefensible example of police abuse of power. Not because the policeman drew his gun on the occupants of a car who ran a red light on their way to the hospital, which he did. Nor that the officer ignores the pleas of the driver who explains over and over and over that he has a dying parent in the hospital RIGHT NOW, which he did. Nor that the officer spends an extraordinary amount of time lecturing the driver on his "attitude", which he did. Nor that he threatened to arrest the driver and tow his vehicle because his "attitude sucked", which he does. Nor even that he does so in all likelihood because the driver is African American. It is indefensible because the officer failed to demonstrate any human decency or compassion at all. I implore you. Watch the video. Please. Do it. See what black people go through in this country. Please. Then read this. It's from field negro. Keep in mind the field is an attorney. Not some under-educated race-baiting blogger. Note what he says he does when he is pulled over for a traffic stop.
as a black man I know all the rules of survival when stopped by the po po, especially if I am on another planet like Texas. I know to keep my hands where they can be seen. I know to point to where my registration and insurance card is, and to tell the officer when I am reaching for it. And I know to dial my programmed home number in my cell phone (to get my home recording device) as the officer approaches my car, and keeping my cell phone on all times. I know to make sure I make a mental note of the officer's badge number and his name. And finally, I know to always show my pearly whites before my yes and no sirs.

Compare that to what you do (if you are white). Say what you will. If that police officer had pulled me over, I seriously doubt that traffic stop would have gone down the same way.

The Dallas police chief, made a formal apology and noted that the officer--after reviewing the tape of the traffic stop--still didn't think he had done anything wrong.

Ryan Moats' mother-in-law died in the 14 minutes that he and his father-in-law were detained by Robert Powell. A father did not have the opportunity to say goodbye to his daughter. Ryan did not get to be there for his wife as her mother died. Nope. Ryan and his father-in-law were too busy putting up with this overblown egomaniac in the parking lot. THAT is indefensible.

How the hell Moats found the strength to "yes, sir" and "no, sir" this guy is beyond me.

Do you think this officer should keep his job? Do you think the 14-minute lesson and lecture that he delivers to Ryan and his father-in-law was more important than allowing them to see their mother-in-law and daughter as she lay dying? Do you think it is fair that the father-in-law felt compelled to stay behind with his son-in-law because he feared for the young man's safety given the officer's attitude? Do you think that anything that Ryan Moat did justified being detained for 14-minutes when time was at a premium?

I sure don't. For fuck's sake, A NURSE came out of the hospital to implore the officer to speed it up.

This officer should not keep his job. There is a case to be made for imposing pain and suffering in this situation. Powell should get no immunity from prosecution. Powell's behavior underscores the lack of proper training for police officers in this country. It underscores the lack of proper recruiting, screening, and self-policing. Powell demonstrates poor judgement and judgement in tense situations is EXACTLY what we demand of police officers. Grace under fire. This guy is nothing more than a prick with a badge and a gun. I know plenty of a passive-aggressive pricks who try to manipulate a conversation by maintaining a calm voice while making outrageous and unreasonable demands on others. In cases like this, don't let demeanor cloud your perception of who is out of control. This is a textbook film of COPS GONE WILD. I believe the officer did this because Moats failed to defer to him, failed to lick his boots, failed to show fear. Suspend that idiot without pay. Fire him forthwith. And I hope the guy can't get a job as a rent-a-cop at a parking lot after this.

The part I find most unbelievable is that Powell acted this way with full knowledge that he was being taped. Powell's car camera filmed the incident. But then again, what do you expect from someone who thinks this is acceptable behavior? I seriously question the screening being undertaken in Dallas for police recruits.

On the likelihood that these actions were racially motivated. Call it my peculiar love interests (although I don't find them all that peculiar), but I find the inability of white society to SEE black people, but black men in particular, as PEOPLE, as one of the great failures, embarrassments, and deficiencies of which we should be collectively ashamed. I think it is time we did a little house cleaning ourselves. Because this officer is not an isolated incident.

I was in Quatros Friday evening with D-friend Bek, trying to enjoy a pizza and pitcher, when a white man in his 30s and his wife walked in, sat at the booth next to ours and then began to wax philosophical about niggers. I was incensed. I was just about to get up and give this bucked-tooth hillbilly a piece of my mind, when Bek implored me to let it go. As I didn't want to embarrass my friend, I did as she wished. But had I been alone, I imagine that both Mr. Bucktoothed Hillbilly and I probably would have been kicked out of Quatros following the discussion that ensued.

I thought about this afterwords. It dawned on me that this guy sat down in a public place, took one look around and saw that there were no people of color around and began to harp on what I'm sure was one of his favorite subjects: those damn niggers. I don't want this guy to feel that kind of safety any more. I want this guy to understand in no uncertain terms that a sea of white people isn't safe for the likes of him anymore. Dirty looks don't cut it. They feel invincible. I want to make the bigots as uncomfortable as humanly possible. I want this guy to sit down in a restaurant and think twice before he starts in on the hate speech. I want him to wonder from what direction and how strong the fire power is that is going to hit him if he so much as DARES to do that kind of shit again. Not only that, I want the owners of the establishment know that their customers won't tolerate hate speech and if they intend to enable it, their customers will go elsewhere. I want them to know that it's not just my business, but the business of everyone I know. (Trust me, no one I know is going to take their pet to the Lakeside Veterinary Clinic.) I am damn tired of letting it slide. I am sick and tired of white people thinking that they are safe to spout hatred in a room full of white people. I am sick and tired of having some white people think white means hate for everything non-white. I don't hate and I'm pulling the plug on that fantasy.

I am putting everyone who knows me on notice. I'm not letting this stuff slide any more. If we encounter the ignorant, racist sort that are bent on making others listen to their bigotry, I'm not shutting up. I'm not letting it go. I'm speaking up. In my family. Among my friends. In a place of business. On the street. At the park. I don't care anymore. Something in me snapped today. I'm mad as hell and I'm not going to take it anymore. I hope you'll stand with me, but if you don't, I'll stand alone. I'll understand if you take a walk. But I am done accommodating, tolerating and ignoring racial bigotry.

I think of the black men I know and count among my friends, J, Guv, Curtis, David, and okay, maybe even Stewart and Alvin, I see people. One is smarter than me. One is richer than me. One is waaaaay harder working than me. One is more talented than me. One is the sweetest, most gentle man imaginable. One has such an amazing personality that I feel better every time I talk to him. I don't see scientists, or businessmen, or average joes, or entertainers, or pencil pushers or blue-collar guys. I don't even see black guys. I see real people with real ideas, and real hopes, real feelings and real lives. They wow me sometimes and make me laugh sometimes and make me feel their pain sometimes. And through them, I have come to understand that their lives and my life are not remotely close because they, somehow, have accepted that the world isn't the same for them and me. That anyone would see them any differently than I do because they have black skin or African ancestors makes no sense at all. I have white skin and European ancestors. They are good men and my friends and that's all that matters.

The buck stops with D. I'm here to tell you. Let the ass kicking begin.

Sunday, March 22, 2009

Why my back hurts

Once upon a time, my house looked like this. Pretty bare, huh? So I decided to do something about it.I moved in my house in Fall 2003. So in Spring 2004, I started doing some planting. There was an apple tree seedling growing over on the far side of the garage where no one could see it and where it didn't have room to grow. So I moved it out front. I planted a bald cypress in the back.


And a river birch out along the property line. You see, the winter of 2003-2004 was very wet. My backyard looked like a swimming pool. Rather than undertake expensive draining of the yard, I decided to soak it up into trees. Unfortunately, as it turns out, 2003-2004 was a very wet year around here and we haven't had that much water since. The trees, I fear, are going to limp along.


I also put in what I hoped would be a hedge row of American cranberrybush. I love those bright red berries in winter, and the viburnum flowers just look great in summer. But you see that silver maple down at the end of the row?



That damn tree is sucking the life out of everything around it. Out of my burning bushes. Out of my cranberry bushes. Out of my garden which also went in during 2004.

It's pretty amazing what one $2.50 packet of seeds can do for your yard.

This year, I got some free mulch from the electric company. Ok, "some mulch" may be an understatement. I got two piles as large as this one. I started in on the other pile first because the electric company guys put it over onto the city's property and I didn't want any trouble. So I worked on it for 2 days.


And this is 3 days. And then someone stole my wheelbarrow out of my yard. So there it sat for 2 months.So yesterday, I got busy and took care of the last of the first pile. Whoo hooo! All gone.


And this is where it went.



Won't be long before it looks like this. Plus, I won't have to mow behind those bushes this year!

Man, I just love spring. And fix-up projects. I can't wait for the pictures I'm going to take this year.

To Nationalize or Not to Nationalize

In essense, we already have nationalized some of the world's largest banks. But I'm glad to see Congress finally stepping up to do something about the ongoing mismanagement of our financial credit system. When you bail out a company with funds, without which it would go bankrupt, there's a word for that. You just BOUGHT it.

The country owns these financial institutions and it should run it like it does.

I for one, think that the Bush Bailout Bill (BBB) was his last big F-U to the American public on his way out the door. His administration made SURE that executive bonuses would be paid at least one last time. On the other hand, I blame Obama for not canceling those bonus contracts the minute those funds hit the bank.

The way I look at it, I paid more than $30K in taxes this year in the form of lost retirement funds, and I'll be damned if that money should go to pay a $5000 bonus to a freakin' receptionist who had the dumb luck to get a job at a criminal enterprise. I don't care how big the crocodile tears are that she sheds.

Give me a freakin' break already.

On the promising news front, the Pope has stopped dispensing medical advice.

Friday, March 20, 2009

Regarding Bonuses Paid to Employees of Bailed Out Financial Institutions

Bonuses paid to the professional fucktards that are driving our economy into the ground. Just another of things that make D's bullshit meter top out. As reported in the NY Times today, I just want to let some of the statements made by bank executives of bailed out financial institutions sink in.

Bank executives, who requested anonymity because they did not want to further alienate lawmakers, said their employees were on edge and many would face severe financial hardship if they were severely taxed on money already paid.

“It’ll impact tens of thousands or maybe hundreds of thousands of people,” said Alan Johnson, managing director at Johnson Associates, a compensation consulting firm in New York, noting that the tax would apply to a bonus recipient with family income of more than $250,000. “If you’re a receptionist and your husband is a doctor, your $5,000 bonus just vaporized. It’s not just the C.E.O.’s.”
Holy shit! There are receptionists at A.I.G. getting $5000 bonuses? Where the **** do I sign up for one of THOSE jobs? I worked for 15 years in various companies and institutions as a professional, a manager, and your average worker. Never in all that time did I ever receive a raise based on performance that amounted to $5,000 in a single year. And yes, I lived in an expensive urban area (Chicago). It took me YEARS to increase my salary by $5K. What in the world is a RECEPTIONIST doing that is worth that kind of bonus? On average, my salary between 1986 and 2000 increased by a little over 2% per year. The only real increases in salary I achieved were by switching companies and seeking better jobs based on increasing years of experience. Contrast my career with this:
But several executives at Wall Street banks said they were being unfairly caught up in a hasty response by Washington that would ultimately deliver a sharper blow to their companies than to A.I.G., which set off the furor. One bank executive said employees were coming into his office in tears.
Yeah. Tears suck. Just like the tears of people like me who have lost more than 50% of their retirement funds because these employees played fast and loose with the American economy and fucked the rest of us over. Remember folks, we aren't talking about poor people with low incomes. We are talking about folks with family incomes greater than $250K. We are also talking about taxpayer funds. Every company I ever worked for that had a history of giving out bonuses tied those bonuses to performance and to the overall health of the company. If the company didn't do well, bonuses were scrapped. Capish? I would like to point out that I made $15K last year. A $5K bonus would amount to 30% of my regular income. Cause you know, what I do is soooooo much less important than that of a receptionist at AIG.

When we talk about people with their freakin' priorities out of whack, I think we have hit the nail on the head. Someone needs to hit these folks in their pocketbooks. I feel sorry not one whit for the tears and tribulations of overpaid professional failures. Suck on a little hard times, you pin-stripe wearing, entitlement thugs. Kick the buggers to the curb I say, and it appears that history is on my side. For the health of the economy and for the love of justice, fire these idiots and how.

Tuesday, March 17, 2009

Another reason the Catholic Church (and most organized religion) is obsolete

File this in the WTF bin. The Pope is neither a doctor nor a scientist and those who listen to his medical advice get exactly what they pay for. And did you ever notice that this is a global pandemic and yet the Pope only opens his mouth about AIDS when he is on his way to Africa?

It would appear that the Catholic Church thinks those dark people are not being moral and this is their penance.

Oh, the stupid. It burns.

Saturday, March 14, 2009

Wherein the author checks in to reality central

So tonight I spoke on the phone for the first time with D-fav J. He is everything a girl could want in an internet boyfriend and then some. He's got the goods, ladies. Plus--added bonus--he finds both my accent and southernisms exceedingly cute. Few men find D all that cute these days so he wins BIG TIME for that. It's refreshing. So shut up already if I pine on about my IBF.

But anyway, our conversation got me thinking about some interesting things. For some reason, earlier today I was thinking about Jennifer Salyers. She was my locker partner in 7th grade. OK, in those days there was a thing called junior high school and it was a place they warehoused 7th, 8th and 9th graders before shipping them off to high school. And home rooms were organized by last names, so Salyers and Saunders were in the same homeroom. So Jennifer was a CHEERLEADER. And D was a swimmer. I think I asked her if she wanted to share a locker. I recall not really knowing anyone else in my classroom and she was a girl and she was close by. Things were great for a while. I was happy to have a popular locker partner. She kept her blue and white pompoms in the bottom of our locker and I thought they were pretty neat. However, I apparently didn't meet overall CHEERLEADER criteria for acceptable locker partners and soon I was made to feel awkward as Jennifer and her CHEERLEADER friends shot me disapproving looks every time I went to my locker at homeroom time. After a few weeks of that, I made sure I only went to my locker when Jennifer and her cronies weren't around. It seemed that for no apparent reason the shine had worn off D. I tried to make the best of it. But being made to feel like an untouchable for an entire year takes its toll on a young, developing psyche.

Now why would I think of that today? I think there are events in your life that shape you and believe it or not, I think that is one of mine. I was brought to the pinnacle of popularity and failed. I think that single moment labeled me (in my own eyes if not in the eyes of the "in crowd") as less than. I suffered from "less than" syndrome throughout high school. I didn't think boys would like me. I didn't think I was attractive. I didn't think I was smart, or talented or distinguished in any way. I was fairly good at athletics, but there were others who were better. I had a small group of peers who I entertained with my antics. But all in all, I didn't think I had whatever it was that was needed. I was second tier. The problem with this thinking is that it came to define me. When I started thinking about colleges, I didn't think I had the money or the brains to get in a top college so I didn't try. I went to the state college. I was interested in things that weren't supposed to interested women and early in my college career I had encountered several misogynists that led me to believe that the world wasn't ready for a female Quincy. I decided it wasn't for me to change the system. I tried business, but had no interest. I needed a major and had one supportive professor so I picked English. I tried to fit the mold of what I thought English majors were and came to fancy myself some sort of creative type (I'm not sure that any self-analysis resulted in a more skewed result). I even took a Briggs-Myers test and was smart enough to realize how to manipulate my answers to feed into the perception I had of myself. And WOW, when I got my results, it told me that I would be good at exactly what I thought I wanted to do.

My life has been hancuffed by this second-tier belief. It's funny. I applied to the University of Illinois and was accepted. I applied to the University of California-Irvine and was accepted. In fact those things mean more to me than I think my doctorate will. Because I applied to top tier schools and wasn't found lacking. I chose to go where I am, and sure, I am FED THE FUCK UP with grad school most of the time, but no one can take away the fact that I measured up.

As we entered high school, it became increasingly apparently that Jennifer Salyers was destined to pursue the "dumb blonde" stereotype. She grew up and married a guy who developed a drug problem and held up a store and landed in jail. I ended up divorced and pursuing a Ph.D. I'm not happy about the course of Jennifer's life, but I'm just pointing out that popularity in high school doesn't mean squat in real life. I wish that locker-partner thing had gone differently. Perhaps both of our lives would have turned out differently.

Friday, March 13, 2009

Thursday, March 12, 2009

The Invisible ESA Award: Ten Months and Counting

For those who are unaware, I applied for an ESA award in May 2008. The Forrest Shreve Award to be exact. It is sponsored by the Desert section of ESA. Full of nice people, I'm sure. I attended the ESA conference in Milwaukee (missing only by hours meeting my internet boyfriend). Award winners were published in the ESA program for most of the other section awards, but not for the Desert section.

I waited until mid-August to inquire about the winner. I contacted the person to whom I submitted my application. Nada. Zilch. Nothing.

I wrote the same guy again in October. [crickets]

Not wanting to appear, you know, anxious, I sat on this for a while. I remembered that I hadn't heard anything when ESA began to send me reminder notices about re-upping my membership. So I called the folks in Washington. I was given contact information for the head of mucky-muck something or other, so I emailed this person. That was three weeks ago. Nothing. Not a peep.

So I called Washington again. They suggested I talk to one of their staff, who was out to lunch. They couldn't take a message because they don't have voice mail. [waits for the concept to sink in]

I know. I'm thinking the same thing.

So I sent another email. Can you guess what happened next? That's right. Nothing.

My hero and internet boyfriend, D-fav J, happens to know the current Prez of ESA and mentioned this to her. Still, nothing. But I'm not without hope. Just thought I'd let you know where your hard-earned membership dollars are going over at ESA. Needless to say, I haven't renewed my membership and don't intend to until I hear from these folks with an answer.
I'm such a rebel.

Wednesday, March 11, 2009

Rihanna, Chris Brown, the British, and my downstairs neighbor

Lots of celebrity watching tongues a waggin' about the reported reconciliation between Rihanna and Chris Brown. I don't watch television, but even in my brief scanning through channels, I have managed to pick up that both The View and Oprah have had shows talking about the event. For those who don't know or haven't heard, Rihanna (a very young pop star) and Chris Brown (a very young rapper/pop star) are dating and following some award show in February, Chris beat the living shit out of Rihanna. Allegedly. He was arrested, and like many allegedly abused women, Rihanna has returned to her abuser. Everyone has advice for her. I hope she's listening. There are lessons to be learned here.

On the heels of that, comes this--a scathing indictment of male privilege in Britian (read: and the rest of the western world).

Whoa. Let's review the content of this study.

One in seven British men people surveyed indicated it is acceptable for a man to hit his spouse/girlfriend for wearing revealing clothing in public or for "constantly nagging or moaning at him". Ladies, you might want to cancel that pool membership/beach vacation this summer and for God's sake, don't ask him to empty the garbage.

One in ten people surveyed indicated that it is acceptable for a man to slap his spouse/girlfriend for flirting with another man. Ladies, no more charming the socks off the husband's boss or you'll get yours when you get home.

Interestingly enough, it is far more acceptable to the British public for a man to hit his wife/girlfriend for flirting or not treating him with respect than for actually cheating on him. Apparently, appearances are everything. Presumably he is PUBLICLY humiliated by flirting and being dissed, but only privately humiliated by cheating.

According to the study, Brits think women are at least partly to blame for rape and sexual assault if they are wearing sexy clothing. Welcome to the age of the burka, ladies.

What is most disturbing to me is that only 86%/76%/64% are likely to intervene if they suspect a female family member/friend/neighbor is a victim of abuse. Of those who refused to intervene, 62%/69%/72% felt it was none of their business, for the couple to work out, or they simply didn't want to get involved. Ladies, if you were expecting your neighbors to act like grown ups, you are going to be sorely disappointed. Nothing like a little empathy for others to create a cohesive community.

Am I alone in thinking that this is totally fubared? I lived upstairs from a domestic abuser when I first moved to Chicago. Honestly, the man was an idiot. He was a drunk. He hid his beer in the bushes in front of the house. When I found it, I took it. He had a wife half his size and a toddler. He would get drunk, the wife would begin nagging at him for drinking, things escalated, and the beating and screaming began. I could hear it coming, even if she couldn't. I called the cops regularly.

This was not a house they were unfamiliar with. Where domestic abuse is the norm, these people do come to the attention of the police. But apparently, the police depend on the abused to file charges, and many are unwilling to do so.

My brother thought I was kidding about it until he moved in with me following the breakup of his marriage. One night when I was out with friends and he was home alone, one of those fights began. My brother called the police. When the police arrived he went out and talked to them. He told the officers that if they didn't remove this guy from his apartment and throw him in jail all night, when they left, he would take care of the situation. They took the guy away.

One day, after my brother moved out, I called the landlord. I'd had enough. I told him that I was afraid of the abuser downstairs. I told him that I had no idea whether he was a danger to others or just his wife. I explained that he was a drunk. I explained about the booze hidden in the bushes. I told him that something had to be done. That I lived alone. That I didn't feel safe.

The next day, the wife from downstairs came and knocked on my door. She stood there, with a black eye and told me that she was sorry they had disturbed me. She tried to calm my fears that he was not a danger to the single woman upstairs who had turned him in to the police and called the landlord. I stared at her. I must have looked incredulous, because the more she talked the more animated she became. She kept apologizing to me. She did. Where was her mother-fucking coward of a wife-beating husband? I bet he sent her up there to take care of this problem.

I let her speak her peace. When she finished, I told her only this.

"One day, he is going to kill you."

She turned and walked back downstairs into her apartment and closed the door.

I moved out when my lease was up. I have no idea what happened to that couple. I hope he hasn't killed her.

Thank God for this guy.

Shooters gone wild

A man in Alabama killed 10 people and then himself this morning. Just another segment in our ongoing series, Mass Murder in America, coming soon to a television news program near you. Over the coming days, I'm sure we will learn quite a bit about this man's life. (Out of curiosity, compare this to what we learn about the lives of the people he murdered.) Why do people do this? What sort of mental defect, meltdown, or deviant personality is responsible for this kind of unforeseen, unpredictable, and unstoppable behavior? Why? Why? Why? Why do so many people have to die?

I understand anger. I understand depression, too. I understand being so despondent that you contemplate ending it all. I have been there. But I have not been here. There is a trend, dare I say, of people becoming overwhelmed with feelings of helplessness and hopelessness, and instead of riding it out or getting some help or even killing themselves, they kill everyone they hold near and dear. Oh, I get that the people closest to you can come (rightly or wrongly) to be seen as a the cause of all your difficulties and mental unrest. But I do not get the mental defect that embeds itself in an human brain telling a man that the only way to deal with a problem is to kill every individual he encounters in a single day--to kill people not remotely associated with his pain--to just kill, kill, kill, and kill again.

I believe, or at least I tend to believe that most people think things through. There are "crimes of passion" in which a blind flash of anger can end in total destruction. Instead of slapping someone, someone gets shot. Or stabbed. Or strangled. Usually a single occurrence and usually not likely to be repeated. But when we talk about Mass Murder in America, we aren't talking about crimes of passion. Mass murder demands a plan that, at a minimum, involves a hit list, a travel route, an armament list, a shopping list, a disguise, an escape plan, and a game-over plan. Even in a demented mind, these thought processes are undertaken, no matter how twisted and dark the road, leading to the inevitable conclusion that the action they are taking is right, smart, and justified. I don't think it is in human nature to kill indiscriminately. I think, even in the face of tremendous mental illness, the tendency to justify our actions remain. Uncovering that logic is the only hope we have to answer the eternal question, "Why?".

There is the camp that says you can't figure out why when you are dealing with madmen. I disagree. But when the mentally corrupt kill themselves when cornered, you lose the key bit of evidence in the scenario. You lose the logic. If psychologists and sociologists haven't already resolved why people do this and how to identify and treat them (and I'm assuming they haven't otherwise, the CDC would have issued a directive to the police, mental health workers, schools, and the American public), perhaps our approach to this epidemic (when one is one too many), is to take a different approach to capturing the shooters.

How does a person get from "I'm going to kill myself" to "I'm going to kill myself, my wife, my children, my cousins, aunts, uncles, grandparents, my wife's family, several police officers and one or two random strangers on the street in an all-out, blaze o' glory, free-for-all"? It's like the Darwin Award, the Darwin-in-law Award, and the Darwin-Twice-Removed Award all rolled into one. You don't just wipe out your own genome; you wipe out every last individual on Earth that shares a significant portion of your genome as well as anyone who found that genome attractive. Why does this only seem to afflict white men of a certain age group? Why does this seem to be an American phenomenon?

I have no idea, but I will posit some theories.

On their being white. Whites have a culture of privilege. They think that they "deserve things by virtue of being". Oh, they may not explicitly finish that phrase with "being white", but they think they deserve them without having earned them. We label this white privilege because other racial groups don't suffer from this delusion and sense of entitlement. I don't know a single black man of any age who thinks the world is going to plop a home, a meal, a wife, top-notch health care, a safe place to raise his children, a college education, a stable job, and a stress-free marriage into his lap without having to bust his ass to earn it. Ditto for Asian men. This is a uniquely white cultural defect.

On their being American. Replace every instance of "white" with "American" in the preceding paragraph and then replace "race" with "country". There's my theory. Apparently, my theory needs rethinking.

On their being men. Men, particularly those in blue collar communities, are brought up in a culture that defines manliness by an ability to lead, provide, and protect. A man is expected to be the leader in his home, his place of work, and his community. He is expected to earn a living. He is expected to earn more than his wife. He is expected to be the deciding vote on matters of family, and to have veto power over all others in the home. And he expects everyone else to go along with his expectations. Oh, some of you educated and enlightened men claim to see your role as "partner" with your spouse, but when push comes to shove, there is something inside the head of most men that self-identifies as "submissive" or "dominant" depending on who makes the important decisions in their lives. In our culture, leadership and power are male traits and men have grown comfortable with this. They now have a sense of entitlement to it. Look at any corporate board, disparity in pay between men and women, numbers of female vs. male CEOs of Fortune 500 companies, yadda, yadda, yadda. Men will compare themselves to one another all day long by money. While they can see that women and minorities might not make as much money, they believe the answer is to simply pay them more. Men don't understand that it isn't a matter of saving money that causes women and minorities to make less for the same job. It is the maintenance of a power differential. White men don't compete with women and minorities. They are separate ball games. I would guess that few white men, when promoted to a supervisory position, have their subordinates decide, en masse, to quit rather than work for someone of their gender. Or color. Or nationality. I theorize that most men, haven't had to ease their colleagues into accepting their advancement, or to develop alternative methods for ensuring that others "accept" their leadership. I doubt few men get nicknames like "bitch" or "ball-buster" applied to them by virtue of doing their job. I believe men are used to standing up and proclaiming their leadership in a "if you don't like it, don't let the door hit you in the ass on the way out approach" and this attitude generally works for them. Women and men of color generally haven't enjoyed this unique brand of self-aggrandizement. And yet, white American men seem to think this is "normal". When normal is threatened, some men panic. Some men panic a whole lot.

On their being, generally, younger than 50. With age comes wisdom. It's an adage for a reason. People who kill themselves, I think, don't believe that things will change. They don't believe they will ever feel better. They don't have the benefit of experience with failure. They don't know how to change their circumstances. They are hopeless. Whether their hopelessness has merit is questionable. With age comes experience, acceptance, and assurance. It is a genuine shame that we can't share so many lessons borne of experience. Some lessons must be learned the hard way. Like marriage. Like humility. Like failure. Like getting beyond depression. And when you are dealing with a weak mind, assurances that things will change/get better/pass are less likely to be believed.

But there is a missing piece here. We can posit that young, white, American men have the cards stacked against them. They have a sense of entitlement so grand that if the world fails to provide them according to their sense of entitlement, they crumble. But how that cookie crumbles into a bloody rampage is the question.

Why? Don't you think it's time we found out?

Tuesday, March 10, 2009

Am I a Hipster because I love IKEA?


The latest Ikea build/hack.


Kitchen before.












Kitchen after.


These shelves are heavy duty. And kick-ass sleek.


Heavy duty due to the fact that I actually used toggle bolts. Of course I only dropped two down inside the wall.

I'm really wishing I'd bought two of those wine racks now. Don't look at those places where I touched up the wall. I have to get some paint. I'm out.

And I wish I'd bought two of these rails. I'd like to spread all that out more. For now, I think I'm just going to remove the lids, spread out the utensils. But at least they aren't on the stovetop anymore.

So let's review. One trip to Chicago for the IKEA shelving. $250. One trip to the hardware store for screws and such before the project began. $5. One bandage for the cut finger. 50 cents. Another trip to the hardware store for 2 more toggle bolts and dryer venting. $6.

Ikea shelving intalled...PRICELESS!