take your head out of your ass once in a while

I was invited on a camping trip last Saturday, to celebrate the birthday of a woman in my book club. Although I don't know her very well, my first impressions were that she's kind of self-serving and rigid. But I thought, hey, I like camping and it'd be good for me to hang out with some new people, and it was nice of her to invite me, so I'll go. Hell, maybe I'll even find out that my initial impressions of this woman were off-base. Maybe she's actually an awesome person. Here's an excerpt from the save the date (italics are mine):

BYOAnythingYouNeedToCampInTheWoods. Hiking to precede and follow for those interested.

For now, just save that date. Grab your significant other's calendar and save their date too. Grab your dog and definitely save his or her date. Hopefully I'll see you in the woods!

PS. I chose a site you can drive up to so never fear if hiking isn't for you.

Husband had to work, but Dog was available, so I did some research on the park and found that Dog was prohibited from the trails and the backcountry, but permitted in the campground. Cool. So I packed up Dog, picked up my friend C, and drove 2 1/2 hours to the park. Upon arrival, we were informed that our party had a backcountry site, and that we weren't allowed to drive to it. We'd have to hike our gear in, 2.5 miles. Also, the dog was not allowed at the site.

I was prepared to give the benefit of the doubt: that the organizer hadn't been aware of these conditions when she made the arrangements. But the ranger -- who was awesome and tried his best to help us -- had personally informed her of the restrictions upon her arrival the previous evening. And since there was free wifi at the entrance where she checked in, I can think of only one explanation for her failure to send us an update: she wanted us to have driven all the way up there before we found out, so that we wouldn't back out. Instead, we were operating on the information provided in the invitation:

Call me or one of many other people to get shuttled with your stuff, or drive your things in and then hike down.

We have a backpacking tent that I could've brought, if I'd known it was a backcountry trip. I could've left Dog and the cooler at home, and packed appropriately. But after being told it was a car camping trip, I thought it might be nice to have a cooler in 90°F weather. Just, you know, a thought.

View from the park, near the campground

C phoned the birthday girl, who abjectly refused to move to a site in the main campground, which would have allowed both Dog and the car to shuttle gear. So I had no choice but to turn around and drive back home. The ranger offered to drive C's gear -- including the birthday cake she'd made for this woman -- out to the site. Knowing this, the rest of the group tried to sneak their car back out of the campground, for reasons that remain unclear to me. Of course, they got busted by the rangers. I'd sum it up as ludicrous.

What really scores me, though, beyond being deliberately misled, is that that woman hid 500 meters away on the hilltop instead of coming down with the rest of the group, and I can only conclude that it was to avoid me. She never even contacted me to say, "Gosh, I'm sorry you couldn't get in, that sucks." I didn't even need her to admit fault, I just wanted an acknowledgment that I'd tried to attend her fucking warm fuzzy center of the universe event. Nothing. Nada. Crickets.

I'm just good at reading people. If I dislike you right off the bat, it's probably because we're not compatible...or else because you're an inferior human being. So when I get the distinct impression that you're self-serving and rigid, it might be because you're the kind of person who passive-aggressively manipulates people into doing what you want, and then leaves them up shit creek without a paddle because, well, you dislike inconvenience. Personally, I can't imagine doing that to someone. Regardless of how disappointed I might feel at having to give up my preferred campsite, I think more highly of my friends than to send them chasing after wild geese.

Fortunately for me, my mom's cousin lives near the area in question, so I called her up and asked if she and her dogs would like to go to the park. I came home with a tired, happy Dog and a bag of fresh-picked figs from her backyard. So it wasn't a total waste of a day.

maybe some artists should move in

I've lived in one ghetto or another since moving out of my parents' house. Some of them were, in fact, decent places to live; I use the word ghetto in its traditional sense to refer to neighborhoods populated by minorities and plagued by crime. I've always felt they were reasonably priced places to live, and simply avoided being a lone pedestrian after dark...at least, after I got mugged and beaten up for about $25.

I've recently decided it's time to move on. I'm sick of the mentality that a neighborhood isn't worth saving, doesn't warrant investment. I'm sick of people not giving a shit.

Last week I had to scrape the contents of the recycling bin off the street after two assholes rummaged through it for cans and bottles (California has a cash redemption value for recyclables). I don't object strongly enough to their rummaging to interrupt it -- especially as there were two of them, they looked like hardasses, and I'm pretty sure they were drunk at 7 am -- even though it undercuts the ability of recycling services to cover their own costs. I object to the fact that they smeared trash all over the street, and that I had to clean up after them.

Yesterday, I picked up and disposed of the carcass of a cat that had been decaying by the side of the street for a week. It was in someone's front yard. Who the fuck leaves a rotting animal in their front yard for a week? Ghetto people. Animal control will come pick it up for free, but ghetto people are insufficiently invested in their own neighborhood to bother picking up the phone.

For over a month, the neighbors' newly adopted dog has been barking all night long. ALL. NIGHT. LONG. I've lost count of how many hours of sleep I've lost. I've gone to their house twice, all sugar and spice, let them know that their dog is disturbing the neighborhood, and asked them to please quiet it. The first time, they seemed stunned and remarked that "No one told us." Umm. Hi. This is me, your neighbor, standing here telling you about it. The second time, they told me all about other dogs in the neighborhood, who also bark. "We've had complaints!" they said, "but it's not always our dog." I smiled and replied, "Well, it's your dog right now, and I'd really appreciate it if you asked him to be quiet."

They did. But the peace is always short-lived; the following evening I called the police at midnight and asked them to please pay a visit to the neighbors, whose dog had been barking constantly for an hour and a half. I'm not exaggerating, either: I've been keeping a log at the request of county animal control, who can't take any action until one of the other neighbors makes a complaint. No one has. Even the folks next door, who complain to me every time I see them about the noise, and who scream over the fence at the dog to shut the fuck up...they won't file a complaint. It's not even about getting the dog removed from its home -- although that's the best solution I can think of in this case, since the dog isn't a part of the family but remains chained up in a walled-off portion of the yard (no wonder the poor creature barks). Animal control merely visits the residence to assist the owners in training their dog and suggesting tools that may aid in the process. But they can't do even that, since no one will register a complaint. This morning, that dog started barking at 4:36 am, and didn't stop until 6:00. Then he started back up again before 7:00. It's driving me bloody mad. I want to bust out the gate and unhook the dog from its chain. It's not registered, and if it has any sense at all it won't come back.

it's the phallic tail, isn't it?

Last semester, I took a volleyball class in addition to my academic courseload. It was intended to get my ass out for some exercise and not as a return to competitive play...but the coach and other players talked me into joining the team this fall. The team is comprised mainly of young 20-somethings; while my sense of humor can at times be juvenile, I am not exactly of their peer group. I think our generations go by different letters.

At the conclusion of the first practice, the coach brought us together for a final pep talk and a team cheer before break. "Would you like to be the Lady Comets, or the Comets?"

1. Longest hangover EVER. Title IX went into effect 40 years ago. For reference, other current events of the time:
   • the death of J. Edgar Hoover
   • the recent departure of Apollo 16
   • Notorious BIG and Busta Rhymes were born (within one day of each other)
   • the Lakers won their first NBA title since moving from Minneapolis (and now I know why they're called the Lakers)
    
2. What is so masculine about a comet that might cause it to require a modifier?

To be fair to coach, he didn't recommend the modifier, either.

in which the author makes claims as to the numerous nature of her cells

Disclaimer: I equate the antichoice (a.k.a. "pro-life") movement with the belief that women are incapable of making choices about what is best for ourselves and our families.

This evening I've come to lodge a protest against this image:

It has appeared a number of places, but most recently I saw it on a family member's facebook page with a caption that reads, "12 weeks gestation.....legal to kill in all 50 states.....is this a blob of cells to you?..."

First of all, my husband is a wise and loving man who warned me not to respond with the full extent of my reaction on my family member's post.  (Read: I did respond, but only to observe that the image has been photoshopped.)

Secondly, this image is obviously not a likeness of a human embryo at 12 weeks' gestation, and to state that it is negates, in my opinion, the very nature of the appeal being made: "Look at me, I'm so cute and fully formed, I'm clearly too adorable to scrape into a biohazard bag."  Bullshit.  If human embryos were this fully developed at 12 weeks, nobody would bother gestating for another 28 weeks.  If a 12 week fetus is valuable to you as a fully-fledged member of the human species, don't represent it in your appeal as something else entirely.  To do so is more than a concession that a 12 week fetus isn't actually terribly lovely, it's a tacit admission that a 12 week fetus, as it truly exists, is not worthy of legal protection.  Here's a real human fetus at approximately 12 weeks' gestation:

While possessed of many attributes that lead to the suspicion it might be en route to humanhood -- and while admittedly fascinating to contemplate at this stage of development -- this creature looks like a prop in a B horror movie based on radiation exposure.  It is decidedly un-cute.  And it'd be even less cute cradled in an adult human hand (due to the implication of its unceremonious removal from the womb, where it will likely remain until it manages to pack some flesh onto its scrawny limbs and perform some extensive remodeling of its cranial vault).  Abortion photographs, paradoxically, are a tactic employed by groups with the same goal as the misguided artist above, except that the products of abortion are never photoshopped into miniaturized adorableness.

This post will not enter into a diatribe on the right to choose (except for the strongly stated disclaimer above), but rather observes that to proffer a false image as testimony for a cause implies that the cause does not stand on its own merit but requires bolstering to attain viability.  Like a freaking 12 week fetus -- it requires a lot of bolstering to attain viability.

We're all freaking blobs of cells.  Some of us have just amassed a larger collection than others.

mother hubbard's bare little cupboard

Twice recently I threw together a meal from some disparate ingredients that were all that remained in the house.  I don't fancy myself a gifted chef, but I do hit on a keeper once in a while.  Next time I make them I'll have to take pictures.

Roasted Veggies & Mushroom Ravioli with Maple Orange Glaze

1 small yellow crookneck squash
1 bulb fennel
2 small parsnips
20 or so baby carrots
2 oranges
2 tsp maple syrup
1 package wild mushroom ravioli

Preheat oven to 400F.  Coarsely chop fennel, squash, and parsnips.  Zest oranges, then juice.  Toss veggies in mixing bowl with juice from 1/2 of one orange and a couple of tablespoons of olive oil.  Spread in jelly roll pan, sprinkle lightly with salt.  Roast for ~35 mns or until tender.  In the meantime, prepare maple orange glaze and start water boiling for ravioli.

Maple Orange Glaze:
Combine remaining OJ and maple syrup in saucepan and bring to boil, then reduce heat and cook down until mixture begins to thicken.  Add zest and cook another 2-5 minutes.

Remove veggies when tender and toss with maple orange glaze.  It will have cooked down substantially and what is left is a small amount of syrupy glaze -- just enough to glue the zest to the veggies.  Serve on a bed of ravioli with a wild yeast chardonnay.

Summer Spaetzle Salad

6 oz. spaetzle

1 can white beans, drained & rinsed

1/2 can quartered artichoke hearts, drained and slightly chopped

1/2 pouch ( 1 1/2 oz.) sun-dried tomatoes, julienne cut

12-20 leaves fresh basil, julienned

1/4 cup romano cheese, grated

1 Tbsp. cream cheese

Boil spaetzle in lightly salted water 20-25 mns or until tender.  Drain and return to warm cooking pot.  Stir in cream cheese until melted.  In a large bowl, toss remaining ingredients.  Add spaetzle mixture and stir until combined.  Serve immediately.  Leftovers can be refrigerated and eaten cold.

This recipe is deliberately bland to showcase the basil, but I do think it could be "kicked up a notch" if desired.  What pleased me the most about it was the complementary textures of the spaetzle and white beans. It's got to be the German in me.  I'm definitely taking it on my next camping trip.

archives encore

The previous selection was less about authorship than content. This selection is more about the latter and less about the former.  But, really, who can argue with adolescent poetry for abject quality?  These are all taken from a blank book I had in 9th grade called The Nothing Book, which was intended as a starting place but which I kept as a title.  It was circulated about amongst anyone who cared to write in it.  "DOE" is date of entry.

theirs:

and because keeping safe my own adolescent angst seems unfair:


[from when I used to sneak out onto the roof to smoke:]

[this one must be from 10th grade:]

from the archives

This weekend, I opened a box of notes exchanged between me and my classmates during junior high school.  Most of them were too adolescent to bear re-reading, but overall it was a nostalgic experience.  I object to facebook's photo policy (i.e., I object to their "right" to steal my images), and so am posting a selection here.

Perhaps worth noting:

• "silent bell" refers to the year the school decided to turn off the bells that indicated the start and finish of class/passing time
• "W/B" abbreviates "write back," but is so often followed by its translation that one wonders how the texting culture ever managed to become established

I have fewer of my own notes (presumably having delivered the majority to their intended recipients), but here are a few examples:

And some from other folks, whose privacy I've tried to protect:

 

 

 The next one is from one of the valedictorians of our class (we had ten, for some reason).  I'm relatively certain she didn't actually think l'école était très stupide.

 The sad part about the next one is the sheer number of notes I have from this particular person, and I don't know who he is.  Even though I referenced him in the lavender flowers note above.  They almost all contain "I don't need you I don't want you" -- maybe a song lyric? -- and then ask for some commitment of attention or attendance at an event.  Hopefully I was nice to him.

 [From the same guy]  You don't like my little brother?  You mean, the kid who's going to blow his brains out next year at the tender age of 14?  On second thought, perhaps I don't care whether or not I was nice to you.  I certainly don't give a fuck what you think about my brother.

 From the guy I was dating, who was apparently having trouble fending off my competition?