Terri Schaivo Has Passed.
I'm sure you've seen the news. I'm not going into my opinions here, other than to say there were two schools of thought. One group is firm in their beliefs, and righteous about it. (although their beliefs differ) The other group is conflicted, struggling with the "what if's?" The "and it harm none", or weighing the issue looking for a balance of justice.
I don't remember Roe vs Wade, so I don't know if Congress went crazy then too. And it disturbs me that Congress has gone crazy now. We have a 3 part governmental system, and it's worked reasonably well for 200+ years. Why would my country wish to change that?
The courts did their job. They weighed the evidence against precedent (and there *is* precedent) and they made a judgement.
Did they think this would please the populace? I'm sure they did not. But court rulings are not about pleasing the current majority. Or even pleasing the vocal minority. Court rulings are about maintaining balance. It's their job to make sure the executive and legislative branches don't diverge from the constitution.
Can the constitution be changed? You bet your sweet patootie it can. It *has* been changed. 27 times, in fact. Each change went through a rigorous testing process before being implemented. Both legislative houses must approve the change, down to the last word. The President must also approve the change. The Supreme Court must rule whether or not the change fits with the general principals of the constitution. (As an example: We could make tobacco illegal, but we could not institute slavery for persons with an IQ less than 90. One would impact commerce, the other would remove freedoms guaranteed in the preamble of the constitution. So even if everyone with an IQ over 89 agreed that slavery for a minority was a good idea, the Supreme Court would be obligated to shoot the idea down.)
And. After an amendment goes through all 3 branches of our highest government, it's still not an actual change to the constitution. It doesn't become a permanent change until 3/4ths of the states ratify it. Thus 38 of our 50 states would have to approve any constitutional amendment.
The Senate Majority Leader has threatened to change the duties of the Supreme Court. I don't know, maybe because he's a frightened? He claims that the courts have too much power. That the Supreme Court checks both the Legislative and Executive branches, but no branch checks the Court. Huh.
I remember asking that very thing during my 7th grade civics course. "It's a system of checks and balances, but who checks the Supreme Court?" Congress and the President check the Court whenever they change the constitution. The Supreme Court cannot make the laws. All they can do is decide on whether the laws are constitutional or not.
Article 3, section 1 defines the courts: "The judicial Power of the United States shall be vested in one supreme Court, and in such inferior Courts as the Congress may from time to time ordain and establish. The Judges, both of the supreme and inferior Courts, shall hold their Offices during good Behaviour, and shall, at stated Times, receive for their Services a Compensation, which shall not be diminished during their Continuance in Office."
What they can do is covered in section 2: "The judicial Power shall extend to all Cases, in Law and Equity, arising under this Constitution, the Laws of the United States, and Treaties made, or which shall be made, under their Authority;--to all Cases affecting Ambassadors, other public Ministers and Consuls;--to all Cases of admiralty and maritime Jurisdiction;--to Controversies to which the United States shall be a Party;--to Controversies between two or more States;-- between a State and Citizens of another State;--between Citizens of different States;--between Citizens of the same State claiming Lands under Grants of different States, and between a State, or the Citizens thereof, and foreign States, Citizens or Subjects.
In all Cases affecting Ambassadors, other public Ministers and Consuls, and those in which a State shall be Party, the supreme Court shall have original Jurisdiction. In all the other Cases before mentioned, the supreme Court shall have appellate Jurisdiction, both as to Law and Fact, with such Exceptions, and under such Regulations as the Congress shall make.
The Trial of all Crimes, except in Cases of Impeachment, shall be by Jury; and such Trial shall be held in the State where the said Crimes shall have been committed; but when not committed within any State, the Trial shall be at such Place or Places as the Congress may by Law have directed."
Looks to me like the courts did their job.
Thursday, March 31, 2005
Today I Saw
homeless people. In my neighborhood. On my block. And it shocked me.
If you live in suburbia, you might connect "homeless" with that guy who stands at a busy intersection with a cardboard sign and a duffel bag. Or you might think of New York subways. I think of exactly those people I saw this morning: 2 men taking care of each other until they can get a roof over their heads. Maybe they were apartment hunting. We have some affordable apartments in my neighborhood, and you can usually find a "for rent" sign in front of a few.
I'll give you an example. We paid $60k for a small ranch style home in a neighborhood full of Victorian brick. The Victorians cost as much as a new home. Yet we have apartments for $250 a month. I think that's pretty affordable.
Anyway...
To see a pair of homeless men with their little black trash bags, (probably holding a change of clothes or two) in my quietly diverse neighborhood, was a shock to me. I wasn't offended. Homelessness offends me. Homeless people do not.
I wanted to stop and help them. Find them jobs (if they needed ones), find them apartments, something! And then I noticed that one of the men was carrying beer to the other. At 8 in the morning.
I drove home and blogged instead.
homeless people. In my neighborhood. On my block. And it shocked me.
If you live in suburbia, you might connect "homeless" with that guy who stands at a busy intersection with a cardboard sign and a duffel bag. Or you might think of New York subways. I think of exactly those people I saw this morning: 2 men taking care of each other until they can get a roof over their heads. Maybe they were apartment hunting. We have some affordable apartments in my neighborhood, and you can usually find a "for rent" sign in front of a few.
I'll give you an example. We paid $60k for a small ranch style home in a neighborhood full of Victorian brick. The Victorians cost as much as a new home. Yet we have apartments for $250 a month. I think that's pretty affordable.
Anyway...
To see a pair of homeless men with their little black trash bags, (probably holding a change of clothes or two) in my quietly diverse neighborhood, was a shock to me. I wasn't offended. Homelessness offends me. Homeless people do not.
I wanted to stop and help them. Find them jobs (if they needed ones), find them apartments, something! And then I noticed that one of the men was carrying beer to the other. At 8 in the morning.
I drove home and blogged instead.
Wednesday, March 30, 2005
Should Do
.
I need to make a new list thingie on my sidebar. I've been knitting for months now, and I'm finally ready to come out of the closet and admit it. Maybe even post a pic or two of what I've done. And perhaps list the pattern of whatever I'm making up at the moment. I hope this temporary list will motivate me to mess with my template a bit. (yeah right)
On The Needles
Undisclosed rainbow thingie for a certain pregnant friend 50% done
Undisclosed green and purple thingie ^see above^ starting over
2 lb scarf in school colors for L 5% done
Weasley sweater for L half a sleeve and I already want to change it
Preemie bonnet done!
preemie socks, recycled cotton yarn started today
Waiting For Needles
Hawk Wing feather and fan ripple shawl for me, me, me!
Lace because dammit, if Grandma could do it, I can do it too!
Waiting For Yarn
Felted Wool Wizard's Hat for the Hubby-Man
I'm thinking about getting the el cheapo Lion Brand Fisherman's Wool for my first attempt, because I'd hate to mess up wool that costs $25 a skein... But I want something that felts like mad. Hmm.
.
I need to make a new list thingie on my sidebar. I've been knitting for months now, and I'm finally ready to come out of the closet and admit it. Maybe even post a pic or two of what I've done. And perhaps list the pattern of whatever I'm making up at the moment. I hope this temporary list will motivate me to mess with my template a bit. (yeah right)
On The Needles
Undisclosed rainbow thingie for a certain pregnant friend 50% done
Undisclosed green and purple thingie ^see above^ starting over
2 lb scarf in school colors for L 5% done
Weasley sweater for L half a sleeve and I already want to change it
Preemie bonnet done!
preemie socks, recycled cotton yarn started today
Waiting For Needles
Hawk Wing feather and fan ripple shawl for me, me, me!
Lace because dammit, if Grandma could do it, I can do it too!
Waiting For Yarn
Felted Wool Wizard's Hat for the Hubby-Man
I'm thinking about getting the el cheapo Lion Brand Fisherman's Wool for my first attempt, because I'd hate to mess up wool that costs $25 a skein... But I want something that felts like mad. Hmm.
Saturday, March 26, 2005
Trying It Again
.
I picked up some yeast along with my other shopping the other day. Why? I really don't know. Because it seems that no matter what I do, I still bake crappy bread.
I follow the directions. I patiently let it rise or rest. I give it room to be itself. And in the end, I get italian bread with a sourdough zing. Yep. Fluffy but grainy with a thick and tender crust, and it tastes like sourdough.
Which I suppose would be fine, except
I hate sourdough!
I've tried adding honey, and get honey glazed sourdough italian bread. I've tried using milk instead of water, and it comes out even grainier. (Although the crust is thinner)
-sigh-
Oddly enough, the same dough makes a perfect pizza crust. Go figure.
.
I picked up some yeast along with my other shopping the other day. Why? I really don't know. Because it seems that no matter what I do, I still bake crappy bread.
I follow the directions. I patiently let it rise or rest. I give it room to be itself. And in the end, I get italian bread with a sourdough zing. Yep. Fluffy but grainy with a thick and tender crust, and it tastes like sourdough.
Which I suppose would be fine, except
I hate sourdough!
I've tried adding honey, and get honey glazed sourdough italian bread. I've tried using milk instead of water, and it comes out even grainier. (Although the crust is thinner)
-sigh-
Oddly enough, the same dough makes a perfect pizza crust. Go figure.
Friday, March 25, 2005
And To Think, I Coulda Gotten Outta Bed and Spared Myself This Wonderful Dream.
It's Easter break, Z spent the night, I was awoken too early by the sound of laughter... It was all good.
But then they got enrolled in video games. The house fell silent and I went back to sleep. I should have gotten out of bed.
Because I dreamt that I got some letters from the adoption agency. (In the waking world, I recently recieved letters and pics of my daughter, so maybe that was the trigger. Who knows?)
But in this dream, I got a letter from the mother of my son, and it was ugly. She told me that I was a horrible person. That I was evil and malicious for giving her this child.
The letter was scribbled out on a piece of white paper, and as I was reading it; a window opened in the letter, showing me pictures of L's neopets. This was somehow proof that I was evil. All 4 neopets had turned dark colors, and they all had evil grins on their cartoon faces. I had corrupted L's neopets and first-born-son's mom had found them. Which meant that she'd found my blogs. Which meant that she'd found me.(Nevermind the impossibility factor, it was a dream.)
There was more, but it all followed the same vein. I was evil. She didn't want her son anymore. She wanted to punish me for choosing her to be his mom.
All in all, it was a very ugly dream.
And I don't think I am evil. I put everything I knew in the medical history. I even put in the few things I knew about bio-dad's medical history. And when that wasn't enough, I blackmailed him into writing and sending his own history. I knew how important that kind of thing was. There was always this giant "what if?" hanging out there. What if he needs a new kidney? What if he gets leukemia? What if he develops an enlarged heart and dies when he's 34, like my great grandfather did? You never know what the universe is going to throw at you. The least I could do was give his parents all the knowledge I had. (sigh)
I don't believe he got it from my side of the family. My family is weird because we're all psychic to one degree or another. If my family is autistic, it's so subtle that we don't know it.
It's Easter break, Z spent the night, I was awoken too early by the sound of laughter... It was all good.
But then they got enrolled in video games. The house fell silent and I went back to sleep. I should have gotten out of bed.
Because I dreamt that I got some letters from the adoption agency. (In the waking world, I recently recieved letters and pics of my daughter, so maybe that was the trigger. Who knows?)
But in this dream, I got a letter from the mother of my son, and it was ugly. She told me that I was a horrible person. That I was evil and malicious for giving her this child.
The letter was scribbled out on a piece of white paper, and as I was reading it; a window opened in the letter, showing me pictures of L's neopets. This was somehow proof that I was evil. All 4 neopets had turned dark colors, and they all had evil grins on their cartoon faces. I had corrupted L's neopets and first-born-son's mom had found them. Which meant that she'd found my blogs. Which meant that she'd found me.(Nevermind the impossibility factor, it was a dream.)
There was more, but it all followed the same vein. I was evil. She didn't want her son anymore. She wanted to punish me for choosing her to be his mom.
All in all, it was a very ugly dream.
And I don't think I am evil. I put everything I knew in the medical history. I even put in the few things I knew about bio-dad's medical history. And when that wasn't enough, I blackmailed him into writing and sending his own history. I knew how important that kind of thing was. There was always this giant "what if?" hanging out there. What if he needs a new kidney? What if he gets leukemia? What if he develops an enlarged heart and dies when he's 34, like my great grandfather did? You never know what the universe is going to throw at you. The least I could do was give his parents all the knowledge I had. (sigh)
I don't believe he got it from my side of the family. My family is weird because we're all psychic to one degree or another. If my family is autistic, it's so subtle that we don't know it.
Tuesday, March 22, 2005
Ten Things I've Done
that other people probably haven't.
I've seen this around for a while, and it always makes me think. Because, you know, I'm not that unique. The things that stand out in my memories are such commonplace things. Like stopping in the middle of my day to touch a tree.
It's much harder to dig through my memories for something I think most people *haven't* done. And since the awesome Lori -author of Gita Manas and Lori's Crochet, wedding officiant extraordinaire, and all around cool cat lover- tackled the terrifying ten, I shall do likewise.
Ten Things
1. I've ridden in a Huey helicopter and rappelled down a cliff all in the same day, without ever joining the military.
2. I've dug a latrine. On more than one occasion.
3. I've built a shelter in the middle of a thunderstorm using nothing but sleeping bags, sticks and rocks.
4. I've been close enough to (living) wild animals to see my breath move their fur (or feathers).
5. I've walked through the Projects alone at night.
6. I've danced on a riverboat.
7. I've had my artwork complimented by my favorite artist. (she even let me get a picture with her!)
8. I pushed my bully down the stairs. (not proud of that one)
9. I have a piece of graphite in my arm. It's been there since I was stabbed with a pencil in the 7th grade. Oddly enough, my mom has a matching mark on her arm, but she was stabbed with a pen. What's with this stabbing of redheads, eh?
10. I've been kicked out of school for being pagan. 17 years later, freshmen still talk about me. The stories grow taller as time goes on.
that other people probably haven't.
I've seen this around for a while, and it always makes me think. Because, you know, I'm not that unique. The things that stand out in my memories are such commonplace things. Like stopping in the middle of my day to touch a tree.
It's much harder to dig through my memories for something I think most people *haven't* done. And since the awesome Lori -author of Gita Manas and Lori's Crochet, wedding officiant extraordinaire, and all around cool cat lover- tackled the terrifying ten, I shall do likewise.
Ten Things
1. I've ridden in a Huey helicopter and rappelled down a cliff all in the same day, without ever joining the military.
2. I've dug a latrine. On more than one occasion.
3. I've built a shelter in the middle of a thunderstorm using nothing but sleeping bags, sticks and rocks.
4. I've been close enough to (living) wild animals to see my breath move their fur (or feathers).
5. I've walked through the Projects alone at night.
6. I've danced on a riverboat.
7. I've had my artwork complimented by my favorite artist. (she even let me get a picture with her!)
8. I pushed my bully down the stairs. (not proud of that one)
9. I have a piece of graphite in my arm. It's been there since I was stabbed with a pencil in the 7th grade. Oddly enough, my mom has a matching mark on her arm, but she was stabbed with a pen. What's with this stabbing of redheads, eh?
10. I've been kicked out of school for being pagan. 17 years later, freshmen still talk about me. The stories grow taller as time goes on.
Monday, March 21, 2005
My Fingers Are Still Intact!
.
There is a tiny bit O swelling, and a tiny bit O bruising. Nothing photo worthy. Sorry.
It's been a while since I've posted any interesting site hits, so today I'm offering you these lovely words to ponder"
geek dances
where to buy reptile or chicken eggs to hatch at home
and
kitkatclub weird barbie
.
There is a tiny bit O swelling, and a tiny bit O bruising. Nothing photo worthy. Sorry.
It's been a while since I've posted any interesting site hits, so today I'm offering you these lovely words to ponder"
geek dances
where to buy reptile or chicken eggs to hatch at home
and
kitkatclub weird barbie
Sunday, March 20, 2005
I'm Nauseas
.
Does that word up there look funny to you? Or is it just me? Maybe it's because I'd like to throw up right now.
I feel ill because I mashed my hand something awful today. As I was making an inarticulate howl of pain, I was thinking that it was too late in the day for a trip to the hospital. I was also wondering if I'd broken one, two, or three fingers.
Obviously, since I'm typing; I actually broke ZERO fingers. For which I'm quite thankful. But it still hurts so bad that I have waves of nausea passing through me.
I would photograph my lovely three finger bruise, except I don't have one anymore. I did have something blossoming in brilliant shades of deep purple, until I shoved my hand under the coldest water known to man. (i.e. tap water at about 50 degrees or so... but don't argue with me, because when your hand is injured anything below blood temperature *is* the coldest water known to man)
When the frigid water didn't do anything besides giving me a different level of agony, I got smart. Yes indeedy I did. I went to my one gallon sun tea jar full of comfrey oil and poured it all over my hand.
Ah. The blessed relief.
I was tempted to unscrew the top and plunge my hand in, but then I'd have a gallon of non-sterile oil. So I used the spigot at the bottom. Besides, it was faster that way.
:D
I didn't actually expect it to work. My primary goal was to reduce the swelling. You know, nip it in the bud before it got too bad. Imagine my surprise when the pain stopped cold.
If I have any bruising tomorrow, I'll snap a pic of it so you all can see.
.
Does that word up there look funny to you? Or is it just me? Maybe it's because I'd like to throw up right now.
I feel ill because I mashed my hand something awful today. As I was making an inarticulate howl of pain, I was thinking that it was too late in the day for a trip to the hospital. I was also wondering if I'd broken one, two, or three fingers.
Obviously, since I'm typing; I actually broke ZERO fingers. For which I'm quite thankful. But it still hurts so bad that I have waves of nausea passing through me.
I would photograph my lovely three finger bruise, except I don't have one anymore. I did have something blossoming in brilliant shades of deep purple, until I shoved my hand under the coldest water known to man. (i.e. tap water at about 50 degrees or so... but don't argue with me, because when your hand is injured anything below blood temperature *is* the coldest water known to man)
When the frigid water didn't do anything besides giving me a different level of agony, I got smart. Yes indeedy I did. I went to my one gallon sun tea jar full of comfrey oil and poured it all over my hand.
Ah. The blessed relief.
I was tempted to unscrew the top and plunge my hand in, but then I'd have a gallon of non-sterile oil. So I used the spigot at the bottom. Besides, it was faster that way.
:D
I didn't actually expect it to work. My primary goal was to reduce the swelling. You know, nip it in the bud before it got too bad. Imagine my surprise when the pain stopped cold.
If I have any bruising tomorrow, I'll snap a pic of it so you all can see.
Saturday, March 19, 2005
Friday, March 18, 2005
Rather Than
.
Rather than rant about Terri Schiavo, or tell you about my new CBC coffee cup, I'm going to point you toward this blog: Convert The Athiest Contest.
I thought it would be a site filled with satire, but it's not. It's serious and funny, and very well written. You wouldn't think such deep thoughts would be so easy to read. And it really is a contest, albeit one that's unlikely to be won.
This site is totally worth your time.
note: This post is directed toward my friend who lives far, far away, because; for once, I'm linking to something positive and interesting. (Versus interesting but bloody or gross)
.
Rather than rant about Terri Schiavo, or tell you about my new CBC coffee cup, I'm going to point you toward this blog: Convert The Athiest Contest.
I thought it would be a site filled with satire, but it's not. It's serious and funny, and very well written. You wouldn't think such deep thoughts would be so easy to read. And it really is a contest, albeit one that's unlikely to be won.
This site is totally worth your time.
note: This post is directed toward my friend who lives far, far away, because; for once, I'm linking to something positive and interesting. (Versus interesting but bloody or gross)
Thursday, March 17, 2005
Beware: Sarchasm Abounds
.
I need a t-shirt that delineates my family tree by nationality. Or even better, one that simply reads "Fuck You, I'm Welsh."
Because _mixed_
/ mixed Welsh
/ \ mixed Sicilian Welsh
/ \ \ mixed Dutch Sicilian Welsh
/ \ \ \ N. A. Irish Dutch Sic. Welsh
Red hair notwithstanding, I'm no more
Irish than you
Seems like a bit much to squeeze on a t-shirt, don't you think?
Seriously. Today I'm the new black. Today everyone wants to show off their diversity awareness training by coming up to me (and others like me) to say, "You're Irish! You're so lucky today." And when I reply, "Actually, I'm not Irish." They cheerfully let me know, "That's ok. Everyone is Irish today."
No. Wishful thinking won't change my geneology, sorry.
That's not the worst of it, either. Since I don't wear green on March 17th, people speculate aloud on where I might be hiding the green. Sometimes they want to see my socks; unbelieving that I might not want to celebrate a man who crusaded against paganism. Sometimes they insist that I have green underwear on.
Yes, with your mighty x-ray vision, you can tell what color my panties are. Good for you.
.
I need a t-shirt that delineates my family tree by nationality. Or even better, one that simply reads "Fuck You, I'm Welsh."
Because _mixed_
/ mixed Welsh
/ \ mixed Sicilian Welsh
/ \ \ mixed Dutch Sicilian Welsh
/ \ \ \ N. A. Irish Dutch Sic. Welsh
Red hair notwithstanding, I'm no more
Irish than you
Seems like a bit much to squeeze on a t-shirt, don't you think?
Seriously. Today I'm the new black. Today everyone wants to show off their diversity awareness training by coming up to me (and others like me) to say, "You're Irish! You're so lucky today." And when I reply, "Actually, I'm not Irish." They cheerfully let me know, "That's ok. Everyone is Irish today."
No. Wishful thinking won't change my geneology, sorry.
That's not the worst of it, either. Since I don't wear green on March 17th, people speculate aloud on where I might be hiding the green. Sometimes they want to see my socks; unbelieving that I might not want to celebrate a man who crusaded against paganism. Sometimes they insist that I have green underwear on.
Yes, with your mighty x-ray vision, you can tell what color my panties are. Good for you.
Tuesday, March 15, 2005
An Alternative To The Previous Post
.
Heifer International gives livestock and training to hungry families worldwide. And through April 25th, Heifer is a beneficiary of a Million Dollar Matching Gift Challenge — which means that every donation they receive between now and April 25, 2005, will be matched dollar for dollar, up to $1 million.
They give pretty much everything that produces food, from trees and bees to chicks and water buffalo. And they do so much more! Here in the US, they support the creation of fish farms, worm farms, even community gardens for fresh fruit. They truly give a hand up, not a hand out.
.
Heifer International gives livestock and training to hungry families worldwide. And through April 25th, Heifer is a beneficiary of a Million Dollar Matching Gift Challenge — which means that every donation they receive between now and April 25, 2005, will be matched dollar for dollar, up to $1 million.
They give pretty much everything that produces food, from trees and bees to chicks and water buffalo. And they do so much more! Here in the US, they support the creation of fish farms, worm farms, even community gardens for fresh fruit. They truly give a hand up, not a hand out.
PETA Lies
.
Shock tactics, half-truths and outright lies. *gasp* Don't buy wool! Because sheep are sent to the slaughterhouse when the farmers have no more use for them (Nevermind that old sheep are inedible) PETA says it, it must be true! Synthetic fibers are always better than wool fibers! (Nevermind that synthetic fibers don't felt, synthetic fibers don't biodegrade, synthetic fiber production produces pollution... Just don't talk about that because...) Sheep poo is causing global warming!!!
Sheesh.
And no, I'm not linking to them. If you want to visit their site you're gonna have to google it.
*note: I actually use synthetic fibers only for my knitting. I bought 20 lbs of acrylic yarn off of ebay and I haven't gone through a third of it yet. But really, if something is cruel, you can tell people without making up "facts"
*secondary note: I should listen to myself talk. :) Although everything I've written about diamonds is factual, I could maybe hold back on a few more scary-but-true details. Hm.
.
Shock tactics, half-truths and outright lies. *gasp* Don't buy wool! Because sheep are sent to the slaughterhouse when the farmers have no more use for them (Nevermind that old sheep are inedible) PETA says it, it must be true! Synthetic fibers are always better than wool fibers! (Nevermind that synthetic fibers don't felt, synthetic fibers don't biodegrade, synthetic fiber production produces pollution... Just don't talk about that because...) Sheep poo is causing global warming!!!
Sheesh.
And no, I'm not linking to them. If you want to visit their site you're gonna have to google it.
*note: I actually use synthetic fibers only for my knitting. I bought 20 lbs of acrylic yarn off of ebay and I haven't gone through a third of it yet. But really, if something is cruel, you can tell people without making up "facts"
*secondary note: I should listen to myself talk. :) Although everything I've written about diamonds is factual, I could maybe hold back on a few more scary-but-true details. Hm.
Monday, March 14, 2005
Bloghopping Always Gets You Somewhere Interesting
Swiped from BookAngst 101:
"When I speak at conferences and authors bitch and moan about not wanting to be in the 'midlist', it makes me a little nuts. I tell them that 'midlist' applies to the majority of a publisher's list, and that it's not such a bad place to be. For one thing, a 'midlist advance' is usually in the $20,000-$75,000 range. While many authors and agents don't exactly have orgasms over advances of that size, the upside is that those advances are much more likely to earn out. And when the advance earns out, the author has a much better shot at selling his/her next book for a higher advance."
Ok, I don't know what a "midlist" is (yet), but... What! Are you kidding me??? I would *love* to get a 20 grand advance for Tales From A SouthSide Neighborhood. Ye gods! I was hoping for maybe $6,000 and a dribble of royalties. I gotta get me on this "midlist" thing.
Swiped from BookAngst 101:
"When I speak at conferences and authors bitch and moan about not wanting to be in the 'midlist', it makes me a little nuts. I tell them that 'midlist' applies to the majority of a publisher's list, and that it's not such a bad place to be. For one thing, a 'midlist advance' is usually in the $20,000-$75,000 range. While many authors and agents don't exactly have orgasms over advances of that size, the upside is that those advances are much more likely to earn out. And when the advance earns out, the author has a much better shot at selling his/her next book for a higher advance."
Ok, I don't know what a "midlist" is (yet), but... What! Are you kidding me??? I would *love* to get a 20 grand advance for Tales From A SouthSide Neighborhood. Ye gods! I was hoping for maybe $6,000 and a dribble of royalties. I gotta get me on this "midlist" thing.
Sunday, March 13, 2005
The Amethyst Incident
.
A friend of mine is potty training her daughter. When her daughter successfully dumped her first load, the mommy blogged about it. (Seriously, who wouldn't? That's a big deal. It's one tiny step toward adulthood. And while the rest of the world may not care; to us parents it's the equivalent of sending them off to college or something.)
In honor of the potty related achievements of children worldwide, I give you:
The Amethyst Incident
Potty ritual was a pretty straightforward thing in our household. Use the chair while mom sits on the floor and reads you a book. Fill the chair with as many wet wipes as you can get away with while mom lectures you on ecology. Empty the chair. Rinse it in the sink. Wash hands then exit the bathroom quickly while mom re-cleans the potty.
That getting out of the bathroom and back to your toys is a pretty crucial step, because if you stick around mom might make you use soap on the potty basin. So whoosh, out the door you go. Every single time.
Except this time.
This time you decide to snag the sparkly tumbled amethyst that sits on the sink and stuff it in your mouth. You grin in triumph as the amethyst goes down.
Your little magic trick is ruined when mom says, "Well now it's gone. Isn't it?!?"
The look of contrition on your face about breaks your mother's heart, so she says, "It's ok honey. All Things Pass." (How does she make her words sound big like that?) "You'll poop it out in a few days." That sounds do-able to you, and you go off to find some toys.
...After spending some time on the phone, mom tells you, "The doctor says we'll have to watch your poop very carefully for a few days to make sure it passes. But I wouldn't worry too much. Because really -All Things Pass." (There it is again, making little words BIG without shouting)
And sure enough, in a little over a day, the amethyst reappeared. Which was kind of a shame because watching mom dissect your bowel movements with a butter knife was pretty neat.
You never knew how carefully your mom watched you during those 35 hours or so. You never knew that she felt your head during every nap, praying that there wouldn't be fever. And you never knew how often she doubted her Big Words, and wondered "What if this Thing doesn't Pass?"
Because that's what moms do.
.
A friend of mine is potty training her daughter. When her daughter successfully dumped her first load, the mommy blogged about it. (Seriously, who wouldn't? That's a big deal. It's one tiny step toward adulthood. And while the rest of the world may not care; to us parents it's the equivalent of sending them off to college or something.)
In honor of the potty related achievements of children worldwide, I give you:
The Amethyst Incident
Potty ritual was a pretty straightforward thing in our household. Use the chair while mom sits on the floor and reads you a book. Fill the chair with as many wet wipes as you can get away with while mom lectures you on ecology. Empty the chair. Rinse it in the sink. Wash hands then exit the bathroom quickly while mom re-cleans the potty.
That getting out of the bathroom and back to your toys is a pretty crucial step, because if you stick around mom might make you use soap on the potty basin. So whoosh, out the door you go. Every single time.
Except this time.
This time you decide to snag the sparkly tumbled amethyst that sits on the sink and stuff it in your mouth. You grin in triumph as the amethyst goes down.
Your little magic trick is ruined when mom says, "Well now it's gone. Isn't it?!?"
The look of contrition on your face about breaks your mother's heart, so she says, "It's ok honey. All Things Pass." (How does she make her words sound big like that?) "You'll poop it out in a few days." That sounds do-able to you, and you go off to find some toys.
...After spending some time on the phone, mom tells you, "The doctor says we'll have to watch your poop very carefully for a few days to make sure it passes. But I wouldn't worry too much. Because really -All Things Pass." (There it is again, making little words BIG without shouting)
And sure enough, in a little over a day, the amethyst reappeared. Which was kind of a shame because watching mom dissect your bowel movements with a butter knife was pretty neat.
You never knew how carefully your mom watched you during those 35 hours or so. You never knew that she felt your head during every nap, praying that there wouldn't be fever. And you never knew how often she doubted her Big Words, and wondered "What if this Thing doesn't Pass?"
Because that's what moms do.
Thursday, March 10, 2005
An Open Letter To My Cats
.
I realize you were not gifted with opposable thumbs. Nor were you born with the drive to invent toilet paper. I get that your method of cleaning is connected with your tastebuds. But really. Did you have to wipe your ass on my freshly mopped kitchen floor?
And did you really need to zig zag across several square feet as you did it?
Because that's just rude.
.
I realize you were not gifted with opposable thumbs. Nor were you born with the drive to invent toilet paper. I get that your method of cleaning is connected with your tastebuds. But really. Did you have to wipe your ass on my freshly mopped kitchen floor?
And did you really need to zig zag across several square feet as you did it?
Because that's just rude.
Morning
.
The alarm went off before the sun had begun to paint the sky. I had planned ahead, and hit the snooze button a few times. It was good.
A clatter and a bright light intruded into my consciousness. L was awake, and the bathroom light was offensive in it's early morning cheeriness. But there was no help for it. I had to get up.
A tour bus would be waiting at the school; ready to cruise my son and his class off to the state capitol.
L was eager to be gone. I laughed inside when I thought of what lie ahead for him. Because a state capitol -the seat of power!- should be the largest city in a state, right? It should be a city immersed in political intrigue and swarming with lobbyists. There should be protesters with signs, at the very least.
But this is Jefferson City we're talking about. A little patch of land with 40,000 residents. Click the above link and note the traffic. (snicker)
And how about that state capitol? Busy place, eh?
...
It's been a long time since I've visited Jeff. City, but I don't expect it's changed much. I gave L some suggestions about what to watch for.
First of all, there's the architecture. The buildings alone make it worth the trip. And then there's the fun of watching our senate in session. Hee hee! I told L that it might be really boring, but here's what he might expect:
So congress is in session. This means there are a bunch of people standing around talking to each other while one lone guy stands at a podium and talks about whatever's on his mind. Much like your class, nobody appears to listen. They're all too busy talking to one another. (and then I said) But if you listen, you might hear something interesting. The speaker might say, "Ladies and gentlemen, I'd like to thank you for taking the time to discuss the bill that's before us. Ladies and gentlemen, This bill is wrong and I think most of you would agree with me on that. This bill is designed to restrict the sale of chocolate, and it's sponsored by the carob bean lobby..." And then he'll go on to show just how much he knows about the Missouri chocolate industry.
I wish I could remember all the funny things I said on the way to school, because L was in stitches as I mimicked the senators I've watched on public access. Oh, they are a funny bunch. :D
I hope L learns something. He has a friend who wants to be a politician, and it would be great for L to share what he's seen.
.
The alarm went off before the sun had begun to paint the sky. I had planned ahead, and hit the snooze button a few times. It was good.
A clatter and a bright light intruded into my consciousness. L was awake, and the bathroom light was offensive in it's early morning cheeriness. But there was no help for it. I had to get up.
A tour bus would be waiting at the school; ready to cruise my son and his class off to the state capitol.
L was eager to be gone. I laughed inside when I thought of what lie ahead for him. Because a state capitol -the seat of power!- should be the largest city in a state, right? It should be a city immersed in political intrigue and swarming with lobbyists. There should be protesters with signs, at the very least.
But this is Jefferson City we're talking about. A little patch of land with 40,000 residents. Click the above link and note the traffic. (snicker)
And how about that state capitol? Busy place, eh?
...
It's been a long time since I've visited Jeff. City, but I don't expect it's changed much. I gave L some suggestions about what to watch for.
First of all, there's the architecture. The buildings alone make it worth the trip. And then there's the fun of watching our senate in session. Hee hee! I told L that it might be really boring, but here's what he might expect:
So congress is in session. This means there are a bunch of people standing around talking to each other while one lone guy stands at a podium and talks about whatever's on his mind. Much like your class, nobody appears to listen. They're all too busy talking to one another. (and then I said) But if you listen, you might hear something interesting. The speaker might say, "Ladies and gentlemen, I'd like to thank you for taking the time to discuss the bill that's before us. Ladies and gentlemen, This bill is wrong and I think most of you would agree with me on that. This bill is designed to restrict the sale of chocolate, and it's sponsored by the carob bean lobby..." And then he'll go on to show just how much he knows about the Missouri chocolate industry.
I wish I could remember all the funny things I said on the way to school, because L was in stitches as I mimicked the senators I've watched on public access. Oh, they are a funny bunch. :D
I hope L learns something. He has a friend who wants to be a politician, and it would be great for L to share what he's seen.
Wednesday, March 09, 2005
I Am So Miffed
.
Darn it. Because L built this way cool science fair project, but his school isn't participating in the Greater St. Louis Science Fair. I think it's just for public schools.
Ah, well. We still have a working Van DeGraaff generator at our disposal. Who cares if L gets recognition from the city I love?
In other creation-related news, I have the plans for the slime wall done. We need:
heavy duty plastic, a length of gutter or pvc pipe, shims (maybe), 2X4's, a belt, a motor, and a boatload of tiny scoops.
Now L and I are planning Halloween project #2: faces pushing out of the wall. L originally wanted to use paper mache' or plaster. I suggested friendly plastic as a lightweight alternative. We could build up a model out of clay, and simply drape the softened plastic over the model. It would create the right look. And since friendly plastic is semi-transparent, we could put LED's behind the face to create an eerie glow.
A much more complex option would be to build an animatronic face and cover it with a sheet of rubber. (bleah)
Ooh! I just had an idea! We could do a face in a picture frame! My god, that's workable! Let's see what L thinks of it. After all, that's quite a diversion from his original concept. (yes, I use my blog for thinking out loud)
LOL, and here I've been thinking that I don't have any useful skills to volunteer for L's high school. Um, right. I can build props. I can paint and sculpt and make costumes. I make jewelry and arthritis cream, and I do mundane things too! LOL!
.
Darn it. Because L built this way cool science fair project, but his school isn't participating in the Greater St. Louis Science Fair. I think it's just for public schools.
Ah, well. We still have a working Van DeGraaff generator at our disposal. Who cares if L gets recognition from the city I love?
In other creation-related news, I have the plans for the slime wall done. We need:
heavy duty plastic, a length of gutter or pvc pipe, shims (maybe), 2X4's, a belt, a motor, and a boatload of tiny scoops.
Now L and I are planning Halloween project #2: faces pushing out of the wall. L originally wanted to use paper mache' or plaster. I suggested friendly plastic as a lightweight alternative. We could build up a model out of clay, and simply drape the softened plastic over the model. It would create the right look. And since friendly plastic is semi-transparent, we could put LED's behind the face to create an eerie glow.
A much more complex option would be to build an animatronic face and cover it with a sheet of rubber. (bleah)
Ooh! I just had an idea! We could do a face in a picture frame! My god, that's workable! Let's see what L thinks of it. After all, that's quite a diversion from his original concept. (yes, I use my blog for thinking out loud)
LOL, and here I've been thinking that I don't have any useful skills to volunteer for L's high school. Um, right. I can build props. I can paint and sculpt and make costumes. I make jewelry and arthritis cream, and I do mundane things too! LOL!
Tuesday, March 08, 2005
I (Heart) NPR
.
So there I was, driving along while listening to NPR, when these words popped out of my mouth:
"Oh HELL no!"
Because amongst the top of the hour news, was a little tidbit about drug testing teens before they get their driver's licenses. Thus the cussing on my part. It is not up to the state to decide that anyone 18 or younger can't drive until they've proven they're drug free. It's discriminatory. And it sends the wrong message to the people being discriminated against. The message is, "Young people do drugs, and we can't stop them."
To make matters worse, the drug test would be paid for by the teenagers themselves.
Not that I'm against making it difficult to obtain and keep a drivers license. I think everyone should have to pass a drivers test when they renew their license. They (and I) should have to prove they still know how to drive. I think it would make a world of difference with the development of bad driving habits. And just think how many jobs it would create!
But you don't see me out there crusading against bad drivers. Yeah, I think my idea would work. I also think it would cost a lot of tax dollars and man hours that might be better spent on something else.
.
So there I was, driving along while listening to NPR, when these words popped out of my mouth:
"Oh HELL no!"
Because amongst the top of the hour news, was a little tidbit about drug testing teens before they get their driver's licenses. Thus the cussing on my part. It is not up to the state to decide that anyone 18 or younger can't drive until they've proven they're drug free. It's discriminatory. And it sends the wrong message to the people being discriminated against. The message is, "Young people do drugs, and we can't stop them."
To make matters worse, the drug test would be paid for by the teenagers themselves.
Not that I'm against making it difficult to obtain and keep a drivers license. I think everyone should have to pass a drivers test when they renew their license. They (and I) should have to prove they still know how to drive. I think it would make a world of difference with the development of bad driving habits. And just think how many jobs it would create!
But you don't see me out there crusading against bad drivers. Yeah, I think my idea would work. I also think it would cost a lot of tax dollars and man hours that might be better spent on something else.
Saturday, March 05, 2005
Geek Groupie
.
The difference between a geek and a nerd, according to the Hubby-Man, is that geeks have social skills. The Hubby-Man is definitely a geek.
I'm more of a geek wanna-be. My geeky talents include fixing cars, building stuff, engineering stuff out of common household items, and knowing way to much trivial shit. (like the Alaska oil reserve has enough oil to power America for 589 days)
But I'm not a true geek, because while I can fix a car, the Hubby-Man can fix it better in half the time. Same goes for engineering and building. I can beat him in the drafting department. And my brain is full of trivia whereas his is full of computer languages.
So I'm a geek groupie.
We are watching NASA TV right now. There's a high-school robotics competition on. The kids have to get their bots to put caps on pyramids. Truly, only a geek or his groupie would enjoy this kind of thing.
So go watch it!
.
The difference between a geek and a nerd, according to the Hubby-Man, is that geeks have social skills. The Hubby-Man is definitely a geek.
I'm more of a geek wanna-be. My geeky talents include fixing cars, building stuff, engineering stuff out of common household items, and knowing way to much trivial shit. (like the Alaska oil reserve has enough oil to power America for 589 days)
But I'm not a true geek, because while I can fix a car, the Hubby-Man can fix it better in half the time. Same goes for engineering and building. I can beat him in the drafting department. And my brain is full of trivia whereas his is full of computer languages.
So I'm a geek groupie.
We are watching NASA TV right now. There's a high-school robotics competition on. The kids have to get their bots to put caps on pyramids. Truly, only a geek or his groupie would enjoy this kind of thing.
So go watch it!
Thursday, March 03, 2005
OK, I'm Pissed
.
Someone I know works at a school. The flu is running rampant in Missouri right now. Parents are sending their sick kids to school anyway. One child had a fever so high, that the child seized. Yes, that's right. A child had a seizure. And suffered some damage, that I hope is temporary.
I feel horrible for the child, just horrible. And I'm furious at a set of parents or guardians that I'll never meet. Because you don't send your child to school with a fever of 105. You take off work to care for your child. If work fires you, you find another job. YOU CARE FOR YOUR CHILD. You rush them to the hospital. You chase down doctors. You pack your kid in ice, if need be. YOU CARE FOR YOUR CHILD!
I'm not the perfect mom. But even I know that your children take priority.
(sigh)
I know, I know. I'm being self-righteous and judgmental. And tomorrow I'll have moved on to happier thoughts, while the parents will never forget. They will suffer day and night and worry for the rest of their lives. And I think that's why I'm so mad right now. Such painful suffering... and it didn't have to be that way.
.
Someone I know works at a school. The flu is running rampant in Missouri right now. Parents are sending their sick kids to school anyway. One child had a fever so high, that the child seized. Yes, that's right. A child had a seizure. And suffered some damage, that I hope is temporary.
I feel horrible for the child, just horrible. And I'm furious at a set of parents or guardians that I'll never meet. Because you don't send your child to school with a fever of 105. You take off work to care for your child. If work fires you, you find another job. YOU CARE FOR YOUR CHILD. You rush them to the hospital. You chase down doctors. You pack your kid in ice, if need be. YOU CARE FOR YOUR CHILD!
I'm not the perfect mom. But even I know that your children take priority.
(sigh)
I know, I know. I'm being self-righteous and judgmental. And tomorrow I'll have moved on to happier thoughts, while the parents will never forget. They will suffer day and night and worry for the rest of their lives. And I think that's why I'm so mad right now. Such painful suffering... and it didn't have to be that way.
A Fluffy Surprise
.
Yesterday, I was trudging through the back yard, thankful that it was above 20 degrees. Because 20 degrees seems to be the failure temp for my knees. Anyway, it was freezing outside. I was walking with my head down, thinking about Winter and wondering when it would be warm again. I caught a flash of red in my peripheral vision. I looked up just in time to see a robin fly past. He landed on my roof and turned his head to look at me. And I looked back with a smile.
Because robins in St. Louis mean Winter is over! No more hard freezes! Yay!
When the robins come back, they're usually lean and blandly colored. Not so with this guy. He was fat. And his breast was downright scarlet. I haven't seen such a bright robin since my childhood.
I really hope this well-fed bird means prosperity for this year. The day before, my son and I laughed over the antics of a really plump squirrel. I mean how often do you get to see a squirrel with a double chin, right?
If I see another overweight animal today, I'll take it as a sign.
Which reminds me. Next week, I'm going out with my second cousin. We're going to drop off samples of my products at a string of day-spas. Which means I'll need to buy more shea butter because I might have a lot of orders to fill.
.
Yesterday, I was trudging through the back yard, thankful that it was above 20 degrees. Because 20 degrees seems to be the failure temp for my knees. Anyway, it was freezing outside. I was walking with my head down, thinking about Winter and wondering when it would be warm again. I caught a flash of red in my peripheral vision. I looked up just in time to see a robin fly past. He landed on my roof and turned his head to look at me. And I looked back with a smile.
Because robins in St. Louis mean Winter is over! No more hard freezes! Yay!
When the robins come back, they're usually lean and blandly colored. Not so with this guy. He was fat. And his breast was downright scarlet. I haven't seen such a bright robin since my childhood.
I really hope this well-fed bird means prosperity for this year. The day before, my son and I laughed over the antics of a really plump squirrel. I mean how often do you get to see a squirrel with a double chin, right?
If I see another overweight animal today, I'll take it as a sign.
Which reminds me. Next week, I'm going out with my second cousin. We're going to drop off samples of my products at a string of day-spas. Which means I'll need to buy more shea butter because I might have a lot of orders to fill.
Tuesday, March 01, 2005
A Pair of Survivors
When L was young, he went to preschool. His teachers were a mother/daughter team. Both women had an accent that marked them as immigrants. They tended to wear long sleeved shirts, even in warm weather. It was no secret that they were survivors of the Holocaust, who later converted to Catholicism. Both women radiated an indescribable peace. They were (and I assume still are) awesome women who genuinely cared for their students. I didn't expend much thought on their past. All that mattered to me was that they were here, now, teaching my son.
My mom recently ran into them at a grocery store, and they got to talking. Somehow or another, talk turned to their being Holocaust survivors. I think it had something to do with the difficulties of immigrating to the US. Anyway, they showed mom their tattoos.
When mom told me about it, I was astounded. Because only one concentration camp bothered to tattoo numbers on their victims. And even then, only those deemed fit for the "work camp" received tattoos. The full impact of what they've survived didn't hit me until today, when I stumbled across this page while looking for geology maps. The death march was little more than a tiny notation in my 7th grade history book, so I looked around the site to learn more.
Those two women, who quietly taught my son, survived more than just Auschwitz.
First, they survived a campaign of fear and hatred. Next they were moved to a ghetto in another country, where they survived overcrowding, disease, and mobile killing squads. They survived being moved yet again, this time to Auschwitz. Once there, they both made it into the work camp. A rare thing.
They might have been two of those left behind when the death march began. If not, they were forced to march 35 miles to Wodzislaw, where they were stuffed into freight cars and moved to another camp. It was called a "death march" because only one out of four survived.
All of the above is history. You can follow my links,or do your own research if you'd like to know more. But there's more to the story. The survivors of the concentration camps couldn't go home. Their property had been given away, and the new owners were willing to fight for it. There was a lot of hate, and a lot of fear. The survivors had nowhere to go.
I once asked L's teachers why they chose to move to America. This is what they told me:
After the war, they were in hiding (somewhere), when an Argentinean Jewish group paid for their entry into Argentina. From there, they waited 6 years for paperwork to go through for immigration to America. They chose America because that's where the group suggested they go. They built a life here, and chose a career in pre-school because "Little children are wonderful."
When L was young, he went to preschool. His teachers were a mother/daughter team. Both women had an accent that marked them as immigrants. They tended to wear long sleeved shirts, even in warm weather. It was no secret that they were survivors of the Holocaust, who later converted to Catholicism. Both women radiated an indescribable peace. They were (and I assume still are) awesome women who genuinely cared for their students. I didn't expend much thought on their past. All that mattered to me was that they were here, now, teaching my son.
My mom recently ran into them at a grocery store, and they got to talking. Somehow or another, talk turned to their being Holocaust survivors. I think it had something to do with the difficulties of immigrating to the US. Anyway, they showed mom their tattoos.
When mom told me about it, I was astounded. Because only one concentration camp bothered to tattoo numbers on their victims. And even then, only those deemed fit for the "work camp" received tattoos. The full impact of what they've survived didn't hit me until today, when I stumbled across this page while looking for geology maps. The death march was little more than a tiny notation in my 7th grade history book, so I looked around the site to learn more.
Those two women, who quietly taught my son, survived more than just Auschwitz.
First, they survived a campaign of fear and hatred. Next they were moved to a ghetto in another country, where they survived overcrowding, disease, and mobile killing squads. They survived being moved yet again, this time to Auschwitz. Once there, they both made it into the work camp. A rare thing.
They might have been two of those left behind when the death march began. If not, they were forced to march 35 miles to Wodzislaw, where they were stuffed into freight cars and moved to another camp. It was called a "death march" because only one out of four survived.
All of the above is history. You can follow my links,or do your own research if you'd like to know more. But there's more to the story. The survivors of the concentration camps couldn't go home. Their property had been given away, and the new owners were willing to fight for it. There was a lot of hate, and a lot of fear. The survivors had nowhere to go.
I once asked L's teachers why they chose to move to America. This is what they told me:
After the war, they were in hiding (somewhere), when an Argentinean Jewish group paid for their entry into Argentina. From there, they waited 6 years for paperwork to go through for immigration to America. They chose America because that's where the group suggested they go. They built a life here, and chose a career in pre-school because "Little children are wonderful."
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