September 2008 Archives
Yesterday was an early release day for The Boy, so I took the day off, had lunch with him at school, then took him to get a haircut and to Target, because he had been saving all his gift cards and birthday money for one item for an entire month (and he's seven, so an entire month is a really long time):
Lego Batman for the Wii.
We have both Lego Star Wars games and the Lego Indiana Jones game, and they're the ones that The Boy replays most often--aside from Super Mario Galaxy, that is.
And Lego Batman is just as much fun as the other games - the sense of humor is intact, the batarang is awesome, and all the fun villains are there.
We literally had to pry The Boy off the game last night, and even after he was in bed if he heard a noise he would yell, "Are you playing my game? Don't play the next level yet!"
Then we'd have to reassure him that we weren't playing his game. In fact, I waited a full 30 minutes after Supernatural before I played, and then I just redid the first level in story mode so we could get "Superhero" status.
What?
UPDATE: Now with Photo Illustrations!
Yeah. My stupid cat got into a fight a week ago last Monday night. I know this because I ran into the inky midnight in my underpants after I heard the yowling and retrieved said feline.
So I looked her over - no blood.
On Tuesday she hid in the closet.
On Wednesday she still hid in the closet, and was a bit off her feed.
On Thursday, her ear was bent down, there was a lump, and something was oozing.
On Friday, she had surgery to lance an abcess and cut away the necrotic tissue behind her ear. She was returned to us Friday afternoon with a large plastic collar and a plastic tube poking out of her ear so that pus and fluid could drain from the wound. Yeah, that cost us some money. AWESOME!
On Saturday, I spent my time tempting her with food and drink, shoving pills and narcotics down her throat, and wiping the collar clean of gnarly fluids.
On Sunday, I did more of the same, and noticed that the cat hadn't peed in 24 hours. Also, I threw a rock at the cats across the street, just on general principles.
On Monday, there was still no peeing or pooping, so we went back to the vet and the cat got an enema. Enemas aren't free, although the cat would argue that being charged for the procedure only adds insult to injury. Oh, and bonus--the vet looked at the ear and determined that the hole wasn't closing and more suturing might be necessary. So my cat, who had just gotten her appetite back, was denied food last night.
Today I dropped the damn cat off at the damn vet - again - so that she could undergo more sedation that will screw with her bowels and bladder and appetite and sense of balance. She will officially hold the title of The Angriest Cat in America when she gets home, and I will have to administer antibiotics to this fine specimen of catdom. No word yet on the additional cost.
As a semi-money-related aside - Did I mention that the plumber's coming out on Thursday to fix the Leaky Toilet of Doom and try to figure out the Mystery of the Singing Pipes? Ka-ching!
Good thing I got cash for my birthday! Happy birthday to me, cat. Your lifespan had better be at least as long as that of a Coach bag, is all I'm sayin'.
UPDATE: Guess what? In addition to tossing pills down her throat twice a day, I also now have to irrigate the wound with saline and apply some kind of salve that they normally use on lactating cow udders to her ear three times a day! My arm is already looking like hamburger after my first attempt - I imagine things will only go downhill from here, as she was still somewhat groggy during the first cleaning.
I thought you might be curious as to what the be-collared kitty looked like. And so, without further adieu, Ladies and Gentlemen, may I present the Angriest Cat in America!
Want to know the answer to the age-old question, "Who gives a rat's ass?"
My cat, that's who. By leaving the nether regions of said rat intact on my doormat whilst devouring the upper portion of the rodent's body.
And so I was confronted, when I flung wide the front door early one balmy fall morning to greet the new day, with a large, brown, rat's ass on my doorstep.
Awesome.
So the latest OA arrived at the house - they seem to be holding their own after a long line of debacles involving going out of publication, then coming back, then vanishing again, then coming back, THEN having all their cash embezzled--it's kind of a southern gothic, when you think about it. I'm sure the publisher will be thrilled to hear that I believe their travails give them southern street cred, if no actual cash flow...
Anyway, the issue is all about Katrina, with pieces written by folks from there, or who were there, etc - fiction, non-fiction, yadda yadda yadda. Good stuff.
But the article that is bothering me is the one about the doctor who told Dick Cheney to F*** himself - not because he did that, because, hey, it's America, and if you want to take time from your busy day to yell angry epithets at a Vice President, be my guest. No, it's because after reading the article, the only thing I could think was, "Why the hell was this guy even THERE to yell at Dick Cheney?"
The figure in question is a medical doctor from Gulfport, who, at the time Katrina struck, had a 39-week pregnant wife and a sick toddler. The story outlines his decision to leave when he saw the storm hit a Cat 5 (good call!), his family's brief stay in a hotel room, and then, his inexplicable decision to drive his pregnant wife NOT further north to an actual city with electricity and a hotel, but BACK TO HIS HOUSE (bad call, dude. Just - Bad. Call). Which had just sustained a major hurricane. Naturally, birthin' wackiness ensued, and this guy's subsequent "heroic" moment of fighting the man--or cussin' a V.P.--was completely lost on me, as all I could think was, "Dude. Wtf?"
Now, I've never experienced a cat 5 hurricane while living in a city located on the coast or--in the case of N.O.--below sea level, but I was in Raleigh for Hurricane Fran back in 1996. That was a 3, I believe, by the time it hit us, we're a few hundred miles inland, and it still took 9 days for them to get the power back on in my apartment, and a full YEAR to finish clearing up the debris. '96 was pretty much the year of the dump truck around here.
So my point is that I have a difficult time understanding how someone--and someone with a medical degree, no less, so obviously not a stupid person--could think that things would be anywhere near okay a scant week after a hurricane the size of Katrina came through. Even if FEMA had been staffed by the Justice League and the X-Men, this wouldn't have been the case.
Thankfully, his wife was made of sterner stuff, and was able to deliver a baby the old fashioned way in a hospital with no meds and spotty electricity. Had it been me, I would have followed up that bit of forced performance art by chucking the placenta at the good doctor's head.
I have half a mind to email the author of the piece and inquire whether or not the doctor remains married...
You know, I wanted to post about how I am The Official Dugout Mom for The Boy's baseball team, and talk about the ways in which dealing with fourteen seven-year-old boys in a dugout is FAR SUPERIOR to grappling with eight five-year-olds in the same setting, but then I came across this article, and I simply could not believe that somewhere out there is a human being--who makes a living teaching other human beings in a discipline that is supposed to feature research, logic and reasoning--whose grasp of logic is so flawed that she is able to straight-facedly put forth the argument that if you've lived anywhere that racism, crime or radicalism has ever occurred, your past should be investigated with respect to racism, crime, or radicalism. Even when, as she states IN THE PIECE ITSELF, there is no evidence linking the person in question to these beliefs. What the hell, lady?
As a resident of the south, then, who has travelled in Italy and visited the DC Holocaust Museum, I hereby submit myself for investigation regarding my obvious ties to Mussolini, nazism and the Klan.
Read it if you want a laugh, but the real fun is in the comments section. My personal fave?
Lizzy Borden was from New England. I will assume Catherine McNicol Stock is also an ax murderer until she proves otherwise. She certainly knows her way around a hatchet.
But back to my main point - as far as I am aware, the discipline of history values logical analysis. So I went to the author's departmental homepage (she's the chair of the history department and the director of the American Studies program, btw, another feather in the cap of academe) to see what courses were required in order to matriculate with a BA in American Studies.
First we are told that American Studies is one of the most popular majors at Connecticut College. Let's see what's on offer, shall we?
Here is a sample of courses from various disciplines that you might take as an American Studies major or minor:
- Introduction To American Studies (required)
- Theorizing Race And Ethnicity (required)
- Politics And Culture In The United States Since 1917
- The History of Hip Hop Music and Culture in Post-Industrial America, 1973-Present
- History of Witchcraft And Magic
- Latin American Immigration And Migration
- The Globalization of American Culture Since 1945 (senior capstone course, required)
Consult the Related Links at right to find the Major and Minor requirements for American Studies, and to view the Course Catalog to learn about these, and more courses, in depth.
Okay, if I were 18 years old and I could take courses about Hip Hop and Witchcraft and end up with a bachelor's degree I would be all over that crap!
And crap it is, apparently, if the department head's editorial is any indication of the sort of academic rigor practiced in that department.
As an aside, kudos to the Philadelphia Inquirer - I'm pretty sure your online circulation figures have skyrocketed in the wake of the two most recent Palin editorials you've published. If I were running a paper during these trying times, I'd be doing my damndest to get Drudge to link me, too!
Where Camille Paglia has the most measured views on feminism and abortion that I've read recently. It's long, but read the whole thing. Maybe I'm just mesmerized by anyone in the press having the ability to actually address two sides of an issue nowadays...
Boring real life update - home modem has crapped out, replacement is in the mail, work is nuts, and I'm turning 40 in three days! I am actually quite excited about this birthday, primarily because I managed to nip any and all plans for large celebration in the bud, and have already purchased some pre-birthday birthday presents for myself. I'm the proud owner of a teeny-tiny Impala replica, which came with my purchase of Supernatural's third season DVDs. I may be old, but I'm not dead, and I still lurve my gun-totin', ghost-bustin', muscle-car drivin' Winchester brothers beyond the telling of it!
Dear Sisterhood -
W.T.F.
Seriously. Here's a helpful list of Things I Have Learned About Feminism, 2008 Revised Edition.
- The media is sexist. Well actually this one wasn't a news flash. I mean, I'm not a big HRC fan, but come on--if you're gonna criticize a woman for having birthing hips on the campaign trail, then I demand equal time for some analysis of the Biden Comb Over. Because really, that thing is scary.
- It's bad when the media is sexist, unless the media is being sexist toward women who aren't big fans of willy-nilly uterine scraping. Then those bitches deserve what they get!
- Women are oppressed because they can't have it all!
- Women who actually DO have it all really need to Think of the Children! And stop having it all, dammit! And stop raping Gaia by having children! Also, see #2 above. Again.
- Women are more than their uterus. And to prove it, we will divide into camps based upon uterine policy. It makes perfect sense when you think about it.
- Every stupid decision a child ever makes is ALWAYS THE MOTHER'S FAULT. Always. That unattractive dress I paid way too much for last week? Yeah, totally mom's fault. Somebody slap her!
- Fathers? What are those things, anyway?
I'm speechless. Really. Is that what everything about a woman's experience boils down to nowadays? The uterus? I'm having a hard time believing that we've come a long way when we can't seem to get past our own birth canals.
Wake me in November.
