F16’s Don’t Kill People, 500 Lb. Bombs Kill People

Scientists have been able to establish that Aboriginal peoples in what is now Australia were not wandering nomads without a concept of place, or ownership. Still, it was convenient for white settlers to push the lie as it helped them claim land for themselves.

Deliberate or not, there’s a tendency for Westerners to discount the works and abilities of non-western peoples. For years, it was believed that artwork like the Benin Bronzes were the result of outside Western influences (presumably because indigenous peoples were not believed capable of  "art", something Westerners claim as evidence of civilisation).

A sleeping man is (allegedly) jolted three times by Omaha police who entered his house to ticket him for theft.

There are more than a few WTF’s here. Do police routinely enter people’s homes to serve tickets for theft (theft that does not come with an arrest, only a ticket)?

Is sleeping considered a hostile act that requires someone to be (repeatedly) shocked?

The police claim to be able to tell if a Taser was used and claim it was not (oooh, spooky-and just in time for Haloween. Maybe it was a ghost, or Mr. Nobody sneaking into this man’s house (along with the police) to mysteriously give him three 50,000 volt shocks).

Something smells very bad here.

sadly, (or cherfully even) emotions do not influence cancer survival rates. I’m glad to see this study published as it struck me as cruel to expect sick people to struggle to remain positive. I always thought that was placing an additional burden on patients for something that appeared to be for the benefit of those around the ill person.

Well THIS is a depressing note to start the week on. What’s worse, there was a time when reading this would have sounded unbelievable whereas today it sounds commonplace. Disgusting, yes-but not terribly shocking.

THIS article about the recently published biography of Charles Schulz (creator of Peanuts) by David Michaelis is interesting for a couple of reasons. First, because his family and friends say that the biographer drew conclusions that were not based on anything they told him. What’s really interesting in a sort of warped/funny way is that the author instead drew his conclusions on a close reading of all the strips Schultz drew.

Close reading? Like it was The Iliad, or something?

I have to wonder how much of this was a close reading, or wild extrapolation to fit his already formed ideas about Schulz? At worst, it sounds like pop psychology-at best, it sounds like really poor research. "I say, "sounds like", as I have not yet read the book. The bit about close reading some seventeen thousand strips to conclude that Schulz was an unhappy man does tend to elicit a sort of "so what?" response. Really, does anyone care? Does the allegation that a famous cartoonist wasn’t particularly cheerful merit a book? Maybe it does; writing a biography about a perfectly typical person wouldn’t sell very well, would it?

I suppose there’s a chapter on Schulz’ sympathies for the terrible Hun given all that Snoopy and Red Baron stuff. Close readings, you know.

Know what’s awful? OK, I realise that sort of a question has plenty of potential answers, but what’s awful today, over here, is when my kid wakes up screaming bloody murder and can only say "Ear! Ear! Ear!"

Of course, it’s too late to get him to the doctor today, so we do some tylenol and wait for our morning appointment. Long night, anyone? Really, I’ll be up-feel free to call, email, whatever.

So anyway, let’s do one of these link-a-rama posts, shall we?

Now That Summer’s Over, here’s some good information about fixing your air-conditioner.

Autistic kid tased by cops, but after reading the article about how he was trying to run away from the forced therapy session his parents were imposing on him against his will, I’ve come to the conclusion the parents should be the ones tased. Hard to tell which human rights abuse is worse, the involuntary psychiatric treatment or the taser.

The top 50 dystopian movies of all time. This is a fun list filled with movies you completely forgot about.

Why move into a real neighbourhood with diversity and stuff when you can move to fucking Stepford. I’m sorry, this not only gives me the creeps, it pisses me off.

Disclosure-we adopted our dog from a no-kill shelter in MA that rescued him from Puerto Rico. Here’s a couple of stories about the stray dog problem there. Here-objections to the shelters shipping in dogs from Puerto Rico, and Here, an example of what dogs in Puerto Rico face.

Marguerite Patten interview (and recipe). I love, love, love her. The fact that after all these years she still calls herself a "home economist", rather than take the title "chef" is just so incredibly cool. It’s a great interview too.

You know, these stories about "hungry burglars" aren’t funny, or "peculiar." These are clearly people who are trying to feed themselves or their children-and based on what was taken, it sure sounds like someone trying to feed a child.

So which is it, are you left brain or right brain?

How the hell is this even legal? Cops are now authorised to draw blood from people (you know, I read stuff like this and really figure we’re so fucking far gone that there’s no point of getting out of bed anymore. Every single day it’s some new and better way to feel violated each and every second of the day).

Have a lovely weekend.

(Cross-posted at Eat The Blog, because I’m lazy, and having a shitty day)

After the mouse episode in the crawl space, I held my breath and opened another seldom-used closet. Though not quite as bad (probably due to a lack of food) they did manage to completely destroy a few items of clothing. I know they climb, but it seems so strange that a mouse would want to climb up a dress, a suit and a fragile antique lace blouse, to nibble gigantic holes. It actually looks more shredded. Gosh, I’m heartsick over this.

Over the years, I’ve really all but stopped buying clothes figuring what I had would last a lifetime (…and it would have, blah, blah). Only today, as I realised the jacket I was wearing had (numerous) moths holes, did it dawn on me that I’ve become old. Too old to see properly to put on makeup (and yes, I forgo blush lest I sport the typical old lady unblended line straight up the cheekbones…if I had cheekbones) haven’t had a professional haircut in over five years, shoes have holes, can’t see well enough to tweeze those few hairs that have decided to sprout on my chin (yes, really. Just wait till your estrogen ups and leaves) and so on. I don’t know, in the back of my mind, I figured I at least had a few nice items to wear, should I ever need to do more than clean piss up off the floor, or pick up groceries at No Frills. Seeing the destruction made me terribly sad-silly as it sounds (and it is actually being kind of silly) those clothes were the last nice things I’ll ever own. I know that. Even if we could afford to replace them, I wouldn’t. Ideologically, it no longer fits in my life-I couldn’t very well go indulge in expensive clothing when I know people who are eating from dumpsters. Odds are, I wouldn’t have ever worn most of these things again because I’d be embarrassed that they seem ostentatious. Sooner or later, I’d have given them away-seems a shame that the mice should get them first though.

This came on a day when I was already feeling pretty lousy, physically (which is of course, a great time to go clean a closet, eh?). Regular readers will attest-I am not even close to being thin-skinned. I routinely dish it out, and in return, do a fairly good job of taking it. I don’t take Internet things personally; because they are not personal-even less so when I have to take crap from total strangers. That said, and again-I think this just fits into a very long couple of weeks and being a bit run-down, I just about put my fist through the computer this afternoon.

I made the unbearably stupid mistake of commenting on something in our inane newspaper. The story was about a traffic accident that resulted in a fatality. I noted that I frequently pass the area and it is indeed dangerous, and advised people should be cautious there. The story was shortly thereafter updated to indicate more details, and it turns out the accident was about a mile down the same road. Oh my God! There was a factual error in my comment. Slap me upside the head and call me moron, I will have zero credibility from now on.  This lead to (weirdly) someone else posting to correct me (in MY name) and another poster all but calling me an idiot for not reading the article.

I’m furious that I’m furious over a fucktard comment from someone I don’t even know. Believe me, this stuff never so much as irritates me in passing. Today, it did (for like, fifteen seconds-but still, I’m pissed that he/she got even that much of a rise out of me). So yes, I’ll learn how to read a newspaper, and while I’m at it, I’ll write to the University that had the poor judgment to issue me not one, but two degrees. Maybe they’ll permit me to sell them back-I could use the money.

I’ll tell you this, I’m afraid to open any more closets. I need to go upstairs and unpack my winter clothes, which are in sealed plastic tubs. If I find those gnawed and pried open, I’m moving back to Boston, where the rats stick to eating garbage.

Quick, someone please tell a joke or something in the comments thread before the mood around here gets too self-pitying.

Granted, THIS happened in Scranton-but still (though the mere mention of the city does sort of evoke the image of an overflowing lavoratory). So remember kids, if an off duty cop hears you swearing inside your own home, it’s a $300. fine and possible time in the clink.

Even if this is dismissed in court (which I’ve got to believe it will be) the woman will still have adisorderly conduct charge that will haunt her when applying for jobs, loans, apartment rentals, etc. The police think it is such a goddamned joke, but these bogus charges ruin people’s lives.

Hey, I’ve spent some time in Scranton, and from what I saw it sure seems there is a whole hell of a lot the police could be doing to ensure the public’s safety other than being the language police.

-well yeah, paying 140 million (Pounds? Good Lord, that’s quite a bit of dough) to your Ex because you were too lovestruck to listen to your lawyers and get a prenup…

You know, he could have avoided all of this nonsense had he married me, way back when. And I never would have gotten one of those idiotic shag haircuts like Linda was sporting in the 70’s.

Sheesh.

Apparently, I’m pretty far outside of the popular culture, as I’ve never taken a mirror to my private parts to examine whether or not my labia is too large. I’d laugh if it weren’t so sad.

The short version of THIS article is that women are having surgeries to make their labias look smaller because apparently, there is some sort of ideal. No, I’m really not making this up.

It’s true that I don’t spend a lot of time examining my labia, much less those of others. Actually, my only experience with a close up examination was when a co-worker insisted I follow her into the rest room so she could show me what she did over the weekend. Silly me was expecting a new tattoo or something-I sure as hell wasn’t prepared for a piercing. I suppose it’s worth a mention that the polite thing to do, after piercing your genetalia and jonesing to show-it off, would be to sort of warn you co-worker (who was old enough to be your mother) with something simple like,

"Hey, I had my privates pierced last weekend-wanna see?"

Anyway, that’s the extent of my experience and oddly enough, I didn’t rush straight home to look if what I had was consistent with what she had. I dunno, I’m just not a competitive sort of person.

You’re probably wondering what motivates women to have surgery to mutilate themselves? I mean, where would a woman get such an insane idea? From the article:

"Last summer, she asked the man she was dating what he thought. "Well, I’ve been with women whose labia are smaller," she recalls him responding. Then he referred Beth to a magazine where he had seen advertisements for labiaplasty."

…The suffering might have been worthwhile had Beth liked the results. But she was horrified. "My right lip was completely gone, and my left lip was just hanging there, cut off at an angle," she says. As she healed during the next month, her surgical scars became "rigid, bumpy and rough; they were painful and uncomfortable." She told her boyfriend that she had a cyst and couldn’t have sex, and the two of them have since split up."

So let me get this straight-asshole boyfriend encourages insecure young woman (who had only began having sex, for heaven’s sake) to have surgery (he shows her the friggin advertisement!) to make her labia look more attractive to him (serious WTF here) or at least, up to the standard of a porn star. When the surgery mutilates and deforms her and causes hellish pain-the relationship is over? OK everyone, what lesson have we learned here other than the women’s movement of my generation has failed miserably?

Oh my God. Seriously guys, if a woman will let you anywhere near her in the first place, you should drop to your knees in appreciation. Under no circumstances should you critique her body-ever. At least, not if you want to continue being anywhere near her body. I’m saying "guys" because (and I can’t say it never happens, though it seems pretty unlikely) I cannot imagine this sort of idiocy coming from a woman. I’m sure there must be a handful of cruel lesbians out there, but I’d have to think that women are smart enough to know that insulting the body of the person you hope to have sex with will not be productive. What sort of a low-life gives his girlfriend an ad for cosmetic labia surgery? Or breast enhancement, or a diet programme, etc?

The article goes on to point out that women often don’t mention these things to their gynecologists because they fear being trivialized and embarrassed. You know what? They should feel trivialized and embarrassed. But never fear, there’s always a plastic surgeon willing to take your money and tell you anything you want to hear.

Believe me when I tell you, we tried. Danny’s never been exposed to television, commercials, or the current crop of inane children’s movies. I did my best to avoid purchasing branded items, taking it to the extreme of decorating his room with tableaus from Make Way For Ducklings that I drew on foam board with sepia coloured markers. No Thomas The Tank Engine for my child.

It was with great unease that I gave in, and let him select his own briefs as a toilet training incentive (it worked). Of course, he wanted the one with the smiling red car on it. Of course. I should have seen where that would lead.

Mind you, he likes these characters completely devoid of context. He is unfamiliar with the movie (or is it a television show?), real names of the characters, and so forth. Still, he’s fallen madly in love with the characters, the purple hot-rod in particular. At some point, we ended up with a trading card with the purple car on it. This was a very big deal. He now sleeps with the card tucked safely between his two favourite books, Yesterday’s Cars, and Fabulous Cars ("mama will read Danny fab-u-us cars now"). My husband has taken to creating elaborate stories about when the (imaginary) yellow cobra hot-rod challenged the purple car to a race and the purple car declined. I believe at this point in the story the yellow cobra calls the purple car something terribly cruel like, "Old Man." Anyway, you get the idea how important these idiotic cars have become to our son-the son that was deliberately kept away from all this consumer rot.

We’re thrifty to a fault. Danny’s been using two children’s bath towels we received as hand-me-downs from one of my husband’s co-workers. The towels had already been through her three kids, and we finally had to toss one out as it had too many holes to continue being useful. I was tempted to let it hang prominently whilst the in-laws visited, but figured they already know we’re poor.

Fine, I’d resolved to buy a new bath towel for the child, and I’ll bet you know exactly where this is heading, don’t you? Right. Well they do tend to display these things at a child’s eye level. I clenched my jaw, bit my tongue and pulled out four bucks from my purse. At least it was being clearenced (likely to make way for the next Über-promoted schlock movie that passes for children’s entertainment). It set me back another dollar for the washcloth.

I’m pretty old, but not so old that I can’t remember being a child and wanting every Tweety Bird item I could get my hands on. Huckleberry Hound was a close second. Oh, but I was Tweety obsessed*. It was so bad that when my elder sister took a trip to California she had to lug back a suitcase filled with Tweety crap she’d bought for me at the Warner Brothers studio gift shop. I had shirts, plates, cups, pajamas, a bank (that said "I tawt I taw a puddy tat"), statuettes, stuffed animals, and God only knows how much more I can’t remember. This was a very long time ago-before studios aggressively marketed their copyrighted characters like today. Remembering my Tweety fixation, I couldn’t really lecture my two and a half year old on the evils of Capitalism. Oh sure, I could have, but I wasn’t going to.

My point is that no matter how much of an effort parents put forth to keep this stuff out of children’s lives, the rubbish creeps in. Out of context, yes, but nonetheless, it is there. My suspicious nature has me thinking that the characters are created not to be entertaining, or iconic even-but to appeal to very well established psychological tendencies. Perhaps all children are drawn to bright red anthropmorphised automobiles with idiotic names like "Mater", and "Lightening."

I wouldn’t be at all shocked to hear that they conduct focus groups with children prior to launching these movies/shows and all the attendant merchandise. My cynical self also wonders if perhaps the merchandising is really more important (profitable) than the actual entertainment feature. I’d certainly suspect that to be the case with Shrek, which I found particularly loathsome.

Back to the path to hell-what began with underwear and a bath towel today came full circle as I replaced our very old, hard-water destroyed shower curtain. Our kid is going to shit those red car undies when he gets up in the morning and sees our shrine to Disney branded merchandise. Someone better stop me before I abandon use value completely and indulge him with a furry toilet seat cover and moulded plastic tissue box holder. And yes, we do only have one loo, though personally, I don’t understand people that want to purge their homes of children’s items because the objects offend their esthetic sense. I have no problem whatsoever with decorating our bathroom (or any other room in the house) with children’s items. We waited a very long time for Danny, why would I want it to look like a child isn’t living here?

*After I became too old for Tweety, I moved on to the other popular favourite of our day, items designed by Peter Max. I had bath towels, sheets (still have those, wonder if I could sell them for real money on E-Bay?), posters-the whole Tweety experience re-cast in 60’s pop art. I had a very cool bedroom as a young person, save perhaps for the orange and pink shag rug and apricot coloured walls, which the posters sort of helped to tone down. And the bean bag chair. And the clear plastic inflatable furniture that I hadn’t thought about since like, 1970( until this very moment) that met an unfortunate end when my sister spilled a bottle of nail polish remover on it.

Yesterday, a woman complimented me on my kilt and asked what clan it was. I explained that despite our very Scottish name*, the kilt was in fact the Nova Scotia tartan-something I’ve always suspected was designed to sell to tourists.

I began to describe what the colours are supposed to stand for and could see her begin to glaze over.

"Well, you know how it is", I told her "Over-fished waters, poverty and fiddle music just don’t translate well into a tartan." **

* Magruder being a bastardisation of McGregor. As far as I know, the clans are matrilineal anyway, so my husband wouldn’t be entitled to wear it-technically.