Disaster

Holy smokes, people! I have been on such a trip, you would not even believe it. See the helicopter? Oh yes, I got the bird's eye view of the beautiful state of Maryland from a military helicopter. There was a hurricane, you know. Maybe you heard about it. As result, my office sent me on an epic cross-country adventure. I was working in the state EOC (emergency operations center) one day, minding my own beeswax (my beeswax consists primarily of filling out forms and reports on a pre-determined schedule and "coordinating" with a bunch of people that possess varying degrees of charm and competence, and is mostly a better-left-unblogged story for another day) when the boss lady practically wrenched my arm off dragging me out to the landing pad. On the way, she said, "You can go in a helicopter, right?" Ummm, yes? I mean, it's not as if she was wanting me to fly the thing. I was a little concerned when they started asking about my next of kin and making me sign forms so that after I died in a fiery crash they could use my charred corpse for the chow hall, but whatever. I've always been a girl that's happy to take one for the team. So I hopped on, the crew chief slapped a truly terrifying and complicated harness arrangement and some headphones on me, and off we went into the wild blue yonder.

You guys all know how readily I get motion sickness, right? And in the interest of full disclosure, I was also working off one too many glasses of hootch from the night before. It's not as if I was planning on going on a nauseating spin through the Maryland sky, after all. Lucky for me I was wearing my friend Gretchen's coat. I had borrowed it earlier because the EOC was FREEZING and I had dumped coffee all over my own coat. The helicopter was plenty warm, but I definitely felt I needed to be prepared to hurl in something. As it turns out, my seatmate was in a similar condition, so I spread out the sleeves, one for each of us. It was touch and go for a while, but everything stayed inside where it belonged. You're welcome, Gretchen!

On the way home, I took a little extra time to see a couple of my sweet friends that I hadn't seen in much too long. Love you guys! Unfortunately, I have a bunch more just-as-sweet friends that I didn't get to see but I will definitely try to catch everyone else next time. Love you guys, too! This is a picture of Helen's new dog, Sherlock. He is a 5.5 month old lab and he acts EXACTLY as you'd expect from looking at the picture.

On another note, it's Labor Day. I feel strongly about labor, social and consumer issues but I'm also very lazy. It's sort of a bad combination, so to assuage my guilt, I am sharing this post I wrote two years ago for Labor Day. To keep up on all the latest on labor and the shenanigans of corporate America, check out Mother Jones. You won't be sorry! And if you don't know who Mother Jones was, you can read about her here. She is definitely one of my heroes: I'm a great admirer of courage. I hope you are all having a fabulous long weekend!

Boy in Rhododendron Bush

That's what I'm calling my latest series of photographs:

Bedtime

We don't usually have too much trouble with bedtime; we just shut the bedroom door, put our earplugs in and have a few beers. Works like a charm! Oh, we get all the usual stalling tactics: 'I'm hungry!', 'I'm thirsty!', and 'I need to pee!' We try to get them in their room early, about 7:30, and we read books. Then they can read to themselves or play a little if they want, as long as they stay in their room and don't kill each other. They can come out to go to the bathroom or get some bread and butter, but no eye contact. It's true, I have low standards. But I'm also the one that can lay on my couch and drink beer, starting at 7:45. Yay me!

I'm not sure what was going on tonight, though, because I have been hearing some whoppers, even through the earplugs and Alaska Amber:

'I'm afraid of dying!'

'I need you to wash my feet!'

'He's not being kind! He won't let me sleep with my robot parts and my pillow pet!'

'I can't go to sleep until my green shirt gets washed!'

'I need a tissue!'

'I need a tissue, too!'

'I didn't get any boogers!'

'I didn't get any boogers, either!'

They're STILL awake in there, playing some seriously questionable game, and we're running low on beer. Things are not looking good, my friends. If you don't see any more posts from me, send one of those St. Bernards with the keg around its neck. Actually, send two, and don't bother waiting to see if I post again. HELP ME.

Dead Cat Recipes

Don't worry, this is not becoming a cooking blog. If it did, it would be the shortest and worst one in the history of the internet. Though I AM quite proud of the chocolate covered ant recipe we perfected a few months ago, and justifiably so, don't you think? Today, though, I whomped up something that tempted me into posting what passes for a recipe around here. It's mostly for Jennifer, so look away if you don't appreciate dishes made from giant onions.

The boys and I went over to see the fam this morning. Lloyd was fishing, of course. It's a sunny summer day, he has some friends and family in town, and there are still some creatures of the deep who have yet to face the wrath of his fearsome prowess. We visited a fabulous hippie festival, and we spent some time admiring the neighbor's garden. They were harvesting beautiful, gigantic red onions and gave me one. I came right home and made it into dinner, and I'm going to tell you how, because I'm sort of narcissistic that way:

Chop up giant onion, green part and all

Cook some pasta (I used spaghetti, but the bowties or something small would probably be better)

Cut a bunch of bacon into little pieces and fry until crisp

Take bacon out and set aside

Dump a couple of glugs of olive oil into bacon grease

Cook up two big handfuls of chopped walnuts, pecans or almonds at high heat until crisp

Set aside nuts with bacon

Cook chopped-up onion and some chopped or grated vegetables (I used grated zucchini and carrots) with a little sea salt and pepper in oil until done

Dump bacon and nuts back in vegetables and mix

Put mix over pasta

Grate parmesan or other hard cheese on top

Delicious, nutritious and full of bacony goodness! I suppose one could substitute sausage or chicken, but I'm a bacon fan, myself. This concludes this episode of 'Cooking with Dead Cats'.

Oh, Ayla

Everyone knows Clan of the Cave Bear, right? The book series, not that crappy movie with Darryl Hannah. I can summarize six epic novels in a couple of short sentences, I'm pretty sure: Beautiful and brilliant cro-magnon Ayla is raised by neanderthals and then cast out, whereupon she ventures out into the great wild world on her own and invents a lot of fantastic crap and has sex all the time. Wow, that was only one sentence! I'm better than I thought, and that is something I almost NEVER get to say.

The first three books (Clan of the Cave Bear, Valley of Horses and Mammoth Hunters) are actually pretty good, and also easy to summarize: Ayla grows up with the neanderthals (the 'clan' of the title) but is different so doesn't really fit in. She is cast out for thinking differently and sets off on her own. In short order, she meets the man of her dreams, domesticates the first animals, discovers how to control fire and invents needles, a proto-bow, and multiple other items with her fabulous genius that surpasses that of any human ever to have walked the earth. Also, she is stunningly gorgeous. Get the picture? SHE IS THE BEST EVER, in every possible way. These facts are repeated ad nauseum, and then tossed in a few million extra times for good measure. Just in case you're pretty thick and didn't get it right off. Oh, and also, without fail, any band of people that Ayla comes across ask, nay, BEG, her to stay with them forever because she is so undeniably wonderful in every way. There are always anguished tears when she leaves. And leave she must, for Jondalar is far from home when he meets her and longs to return. Jondalar, also, is amazing beyond words, and must take his place among the leadership of his own wealthy tribe.

Books four and five (Plains of Passage and Shelters of Stone) are okayish, and not surprisingly, easy to summarize: Ayla and her dreamy hunk, Jondalar, leave her new adopted family, the 'mammoth hunters' of the title, and make the long arduous journey back to Jondalar's family. Then they settle in there and have their daughter, Jonayla (no lie; that's her name).

Book six is called 'The Land of the Painted Caves', and it is even easier to summarize: it sucks worse than any book I have ever read. Ever. In my life. If I paid money for this book, I would be angry. I'm only about a quarter of the way through it and Ayla has already encountered a second set of conjoined twins. They don't live, which is too bad because siamese twin cave people would be AWESOME. Anyway, that's pretty unlikely, I'm guessing, because she only knows a thousand people or so. I think the author was counting on us forgetting about the first set, because they were in the first book, which was published in 1980. I don't know about you guys, but I can't remember JACK from 1980. That's just a tiny little complaint, too, and also not the only repeat situation. Any subtlety that once existed is completely gone, particularly regarding Ayla and Jondalar's pure marvelousness. Seriously, I am going to have to go get a thesaurus because I am running out of synonyms to describe them. The prose has degenerated into Danielle Steele territory, and it's getting drearily preachy about various social issues. These are always resolved brilliantly by Ayla and Jondalar, naturally. I was still reading it last night, mostly because I was out of books, but I went to the library at lunch and picked up The Encyclopedia of Dead Rock Stars: Heroin, Handguns and Ham Sandwiches. After I finish that I might pick up Land of Painted Caves again, just to see how awful a book can truly get. Perhaps I'll have an update, but I simply cannot recommend this one.

Radical

***edited to add: I want to punch Blogger in the face right now for the mismatched font. The first paragraph won't match the last paragraph, no matter what contortions I put myself through. There, I feel better now.

Hey, do you guys remember my brilliant Dead Cat Beauty Secrets? If not, you can refresh your memory, but it's basically a comprehensive plan for beautifying your entire life. There's virtually no effort on your part, and it works like magic! To prove it, here are some testimonials from fans:

This does work! Our bathroom lights were almost out for quite a while and I was feeling pretty good about myself... Another beauty tip I'd recommend is chlorine-- really does wonders for my hair. I've even started a few dreadlocks just to stay hip and think I'll save a lot of money on shampoo and conditioner if I keep this up for the summer, but probably just for the summer :-) Tammy, 39

Genius..works wonders!* Shannon, 39

I don't want to give away the secrets here, you really need to read the whole post to fully appreciate the plan, but part of it consists of downsizing your bathroom mirror.

Today, I was just minding my own beeswax, surfing the net, when I came across this article at Jezebel. It's all about a woman who is even more radical than me on the mirror front. She is going an entire year with no mirrors at all, and you can read her blog here. It doesn't appear that she is fully embracing the other elements of the Dead Cat Beauty Plan, but perhaps it isn't for everyone. If you have time, take a look. I'd love to hear what you think about it.

*paraphrased

Again, and etcetera

And....... here I am AGAIN! Ready for the daily report? I'll try to degrossify it a little bit for you squeamish folks. My wounded wrist appears to be significantly better; it's just a lightish purple today. It's still a little tender when I use my keyboard at work so I had to trim back my brilliant report writing, just a smidge. I like to pace myself, anyway, so that works out well. It better heal up quick, though, because we are moving our entire office soon. No one knows exactly how soon, but the lease for our current building is up.... sometime soon.

They are already practically abandoning the place and leaving it to the vermin. The lights that burn out don't get replaced anymore, for one thing, and the innards of the building are spilling out all over the place. Just today I saw a door hanging open that I'd never even noticed before, and there was a whole shower in there. It had a hose hanging from the shower head, and a heap of moldering fabric piled on the floor. The funny thing is, I had heard a rumor that there was a shower and I went looking for it one day, wondering about the feasibility of running at lunch. I couldn't find it, and I even checked the big building blueprint that hangs on the wall. Weird. That was a while ago, of course, when I was new. Because now I just go running if I want to and I don't care if I stink afterwards. I still don't know what that mildewy mound is, but I'm not going to think about it anymore. LALALALALALA, I CAN'T HEAR YOU!

Our new place is smaller than the current one, and we have a lot of stuff. We do a lot of work, and have the giant stacks of files to prove it, along with manuals, policies, equipment and etc. LOTS of etcetera. So much, in fact, that we are under constant pressure to go paperless and rid ourselves of our voluminous etcetera. Trust me when I say that we have serious and eminently reasonable objections to this and put up fierce and so far, successful, resistance at every opportunity. Know what we don't have? Boxes. Know what else? A moving plan. Except the one that says: 'We are moving sometime soon. Very soon'. Guess what else we don't have: a place to move. The new space requires some construction before it's ready, and we are moving sometime soon, did I mention that? The soon-to-be office already has people in it, too, from a different division. They don't always fully appreciate us, nor our accoutrements and accessories, I am sorry to say. I'm pretty sure I know what's going to happen: We will have to move because our lease is up, sometime soon, and the new space won't be ready. We will be squatting in the hallways, filthy, with our clothes in disarray and our belongings in shopping carts, boxes and dollies, while our new, clean and neatly-dressed coworkers spit on us and hurl dimes at our heads. Now that I think about it, though, that's pretty much business as usual. Only this time, we're not going away.

Well, all for now- I have to go ice my wrist and down some motrin. I have to be prepared to defend myself and my shopping carts, you know. I only have one more thing to say. BRING IT ON, PEOPLE! You'll take my etcetera away from me when you pry it from my cold, dead hands, and not a second before. Even if I am floating down the hall, awash in spittle, contused by a million dimes. THEY CAN TAKE OUR LIVES BUT THEY WILL NEVER TAKE OUR ETCETERA!!!!!!!!!!!