Pro-American vs. Anti-American

I think it's only fair to warn visitors to this blog that I have purchased some revolutionary new software from the RNC which immediately records all of your personal information, feeds it into a "patriot-filter" and immediately determines whether you are Pro-American or Anti-American. It then immediately forwards this information to the proper authorities.

(btw, it's too late to try and back out of this url. Your information is ALREADY in the patriot-system. Those RNC guys hired some of the most brilliant minds available within their party. Brilliant, I tell you. Absolutely brilliant!)

I am moved to take this step in order to help weed out terrorists from the general population of this great nation. Each of us can do our small part to protect our country from the stealth Anti-Americans who have, up until now, managed to fly under the patriot-radar. This is my humble contribution to the movement to save America, the Real America, from these "citizens" who are bent on the destruction of the USofA.

So, consider yourself warned. It's the least I can do for the Real Americans who visit my blog. You Anti-Americans are on your own. You've made your beds, and now you're going to have to lie in them.

The Circus Comes To Town

I know zoos and circuses are inhumane... that's why I never started one at my house. Sure, the two cats (Spackle and Kiwi) perform their own midnight magic trick. They somehow manage to morph themselves into stampeding elephants. My house is designed so that you can go from the livingroom to the diningroom to the kitchen to the hallway to the bedroom to the spare room to the plant room and back to the livingroom in a big circle. Does logic dictate that since you can do it once, you should do it five times at full speed? How can two cats, who couldn't weigh more than fifteen pounds put together, make the sound of 320 gigantic hooves stampeding through the house at 1:30 in the morning? Somehow they do. And then they morph back into cats, curl up and go back to sleep. Magic.

Now that a dog has joined my family, it's like being the ringmaster of a three ring circus. We have Kalili the dog chewing up my clothes and anything else she can get her teeth around. We have Kalili spinning around in circles trying to catch Spackle the cat while Spackle runs circles around Kalili, chasing the end of her long elastic homemade leash. Once Kalili has her own legs wrapped up snugly in elastic, she cries because now Spackle is smugly and proudly sitting just out of reach, impressed with her own prowess. Kiwi's contribution to this particular performance is to watch disinterestedly, like a diva, as the new puppy behaves like the equivalent of a feline dunce.

Then there's the piddle ritual. When it's time to take Lili out front to the ladie's room, Spackle always tries to escape through the door too. So I have a spray bottle of water to encourage her not to try it. But she always does. And Kalili, a shelter pup, is still timid about going outside so I have to coax her out. When she's just about to step over the threshhold, Spackle makes her move. So I spray Spackle with water and she goes running back into the house and Kalili goes chasing after her to try and lick the water droplets off of her face. She's very protective of her bratty catpal.

Feeding time is like a juggling act... trying to get all three bowls down on the floor in three different corners of the room at exactly the same time so everyone doesn't immediately rush the first one, knocking it over.

I'm green at this three ring thing. A two ring circus was a no brainer. Three... I'm gonna need some schoolin'.

I can get a retractable leash for the dog (although I don't much like them because when you want the dog to stop, it jerks them backwards... but it's safer than this elastic stopgap leash). Problem solved.

I can come up with a couple of elevated spots for feeding time since the cats can jump up to any surface and the dog can't. Problem solved.

I can finish closing in the backyard once and for all so I can take the dog into the back room, close the door behind us, then open the door to the outside, instead of taking her out front. Problem solved.

I can stop stepping out of my clothes, leaving them in an irresistible pile on the floor and I can get 5,000 chew toys and strew them all around the house. Problem solved.

I suspect that Kalili is always going to act like a puppy. She does that bouncing dog-challenge thing with Spackle... she gets down on her elbows with her rump in the air and her head lowered, making jerking motions to try and lure Spackle into a doggy-brawl. Apparently they don't speak the same dialect so Spackle sits and blinks and looks at Kalili like she's having some sort of jungle fever attack. She loves to go outside on the coldest windiest days, over and over, so that she can sit, face the wind and fly her ears like a modern day Snoopy. All that other annoying stuff just comes with the territory but the cute stuff is just plain fun to watch and makes it all worth it. Very cute. Very entertaining. My own little three-ring circus.

A Blog Can Be Worse Than An Inconstant Lover

In my years of surfing the World Wide Interwebs, I've learned a few valuable life lessons:

- Don't give out your name, address (home or e) or telephone number to your latest bff (best friend forever) whom you met on your favorite discussion board full of people you know and trust... you just might regret it.

- Don't hitch your only wagon to an amazing website, one that you check every day, because it just might go poof in the night.

- Blogs are like inconstant lovers. I know because I've had a few (inconstant lovers, not blogs) and I've been one (once again - an inconstant lover, not a blog) more times than I can count on both hands.

You'll know exactly what I mean by "inconstant lover" if you've ever waited for that phone call that doesn't come on Saturday afternoon or Saturday night or Sunday afternoon or Sunday night or Monday night or Tuesday night orrrrr Wednesday night.

So you find yourself living all day Thursday with that most terrifying of specters... Friday night - "Date Night" - just you and your parents, a lot of bad black and white teevee, and a box of kleenex. Love can be one of the worst things to find yourself "in". But then along comes Thursday night. And just when you've finally decided that he's not worth the torture.... "brrrrring brrrrring brrrrring" (you intentionally wait three rings before answering just to make him suffer THE WAY YOU DID AAAAAALLLLL WEEK!!!!) Of course we're talking about the 50's and 60's, long before answering machines and long before a girl could just pick up the phone and make the call herself.

Anyway, the phone finally rings, and answer you do, and go out you do, and kiss you do and lo and behold, where do you end up? Saturday afternoon again. Alone. Waiting by the phone. I've done (by "not being home"), and been done by in this cruelest of manners. This can be seen in one of two ways: 1) I gave as good as I got or 2) I deserved to suffer for doing it to some other poor tender-hearted soul.

What does all this have to do with blogs?

Nothing.

Then again, depending upon how inconstant an individual blogger is and depending upon how much you like/love a blog... unless the blog owner learns to be constant and dependable, you just might feel a little pang when you go there only to find that it's Saturday night and no call, Sunday night and no call etc...

I can just barely stand the guilt of having a blog. I thought I'd suffered for my selfish inconstant nature enough. I thought all that inconstant behavior business was in the past. And then I started a blog... only to find that my brain has short-sheeted me and I'm once again inconstant.

I may post once a day or week or month. I think there's a way of being notified if a new post appears. Or maybe there isn't. Not sure. See how cold and selfish I am? If I weren't such an inconstant cad, I'd take two minutes to find out and tell you here.

This is my first blog. And I do value every single person who takes the time to read it. Thank you. Seriously. I was just trying to be clever with all that other junk up there.

However, the fact remains that I'm not going to be very dependable for a while. I have lots of things I want to write about. Lots of topics. It's the work, the actual writing, that trips me up. So it's kind of like that awesome pair of shoes I found at the thrift store... ok, they were two sizes too big but they were awesome! So what if I can't walk across the room without tripping three times?

This blog is two sizes too big for me. But I'll grow into it, I swear I will.

The Jonas Brothers' Purity Rings

I live in a community that's not too big on sex education in schools. But I'll bet they're big on purity rings, like the ones The Jonas Brothers wear.

Does this make sense to anybody else? It doesn't to me. If you don't know a whole lot about how to avoid getting pregnant, what good is a purity ring gonna do you and your new single-parent baby?

Sure, kids know what sex is. And they know what purity and abstinence are. And maybe they even know something about birth control that they learned from a friend of a friend of a friend. But when a virgin girl is in the middle of a kissing frenzy with her virgin boyfriend, sometimes their judgement gets clouded. Wouldn't it make sense to know that instead of throwing caution to the wind and following the dictates of their sexually-of-age bodies, they might remember, from having been taught about it, that a condom just might be a better choice than a purity ring at that particular passionate moment in time? Wouldn't it make sense that the virgin boyfriend be taught that there are responsibilities, often crushing ones, that could possibly go hand in hand with this one episode of unprotected sex? Isn't an informed choice logical when it comes to sex and parenthood?

So.... good for the Jonas Brothers. I'm happy for them. I'm happy for all the kids who have the purest of intentions. But I'm happiest for all the kids who also have a healthy dose of sex education under their belts.

My heart goes out to the girls in my town who may have the ring but little else to prepare them for their sexual coming-of-age and a possible lifetime of single-parenthood. Brings to mind Bristol Palin , daughter of republican vp candidate Sarah Palin. Although we all know of course that she and her boyfriend were planning on getting married all along and that they had their responsibilities as parents all planned out ahead of time. Or not.

Sex education. It's not just for faithless heathens.

Bo Gritz vs. Bear Grylls

I recently rediscovered the television program Man vs. Wild on the Discovery Channel. It features a man being dropped into a remote wilderness somewhere on the planet, "simulating a stranded explorer/tourist. The episode documents his efforts to survive and find a way back to civilization, usually requiring an overnight shelter of some kind". (from Wikipedia )

When I watched this program last night and read the credits at the end, I thought to myself... huh? Why the heck would Bo Gritz change his name to Bear Grylls? He was Bo last time I watched this show. "Bear"? ok, we believe you, you're a big strong animal of a man. "Grylls"? Is that supposed to sound like growling? Dude. Puleeze. I jumped to all kinds of judgemental conclusions and went to bed feeling quite self-satisfied that I of course had very sound reasons for changing my name to Auntie Bucksnort, but Bo Gritz had absolutely no acceptable excuse short of a silly display of machismo for changing his name to Bear Grylls.

This morning when I decided to do a little self-satisfied investigation, I discovered that they are in fact two different men. Two very different men. My self-satisfaction turned to self-deprecation as I was once again reminded that I am getting old. I misremember and mix up names and places and events - apparently to keep myself amused on slow days.

The fog cleared and it all came back to me with a blush of embarrassment. Bo Gritz appeared several times on KPFA, one of the radio stations I used to listen to in Berkeley. From Wikipedia:

Pacifica Radio is a network of five independently operated, non-commercial, listener-supported radio stations in the United States that is known for its progressive political orientation.... Pacifica was the first public radio network in the United States; it is operated by the Pacifica Foundation, with national headquarters adjoining station KPFA in Berkeley, California.

My brain is turning to molasses. I never saw Bo Gritz on Man vs. Wild. I never heard Bear Grylls on KPFA.

So I did a little more name-related investigation and discovered that I must have gotten mixed up again somewhere along the way. It turns out that I am not in fact Auntie Bucksnort. I am in fact Angela Bassett. ok, I can live with that...

Introducing Kalili Momashi Saluki, My New Persian Gazelle Hound!!

ok, some of you people who know what you're talking about are going to tell me she's a mutt; a spaniel/cocker/shepherd mix. Maybe. But sometimes I like to revert to my pre-wisdom-tarnished years and be a naive dreamer once again. I claim my right to this immature the-bloom-is-on-the-vine behavior now and then. It's like Red Bull, it gives me wings.

So... Kalili is my new Clovis Animal Shelter puppy. I went in looking for a tiny adult lapdog. I left with a puppy with huge paws. Mission accomplished? You betcha. Because I'm now the proud owner of a little sweetheart. A mutt? Certainly not! A Persian Gazelle Hound? Most definitely! What a deal. Those poor shelter people have no idea what just slipped through their hands for a mere $46.00.

There are a lot of pictures of Saluki puppies that look kinda like Lili. And from what I've read so far on the net, Salukis have long legs, slender greyhound-type bodies, feathering on their ears/tail/paws, webs between their toes for running on sand and sometimes have persian eyeliner markings on their faces. I present my case: Lili has long legs, a slender greyhound-type body, feathered ears/tail/paws, webs between her toes aaaaaaaand she's wearing persian eyeliner! Good enough for me! I read it on the World Wide Interwebs!

If you ever get the urge to buy a kitten, cat, puppy or dog, check out your local animal shelter.


Kalili before (caged mugshot of a frightened scraggly orphan with gunk in her eyes):

Kalili after (homeshot of a clean happy pup sporting her first amateur clipjob):

Comfort Town

Having spent most of my politically and socially formative years in California, specifically Berzerkeley, I am relentlessly pc. Well, superficially anyway.

I also have a bad back... the result of managing to find some ice to slip on in Berkeley several years ago, and then aggraving the injury by landing on my rump twice in Portland Maine. I fully expect to find myself in the middle of an ice slick here in New Mexico too. Am I cursed or clumsy? Probably both. But this time I'm going to look down, engage in some cursing of my own and tiptoe my way to safety.

There's a connection between bad backs and political correctness, I'm pretty sure of it. Let's see if I can find it.

A few weeks ago, I was in the midst of many disorienting medication changes, worrying incessantly about the latest round of medical bills that will soon arrive and stressing over the cost of heating my home this coming winter, which is also arriving sooner than I expected. And I was in the midst of worrying about my family having to deal with my craziness, and whether it was possible to drain dry the credit line of love that they've always generously extended to me.

Enough with the excuses, get to it girlfriend. ok.... So I started smoking a few weeks ago. Nicotine has a very soothing calming effect on me and I've turned to tobacco in times of fear more than once in my life. Yes. I know. Smoking tobacco is one of the most non-pc activities a modern mortal can engage in, excluding of course the use of tobacco as an entheogen the way Native American Shamans have, for example. But my genetic heritage is solidly British Isles. So enough with the baloney, Bucksnort.

I really enjoyed smoking. It brought me great comfort. Just like my recliner brings my back great comfort. Just like being pc brings my psyche great comfort. Ah, finally, a connection.

Well, I quit smoking again after it started becoming just plain old gross and especially after my shocked and disgusted sister shamed me into (or out of) it. And quitting has comforted my tattered and tarnished pc soul.

So. Comfort. I find it in so many acceptable places... family, friends, music, swimming, art projects, my recliner, my cats, my dog, my plants, the wide open skies of New Mexico. I've always intended to seek comfort from healthy enlightened sources. I still do. I just fall off the wagon every once in a while and seek it from unhealthy unenlightened sources like a little nicotine, a lot of carbohydrates, a little beer, a little wine, a lot of tv....

Here's to climbing back up into the driver's seat of my wagon, taking the reins firmly in hand and choosing the bumpier but healthier trail to Comfort Town.

Companion Asparagus

Anyone ever notice any out-of-place goats at the zoo? Like a camel and a goat together in the same enclosure? If so, these are "companion goats" and they keep the other animal company so it doesn't go completely nuts by being penned up in a small artificial world, being gawked at all day by a species it would normally have nothing to do with.

Supposedly, goats posess a very calming disposition. They are actually used to soothe the nerves of high-strung thoroughbred horses before races. The expression "got your goat" is derived from racetrack folklore: steal an opponent's companion goat, thus disrupting and aggravating him when his horse becomes the victim of tension and loses the race.

Anyone ever do companion planting? (I have a container garden. I've found that it's the only way to garden for someone who moves as often as I do.) And I seem to have a lot of trouble planting a single plant in a single container. I like the way it looks with two and sometimes three different type plants together in a container. They enhance each other.

And I've discovered that the "Mary Washington" strain of asparagus is a perfect visual companion for nearly any type of plant that has similar light and moisture requirements. I got mine at Wally World in the spring. Very cheap. Very pretty. Companion asparagus. Any plant that has one of these companions is festooned with a wispy feathery lacey green backdrop that serves to accentuate its own beauty.

Which apparently brings me to my point. Humans are not by nature solitary creatures. So if you're fortunate enough to have a lover, a husband, a sister, a brother-in-law, a daughter, a best friend, a "companion"... whichever you're blessed with, cherish them.

Goats, asparagus, loved ones. What would this world be without them?