Ketchup

New valve may be leaking a bit, Dylan disappointed, handyman notified. These things happen.

I made meatloaf with Ro-tel©, egg, wheat germ and cheese on top. Will not ever use ketchup. Salsa, maybe. And fried mushrooms.



Turned out moist and tasty. My first meatloaf ever. My mother's required LOTS of ketchup. I tried meatballs a while back, too dry, but at least had flavor. A bit of enchilada sauce/marinara and they were promising. No damn ketchup in the house btw.

I played musical doors with the brass, switching the shinier knobs and plates to more visible areas, two swiped from the excess door residing in the garage. I find this kind of purely aesthetic job rather pleasing.

Cleaned the workbench, note careful framing.



Godsdamnit. So much still to do.



And the new valve leaks, or the connection does, or something. Handyman emailed. Undersink still bare, as needs.


In-laws came by, with bird waterer as gift for my b-day, I had beer inside so I was sociable and gracious. Did not clean up despite hour long warning. Ate meatloaf instead. Have lost any ability, always minimal, to feel embarrassed. The mess is the mess.

Brass

Dylan replaced the cold water valve for the kitchen sink. Remarkably little swearing, only three tries to get it not to leak. He's more competent than he gives himself credit for.

It's only Tuesday, only the second workday off, 4th day off, and I'm feeling the need to do. Maybe not so much, since I was still in my pjs & robe at 1100. It comes and goes is what I'm trying to say. Not making much progress with the dribs and dribbles work of the shop creation, although the work-salvaged paper towels are now contained. More or less.

The bare blinding bulbs of the basement I once mitigated with small papers. Considered recently finding bulb harp lampshades. Dylan found an adapter, which I though would work, but the bulbs are mounted on the joists, and there is no space for a columnar shade. Crap. I made him look at why, and he says, well, why not use some of the white paper work rags, tack them up around the bulb? Instead, I took the foam sheets, also recycled from work, and tacked that up. It helps, diffuses, and floats pleasingly.



Also, polished some brass.





I love our house's brass.


And we got a half dozen jalapeños from El Rancho Market yesterday. We stuffed them, battered (badly, I'm not good at this) fried them, and ate them. Fab. Feeling better for the heat and vegetarian(ish) meal. Egg and cheese, flour and salt. I really want to try the deep fryer we got at the yard sale this summer. Fried spring rolls, jalapeño poppers, worth the experiment. Going to make chili relleños tomorrow. Need to be careful not to rub my eyes. Whoooh. Not that any of this is all that hot, but it's hard to wash off hands, and eyes are delicate creatures.

Errands

The front door window needed a curtain, so I put up a scarf in the first month. Today, we repurposed the hooks - left in a in a random place by the previous owners, in the shop/spareroom, with a Noren from the Japanese church rummage sale. Not sure where the rod was from, but that's salvaged as well. So much nicer.



Finished painting. Got windshield wipers, since one of ours shredded itself on Friday. Very nice mechanic offered to put it on for us, and I gratefully accepted. Bag of litter, check. Sink hose turn off valve, check. Jalapeños, check. Safety glasses from local business, check. Souvlaki for lunch, check. Although fries and rice do sound a lot alike under less than ideal sonic conditions. I sent it back for fries, since that was what I ordered, and was craving, and we ARE on vacation after all. But nicely, and admitting I should have made sure. Shifted the leftover white ikkeah drawers to the basement.

First thing Dylan took down were the ikkeah shelves in the living room. Second, these suspended drawers. The drawers themselves are pretty good, and we've used them. Never much liked them, so now two of them are in the basement, being lightly white. Stuff will go in them.



Enough for the day.

Citrus

I really wasn't planning on doing this much today. Got carried away. Now it feels like this room has the light on before it's turned on.

Messy, but bright and cheerful.

I like being able to be messy and calling it good enough. Let the next owner paint neatly if they like. I'll be gone by then and past caring. I'm anti-perfectionist.

...the term ‘perfect’, which stems from the Latin perfectus, meaning complete, has been placed on an undeserved pedestal in many cultures, especially the West. Prioritising flawlessness and infallibility, the ideal of perfection creates not only unachievable standards, but misguided ones. In Taoism, since no further growth or development can take place, perfection is considered equivalent to death.

-Via





New faucet vibrates. Seems not like it's new, but like it's what should have always been here.


Not quite done, but I can't reach that corner until everything gets shifted back. Have to wait for paint to dry. Not quite bored enough to just watch it.

Animals

My parents' attitudes toward pets was rooted in their past, their time. My father from a farm, where cats were for keeping down mice. My mother from urban poverty, and cats were occasionally fed strays on the porch. People were important, animals were much less, or not at all.

Oddly, my father's threat to drown the cat, as was the habit of farmers with too many kittens, was more understandable than my mother's finely drawn contempt for people who cared (too much) for their animals. He was reporting a real life event, however unpleasant, not worse than killing hogs or chickens. And there is a reason there are no more "dog catchers," from a time when feral dogs would form dangerous packs in cities, without spaying and neutering, the only way to manage them was through culling. Still an issue in various places. Practical if brutal.

Anyway, the cat had no issue with my father, would lick his nose at night to be let out, and he would. Tending animals part of his early education. I knew my father would always feed me and get me to a doctor, which is not all that much, credit where it's due though. He would do the same for the cat.

My mother would never mention her disdain for "treating an animal like a human" to the person with the pet, I would hear it though. I often heard her harsh complaints about others. She may have been trying to teach me how to be, maybe. More likely she never considered that what she would say about others, I would assume she would say about me. I knew my behaviour would be likewise judged, on everything from color choice to sexual choice.

She spoke unkindly about my SIL and her keeping cats and dogs, multiples of. Now, I had little respect for how my brother and his wife treated their animals, untrained, borderline neglected. My mother thought less of them for having pets at all. One outside cat would have been ordinary and fine. But dogs? Many cats? Harumph. Taking them to vets? Waste of money. Aunt Alma was 'allowed' Gigi because she didn't have children. Still, judged for feeding her dog too well, wasteful.

My mother once found our cat's diarrhea behind the couch, grabbed the cat, shoved her nose in the shit, got bitten by the confused cat, more anger, cat wound up at the pound. Turned out cat was pregnant. Lesson to me, don't let mom know anything. Poor cat, ill, caught short, simply defending herself from an insane human. I hope a good family adopted her later. We weren't that.



I do understand that attitudes and expectations have changed from when my parents were children. Both with farm animals and household pets. The underlying judgement of what is human is inherently better than what is animal came from that time, those circumstances.


We are all animals, and love is love.

Seep

The last two days proved how much I needed time away. Grumpy, with a bad attitude, I tried to keep it covered with humor. Mentioned this to Dave* at work, he got it, so everytime we passed each other (between the two late rooms) I growled at him. He growled back. Then we laughed. It helped.

I let the fluid run out twice, something that happens maybe a few times a year to me (because I have a system). Twice in one day is pretty bad. My feet felt like heck (which is better than when they felt like hell). All I wanted was to go home, saying so would have roused the ire of the charge nurse (who needs a vacation even more than me. And possibly a divorce as well, she is not happy in her life.)

Still, I'll take being late gladly, since my patient had it worse. Puts it all in perspective. My surgeon says it's just February.

I used to think an impending birthday was the reason I got moody this time of year. Perhaps it's just a difficult time of year. Certainly when living paycheck to paycheck, a short month hurts, since the bills don't get smaller. Cold, but muddy, with random snow.

Interesting article about relationship baby-talk. Dylan and I never did this, rejected it early on. We did have a peculiar courtship though. In a glass fishbowl, with everyone nosing in, out of boredom if nothing else. Our coded private† language was more about hiding our intelligence and the extent of our physical relationship - since it was illegal in that context∑. When we got back, surrounded by non-military people most of the time, that experience was our coded language. Our mutual silliness did not include diminutives and pet names.


Taking today very slowly, not letting the size of the project for the week intrude. I need to settle in and not push. Let the life seep back in.




*You know, Dave.

†Joke. I was E4, Dylan still a private for a while, then he got his E4.

∑No cohabitation, and I was still legally married, so it was adultery under UCMJ. I was still getting family separation pay $300 a month, because I was still technically married.

Thine

Bitter winds, not really that cold, but it cuts through most cruelly. Our dear handyman Aaron came by with the new valve, changed it out. Only one he could find, so we will get another which he will put in later. The water pressure is already so much better. Much needed repairs. A faucet to last our lifetime.

We re-gave him his check, and his jacket.

I understand why "apartment grade" is a thing, renters can trash anything, so why put in anything lasting? But when it's thine own thing, divide the cost by the years, and it's a bargain. It's a lesson that's taken me a while to take in, that a durable, more expensive version, can be cheaper in the long run.

Aunt Evelyn understood this, get good clothes that will last decades, and they are worth the initial cost. Or eye glasses. I remember, but it took a long while to be able to live it.

And often I simply couldn't come up with that initial cost. When buying a bus pass was more than I could manage in a month, even as I knew it would be cheaper. Priorities can be wrenching.

May I never forget to be grateful for this margin providing peace of mind.

Every day, I remember.


One more shift, then nine days off. Much to be done, but time to do it in. Which is all I hope for. Less a matter of a tired body, although my feet might disagree, than a fatigue of the mind and soul. Not getting ill this past year and more is great, but those illnesses served to provide mental rest. I do have PTO (paid time off) in greater abundance than ever before.

Time for my feet to rest, and my soul to find it's feet.

Faucet

Ahye Ahye Ron* got the faucet replaced, but two of the lower valves will also need to be new. He was at the end of an already long day, forgot our check and his jacket, so tomorrow will do. He's worth waiting for.

It's looking very nice.




*Aaron.

Girly

When I was small, I didn't much like girly stuff. Boyish stuff was just as bad, in worse colors. At least girly stuff occasionally had some dark purple. The girl toy aisle was awash with dolls (boring) in pastels (meh.) The boyish aisle was dark grey and green (yuck), with cars and dinosaurs and GI Joe cammo (dull.)

I liked the game aisle, which had all the colors, and didn't seem to be pushing as much of an agenda. I always asked for games for birthday and Christmas, even though I had no one to play games with, because at least it wasn't dolls. The infant toys were prettiest of all, in lots of colors, blocks and wheels, I knew better than ask for them. I'd have liked toy cars, which came in reds and yellows and all the bright colors, but no one would give those to me, even though I did ask. Especially the track cars and trains.

To this day, I wouldn't know one car† from another unless it's beyond obvious -the difference between a little car and a pickup truck. I can, given enough time, identify a Honda Fit, because I've been driving one for 12 years, and know what to look for in a parking lot.

So, I came to the conclusion that my brain is inherently androgynous. Resistant to the cultural push in either direction.

I used to hate violence of any kind in movies, frightened me deeply. I found fighting repellent. As mentioned in earlier comments, the Sinbad movies a sort of nightmare for me in the theater. Fighting and gore and evil. I was terrified of my father's rage turning to violence, nothing about it was entertaining. Only in college, when I learned stage fighting, did I start to get it as a sort of dance. Appreciating it as a skill helped, I have to see it as choreography to enjoy it at any level. Even when it's puppets in stop motion, I can only admire the craft, never enjoy it for the violence. Never enjoyed hating the villain, I just hated them. Wasn't terribly fond of the Hero, either, too one dimensional. Or Heroine. Why root for the pretty one, just because Pretty? The side characters were more interesting.

Someone had left on Let's Make a Deal* at work, and we talked about costumes. I love wearing costumes. I don't like dressing up with the intention of looking nice and formal. You know how they say 's/he cleans up well'? Yeah, I don't. I look like a sausage wrapped in a bow when I try. A costume though, there are no rules, I don't have to look 'pretty', so I can do what I like. Cosplay delights me, even if I don't actually do it myself.

I'd love to wear Adam Savage's bear suit. Again, non-gendered.



Maybe I object to the sexing of my interests. Maybe my brain isn't hard wired in either direction. Maybe I just won't be pushed. At this stage, I have no way to know, the data too contaminated by time and experience. Maybe it's simply the gendering of things without genitalia bugs me.

The yin yang symbol works, but too often whole people are seen as belonging to just half of it. The female principle doesn't mean an actual woman, but that all people of whatever biology, are always both. No one is really male or female, it's all a mix. Like being left or right. In out. Up down. It's the imbalance that causes trouble.



Broken toe left, fasciitis right, taped according to need. Unbalanced.

†Suddenly remembered the aircraft recognition cards we were given when sent to GWI. Never could make nose or tail of them.
*Beats Faux news or loud sports.

Horror

The movie Rocky† Horror showed up on another site, with someone trying to explain the plot. To someone from another country. Which didn't help.

When it came out, I was 13 or so, too young to see it. By the time I was old enough, the cult following was in full swing. Even by college I missed it, I wasn't up to staying up late for midnight movies, nor did I have the money or transportation, despite my curiosity. It had taken on a life of its own by then, and being a newbie in the theater was not recommended. So it rather got past me. I saw clips, of course. Knew the Time Warp song and a few of the catch phrases. Good to know what Damnit Janet is about, for instance. I figured I'd see it eventually.

And I did. On the open roof of a MWR* on a tv/vcr, under a cafe umbrella to make it visible. In Saudi Arabia during GWI. With Dylan and some other guy who happened to be there. None of us had ever seen it before. We didn't talk about it, I suspect we all thought we were doing our social due diligence more than anything.

Not terribly impressed. At 100 minutes, it felt twice that long. Although the actors are all stunning, Tim Curry was magnetic. Production values and punk aesthetics memorable. The story is a mess though, the sexual politics cringeworthy, most of the music a bit iffy, I found it grisly and unpleasant. Glad I did not see it in a theater back in the day.

Walked away from it half understanding its appeal, half baffled.

We watch a lot of old movies and tv shows. The worst are often when the culture is in flux, the old prejudices under attack, but the new ones not solidified, and much posturing and bigotry shows through. That transition seems worse than when the old assumptions are not being overtly challenged by most people. The half measures seem less palatable than the fixed state that some people ignored. With caveats. I will never be able to watch Casablanca again, because hearing Ilsa call Sam 'boy' is more than I can ever take. Odd how long it took me to react to that word.

Culture is made up of assumptions, which makes it easier to get through the day, while weighing us down.



†Crap, they remade this? Sounds like a dog's dinner...

*MWR, Military Weight Room, an army rec center. More a place for books, movies, ping pong, tennis, handball than lifting. Although they tended to be a bit random in their recreational offerings.

Fullness

Enough to start shifting shop stuff into, to paint that room and get it organized. All the leftover paint is used up, cans discarded or soon to be. Our trash day is tomorrow, and our bins are (unusually) full. Very full. Can't put more in full.

We are eager to get this going, but paint has to dry, and trash bins need to be emptied before we can do more. So I stripped black paint from music room door and frame. Did too much. Smells bad in here now. Thankfully it wasn't too cold to open doors and windows for a short while and air it out.

Therapy elastic tape on my foot.

Lick

Does look like it's licking it's own ear.

More paint on the basement, but I didn't do a good enough job sweeping all the damn dust, and the paint clumped. Still, let it dry and it will consolidate.

Looked up the fridge/smoke detector debacle, and realized it's been over six years since the PTSD dx and tx. I really have done much better ever since. Healthier too. Funny how that works.

My feet will eventually feel better, as my back does. It's hard to remember in the midst of pain that it may not be eternal.


Cedar Waxwing flock hanging out on the tree at the corner.

Papercut

The front blew through just before and as I got off work.

Cold rain and snow.

Feet aching and unhappy. Hard to think when every step is across hot wires, heel spikes, and broken glass.

Better now, home and in hot water, feet willing to carry me again, after I let them sleep.

Three days respite, a short week, then nine days off.

I can get through.

It all feels so harsh in this moment.

A papercut demands all attention.

Crossword in the paper. Five letters, starts with GR. Last Supper table item.

Gravy, right?

Appparently they expected grail. Dylan says maybe that’s what the gravy was served in. I will always now think of it as the Holy Gravy Boat.

How much is wrong about the "50 Eskimo words for snow." Worth reading to the end, even if you skim a bit in the middle. This quote:

Bad questions produce bad answers, and nothing is as mind-deadening as the confidently presented arrogance of facts reduced to numbers: what could be as irrelevant and useless as the number fifty?

Potency

All-white/male/entitled enclaves are places of fear of the Other. The echoes resonate down the decades. They are so afraid, but cover it with the sense that they can do anything and no one will stop them, and mostly, they aren't wrong.

A potent quote,

If you flick through the 1969 yearbook from Jefferson Medical College in Philadelphia, you’ll find a centerfold featuring a naked model wearing only a nurse’s cap, posed on a bed contemplating medical diagrams of vaginal surgery

I know some of my oldest surgeons are of this era. They've mostly gotten better. As have the embittered female surgeons/anesthesiologists of that generation. Explains a lot about why they are as they are. It's not all better now, just vastly improved.

The younger ones really are better, on the whole. Although some of the young, white, privileged men are still of that type. One resident right now keeps on about my thumb, as if I'd ever ask for his opinion. In fact, I've told him no less than four times that I would not discuss it with him, and that it was none of his business. Next step is to speak to some of his attendings, a little warning about harassing staff and respecting boundaries. He's not the first, but certainly the most persistently irritating.

Read a story about a male teacher being oblivious about a female student having her period*. I want to have more male teachers, but they have to take a class in female biology. Even if they are gay, bi or asexual, they need to be good teachers to ALL their students, male, female, gay, bi or asexual.

It's occurred to me, after I retire, to get a gig as a school nurse. I'd have to do a bit of research, brush up on pediatrics and abuse reporting, but I think it would suit as a part time job. Wouldn't have to pay much, if at all really. And I could offer a class to male teachers... and female teachers who want boys to be quiet and still when they need to shout and run. Another area I need to study up on if I have the opportunity to be in a school. I still think one room school houses, in urban areas, local storefronts, needs to be considered.

Hey, never complain about a problem without at least considering a solution.




*Worked with a nurse who had custody of his two daughters. His ex-wife was by all accounts, psycho. (He was a good guy with terrible taste in women.) He talked once, to a room full of women, nurses, about how he dealt with their periods. First of all, very matter of fact. Then, got an assortment of hygiene products, told them to decide what they liked, keep the packages, and he would replace them. Many of us wished our mothers would have been so open and practical. No shame, no squeamishness, just solve the problem. A good dad, again, by all accounts. Good dad≠good husband, necessarily.

Pfft

Snow was minimal. Wind was impressive, and streets were icy this morning. Had to go slow, and some folks don't understand that, as per. By the time I got off this afternoon, it was too warm for hat and gloves, and the coat was too much in the car. I opened the windows waiting for a long light, and aired the place out. Streets were not just clear, but in many places, dry.

Took out six empty paint cans to the bin. I don't think they are accepted in the recycle, sadly. I save the gas of a trip out to the dump, at least. And remove a fire hazard from the basement. More shifting when I got home, so I can get more dirt cleared and paint down, boxes cleared. Dull work, but to a purpose.

Dylan's decided on a golden yellow for the music room, and I have to agree. It will glow in daylight, and make everything more visible with the red night lighting. Will use the same color for the shopcombo.

I don't care what the designers say... correction, I resent designers as a whole, and violently object when they recommend dark colors for walls in any room in a house. Backstage at a theater, maybe. I care what they say, and want to slap them for it. At least white is... can be functional. Can't say it's nicer, just brighter. That's just an apartment dweller for decades in revolt against eggshell walls and beige carpets. Ugh.

I am not neutral about my walls, damnit.

Got off work very early, and it doesn't break my heart.

Slop

More painting! Getting through the leftovers, drying out the cans so I can bin them safely. Will gradually move everything, trash what should have been thrown away years ago, boxes to be recycled, and clear the shop/combo room so I can cover the dark paint left there with something brighter, and organize. Turn the shop into a useful space, finally. Then, strip the black paint from the wood in the music room, and cover the ugly grey walls with something bright and warm.



Update:



We got paintchips today so Dylan can figure out what color he'd like. I'll suggest, but in the end it's up to him. I won't impose a color on him, even if he'd let me. It has to look good with his red light at night, since he's often there at night, with the night-vision-sparing bulb on. We have time, he can ponder. And use the same color for the shop/combo. Dylan will go through all the e-waste, and we'll recycle as much as possible.

Warm, sunny, windy, a tiny avalanche fell off our roof/solar panels onto the driveway. Snow coming, and it means it.

10 Feb 12:50 pm 41˚F 19dewpoint 41%humidity South winds,26 G38
10 Feb 13:50 pm 43˚F 19dewpoint 39%humidity 29 G37

And here we go.
10 Feb 5:08 pm 32˚F 28dewpoint 85%humidity WNW 26G33 1.00 Lt Snow, Mist

It's kinda fun slopping paint all over, upending cans to drain completely. Sprinkled cheap fake vanilla to offset the stink. Newer paints don't smell as bad, but these have been sitting there since circa 2007.

Legless

Twice this week I've had patients getting shoulder surgery, with leg ... complications. One wore a prosthetic, congenital absence of leg, and worried about getting it back on after. I said, no problem, I can do either, your choice. He chose to take it off eventually, I adjusted my positioning and charting. Good to really think about these details now and again.

Second had a recurrent leg injury, was in an immobilizer that needed to not flex more than 40˚, which he could lock, and I had him do so. Another adjustment in positioning and charting.

Being careful but not shocked by bodily differences and injuries is part of my job. Reassuring patients that I would easily deal, and listen to what they need, is my job. That it's true works in my favor. I have seen a lot of variations, some not often, but I've seen it. Or know of it, at very least. Funny how they are usually happy to talk about it to a knowledgable listener.

With the prosthetic guy, I went to his ankle to check his ID band, flipped the blanket away from his feet. Asked, "how high does this go?" And he took it from there. They know they have different needs, they seem to appreciate someone hearing them, thinking, making a plan, offering options. I'm pretty hard to shock.

Except by stupidity. Anything else I'm good.

Pong

Moby is feeling better, moving around more, inside and out.

Eleanor happy to have his back to her, but gets affronted with his front. He doesn't see her properly, and never understood why she bopped him for being too close nose to nose.





"Back off, dude."

"Who are you?"



"Imma hitcha, doood."

"Who ARE YOU?"





Shifted more in the basement, cleared to paint another wall, old boxes up to be recycled, trash bagged. This is going to work, but damn it's going to be a job. Thinking we should have a 'free yard sale' once we know what all is going out. Maybe have a donation box, but otherwise just list stuff and let people remove it for us. Hell, there is still crap leftover from the POs*.

Friends coming over this evening. I think N is a little disappointed that I have no interest in comic books. Or gaming or anime. I respect all of them as subjects of interest, but none ever grabbed me. The more recent video games tend to make me nauseated, or trigger a migraine.

I loved the funnies in the newspapers as a kid, but being a literalist, I expected them to be funny. More likely, some were aimed at adults and older kids, no one ever explained this to me, so I never tried to penetrate them. When I was older, Bloom County, Far Side, and Calvin&Hobbes were plenty and glorious. One teacher in 7th grade assigned us a scrapbook to put Current Events stories from the newspapers, and any stray comics we liked as well. Taught me how to read Doonsbury, then still very cutting edge and relevant, with hidden jokes.

I never knew anyone as a kid, who got into comic books. My brothers didn't. My hoarder Uncle Elmer gave me access to his piles of old Peanuts and Archie comic collections while I visited. I read them more out of boredom than anything else. I'd've read cereal boxes if nothing better was on offer. Never a fan, just a reader.

There was no money for more than the occasional local newspaper, although I think we got a subscription the year of the Current Events Scrapbook. Educational expense. Never bought comic books, and the library didn't have them at that time.

As for computer games, well, Pong at Sears I got to try a couple of times. Mostly, other people hogged the demo, and I didn't get a chance. There was no question of my parents spending that kind of money on that kind of game, they didn't even get a color tv until the early 80s. Arcades were a thing, but that was quarters we didn't have. By the time I was in college, quarters were for laundry, and none left for pinball. When I wasn't very good at it, and lost quickly, those were expensive games. I mostly didn't bother.

When I could afford to play, - Tetris and Welltris, it all seemed too late to get into any other kind. The sort of thing, like language and skiing, that if you don't get good as a kid, you never get good enough to really enjoy it. I have tried, like with Myst, never got very far, stuck with no clear idea how to proceed. First-person-shooter games were never going to be my thing.

I see the appeal, but like appreciating a very sexy woman, I see it without feeling it personally. Or, hell, young men these days. Very nice, but nothing to do with me. There is no envy, nor wistfulness in this, a shrug and an apology for those who would like to discuss such topics with me.











*Previous Owners.

Specifications

We go to bed, read, do a crossword, and of necessity, cuddle with Eleanor. Right from the first, this was her specification, where she would sleep, when she would sit upon us. We of course, oblige.

At first, her purr was too quiet to be heard, only felt. Now, she is audible and getting louder. Happiness settling in.

Slur

Where the snow was shoveled is now completely melted and starting to dry. The rest is gone icy if trodden/driven on, or still fluffy on lawn and gardens. The back turnaround area for our garages is a bit of a mess, and it's going cold overnight. The spare parking spot in front is still pristine. Will have to clear it for Saturday if people are coming by.

Glancing awareness of the 'blackface" story. There is no excuse for visual racial slurs, the dehumanizing of whole groups. Even when it was considered popular entertainment, I expect darker skinned people weren't amused. Even those who worked in Vaudeville and Music Hall.

I thought about the one episode of Mad Men, where the boss and wife did a blackface routine, and everyone politely aghast. And the Fry&Laurie Jeeves&Wooster with the blackface musicians, marginally excusable, but why didn't they just skip that story? The the movie Bamboozled, which I intended to watch, never got to. Looked it up a few years ago, and decided, "ok, maybe better that way." Looked it up today, and again "maybe better not."

Drag shows hit me the same way. A male who wants to dress in a feminine and/or extravagant manner is fine. It's the fake T&A that makes my skin crawl. Even if they identify as female, there is no need for the... mockery and stereotyping of female looks. Real women vary. I've always felt it was a way for biological men to assert their rights over women, even as they take on the image of women. And panders to men who find that hilarious..

Those bio-men are not giving up their inheritance, their legal edge. They can, in reality, pass. Anatomical males identifying as female are fine, and welcome. But they should do like default women do, and dress to their body type, not pretend to be extreme stereotypical females. Trans women should find a particular style, not mimic female extremes.

Drag and Blackface are both inexcusable.

Bella

We love our House and want her to feel beautiful and beloved.




Like this.

Feo

Yup, more ugly paint on the basement, where it belongs. Lighter though, so I rolled a bit on the darker ugly color. Another can of paint I can dry out and throw in the trash. And not have to take to the dump.

Not that I'm driving anywhere today.

The bathroom faucet pulled apart a bit, got it back together. Afraid that will need replacing as well. Not surprising, it's always been a bit iffy, and after seven years, it's not any better.

Went to vacuum, and that was clogged. Cleaned it out, after dismantling the vacuum, drying it now. At least that won't need replacing.

Spamnation

Got a comment, one word worth. I immediate thought, "spam." But I looked at the supposed blogger, and there was a real site, not overtly commercial, although very slick. Asian-ish name form, claims to have written three books on Amnmazomn*, English awkward to fractured. On blooger since 2019, which is like a buggy-whip start-up company. I do a separate look up for the 'books.' Something about reducing belly fat, which reminds us of pop-up ads on every platform.

Yeah.

Spam.

So, I got to my comments and reported and deleted it.

Kind of hoping for an angry follow up comment claiming I'm wrong. Had another one similar, maybe a year ago? Not as elaborate, but pointless positive comments from someone without a blog of their own. Called them on it, reported it as spam, got an angry response saying "I'm not a bot, how dare you!" So I reported that comment as spam as well. A manned bot is still a bot.

Even if it's not spam, I can live without that reader. With the changes to oogle, beware of these parasites.

This external memory site of mine may well soon go extinct. Such is life. Sad, since I've found it very useful, but inevitable. I will miss you all if and when that happens. Maybe we should have alternate means of contact? Some of you I already do, but not all.

The world tears itself apart now and again. Loss is part of the process. We grieve and remake.

joan

at

xmission

dot

com









*name changed to avoid searches.

Eleven

So glad I have the day off. Eleven inches, much of it lake effect I'm sure. It'll melt fast, though. Dylan shoveled this morning, I will get out with the electric shovel later for around the garage. Schools and University and Library all closed, I wonder how many of the surgeries will cancel at my OR.

Cheap store brand heel pads working better than the expensive special ones. Got a second pair to keep in my work shoes. Not all better, but definitely measurably improved.