My boobs are no longer bigger than Kait's head!

Hoorah!

This blog lacks focus. Maybe posting recipes? Poetry and short stories? Bizarre photos, like this one? Limiting rants about health to four a year? Only ranting about health?

Honestly, I have low expectations of being read. I just love reading what other people have to say about this world, and having a blogger identity is the easiest way to keep track!

Still, I'd like to think I have something of interest to add...

Even Spot has a cough!

Ethics project on Transgenic Animals- any comments, just based on what you already know/feel about the subject? I've noticed there are a lot of really interesting conceptions/opinions about this topic, so I'd love to hear anything you have to say! Here's the good ol' Wikipedia entry on the subject, for reference, if you need a starting point. I won't use your comments for our presentation, and I will post on our ethical conclusions once we're finished.

First snow last night! Of course, it was in the 60s by afternoon, so nothing stuck around. A-Basin opens Wednesday, but Greg and I won't get up there until Saturday at the earliest. Early season skiing is for the ridiculous amazingness of getting as many days per season as possible, and I haven't skied early-season in many years, so whenever we go will be awesome!

For those of you who don't know me, I am a cooking maniac. The monthly arrival of 'Gourmet' is read as thoroughly as every letter from my sister in Tasmania, and I cook at least one complicated recipe per issue. As a result of this love of food, and the frustrations of not being able to get fresh herbs and decent produce most of the year, I started growing some ingredients myself. I wish I could say that my garden provided any decent portion of what we consume, but we only have a 5'x8' concrete patio and an office with grow lights to work with here!

I hadn't gotten around to weather-proofing my patio 'garden' yet, and I'm not ready to give up on those last green tomatoes, so I effectively filled our dining room with potted plants. The strawberries, lavender, and other hardy perennials stayed out, but the evergreen Southern blueberry, fig tree, mini roses and tomatoes take up a third of the room. I was looking at getting an olive or dwarf pomegranate tree to put in our bedroom, but I think we'll be stuffed with plants this winter as it is! I really, really like the idea of training a passionflower/fruit vine to climb up the dining room side of the totally non-functionally designed 'buffet' thing, but I really can't justify spending the money to order one! I got my hands on some Kaffir lime leaf a few weeks back and altered a Thai curry recipe around them.. ummmmmmm soooo yummy! But $50 a plant + shipping? Also too much right now. Damned economy! Damned universities taking all our money!

And: Ugh, cold/flu season sucks! We've been extra-diligent about not taking Spot out for adventures unless we've cleaned well and will clean well afterward, too, since snakes and humans can share nasty bacterial stuff. All the same, all three of us have a bit of a cough, and only one of us has a warm, humid hiding place to recover! In fact, Spot's cough has cleared up after a nice mouse and a few days with increased heating...

PETA finale, and our "Europe, it sure is a nice place to visit..." economy

<--Got this in the mail yesterday In case you don't read mirrored images so well, the writing says, "Europe, it sure is a nice place to visit..." and, on the inside, "But we can't afford to let our American economy become more like Europe." It goes on to plead us Colorado voters to call Mark Udall (D, running for Senate) and tell him that "Cap & Trade legislation is too expensive for hard working Colorado Families."

Here is a nice photo from my last trip to Europe,
which as a whole, is #2 on my list of
places I'd rather live, under Australia.

Mike and I thought this was about the funniest political flier ever! Even ignoring the details of Udall's comment (which involved using a cap and trade system to motivate industry to reduce emissions, as a big environmental issue in Colorado is factories paying less in fines to dump illegally than to deal with their waste in accordance with EPA guidelines) this sentiment makes NO SENSE!

Please, remind me why we don't want a strong, globally connected economy like Europe's?

Looking at the cap and trade idea itself, it makes even less sense. Basically, this system would allow companies that produce lower than their allowed emissions to 'sell' their extra emission allowances to companies that failed to meet federal emissions standards for that period. It even explains as much in the flier! So, companies that can get under their emissions limits stand to gain money by polluting less, and those that cannot get under are forced to bargain for credits- no more easy fines! How on EARTH would this cost 'Colorado families' anything? If anyone disagrees, PLEASE explain why.

The GOP is getting desperate... but I don't believe Americans are really short-sighted stupid enough to buy into their bull-crap.


As for PETA... that long, ranting entry yesterday DID have a point: Only PETA can take everyone involved in reforming horse-racing and have them leaping to the defense of the industry they've been fighting against. PETA is a terrorist organization whose extremest tactics reverse animal-welfare progress on an international stage. Threatening physical 'justice' and making public demands is the modus-operandi of terrorists and other villains. By operating as a terrorist group, PETA pins all reasonable people into an uncomfortable, defensive position facing their attackers (aka PETA). In the case of Eight Belles, this meant that everyone with any knowledge of or commitment to horses and horse racing took a defensive stance against irrational demands, even when defending the status quo was against their true intentions for improving the ethical treatment of race horses.
PETA would gain my respect, and, in my opinion, far more animal rights victories, if they would ground their suggestions in reality by doing their research and respecting all sides by listening to their hesitations and concerns before making an educated, intelligent statement about what changes can be made to improve animal welfare. Stating that the jockey was at fault for not feeling anything wrong during the race because clearly he was whipping the filly instead of paying attention to her limits makes PETA sound like judgemental ass hats to anyone with a greater knowledge of why the filly went down.

The End.

PETA: Progress-Ending Terrorists for their Animals

I always knew PETA existed. I always felt throwing paint on fur coats was an overly-dramatic way to make a point but, hey, I'm anti-fur and they seemed to be the only ones doing anything.

My first moment of PETA enlightenment came here: "Somebody stoled him," said five-year-old Zion. "I’m sad."

I laughed a bit, assuming that those over-zealous PETA members were the exception, rather than the rule.

Then, the Derby happened, Eight Belles tragically injured her ankle after the race ended, and the euthanasia made PETA go nuts. Their requests (and some reasoning) can be found in the AP article below:
Eight Belles

Their first point is right-on. Most other equine disciplines consider 2-3 the minimum age to start "breaking" their horses, meaning no one backs them until they're that age. Arabians and Icelandic ponies are commonly left alone until 4 or 5, to insure proper bone growth, and I've met many eventing and hunter/jumper trainers who will not start horses over fences until age 6, because their bones may not be completely formed yet. Thoroughbreds, however, are racing by age 2, and since age in the industry Jan 1st is every horse's birth date, some horses turn 2 when they are actually just over a year. There is no reason to race horses this young, in my opinion. Fully grown, sanely trained TBs would probably be faster and more effective runners anyway, so I'm not even sure why they still race TBs so damned young!

Abandoning dirt tracks for synthetics, however, is edging towards "wah?" Synthetics have yet to prove themselves as any different from dirt. The statistics on injuries between the two surface types are insignificant, and although most trainers seem to be moving towards synthetics for a variety of reasons, I personally don't understand why we would make that one of the demands for making racing more humane.

Cap the number of races per year, okay.

Whipping... is not about what PETA seems to think it's about. Whips, when used correctly, are extensions of the rider's arms and/or legs. They are used to cue horses where arms and legs are inefficient, such as in racing, where the jockey is perched on top of the horse with almost no actual contact. Tapping the shoulder signals the horse to lengthen its stride. Are there better ways to ride? Hell yes! But none of them involve perching precariously on your horse's back, and at least that part does make it easier for the horse to use its body. I would like to see the no-hitting from above the shoulder and no cruel crop regulations enforced consistently, but this is not my biggest issue with the industry.

And... the jockey felt nothing because there was nothing to feel, until it was too late. The clip makes that much obvious. Her stride is beautiful, her ears are forward, the jockey is doing his finest to bring her down slowly, and then she fumbles, he does everything in his power to stabilize them, but in a flash they're on the ground. She broke her ankle, people. It's tragic, and yes, it probably could have been avoided by letting her mature a bit more before racing, but the jockey rode her wonderfully through the end, and both he and Eight Belles trainer have long track records of treating their horses like their babies. Also, while Eight Belles was sound until she was down, Big Brown was lame just a day before the race! And again afterwards! In fact, he has a long history of foot problems, and his trainer and owner have a long history of racing horses with health problems anyways! In short, Eight Belles death and the Derby are a tragic case of the majority of the blame being shifted to the least guilty.

My problems with racing... are for another day. Suffice it to say, the big leagues are the least of my concerns, and PETA would save more horses from suffering if they would focus their attention on the inner city tracks and low-level races. One of the retired TBs I've known and loved, Chance, would have benefited greatly from someone taking him out of his stall more than once a year, and trimming his feet more than once every other year after retirement wouldn't have been a bad plan, either. He's a total love-bucket, a fun ride (after much work) and a talented mover... and a neurotic claustrophobic wreck who's notorious among local farriers.
Where was PETA then? And where are they for the horses that didn't leave with Chance, or who left on a double-deckered trailer for a different second-retirement plan???

Next time, don't block the door. Next time, I won't bleed so much.

Just, someone said I looked tired today, pointed out the unusual (for me) bags under my eyes, and I just blinked for a second for lack of a better thing to do. Everyone complains about being tired, because we all are. Everyone is tired most of the time. Look at those posh celebs rehabbing from 'exhaustion'! But I'm not tired! I'm lagging, and the wolverine inside my head is actively scrapping its way to freedom, but it's not the same tired as staying out late all weekend and then suffering the homework load while still hungover on Sunday night.

Okay, obviously my real issue today stems from a run-in with a sorority t-shirt wearing blond on her cell phone, standing right in front of the door. I was leaving the lab after checking our e-coli mutants and came up through the psychology wing, where apparently an accounting exam had just let out. Like I said, I'm lagging today. I wanted to get home and eat some buffalo chili and watch Buffy; the Vampire Slayer, and this petite blond in her Greek-lettered shirt, up-the-ass shorts, and Uggs (of course, the Uggs) is standing right smack between me and the door. I say 'excuse me' a few times, to no response. Move onto a couple bouts of 'Hi, you, yeah, hello? Me, door, come on now... yes, you, turn...' and since she's still chatting on her phone, ignoring me, and fully ignorant of her position fully blocking my only exit, I tap her shoulder and say 'excuse me!' a bit louder.
Which apparently was incredibly rude of me, because she flipped around (still blocking the door) to shriek, "What the fuck? Someone did poorly on that test, huh? Jesus Christ, bitch! Watch where you're going!" Then cackled into her phone.
Lucky for her, someone opened the door, thus pushing her aside, diverting her attention and allowing me to FINALLY escape.

I don't understand how these kids think they're pleasant to be around, with their upturned noses and glaring cold-bitch eyes... Something needs to happen in which all the girls from The Hills get dumped by super-hot rich men who've discovered that there are pretty girls in this world who aren't obsessed with being catty and elitist. Seriously.

Not that I'm particularly pleasant to be around, either. Especially since I'm on period #3 this month- yes, that's right folks: I've been blessed with 12-15 days of bleeding out of every 28, for the last 6 months! I lost 4lbs last week on the chocoholic/sodium intensive diet: Eat nothing but chocolate, whipped cream, bacon bbq burgers, and veggie chips with extra salt and just watch those pounds melt away! Swear to God. I'm 22 and going through menopause, except it's a genetic disease and I'll go through it several more times before I get to actual menopause. Goody!

And yet, after four hours doing the mind-numbing repetitive homework, I go to class and discover that rush week is a valid excuse for not having anything done. Can you really blame me for hating on this school and its students?
Probably.
Oh well.

So, plan for the next few weeks: Meet with advisor on Friday to discuss accommodations (for PTSD issues in large groups, and those random unhappy 'sick days' that land me in the ER). Make appointment with my normal doctor to get basic blood work for anemia going, and get recommendations for hematologists who aren't also pediatric oncologists. Get a pedicure. Find ways to eat what I need without inciting homicidal rage from my low-sodium, low-fat, no red meat dieting boyfriend.

II) Happiness

A good friend of mine, JB, is neighbors with Indira, a favorite professor of mine from my stint as a writing and literature major. Indira and JB befriended each other months before JB made the connection and asked if I knew her. Since I often park at JB's, then walk or bus onwards with her, I get the occasional bonus of seeing Indira.

A few weeks ago, we dragged Indira down to the Farmer's market with us to grab lunch. Eating our Vietnamese noodles in the park, JB spied a little boy hiding under a juniper bush, chewing on a plastic spoon. She wanted to get a Polaroid, I wanted to know what world he had created under that bush. We stepped over and I squatted down, and asked him how his spoon tasted. He looked up and told me something in little kid speak that I think related to ice cream, and held out the spoon. JB told me to stop scaring the children. I told him I was full, but thanks, and waved.

Wandering back, Indira told me that she still had some of my work from last year, since I took medical leave in early October and never went back. She complimented my work from 'that period' and told me she'd dig up this one (and maybe a couple others) and give them back to me so I could see her comments. She talked about how my tactile references were something or other... I'm impressed that she even held onto them! I intend to make cupcakes and trade them for my stories.

Point of that long ramble is: the boy, the spoon, the professor... I've been thinking a lot about this essay, so I dug it up. Part one is on Anger, and I haven't been thinking about it.

II) Happiness

There is nothing as wonderful as the way time passes in dreams. An hour of dreaming can take place in the five minutes between the first alarm and the snooze repeat. Discovering this, my first semester away at college I began taking short naps between classes to refresh my brain. As I realized how many memories I had lost, dreams became my closest reality. In dreams, time has not definition; in reality, I could not remember the definitions of my time. I was always very late, extremely early, or not there at all because I had forgotten. I could not even place events in chronological order in my life, past or present.
Recently, I have been sleeping so well at night, that I can skip the little naps and still find my time. In fact, I can stretch my time because I finally have an idea of how long things take me. I can arrive within a few minutes of needing to be places, and I know when things have happened, in their correct order, over past week.
An appointment with my psychiatrist on Wednesday shed light on my newly relaxed mind. In his words, I have removed the “wet blanked” from my cognitive abilities by stopping some of the medications I went on after my head injury. This past week has been my first remembered reality without the harshest of these drugs, ironically named ‘Abilify.’ This drug, he explained again, is designed to stop one from feeling sensations, and thus prevents the vivid hallucinations often associated with both blows to the temporal lobe and mental illness. But, for head injury patients, it is a temporary fix, to be used only for a few years while the brain is healing.
So, four years later, I am feeling things again, and it is fucking brilliant. I feel wet when it rains, and cold when I get in my car in the mornings before the heat starts, around 64th. Then, I blast the heater and bask in the glory of my flesh warming to a comfortable temperature. I have actually burnt myself four times this week pulling things from the oven, which makes me wonder how many times I have burnt myself and not felt it enough to care. My shoulder, where I tore some ligaments, hurts more than I realized, and it feels great when Mike rubs it for me. His beard tickles my neck and cheek when he holds me, and his breath on my shoulder, as we fall asleep, gives me goose bumps. I actually made him feel the goose bumps Tuesday night, because I did not realize that I was capable of such sensitivity. He knows me well enough not to laugh, as I know him well enough to not spend five straight hours feeling his chest hairs, one by one, while he’s grading labs. That does not mean that I do not want to, it just means I don’t want him to draw on my face with his special red grading pen.
The highlight of my week, that one thing that made me happier than every other happy moment combined, was feeling happy in the first place. I realized that my idea of happiness is completely muted compared to the potential for glee I possess. I spent my week blissful with emotions, positive and negative alike, simply because I was feeling them. I cannot seem to explain the wonder I feel, but those who know me too well have all commented about the shine in my eyes this week. I want to ask them to imagine getting to feel everything after four years of not noticing that feeling was missing, but, instead, I have a tendency to pick up lemons out of fruit bowls, smell them, stare at them, and show whoever’s with me how cool the texture of the yellow rind feels against a fingertip.
(9/24/2007)