Suggestion for Halloween

The wonderful thing about the Internet is that one comes across things that one would not normally see in Berkeley. Such as the Bibleman costume:

"Nothing says "You Lose" like arriving for battle in flowing cape and warrior mask."

I guess it remains to be seen exactly who the loser is.

Non Traditional (?) Action Figures

In case you haven't yet visited the catholic action figure website, here is a bit of text describing the Jesus action figure:

"Jesus was the most important person in history. Ever. He was born in a manger, raised as a carpenter, and crucified on a cross. He healed the sick. He raised the dead. He fed five thousand men with two fish and five loaves of bread."

Impressive.

Mary's action figure description, however, leaves me with a few questions:

"Mary was just an ordinary girl, who got a visit from the angel Gabriel, and her life-and legacy-changed forever as she accepted this role of being the mother of Jesus."

I do recommend visiting the site for additional illuminating information about characters from the old and new testament.

BART haiku - September 25, 2007

Security Guard

His wheelchair rigged: police lights

Uniformed. Roll on.

BART Haiku, September 25, 2007

Thinning hair, dyed black

Tight, light blue velvet sweat suit

Sir, not attractive.

BART Haiku - a background

A friend of mine told me during a dine@ soiree, about a phone texting group he was a part of and one of the group activities is BART haiku. The poem must be written on BART or shortly thereafter when inspired by BART.

Last night, as Shaun expressed his distaste for public transporation, I told him how much I enjoy riding BART every day amid, amongst all the humanity (opposites do attract) (not that I am inhuman -- Shaun and I are opposites) (in case I confused you).

When I first started school, I was not a part of BART, and was amazed by the mass of people getting on BART during early morning rush hour; how they could, despite being crammed on top of each other, each plug in to their separate technologies to isolate themselves from the throng; how they get off the train en masse like ants heading about their busy busy business.

Now I am one of them (ant people), but I still enjoy the quintessential BART moments that happen nearly every day. And BART haiku seems to me to be a perfect format for sharing those moments of being (Virginia Woolf may nod, may not).

Thus, I share.

BART Haiku - September 21, 2007

Not standing in line

Pirouettes on the platform -

Should he get a seat?

Modern Times

This morning, Molly was looking through a folder of her drawings and other creations from kindergarten (she's a big fourth-grader now), when she came across a letter she had written to Santa.

"Mom! What is this doing here! How come it wasn't mailed??"

I paused before answering, wondering whether she was pulling my leg or being sincere, because by her age, I certainly had figured out the truth about Santa.

In fact, one year, long before I was nine, my sisters and I had forcibly disrobed "Santa" one Christmas to prove that we knew he was really Jimmy Curry, friend of our parents. His red plastic suit and cotton ball beard were completely unconvincing and easily torn from his body.

Molly asked me once -- probably around the time she wrote the letter at issue -- if I would tell her the truth about Santa. I said I would and waited for the question, "is he real?" but she never asked it. So we left it at that. I guess you could say we have a "don't ask, don't tell" Santa policy in our house. We have acknowleged that some people don't believe in Santa -- or the tooth fairy, or the easter bunny -- but that everyone has a choice in that matter. Molly continues to choose to believe.

Thus, Molly was truly miffed that her letter hadn't been sent. So I did some quick thinking.

"I think I must have faxed it to him. That way I could keep the original copy because it was so cute!"

She seemed satisfied with this answer -- at least she didn't ask any further questions.

Free Pre-Paid Cremation!

I received this in the mail the other day, addressed to my mother (in the interest of my privacy, my address has been deleted).

However, I'm afraid I didn't respect my mother's privacy and opened her mail. I was intrigued... if something is pre-paid, then how is it free?? Here are some of the highlights.

"WIN A PRE-PAID CREMATION!" (if you fill out and mail in their info card, they enter you into a monthly drawing. I guess it's kind of like winning a free vacation, which, interestingly, rhymes with cremation.)

"With everyone moving around these days, placing a loved one in a 'local' cemetery may not be as functional as it used to be."

"Like we said: 'Cremation just makes sense'. If you are not interested in spending your family's inheritance on embalming, caskets, vaults, markers, fancy funeral homes, or cemetery property, then we have the answer!" (guilt plus exclamation points -- good marketing strategy)

"Please accept our apologies if this letter has reached you at a time of serious illness or death in your family." (thoughtful. apology accepted)

Here's Jane

Just click here...

Half a Glass...

Life's really great here. Shaun had surgery on his foot last week and has been immobile in bed until today. (Half empty = Shaun can't do much to help; half full = when he heals, he won't be in constant foot pain.) Last night we discovered Molly had a major lice infestation which miraculously hadn't passed on to the rest of us. (Half empty = infested with lice; half full = only Molly). And I have Grampa's operation to look forward to (half empty = kidney removed; half full = cancer removed), and next weekend I'll be helping to clean out MooMoo's things (half empty = she's dead; half full = I might end up with some cool stuff).

As you can see, I'm teetering on the edge of positive thinking.

Four-Year-Old Wisdom

Everybody in the world loves you if you give them presents.

Missing Jane?

This is a fun video of Jane in Ireland. Too bad I can't figure out how to make it work on Blogger. If Jane read my blog, she could protest my next idea of posting it on you tube....

Moo reciting the ballad of Yukon Jake

Moo Moo's Christmas Message

Moo Moo, age 101.

(She's the one on the left)

Moo Moo is only 93 here. A spring chicken.

You can tell by the hat.

Moo Moo

A Loan From God

This came in the mail the other day, addressed to me. Though I don't believe in God, I was prepared to suspend my disbelief if God was going to give me money. I was impressed that God had figured out that I am deep in law school debt and wanted to help me out. And I figured that God's interest rate would be at least as good as the government's, if not better, because God shouldn't be greedy. I did wonder how these people got the direct line to God's finance department. Unfortunately, it wasn't a straightforward low-interest loan, but some complicated prayer process which, I began to suspect, would involve me giving rather than receiving. Alas.

Cameras

Last week I started my summer job as a law clerk. Things were going fine until I noticed the cameras everywhere -- in the hallways, in the kitchen where we eat lunch, in several of the main office areas. I've had a lifelong issue with cameras when they are pointed at me. I make faces. I cannot help myself. It's like a nervous tic. The secretary outside the senior partner's office has a split screen monitor with continuous feed from each of the cameras. I wonder how often she watches the screen, because now that I am aware of the cameras, I can't help but look directly at each one as I pass by, and I make a face. Sometimes just a subtle lift of the eyebrows, sometimes a quick and quirky smile. I work hard to not stick out my tongue. I really hope that after a while I get used to the cameras and can go about my day like a normal person. If not . . . well, I guess we'll just have to wait and see. I must admit, this is an issue I hadn't prepared for.

Berkeley Bowl Poet

A guy named Zach sits outside of Berkeley Bowl (grocery store) with his manual typewriter, offering poems to passersby. His typewriter ribbon is broken so he uses white mailing labels -- The keys make readable indentations on the white sticker. I asked him to write a poem about Lily. He did:

Lily is a little
and with her
whittling of the
years and days
she will be
some kind
of wonderflower
which is
relevant
to what
happened
to the
days
May
is
a very nice place
to stay and if
it must pass
at least it
is the nursery rhyme
with a lily grown
in winter.

I know you missed me

I finished finals and have been vacationing at home. Start a new (summer) job on tuesday. Either I'll be too busy to blog, or so busy I must blog. We'll see.

Geek Alert

Confession at the end of an email to my Constitutional law professor:

I feel like Mr. Spock on Star Trek when dealing with Con Law... "But Jim, that's illogical."

Law professor's response:

What does Spock know, anyway? Ask Data. He will run it through his positronic matrix and will come up with this same conclusion.

I've Been Here. Have You?

It is a lot like Switzerland. Except that there aren't any mountains. Or Swiss chalets (unless mobile homes count). Nor is it known for its chocolate, watches, bank accounts, army knives, or neutrality. I doubt that there are any Swiss people there either. But I suppose there could be some subtle similarities I overlooked as I passed on through. Like the name.

Freeway Driving Always Makes Me Sing

I drive by this apartment building sometimes on my way to school (actually, I'm driven). I wonder who would live so very close to the freeway, with thousands of people driving by, looking in the windows. And do the tenants worry that a car might hit their home? Shaun tried to explain to me how it wasn't likely to happen, based on some physics centrifugal force theory (which I suppose the building engineers probably thought of as well) but I just see cars within a few feet of the building and I'm not convinced.

Faki Me Spanaki

This is the name of a Greek recipe for lentil soup with spinach. It amuses me.

Berkeley

I used to have an Isuzu trooper, and one day as I was getting into my truck/SUV, a young man yelled at me as he walked by "you gas guzzling, communist capitalist!!!" Although my outward response was to look him in the eye and rev the engine, inwardly, I struggled with his words - they made me think ... I was certainly a gas-guzzler, but could one be both a communist and a capitalist at the same time?

Eight-Year-Old Wisdom

Some people think you're only on top of the world if you are a king or queen, but really, everyone is on top of the world unless you're jumping in the air or flying or something.

Nice Mommy, but...

Lily this morning: My mommy is a nice mommy. (Big Sigh, shaking her head), except she won't cut the crusts off my toast.

I'm sure could use this sign somewhere...

Tourettes without Regrets

I came across a flier for the Anarchist Slam "Tourettes without Regrets" that takes place in Oakland at the beginning of each month. It includes freestyle rap battle, hardcore slam poetry, dirty haikus, and my favorite: audience contests which have included milk vomiting, organ-meat hurling, and do-it-yourself Poloroid puppet pornography. I really really want to go. Who's coming?

Memory

When I was at Berkeley, I did an unofficial (and private) survey of the bathroom facilities on campus. During my four years there, I tried to use the bathroom in each building. Some were modern and dingy, others were marbled and dingy. Modern bathrooms tended to have better grafitti - pen works better on metal stalls than marbled walls-- and of those, Dwinell Hall, where much of the English department was housed, had the most interesting grafitti - although the philosophy building was certainly in the running.

This morning when I awoke, a bathroom poem I read 15+ years ago suddenly popped into my head.

"Some come here to sit and think,
and some come here to shit and stink.
But I come here to scratch my balls
and read the writing on the walls."

After I congratulated myself upon my remarkable memory, I then wondered why the heck that little ditty has remained so long in my brain, verbatim, while if you asked me to tell you the general plot from one of the many great works of literature I read during undergrad, I'd have to get back to you after I refreshed my memory with a back-of-the-book blurb.

I'm still wondering.

My future grandchildren

Lily told me this morning that she can't wait to have babies, that she is going to have three and their names will be "Naughty," "Funny" and "Stupid Head".

Confusion

The other day, Molly asked, "Is Jesus Butthead, or is Butthead Jesus?"

Her confusion can be explained by our kitchen decor.

It doesn't look like a water spout to me...

Graffiti

This morning on BART, I saw scratched into the window sill next to my seat:

NEENER
NEENER
NEENER

Subtle, and yet straight to the point.

I can't think of a more manly way to die

A school chum of mine told me today that his great-grandfather recently died at age 85. He suffered a heart-attack while manning a jack-hammer.

I confess, and I'm not even Catholic

In criminal law this week we learned about the bystander effect via a case in which a woman was brutally stabbed to death over the course of about half an hour while at least 38 people who heard her screams did nothing. The bystander effect being the belief that someone else is surely taking action, ergo, no one takes action. (yes, I did just use 'ergo' and I haven't even ever taken Latin, and I actually didn't learn it in law school).

I learned about this effect in college in a social psych class. Because of it I generally take action.

Except I didn't on the 23rd of December (do you remember?). At JFK, wating in line to check in at Jet Blue, hoping that I still might make my flight that was supposed to leave 20 minutes ago, I didn't report the suspicious computer bag that had been left unattended near the line. I touched it with my foot. I thought about reporting it, as all good amercans are supposed to report suspicious, potential bomb-carrying items since 9/11. But I then I thought again. If I report this unattended item, the area will likely have to be secured and I surely won't make my flight and get home in time for Christmas, and fuck it, I've been travelling since early the previous morning and I'll take the risk that this potential bomb will explode after I get my ticket and get on the plane and at least MY Christmas won't be ruined.

I think this was the bystander effect in reverse: no one else has reported the bag, so I guess it's okay if I don't report it either.

Later, when I had almost reached the ticket counter, I overheard a woman behind me comment "I think I should report this!" But she was stopped by the gentleman next to her who pointed out that if she did, none of us would make our flights. That seemed to quell her patriotic sense of duty.

Luckily, there were no explosions at JFK this Christmas, and some poor traveller is really bummed that s/he left her computer behind.

Well I really hate to post above Dance Off!, but WOW!

Woman, 27, found after two decades lost in jungle
by Ian MacKinnon, South-east Asia correspondent
Friday January 19, 2007
The Guardian

A woman who went missing 19 years ago as an eight-year-old in the remote jungles of Cambodia has reappeared after apparently living rough and scavenging food for almost two decades.

The woman, thought to be Rochom Pngieng, who would now be 27, was discovered by villagers who noticed that food was going missing and set a trap, only to discover her naked and painfully thin.

But the woman speaks no intelligible language, making it almost impossible to verify what would be a remarkable sequence of events. Her long absence and years spent in the dense forest leave many questions unanswered.Medical experts received permission from her parents to take DNA samples in an effort to confirm the woman's identity, but her father is convinced it is his long-lost daughter because of a prominent scar received from a knife wound as a child.

"When I saw her, she was naked and walking in a bending-forward position like a monkey ... She was bare-bones skinny," her father, Sal Lou, 45, told the Associated Press.

"She was shaking and picking up grains of rice from the ground to eat. Her eyes were red like tigers' eyes."

The girl disappeared in about 1988 while tending a herd of buffalo in an isolated region 200 miles from the Cambodian capital, Phnom Penh, on the border with Vietnam's rugged central highlands.

The woman was described as "half-human and half-animal" by Mao San, police chief of Oyadao district.

But her father, who believed she had long ago been killed by forest animals, said he recognised his daughter instantly, despite her blackened body and wild hair down to her waist.

Yet communication with the woman has proved virtually impossible, apart from sign language. When she was hungry, Mr Lou said, she simply patted her stomach. She has also found readjusting to normal life difficult, according to her father. She has resisted wearing clothes and bathing, fending him off by shouting and screaming.

"If she is not sleeping, she just sits and glances left and right, left and right," he said. "It is not easy indeed but life is waiting ahead for her."

Dance Off!!!

Oops

SYDNEY, Jan 4 (Reuters Life!) - An Australian bank has apologized for issuing a credit card to a cat after its owner decided to test the bank's identity security system.

The Bank of Queensland issued a credit card to Messiah the cat when his owner Katherine Campbell applied for a secondary card on her account under its name.

"I just couldn't believe it. People need to be aware of this and banks need to have better security," Campbell told local media on Thursday.

The bank said the cat's card had been canceled. "We apologize as this should not have happened," it said in a statement.

The Heart Attack Grill

If you happen to be in Tempe Arizona, please go to the Heart Attack Grill for me. Customers are called "Patients" and if you eat a Quadruple Bypass Burger (four half-pound beef patties, four pieces of cheese, and a mound of bacon), a waitress dressed in a skimpy "nurse" uniform will push you to your car in a wheelchair at no additional charge. Sounds like fun to me.

According to the SF Chronicle (my reference source of choice), some nurses have been lobbying against the grill's use of the sexy nurse uniform. In fact they are threatening to sue. The spokesperson for the Center for Nursing Advocacy said, "Nurses are the most sexually fantasized-about profession. We're asking people, if they're going to have these fantasies, please don't make it so public. Move these sexual fantasies to other professions."

That sounds reasonable to me. Let's see. What are some under-sexualized professions that need spicing up.... Politicians? That's actually the only one I can think of, although Clinton may have changed the image a bit, at least for men.

On the otherhand, grill owner, John Basso made a good point: "If anything, I think it glorifies nurses to be thought of as a physically attractive and desireable individual... Nobody wants to think of themselves as some old battle ax who changes bedpans for a living."

Righto.

Michiginian in New York, as interrogated by Jess and Emily

Jess: So, where are you from?

Michiginian: Well, I consider New York my home.

Emily: Oh, so were you born here?

Michiginian: Well, no. But I have been here a long time, and I really feel like a New Yorker.

Jess: Really? How long have you been here?

Michiginian: About five years, but I lived here before and then moved away for a while.

Emily: Well, where do your parents live?

Michiginian: In Michigan.

Emily: I see, and is that where you grew up?

Michiginian: Well, I lived there as a kid, but I've really spent most of my adult life in New York.

Jess: So, you're really from Michigan.

My Children

Lily was running around the house gleefully, wearing nothing but a stethoscope around her waist. Molly, stethoscope owner, tried to grab it off of Lily, which resulted in a fight. In her defense, Molly explained, "But mom, I really wanted to amplify the sound of my fart!"

A true story from Ireland

Pat meets up with a bunch of old friends in the pub. One, let's call him John, introduces Pat to his wife, a woman of rather large proportions. Pat says hello, then rejoins his other buddies. Mick leans over to Pat and says,

"Sure now, you've heard John's been having trouble with his wife?"

Pat says no, ready to hear a story about the usual marital issues - fighting, adultery, etc.

"Well, the other day, she was going down the stairs and didn't she get stuck between the bannister and the wall. They had to call the fire department to get her out."

New York - opening scene

Jessica and I are visiting my sister Amanda in New York this weekend. It all started off well, with Jess and I arriving at Penn Station at 5pm on Saturday. We emerged to the surface, me toting my coffin-sized wheelie bag, only to find that the weekend holiday revelers had beat us there and we (my bag, that is) didn't fit on the sidewalk. A friendly Irish gentleman asked me (unsolicited, because the Irish are like that) if I needed any help. I thanked him, but said no. He then warned me to look out for police officers because they were likely to arrest me for having a bag so large in this part of town. Ha Ha.

I can blame Eliza for my torment since my bag is only so large because I'm transporting necessary goods to her in Ireland.

We called Amanda to verify which subway train to take to her neighborhood. Unfortunately, the choices were "E" "D" or "3", and my cell phone connection was poor. So, Jess and I walked down the block to a hotel and had the hotel person hail us a cab.

Federal Court Cites Ludacris

United States v. Murphy, 406 F.3d 857

On the evening of May 29, 2003, Hayden was smoking crack with three other folks at a trailer park home on Chain of Rocks Road in Granite City, Illinois. Murphy, Sr., who had sold drugs to Hayden several years earlier, showed up later that night. He was friendly at first, but he soon called Hayden a "snitch bitch hoe" n1 and hit her in the head with the back of his hand. He said he saw her name in discovery materials from his son's criminal case and that she was responsible for putting him in jail. He put a gun -- a small chrome-plated one -- to her head and said he was going to kill her for putting his son in jail. He said this would be her last night and her body would be found in a ditch. Murphy then placed several calls, telling Hayden he was calling his people to get someone to dispose of her car.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - Footnotes - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


n1 The trial transcript quotes Ms. Hayden as saying Murphy called her a snitch bitch "hoe." A "hoe," of course, is a tool used for weeding and gardening. We think the court reporter, unfamiliar with rap music (perhaps thankfully so), misunderstood Hayden's response. We have taken the liberty of changing "hoe" to "ho," a staple of rap music vernacular as, for example, when Ludacris raps "You doin' ho activities with ho tendencies."

Happiness

Tee Hee Hee

Today I saw a little person. He was getting into his Mini.

Lily

This morning I asked Lily how she was going to be at school today.
"Difficult."

Very Low Food Security

The USDA has decided to drop the term "hungry" from its report measuring American's access to food. Instead, people who have trouble putting food on the table (for financial reasons - not due to physical difficulties/ergonomics; e.g., short person trying to put food on a very tall table) will now be referred to as having very low food security.

I think that will clear things up.

Tiptoes

I recently purchased a stuffed animal as a gift for my new nephew, Jamie. I'm usually a giver of books, but this toy was so soft and cuddly that I couldn't resist. It happened to be a beaver wearing ballet slippers, named "Tiptoes".

Tiptoes has not yet made it into the arms of my nephew because everyone in my family likes Tiptoes so much. Unfortunately, no one refers to Tiptoes by name.

Everyone comments on it: "Wow, this beaver is so soft and squishy!"
My girls fight over it: "It's MY beaver!" "No, it's MY beaver!"
Even Gramma Susan likes it: "I'm going to grab your beaver!"

I personally can't take the commentary any more and am going to send the beaver off to Ireland post haste.

Bingo Bugle

This weekend I came across the East Bay publication, Bingo Bugle. Thirty-two news pages of pure Bingo-related items. I had no idea...

Accidents do happen...

I recently read a case concerning a member of the military who was convicted of murdering his wife. They had an argument and as she was driving away, he shot her using a sniper rifle from a distance of about 200 yards. He claimed it was an accident. Apparently, the jury didn't believe him.

More, please?

Lily was wondering why parents need to work when spending time at home with the family is the clearly better option. I tried to explain to her that parents need to work to earn money to pay for the house, etc. I liked Lily's solution to the problem:

"When you go to work, just say, 'please, may I have some more money for my house?' and then you can come home."

I don't get it

Bloomingdales opened in San Francisco this week. I only know this because I passed it on my way to school and people had lined up around a city block, waiting for the store to open. Hundreds of people. It's just another store selling shit people don't need. The shit will still be there after opening day. There will be future sales on the shit. I just don't get it. Is shopping for entertainment even more entertaining when one does it with hordes of people who storm the building en masse, like ants on a piece of turkey?

Geek Alert?

I asked Molly, my almost-eight-year-old, who she's been playing with at school.

"Andrea, but our games are getting kind of boring and she never just wants to hang out and talk. So today I talked to Clare."

"Oh, and what did you talk about?"

"Dental care."

I'll admit it, this advice will work for just about any problem.

I write the diary of a 13 year old girl for a website. Each week she asks the readers for advice. Once in a while, she gets a gem:

You can Talk to a cat about your problem then strangle it so it wont tell anybody then throw it in a lake for safe keeping just in case. Send me 100 bucks while you're at it because you got to admit that's good advice. Box face.

Jessica, age 11

Silent Scream

AAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGG!!!!!!!!!!!

Sugar and Spice

Lily came up and gave me a snuggle and a kiss the other morning, and I told her she was a nice little girl. She responded in a sing-song, "I'm nice. But not for lo-ong."

Fall is Here

The weather changed over night. Cool air, strong breeze, warm sun set low in the sky. I love fall.

Lawn Update

It looks like my neighbor has decided to be a bit more proactive about growing his lawn. He added several additional clumps of crab grass around the new patch. I estimate that this will reduce the completion time by at least a year, maybe two.

Lawn in the 'Hood

For four years now, I have been watching my neighbor slowly grow his lawn. I laughed when I first noticed he had planted a small clump of crab grass in the center of a square of dirt on one side of his walkway. But he watered it diligently through the summers, and even ran his electric mower over that little patch every week to keep it nice and trim. Now, four years later, it has spread almost completely to the edges. By the end of next summer, he will have a solid bit of lawn.

This summer, after killing off the weeds and carefully turning the soil, he planted a single clump of crab grass on the other side of his walkway. In another five years (assuming the other side doesn't die off before then) he should have a beautiful lawn spanning the front of his home.

I've reasoned that he chose this method for economic reasons, or perhaps convenience. He could have procured the clump from a friend, or maybe from his back yard. I've never planted a lawn myself -- maybe seeds are expensive? Or hard to come by?

What I really want to know is why he didn't plant both sides at the same time. Ten years seems like an awfully long time to wait for a lawn.

Irritating Magnets

My children really like to be near me. I guess that's generally a good thing, but there are times when their insistent proximity begins to feel claustrophobic. Take for instance this summer when we went camping alongside the Consumnes river. I was sitting happily in my lawn chair, enjoying the sunshine except for the fact that Molly and Lily were fighting over my lap. Wishing for a bit of peace, I suggested they fill a big bucket with wet sand and build a castle. The girls dragged the bucket down the bank to the river, filled it with water and wet sand, and with herculean effort, dragged the bucket all the way back up the sandy bank and placed it about six inches from my right leg. Then they climbed in and started jumping, splashing mud all over me.

"Ah, Molly?"
"Yeah?"
"We have an entire beach to ourselves. Why don't you move that somewhere else."
"Oh. Sorry."

She moved it. About two feet behind me. An improvement, yes, but I don't think my point got across.

Happy Gilmore was more dumber

"'Big Daddy" is one of Adam Sandler's more smarter movies."
--Lynn, online movie reviewer

I'm back

Really.

Bidet

I've been house-sitting at my dad's beautful home. This evening, Lily learned about bidets. I had told her not to use it as a toilet because it was "a little bath." Intrigued, she snuck upstairs while I was making dinner, determined to take a little bath on her own. Her screams got me running. She had turned the faucet on full blast so the water shot straight up onto the ceiling, showering the walls and flooding the bathroom floor (sorry, Dad). I don't know much about bidet use, but I can't imagine how a human being could require (or enjoy)the potential power wash a bidet seems to offer.

Judges Do It Too

June 30 2006 at 09:59PM

Bristow, Oklahoma - A US jury has sentenced an
Oklahoma judge to one year in prison for using a penis
pump on the bench during three murder trials and a
civil case in 2002 and 2003.

Donald D Thompson, 59, was convicted on Thursday and
fined $10 000 (about R130 000) for each count.
Thompson told the jury he would also lose his $90
000-a-year pension.

The verdict, which exposed the judge's
behind-the-bench secrets, capped a bizarre and awkward
chapter in the state's judicial history.

Thompson's longtime court reporter, Lisa Foster, wept
on the stand as she recalled how she discovered the
source of a "sh-sh" sound in the courtroom. She said
she spied Thompson's penis inside the pump through a
small gap between a drawer and a door.

'I should have thrown it away, but I didn't'
Foster said she later saw Thompson's penis 15 to 20
times over the course of three years. She also saw him
shave his scrotum and urinate into a trashcan behind
the bench.

"I was really shocked and kind of scared, because it
was so bizarre," Foster said. "I didn't know what to
do."

The defence maintained that the charges were part of a
vendetta by local police to overthrow Thompson.

The judge denied ever using the pump - a device used
in the hope of enlarging the penis or combating
erectile dysfunction - saying it was a joke gift from
his best friend in 2001.

He said he moved the pump back and forth between his
bench and chambers but never used it on his penis.

"Twenty-twenty hindsight: I should have thrown it
away, but I didn't," Thompson said.

The white-handled pump sat on an evidence table in
front of the jury throughout the trial, and both the
prosecution and defence at times picked it up and
squeezed the handle for effect.

Jurors also heard court reporter's tapes from each
trial, and a rhythmic, high-pitched whoosh of air
punctuated emotional witness testimony in the murder
trials.

Testimony in the judge's trial drew giggles and
embarrassed glances from jurors and the gallery in
this conservative Oklahoma hamlet, 96km north-east of
Oklahoma City.

Several witnesses said Thompson often made himself at
home behind the bench, removing his shoes to shine
them and clip his toenails, spitting tobacco into a
cup and fidgeting with an electronic organiser. - Sapa-AFP

Good Man, You

I'm really proud of Warren Buffett for giving 31 billion dollars to the Gates Foundation. When I first read the headline, I was flabbergasted by the idea of having an extra 31 billion dollars to donate. But then I learned that it constitutes 85% of his wealth. He'll still have billions (I think. Damn math. Where's my calculator?) left over, so I suppose it is extra money anyway. But that was really generous. Thank you, Mr. Buffett. I hope it does much good.

The 'Hood

My neighbor Roland recently bought a brand new Land-N-Sea cruiser. It's a cross between a 30 foot motor home and a catamaran. I know this because he has parked it outside his ramshackle house. He had to put it half-way on the side walk so it wouldn't block the street. I suppose that was considerate, at least to the cars. The boat is called a "Lil' Hobo," but he spent the other afternoon carefully removing the "b" and the "o." I suppose "Lil' Ho" does blend in better with the neighborhood.

Signs of Dependence

My vicodin instruction sheet told me to watch for signs of dependence. Apparently those signs include "feeling that you cannot live without this medicine." A most helpful example.

The Toe

I broke my big toe the other morning...Lily had "watered" the stairs. Luckily it didn't happen on 6/6/06 or else I might have become suspicious that she was the Omen child.

I really enjoyed the four hours I spent in the emergency room. Seriously. I knew it would take a while so I brought my book, and essentially viewed it as much needed quiet time. It was also really slow in the ER - aside from my toe, there was just one woman having a heart attack, so I didn't mind waiting patiently for my turn.

The hospital chaplain came to visit me. "So, are you The Toe?"
"Yes, I suppose I am"
He asked me how I was doing and if I needed to talk about it.
"You mean talk about my toe? Well, it hurts, but I think I'll make it through this"
"I'm sure you will."

Narration

Perhaps because they are so thrilled with the new things they can do – or because they want to make full use of their expanding verbal skills, 3 year olds tend to narrate their every move. They don’t just run, for example they do so while screaming, "I’m running!!!"

Lily and I were at a local pizza joint recently when she announced (loudly, holding her self front and back) that she had to go to the bathroom (really badly!). We entered one of the several stalls in the women’s bathroom and her narration began at full volume.

"Mom, I have to poop.....I’m going to push really hard......unnnnnnnnnnngh......unnnnnnnngh..... (her face turns bright red. I start to giggle, as do the several women in the adjoining stalls).
"It’s coming, mommy!!........Oh wow, I got a really big one out!!!....... Am I making you laugh, mommy?..... No, I’m not done, a got a lot more poop in me......I’m going to push really, really hard again......oh, I need to rest a little bit (big sigh)..... okay now I’m going to push again.....there’s another poop, mommy!......Why are you laughing, mommy?....Okay, I’m all done.....You can wipe my butt.

Now why didn't I think of that?

I wonder if they come in rugged/sport style for outdoorsy, country dogs, cause those little wheels won't work well on dirt roads or trails, or across a meadow for that matter.

And they should make a jog stroller version for dogs who like to go running.

If your dog needs one, you can purchase it here.

Me Allotting the Ordinary

I don't normally read spam mail, but I was intrigued by the title of this one (now the title of this blog). I can't remember what was being solicited, but I did find this below the advertisement. I am suspicious that Jon Sadler wrote it. Note the inclusion of his name below. It may be a clue.


...Here among pillows enough for six I soon fell asleep in a blissful condition
Why you see we wasnt aware sir returned the waiter still apologetically as
demeanour He never made a suggestion but once and on that occasion I dont know what put
as he can look at me out of his two eyes Is he indeed said Mr Wilkins
What a delightful and trichinella entertainment Sadler My bellwether young Davy
proposal so very ungraciously that he never ventured on a second but ever afterwards confined...

Mendocino

Today

I walked on the beach (in the rain)
Did yoga (and only fell over a few times)
Soaked in a hot bath (while watching wind blow through the garden, listening to cello concertos)
Slept for three hours (on a really soft mattress, under a thick poofy comforter, with fresh sheets)
Walked on the headlands (as waves crashed below)
Ate dinner with friends (good friends)

That was my whole day.
It was simple and good.

Real Problems

I write an advice column for young girls. Today I came across this.

Dear Auntie Em,
I am absolutley drop dead gorgeouse and I know it but everyone tells me that it's not a good thing to know i'm pretty. But how is that not a good thing when I'm just telling the truth? I can't help that everyone thinks I'm beautiful but I think my friends are getting mad at me but I don't understand why. I think they are just jealouse. Should I just find new friends?? please help ~Makayla~ <<< even my name is beutiful!! :D

Interesting

More than 60 percent of Britons use items such as screwdrivers, scissors and earrings to remove food from between their teeth, according to a survey published Friday.

The National Dental Survey found that, when it came to oral hygiene, people used whatever was close to hand to pick their teeth.

More than 60 percent questioned by the British Dental Health Foundation said they used makeshift items, including knives, keys, needles and forks.

The survey also found that 23 percent of people chose to leave food stuck between their teeth, increasing the risk of gum disease and bad breath, according to the foundation which promotes oral health.

History

In an effort to soothe the savage beasts in the back seat of the car (I was afraid that strapping them down was insufficient), I put on a Cat Stevens tape. It's a home made tape I made in high school, which if you know how old I am, means it's really old (and perhaps indicates my need for high sound quality and my... ah... conservationist nature). Anyway, as the music played, I heard the tell-tale sound of intermittent static - the result of an overly dusty needle playing over a vinyl record. And it hit me - I had made this tape recording from a Cat Stevens record my mom had bought in the 1970s. I liked that. I didn't mention it to the kids though. It would have involved a long explanation about what vinyl records were, and they were quietly listening to the music.

Done

No more lessons, no more books, no more teachers' dirty looks.

Until August.

Equality

I've been thinking about this gate thing between the U.S. and Mexico. It occured to me that it could be a great equalizing factor for the United States, because then we would ALL be living in a gated community.

Finals

I started this blog last semester when I should have been studying for finals.

I'm studying for finals again. Maybe if I blog more and study less I'll do as well as I did last time.

Good Intentions Gone Awry

I went to my law school prom the other weekend. I haven't been to a prom since 1988, so I was prepared to make up for all the years I have suffered through without formal dancing. People don't look very formal at formal dances. I think alcohol has something to do with it.

Shaun had to leave early (1am) so that one of us could be a responsible parent and come home to the kids. Being the ever protective husband, he asked a young man named Blake to keep an eye out for me in his absence. This is a photo of that man around the time when Shaun made that request. Although, in Shaun's favor, I doubt Blake was wearing his drinks at that exact moment.

Law School Fall

I'd heard about the law school fall. It has a lot to do with a heavy backpack full of law books. This morning I experienced it. What should have been a minor trip off the curb, turned into a spectacular roll into the street as my heavy backpack gained momentum while still attached to my back, and hurled me to the ground. I suffered skinned knees, elbows, and hands, and not a little embarassment as people ran to my side, asking if I was alright.

I learned that it takes a really long time to fall to the ground when you're old. Long enough for me to think "oh, I twisted my ankle... no, I really tripped ... hey, wait a minute, I'm falling on the ground.... wow, I just rolled on my back."

Or maybe I'm just a really quick thinker.

Me Too

Last night, Lily whispered in my ear that she needs thousands of dollars.

The Summer Day

I don't know exactly what prayer is.

I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down

into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,

how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,

which is what I have been doing all day.

Tell me, what else should I have done?

Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?

Tell me, what is it you plan to do

with your one wild and precious life?

-- Mary Oliver

I will miss you, Jessica. But I won't forget.

Aspiration, age 3

"Lily, what do you want to be when you grow up?"

"A chicken."

Chocolate

I learned recently that (some) prisons have gift shops and, apparently, at least two of them sell custom tins of chocolate with the prison (logo?) printed on the lid. I know this because my sister Jane sold them the chocolate. That's her job, selling chocolate. Her clients include hotels, wineries, restaurants, and most recently, prisons. She's really good at her job. I think she may be the first chocolatier to break into the prison niche market.

I suggested that she look into the mental hospital market too. She could do custom tins with googly eyes. Jane liked that idea, calling them "looney tins."

So the next time you're in a prison or a mental hospital gift shop and see custom tins of chocolate, you won't have to wonder, "who the heck thought of this?" You'll already know the answer. Jane.

Dating Advice to Boys

Sage advice from a 14 year old girl named Tibby:

I think boys are hot....but I have had my heart broken ALOT of times and here is a tip for boys: when you get asked out by someone you dont like, dont like say: "Gross!" and act like you are throwing up, ok? To actually act like a guy or a MAN then at least say it nicely like: "Well I'm really sorry but I just like you as a friend".....because you don't know how doing that can stick to a girl FOREVER. And don't just like her for her looks, like her for her personalty too.

State of Mind

"Wouldn't it be nice to be a pigeon" flashed through my mind today. I think I am unwell.

Although context for the thought was that I was trying to force myself to read Torts, while the pigeon was taking a bird bath.

Still. Couldn't I have looked beyond the pigeon? Couldn't I have wished I were a tree blowing in the wind? Or at least, perhaps, a finch?

Tigger

As a parent, one of the first things you must learn to do is let go. It starts as early as pregnancy when you have to let go of the idea that you have any control over your body, and culminates in the ultimate letting your child go off on her own into the world. Fortunately, there are many small steps along the way.

For example, when Molly was two, I had to let go of the idea that I could dress her in cute outfits. Apparently, though she had only existed for a matter of months, Molly had developed a clear, independent and wild sense of style that had no room for my humdrum ideas of complementary or matching colors, or belief that one should only wear one outfit at a time.

Molly's fashion heyday was kindled in no small part by an innocent three-dollar purchase of an hideously ugly Tigger-suit (thank you, Auntie Eliza), and a hand-me-down Little Mermaid bathing suit complete with stains and a tattered skirt. Every day, for a year or so, Molly insisted on wearing at least one of the two items. By "insisted" I mean I had a choice of a daily screaming, kicking, crying battle to get her into different clothes that she would rip off as soon as my back was turned, or I could just 'let go' of my feeling that the way she dressed somehow reflected upon me, and let her dress as she liked. She was the freak in the tigger suit, not me.

When Molly started nursery school, she made a new friend, Ivy. Ivy's parents and I arranged a first play date for the girls at the beach. Molly had grown out of both the tigger and mermaid suits by this time and had moved on to princess dress up clothes which included plastic high heels, purses, feather boas, and sparkly jewels. Per usual, I could not convince her to wear a sundress and sandals to the beach and tried to let go of feeling embarrassed by her most impractical get-up for the first play date of her life. Imagine my relief when Ivy stepped from her car in a matching outfit, and they tripped (literally) along together down to the beach.

Though Molly and Ivy were clearly soul mates, I did come to realize that the fashion plague is prevalent among the young set. They are short, but they have strong sense of style that has not yet been diluted by society's expectations and peer pressure. Molly still occasionally puts on an outfit that defies description, but the influence of elementary school style has (sadly? happily?)toned down her fashion statements.

Happy Anniversary

My friends, Jess and Marvin recently celebrated their first wedding anniversary. They got engaged only three months after they started going out. That was about 15 years ago. So though they only have one official year under their marriage belt, it counts for a lot more than that.

The first time I remember hanging out with Jess was at a party, long, long ago. She was drunk. She was also feeling sad (a dangerous combination) because (she cried, repeatedly) Marvin could never love her as much as she loved him. It turned out she was wrong. Although her lamentations were on the sloppy side of sweet, I think of that evening as my introduction to the largeness of her heart.

Thoughtful, quiet (except when drunk), strong, sweet, honorable, determined, safe, appreciative of the perverse, insightful, strong as can be, loyal, delicate, good. Words that jump to my mind when I think of Jess. When I was asked at my job to find another writer to work with, I knew it would be Jess. "She's my angel friend" was my recommendation. Not the usual criteria for hiring, but it seemed to work for my boss. I guess we were in need of an angel.

Jess has been sick for a while and through our discussions about life and death I know that she (like anyone) wants her life to be meaningful, to affect the lives of others. She has. Jess has taught me about goodness, about quiet strength, about true love. When I want to be a less selfish and more honorable person, I think about what Jess would do in the same situation. Admittedly, sometimes I've had to call her to find that out.

I wish Marvin and Jess many more years of happiness and count myself lucky to be a continuing part of their lives.

George

George swept up around the bar where I worked in exchange for sodas and company. He lived down the street in a residence home where he was irregularly medicated for his mental instability (which came first, I wonder).

I'd chat with George when business was slow, and over the years gathered bits and pieces of his story as they fell through the cracks of his dementia.

George was as unsure of the details as I am now, but he did kill a man when he was in his teens or early twenties. Angry (high on speed?), he pushed an old man who fell and hit his head and died.

George was sent to a mental hospital instead of prison, and years of drug and shock 'therapy' brought him through to his present condition of a state-mandated medicated existence.

Some days he'd be lucid, crack jokes, tell me he loved me with his gummy smile, and ask for my hand in marriage. I always demurred, "you're too old for me, George" and he'd laugh.

Other days he'd show up agitated, grinding his jaw, incoherent, and I'd send him home. "George, you're too crazy today, you can't stay here. Come back tomorrow. " He'd acquiesce and stumble back down the street.

Once I asked him if he'd pose for a portrait. I had been taking photographs of family and friends and was intrigued by the way people responded to the camera. Most people were self-conscious when being photographed, and often preferred to look away as though I weren't standing right in front of them. I wondered what it would be like to photograph George.

George, of course, was different. He had no self-consciousness. Maybe the drugs had taken care of that. He stared straight into the lens, not posing, just staring. He wasn't looking at the camera, but looking through it. At me. It made me feel self-conscious. I hadn't expected that.

He died several years ago. His condition had deteriorated so much that we couldn't allow him in the bar anymore. He insisted his caretakers were trying to kill him by overmedicating him. Our bar manager went down to the home to see what was going on and tried to help. I don't think it did much good.

He died alone and I don't know whether he expected anyone to remember him. I haven't thought about George in years, but he popped into my head for some reason the other night. So I dug up these photos and remembered him here.

Truth

"In a world congested with falsity, the anus becomes the final unimpeded outlet to truth, the last bastion of rebelllion where life force is stored and preserved. "

-- Han Shaogong, A Dictionary of Maqiao

Lazy Parents

Lily didn't get what she wanted the other day (gum for breakfast? Molly's special toy?) and had commenced her strategy of parental torture, hoping we'd give in. This entailed lying on her back in her pink fleece nightgown, whining as she scooted herself in circles around us on the floor. Shaun turned to me.
"Shall I put her in her room?"
"I don't know. She's not whining that loudly, and she is cleaning the floor."
"True."
"Although it would work a lot better if she were wet."

We didn't get to hose her down. I guess Lily picked up from our conversation that her tactics had backfired. She stopped whining and wandered off to play in her room.

Blind?

While I was in a movie theater, a blind woman walked past me down the aisle. I assumed she was blind because she had to use her white cane to find a seat. I found it rather odd. I had difficulty concentrating on the film (Syriana, which did require some concentration), because I kept wondering what she was experiencing. I left after the first two hours because I got bored with the film. She didn't.

Milk

We got lost in Chicago. We rented a car downtown and hit the road with a thumbnail map of the area around the rental car place and vague directions to the freeway. It didn’t take us long to drive off the map, miss an important turn, and end up in some distant neighborhood. If we didn’t live in the ‘hood at home, we might have been nervous. We stopped at a drive-through ‘restaurant’ for some edibles. Shaun ordered milk for the girls.
“Do you want white milk or black milk?” asked the (black) lady behind the counter.
“Excuse me?”
“Do you want white milk or black milk?”
“Uh… white milk, please.”
“We’re all out of white milk.”

I don’t think we passed her test. But we did get our food. And eventually found the freeway.

Resolutions

I didn't make any resolutions this year. I'm just going to keep on truckin'.

Ruby Canyon

Our train was ten hours late coming in to Chicago. One of our unscheduled stops was in Ruby Canyon next to an abandoned freight train.

Galesburg, Illinois

My family and I recently took the train from the Bay Area to Chicago. We passed through Galesburg, Illinois at night.

Sexy Trees

I thought tree faces would go the way of the haircutting umbrella – something you find in a catalog full of equally odd items that never reach mainstream. I was wrong. It seems to be catching on. Just google “tree face” and you’ll see. At first I was worried, you know, about where America was heading and all that. But then it occurred to me that this could be the answer to our deforestation problems. If the trees looked more like people, then maybe people wouldn’t cut them down. But it would probably work better if the faces were more attractive. And female. And sexy. That would give tree-hugging a whole new dimension.