Thursday, May 14, 2009

For the Furbabies!

Stop the presses! Call the governor! We've got a Furry.2 on the Richter Scale!

When one lives, as I do, far away from fault lines, and one wakes up, as I did, at 5 AM during what surely must be an earthquake, it behooves one to check the bed for rambunctiously wrestling kitties before becoming alarmed.



A Terrible Joke

What do you call it when your 75-lb dog and your two 15-lb cats wedge themselves between you and your husband in your queen-sized bed (besides hot, smelly and cramped)? A Furrito.


The Babysitter

You may already well know about Max's love for escaping the house and feasting on grass. So the other day Max is whining and complaining to be let out. I'm ironing laundry, and have a pretty decent view of the yard, so I let him out and check up on him in 5 minute intervals (he usually doesn't go very far). As soon as I come back from letting Max out, Freki takes post on the porch and stares at Max through the windows. Every two minutes or so he looks at me reproachfully over his shoulder as if to say "What are you doing, you neglectful wench! The cat is out there all by himself! He could get hurt, or lost! Thank your lucky stars you have ME to watch him while you do whatever it is you're doing with your clothes and that scary board OF DOOM!" After a few more minutes of that he would come and nudge my hand then resume his post by the door periodically, until I got fed up with it and brought Max in. It turns out Freki thinks it is his solemn duty to babysit the cat when he is outside; as I was relating the above episode to LB, he had a story to tell me as well:

One day LB was out on the deck grilling dinner, and he had Max and Freki out with him, under his oblivious watchful eye. Max, as is usual during this situation, escaped over the fence into the vacant yard next door, to taste some foreign grass. Freki saw this, then ran up to the fence, and barked at Max until Max did something he has never shown himself capable of doing before: he jumped back over the fence and back onto our porch. Clearly Freki has decided his role in the family. I wonder how he is with small children?

Wednesday, May 13, 2009

So I am a little behind the times...so what?

So I was watching the Frontline special on the Madoff thing, because LB pph loves Frontline, and HO.LEE. CRAP! I didn't really understand what was going on other than some abstract concept of a Ponzi scheme and everyone hated him for stealing their retirement money. I had no idea that basically, the FCC let him get away with it after like 3 or 4 investigations in the last 15 years.

So LB and I were talking about it, and he says, "Now, if you had millions or billions of dollars, that you knew was gained illegally, wouldn't you get the hell out of there?" I definately would. I mean, only a cocky idiot asshole would stick around and keep growing an obviously illegal front business while being investigated repeatedly (although since the FCC let him completely off the hook so many times maybe he had no reason to believe the dipshits would come after him for realz). But where would I go? Well, if I hadn't pissed off the Swiss, Geneva would be my first stop. It's a lovely city and I know french, so I could get along fine. Or? The Caymans or some other tropical paradise/tax shelter. Where would you go to spend your ill-gotten gains?

Tuesday, May 12, 2009

The Body Issues Post

So I'm trying to lose weight. Again. I keep creeping up towards 150, then freaking out and dieting down to 140, so I can stay in the "normal" BMI range. I get successful at making the lifestyle changes; going to the gym, reducing portion sizes, then I get stressed out, then I stress eat (doritos and oreos are a staple!), stop going to the gym, and gain. It's hard though, because my body loves and loves to gain and hates and hates to lose. They say to lose 1 lb a week, you must have a difference between calorie output and calorie intake of about 500 calories a day. I have found that I maintain weight at that difference, and only start to lose weight at a difference of 700. Which is hard, let me tell you. So I reduce my intake by about 500 calories a day (which puts me just at the "minimum to not starve yourself" of 1200). Then I have to increase output (i.e. exercise) for the extra 200. That, at my weight, is about a half hour of running every day. Now I don't have time to go to the *#$@$&ing gym every day, there is just too much shit that needs to get done. So I try to walk to work (woohoo a measly 50), and when I do go to the gym I do an hour workout instead of just 30 minutes.

But that isn't what this post is about. You see, I can never seem to get a grip on how I feel about my body. I used to be one of those skinny-minny, can't gain weight if I try (seriously I even went to a doc about it) waif. I hated my body then. I got all sorts of sneers about how I must be anorexic or bulemic, envy for something I didn't want, and my body looked like, to me anyway, that of a prepubescent BOY. I felt unfeminine and hideous. Now, at the other end of the "normal BMI range," I still feel unfeminine. Sure I have boobs now, and hips (although that was more of a change in bone structure than weight alone), but I also have rolls and a beer gut. I also have...dun dun DUUUNNNNN!...thunder thighs. I am a "fat chick" in the eyes of many, much less ideal than my former underweight self. I hate myself in the mirror. I want to go back to that skinny 18 year old and tell her to learn to eat right, that even though she thought pounding down fries and pizza would help her gain weight and become acceptable, that really it was too much! That she was lucky she could find clothes that fit!

But then I think...so fucking what? So fucking what if I am 0.8 points "overweight"? My husband thinks I am sexy, I am pretty damn healthy if I do say so myself, and really, I do love my tits. I have nice tits and do not want to lose them! I love wine, I love dessert, and I can enjoy my food without having to constantly calculate how fat it is going to make me. There is so much shame thrown at a) fat people and b) fat women. And by fat I mean anything over a size fucking 6, because you and I and the world all know that it's the current fat threshold in pop culture, and even in medicine (thank the good lord I have a fat doctor; the one time I got a physical by someone skinny she told me "well being a little overweight is ok for now since you're in school and stressed, but you won't be able to get pregnant if you don't bring your BMI down to the normal range" orly, lady? I know pleeeeeeeenty of people over BMI over 24.9 who readily attained viable pregnancies).

So sure, weight is just a number, but no matter what the weight, if it isn't in a narrow definition of normalcy, there is all sorts of shame, faux concern and policing thrown at it. I see this and want to be comfortable in my body, and to love it like my husband loves it (well, hehe, not exactly like my husband loves it wink wink nudge nudge).

But I'm still trying to lose weight. And I suspect every time I creep up towards 150 I will. Sigh.

Monday, May 11, 2009

Resolution and Rhyme

Momma's got a brand new bag

So I have decided that it is time to revive my blog and get my damn ass in gear. I haven't been that great at posting regularly to begin with, and I let my annual Works-In-Progress talk* be my crutch for writing even less in the past few months.

So, I have resolved starting this Monday (which is, today, after all), I am going to write every day for 4 weeks. Hopefully this will help me figure out how to get my creative juices flowing rather than being a crapfest for my dwindling readership. We shall see. Bets?

*An annual talk where I get up in front of my peers and professors and whomever wanders in off the street for free pizza and talk for an hour about all the things I haven't done in the past year.

Ode to Nuvaring, an Elizabethan Sonnet

Note: I wrote this after a bizarre and increasingly gutter-dwelling conversation with a friend that started out with me bitching about being sick and ended with, well, this:

O joy is the feeling in my bosom
Upon pon'dring my glorious Nuvaring
For no babe shall my empty womb blossom;
Without my permission, babies shan't spring.
Encirc'ling my cervix comfy and warm,
You keep me safe from too sore breasticles,
You fend off persistent, unwanted sperm
That hail, ruthless, from husband's testicles.
Like a kitten, my uterus can nap
Lazily, emptily wiling her hours
Spending bachelorettehood behind my lap
Waiting, wistful, to unleash her powers.
O, Nuvaring, pray do not fail me now,
Or poverty's sweat shall pepper my brow!

Thursday, March 26, 2009

So Say We All

I've been wanting to post about the series finale of Battlestar Galactica, but I needed a little bit of time to let it digest. I wasn't sure what I thought and felt about it at first, but I think a week's rumination has helped me a bit. Oh by the way if you are the only person on the planet not to have watched it by now, don't read any further. I'm serious. QUITIT!

OK. So. I have decided that I like the ending. I didn't love it, but I certainly didn't hate it. It was nothing like what I was expecting, but I thought it was very fitting. There were, however, sloppy writing moments that disappointed me.

The episode starts out where the first part left off; now those who chose to go on Galactica's final suicide mission are preparing for battle and evacuating those who chose to stay with the fleet. In a surprising act of selflessness (set up nicely by Lee's chastizing from the first Daybreak episode), Baltar decides at the last possible second to stay and fight in this battle. Was it because he wanted to redeem himself in the eyes of the other main characters? In Caprica's eyes? In his own eyes? Or maybe God made him do it.

Next, one of the most touching scenes of the two episodes takes place. Laura Roslin is parting ways with Doc Coddle and he gives her enough pain medication for two days, so she can function through the battle and what may come next. She thanks him for all he's done, he chokes up, and she says to him, "Don’t spoil your image. Just light a cigarette and go and grumble."

Usually there is more setup in an episode before the big battle, but by 7 minutes in Galactica jumps in. I suppose if you consider parts 1 and 2 were supposed to be the same episode (but the network decided to split them up), it makes sense. Galactica jumps in and takes such a brutal pounding before Anders makes the colony hybrid orgasm ceasefire, I actually suspended all knowledge of how plots work and thought for a second that the ship would be destroyed right then and there. But, it survives, Adama orders for the ship to ram through the wall of the colony and teams go in to rescue Hera, but not before some weirdo raptor pilot randomly decides to arm her nukes for some strange reason (since Adama made a point to say "NO NUKES THEY'LL KILL US ALL IN CLOSE COMBAT" earlier) then promptly her entire team dies. "Hmmm," I said, "That will be important later." Anyway, big surprise, all recon teams die except Lee's and Starbuck's because the writers are way too in love with their main good guy characters to let them die (unless they are already dying, more on that later). Thank God for Helo and Athena they were on those teams otherwise the plot machinations wouldn't have worked out!

Bla bla bla Boomer saves Hera, not, as they initially were hinting at, because her magical womanly ovaries made her suddenly love the child, but because of some sense of loyalty she still felt to the leadership and crew of the Galactica. I liked that touch, along with hearkening back to her first appearance on the show as she died. It reminded me that she was set up from the beginning to have divided loyalties, that she isn't just a feckless evil double agent, but she truly doesn't know where her alligience lies. It reminded me of the episode where she found out she was a cylon and tried to kill herself, or when she was in the brig beating herself up for shooting Adama.

Meanwhile Baltar and Caprica meet up on the defense line, where she reminds him that his chivalry is pretty silly considering she's the soldier and he's not, as she locks & loads while he fumbles with his gear. I found that appropriately funny. Then she says she's finally proud of him and they get the pre-battle hornies. The Head Six and Baltar show up, to both of them, and tell them to get ready because it's time to play their part in saving Hera and thus humankind.

The teams return to the Galactica with Hera, Helo is badly shot, Hera runs off because that's what she does (also isn't she like 3 or 4? Why doesn't she ever talk? At that age it's hard to get them to shut up!). Athena is having trouble deciding whether to save her dying husband or her child, but Helo tells her to go get Hera and miraculously survives because the writers love him (although we don't find that out until the end).

Next ensues a full recount of the Opera House, and we learn that Galactica is the Opera House. Baltar, Caprica and Athena all unwittingly start to chase after Hera, then realize that they are reliving the Opera House, wherease Rosalin gets a drug-induced vision of the Opera House and realizes it's time for her to find Hera. Each of these people at one point help save Hera from the enemy cylons, and the Opera House ends in the CIC with the final five overlooking. This is where the final five, Baltar, Caprica and Hera needed to meet to fulfil the visions/prophecies and lead to the survival of the human species.

Baltar and Caprica breathe a sigh of relief at having fulfilled their destiny and saved Hera just in time for Cavil to barge in and hold her at gunpoint. Much ado is made and finally the final five, let by Tigh, make a deal with the Devil Cavil (what you thought the spelling was coincidental?) to give him resurrection in exchange for Hera. The final five merge their thoughts through Ander's bath goo after Tori tries the "promise you won't be mad at me for something you don't know about yet" line that works even less well with full grown cylons than it does with 4 year olds. Galen finds out Tori murdered Callie, he interuupts the data stream to choke her to death, ruins the truce with Cavil who decides to shoot-er-up and take Hera by storm. It quickly becomes apparent that he's on the losing side of this battle, so in fulfilment of Ellen's criticism of his child-like logic, he eats his gun. For no good reason everyone immediately forgives Galen for ruining their truce and putting everyone in serious mortal peril. (Seriously, he couldn't wait 120 more seconds to become murderous?)

Remember Racetrack and Skulls with their armed against orders nuke? Well one of their frozen corpse hands shifts and hits the nuke button, which has no lid or covering, unlike any nuke button ever seen before irl or even on this show. Nuke hits the colony. Galactica shrieks. Shit is hitting the fan, and Kara now has to jump it so it doesn't blow up along with the colony. She doesn't have the coordinates to the rendez-vous on her, not being the person to man that station in any way, shape, or form, but thanks to basic training, knows how to program and jump. She has a moment of clarity and punches in the numbers that she had assigned to the notes of All Along the Watchtower. There must be someway outta here.

Galactica moans, groans and twists unnatually; it looks like she is going to fall apart any second. But she holds it together long enough for them to send a raptor to the rendez-vous, then fly past our moon to discover our earth; this episode is rightfully named Daybreak. After a long, cold and horrific night, the sun is rising over Earth as the survivors of human and cylon kind find a new beginning.

Amazingly, there is an hour left to this two hour episode. No major characters have died AT ALL; only 2 named characters have bit it and they were only introduced in Part I. The writers are too sentimental, methinks. Come on, even ST:TNG writers killed off the beloved Data.

After five white men make some crude jokes about mating with the native African H. sapiens, Lamkin picks out a prime piece of real estate to build their new civilization. Lee decides that's silly, they should give up civilization and live among the people of new Earth. Everyone agrees to this, since they've been cooped up in a technological, metal hell for 4-5 years and now have PTSD that causes them to make illogical decisions. None of them think that the clone armies of 2, 6 and 8's will freak out the natives at all. They decide to split up and disperse to ensure survival, funny because this is the antithesis of survival strategy. I guess this is their version of strategery.

Lots of sap follows this and I'll skim over it quickly because this is becoming a novella. Roslin names the new planet Earth, then she and Adama leave to find a spot to build that cabin they've been talking about since New Caprica. On the way there, she dies while remarking on the beauty of Earth. Adama is too busy talking to notice. When he finds out she's dead because she didn't answer back, he symbolically marries her corpse, something they never had time to do before. It was supposed to be touching but came across as a bit creepy. Cut to: he's sitting on a hilltop talking about their cabin, at which point I turned to LB and said, "I hope he's talking to her grave and not her dead body!" Then Lo! did the camera pan out to reveal her grave. Sigh of relief.

Lee and Kara talk about what they are going to do next. Kara says she has fulfilled her destiny and is leaving. She then ascends into heaven disappears, in an exit that I actually find very fitting. She was an instrument of God, but only sorta, kinda knew it. I think it works that her exit is as mysterious as her phantom resurrection last season. There is closure, but not of the "here we'll wrap it up for you in a neat little package" variety.

Galen decides to shove off to Scotland or maybe Iceland and live by himself. At this point I stop to wonder aloud what happens to the Cylon models. The Final Five have already lived for thousands of years; will the Cylons here on earth continue to live unless killed by accident or war? Do they age at all? Seemingly they don't; is Galen still a sulking hermit in Scotland? Are there still clone armies of 2, 6 and 8's running around, and does no one notice? PLOT HOLE!

Next we see colonists traveling to their new home, and this is where we find out Helo didn't die of that nasty gunshot to the femoral artery, after all. Hera runs and plays in the grass, fade to black. Fade in to modern New York City, where Angel Baltar and Angel Caprica walk unnoticed on the street. There they espy Ron Moore reading the Nat Geo edition about Mitochondrial Eve. Angel Baltar and Angel Caprica reveal that this is Hera, and that the whole event was a Noah's Ark of sorts, wiping out the majority of humanity to start again anew with a small population. This time, are they doomed to repeat the cycle of android war? Angel Caprica is more optimistic than Angel Baltar. Angel Caprica once again waxes poetic about God's plan, and Anger Baltar responds, "It doesn't like to be called that, you know." No, it likes to be called Ron Moore.

The episode ends to the music of All Along the Watchtower, showing our current advances in AI and robotics. Are we doomed to enslave a race of intelligent, sensitive androids, thus dooming our species to war against a superior opponent of our own creation? We have watched what came before, and whether it will happen again is now in our hands.

Friday, March 6, 2009

Open Letters

Dear Semi-Elderly Gentleman,

I understand that it is rude to bump into someone when walking. However, do not give me the stink-eye when you choose to meander in a sinusoid rather than walk in a straight line when I, trying so hard to anticipate your direction that I trip over my own feet and nearly fall, accidentally bump into your undulating-ass self. I was not in the wrong you cranky-ass over-entitled jerk. Look where you're going instead of at the damn subway ads and maybe this will happen less often.

Hugs and kisses,

~QR



Dear Max Power,

While I am impressed at your recent display of ingenuity, I am not impressed by your dissemination of a nearly full box of 500 now half-chewed Q-tips throughout my house. That cupboard was closed for a reason. To foil you and your Q-tip loving ways. You are to cease and desist all cupboard-opening activities immediately you obnoxious little scoundrel!

Scritches and purrs,

~Mama



Dear Garbage-collecting Person(s) or Neighborhood Asshole (to be determined),

What in the damn hell did I ever do to you? My garbage can is always placed neatly at the edge of the curb, on time, never obnoxiously overstuffed, and I pay my bill quite promptly! In fact, I've never met or seen you, since you make your rounds while I am at work, and I pretty much keep to myself, so I am not sure exactly what I could have done to insult you. The first time I found my garbage can thrown unceremoniously on the ground, I thought, hey maybe someone bumped into it and knocked it over. The next few times, I thought it was a bit weird that I seem to be the only person on the block with this problem. By the fifth time, I was starting to suspect it was being done on purpose. But the twelfth time, oh that took the cake. Finding my receptacle halfway down the block, in the street, on a day that was both raining and snowing, completely and perfectly inverted, mud clearly smeared on the handle, with just enough of a basin in the bottom that when righted, dirty water splashed all over me, that's when I knew you cared. Fuck you. Fuck your mother, fuck your father, and fuck your fucking horse. What the damn hell?

Sugar and spice,

~QR



Dear Ass,

Kindly stop being so big and refusing to shrink even when I lose weight.

~QR



Dear People who Also Work Here,

I know you're overworked and busy, and that the elevator doors usually only open for half a second, but it is generally considered rude to perch at the elevator door then rush in without letting any previous passangers exit, first. Especially when said passengers include 800 year old people with walkers. Kindly settle the fuck down, move the fuck over and wait your goddamn turn.

Warmest Regards,

~QR

Tuesday, February 17, 2009

New Book Blog Posts

Maybe Baby and Meeting Mr. Wrong.

I hope to have another done later this week but we'll see :P