Camel-cam

Arabia Day at the Texas History Museum (where we'd gone to see Iron Man 2 at the IMAX)

I was taking the photo above, turned around, and saw that camel #2 was very very close to my head.

Their eyes are beautiful. Their teeth are less so. I love camels and cameloids.

Woodrow's Wits

Always a pleasure to drive by Little Woodrow's and see what the sign says this time.

Arizona's illegal law - Austin boycott

The City Council and the Mayor of Austin have taken a stand against Arizona's Papers-Please law by not doing business with the state. Hitting them where it hurts (in the wallet) is the only thing that may have any kind of persuasive effect for people who support this un-American abomination.

Article and video here.

A Dog's Breakfast

Hopping busy this week, so here's a few minutes of pure silliness.

Monday morning weekend music

A 9-minute jam from Saturday night's Greencards show, starts out with a pretty mandolin solo and then dives into "Roll On Buddy, Roll On," Bill Monroe cover.

This show (with Warren Hood opening) was the only one I had the energy for over the weekend. Running on sleep deprivation, and finally got a decent nap on Sunday afternoon. Every little bit helps.

Goodbye L

My cousin (who I have referred to on this blog as "L") has died of cancer at 60 and was buried yesterday In Albuquerque. She was as close to a sister as I ever had, even though the only thing we had in common were family-related.

She never learned to use email or the internet. She’d always call, it was not even from a cell phone. It was from a land line where she had to pay for long-distance, so I’d generally take a voicemail and call her back on my dime. She had a very childlike personality, not very bright but very loving and sweet – it’s fair to say that she said everything in baby-talk, and everything made her giggle, even bad news... and it was always bad news. New Mexico has never brought me anything happy. I lived there twice while growing up. When my dad was first transferred to Albuquerque (with the Air Force), two of my mother's siblings and their families moved there and stayed.

One was a not very bright woman who talked way too much and too loud, who was married to an abusive, racist drunk who hated everybody. This was a guy who died after a long bout of emphysema and a family friend said that it wasn't worth it to waste money on flowers for the son of a bitch. He beat his wife and kids, and once tried to run his young daughter over with the car. During one family fight, his oldest son hit him in the head with a skillet, but it was self-defense. He was fond of calling his wife a "Mississippi whore" and many other colorful names even while she was waiting on him hand and foot during his last years with the illness. Their middle child was the closest thing I had to a brother. That was one messed-up dysfunctional family, but it was not my recently deceased cousin's family. I have written about hers a few times before:

Fundie racist rightwing Christian step-mother:
Jesus loves me, but he can't stand you
Jesus doesn't need flash

"L's" story, including her escape from the survivalist husband in Wickieup Arizona.
Family Sadness (Long)
About my uncle, and her uncle-daddy, who died last year
Goodbye Uncle
And when we knew that it wouldn't be long
Sad family reality

A few months ago, around the time of that last post, she left me a fairly long voicemail, and it was basically said "I am going to die soon, and wanted to say goodbye." I really wanted to keep that message in digital form, but I was too ignorant on cell phone technology to get it figured out before it expired. Too late now (and I still don't know how to do that).

Get out of there!

Simply a montage of people in movies advising someone to get out of there. These folks put it together, and you can find a list of movies they used at that link. I, for one, am glad that somebody has the time to come up with these things.

Happy Friday.

Found via Odd Todd on Fb.

Oh. The. Horror.

[link]

When gods fall... it can get ugly.

Since I’ve already brought up Star Wars this week, and I generally have a rant on it every year or so, it’s a good time to dredge up this post I’ve been keeping in the bin. This tattoo on one of Patton Oswalt’s fans illustrates a routine of his, it shows Patton Oswalt killing George Lucas with a shovel. No no noooo, I do not approve of the killing of critters and humans - but movies, TV and art (including body art) are exempted as long nobody actually gets whacked. With that cleared up, check out the bit in the video below:

Comedians of Comedy: Live at the Troubadour	September 29 1a/12c
Patton Oswalt - Star Wars
www.comedycentral.com
Joke of the Day Stand-Up Comedy Free Online Games

Direct link to video

A little bit of a harsher solution than Hurley in LOST. Since he’s gone back in time, he’s decided to write The Empire Strikes Back before Lucas gets to it, and do it in such a way that there’s no need for Ewoks. Hurley’s such a nice guy, but then he’s just trying to avoid Ewoks, not trying to prevent an entire trilogy.

Hugo’s SW-ESB script transcribed here.

My rant-post from 2009 includes embedding of the following 2 videos and more. The People vs. George Lucas recently premiered at SXSW, and even though I’ve been patiently waiting for it for over a year, I am now waiting for Netflix or the Library to get a copy of the DVD, (The People vs George Lucas teaser #1), and the great little animation, Lord of the Rings by George Lucas.

For those of you who are in the "Who cares?" or "Why Can't You Let it Go" camp... I refer to this post's title. I dunno... maybe you can compare it to that breakup you had so many years ago with Little Miss Perfect Bitch or Mister What Were You Thinking, and can't seem to wash that one out of your hair.

5ive years

1,885 posts, counting this one but not counting all those half-baked posts I'm still working on - some will actually see daylight and some will have to serve as therapy or something like that.

I'm all over the map here. I will blog anything that has my attention.

I devour politics everyday but only occasionally put up something political (during the Presidential election, things got very political around here, but now I usually just do a facepalm and wonder what's next). Music, movies, TV, activities, dysfunctional family rants, religion, humor, absurdity, work...

Thanks for stopping by, everybody. Thanks for the comments, the invites, the awards, the kudos, yada yada yada... the whole nine yards.

It is only by coincidence that I started this blog on my wedding anniversary. No connection there... seriously. Will spend it in front of the TV watching the unfulfilled sexual tension between Bones & Booth, then (Peter) Bishop & Dunham (and don't you miss Mulder & Scully?). Not very romantic, but it suits me fine. [update: Unresolved Sexual Tension (UST) a.k.a. Long Unresolved Sexual Tension (LUST)

I snagged the graphic from engrish.com

Next time, try 5 of them.
(who remembers where that quote came from?)

Star Wars Day

May The 4th Be With You

I will celebrate it by not watching Jar-Jar Binks.

Puss in boot

Here is Jax in his current vet-applied bandage. Looks like a little Santa Claus boot, doesn't it?

It's been a difficult time with/for Jax lately. He has this skin disorder that breaks him out in itchy lesions to the point where he needs a steroid injection every 6 weeks to control. He actually needs it more often than that, but even getting it every 6 weeks is risky for bringing on diabetes. Diabetes is a terrible risk, but so is the inevitable clawing, scratching and gnawing that tear those bleeding holes in his skin, bringing infections and prolonged misery. The hotspots also spring up on his belly and temple.

He's been in and out of leg bandages for a couple of weeks now. Routine: Take the bandage off, hopeful because it looks like it's healing, Jax rips up the leg with his teeth (the small soft e-collar kept him from belly-licking, but not leg-licking), bandage goes back on. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

On Wednesday night, it took us about an hour of struggling with him to get the old bandage off (to check for healing), and then get a new one on there after it started bleeding again. He is 19 pounds of wriggling, kicking, clawing, and hissing kitty cat. Strong, too. After about 3 failures and a half a roll of wasted gauze I finally realized that I had put it on the wrong leg! (well, with all the kicking and squirming and fur flying!!) That's the only funny thing that has happened during this month's saga. OK, neither of us are nurses.

Thursday, I ended up taking a whole day off work because the only ASAP vet appointment I could get for him was in the middle of the day. They took good care of the wound, put a proper bandage on, and also gave him some Prozac. The vet believes that at least part of the problem is OCD, so we will give it another go. Jax is one of those cats that they write the "How to Give a Cat a Pill" jokes about, so we've previously tried giving him Prozac in an ear gel, which is less effective than pills - but we can't get pills in him. They also have tried to get him wearing this larger e-collar to keep his teeth off his leg - but he truly cannot get around in it. I shot a few seconds of this very sad and pathetic cat trying to walk in it if you want to watch it and laugh at him (we did). He licks the hair off his belly. That's why it's permanently hairless.

Since we can't pill him, the vet wants me to bring him in *every day* so she can give him the Prozac pill (and work with his leg), so I've adjusted my work schedule so I can get him in there before they close.

Friday I pulled into the garage [making good time despite heavy traffic on the commute!], called the vet to say I was on my way, stuck him in his carrier, put it in the car, closed the door - and the car doors locked. AAAACCCK! Trying not to panic, I realize that MrB knows where the spare car keys are. Calling his cell. Voicemail. I begin frantically looking through the house for the spare car keys, as I really have no idea where they are. Voicemail. Voicemail. I finally leave a hollering message about how Jax is locked in the car and I need those keys. NOW. He is a minimum of a half hour away. Voicemail. Voicemail. 30 times voicemail. Now I am beginning to pace frantically. Looking through the house for keys again. I frequently pace the sidewalk hoping to catch him at the mailbox.

I am white-knuckled clutching the phone by this time and pacing frantically back and forth. I am furious because apparently he has his phone off during a time when we might need to be in touch. What if I was dying in a ditch by the side of road with no one to help me? GRRRRR. This fury is burning at the same that I am wondering if I should break the car window with a hammer. The other thing my crazy brain is considering is going through the house and dumping every drawer on the floor. The last ounce of reason I have left at this point convinces me not to do either of those things - that I have no choice but to wait until he gets home and hope that I have not killed Jax by my stupid accident. Fortunately, the car is in the garage, and not out in the sun so my only hope is the chance that he will not be damaged by this.

By the time he got home I was in panic-attack. Hyper-ventilating, weak, and not functional. Now he has to drive to the vet because I can't. He said his phone was on so neither of us know why it was just going to voicemail, and if it rang he didn't hear it. {minor grrrr}

Got there before they closed but caused her to have to stay late. The vet said that she did the same thing once (including the panic) and recommended a good locksmith who will get there in 15 minutes if someone is locked in the car. Jax is now in that handsome red bandage you see at the top of the post, and his steroid shot has eased the itching. I still have to get him in there every weekday for awhile. Hopefully without incident.

He could be his own Grandpa

Love is strange. She's 70 and he's 26. OK, who cares? Right. The other part of it is that he is her Grandson. And they are in love. And there's a baby on the way. [source link] (to which I have to ask, "Is this baby really necessary?") The article explains how the family grew up apart, so they were practically strangers. Found via Facebook, where someone pointed out that if they got married and she took his name, her name would be Pearl Bailey. Not sure if that marriage would be legal though.

This old country song explains how, in a very roundabout way, a man really can become his own Grandpa just through standard relationships. In the case above, if there was a wedding, the guy gets there in one step.


In my family we've got a few of those hyphenated relations. I had 2 blood uncles who married the same woman, so to the kids, one of them was an Uncle-Daddy. My maternal Grandpa and his brother married women who were each other's cousins, creating all kinds of brother-cousin, aunt-cousin designations. And really, who cares? Nobody got hurt by them. My major confession I will make right now is that my first romance was with my first cousin (two firsts!!!). I was 14 and he was probably 19-20 and in the Army. It was all smooching, love letters and poetry (he was the poet). It was never consummated. I suspect he was religious and wanted to wait for marriage. Then he was transferred to Germany and we both had a long time to rethink things. This affair was conducted with the full knowledge and under the eyeballs of all our parental units, and was never discouraged by any of them. In the end, I'm really glad that it didn't go any further - mainly because, knowing how I turned out, that thing would have been ill-fated. Sometimes, the right things happen - or the wrong things don't happen.