Hot July

Lawds I can't believe I haven't blogged since Saint Patrick's Day. Life, hectic as usual, plus some.

And yet, there is very little to report. The only important, and painful, thing to report, is that Raven died last month. He had developed stomach cancer and I just couldn't allow him to suffer. Gawds how I miss him. I can't talk about him

Pewter doesn't seem to really notice or care that he is now a single child... though he is enjoying his extra cuddle time. And, perversely, this insane heat spell. I found him lying in a patch of sunshine yesterday afternoon when I got home. It was 110 at the farm yesterday! I can't believe he didn't give himself heatstroke. He really doesn't like air conditioning but still!

DONE!

I finally moved.

Yesterday.

It has been a long, strange saga... complete with getting mauled by a cat.

Now comes the unpacking.

Kitchen-Floor Conflict Intensifies As Rival House Cats Claim Same Empty Bag


"MAPLEWOOD, MO—Ongoing turmoil in the troubled kitchen-floor region of the Branson household reached a boiling point Tuesday, as relations between rival house cats Boswell and Johnson erupted into fresh violence. Observers said the arrival of a new brown paper-bag in the area ignited long-standing tensions and set off another round of territorial conflict between the two factions in the most serious aggression since the devastating stove-side siege of 2005."

How many must suffer before President Bush finally intervenes? Clearly we need a UN Peace-keeping mission in Maplewood, Missouri, to bring peace to the is destable region. And why aren't the Candidates addressing this, the most serious issue facing America today? Why? Write your Representatives and Senators and DEMAND they deal with this war today!

~ ~ ~



Poll: Bullshit Is Most Important Issue For 2008 Voters

Okay, who left the door open?

Seems the Universe has disappeared. Well, 96% anyway.

Greatest Mysteries: Where is the Rest of the Universe?

In fact, only 4 percent of the matter and energy in the universe has been found. The other 96 percent remains elusive, but scientists are looking in the farthest reaches of space and deepest depths of Earth to solve the two dark riddles.

Now you know why your parents always told you to shut the door! See what you did?

Turner described dark energy as "really weird stuff," best thought of as an elastic, repulsive gravity that can't be broken down into particles. "We know what it does, but we don't know what it is," Turner said.

That's what I told my 10th grade Chemistry teacher when he asked me how I managed to burn the entire lab table: I knew what it did, I just didn't know how I did it. He strongly urged me to avoid sciences - finance would be safer.

Too bad that guy wasn't around to advise Karl Rove, evil minion of DOOM! Well, thankfully, he's a goin' bye bye, but I'm sure he'll be on Dumbasses speed dial.

Strangest things in space.

No, I'm not on the list.

~ ~ ~

I believe the Earth has it's own cycles, just like people do. Every few hundred years the weather patterns shift, just as they are doing today. Vineyards flourished in England once upon a time; sea-levels have been muich higher and much lower than they are now. Life changes. I have no doubt human beings polluting the Earth makes the shifts in climate worse, but I'm not sure I buy the whole Global Warming spiel. Then I see this:

NASA Data Goof Fuels Global Warming Skepticism:

A small tempest is brewing in the blogospheric teapot between climate scientists and global warming skeptics over a recently revealed discrepancy in NASA's U.S. temperature records.

A former mining executive who manages a Web site dedicated to skepticism over global warming was combing the NASA Goddard Institute for Space Studies data for U.S. temperature anomalies—or the amount that one year's average temperature departs from the climatological average—when he noticed that the temperatures made an odd jump between 1999 and 2000.

Global Warming: How Do Scientists Know They're Not Wrong?

~ ~ ~

Queen of Mean, dead at 87

That would be Leona Helmsley. Before her life with Harry,:

She married a lawyer, Leo Panzirer, whom she divorced in 1959. Their only child, Jay Panzirer, later ran a Florida-based building supplies company that did extensive business with Helmsley properties. She later was briefly married to a garment industry executive, Joe Lubin.

Before her son's death of a heart attack in 1982, she told interviewers she would not talk about him "because terrible things can happen to people these days."

She evidently was referring to being knifed by robbers at her Palm Beach home in 1973. She was stabbed in the chest and suffered a collapsed lung, and Harry was wounded in the arm.

After her son died, she sued the estate for money and property she said her son had borrowed, and an eviction notice was served on her son's widow, Mimi.

Mimi Panzirer said afterward that the legal costs wiped her out and "to this day I don't know why they did it."

Rest in peace Leona.

~ ~ ~

Someone with more cats (and probably yarn) than I have. That makes my day!

Thankfully it doesn't happen often.

Sleepless night last night. My stomach was still a bit riled by the flu, even though I stuck with plain rice for the second day in a row. As I lay tossing and turning Scrooge's encounter with Marley leapt to mind at one point:

"Why do you doubt your senses?"

"Because," said Scrooge, "a little thing affects them. A slight disorder of the stomach makes them cheats. You may be an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of an underdone potato. There's more of gravy than of grave about you, whatever you are!"

Instead of Ghosts showing up at appointed hours, I just rolled back and forth watching the clock ~

9:43

10:18

11:02

12:25

At some point I fell asleep and had one of those I have to get there dreams. Dreams tend to fall into two categories for me - impending death and fear of being late or missing an appointment. Last night I had to be someplace and the cat, Pewter, was doing something to make me late. I was in a frantic need to get him back... someplace. Then I'm in a motel room with a parking lot outside the door and I'm talking to someone I have to get him back before I can leave!, completely panic stricken. After crawling under cars and fretting because I was ruining my suit I finally got him and put him into the cat carrier.

Then I woke up. 3:11 am. Drenched in sweat and I felt like my heart was going to explode right out of my chest.

I'm don't know what triggered this dream. It's always when I'm under a great deal of stress that the panic or death dreams show up. My body's been under stress with the damn flu, but I'm not, so I'm at a loss to explain last night.

I didn't bother going trying to get back to sleep. I got up and stripped the bed and started doing laundry (ain't you glad you ain't my neighbor?) and then took a shower. It was now nearly 4 am and I'm casting about for something to do. I thought about going into the office and might have if it wasn't 10 degrees outside. Didn't feel like playing Xbox or computer games so I flipped on the television. 4 am. Infomercial Heaven.

I want whatever drugs these people are on. Have you ever watched these infomercials? These people have got to be high or insane because no sane, sober, person can be this happy. They're freaky and hypnotic, but by 6 am I had had enough and made my self some toast, boiled yet more rice (in chicken broth!) to take to work and left by 7 am.

My head will crash on the desk sometime around 1 pm today.

A HIGH of 24F

It's slightly warmer today and I'm feeling human again. If you end up with the stomach flu, you have my sympathies.

At the beginning of the year I sorted through boxes I hadn't unpacked since I moved in April of 2005. I figure, if you haven't looked at something in nearly two years it's time for the trash.

Very little has been trashed, however. I'm turning into a pack-rat.

One of the things I came across was my violin. I haven't played it since 2003. Raven, amazingly, remembers the violin. As soon as he saw the case last month he took off. Yeah, I'm that bad. I scare cats. I propped the case up next to my bed and he gives it a wide berth. The other two cats came into my life after I stopped playing so they haven't been traumatized. Yet. Yeah... I'm thinking of playing again. Just to screw with the cats, you see, not because I actually enjoy it. I haven't found the sheet music. It should have been in the same box as the violin. I'll have to buy some new music, or find some online.

Stop the World, I want to get off

It's Monday

And I'm in a really grumpy mood.

It's fuckin' freezing outside. I should have stayed home. I haven't been able to get warm all weekend. Probably because I spent most of it on the floor of the bathroom, heaving my guts out.

Flu, not hangover. Spent a large part of Saturday of hurling stuff out of orifi I didn't know I had.

You know why I don't believe in God? Because when you're so desperate to be relived of your suffering you actually start begging the Almighty you don't believe in to deliver you from the Hell you have found yourself in, and there is no response. Silence. Sweet Jesu, demonic laughter would be more reassuring. But no. Just more hurling and gagging and pondering who in your circle of family and friends are going to laugh when the Emergency Services report you were found dead on the bathroom floor covered in your own... offal. Then the mind starts to wander, to pondering how long you will be dead before anyone even notices. And... will the cats get so hungry they'll eat you and DNA tests will have to be done to determine that it really was you who died on that floor, next to the toilet, covered in puke and all?

Is orifi a word?

I managed to crawl to the couch late yesterday afternoon, dragging my comforter and a pillow behind me. I was quite the lovely sight. Can't imagine why there aren't hoards of men beating down my door, demanding to date me. Rats-nest of curly hair in a ponytail on top of my head - think Pebbles Flintstone, just way less cute. Pasty-faced, racoon-eyed. A tee-shirt with a sweatshirt over that. Flannel drawstring jammie bottoms which once belonged to some guy I dated who's name completely escapes me. Mis-matched tube socks; one blue, one white.

I curled into the fetal position on the couch trying to conserve heat and hit the remote. History channel was too much of a strain for my ick-infested brain. Bravo. Real Housewives of Orange County. If you haven't seen this train wreck, go watch it. Had I not been on Death's Doorstep I probably would have laughing my ass off at these stupid, pathetic women. Between the boob jobs and botox they have more toxic chemicals in them than Love Canal did. More money than brains and sadly they've all spawned beings just like themselves. One of these children has the potential of becoming a serial killer.

I drifted in and out of sleep during Criminal Intent and eventually crab-walked my way back into the bedroom. Three comforters and a flannel blanket and the heat up to 72 degrees and I was still cold! I even let the cats sleep with me for the extra heat they provided.

No, I lie. I just didn't have the strength to move them. They crashed on my body all weekend. Evil furbags. They knew I couldn't eject them and so they stuck to me like glue. At one point, kneeling on the floor next the toilet early Saturday morning, it dawned on me one of the cats was lying across my feet. Had I any strength I would have flushed that offending cat down the toilet!

Probably not. But I thought about it.

I woke up this morning feeling better. Tired, but better. Seriously considered fucking off work and then got in the shower anyway.

Yes, I am insane.

I may not last the entire day. Then again, I might. It's nice and warm in here and I don't want to go back outside. The Sun, it lies. It looks warm out there but it's really, really, really cold.

It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year

No, really, it's not.

Yeah, it really is!

I swear I'm bi-polar.

I love the season, the lights, the decorations, the baking, the music - I loathe the shopping, gift receiving, make-nice-to-relatives-I-don't-like parts.

I'm half Scrooge, half Martha Stewart this time of year. Thank the beybey Jebus for rum punch and the internet for shopping ~ or am I'm supposed to thank Al Gore for the internet? Well, thanks to whomever came up with online shopping. You deserve a Nobel for that. If I have to step foot into a store between Thanksgiving and New Year's Day people will die. Slowly, painful, damning commercialism, Santa Claus and me to Hell in the process.

Not that I would care. Hell, I'd probably love every minute of it.

My sister has organized a cookie baking soirée for Saturday night. My contribution to this cookie extravaganza will be my peanut butter cookies and cherry and white chocolate chip cookies (see below). How all six of us, the draftee's, are going to do this in a two oven kitchen is beyond me - we're usually more spread out. As long as there is rum punch and my Kitchen Aide I really won't care too much.

The Italian tradition of baking a gadzillion cookies each December, just to give them away in anticipation of receiving the exact same cookies from someone else, was new to me in the early 90's after Dad had remarried. Bizarre, even. I love to cook so I was willing to join in even though this whole process didn't make a lot of sense to me. If you are going to get the same type of cookies back, why not just keep the one's you've baked? That is not the point, however.

The difference between the Anglo-Irish families and Italian families is a lot like the differences between cats and dogs. Cats are aloof, cold, independent creatures. Dogs are affectionate, familial, pack creatures. The Italian stepfamily, also known as La Familia, is an extremely large pack of friendly dogs. Being one of the Cat People I found this pack of dogs to be very strange in the beginning. But there are cats who actually like dogs, who will elect to spend some of their time in the pack, though usually only on the fringes, with the most cat-like dogs available. That's me. La Familia, being of the accepting dog nature, let me do this. I weave my way in and out of Familia gatherings, sticking to the fringes, only to disappear from time to time. There's only so much affection and attention a cat can take, afterall.

So this Saturday night will be one of the nights I choose to participate. Cookie baking with my sister, Mom, one sister-in-law (who is Irish and was just as floored by this family as I was) and three of my nieces. The numbers are dwindling each year. In the past there were several kitchens around Fairfield county baking like crazy and the people in them telephoning each other with comments and questions on recipes. I think the phone rang more often than the timers went off. It also used to take all night but now it's just around six hours. In between mixing ingredients and getting trays in and out of the ovens we decorate the house to the sounds of Christmas music. Dad, being a Cat Person as well as a Scrooge, hides on the porch watching CNN and reading and hollering every hour or so "aren't you done yet?"

"We'll be done when we're done, you grumpy old man", I'll bark at him.

Mom will enquire if he's tired, if we're too loud, if he needs anything and generally just fuss about him like he's Santa Claus or the beybey Jebus. She'll tell us to quiet down, hurry up, then ask Dad, again, if he's okay, does he need anything... not that he answered her the first time. She'll make him some tea and bring him some cookies and he'll complain about how long this stupid process is taking and I'll tell him to shut his gob and eat his damn cookies.

And Dad will smile and eat his damn cookies and complain to no one in particular what bratty kid he's got. Mom will respond, "Well, your Mother always said she's just like you."

La famiglia è il mondo intero.

Cherry and white chocolate chip cookies:

For this recipe you will need a very sturdy hand mixer or a Kitchen Aide.

The ingredients are:

1 cup butter, softened
3/4 cup sugar
3/4 cup light brown sugar, firmly packed
2 eggs
1 teaspoons of vanilla extract
2 1/4 cups of flour, well sifted
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 package of white chocolate chips
1 1/2 cups of dried cherries
1 cup of cashews, coarsely chopped

Preheat your oven to 350 degrees. Line up your baking trays and line them with Silpats if you have them.

In a large bowl, place the butter, both sugars, eggs and vanilla. Cream the ingredients together using either a hand mixer or a Kitchen-Aide at a medium speed for several minutes. In a separate bowl, combine the flour and baking soda and mix them together well. Slowly add the add flour mixture to butter mixture until both are well combined. Next, stir in white chocolate chips, the dried cherries and the cashews. Spoon a tablespoon of cookie dough into your hands and roll into a ball. You should get 16 small balls on each baking tray. Bake the cookies for 10 to 12 minutes, or until they are a light, golden brown. Transfer the cookies to a cooling rack quickly. This recipe should make about 4 dozen cookies.

Cat Eyes

Yesterday I wandered over to Homo Escapeons and that cat, above, assaulted me. Scared the crap outta me, it did! I asked if that animal was a resident of chez Escapeons but it seems that Madame Escapeons is allergic to the saliva produced by animalia chordata mammalia carnivora felidae felis silvestris and so, no, that freak of nature is not a resident of their home.

In case you are not aware of it I am owned by three cabana boys... I mean cats. A Bombay named Raven, a Russian Blue named Pewter and a psychopath named Fidgit. None of my lads are pure breeds, though I think I can get papers on Fidgit certifying him as completely insane.

On occassion, being an entity of pure evil, I will... fuck with my cats. No, NO! not that. Eewww, gross. No, I mean fuck with their tiny cat brains. I'll hang large feather cat toys just out of their reach and watch them go crazy trying to get to it. Raven usually just cowers in fear of anything new and waits for the other two braver souls to figure out what the new things are that entered their world. I'll make strange noises that send them diving for cover under furniture and keep doing it until they come out to see what I'm doing. I've got a Furby that I drag out every once in a while just to torture them. I love watching them run from it, then circle it, hunt it down and then try to kill it. Well, not Raven. He hurls himself under the couch or bed and stays there until the offending beast disappears again.

I torture the Lads because it's fun. I love watching their expressions, watching them figure out how to conquer the lastest obstacles their slave (that would be me) has placed in their path. So seeing that beast on HE's blog made me wonder just what the hell someone did to that cat to make it react that way. All of the crazy things I've done to the Lads has never produced that expression!

Obviously someone is much better at cat torture than I am. I am a lowly grasshopper.

Of course, if I were a grasshopper, Fidget would have eaten me by now.

I also noticed that the cat is a Havana Brown, though probably not a purebred Havana as it lacks the distinct Siamese features. Raven isn't a purebred Bombay for the same reason - lack of Siamese features that distinquish his breed. Also missing is the "chattiness" that Siamese are known for - Raven is a very quiet Lad. Of course with Fidgit around he couldn't get a word in edgewise if he tried. Fidgit is a "dsh", domestic shorthair, tiger cat muttly who never STFU.

I would like to have a Havana Brown, and a Chartreux, cat someday, but not a pure breed. Pure breeds tend to have a lot of physical and pyschological issues that I just don't want to deal with. Additionally, with all the animals in shelters needing homes, I just can't justify getting a pet any other way. If I'm going to spend US$1,000 on a pet, I'd rather make a donation to the animal shelter than pay a breeder.

Not that I have any intention of spending that kind of money on a pet. I'm not sane but I'm not that crazy! But it does remind me that I need to make a donation to the local shelters again. I will stop at a Petsmart store near my office and pick up a gift card so they can use to it buy supplies. I should probably do that everytime I pick up some new toy to torture the Lads with. Spread the joy, as it were.