vegan á là Orwell

I was reading through my usual blogroll this morning and came across this interesting piece on Culinate, about a world charity called Heifer International. They provide cows and other farm animals to impoverished areas, teach the owners how to raise them, with the provision that any offspring of the donated animals are then given to other members of the community, so everyone gets a chance for better nutrition.

I think this is a great idea. One thing that doesn't really get discussed during war coverage is how the invading armies or insurgents slaughter all the food animals and destroy the crops. A community can't recover from that kind of loss without other animals being imported, and in a very poor area, a cow is worth more than--well, anything. In addition to providing goats, cows, llamas or chickens, Heifer International also teaches about beekeeping, to improve crop pollination and provides small meat animals for breeding, such as rabbits.

Of course there was a line in the article that bugged me: "...some people who do not support meat-eating would rather that Heifer only provide help with animals that can be milked, hens that lay eggs, or crops." I'm not sure if that means people outside the organization who would like to support it, or people receiving help from Heifer, such as vegetarian Hindus, who are not able to make use of meat rabbits.

Being the cynical carnivore I am, the dominoes started tumbling in my writer's mind. In about five minutes I conceived a story scenario in which an aggressive vegetarian faction, combined with rabid environmentalists and the corn industry, has become the dominant lobbying party in America, and Congress has officially made it illegal to raise or kill an animal for food (using them for pharmeceutical and cosmetics testing is still ok, though).

I can envision underground meat parties, people raising chickens in their bathrooms, new breeds of pigs that live in dark basements and are blind and hairless--more like overgrown slugs, really--and street gangs raiding the houses of little-old-lady cat hoarders and stealing her animals to make sausage. Police would detect illegal meat-raisers by sniffing around basement windows with methane-detecting instruments.

Of course, most people would adhere to the no-meat dictate, because people are--excuse the expression--sheep, and tend to reinforce the prevailing ethics of their time. So they'd all be eating massive amounts of grains, fruits, and vegetables, and they'd all be massively fat. Leanness would be considered freakish, a sign of poor health and possibly deviant behavior. The human life expectancy would be a good bit shorter, what with all the diabetes, gout, cancer and heart disease. Probably the birth rate would drop, too, since obese mothers have trouble conceiving, tend to deliver low birth weight babies, and are more likely to die of gestational complications.

The animal population would spiral out of control, with cows and pigs roaming the streets and chickens instead of pigeons roosting in Times Square. The exception would be domestic turkeys, which are so retarded they cannot breed naturally and would exist only in zoos or as exotic, expensive pets.

Meanwhile the earth would be in even more environmental trouble than it currently is. The best pastureland would be given to the animals for grazing, and the ariable farmland would be getting more and more stripped, due to incessant over-planting. I suppose somebody might get smart and use animal dung for fertilizer, but given the chokehold Big Biofarming would have on the industry in such a scenerio, they could probably convince the public that animal fertilizer is dangerous and ineffective as a fertilizer (which in some cases it already is). The extreme levels of methane in the air would hasten global warming.

There would be an abrupt increase in extinctions among wild animals in North America, because the fast-breeding domestic animals would crowd the wild ones out of competition. Food would become more and more expensive, more genetically engineered, more constructed in labs--Big Biofarming would have the market cornered, after all. Humans as a population would get shorter, and dumber, with each generation, from lack of protein. Mutations and birth defects would skyrocket, from the GMO grains and soy. But the animals, at least, would be protected.

Sounds fun... but nobody'd ever publish it.

disgusting details about fat, scurvy, and fiber

I’m about 60% through the Taubes book now and it’s steadily getting more intriguing.

I like the bit in Chapter 18, Fattening Diets, where the author describes the diets of sumo wrestlers: about 5500 calories a day, very very low in fat (16% of total calories) and high in carbs (57%). And that’s for the top-ranked sumo wrestlers. The lower-tier competitors, who weigh about the same but have less muscle mass than their brethren, eat about 5100 calories a day, but up to 80% is carbs (this means proportionately less protein, hence the reduced muscle) and as little as 9% fat. (p307)

That right there should end the debate about whether it is fat or carbs that make you fat. And please note that the sumo are not fat because they eat so many calories; no, they crave enormous amounts of food because all the rice kicks their insulin levels sky-high and they are hungry all the time. Trust me; I lived with a guy who was sumo-sized for several years and this was exactly how he ate. He liked his meat ok, and he could take or leave butter, but he'd polish off a loaf of Wonder Bread literally overnight.

Chapter 19, Reducing Diets, talks about a guy named Stefansson who lived with the Inuit (Eskimo) for a decade before WWI, during which he ate their native diet of fatty meat and little else, and suffered no ill effects. If anything, he was healthier than he had been on his previous “balanced” diet, as were the Inuit and all the foreigners who came to live with them and adopted the diet.

Laboratory attempts to replicate this diet on volunteers, in the 40’s and 50’s, yielded much the same results. The volunteers lost weight, eating as many or more calories than they had before the experiment, except with the carbs greatly reduced, and while they were losing body fat and inches, they gained muscle, felt more energetic, suffered no hunger pains, and in the case of some female college students, saw their skin clear up.

All of that I knew, and could attest to personally. Here’s the kicker:

None of the volunteers on this diet of meat and fat suffered from malnutrition. They didn’t get beriberi (thiamin deficiency), or pellagra (niacin deficiency) or even scurvy. This surprised me. I’ve heard repeatedly that humans and guinea pigs are the only two mammals who can’t synthesize vitamin C in their bodies, and I always assumed that vitamin C was the only thing I might need to supplement myself with. There is little or no vitamin C in meat, milk, eggs and cheese.

So why did I never seem to be bothered by scorbutic symptoms? I figured it was because I ate enough green stuff, although if I’m being strictly honest with myself, I don’t eat much. More to the point, why didn’t the Inuit and their guests get scurvy after years on such a diet? I'd never seen this question addressed before; it was one of the questions those post-WWII researchers were trying to answer.

Turns out that “high blood sugar and/or high levels of insulin work to increase the body’s requirements for vitamin C. The vitamin-C molecule is similar in configuration to glucose and other sugars in the body. It is shuttled from the bloodstream into the cells by the same insulin-dependent transport system used by glucose. Glucose and vitamin C compete in this cellular-uptake process, like strangers trying to flag down the same taxicab simultaneously. Because glucose is greatly favored in the contest, the uptake of vitamin C by cells is globally inhibited when blood-sugar levels are elevated.” (p325)

In other words, the starches in our diets flush the C out of our systems, while inhibiting the use our bodies can make of the C we get. That would explain those studies that show how mega-doses of C just get flushed out in the urine. The high-carb diets prevent our bodies from absorbing it. So the greater proportion of carbs in your diet—including root vegetables, legumes, and particularly fruits—the more C you need to injest just to break even. And all that pureed fruit juice will do you no good: your body will just soak up the sugars and flush the vitamins right out of there.

I had no idea. But maybe it helps explain why I hardly ever get sick.

Also, that old saw about excessive protein damaging your kidneys? That came from a guy named Newburgh who force-fed soybeans, eggs and beef to rabbits. Rabbits are herbivores—one could hardly be surprised if a diet of this sort gave them health problems.

The human subjects who participated in various high-fat, high-protein diet studies, which Taubes discusses in the last third of the book, suffered no kidney problems, and no problems with bowel disruptions. Lest I venture into the realm of Too-Much-Information, I can verify that my guts work smoother, produce less waste and less odor, when I eat fewer carbs and starches. A friend of mine, who was once diagnosed with Irritable Bowel Syndrome, reported the same improvement with his change in diet--which makes me cringe for those poor bastards with IBS who are told to increase their fiber.

Frankly, I never saw the point of eating a high-fiber diet. That argument is based on two things: one, that the fiber will fill you up and you will feel less hungry; two, that fiber is ‘nature’s broom’ and will sweep out the nasty bad meat waste.

First of all, eating things that are not food will not stop you from being hungry. The Donner party chewed on shoes, ate paper and boiled rugs for broth, but it didn’t stop them from starving. If you dilute the food of rats with water, they will keep feeding until they bloat, but they will not stop until they have consumed their usual number of calories. It’s a nutrient-balance thing; volume has little to do with it.

Second—what meat waste? The protein is going to my muscles; the fat is soothing my liver, processing vitamins, making my skin and hair silky. So I have to wince when I hear dieticians, particularly the vegetarian variety, pushing fiber on people. All you’re doing is making your bowels and small intestine work harder for fewer nutrients.

Not efficient, to my way of thinking.

reading the manual

I've been practicing tai chi.

I think my brain finally realized we were out of sewing obligations and it could focus on what we wanted to do. And as I said to the SP the other day, I think I'm at a place of better understanding than I ever have been before--I can remind myself to drop the elbows, to round the back, to relax the hip and commit the weight-shift, and actually manage to do those things for a second or two at a time. It's just that the muscles are not trained and they are still fighting the brain.

Sit sat me down a few weeks ago and gave me a mild lecture about this. "You got the knowledge now," was the gist of what he said. "Key now is to repeat, repeat, so sometimes you get it right by accident. Then you remember what it feels like to do it right, and you do that again and again until it's easier to do the right thing than the wrong thing."

"I think the difference is you're starting to believe it now," the SP told me. And he may be right.

It's an axiom of martial arts that the older the student, the more time he spends unlearning bad habits. This is especially true if the student is self-taught or had a bad teacher before. You don't want to admit that you were doing something wrong before, so you fight the new knowledge that may be incompatible.

I taught myself to sew, mostly, so I spent a lot of time reinventing the wheel, and being an impatient child I had no interest in pressing or finishing my seams or any of the neatening and shaping skills that make a garment look professional instead of homemade. But the first time I made a corset, I knew it was not the time to cut corners. The parts were expensive and the fit was crucial to the entire outfit, not to mention my own comfort. It intimidated me so much I actually followed the instructions, which not only turned out a fabulous corset but taught me the value of planning ahead and doing things the right way, instead of the "quick" way. You might say I owe the bulk of my sewing competency to that corset pattern (Laughing Moon Mercantile 'Dore' corset pattern, best on the market).

I went through an even more profound struggle with my writing, because the writing was more connected to my ego, and I'd had too many bad teachers trying to convince me of the "right" way to do things. By the time I was twenty-eight I knew I was a good writer, but I knew also I wasn't good enough and it was terribly frustrating. I couldn't find that extra "something" that would make the story satifying; I didn't even know what it was, and there was no one I could ask. With no better options, I joined Critters.org and spent a year reading a lot of really bad fiction. Gradually and unconsciously, I realized that a story arc has to bend back on itself to be satisfying, and there was nothing "trite" or "slick" about that, regardless of what my college prof insisted: there was a structure to it, as deliberate as that in a corset.

I found myself writing Quinn Taylor stories in a feverish fugue--story ideas I'd had in mind for years, but never knew what to do with them, how to make them relevant. At some point during that year of critting mediocre fiction, I'd begun to assimilate what Algis Budrys meant by "point," and why Mark Walters kept going on about "transcending the literal," but the only way my unconscious could get the knowledge past my ego was via a new story, since writing for me has always felt a lot like lucid dreaming. Writing "Galatea" was beyond lucid, it was like an out-of-body experience: looking down on my car, and the road, and the countryside I was travelling, able to trace the route at the same time I could feel the gearshift in my hand, my fingers wrapped around the wheel, my foot on the gas. So this is how it works, I thought with awe, whenever I paused to crack my knuckles and stare at the words. And this is how the next scene will work. And I'd go on.

I think the tai chi ability, when it comes together, is going to feel a lot like that. On occasional nights when I'm in the zone, I feel my fingers and body moving, I feel the carpet in the arches of my feet and the air molecules brushing my arms, but it's like I'm watching myself from outside my body. Only for a second or two at a time; but I've read accounts from the masters, and Sit too has said that a fighter must detatch himself in that way. Last Saturday I was working with the new Soccer Mom in class, and she's spastic and bouncy and laughing nervously, but I just strode up and took a stance and waved her to begin the pattern. "You're so serious!" she said after a while. "It's like you're so focused." I was in the zone, so the compliment had no effect on me emotionally, I just nodded and went on the sequence. But now I remember how detached and intimidating Zack always seemed to me. I never saw him outside of class, but inside, he was all business.

It has helped to have some padawans around, so I can watch their mistakes. It has helped also to attend tournament and watch the videos so I can see more advanced people and see what works. It has helped, God help me, to actually practice and pay attention to what my body is telling me and what Sit is showing me. One small concept at a time, applied.

On a whim the other night I went back and re-read Sit's bio and history pages. For years, Chinese names have been so much static in my head, because they all sound alike to my untrained English-speaking ear. But I guess I've been listing to the old man long enough that the sheer repetition has permeated. I've found I can read Pinyin phonetics and hear their pronunciation in my head. I can even pronounce them aloud, enough that Sit can understand what I'm getting at and correct me--a dialogue that goes something like this:

Me: How do you say this? "Coy?"
Sit: Cui.
Me: Cuoy?
Sit: Cui.
Me: Cuoyee?
Sit: No.

And so on. But at least I'm recognizing more of it, so I can follow along and get meaning from it. The osmosis is finally penetrating.

Last night I was doing some high-level qi gong, one which involves swinging the arms forward at an arc. You're supposed to do a hundred repetitions of it. At about fifty reps, it starts to hurt. At about seventy, I had to start slacking the muscles in my upper arms to continue, because the biceps were exhausted. At about ninety, I realized I could swing from the hip (uh...yeah, like you've been told 10,000 times or so!) and spare the shoulder and arms altogether--I had only to stretch the fingertips to keep the arc going. The last five or so were transcendent-- I am still, this morning, trying to remember what it felt like--like a dream you know was a wake-up call from your subconscious.

The salient point here, however, is not that I remembered to swing from the hip--it's that I did the move the prescribed 100 times and got so tired that I was forced to do it correctly.

Crazy what happens when you follow the instructions.

three-second rule

"Okay," Mom said, "Now I'm going to pick up this rack and I want you to slide the turkey off onto the platter--try not to turn it over."

"Okay." She tilted, and I guided with a couple of slotted spoons, and the bird slithered and lurched onto the platter mostly intact. A bit of meat skittered free and leapt of the counter onto the freshly-scrubbed floor.

I bent quickly to pick it up, bare-handed.

"It's hot!" Mom warned.

"I got it!" I said, and shifting it back and forth like a baked potato, I shifted it under the tap and rinsed it off. "What is that, anyway?" It wasn't a neck, and it sure wasn't the liver.

"The gizzard," Mom said. "Your grandpa will want that, wash it off and put it back in the pan; it'll go in with the stuffing and the germs'll get cooked off it."

We are not terribly concerned, in our family, about food that hits the floor or the counters in our house, as long as it can be rinsed off; we keep things fairly clean and figure that any minor extra bacteria strengthens our immune systems. Perhaps because of this, we are a healthy lot. But the gizzard was hot, and I tried to impale it on the meat fork to spare my fingers.

Gizzards are tough, however, and hard to impale. The gush of water knocked the giblet off the tines and straight down the garbage disposal.

"Oh man," I said.

"Ugh," Mom said. "Okay, we don't want it out of there. Fish it out and give it to the dog. Just don't tell your grandpa there was one."

There was a fair amount of giggling and burned fingers as I fished it out of the drain, still steaming. The dog was more than happy to choke it down, gnawing around the edges in the frigid air outside.

"Didn't that bird have a gizzard?" Gramps asked at the dinner table.

Me and Mom and Dad looked at each other, smirking. "Uh..."

"Sorta yes," Dad said, and we cracked up.

"What, did it fall on the floor?" Gramps said.

"Sorta yes again," Dad said.

"That was the first thing," I said.

"I guess the dog got it, huh?"

"Pretty much," Dad said, while the three of us roared and the rest of the family looked at us as if we were crazy.

soapbox break

Two articles of note today. And I apologize in advance for the second one.

=====

First: turkey does not, in fact, make you sleepy.

[The myth] is that there's a natural chemical in turkey called tryptophan that makes you sleepy after the Thanksgiving meal.

Turkey does have tryptophan. But all meat has tryptophan at comparable levels. Cheddar cheese, gram for gram, has more. Turkey gets singled out for no other reason than being eaten during the biggest meal of the year.

Tryptophan is an essential amino acid. Human bodies need tryptophan to build certain kinds of proteins. There is a sleep connection, though. The body uses tryptophan in a multi-step process to make serotonin, a neurotransmitter in the brain that helps regulate sleep.

In essence, big meals with any food containing tryptophan can cause sleepiness. The real culprits are all those carbohydrates from potatoes, stuffing, vegetables, bread and pie. The massive intake of carb-heavy calories stimulates the release of insulin, which in turn triggers the uptake of most amino acids from the blood into the muscles except for tryptophan.

With other amino acids swept out of the bloodstream, tryptophan—from turkey or ham or any meat or cheese, for that matter—can better make its way to the brain to produce serotonin. Without that insulin surge, tryptophan would have to compete with all the other kinds of amino acids in the big meal as they make their way to the brain via a common chemical transport route.

Ergo: eat the meat and vegetables, go light on the startches, and you won't feel so miserable for the rest of the weekend.

I'm fairly sure that the "sleepy-turkey myth" is another one of those memes composed and promoted by the meat-is-murder crowd. I think I'll make up a bumper sticker that says "Vegans for Rickets!"

====

Second, and far more nausea-inducing, is this nasty little tidbit from Saudi Arabia:

The Saudi judiciary on Tuesday defended a court verdict that sentenced a 19-year-old victim of a gang rape to six months in jail and 200 lashes because she was with an unrelated male when they were attacked.

The Shiite Muslim woman had initially been sentenced to 90 lashes after being convicted of violating Saudi Arabia's rigid Islamic law requiring segregation of the sexes.

But in considering her appeal of the verdict, the Saudi General Court increased the punishment. It also roughly doubled prison sentences for the seven men convicted of raping the woman, Saudi news media said last week.

And I had been under the impression that Saudi Arabia was one of the more liberal, secular Middle Eastern nations.

There's really nothing I can say about it, that isn't already obvious to those of us living in a post-Magna-Carta world. If I were fabulously wealthy and anonymous, I'd employ a private team of mercs to follow up on incidents like this.

lacking the spirit of gluttony

I hate to say it, but I'm just not in a Thanksgiving frame of mind. I'm looking forward to the days off, and seeing the family, but the whole idea of a massive meal is, frankly, turning my stomach.

I already arranged with Mom to bring over a ham, and my grandparents are providing the turkey. Mother is the champion baker in the family, so she's doing the rolls, two pumpkin pies and a cherry. Then I'll help her fix mashed potatoes, stuffing, green beans and salad. I expect she'll have cranberry relish, too; that's another of her specialities.

It's a generous spread, and less obnoxious than some families. We don't eat sweet potatoes, for one thing, and we don't bother with cocktails or appetizers. We make everything from scratch, more or less. Dessert is purely voluntary.

It's just... I've dropped back to lower-carb intake and have lost a couple pounds. I've been gradually sloughing off the five pounds I put on in the first year of marriage.

And the cost of food has gone up so much. I hate to see all this excess. I just did my Monday-night clearing out of the leftovers in preparation for the garbage man on Tuesday, and although we're pretty good about eating leftovers, I still found a couple of dishes in the back that I'd forgotten about.

And maybe I shouldn't have eaten that Taco Bell for lunch. Yes, that's probably where the nausea comes from.

Oh well. It's two more days yet and I'll have class Wednesday night. Perhaps I can work up an appetite. I just wish there were more vegetables involved. Maybe I could roast some and take them. And maybe I'll just have salad for dinner tonight.

marking the end of year one

Sunday was our first wedding anniversary. It was lovely. We slept late, lounged around and read for a bit, went out for brunch around noon, came home and cleaned out the garage, got into some nice clothes and went out for a seafood dinner. And if that's not your idea of a terrific day, well, it's a good thing you're not married to us.

Seriously, the cleaning out the garage part made both of us chipper. The SP's been wanting to do it since I moved in there, we threw out a tremendous amount of stuff that needed throwing out (including, literally, a kitchen sink. And a lavatory sink. And a commode.), stacked up all the lovely bits of wood he's been hoarding for someday projects, and made a nice open bare space of floor where he can put the table saw and start cutting boards for trim and the workbench in my office. He's excited about it. He's so motivated now he's talking about starting on the living room demolition. That probably won't happen for months yet, but the sight of those clean painted walls makes you feel like there's a light at the end of the tunnel.

This weekend is Thanksgiving. Tony's taking Friday off, and we're going to move in the table saw and maybe buy lumber for my workbench. "We're going to get a lot done this weekend," he said. I'm excited!

chai custard breakfast smoothie

Take 1 cup freshly brewed chai tea, add: 1/2 cup milk, 1/4 cup cream, and 1 egg thoroughly beaten together. Pour into saucepan; add 2-3 spoonfulls honey or to taste. Whisk gently over medium heat until just slightly thickened (about 3-5 min). Pour into go-mug and drink while driving.

Mmmm.

(I had my doubts about all those smoothies with raw egg in them, but then I experimented with making custards last winter when I was sick. When all the liquids are blended together and warmed, the egg is no longer raw. Much more nutritious than a sugary cup of coffee. And nicely warm on a cold morning!)

The LORD looked with favor on Abel and his offering

So I'm in the middle of reading Gary Taubes' Good Calories, Bad Calories. I am likely to be reading it for some time, as it is astonishingly detailed. All that medical-history research I did for Miss Fairweather now feels like practice for this book. But no matter; it's riveting reading. Explains a lot of things I had only suspected or heard alluded to.

I confess, also, that I am reacting to the book rather as a hyperactive Christian would react to, say, The Bible Code or the latest LaHaye dissertation, which is to think here, at last, is the incontrovertable evidence that we were right all along!

Even though I know it doesn't work that way. Forget science: health is a religion and always has been. A quick look at the reviews on Amazon is confirmation: the believers will believe more strongly; the anti-fat, anti-meat crowd will just be further alienated.

It's kind of alarming how people talk about diets in terms of ethics. "Raising meat uses up too much land and energy! We shouldn't be living so well when the rest of the world is starving! Meat is murder!" I've actually seen people claim that the book of Genesis forbids eating meat, which is... um, no. God is pro-barbeque, trust me on this.

And dieters flagellate themselves just like the faithful in the face of disaster. I can't tell you how many women I know who are fat and tired from starchy diets and inadequate protein (or worn down with fatigue and stress from letting life batter them while they wait for Jesus to make it better), with brittle hair and nails and smiles, who just insist they feel so much better since they went vegetarian (since I put my trust in the Lord!). They sincerely believe that 1100 calories a day will make them slim, healthy and happy, if they fill up on water and fiber (if I just keep praying about it), and they just know that thirty pounds (massive debt/brutal husband/parasitic daughter) is going to drop off as soon as I get back to being really good about cutting out the fat (getting active in the church) again.

Funny side note--the folks I know who are most hard-core vegetarians tend to be kind of indifferent about religion--or embrace a feel-good amorphous "spirituality" instead of a particular faith. I wonder why. Maybe it's just the crowd I hang out with.

Ok--y'all know I hate evangelism. I shall strive not to wave the Taubes book in the face of all the rice-eaters I know. But here on my own blog, I will testify! And I will not be ashamed! The truth will set you free!

The 11 Commandments.... um, Critical Conclusions of Good Calories, Bad Calories: (taken from the publisher's site--and even I have trouble grasping some of these, despite my own observations about exercise)

1. Dietary fat, whether saturated or not, does not cause heart disease.
   
2. Carbohydrates do, because of their effect on the hormone insulin. The more easily-digestible and refined the carbohydrates and the more fructose they contain, the greater the effect on our health, weight, and well-being.
   
3. Sugars—sucrose (table sugar) and high fructose corn syrup specifically—are particularly harmful. The glucose in these sugars raises insulin levels; the fructose they contain overloads the liver.
   
4. Refined carbohydrates, starches, and sugars are also the most likely dietary causes of cancer, Alzheimer’s Disease, and the other common chronic diseases of modern times.
   
5. Obesity is a disorder of excess fat accumulation, not overeating and not sedentary behavior.
   
6. Consuming excess calories does not cause us to grow fatter any more than it causes a child to grow taller.
   
7. Exercise does not make us lose excess fat; it makes us hungry.
   
8. We get fat because of an imbalance—a disequilibrium—in the hormonal regulation of fat tissue and fat metabolism. More fat is stored in the fat tissue than is mobilized and used for fuel. We become leaner when the hormonal regulation of the fat tissue reverses this imbalance.
   
9. Insulin is the primary regulator of fat storage. When insulin levels are elevated, we stockpile calories as fat. When insulin levels fall, we release fat from our fat tissue and burn it for fuel.
   
10. By stimulating insulin secretion, carbohydrates make us fat and ultimately cause obesity. By driving fat accumulation, carbohydrates also increase hunger and decrease the amount of energy we expend in metabolism and physical activity.
    
11. The fewer carbohydrates we eat, the leaner we will be.
    

what have YOU been up to?

I painted the walls of my office this weekend. Sanded the touch-up patches, added a second coat of primer and put on the first coat of paint. The SP helped rough-in the corners but I let him off the hook and finished the rolling myself. It's a small room, after all.

The paint is very antique-looking, kind of an eggshell or cream that has yellowed with age. I think it'll look smashing with the golden-shellacked trim and some rich draperies. The SP said we'd go look at wood for my workbench this weekend. Yay!

We are both ALMOST caught up with our financial situation. I had some back taxes from the divorce; he had some other things to take care of, and while they are not yet completely gone, we've got them scared. All the sewing I did this summer and fall put a nice chunk of change in my pocket, all of which is going to Uncle Sam.

I did buy a couple of small things for myself, however. I got a ruffle-making foot for Vera Bernina, and I FINALLY found some vertically-striped nylons which I've only been searching for since, oh, 2002. They were kind of pricey, but I ordered two pair, one tan & one black, and they were worth every penny. They are gorgeous, smooth, sheer, excellent quality, and fit like a dream. I'm almost afraid to wear them, for fear of snags.

In further garment news, I completed my long tweed skirt and my tweed vest. They look very sharp. I put them on with my pocketwatch and perched a pair of old welding goggles on my head, and how Steampunk am I? The skirt's great, though. Very long, swingy and soft, not at all binding. Probably be very warm in the winter, too, if I put some tights and a petticoat under it.

the perils of sewing for supervillians

Well, I sold another Harley costume on ebay this week. I was smarter about it this time. I set a reserve and put a Buy It Now price slightly higher than the reserve. And somebody did the Buy It Now. Kind of strange how perceived worth can work in one's favor.

Of course people are still cheapskates. I had a couple of bidders ask whether--if the Reserve was not met--I would offer Second Chance deals to non-winning bidders. I assume that means they were hoping to underbid my reserve and still get a deal for less money. I guess some sellers do this, but since I'm selling something that's not made yet, essentially bartering away my time, I have no incentive to do this. I know everybody wants to get a good deal, especially on something as frivolous as a costume, but if you really want something that bad, cough up the dough.

Similarly, Ebay has a policy against shilling--getting an accomplice to drive up the bid for you. I guess this makes sense, but the bottom line is, either you can afford it at that price or not. And if you can't, maybe you weren't meant to have it. So shilling may be somewhat unethical, but no more than haggling for handmade work when the price is right there in front of you. And if some buyers are deliberately bidding lowball in hopes you'll give it up, and your friend is shilling the bids, but somebody keeps topping the shill, who's really in the wrong? Especially when the Buy It Now option is already there, and one committed fan goes right ahead and scoops it up? Who's the clever one there?

There are indeed those who are willing to pay. I've had at least three emails asking for custom costumes, but I'll probably only have time to do two more before Halloween. One woman wanted hers done in black and silver, so she can wear it to Oakland Raiders games. That sounds like fun to me. I hope she emails me back.

Aside from that, I'd also like to do a Harley Quinn gothic Lolita dress; kind of a little-girl party dress with crinolines underneath and puffy sleeves, only made in red and black. Look cute with fishnets and wrist gloves. I wonder how that would sell. Doubt I'll have time to try it this year.

Anyway, I've sold two costumes and a pattern in the last two weeks, and made about $400. I figure it takes me about 12-15 hours to complete a costume, so I'm still not making a living wage, but in terms of work-hours, my sewing is still more profitable than my writing. And a helluva lot easier to find buyers for.

ding! dong! the dress is done!

I delivered Amber's wedding dress to her last night. She seemed pleased.



I'm quite satisfied with it, overall. The colors came together better than I expected. I especially like the sleeves, and the oak leaf motif on the skirt.

The Flickr slideshow is here, for shots of the rest of the dress.

We now return you to your regularly scheduled house remodelling.

thursday clarity

I like Thursdays. We have taiji class on Wednesday nights, of course, so I lose sleep but I gain clarity and mellowness.

My head was in a good place, last night. Watching that YouTube video of the ethnic festival performance, I realized that I am consistently leaning forward in my horse stance. This is not good, because it means that I am tensing at the hip and that creates a disconnect in the body line and robs you of power.

The good news is, once I've realized I'm doing it, I can pay attention and stop doing it. So I felt as if I had better ground connection last night, and that makes a lot of things go smoother.

I've also been pretty good all week about going home and doing a bit of practice, right off, instead of sitting down or fiddling around. I often feel at loose ends when I first get home, because I'm tense from the commute and fidgety from sitting down all day, and I can't decide whether to cook or clean or read or sew or what, and I feel resentful about all of it, so it helps to just pick up a sword and wave it around. Tuesday night I did just that: we went into the backyard and went through the broadsword form several times, just in the nick of time, since we were on the verge of forgetting it. Then we did a little longsword form, just for thoroughness.

I also got eaten alive by mosquitoes. Today I count sixteen bites just on my right leg. And yes, I put on repellent before I went out there; apparently they like me seasoned. We've been talking about building a bat house and maybe putting in a water garden with fish to eat the skeeters. In a couple weeks the weather will cool some and we'll probably do more yard work.

Yeah, my brain's rambling a bit. But I feel good, and motivated. I want to brush up my Chen-style form and I'll have to pester Sit about teaching me more sword form, because our schedule's been disrupted the last few weeks. Although I have kept up with it, so there.

Oh, and I've had two more queries about the Harley Quinn costume in the past fortnight. It's that time of year. I have decided, with an enthusiastic thumbs-up from the SP, to make another complete costume and put it on ebay. I calculate I can make on in a weekend or so, and if it sells like the last one did, I can make a clear profit. Keeping my fingers crossed.

kung fu at the ethnic festival

The wife of one of my kung-fu brethren took a video of us performing. It's a bit shaky at first, but our form looks good and crisp. I like the way my white uniform looks in pictures.

progress in progress

I've been making this wedding dress for a friend of mine. I'm nearing the end. I'm past the part where it looks like nothing but a big mess. Last night I put the piping around the top edge, folded it down smooth and pinned it in place, and my husband said, "Hey, that looks like a bodice now."

The underskirt is finished. I overcast the bottom edge, instead of doing a folded hem, and it made the edge nicely ruffled, like lettuce. I think I may tint that underskirt. See, the dress is made from two different colors of changeable silk, both gorgeous on their own, but in certain lights they don't seem to coordinate. So I think I'll tint the brighter one to tone it down. Rather a terrifying prospect, frankly. It's taffeta and I don't know how the finish will react to being soaked.

The groom's vest is done and looks superb (I copied the SP's gambler vest and did a nicer job than the original, if I do say so myself). I need to make a cravat to go with it, which I shall accomplish tonight. I need also to put sleeves on the bodice, which I shall probably also do tonight. Then I need to bind the bottom of the bodice, add some trim (pearls, maybe?), and drape the overskirt, which is actually the fun part. I also have to hem the velvet cloak. I made the cloak back in May, but I've been putting off the hemming because silk velvet is a bitch to blindstitch. I'll have to do it by hand, and who wants a big lapful of velvet in August?

I'm feeling good about it. I'm into the fun part now. Plus I have a man with a lot of nifty tools who can cut steel corset boning when it's too long. A very generous and skilled man who put another coat of drywall compound on the walls of my office-in-progress this weekend. "I just want to get that part done so I can hand it over and say, 'Ok, your turn--go paint,'" he said.

I'm eager for that part myself. Lately I've been dreaming about a very nice split-level house with wonderful furnishings but no interior walls. The bedroom, dining room, office--everything but the bathroom is raised on platforms or sunk in depressions; separated by steps but open to the sounds and view of the surrounding areas. I think my subconscious is telling me it's time for some mental seclusion.

silly man

“Though you yourself were raised to believe in demons, and in more recent years have been able to see and hear the spirits of the dead, you don’t entirely believe that demons exist, is that right?”

“I guess not,” Trace said slowly.

“And why is that?”

“I suppose because… all the things that demons are supposed to do, can be caused by somethin else. I’ve seen the causes.”

“Such as drugs, and madness, and war.”

“Yes….”

“And you’ve never seen a demon.”

“Not that I know of.”

“Ah.” She looked approving. “Clever answer, Mr. Tracy. I suspect you have seen a good number of demons without knowing them. Unlike the spirits you see every day, which are pale fragments of living persons, demons are whole, sentient entities. There is a reason why the Judeo-Christian traditions portray them as evil tricksters. Many of them can assume the form of ordinary things in our world, either by possessing a living thing or mimicking its form. Many so-called mediums are unwittingly calling up demons in the guise of a customer’s loved ones.”

Trace was appalled. “I knew there was somethin fishy about that table-rappin.”

“Indeed. But let us refocus on our current problem. Something—we shall call it a demon, for the sake of simplicity—is precipitating the murders of innocents in the neighborhood. It seems to be connected in some way with a particular newspaper office, the Village Voice, and possibly this reporter, Mr. Reynolds.”

“But he doesn’t work for the Voice.”

“That may not be relevant,” Miss Fairweather said. “Demons have been known to migrate from one host to another, particularly as they become familiar with their surrounds and gain strength. And they tend to gravitate toward a particular type of host, a particular character, if you will.”

“So what do you want me to do when I find it?”

“Exorcise it, of course.” Miss Fairweather looked astonished that he should have to ask.

would you like some starch with that fecula?

This weekend the SP and I went to a pretty nice Italian restaurant for their prix fix brunch buffet. Said restaurant is the offspring of a fairly well-known celebrity chef who shall remain unnamed; the august personage has very little to do with the story, I only mention it to illustrate that it was not the Olive Garden or somesuch.

Y'all are well familiar with my disdain for excess carbs; ergo I can only blame the waiter's seductive tones as he described the pasta special du jour. Spaghetti carbonara, pesto fetuccini, and ravioli stuffed with something.

Corn, as it turned out. Ravioli stuffed with CORN. How %*#^ing redundant can you get? I watched with dismay as the chef brought round a large skillet full of noodles and forked them onto my plate: easily three times as much spaghetti as I would eat in a meal I had cooked myself, and that was only a third of the offering. It had two tiny little bits of pancetta in the mix, and a vague tang of parmesan. The pesto fetuccini was green and basil-y, but also devoid of protein or fiber (I know the waiter said something about crab in the sauce. I know he did; we both heard it). And don't get me started on the ravioli. Limp, slimy, and full of something else slimy that Mom used to dump out of a Green Giant can when I was a kid.

The SP took pity on me. He'd thought it sounded good, too, but our mistake was obvious. He forked some onto his bread plate and handed over a few choice bits from his steak. Luckily for me, there was plenty of salad, cheese and cold cuts on the buffet so I didn't starve.

Oh, the pasta was okay. It was well-prepared and flavorful, for pasta. But I never did and never will understand the appeal of a plate full of three shades of flour. I felt guilty about throwing it out, but I'd've felt worse if I'd eaten it all.

And the most offensive part was, the SP had to pay $5 extra for his steak, but did I get a price break for the pasta? Hell no. Restaurants like pasta and rice for the same reason they serve fries with everything: it's cheap. And you can put a whole lot of cheap on the plate to make the customer feel full and think they got a good deal.

Bah. I am less enamoured with the Italian buffet today, even though they have terrific desserts.

first chapter contest/romance contract

There's a writing contest on. Kind of an American Idol for romance writers, sponsored in part by Pocket Books/Simon & Schuster. I'm posting about it not because I'm excited or interested, but because I couldn't care less.

At one time I was so sure that a foot in the door, any foot, any door, would help my writing career. I don't know if I'm more cynical or more realistic, now. At any rate, I don't write romance, and I have zero interest in trying to dash something off in three weeks to try to get under the deadline. I have zero interest in trying to be something I'm not just to get attention. I guess that's maturity.

from other discussions

Over on Kung Fu Monkey they were talking about the media in general, and in comments the talk veered toward the ever-popular "biased media!" debate. As I said in comments, my rabid-conservative ex-husband claimed the media was all full of pinko Commie fags, and my quiet but stalwartly Democratic SP insists they are all in the laps of conservative fat cats. If we are to deduce anything from this, I'd think it would be that the media is so overwhelmingly negative and focused on tearing down whomever is in power, that they will always seem to be against whatever you are in favor of.

Me, I don't care. Insisting that the media is biased is kind of like stamping one's foot and crying, "It's not fair!" It's childish, and it's more concerned with being "right" than having a meaningful discussion about a subject, any subject at all.

So even if you do perceive a bias in the media, acknowledge it, accept it, and adjust your bullshit meters accordingly.

ADDENDUM: The SP would like me to clarify that he is not one of the folks whining about the bias of the media. He doesn't deny that there is one, but he's good about searching out the better options, like NPR and the Christian Science Monitor. Which I think is the right attitude to take.

for Lizzie

Into the family room strode a dapper young man in a sack suit and a bowler hat. He tipped the hat and marched toward Trace with his hand extended. “Sheriff Paulson?” he asked.

“No,” Trace said, “I’m—“

“Oh, you must be Mr. Lombard,” the young man said, nodding at Boz. “And this must be your hired man, Aenard?”

“No, this is my partner, Boz,” Trace said. “And I don’t know any Lombard. Who are you?”

“Rex Reynolds, reporter for the St. Louis Times,” the young man bared his teeth cheerfully. “Were you a friend of the deceased?”

“We knew him,” Trace said.

“Didja?” Rex Reynolds pulled a tattered notebook and a stub of pencil from his pocket. “What was his name again? Hershel, wasn’t it? Was it just him or all of them? Looks like a slaughterhouse in here, don’t it?”

“What are you doin here?” Trace asked pointedly.

“Searchin’ out the truth, mister. People got a right to know when there’s a murderer in their midst.”

“There ain’t no murderer,” Trace protested. “He’s dead in the well with the rest of ‘em.”

“Really? I heard there’s a young girl down at the jailhouse with blood all down her dress. Did you know Miss Anna Hershel before she killed her family?”

“That young girl didn’t kill anybody,” Trace said in disgust. “Hershel was a decent fella with two proper-raised daughters and somebody did for them in a bad way.”

“Mind if I quote you on that, mister…?”

“Tracy. Jacob Tracy. And if you’re here to search out the truth you might ask some questions before you start jumpin to hare-brained conclusions.”

“How did you know about the murders?” Boz interrupted.

“It’s all over the streets this end of town,” Reynolds said.

“You mean you read it in the Voice this morning like everybody else?“

Reynolds sucked his teeth. “Hey, that neighborhood rag may’ve been first with the story, but the Times has got the readership, we’ve got the resources, and this reporter is gonna break the case wide open long before Anna Hershel faces a jury. Now stand aside, gentlemen, I need to see the bodies.”

The young man flipped his notebook shut, shouldered past Boz and strode out the kitchen door. It seemed only prudent to follow him.

They stepped into the back yard just in time to see one of the women hauled up out of the well, dripping wet and dangling from the hook that had caught under her arm and neck. Her head was thrown back, her stringing hair partially covering the gaping white-lipped wound at her throat. There was so little blood left in her that the flesh was white as a trout’s, but her clothes were stained a uniform rusty shade from the saturated water.

“Get her down!” one of the men snapped, and two of them reached to catch the body and the line from which it hung. Together they wrestled the sodden corpse over the lip of the well and lowered her to the ground. She still had her shoes on, which struck Trace as somehow inappropriate.

Rex Reynolds gave the pitiful thing a cursory glance and then barged up to the man in charge. “Sherrif Paulson, I’m Rex Reynolds, from the St. Louis Times, what can you tell me about the situation here?”

Sherrif Paulson swayed away from the young man with a wave of his hand, like an ox flicking at a horsefly. “Nothin’ to tell, son, got three dead bodies and a hysterical young girl watched her father go mad.”

“So you believe her story that the father was the killer,” Reynolds said, jotting in his notebook. “How’d he end up in the well, then?”

“She says he slipped and fell,” the sherrif said. “Easy, there! Don’t go tearin’ up the clothes until Doc’s had a chance to look at em.”

“He was a big strong man, wasn’t he? Is that the body over there?” Without waiting for an answer, Reynolds marched over to the quilt-covered figure on the grass.

“Now you just get away from there,” the sheriff began, and was distracted by a shout from the men at the well. The rope and hook jerked up, suddenly slack, and flung a disembodied arm in a gingham sleeve onto the grass.

They all looked at it in varying degrees of dismay. “So tell me, sheriff,” said Reynolds, “you think a fifteen-year-old girl could swing a kindling-hatchet with that kind of force?”

a Potter-free post or, tournament adventures

We went to Dallas (Plano) Texas last weekend for the annual Chin Woo Association's Tai Chi Legacy Tournament. It's a big one, maybe the second-biggest in the country.

A lot of stuff happened. We did workshops. We did forms. We did push-hands. We ate a lot of good food. Strangely, I haven't felt like reporting any of it. The competitions were not bad, but not very good, either. Both of us have improved since last year, but neither of us had trained for this tournament. I did all right in my first ever push-hands competition, I got bronze, and I think I could've gotten silver if they'd had everybody do two fights instead of using the "bye" system. The chick I fought was kind of wild. She kept breaking contact, which is a no-no and she was warned about it. She was real steady in her low stance but her upper body was easy to move. I was starting to get her figured out but I ran out of time. Final score was 10-5, but I learned a lot and kept my cool. The woman who got silver was actually knocked down twice, and I never lost my footing, hence my thinking that I could've beaten her.

At any rate I don't think the judges were very strict in that ring. Even before I went up, I noticed a lot of grabbing that wasn't being called. But it doesn't matter. I was in a good frame of mind for the fight, empty and ready to learn. I know a couple of things to work on for the upcoming year. The SP and I both received compliments on our form; we were both trying really hard to do "correct" push-hands (I was really trying hard to stick to the rules, especially) but we got beat by people doing rather rough and tumble push-hands. Obviously we will have to help each other practice by doing rough-and-tumble attacks, so we can practice deflecting them softly.

Other things happened, all the little petty scandals and dramas inherent in a gathering of special-interest parties. Remember the Wookie, the sometime-attendee of my Wednesday night class? He met us at the tournament, attended no workshops, did no forms, just sat around for three days waiting for push-hands. In the meantime, somehow he met up with a snake of a master who decided to sic him on another visiting master. So the Wookie approaches this 70-year-old Chinese guy who probably weighs what I do, who came out of retirement to teach workshops at this tournament. The old master is a nice guy, so he invites the Wookie to touch hands with him, and the Wookie lays him out on the pavement. The old master is mortified, of course, and asks who is the Wookie's teacher, and guess what he says?

Sit gave him what-for, in his own quiet way. "I didn't teach you push-hands," he said last night in class, "so don't tell people I'm your teacher. Especially after you push someone down."

The Wookie is either mortified or sulking, I can't tell which. He's not the most expressive human being I've ever seen. I've never seen Sit actually kick anyone out of class, but I've never seen anybody as clueless as this big lump, either. He's wasting the time of the rest of us. The SP refuses to talk to him or even look at him, in part because he had met the old master and liked the guy. I can't quite find it in my heart to be cruel to a big dumb animal, but I may say something to him if the chance presents itself.

If that weren't enough, the Wookie invited along a friend to the tournament, another big lump I'll call Charlie because of his resemblance to Manson. Disheveled, dirty, holey clothes, wild hair, wild look in the eye. This guy claimed to have 30 years experience in Akido ("Maybe he do Akido thirty years ago," Sit snorted.). He, too, came just for the fighting, and he spent the three days before going around the tournament picking fights with guys smaller than him. I saw him wrestle a skinny 17-year-old to the ground and put an elbow on his throat before the kid's teacher intervened. Eventually Charlie picked on the wrong guy, a Chinese named Huong, I think. Huong evidently wanted to start a school in China and came to the U.S. tournament to win himself a grand championship--which he did, very handily. He entered 19 forms divisions, and won most of them. That would've been impressive enough, but he also fought in the light contact sparring and won that. At some point early in the weekend Charlie ran into this guy and started some shit, and got a nosebleed for his trouble. After that Charlie went to the registration board and asked to drop his enrollment in the sparring competition.

Ironically, I never met the guy during the weekend but we all knew who he was, thanks to his tenuous connection to our group. I hope I never do meet him.

Oh, and he lost at push-hands, too. The Wookie won in his division, which prompted Sit, on Wednesday, to suggest he start his own style. "Then you can teach people like you. Hard-style push-hands. Nobody else do that. That's a good idea, actually. You should go do that."

It was very hard not to laugh aloud at that. But Sit was careful to say to the SP and me, privately, "Don't think he's not good. He's very good at what he does. That's why he wins. That's why the old master make a mistake, he think he's not good, because he's a white guy and he talk slow, so the master is not prepared. You can never underestimate somebody. Especially if you going to let them touch you."

At any rate, we are back, and life marches on. The SP bought me a decent metal sword from one of the vendors, and Sit told us we'd resume sword form on Saturday. I'm glad. I like the sword form and I'd like to compete in it next year. Despite my lackluster performance over the weekend I can tell I'm still learning and growing. Sit's been overall quite positive about my application work. I can't do everything just right all the time, but the successes are coming with more ease and more frequency.

In other worlds, I have a wedding dress to wrap up and a bit of writing to do. Miss Fairweather is quietly furious that I have neglected her for so long, and she is demanding an outlet. Stay tuned for details.

Abney Park

Ferris Bueller said a person should not believe in an ism, but occasionally one already believes in an ideal and just doesn't have a name for it. In my case, it appears I've been a steampunkist for a couple years now.

I'd always kind of turned up my nose at Steampunk as a fiction genre, because I didn't care for alternate history and the authors best-known for writing Steampunk were the types I always considered purveyors of techno-porn; I'm simply not interested in all the gears and gadgets. But maybe the time just wasn't right for me. Maybe the movement just needed time to evolve out of prose fiction and into an aesthetic. At any rate, after researching the links for my last post I found myself feverishly surfing for examples of glowing glass, brass, and leather.

(It deserves saying that my husband and I were already leaning in a direction that might be considered steampunk in the look we were designing for our house: rich wall colors, lots of wood shelves and cabinets built-in, pigeonholed storage and so on. But now with the SP bringing out his old metalworking tools and cutting holes in sheets of nickle and brass, suddenly a whole new medium for crafting and decorating has opened up for me.)

Eventually my travels led me to Abney Park. No, not the cemetary in England, the band. They dress like airship pirates from a Wells/Verne novel and they weave techno rhythms and Middle-Eastern wails through their music. It's just damn cool. They've sampled bits from a number of diverse sources and come up with something utterly original that feels like a sound I've been waiting for my entire life. Yes, I am drooling like a fangirl, but just last week I was trolling for a soundtrack to kick-start my Trace writing again, and it seems I have found it.

Here's their MySpace page. Start with "Stigmata Martyr." I'm gonna go scour the antique stores.

ah, that library smell

Here's a fun little project. I found a book at Half Price Books, The Book of Werewolves by Sabine Baring-Gould. I was perusing for a good witchcraft reference in the Magick section (the modern crap is awful) and I spotted this one and picked it up because the author's name was Sabine. Appealing coincidence, eh? Imagine my delight when I cracked the cover and found it had been originally published in 1865! This copy's a paperback reprint, of course, but the text setting appears to be original; at least it's in a style that I've seen in other 19th-century books. Since it was only five bucks, I bought it, figuring I could recover it in a nice cloth or leatherish hardcover. And after three minutes of Googling, I found a library site on how to do rebinding. Cool, huh?

At least, if you're a geek, it's cool.

Even more cool, and supremely inspiring are these macabre art installations from Alex CF. Last time I checked he had a werewolf research collection up for sale on Ebay; now he's got a Vampire hunter's kit, as well. These are very like the little bits I've built for Miss Fairweather's collection, but on a grander and more comprehensive scale. I especially like the bone fragments molded from resins. I've been thinking of trying something similar. Hell, I'd like to do a LOT more of this sort of thing, but writing and remodelling, alas, take priority.

ADDENDUM-- MANY MORE FUN THINGS:

For further coolness and inspiration, Brass Goggles, a hub for all things Steampunk.

...An online museum exibit to make you really glad you didn't live in the Nineteenth Century....

Shoot, now I found these really cool apothecary jars in all shapes and sizes. Hmm. The SP is making a new hilt for his sword this week, I wanna play too.... No! NO! Write, dammit!

more reasons to be wary of soy

From The Institute for Responsible Technology, who, among other things, are opposed to genetically modified foods.

Within three weeks, 25 of the 45 rats (55.6%) from the GM soy group died compared to only 3 of 33 (9%) from the non-GM soy group and 3 of 44 (6.8%) from the non-soy controls.
[...]
The FDA does not require any safety tests on genetically modified foods.[...] The rationale for this hands-off position is a sentence in the FDA’s 1992 policy that states, “The agency is not aware of any information showing that foods derived by these new methods differ from other foods in any meaningful or uniform way.” [1] The statement, it turns out, was deceptive. Documents made public from a lawsuit years later revealed that the FDA’s own experts agreed that GM foods are different and might lead to hard-to-detect allergens, toxins, new diseases or nutritional problems. They had urged their superiors to require long-term safety studies, but were ignored. The person in charge of FDA policy was, conveniently, Monsanto’s former attorney (and later their vice president).
[...]
There have been less than 20 published, peer-reviewed animal feeding safety studies and no human clinical trials—in spite of the fact that millions of people eat GM soy, corn, cotton, or canola daily. There are no adequate tests on “biochemistry, immunology, tissue pathology, gut function, liver function and kidney function,” [3] and animal feeding studies are too short to adequately test for cancer, reproductive problems, or effects in the next generation.

Just soy you know, Monsanto is not only the creator of the pesticide Roundup, they're also the patent-holder on a soybean that's resistant to it. That means they can sell you their seeds, to be planted in fields which can then be doused with their chemicals, whereupon the beans will survive to be harvested and made into everything you, your pets, and your meat animals consume everyday, complete with the chemicals from the pesticide! Ain't science grand!

I'm reminded of a line from Judge Dredd: "Eat recycled food! It's good for the environment... and it's not bad for you!"

Oh, but it is, kiddies. And it's not just for tofu-eaters anymore. Check your labels. I challenge you to find a condiment, chocolate bar, or loaf of bread in your supermarket that doesn't contain either soy lecithin or soybean oil. Go on. Try it. I'll wait.

Oh, and in case you're interested? Monsanto has as many enemies as Wal-Mart. Even if only half of what they've been blamed for is accurate, that's some scary shit they're getting away with.

Now I'm reminded of a line from Jurassic Park: "You guys were so eager to find out if you could do it, you didn't stop to wonder if you should."

My Little Pony never had one of these

Funky-looking horse-zebra cross born in Germany.



Looks like something out of Neverending Story or some CGI fantasy flick. Or P.T. Barnum's collection.

still a spark of hope in the world

Egypt bans all female circumcision.

Glory be.

(@&%&@)*!!

Ok, we all know that credit card companies are snivelling spineless bloodsucking dungeating vultures, right?

I'm down to one credit card now. I paid off the one my ex ran up and let go to collections. I closed it out today, and they owe me $10. They act so surprised when you want to close it.

I paid off the last delinquent bill that my ex claimed he had paid, and hadn't.

I am down to one credit card, ONE--that one is Bank of America, in its current gargantuan-merger personae. It has a fairly high balance on it, a hair under $7000. I keep paying it down, but since all my expendible income has been going toward it, I occassionally have to use it, too. The interest rate on that sucker is 23%. Twenty-three percent. All of which is largely because of my ex letting the other bills get behind. Y'all know that if one card is late, the others will jack up their APR's, too, right? I suppose it's within their right to do so, although I am definitely being punished for the sins of another.

Here's the bitter irony. They keep sending me offers for unsecured loans to "consolidate" my debt at a reduced rate. In other words, they will loan me MORE money to pay off debts I owe to other people, but they will not give me a lowered rate on the debt I already owe to them. This too makes sense, if I remind myself that they are in business to soak me for every dime they can get.

I've applied to my local credit union for a new Visa. I can't be totally uncreditable; my car loan was at a very good rate. But even if they give me a small amount of credit at a better rate, I will keep transferring funds to the new card and paying it down as fast as possible. I expect I'll have the Bank of America card paid off by next spring, after which I am cancelling that account, too. And I hope to God that new legislation gets passed to put caps on credit card interest.

tai chi/irritating bystanders/sewing

Suddenly, it is the end of June. And we've got 3 1/2 weeks until tai chi tournament.

Blech.

I am so not in a competitive mood right now. The SP and I just want to hide in our shady air-conditioned cave, with occasional bicycle forays out in the evening for citrus fruits and tandoori chicken. We have had no time to work on the house since, oh, about the first of April. We have made small ventures into the back yard to hack down brush and reclaim the back yard--the SP cut down two 10-foot-tall junk trees this weekend--and I did a great deal of sewing this weekend.

My friend, for whom I am making the wedding dress, has decided to elope, thank Ghod. It was what they really wanted to do, anyway. That means she will need the dress somewhat sooner than planned, but not sooner than I had planned, and this means I don't have to make a dress for myself to be in the wedding. Regardless, I want to get the thing done as soon as possible, so it's out of my living room and neither of us have to worry about it anymore.

That plan, however, is somewhat in conflict with my need to practice. I believe I have made some progress in tai chi this year, only by virtue of attending class regularly and not via any particular effort on my part (This could be self-delusion). However, Sit is making noises about the SP and me doing internal form, a/k/a the taihui form, at competition. I think he may be doing that to scare us. Or possibly as a form of motivation.

I know it well enough, at least the first half of it. It's just really really ugly. I don't have a "feel" for it. My feet are sloppy, my knee is out of place, my hands are not twisted enough, I have too much hand movement. I know these things. Sit took rather a lot of time to drill me on them last weekend. Attention from the master is always appreciated.

Also, I am feeling rather fat and flabby of late so I went over to the vacant mall across the street during lunch to practice a bit. Herein lie the irritating bystanders.

That mall is nearly empty of stores. There's a Macy's at one end, a Sears at the other, and a big swath of the middle has been converted to offices. But the main promenade of the mall is still empty, the stores dark and locked up, and a great many older folks come around from the nearby retirement villages to power-walk in the relative cool. This is great, as far as I'm concerned. They don't get in my way, they're quiet, they're usually friendly, and they keep the place from being scarily deserted.

The only problem is, they want to talk. I'll be standing there at the end of an otherwise deserted hallway, moving my body in strange mechanical ways, hopefully with a frown of concentration on my face, and as soon as they get within 10 feet of me they hollar, "How you doin?" or "What's that?" or "Looking good, there, what do you call that?"

One tiny lady, about sixty, had a very strong eastern-European accent and was clearly hard of hearing. She came up very close and started asking me what it was, where I had learned it, how good I was, and no wonder I had such a great figure. "I'm practicing right now, I can't stop to talk," I said, pointedly. "Oh, all right," she said, and a beat later, "How long have you been doing this?"

Anyway. Now I remember why I never liked practicing in public. I can handle weird looks, it's the intrusion that annoys me. People act as if you're performing. Maybe I should put out a hat with some change.

In other news, Sit and his wife went to China for two weeks at the beginning of June. They have been less than enthusiatic about the trip. "It was crowded," Sit said. "And the food is bad."

He's seemed kind of depressed since he got back. I don't know if it's because the trip was a drag, or he's suffering some kind of survivor's guilt for getting out of China as a young man, or if it's related to his classes shrinking to almost non-existent status. The SP and I are the only ones who come consistently to kung fu anymore, and usually only one other person shows, but it's always a different person, and always a beginner, so we end up going over the same material again and again. Hence, Sit's pushing us to resume the internal form. I feel sorry for him, having two lazy butts like us as his top remaining students.

Still, three weeks until tournament is somewhat motivating. At the very least I can pull out a couple of old forms and brush them up. I'm looking forward to the trip, and the workshops and the interesting stuff, but I really don't feel like competing.

apparently the old adage is true

The SP bought me a bicycle this weekend. It's red and has a bell. I think he's a little envious, actually. His bike is perfectly functional but it's older and has thick off-road tires.

Mine is what they call a hybrid, with slim but slightly toothy tires, upright seating and shock absorbers. Twenty-three speeds that you shift by twisting the handles, which is a lot cooler than flicking with your thumb.

It's a little odd, thinking of myself as a bike owner. A lot of people have them in my hippified college town; we'd talking about getting me one since I moved out there, so it wasn't exactly an impulse purchase. It was just kind of sudden--less than an hour between "Hey, let's pop in the bike shop," to "Let's take that one."

Bike technology has changed a lot since I was a kid, even I can see that. The frame structure is different, the thing is a whole lot lighter than any bike I've ever tried to move around (it wasn't much heavier than a large tricycle before they put the lock on; I think the Kryptonite lock weighs as much as the entire frame) and the wheels are a good deal larger in diameter. The whole apparatus has a graceful but compact appearance, like a sturdy little pony.

And boy, can it fly. It takes so little to make it move. Granted, I am not used to bike riding and that first big hill up to the campus was too much for me, but it wasn't the bike's fault. Twenty-third gear is amazingly efficient. And I felt great afterwards. That forty-five minute ride burned two pounds off of me by the next morning, and I'm not even sore.

So I guess I'll have to be all ecological now. The grocery store is about five blocks away, and probably quicker to get there by bike than by car, considering traffic.

She needs a name. I'm considering Penelope.

Oh, and even though I hadn't been on a bike in about 20 years? I hadn't lost the knack of it. I didn't crash even once.

Joy marches on

A writer-friend caught up with me over the weekend, and happily provided me with the URL to her new blog: Joy Marchand's Particles of Light. The lady has not been unproductive since I last spoke to her. Worthwhile fiction. Check it out.

parking's a bitch, but no one's gonna steal the stereo

I guess when Hummers and Hawgs have devolved to white-collar wimpmobiles, the REAL urban commandos have to kick it up a notch.

Voila: the JL421 Badonkadonk Land Cruiser/Tank.

The comments say it all.

ConQuest 38 in a nutshell

My Sparring Partner and I went to the local SF con over the weekend. It was pleasant. Handed off the corset to my client (looked pretty darn good), bought some books, dressed up a bit, said hi to everyone we needed to see and got a little costume love.


His outfit was mostly purchased, although I tailored it a bit. It's a lot easier to find off-the-rack items that will pass for men's western wear; their fashions just haven't changed that much in the last 140 years, and the fitting is less crucial. I made my dress, of course. The skirt I made years ago (it used to look like this), the corset I made last year, the jacket I made last week, finally putting to use the striped fabric I'd been hoarding for ten years. Everyone was very nicely complimentary. Jan said, "You sure class up the joint."
I think that deserves a close-up, don't you?

I did not, alas, have time to finish my hat. I'm not too broken up about it, because I liked the feathers in my hair and they were easier to wear than those little pin-on hats ever are.

We also got to wear our "Baptist" tee-shirts around the con floor. Yes, Brennan at Zazzle came through, after several harried phone calls, delays, machines breaking down, etc. Sounds like Brennan could use a vacation, too. But he got the shirts to me by noon on Friday. Since I'm not used to wearing printed tee-shirts, it always caught me off guard when someone was staring but not meeting my eyes. "They're eating my.... what?" and then I'd have to explain. Everyone was polite but I don't think many were interested in the story. Many were amused by the quote, though. "Good for them!" one guy said. "Feed 'em the Lutherans, next."

Curious thing I noticed, when other writer-acquaintances asked what I'd been doing:

"I made my first pro sale back in March."
"Really! That's great! To whom?"
"Baen's Universe."
(With face falling flat) "Oh. Well, good for you."

Depending on who I was talking to, that flat reaction was either polite distaste for the digital market, or flat-out jealousy at the venue--or in some cases, both. I mentioned it to Rob, who concurred. "I get the same reaction when I sell to Analog," he said. "Small presses are great for what they do, but I want to play in the major leagues." Chaque a son gout, I say, without the accents because I'm too lazy to look them up.

Rob and Tracy in the onslaught of the wind tunnel a/k/a the party floor:

(Thanks to Shara for the pictures.)

oh, now this is cool

The preview of End of the Line is up already.

If you Google "Holly Messinger," that page comes up third, right after my homepage.

And yes, Dave, there's a podcast feed.

I think I'm gonna make it

I got my green striped jacket all put together this weekend. It looked really sharp until I put in the front lapel facing and ran the piping all around the edge, which created a lot of puffiness that won't quite press out. I think I may have to topstitch it. I hate to do that on a costume but there's no time to handstitch it and hey--it's a costume. Made of scraps, no less. Maybe I can try out some of the decorative stitching on my new machine. Oh, and I found some nice black frog closures that will look super down the front. I shall put those on tonight, make some cuffs, and I'm done. I may have time for that hat, after all.

The corset is done except for the top binding, which I cannot complete until the boning gets here. I'm hoping that will be today.

Zazzle is out of the tee-shirt style I wanted. Bastards. I hate it when companies put up stuff on their web sites and can't be bothered to notify the public when things are out of stock. Nevertheless I ordered a couple of other tees, one for me and one for the SP.

Oh, and the SP bought me a lovely little cotton sundress this weekend, kind of antique-bottle green with an allover eyelet stitch. I haven't worn a dress--that I wasn't getting married in--in years. Furthermore, my birthday present from Trashy Diva finally arrived--after several miscommunications and a lot of wasted postage (see above re: not advertising things you don't have in stock). It's a 40's replica, really gorgeous claret-colored silk. All of which is great, except for now I want to buy more shoes. It's tough being a gal.

yikes!

Suddenly I've only got 9 days left until the Con! And my jacket isn't even cut out yet! And I ordered the wrong boning for the corset! And we haven't ordered our tee shirts yet! Gah!

in the club/update on the distractions

1. I now have an author/bio page up at Baen's Universe.


2. The EOTL, "They're eatin' my Baptists!" tee-shirts are available to order from Zazzle.com (see sidebar). There are basically two designs; white type for dark shirts and vice versa. You can specifiy the style, color, and size of tee-shirt you want at Zazzle.


3. The paid-job corset I've been working on is virtually done except for the top and bottom binding, which I cannot complete until the boning arrives; should be today.


4. The jacket I'm making for myself for the con is mostly patterned and the lining cut out. The fabric is green/black/gold striped, to be worn over a green skirt and black corset. Should be very cool. I may even have time to make my hat.


5. Couple weeks ago, the SP ordered himself a custom-made leather shoulder-holster. Friday night, I came home and found him posing before the mirror in full gunslinger regalia--suspenders, vest, hat and all--thus fulfilling a fantasy I never knew I had. Ain't I a good woman to you, Doc?

more childhood memories, or, too preoccupied to conceive my own topic today

Remember those segments on Sesame Street when they'd visit the crayon factory or the noodle factory and show you the process step-by-step? I swear I could sit and watch hours of that sort of thing, especially if it was brightly colored (which may explain the continued existence of HGTV and its ilk).

Anyhoo, Abby's Yarns has a post-in-vein today. Check it out.

childhood memory chicken soup

There used to be a Campbell's Chunky variety of chicken noodle that included broad noodles, mushrooms, and--according to the label--white wine. I loved that stuff when I was a kid. Apparently I had fairly sophisticated tastes as a child. I particularly liked it because it did not contain carrots. I hated cooked carrots when I was young, and although I'm more amenable toward them now, I still don't think that celery and carrots go together well, which eliminates about 99% of the chicken soup recipes out there.

Campbell's quit making that variety of its soup some time in the late 80's, and ever since I've been queen of my own kitchen I've had a half-assed ambition to reproduce that soup. Thing was, I couldn't really remember what was in it. I know there were some little brightly-colored bits in among the drab mushrooms and pale celery, but I had no idea what they were. Just not carrots.

A few weeks ago I was preparing some other dish that contained chicken, probably the jambalaya soup, which happened to have roasted red peppers in it. How wonderfully chicken and peppers go together! And celery is much more cooperative with that combination, too. Suddenly I realized what those little bright bits in the soup must've been: pimento (which is basically roasted red pepper).

Last night I was in the mood for soup, and I had most of the parts laying around, so I gave it a shot. It was not quite perfect, because I had no wine in the house and had to substitute lemon juice, and the herbs could use some tweaking. But it's a massive step forward.

• Take 2-3 pounds meaty chicken parts with bone and skin, and some extra fat if available. Boil in about 1/2 cup white wine and 2 cups water, with some chicken bouillon, salt, and black pepper or seasoned pepper.



• Meanwhile, dice up about half a sweet onion, and two cloves of garlic. Saute in a bit of butter until onions are wilting, but not brown.



• Chop about 1-1/2 cup celery and a small jar of sliced button mushrooms, drained.



• Divide, seed and roast a red pepper under the broiler. Peel, if desired, and mince.



• When chicken is done, remove to cutting board to cool. Add prepped vegetables to pot. Add: chicken flavored bouillon, black pepper, rosemary, marjoram, oregano, parsley, and thyme (I used Penzey's Bouquet di Garni blend). Cover and simmer.



• Skin and bone chicken. Mince meat and add to pot. Add water to desired concentration of broth/solids. Taste and adjust seasonings.



• To enrich the broth (if, say, you had only boneless skinless flavorless chicken breasts on hand), you may add an egg yolk or two; beat and mix with a little warm water before adding to the hot broth or you'll have Egg Drop soup. A couple tablespoons of butter helps, too.



• To thicken, dissolve 2-3 tablespoons of cornstarch in warm water and whisk in. It helps give it that made-in-a-can slimyness.



• At the last, throw in a handful or two of egg noodles and a tad more water if needed. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat to med-low and cover tightly. Let simmer for 10-20 minutes, or as directed on noodle package.

In my mind this soup needs no sides, but buttered Saltine crackers are the appropriate fare for a childhood memory.

forget the frogs and canaries

Apparently bees are disappearing all over the world. (New York Times, may require registration.)

More than a quarter of the country’s 2.4 million bee colonies have been lost — tens of billions of bees, according to an estimate from the Apiary Inspectors of America, a national group that tracks beekeeping. So far, no one can say what is causing the bees to become disoriented and fail to return to their hives.

...About 60 researchers from North America sifted the possibilities at the meeting today. Some expressed concern about the speed at which adult bees are disappearing from their hives; some colonies have collapsed in as little as two days. Others noted that countries in Europe, as well as Guatemala and parts of Brazil, are also struggling for answers.

The researchers have collected samples in several states and have begun doing bee autopsies and genetic analysis. ...So far, known enemies of the bee world, like the varroa mite, on their own at least, do not appear to be responsible for the unusually high losses.

Genetic testing at Columbia University has revealed the presence of multiple micro-organisms in bees from hives or colonies that are in decline, suggesting that something is weakening their immune system. The researchers have found some fungi in the affected bees that are found in humans whose immune systems have been suppressed by the Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome or cancer.

Meanwhile, samples were sent to an Agriculture Department laboratory in North Carolina this month to screen for 117 chemicals. Particular suspicion falls on a pesticide that France banned out of concern that it may have been decimating bee colonies.

in which the last two posts achieve gestalt under the heading, "big money owns your brain"

I've been reading much about food the last couple of days: natural foods versus the over-processed junk that makes money for a few fat cats and is more poison than nutrients. Of course I already knew a lot of it, but recently I ran into some new examples that turned my stomach.

First, the grocer where I frequently bought meat has started injecting all its beef with "up to 12% of a flavor-enhancing solution." Excuse me? You're charging me $8.99/lb. for saline solution? I knew they already did it to the pork and the chicken, but I bought organic whenever I could. There is no alternative for the beef in that store. And I'm not buying it. I don't want to eat it and I'm not going to pay for it.

Second, the raw-milk fracas that I stumbled across. I had no idea what kinds of chemical changes milk goes through when it's Pasteurized. I like milk and I think Pasteurization is generally a good thing, but then when I read how that catch-safe allows the farmers to degrade the care and treatment of their cows, thereby letting God-knows-what kinds of hyperbacteria to flourish in your milk, it all seems.... well, wasteful seems a weak term. Dishonest? Slovenly? Low-minded? (Those used to be pretty strong words.) You could say, "Where's the harm?" but the fact is there's always harm when you cut corners in the name of profits. In this case, the harm is put on the cows and the human customers, both.

I've sensed myself becoming less tolerant of milk as I got older. I thought perhaps it was my age, and I've considered it might be the hormones in the milk. The raw-milk proponents claim it's because Pasteurization kills the lactase that helps you digest milk. So some Big Dairy companies make products with lactase added back in so lactose-intolerant people can eat them! Talk about doing things the hard way! (Incidentally, one happy side-effect of this outrage was my learning about kefir. It's a fermented milk product, basically drinkable yogurt, with some added fiber. Boy is it yummy! I can't wait to get it in a blender with some fruit.)

Advocates of raw milk claim that the Big Dairy people have bought off their politicians and terrified the public with the dangers of non-pasteurized milk. I believe it's illegal even to sell it in most states. I found contact information for a few farmers in my area who will allow you to "time-share" a cow, so you're not technically buying the milk from them, they're just storing and caring for the cow on your behalf. I haven't decided yet what to do about it; I just like knowing that the option is there. I certainly don't need the government to tell me what I can and cannot eat--if you want to regulate something, go tighten the leash on your dairy farmers.

Now, what does all this have to do with my difficulties exporting a PNG image? Well, I'll tell you. When I learned that I needed a raster-based program to build my images, my first thought was to brainstorm all the ways I might buy, borrow or steal a copy of PhotoShop. Then AJ very sensibly suggested I obtain an open-source program, which left me smacking my forehead in chagrin. I just installed that open-source WP a month ago, and that worked fine, so why didn't I think to try it again?

Because Microsoft doesn't want you to, honey. They (and Adobe, and Mac, et al) are so omnipresent that unless you've got backstage access to the programming world, you may never know that open-source software exists. I didn't--I'd heard the term but didn't know it came in flavors other than SameGame. That makes me a little sad, because I taught myself html a few years ago and enjoyed it; I wish I knew more about programming, but there are only so many hours in the day, and one can't be an expert in everything. Hey, I make my own clothes, I can cut up a chicken and start a sourdough, and I'm living in a house that we're remodelling ourselves, so climb out of my nose, okay?!?

Seriously, I've very grateful to the code-monkeys who think it's fun to sit on their asses and reverse-engineer programs all day, then have the grace to share their efforts with the public as their own little way of giving the finger to the Man. I'm equally grateful to the folks who take time to research the deviousness of food manufacturers and then share their findings.

These folks keep poking holes in the propaganda screen. It's up to the rest of us to walk up and put an eye to the hole.

this may be premature, but...

I've been working on the tee-shirt issue. I have a design I like, the problem is getting it made. I looked into CafePress first, but Zazzle has more options for garments, particularly in dark colors.

Unfortunately, I'm a bit stymied by software. To get a true white-on-dark image, I have to create a transparent background for the image, and the Corel software to which I have access will not export the PNG's correctly. I'm looking into a source to get around that.

In the meantime, I managed to use Zazzle's default conversion method to get a passable mock-up of the shirts. The front looks okay, but the back may not be legible enough. We ordered one as a test sample. But if you want a preview...

EOTL tee eatin bat by hollysmess

Get this custom shirt at Zazzle

You can, of course, go ahead and order one if you just can't wait (I know what that feels like, it's why I had to post). But I recommend waiting a couple of weeks until I (hopefully) get this transparency issue resolved.

this is why no one understands the fat/carb dichotomy

.... Including me, really. Although this page discussing the structures of fats is certainly helpful.

Nobel Prize winner Paul Sabatier (1854-1941, at right) is considered the father of the hydrogenation process. He discovered in 1897 that the metal, nickel, catalyzes, or facilitates, the attachment of hydrogen to carbon compounds.

In the actual process, workers heat the oil to very high temperatures and bubble hydrogen gas through it in the presence of nickel or some other catalytic metal. Since the vegetable oils are unsaturated, they can take on a few more hydrogens.

When they do, the molecule stiffens, and the fat is now closer to a solid. They can control just how firm it gets by how long they pump the gas through. That's why you'll sometimes see the term 'partially hydrogenated' on ingredient labels.

Which is precisely why I quit eating margarine and Crisco six years ago. I always thought Parkay had a vaguely metallic taste to it....

If you're interested in natural foods, particularly dairy, I highly recommend reading the rest of the site. Of course I'm the choir behind the preacher, so you may not find it as amusing as I do.

Considering raw milk's role throughout history, it's simple to see that it's not a deadly food. If it were, all those dairy-loving primitive cultures would have died out long ago, leaving their vegetarian cousins to mind the store. At the very least, people would have dropped it from their diets entirely. And we haven't even gotten to germ theory yet...

story idea, rubber science

I have this idea. It involves a particular assassin of our acquaintance taking a job on a space station, probably an asteroid-mining operation owned by a big evil mega-corporation.

Awhile back I was daydreaming about artificial gravity systems with my limited knowledge of astrophysics, and I thought, Hey, they've simulated black holes in labs in the last 5 years....what if the space station engineers created a "hypermass" artificial gravity system made from a sort of controlled super-heavy black hole at the center of the station (I guess some other authors have already considered this, but I don't read much hard SF so I don't know of any examples).

I cribbed the word "hypermass" for use in a story and never explored how the thing might work.

Today, I was daydreaming about what might happen if the thing went wrong, because as you know, Bob . . . Bad Things tend to happen in my stories.

So I'm envisioning Quinn being stuck in this mining station, which is gradually collapsing in the middle, trying to kill the guy she's been contracted to kill while trying to get out herself--kind of like the Poseidon Adventure. But the collapse would have to occur at a fairly steady or slowly accelerating rate (ideally), or the station would just cease to exist. I think it would create a great atmosphere of claustrophobia if it happened slowly, but I don't know if that's possible.

Thoughts? Any way I can make this work?

I'm too young to be this old

Remember when you're twenty and thirty seems like the edge of a cliff? Of course now Sheryl Crow has decreed that forty is the new thirty, so I have some reprive.

I'm thirty-three. As of yesterday. I went and saw the family, took my grandmother some flowers (her b-day is two days before mine). My mother gave me a stick. Ok, it was a little condiment spreader made of cherry wood. I love wooden kitchen utensils. There's something very tactilely pleasing about them.

My sweetie asked what I wanted for my birthday, and I said "clothes," so he graciously allowed me to drag him to a half-dozen stores over the weekend. I tried on a score of garments and bought nothing. This is not a good fashion season for me. Everything is high-wasted, blousy, droopy. I have a waist. I prefer to be tailored. I do not intend to have children, so why would I want to look pregnant?

Lately, I've had a yen for a 50's-style cocktail dress or sun dress; fitted bodice, full skirt. I was considering making one, but Trashy Diva has some lovely things. The trick is buying one to fit. My shoulders are rather broad from the tai chi training; my hips are a size or two smaller than my upper body. This means I have to take in every shirt and jacket that I buy, and forget about finding a dress off-the-rack.

I told the SP it didn't matter. I've gotten pretty much everything I ever wished for in the last year. When I make wishes now I just hope for things to stay as they are.

With less plaster dust, of course.

P.S.--We got all the drywall done this weekend. Sometime this week we're going to tape and mud. Hope the weather dries out a bit.