Just General Complaining

So, I got a letter Saturday.  From Farmers Auto Insurance.  Gosh, they want me.  They really want me.

It's not the first "come back to the dark side" letter I've gotten from them.  No, over the past ten years or so, they've really wasted a lot of wood pulp trying to draw me in.  

That, of course, will NEVER happen.

Why not?

Well, see, it all started back in 1993.  My husband and I had been insured through Farmers for a few years.  Really liked our agent, what a guy!  

And then I had an accident.

Understand, I wasn't driving.  I was, in fact, a passenger in my own car.  See, I'd had a beer, so I handed my keys over to a friend's roommate who hadn't been drinking.  And he wrapped my car around a tree going 60+ mph.  

I was injured (though, oddly, the guy behind the wheel wasn't).  Closed head injury, massive facial fractures, disk damage (again!), etc.  Pissed blood for a week from the lap belt hammering my bladder.  That was exciting.  

It's funny--I had no health insurance, and so, while in the ER, I refused the offer of a cosmetic surgeon to stitch up the gory hole where bone and cartilage from my nose had blasted out the front of my face upon meeting the dashboard.  Instead, I opted to have the ER physician do it because it was cheaper.  

Silly me.

My agent immediately told me not to file a claim for the car--he said that the adjusters would "total" it and that, as a result, I'd wind up owing more on the car than they would give me, which would leave me "in trouble" with the bank AND without insurance.  That sounded scary to me.  Being brain damaged, I deferred to his superior knowledge.  I didn't make a claim for the car.

When the medical adjuster came, she took one look at my face, said, "Ohhhh, honey--that's ten grand."  Nice, huh?  Then she said that the car looked perfect, was it a different 1973 Mustang we'd wrapped around a tree?"  I took her outside, showed her that the car only looked perfect from behind--the front end was demolished.  Bumper horseshoed, battery exploded, core support torn to bits, radiator gone, frame bent, fenders tweaked inward, water pump, alternator, all that fun stuff destroyed.  Oh, and the hood bent back like an accordion and the windshield shattered.  She asked when the auto adjuster was coming out, and I told her what my agent had said.

And oh, she was angry.  She said it was (and this is a direct quote) "self-serving bullshit."  She said that my agent was tugging me around in hopes of preserving his bottom-line, but that, fact was, Farmers was going to drop me like a bad habit no matter WHAT I did, so I should put in a claim for the car.  She called the adjuster, and that was that.

Turns out, she was absolutely right.  Auto adjuster came out, did everything he could to make sure I got enough for the car to either repair it or pay off the loan, plus cut me a check to buy a new car (when I say that, I mean a 2 grand check for a 1975 Camaro, lol) so I could keep my job (which I lost because my smashed up face was "scaring the customers"--thanks Ziad and Fahdi).  And then?

And then, my insurance company tripled my rates.  And when I complained?  They dropped me.  Told me I had two weeks to find another agency, because they were done with me.  

My first claim. 

In addition, they put the word out that I was a terrible risk--this according to the gentleman at Allstate who was willing to cover me (flat liability) for twice Farmers' pre-accident rates (full coverage, collision+comprehensive with towing and rental). 

Farmers smacked me so hard I bled for years.  It was years before I could get a decent rate for car insurance again.  They left me in the lurch when I was most vulnerable.  They promised to pay for my facial reconstructive surgery, but then, when my surgeon submitted the bill, they refused.  Said I had already settled and that wasn't part of the settlement because it hadn't been submitted in time. Even though they had told me clearly that the surgery would be covered.

Should I have gotten an attorney before settling?  Absolutely.  But, as they're trained to do, they patted me and hand-held me and made me feel like they really had my best interests at heart.  

Dang.

Farmers wants me?  They want my business?

When hell freezes over, kids.  Not one second before.

Not actually MY 'Stang, but an example of the year--imagine silver pre-accident, and deep green post.

So, my boy and I sort of tangled yesterday.  Or, to be more precise, he said something awful, and when I realized he wasn't joking, I cried.  

What happened?

Well, I was reading Deathly Hallows aloud to him when we got to the . . . oh, shoot, hang on.

SPOILER ALERT!

Seriously, if you haven't read the Harry Potter series in its entirety, turn back NOW.

Okay.  So we were reading Deathly Hallows, and we got to the part where Harry has just finished exploring Snape's memories in the penseive and learned that he is meant to die.  That he must die in order for the horcruxes to be destroyed and Voldemort to be mortal once more.  I paused, and said, "I don't know if I could do it.  I don't know if I could walk to my death like that--I might run the other way, I don't know."  My son said, with that adolescent moral certainty borne of almost zero life experience, "Some things are worth dying for."  I said, "True, and it's wonderful you think that, but in that situation, at that age, I don't know if I could do it--I might run."  And he said?  In a flat, condemning, disdainful tone?

"Then you're a coward."

Wow.  Wow, sweetie.

Needless to say, it was the end of the reading session.  We talked at length later, and, if nothing else, he's taken away one lesson I hope he really takes to heart--think about the effect your words are going to have before you spit them out, because once you do, they're unrecallable.  Ballistic.  So next time, before you throw out a harsh condemnation over someone's musing over a fictional hypothetical set in a magical fantasy world, consider the possible effect your words will have.  

Because that was pretty devastating to me.

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Been watching a lot of documentaries lately, most on food and food production in the United States, but last night we watched one called "The Revisionaries," about those scary, stupid people down on the Texas School Board, and their sick and terrifying methods of editing text books and rewriting history to focus on (and forward) their own particular (and peculiar) political and religious leanings.  What on EARTH is a "young earth creationist" doing editing text books?  In a public school setting?  WHY on earth are people with no grasp of science deciding what science is taught and how it's taught?  Ew!  EW!  To hear these stupid people rail against "experts" is terrifying.  How do people who demonize scientists, experts, the scientifically literate, wind up in the position of determining what goes into science textbooks?

Reason 4,566 why we homeschool.  To keep those nutbags in Texas out of our child's mind and out of his science and social studies education.  

It was hard to refrain from throwing things.  

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Speaking of homeschooling, saw a bit in the paper this morning about Ogden City Schools--the district our boy would have attended, had we chosen that route.  It was a story about a girl who's been told she cannot walk across that stage to get her diploma unless her family coughs up hundreds of dollars to pay for "unexcused absences and 'U' Citizenship grades."

Okay, a few things.  

One?  If she has so many absences that it's negatively affected her ability to earn the required credits, then she can't graduate because she's short on credits.  If she managed to do the work required to graduate, then shut up about her attendance and let her walk with her class.  

And two?  "Citizenship" grades are a BS concept whose time had passed about the time the entire idea was dreamed up.  Subjective, without constructive usefulness, and often a tool for teachers to enforce a morality or express disapproval in a way that, apparently, damages the child in a very real way.  If the child is disruptive, if the child's behavior is such that it makes teaching impossible, send the child to the office for discipline rather than making a snotty little mark in a snotty little grudge book and then screwing that kid up down the road with FINES.

FINES!

This reeks of yet another way for bad, lazy school districts (and yes, there was a reason we homeschooled in the first place) to rake in a little cash and use a punishment/pain model to induce compliance.  If the kid earned the grades and the credits to receive a diploma (and that's not in question--this girl and others like here will receive their diplomas . . . in the mail), then you let that kid walk.  The pettiness of denying a child/young adult their walk across that stage because they can't pay the "citizenship" fines you've assessed?

Nasty!

And the district's assertion that assessing these fees is "legal" until someone takes them to court and successfully argues against the practice?  Well, that hardly seems like a good definition of "right."  

Remember--this is the same school district that just nuked its entire adult education program, plus fired all but two of its librarians in order to save itself paying out benefits to those employees.  The adult ed program has been replaced with . . . nothing.  Another school district is going to try to take up the slack.  And the librarians?  The two left will supervise a cadre of "part time media assistants" who won't be working enough hours to earn benefits.  

Yeah, it's like the Walmart model of employment.

Oh, and this is also the same district that just told over 250 part-time reading coaches that their positions have been eliminated BUT that they're free to reapply for the few "restructured" positions that will be announced down the line.

You know, it really does look like the district has been infiltrated by wingnuts, doesn't it?

Maybe they should keep assessing those "citizenship" fines.  Otherwise, how will they pay for . . . whatever it is they actually do down there?

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And here's something ugly because . . . well, because I think I could use more pictures in this one, liven things up:

Stealth Porn and Carcinoma

So, my blog hits have really been flagging.  Not sure why--maybe I'm just not as interesting anymore?  However, just because I'd like more folks reading doesn't mean I'm happy with any ol' hits that come my way.

Last night, in a matter of minutes, I took 49 hits.  I knew, I absolutely knew.  I pulled up my stats to check, and, sure enough, all of those hits came from a porn site.  Not an obvious porn site, but rather one with a very innocent name, so I screwed up and clicked the link and BAM, full spreadshot, took up pretty much my whole 24 inch screen.  Being wicked quick, I had that page closed before my 15 year old could even look up.  And then I loaded up Malwarebytes and did a full scan.

People suck.

How does that happen, though?  I understand how one or two porn hits happen, but 49 in the space of a few minutes?  How does that happen?  Is someone who dislikes my stuff feeding my web address into a porn site?  If someone "gets" that, please leave a comment, let me know!

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Had Charlie at training last night.  The two new bags of Zuke's training treats (Wild Rabbit and Salmon)?  He hated them.  Seriously, he wouldn't work for them, he wouldn't even eat them--he accidentally got some in his mouth and rolled them around a bit before spitting them back out.  We wound up giving them to the trainers as spares for folks who run out.  He likes the Zukes Chicken, and will work for those until he's no longer famished, and then he's all done with those, too. What he DOES love and will work for without fail?  Even if he's full?

This, which the trainers shared a bit with us:  

Yes, it's Dick Van Patten's company.  Yes, he's had products from them before.  Yes, I think it's weird that the guy from Eight is Enough is pushing dog food.  

And yes, it contains wheat, which we avoid in dog foods (along with corn) because Cairns are prone to grain-inspired skin problems.  But we're not looking to use this as a regular source of nutrition, but rather as a highly desired treat to inspire his total attention during training.  And for that?  The stuff's magical.  We don't even have to GIVE him any--just having it in the hand and letting him lick at the hand is enough to keep him working.  So we'll be grabbing a "tube" before the next training session.

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So, a friend posted a link to a "natural" diaper company the other day, one offering a "free" sample pack (for $5.95 shipping, lol).  I took a look at the company's site, and the greenwashing was astounding.  The big claim?  The these diapers and wipes are "made with organic and natural materials."  Oh, my.

Anything that tells you it's made with "organic AND . . . " anything isn't organic.  By that standard, I could throw organically grown raisins in a box of GMO Corn Flakes and put the words "made with organic and . . ." and be in the right, legally.  And the claim "natural?"  Means NOTHING.  Seriously, you could package uranium, arsenic, and dog turds as "natural."  Because they are.  It doesn't mean they're "good," it doesn't mean they're "healthy," and it sure doesn't mean they're ORGANIC.

Maybe this diaper company is the best of the best, but their site reads like the worst kind of greenwash.  I try to be sensitive to that, because I DO want to do better, I DO want to be "greener," but corporations have people a lot smarter than me dreaming up the language for describing their products in ways meant to pull in folks like me and fool us into buying things perhaps not so green.

So be careful out there!

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Back to the subject of folks who read my blog and what brings them here?  I noticed that one of the search terms used more than once was "Actinic Keratosis vs Basal Cell Carcinoma."  While I've blogged about both things, I don't think I've ever blogged about the qualities of them, compared and/or contrasted.

So I'm going to do that.  Maybe it'll help someone.

First off, I never mistook my basal cell for anything but basal.  I felt pretty confident that's what it was when I first noticed it.  Yes, I waited a few months to see if it would go away, but pretty much knew in the back of my mind that's what it was.  Just like that stupid, tiny spot on my forehead over my left eye that doesn't seem to be going anywhere.  Yeah, I'll see someone about it soon.  

Anyway, the basal cell on my arm?  Nothing like an actinic keratosis.  In fact, Actinic Keratoses (correct pluralization there?) don't ever  progress to become basal cell carcinomas.  They do, however, sometimes progress to become squamous cell carcinomas, as the one on my nose did.  

The differences I experienced?  Well, actinic keratosis (and the eventual squamous cell carcinoma) had a crustiness to it.  It would crust up, feel raw if I scraped the crust off, and had a special sort of tingle/sting to it.  It would eventually heal over for a short time, only to come back again, but that odd, tingly feeling, the weird sting when touched, never went away, even when it was healed over.  

The basal cell, on the other hand, wasn't crusty.  It was flaky, looked much like the spot where a scab has come off to reveal healed skin beneath.  You know, slightly off-color, a little bit of flaky dead skin around the edges?  No sting, no tingle, no pain or ooze.  Just flaky.

Here, let me see if I can find some pictures:

Actinic Keratosis

A precancerous condition which can develop into:

Squamous Cell Carcinoma

Compared to:

Superficial Basal Cell Carcinoma

Understand, now, that some basals don't look like that.  Some look more like the typical round mole:  

Nodular Basal Cell Carcinoma

Some are pigmented:  

Pigmented Basal Cell Carcinoma

And some, very rare (fewer than one percent) become giant.  Terrifyingly, lethally so if not caught early.  And I'm not going to show any of those.

In a nutshell, if you had to pick the skin cancer you want?  Pick basal cell carcinoma--it's normally so uninvasive and easily dealt with that some dermatologists and researchers hesitate to call it a cancer.  It's almost never aggressive, it almost never spreads, and, once removed, it rarely comes back.  Squamous, on the other hand, while more easily treated and less often metastatic than, say, melanoma or Merkel Cell, can be more aggressive, is more likely to come back, and is more likely to metastasize than Basal.  So, if you find yourself faced with the choice, choose Basal.

Or, instead, choose to use sunscreen, limit sun exposure, wear a hat, and take care of your skin by staying out of the sun during the most damaging hours (between around 10 a.m. and 4 p/m.).  Seriously.  I've been sawed at twice now, had Actinic Keratoses "frozen" off my face three times (so far), and I'm pretty sure I have another one brewing, as I mentioned earlier.  Don't do that to yourself, and don't do it to your kids.  Slather them in sunblock and teach them about skin cancer.

Oh, and because I feel like I should?  I'm not a doctor.  I probably COULD be a doctor, but I'm not.  So if you see a mole changing, if you have a spot appear that doesn't heal, doesn't go away, or heals, then comes back, then heals again, then comes back (you get the point), go see a dermatologist.  Sooner rather than later.  This goes for lumps, bumps, and other inexplicable things popping up on your skin that are new and unexplained.  Do it.  Because skin cancers?  Are pretty curable when they're caught early and treated.  So catch them early.

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And that's that.  I think on Monday I'll arrange all the pictures of my latest cancer and post them.  I'm not happy with how the scar is looking, and I'm not happy with the hard, ouchie white thing that I pulled out of it last night--I'd say the remnant of a suture, but those were blackish-blue.  Hmmm.  

A Weedy Sort of Love

So, I was in the grocery store yesterday when I saw a sign.  A sign that made my blood boil.

Figuratively, of course.

The sign?  Well, here it is:

Why does this piss me off so much?

Oh, gosh, let me count the ways!

1) I've always had a problem with sending school kids out to hock greeting cards and chocolate bars to raise classroom funds.  This is like that, only a thousand times worse, because there are guns and mines and IEDs.


2) Our government is coughing up over 100 MILLION per jet for the awesomely flawed F-35s.  2,433 of them, in fact.  But they can't provide our soldiers with proper nutrition or personal care items?  Hey, here's an idea--don't buy 20 of those jets--that should be enough to feed, clothe, provide comfort, and even provide means of communication so these soldiers can speak to their families without charities having to step in.  I mean, come on--I can voice chat with my friend in Ireland for free--surely the US can make that available to the men and women it's forever putting in harm's way.

3) It's embarrassing.  I am ashamed that our country stomps around the world, using its military as a bludgeon with which to extract compliance from other nations, be it economic, ideological, or whatever, and then doesn't have the good grace to provide adequate care and support for the men and women serving in that military.  How humiliating is that?

I don't like war.  I don't like any of the wars our government has managed to BS us into over the past couple of decades.  It seems we've done a lot of making up reasons to justify the use of our military.  We scare me.  But if we're GOING to send young men and women into war zones, we need to provide for them.  If we can't afford to do so, we should probably not send them in.  Seriously, if we can't take proper care of our soldiers, we should keep them home.

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Took Charlie to Petsmart day before yesterday to get his nails done.  He'd become near-lethal, it was time.  He was better with seeing other dogs than he usually is.  Still not good, but instead of tugging and growling, he gave one low "woof," then turned and went with us without putting up a fight.  That's progress.

Anyway, while there, we toy shopped.  We always do, it's his reward for being good with the groomers--he gets a new toy, gets to leave on a high point so he remembers Petsmart as a fun place to be.  We got him a new Kong Wobbler (a toy that lasted over a year with his power-chewing ways!), but wanted something else.  Something special.

What we came up with?  Plubber.

It feels and looks like a solid toy, it does, and it's made by the same company that makes the wonderful Kong toys.  The "rubber" feels solid and dog-resistant, and the word "Durables" is emblazoned on the packaging, which really does communicate something to owners of chewers.  We look for phrases like that to let us know that this toy is better able to withstand chewing than the average fare.

Except this one isn't.  Charlie was through it in FIVE minutes.  FIVE!  We've had two dollar bargain bin plush toys last longer than that!  He chewed right through the "rubber" and had that squeaker moidelized in five minutes.

You notice I keep putting the word "rubber" in quotation marks?  That's because it's not really rubber, not like Kong Xtreme or your tires.  It's more like the dense foam rubber you might find in a bike seat or exercise equipment cushions.  Here--here's a shot of the carnage:

That's not thick, durable, strong rubber--that's a thinnish layer of bike seat.  No wonder the dog tore through it in minutes.  Good return policy, though--basically, if you're not satisfied for any reason, take the toy and the receipt back for a full refund.  We did, no problems.  If your dog isn't a strong chewer, these are probably great toys--they float, they squeak, they're cute.  But if your dog is a chewer, skip it.  It's very sad, having to take a new toy away after only a few minutes.

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I've got to figure out what to do about my Mom.  She does this--this slow, dependent creep where she calls more and more often, leaves increasingly strident messages, calls at ever more inappropriate times until finally we tangle.  It's odd--it didn't happen when I was living in Clearfield, it didn't happen when I was living in SoCal, but when I moved five miles down the road, it started.  Now, it used to be hellish when we were LIVING WITH HER.  She'd call home from work five, six, sometimes ten times a day, just to "say  hi."  And she'd leave the most gawdawful terse messages. "CALL ME!"  We'd fight about it, the frequency would die back for a short time, and then she'd ramp up again.

The "CALL ME!" has stopped--as soon as we moved out, she got a lot more polite, mostly because we weren't a captive audience anymore, I'm sure.  It finally sank in that rude messages don't get return calls.  Ever.  Not from me.  But since we've been back east, the calls have gotten sad, desperate, almost plaintive.  And increasingly frequent.  I speak to her three or four times a week.  My boy speaks to her at least three times a week.  That's seven or more calls a week she's getting from us, and yet, last night, I had to clear 26 messages off my voicemail.  26 messages from her left over the course of ten days.  

Goodness.

She's taken to calling at nine or ten at night, our time.  I don't answer, because I can't encourage her--if I answer, she'll do it even more.  

But what can I do?  When we talk, she really has nothing to say--she's calling (or I'm calling her) so she can listen to me talk, until she gets bored with it and I realize I'm just talking and she's not really paying any attention.  She wants my voice.  So a half-hour "conversation" is actually just a half-hour of ME talking, with her contributing very little.  When I'm out of things to say, I ask her how things are going, what's she been up to?  The answer is always the same.  "Oh, okay, I guess. Your sister took me to the store.  Nothing else really.  It rained."

My Mom will be 80 this year.  I've been on her since 1989 to get a life.  She's needed to do that since even before then.  Since she and my Dad divorced in 1976.  She latched onto my friends, onto my sister's friends, and she never seemed able to maintain her own relationships.  Any work-borne friendships she had ended badly because she . . . she has very strong ideas about what people should do and how they should act to keep her happy, and when they fail, well, she becomes rather unpleasant.  Condemning.

Or she did.  I don't know how she'd handle a friendship now--she hasn't had one in almost 30 years. 

For years, I tried so hard to get her into any activity that might bring her some joy and some socialization.  Library groups (she used to love reading mysteries), puzzle/game groups, crafting/painting groups (she loves watching painting shows on PBS), exercise groups, walking groups, even dining groups (she blows most of her cash on dining out).  But she refused.  Sometimes she'd agree IF MY SISTER OR I WOULD ALSO TAKE PART.   Which utterly defeats the purpose, though, to my sister's credit, she did go to the Silver Sneakers thing at the local gym in hopes our mother would meet friends there.  But she didn't--she made no effort, and, in fact, actively rebuffed friendly advances.  

Fact is, my Mom stopped having her own life 37 years ago, and she's just floated along, unhappy, lonely, and increasingly scared since.  The entirety of her social interaction these past decades has focused on her daughters, and her daughters' families.  There has been no one else.  Even her latching onto my friends ended around 1990 or so--she became increasingly rude to my friends, to the point that, if friends came over, we'd retreat to the back yard because, otherwise, she'd make constant noises of impatience and escalate the rudeness until it was intolerable.  I remember once she leaned out the bathroom window and shouted toward us and our two visiting friends, "Are stupid and stupider still here?"

That's right.  We lived with her for years, and we couldn't EVER have guests over because she would treat them so poorly, she was so unwilling to share us in any way with anyone else.

Now, I don't want you to get the idea that she's always mean.  No.  No, she loves to give to her children, to her grandchildren.  She loves to be seen as generous.  I think that she loves us all desperately, but, like our Cairn who thinks that growling and lunging is an appropriate greeting, she just never did figure out how to interact with others.  There's something hurt in her, something broken, and she never was able to love without conditions, to love in a healthy way.  

And now she's almost 80.  And I don't know what to do for her.  I talk to her multiple times a week, I try to keep her apprised of every dippy detail of our lives because she wants to know, but I run out of things to say.  She offers up no fodder for conversation, she just hangs on that phone and expects me to talk until . . . forever.  Even though she's lost in her computer games half the time and not really listening to me.  Which is how it's been for 20 years, really.

How sad is that?

I love my mom.  To borrow from Stephen King, it's a weedy sort of love, a lot of hard, bad things have gone down between us; she was never built for parenthood.  But I love her still.  Maybe even more because she's so deeply flawed.  My heart breaks for her every time I allow myself to really think about it.  I can't fix her.  I can't make her happy.  I know she's so sad that I'm out here, but even when I was right there, I wasn't enough.  I was never enough to help her, save her, whatever.  I was never the one she wanted, I was the fallback (except in emergencies--when things went bad, when health crises struck or car accidents occurred, THEN I was the go-to girl).  I was never enough, and I don't think I ever could have been.  There's a well of sadness in her, of rage, of impatience and, most of all, dissatisfaction with everything, including herself.  It's like her whole life has been one disappointment and crushing defeat after another.  Like she never quite dared to really go for the things she wanted because  life taught her early on that the smack-down was waiting in the wings.

Almost half her life alone.  I wish I could fix it for her, I do.  But living with her was, to use a tired term, TOXIC.  It was destroying my marriage, it was destroying my son.  My sister, in that special way she has, told me that, if I moved away, our mother would die.  Flat out, if I left, I'd kill her.

I'd like to say that I stopped letting my sister get to me in that sort of way a long time ago, but it'd be a lie.  I've gotten better at it, and I always understand it on an intellectual level, but there's that visceral hit that I can't seem to completely dodge.  All I can do is maintain a calm facade and do my crying alone.

I do love you, Ma.  I'm sorry that so many things just didn't come through for you.  I'm sorry YOU didn't come through for you.  My heart really is broken.

That's my Mom, the little one down front.

Angelina Jolie and the BRCA Battle

Saw the news this morning about Angelina Jolie.  Double mastectomy as a prophylactic against probable breast cancer.  BRCA testing found her at major risk for developing both breast and ovarian cancer.

Thank goodness she can afford this--both the testing and the surgeries.  Thanks to runaway greed and a political party bent on undoing any sort of Universal Health, most American women can't.

I don't know a lot about Angelina Jolie.  What I do know is filtered through sensationalizing media, so who knows who she really is, what she's really like?  Regardless of who she might be in the privacy of her own home, I believe she will take this head on and come out the winner.  Because she just strikes me as that kind.

My hope?  That Ms. Jolie will use her prodigious resources to go after the mega-corporations that hold patents (PATENTS!) on the human genes known to be involved in the development of cancers.

That's right.  There are corporations that hold patents on human genes.  Which is, as far as I'm concerned, utter crap.  In fact, it interferes with people's receiving appropriate testing and treatment for potentially deadly diseases, and, as such, should be illegal.

Yeah, the words "crime against humanity" come to mind.

 In a nutshell, here's the problem (aside from the fact that patenting human genes is like patenting coal or clouds--you didn't MAKE those things, you didn't CREATE them):  by patenting these genes, these corporations have made it impossible for other companies to develop and implement tests.  Which eliminates a patient's ability to seek a second opinion or alternate testing, AND enables the corporations to keep the price of testing prohibitively high (which they have--thousands of dollars a pop for a test that costs them only a couple hundred).  This makes testing for things like the BRCA gene completely unworkable for many women--women who are uninsured, women who are underinsured, women whose insurance won't cover the test because they don't meet their insurer's criterion for testing.  Plus, there are other tests that can catch cases missed by the BRCA gene test, but those can't be used  because--can you guess--they violate the patent.

This whole mess is before the Supreme Court, being hammered out by a body I don't trust to be as impartial and as intelligent as I always believed the SCOTUS should be.  Here, take a glance at this Amicus Curiae (Friend of the Court) brief filed in support of the petitioners (the folks looking to do away with human genetic patents).

And then take a look at this article I first came across last month.

So much for "do no harm."  So much for science being some pure and wonderful thing meant to better our lives.  No, it's about turning the maximum buck, probably for stockholders.

I wish all the best to Angelina Jolie.  Like I said, she's never been favorite, but I don't doubt her strength, and I hope she uses it to target these corporations that deny women the full range of life-saving testing.  If anyone can do it, I think she can.

In case you're wondering, yeah, this is all a little personal for me.  I think it is for all women, really, but I did have an Aunt who developed breast cancer.  I was told that the cancer was due to her life-long alcoholism, and yes, breast cancer and alcohol consumption are hugely related, but there's always been that fear, that little voice in the back of my head wondering if that's all it was.  No way for me to know, though--my insurance won't cover BRCA testing just because my Aunt had breast cancer.  No, she has to have had bi-lateral breast cancer or breast cancer AND ovarian cancer.

So this is personal.  If I could, I'd be tested, so that answer could help my sister, her daughter, and any children my son has.

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We planted the tomatoes, cukes, peppers, and flowers this past weekend.  It was 80 degrees.  Last night, the temps dropped below freezing.  Unbelievable.  It doesn't appear to have hurt them, but we'll see.  Perhaps it froze the cicadas, huh?

Probably not.

Supposedly, they've seen a few of our brood cicadas in county, but we've seen none yet.  They're not dangerous, not particularly harmful, but if they turn out in the billions like they're promising, I think they'll be just a little bit horrifying.  

The Atlantic Cities has a good story, if you like seeing big, loud bugs:17-Year Brood II Cicadas Emergence Update: They're Nearly Heeeere!

And that's it, I guess.  I think what's above is ugly enough for today.

Cat Crap Fever

So, my boy got me flowers for Mother's Day.  Of the plantable variety (impatiens, petunias, and carnations), because I don't really like cut flowers much.  We didn't go for the set-up I'd wanted--just too expensive, and what if it didn't work?  This isn't a good year for investing in things that are just going to fall apart or die.  And that's okay--I'm a flower freak, I am.  I'm so happy to get my hands in the dirt and make things bloom.  He gave me daylilies a few years ago--just bulbs.  I planted them, and they've moved with me twice now.  Yes, I have daylilies in containers.  Why not?

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So, the other day, my boy was hanging out on some website--Failblog, maybe?  And he came across a business sign.  He laughed and said, "Major fail!"  I looked, and said, "I dunno, hon--it's not really a universal term, no doubt far more people DON'T know it than do."  

The business name?  "FAP."

He disagreed strenuously, insisted that EVERYONE knows that one.  I told him I thought he was seriously misjudging the demographics of this country.  And then I had an idea--I'd ask!

Obviously, I can't stroll through the mall or Wegmans with a clipboard, asking folks if they know the meaning of this term.  That might get me thrown out (or arrested, depending on how many DO know).  So I did the next best thing.  I hit my Facebook account and asked THERE.  Sure, it's a seriously constrained sample--one biased in HIS favor, because folks on Facebook are, by definition, on the internet.  Plus, to toot my own horn just a little, I have many culturally savvy friends.  And so I asked the following question:

Hey, folks!  A little experiment: answering ONLY "yes" or "no," tell me if you are familiar with (and know the meaning of) the term "fap."  Please, no hints, winks, or sly little references--JUST "yes" or "no." 

Of course, there were a few who just couldn't resist making cute allusions to the meaning, but I was on them and deleting within seconds.  

The outcome?  Better than 75% of respondents were not familiar with the term.  Including a couple younger, "gamer" types.  I believe that, in the general population, the number of "in the dark" folks would be even higher.  My boy was disappointed, but also seemed interested and impressed by the whole process.  I think it was a good lesson in demographics and the differences in experience and knowledge between groups.

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Speaking (still) of my boy, I nearly broke myself the other day, letting my mind wander too far.  He was looking at me as we spoke, and, for just a moment, I saw that sweet-faced, wide-eyed, few-toothed, excited boy he was 12 years or so ago.  And wow, it was . . . hard.  I choked up, my eyes filled.  He will never, ever again run at me, arms outstretched and only barely keeping from tumbling ass over teakettle, that smile so big.  I wish I'd held onto that somehow for just a little while longer.  How did that go?  How was there always time to do tomorrow, tomorrow, and suddenly there's no time left?

How does this:

Become this:  

In only a few minutes?  Because that's all it was.  Just a few minutes, just a blink.  My poor heart.

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I was going to blog about civet coffee--you know, the coffee made from coffee beans eaten by (and shat out by) civet cats?  Originally a rich-folk "oh, the ennui!" treat (?) for folks too cool, too bored, and too intent on impressing others and being interesting to notice they were drinking roasted cat turd coffee, it became POPULAR with that gawdawful "Bucket List" movie.  This created an incredible demand for cat-turd coffee, which, in turn, led suppliers to stop foraging for it and, instead,  start cramming civet cats into small cages, force-feeding them coffee beans in order to meet the demand.

Think about that for a moment, please.  How utterly grotesque is that?  And how awful and spoiled are we that our society gives rise to that sort of trendyism?  Ew.

Oh, look.  I blogged about it anyway.

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Nothing ugly today.  Instead, there's this.  It might be a little preachy, but it works for me.  I've always, since early teens, at least, been the smiler, the greeter, the person who, in the middle of a long, irritating wait at the DMV or the grocery store, smiles, commiserates, chooses to be kind.  I do, that's me.  It's always been me.  And it is a choice, absolutely.  And yeah, there are rare occasions when I choose NOT to engage, I choose to be irritated, but I am always aware that it is a choice.  No, I'm not bragging, I'm just . . . ruminating.  Because I've never had it laid out like this before, never really considered how I am and how I interact.  I am, above all else,  painfully empathetic, so when others are maybe angry at the woman behind the desk at the DMV, I'm imagining spending 8 hours behind that desk dealing with angry people, only to come back the next morning to do it again.  And again.  

How About a Heaping Helping of Church with that State?

So, I came across a blurb concerning my old university.  Apparently, they've decided to name the new "Center for Family and Community Education" program after Mr. Boyd K. Packer and his wife, Donna.

I can't begin to tell you how horrified I am.  As a graduate of Weber STATE University, I am sickened that my alma mater would grant this honor to the second-most senior "apostle" in the Mormon Church.

What the HECK?

If you've read through my past entries, you know that I skipped my commencement ceremony because the speaker (offering up the prayers) was the then-President/Prophet of the Mormon Church, and the musical offerings were being performed by the Mormon Tabernacle Choir.  No, no issues with church and state in Utah--church IS state.  It's pretty simple.  With that as the background, I shouldn't be surprised by this, but I am.

So Boyd K. Packer and his wife attended Weber State together?  That's sweet--let them donate some money to put up a plaque or erect a bench.  But a FAMILY and EDUCATION center?  From and for the man who gave us such colorful quotes as:

"We've always counseled in the Church for our Mexican members to marry Mexicans, our Japanese members to marry Japanese, our Caucasians to marry Caucasians, our Polynesian members to marry Polynesians. The counsel has been wise." -- speaking at BYU in 1977

"The dangers I speak of come from the gay-lesbian movement, the feminist movement (both of which are relatively new), and the ever-present challenge from the so-called scholars or intellectuals." -- detailing the "greatest threats to the church," when speaking to the All-Church Coordinating Council in 1993

"Some suppose that they were pre-set and cannot overcome what they feel are inborn tendencies toward the impure and unnatural.  Not so.  Why would our Heavenly Father do that to anyone?  Remember, he is our Father."--speaking about homosexuals at the LDS General Conference, October, 2010.

"The study of the doctrines of the gospel will improve behavior quicker than a study of behavior will improve behavior. Preoccupation with unworthy behavior can lead to unworthy behavior. That is why we stress so forcefully the study of the doctrines of the gospel."--speaking at the LDS General Conference, October, 1986

"That young man with gender disorientation needs to know that gender was not assigned at mortal birth, that we were sons and daughters of God in the premortal state. The woman pleading for help needs to see the eternal nature of things and to know that her trials -- however hard to bear -- in the eternal scheme of things may be compared to a very, very bad experience in the second semester of the first grade. She will find no enduring peace in the feminist movement. There she will have no hope. If she knows the plan of redemption, she can be filled with hope. The one who supposes that he "understands the mind-set of both groups" needs to understand that the doctrines of the gospel are revealed through the Spirit to prophets, not through the intellect to scholars."--speaking to the All-Church Coordinating Council in 1993

And, perhaps most horrifying when considered in an academic setting:

"Those of us who are extensively engaged in researching the wisdom of man, including those who write and those who teach Church history, are not immune from these dangers. I have walked that road of scholarly research and study and know something of the dangers. If anything, we are more vulnerable than those in some of the other disciplines. Church history can be so interesting and so inspiring as to be a very powerful tool indeed for building faith. If not properly written or properly taught, it may be a faith destroyer. "--speaking at the 5th Annual Church Educational System Religious Educators' Symposium, 1981

Okay, so let's be realistic here.  This guy doesn't support equal rights--not for women, not for homosexuals, not for minorities (look up ol' Boyd and his thoughts on "Lamanites" and "Indians" sometime).  He supports church doctrine over research and believes study of the gospel better solves behavioral problems than does the study of those behavioral problems (remember, this is State University center for EDUCATION, and includes the Children's School, where education students observe and learn).  In fact, it includes all the following (from the press release):

Literacy Project: Prepares children from less privileged backgrounds for success in school and life. This project promotes literacy and positive parenting practices for more than 100 low-income families each year by working with families individually on a monthly basis throughout the year. The program follows the philosophy that parents are a child’s first teacher.

Teachers Assistant Pathway to Teaching (TAPT): Assists volunteers and teacher assistants in public schools who have the desire and commitment to become fully licensed teachers. TAPT targets those working specifically with English as a Second Language (ESL), early childhood, and special education students. The program was created at the request of the superintendents from six school districts who wanted talented individuals in their schools to further their education in order to work more effectively with special populations such as English language learners.

Families Alive Conference: Champions the successes of everyday families by providing creative ways to enhance lives of individuals, gain skills in communication, problem solving, teaching and advocacy, and experience techniques to strengthen relationships.

Teachers of Tomorrow: Helps provide a bridge to college for high school students who are interested in the teaching profession. Students participate in concurrent enrollment courses as well as the Future Educators Association (FEA).

WSU Charter Academy: New this fall, the charter academy will focus on educating the whole child using developmentally appropriate and research-supported curricula and instructional methods. The charter academy will offer a morning and afternoon session of kindergarten with 22 children in each. The center will allow WSU students to observe and practice cutting-edge, research-based educational techniques.

Storytelling Festival: Attracts national, regional and student storytellers who enthrall more than 10,000 people each year with tales that engage listeners while promoting literacy, culture and the arts.

Melba S. Lehner Children’s School: Provides a quality early childhood setting for training WSU students to understand the development of young children and developmentally appropriate practices for working with them.

Child Care Resource and Referral: Assists families to find quality care, while helping caregivers provide the most nurturing environment possible for children. 

I have to say it--nothing about this man's political/moral stance endears (though he's certainly entitled to embrace it, regardless of my feelings).  Nothing about this man's proclamations make me feel he should, in any way, be involved with the education of children or the training of educators at a publicly funded state college.

What's equally troubling is that none of my friends who work/teach on campus were aware of this. More than one friend has children attending the Children's School, and none were aware this was in the works.  My sister is a student at Weber State, and she'd heard nothing about this.  It was all wrapped up and made so with no fanfare.  Whether or not that was by design, I cannot say.

I believe there is a place for Mr. Packer and his wife and their ideas about education.  That place would be BYU.

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Just one more thing--today's not going to be too involved.  I'm alone while hubby has our boy in DC for a "bring your kid to work" day.  No, that's not the one more thing, that's the "so I have tons of time to get things done" explanation for why I'm only going to write about one more thing.

THIS thing:

Grrr.  You know?  I'm sure I'm not the only person who's been stuck with a friend or family member (or both) who spouts this stupid crap every time they're asking yet another outrageous, completely unreasonable favor.  "I'd do it for you!"

Yeah, you know, you probably think you would.  But you know what else?  I WOULD NEVER ASK THAT OF YOU.  I keep my requests reasonable and fair and I would never, ever ask something that major of you, and I certainly wouldn't make a HABIT of making such astounding requests.  Whether or not "you'd do it for me" isn't the point.  The point is, are you a scumbag for asking?

And that's all.  Here, have some bad paneling:

I Never Had Your Class Ring, David.

Back in high school, I dated a boy named David.  Very tall, very handsome, very broken.  David was something of an orphan--he lived on his own (whether or not he was an officially "Emancipated Minor," I don't know).

Our relationship didn't go so well--two teenagers, one unwilling to have sex (that'd be me), both indulging in drugs and alcohol at wild parties at the orphan's horrid little dive of a home in a crappy part of town?  No surprise things didn't go well.  When Christmas came along, and David gave me the saddest, smallest of little "can barely see the chip" diamond rings?  I panicked.  Within a month, I'd broken up with him--not because of the ring, but because he came home one night, bloodied, laughing about how he and a friend had gone "queer bashing."

That was the end of that.

I stumbled across David years later, on Facebook, of course.  He'd cleaned up (like me), gotten fat (like me), and had found ol' Joseph Smith in a BIG way (totally unlike me).  Married, lovely wife, beautiful kids.  It was nice to see that he hadn't sunk and ceased like I'd expected.

When David "friended" me, I thought it a bit odd--we hadn't really parted on great terms.  But then, it had been 28 years, so hey, you know?  It wasn't long, though, before it became clear why he'd wanted the contact.  You see, he sent me a message, asking if I still had his class ring and senior year book.

Problem is, I never had those things.  In fact, we broke up four months before the yearbooks were even issued.  Who knows how long before he got his class ring?  I don't recall him ever having a class ring.  Sadly, that didn't occur to me at that moment.  All that occurred (and all I said) was, "I'm sorry, David--I never had them."  And his response?  Polite, but clearly skeptical.  And then he dropped me from his friends list.

Well, if you're reading this, David, I never had your class ring, and I never had your yearbook.  We broke up in January.  Yearbooks came out last week of May/first week of June.  The ring you gave me was a sad, small little diamond chip in 14 karat, and I still have it.  No slight intended, but you were powerfully wasted back then most of the time.  It's not surprising that you've lost track of who and when.  I hope you figure it out and get your stuff back.

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So, remember the awful rat child across the street?  The scary, violent, stupid one who, along with his friends, kills small animals and terrorizes the kids in the neighborhood?  He beat the living daylights out of another kid two days ago--punched and strangled him.  We didn't see it happen, but we saw the aftermath--a little girl crying, a vehicle with two women in it racing up and coming to a halt in front of the rat and the crying girl, then rat-child leaping on his bike and flying off toward home.  When he saw his Dad was home, he raced off around the side of the row--we saw him skulking off across the grass with his bike, hiding.  

Don't know why he bothered.  Bobby (his dad) is an utterly ineffectual, passive-aggressive git who chews his kids out when there's an audience, and then let's it all slide once the show is over.   Rat-boy still had friends sleep over that night, and the next day he was out and about on his bike like nothing had happened.  One of those reaffirming, vindicating things for us (though we feel bad for the boy he hurt--that kid's social life in this neighborhood is over).  Really reinforces why we barred that feral little rat-freak from our home.

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It's spring-time--that wonderful time when all the idiotic "how to remove a tick" memes start making the Facebook rounds.  Let's just clear it all up now, okay?

Matches, other hot objects, Vaseline, baby oil, Ben-Gay, turpentine, dish soap, nail polish, or whatever other wives-tale-y thing you've been told?

Lies.

Sorry, but that's the truth of it.  See, the problem with anything meant to "irritate" or "suffocate" a tick out of you?  It can also inspire the tick to regurgitate into you.  And that, my friends, is how they make you sick.  That is how they transmit Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever, Anaplasmosis, Babesiosis, Lyme Disease, Ehrlichiosis, Rickettsiosis (that's the Gulf Coast Tick), STARI, Tickborne Relapsing Fever, Tularemia, and the brand spanking new 364D Rickettsia, which has started popping up in California, transmitted by the Pacific Coast Tick.  

There is ONE appropriate way to safely remove a tick that has embedded in your body (or your pet's, or your kid's).  Get a pair of fine tipped tweezers, grasp the tick firmly right behind the head where it's attached (get as close to the skin as possible so you're not squeezing the abdomen), and pull firmly (but not jerkily) straight away from the body.  Firm, even pull, don't twist.  It'll take some force, but I've had to do it repeatedly now.  After your remove the offending beast, drop it in a ziplock bag with a scrap of damp cotton, and mark the bag with the date and place you think you picked the guy up.  Put it in the fridge.  Wash your hands and the site of the bite (and your tweezers, which should be tick-dedicated).  Watch for rash.  If you show symptoms (rash, fever, chills, aches and pains, ulceration, or paralysis), get to your doctor with your preserved tick.

Here, check it out:  

Also, from the CDC.

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Oh, something funny I realized the other day.  Remember how I said I have a hard time getting to the word "Hammock?"  How, since my accident, I have to come at it sideways?  It hit me the other day, as I struggled to come up with the word "hamper" (another word that thwarts me most times), that I have a lot of trouble with a number of words that start with "ham."

Of course, I can't come up with "linen closet" most times, either, and I call the vacuum the lawn mower and vice-versa, so maybe it means nothing.

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And that's that.  Having tuna tonight--first meat in almost a week.  No, I don't feel miraculously better (in fact, I haven't, to be completely indelicate, had a "movement" in almost four days, and yes, my fiber intake is out of this world), but I do find I can eat a LOT more because non-meat items aren't nearly so calorie dense.  Last night's Catalan (sans chicken for me) was spectacularly good, and I had all sorts of spare calories for being bad.  It rocked.

Here, have something ugly: