Book of the Night Club

Thor Kitten

Fostering animals is really rewarding, and sometimes can be very sad. Yesterday was one of the sad days.

About eight weeks ago we trapped and tamed five feral kittens. Four are healthy and happy, but one started out that way and suddenly began to go downhill. While he ate like a horse, he didn't gain weight and in fact began losing. We took him to the vet; they did tests and offered medications, but nobody knew what was wrong with him. This past week he caught a URI, and began getting rapidly worse. More tests, more medications, no answers.

Yesterday we put the kitten down. The vet had no idea what was wrong with him, but his white cell count was 45,000 (a "normal" high count in a cat is 15,000) and he'd lost weight even in the two days since he'd last been seen. She felt he had some kind of massive internal infection, which would be expensive to continue to combat. Even then, she said, his prognosis was highly guarded at best.

One of the sucky things about my world is that I don't have infinite financial resources. If we had, we may have spent them on him. But we don't, and the organization we work with doesn't, either. And sometimes you have to choose to save the ones you can.

We had a bottle-fed kitten die from failure to thrive last fall, but the mortality rate of bottle babies is pretty much expected. This kitten seemed as healthy as his siblings, and then suddenly he wasn't.

I feel very guilty about doing what I did. I cried a lot, and the vet hugged me and told me that I was really doing the right thing. Even with round-the-clock care he may still have died, but it just would have taken longer and he would have suffered even more than he already had. So I guess ending his suffering was the right things to do. I wish I could believe it.

When I pulled into the driveway, the kitten's mother was sitting in the vacant lot next door, staring at me. When we'd trapped the kittens I promised her that they would have a good life, and that we'd take good care of them. And I feel like I let her down.

So I sat in the car and cried for a long time. I cried for little Thor, who would never get to grow up and live in his own home with his own family. I cried for his twin brother, Loki, who looked for Thor when he came home from adoption. I cried for his mother, Endora, whose owner didn't care enough about her to get her fixed and carelessly abandoned her to fend for herself outside, where she became feral and terrified of people.

As I watched his siblings running around the house last night, I kept wishing that Thor was there playing with them. And tried to be glad that he wasn't sick and weak anymore.

Thank you, TiVo

Dear TiVo,

Thanks so much for deciding that the Travel Channel's special on
Outrageous Lawn Ornaments might be something I'd enjoy. Indeed it was.

I relish the absurd, and appreciate the opportunity to view the fiberglass creations of Mel Schettl and other like-minded individuals. More information on the proud history of the pink lawn flamingo is also always invaluable.

Please keep this type of selection in mind the next time you have to choose between something along the same lines and, say, a Cantonese Soap Opera.

Yours,

kath

When I was growing up, I used to read a lot about the IRA and wonder if there would ever be an end to it.

Well, it looks like maybe it won't drag on any longer. Proof of the pudding is, as yet, still to be had, since the announcement was only made this morning. And granted, with an organization that depends heavily on volunteer soldiers and volunteer action and autonomy, there may yet prove to be splinter groups who decide that IRA statements be damned, and Gerry Adams'/Sinn Fein's statement be damned, they're going to go out fighting.

But it's still one of the nicer surprises I've found in the news recently, just the same.

Not So big on the memes

But this one is strangely accurate...

How You Life Your Life

You seem to be straight forward, but you keep a lot inside. You are always tactful and diplomatic. You let people down gently. You tend to have one best friend you hang with, as opposed to many aquaintences. You tend to always dream of things within reach - and you usually get them.

Although they are wrong about one thing; I dream of things beyond my reach.

Weekend Update

This shooting bothers me not only because it occurred at all, but because it’s just such an American thing to do. And then to find out that the poor man had nothing to do with anything…it just made me sad. Basically I don’t want the UK Police to become more like their American counterparts, and it seems like this may be a step in the wrong direction.

Attended Books by the Bay in the miserable, withering heat. We didn’t even sell that much! But I did get to see people I don’t see enough of, like Calvin and Paula. So that was good. And at the end of it all was Indian food, which always makes me smile.

In family-related news, brother-in-law David has successfully defended his dissertation and will formally be PhD’d in October. We hope to be able to join him for the celebration. We will, however, be missing the Folk Festival this year, which is disappointing. It would no doubt have been much more fun than the standard Cambridge graduation ceremony.

Tres lazy this weekend. Too hot to do much, temps over 100 degrees. And there was humidity, which is not something I signed up for. I’ve had humidity, thanks, that’s why I moved to California! The husband and I read a lot cuddled up by the window air conditioner, while Fes and the cats lounged on the bed.

It was Twenty Years Ago Today…

So apparently tonight marks the beginning of my 20-year high school reunion. It is a weekend-long extravaganza featuring golf (which I don’t do), a tour of the school (which one can experience at any time), and culminating in a picnic on Sunday at the elementary school across the street from my mother’s house (which, again, is readily available to me whenever I’m in town). I know this only because my mother reminded me earlier today in an e-mail; otherwise, the whole thing would have passed me by. I told Mom to keep the doors bolted, but I don’t think she really got it.

Like most people, high school is something I regard with overall ambivalence. It was emotionally a very painful time for me for a number of reasons, which may explain why I remember so very little about it now. Most of the things had nothing to do with high school, but since education was my primary activity growing up, it loomed pretty large. I was the typical depressed (seriously, as it turned out) kid who felt misunderstood and wished to be elsewhere. The nice thing was that once I was elsewhere, things were markedly better. This may have had a lot to do with also leaving my family behind when I left Omaha, but one can’t be completely sure.

A few months ago I did begin to get Spam from someone at my high school, inviting me to the reunion. I tried to think of how they could possibly had my personal information, but then I remembered that my stepmother had posted all of our family’s information on the alumni web site some time ago without our permission. High school was obviously very important to her, and still is; she attended the same high school I did, and so did her children. She still talks about current football games and homecoming as though they were still happening for her, which I find quite sad. I remember one year when she e-mailed us, all excited because she and my father were going to support the school by buying bricks in our names. These bricks were apparently a fund-raising scheme wherein our names would be forever engraved on a brick and joined with the main school building. Despite my pleas against it, including a list of charities I felt more worthy, it is my understanding that I have a brick at the high school bearing my name. It’s things like this that make me think perhaps I should have taken my husband’s name when I married…

For those of you who think the reunion idea is “cute” and/or “fun”, please try explaining it to someone to whom this custom is alien. My husband is from the U.K., and no matter how many ways I’ve tried to explain it to him, the concept of such a thing just eludes him. And frankly, I’ve given up trying to explain why anyone would go to Nebraska in the middle of July to attend an event chock full of people I largely don’t remember because I really don’t know myself. I guess that’s because for him high school was about studying to get into a good Uni, with no homecoming dances or pep rallies in sight. Which is not necessarily a bad thing.

Surprisingly, I do encounter a lot of people from my high school in daily life (which, considering I live about 2,000 miles away from where I was raised, is pretty odd). Most of them relate to work in some way, many of them employed by the company I used to work for in Omaha before I moved out here. Since my last name is so unusual I’m usually asked if I’m related to so and so, which is how it begins. And I either remember them or don’t, except for the times that I remember them but act as though I don’t because it’s obviously so important to them that they be remembered. Which is mean, but sometimes that’s just me.

Two in particular I see frequently at the bookstore. One I remember and one I don’t. The one I know was one of those seemingly perfect people you idolized in school, beautiful and aloof and incredibly talented. She belongs to a writer’s group that has been meeting at the store for years, longer than even I’ve been there. At first she looked familiar, but thought it would be odd to just ask her if she was who I thought she was (because I hate that when people do it to me). But once she paid for something with a check, and a quick look at her name assured me that I was right.

One day as the group was gathering, one of the member’s dogs broke away and came over to play with me (we have dog treats and all of the dogs who visit the store love us). It wasn’t her dog but she began calling him, and as the dog ran around all excited with cookies and attention he became confused and couldn’t find her. So I came over and tried to help him, joking asking him where she was and calling her by name. As the dog raced up to her she asked how I knew her name, as though a lowly retail employee had no right to address her personally. I explained that I attended high school with her (she was a senior when I was a sophomore), and you could see the blood drain from her face. I guess even the popular and adored have issues with the past, because she quickly hurried away and I didn’t see her again until the end of the night. At that time she approached me slowly and asked if I remembered a particular English teacher at the school, one she’d particularly enjoyed. She’d returned to Omaha some years later and went to the school to visit him, but he wasn’t there. Had I had him as a teacher, and did I know where he was? I told her sadly that he had died some years ago, and she looked stricken again. We talked about what a great teacher he was, how exacting, how he prepared us for academic life better than anyone we’d ever known. “Lay your foundations well”, we quoted him simultaneously, then giggled. She asked my name, apologetic that she didn’t know it, and I provided it to her while making it clear that I didn’t expect her to know me, and that I only remembered her because her first name was so unusual. I still see her, but we never talk about Omaha or school or anything else. She is a bit more cordial to me now.

The other woman I can’t place at all, but she seems to know me. At least, she knows my name. She likes to come in and be all chummy, asking about if I’ve been back to Omaha and talking about how much she hated high school, I guess assuming that I felt the same way (which I did, but not in such a way that I need to dwell on it). She won’t be attending the reunion, either, despite having been “tracked down” by the e-mail Spammers. From what I can gather she was a cheerleader, which meant I most likely didn’t know her well, but she knew things about me (classes I took, for example), so I knew she must have been there. It seems natural for her to assume that I remember her, and since she seems so wrapped up in the past I feel sad for her and oblige. But I don’t know her name; it’s never even been important enough for me know that I’d look at her credit card or review the name on her check as she pays. At this point I think it would be rude to ask. I’m always cordial to her, but the only conversation she seems to think to have with me is how much she hated high school. Surely that can’t be all she’s about, can it? I try and talk to her about books or local issues, but she keeps steering me back to Omaha. I’m baffled that she wants to talk to someone who reminds her of such an obviously painful time, but I gather from the way she goes on that it makes her feel better, like she has someone to relate to even though she knows nothing else about me (and has expressed no desire to). I keep thinking that maybe she needs a journal to write down her obviously unresolved issues, but have not yet been evil enough to suggest it. Yet.

So I won’t be attending my high school reunion in the unforgiving heat and humidity of the Midwest. If someone from that long ago wants to get in touch with me, they can just drop me an e-mail. And if they don’t, that’s okay, too.

So very, deeply wrong

This breaks my heart.

It isn't the dogs, it's the owners. Ban breeding and crack down on backyard breeders, not every (&%(*&)$(*& dog! Make spaying and neutering mandatory for the breed, but don't take them away from their families.

About 99% of pit bulls are not the problem, and this won't solve it.

Some people think Fes is a pit bull puppy, although I am not sure why. If someone tried to separate us, I'd have to move. Seriously. You can't have my dog, freaks!

Harry Potter 6.0

Overall, pretty good. Much better than 5, which can't have been difficult. Reasonably easy to dance to.

I read it, as is my tradition, after I got home from the Harry Potter party at the bookstore. Got home about 1:30, read until 5:00, then slept until about 8:30 and finished the last 150 pages. The husband read it on Saturday, and I think he was pleased. I continue to love the Weasleys.

I don't particularly like the character of Harry Potter, who is really just another kid getting by on luck and personal connections like the entitled ones I knew in my youth. But I think he grew up quite a bit in this volume, and as a result I was much more satisfied. I'll be interested to see what the final story brings.

And I particularly liked the shout-out to Rupert Grint, who portrays Ron Weasley in the films. On page 485 one of the characters mistakenly refers to Ron as Rupert. Cute.

eminent domain gone wrong

The basic idea of eminent domain is a good one; you can seize land for schools and roads and such, things that are in general use by and benefit the public.

When the Supreme Court made some "modifications" to eminent domain earlier this month, I knew it would not be long before the greedy land freaks here in the Bay area started taking people's land for no other reason than for profit.

It's ugly, and it's wrong.

What does please me is that this hideous act of legalized theft seems to be uniting both Liberals and Conservatives. It is good to know that we can still come together for a common cause; maybe there's hope for us yet.

ACLU v USAPA

The ACLU has a good Reform the PATRIOT Act page and blog to keep people aware of the continuing challenges that are occurring as the USAPA threatens to sunset and the Bush administration tries to make it permanent.

Books

Okay, I've had people asking me where the books are. Have I just stopped reading? Well, no, but I haven't been blogging much and when I do, I don't have a lot of time to do it. So the books get left in the dust, as it were. Also, sometimes I'm just emotionally incapacitated, and I spend all weekend reading book after book. No energy left to blog.

So I think I'll do monthly logs instead of daily ones. So around the first part of each month (beginning in August), I will just list the books I read that month. Fair enough?

Okay, then.

Actually, you know what? Yes. Yes, this could work for me.

Via the New York Daily News, where we find Kurt Vonnegut advocating for Judge Judy to join the Supreme Court. Erm, I mean, become the Supreme Court.

Which wouldn't be as much fun, because the best part is listening to her argue with people. And I want to see her argue with Clarence Thomas.

Posessions

So tomorrow is the last day that Zia Houseworks will be open. Apparently the owner, Colin, is quite ill, and rather than selling the business he's decided to liquidate.

I really like Colin, and I loved visiting his store and playing with his dog, Bill. It was my favorite place to "wish shop", as I could never see myself spending the kind of money they asked for the amazing furniture that they had. Nice and quirky stuff including one of my favorite furniture artists, David Marsh. But today and tomorrow, everything is on sale. And everything must go. I thought I'd run by the sale today to see what the prices were like and say goodbye to the pretty, shiny objects of my dreams. My intention was not to purchase, merely to observe. Sometimes I am soooo naïve, even about myself!

The place was a madhouse and the prices were quite good, considering that the furniture is hand made. And I bought something. Yes, yes I did. A David Marsh buffet. I'd actually looked at it a couple of times before, but today it was nearly 50% off. I did try to avoid purchasing it, and actually walked past it nine times before I bought. I watched two couples measure it, another play with the drawers, and one particularly vapid woman try to bargain down the price (despite the numerous obvious bits of signage that clearly stated Everything priced as marked". Another one was put out that she'd have to arrange her own delivery. But you know what? None of it mattered because the buffet and I were meant for each other.

This is my first piece of hand made furniture, after years of lusting after it. AND David Marsh was there, so I got to thank him personally for his beautiful work and my amazing piece. I don't usually get this het up about material possessions, but for some dorky reason I'm really excited that this particular thing is mine.

The husband and I have rented a UHaul van to pick it up tomorrow morning. And it will fit perfectly in the dining room.

meanwhile, business as usual in the U.S.

Dead Steelers Fan Laid Out On Recliner, Watching Sports.

Get ready, y'all. There's a picture.

London

I'm sad about what happened in London...there isn't much more to say than that. I love London, my husband went to University there and he loves it as well. The best theatre I've ever seen, I've seen there. And the best Indian food I've eaten has been there as well.

Oddly enough, last night I dreamt about touring about London in a double decker bus. When I go I always use the Underground because it's quicker, and we've talked in the past about how next time (we've been talking about visiting this Fall) we'll be all touristy and take the bus. Maybe now not so much.

And it was all going so well

Our block had their second annual July 4th Block Party today. Basically the street was closed off and loud music was played, and everyone had their own party with their own friends and family. We walked around with the hound a bit, letting him make new friends and chatting amiably. The afternoon went well, lots of kids riding their bikes and parents BBQing. Then, at about 5:00, the friends of one of my neighbor's son's came over and it started getting loud and a bit drunk. It was louder then, but not necessarily less fun.

Someone from the next street over called the police, and once they left everyone decided that they could feel free to ignite the illegal fireworks cache they'd stored in a friendly garage. I know they're illegal but damn, it was soooooo much fun to watch! I love fireworks; wish we could have had some at my wedding. It had been so long since I'd been up close to fireworks that I was absolutely captivated. The husband had never seen anything like this up close, either, so it was a nice exhibit of "old school" neighborhood 4th of July celebrations. We watched for a bit, chatted some more, then took Fes inside.

Moments later, our street erupted into an episode of Cops.

Since cars were still blocking the street entrance long after the permit had expired, someone called the police yet again. Fortunately, there was still more than the necessary evidence that there had been fireworking, as well. It was during that time that two people began fighting, and there was some disagreement as to whether police intervention was needed.

Apparently there was at least one arrest, lots of shouting, and even some random trailer trash that'd lost her shoes and seemed straight out of Central Casting.

It was scary to be outside then, and to be standing safely on our sidewalk on our normally impossibly quiet street watching the bizarre scene unfold. When people get drunk and out of hand like that, you just don't know how much stupider they'll get.

It's quiet outside again now; some people are still sitting outside, but the music and fireworks are gone.

I was really disappointed with how the evening ended, and am still surprised with how quickly things can turn.

There are some fireworks going off in the street now, so I guess it's not over. Time to close the shades and get ready to watch the Comet smashing.

Sometimes there are miracles

Idaho Girl Found.

Yes!

This is going to get ugly

Justice Sandra Day O'Connor announces retirement.

I honestly thought someone was going to die on the bench before it came to this.