So, it was a pretty uneventful weekend at the Cake Eater Pad. Does that mean I'm not going to get a long-ish post out of it? Nope. I can ramble away about ANYTHING! It's one of my "gifts." So away we go, kids.

While the weekend was calm, I shouldn't really say it was "uneventful" because there was an "event" this weekend: the husband and I celebrated our eleventh wedding anniversary on Friday. But we didn't do it up in great style---we had some steaks, pasta and salad for supper on Friday and we ate them by the light of candles. And that's it. No presents, no big, fancy meals out. Nothing like that. I'm sure you're wondering why we didn't do more, but really, we're cool with it. I think once you get past the first ten years, it's not really a big deal any more. Sure it's a big deal in the sense that you've managed to stay married for one more year and you should celebrate that. Yet, in contrast to The Doctor and ML who just celebrated their second anniversary and who did it up right with all sorts of presents and everything, we didn't do any of that. We didn't feel the need. The husband bought me flowers and they were lovely, but you just don't feel the need to get all, I don't know, excited about it. It's a special occasion, sure, and the meaning of the occasion doesn't lessen the longer you're married, but blowing the roof off the joint every year to celebrate doesn't make as much sense now as it did when we were younger. Perhaps we've gotten over the "Hallmarkization" of anniversaries. Who knows? Anyway, we had a very nice evening.

To jump ahead to one of the other exciting bits of news, the Friday before last, the husband and I were headed out to supper with Mr. H. and as we were leaving we saw a rather large note from the landlord taped to the front door, informing us that he was going to start doing a little DIY on the front steps and could we please use the back entrance? We nodded, turned around, went back up the steps into the apartment, walked through the apartment, exited the back door, went down the back steps and left the house through the garage. (The house is set up kind of goofy, if you hadn't already figured that out.) When we got around to the front, one of the large stones that partially makes up the front steps had been removed, leaving a large gap and showing a lot of sand and other rubble. The front steps of the Cake Eater Pad have long been a source of discontent for us. They're made out of stone and we assume they're original to the house, which was built in the late 1920's. Of course, they're a crumbling mess. Certain stones have been split entirely because of our unique environmental conditions (hot and cold extremes aren't so good for anything made of rock or concrete). The mortar was crumbling, and the steps were uneven, bumpy, and completely disintegrating in a few places---which is not so good when the steps get icy because you can't remove the ice to save your life. The steps were a big concern for us. As we, the tenants of the Cake Eater Pad, were listed in the lease as being responsible for snow removal, we were constantly living in fear that the Great White Hunter landlord would pass off any lawsuits filed by disgruntled, broken-back-owning mailmen or UPS drivers onto us. We kept those stairs as clean as we could for years on end, while constantly bitching at Tweedledumb to do something about it. But, being true to fucking form, Tweedledumb was deaf as a post when it came to listening to complaints and never did anything about the steps. So, last Friday, we're pretty excited that something was finally being done and we went on our merry way for the evening. On Saturday morning, however, we came out and the landlord was whacking away at the pile of the steps and admitted sheepishly that he may have bitten off more than he could chew.

And was he ever right. I believe he was thinking he could just relay the stones so that they weren't quite as dangerous as before, but unfortunately the job got bigger than he had bargained for. The entire base is rotted out and must be replaced.

So, the Cake Eater Pad currently has no front steps. Over the course of the week the landlord has managed to pull out a lot of the stone (it's actually quite pretty and I'm glad he wants to reuse it). He was prying the stones apart with a shovel for the first few days, but on Wednesday he finally caved and bought a sledgehammer. He claimed the demolition was quite cathartic and I believe him. He said he was actually having fun with it. But I think the fun went by the wayside on Saturday, when the entire block turned out to say "hi" and see what was going on. The poor guy couldn't get much work done because he was too busy talking to everyone. Fortunately, everyone seemed to have better things to do on Sunday, when he was out there chiseling mortar off the stones that were to be reused. He's also hired the neighborhood contractor to do the rest of the work on the steps, so things should move quickly from here on in. Currently, there's a big mound of rubble leading up to the door and the...crikeys, I don't know what you'd call them, but things that look like arms where you'd put pots of flowers are entirely gone, but there are wood frames just waiting to be filled with concrete in their place. We'll just have to see what happens.

The landlord's been a busy beaver in the past couple of weeks. I think he's trying to keep himself occupied since his roommate died and that's not an entirely bad thing, on the whole. At least he's got a big project to occupy himself. The poor guy was was pretty ripped up over Eric's death. I also think his girlfriend is either moving in, or is lobbying to move in, now that he's got the space. She's a sweetheart and the husband and I like her a great deal, but she's been a busy beaver over the past week as well and it's making us wonder if she's actually keeping house or is just playing house. I was just down in the laundry room and she's cut up a carpet remnant and has placed that in front of the washer and dryer (which is awesome because it means I no longer have to wear shoes down into the basement! WooT!). She's also been painting and cleaning in the landlord's apartment and it's looking a bit too homey, if you take my meaning, for a bachelor's apartment. So, she's either just helping him out (because pretty much every last stick of furniture in the place disappeared when Eric's girlfriend came over last weekend. The landlord didn't have so much as a chair in the living room when she was done.) to make the place more homey for him, hoping he'll see what a great homemaker she is or she's just biding her time at her old place and is making the place habitable for the both of them. Again, we shall have to see.

Finally, as far as the "brothers who could qualify as being silly" in the title is concerned, well, my brother, Steve, it seems, about gave the Cake Eater Mother a heart attack. Steve is Montana's answer to Donald Trump when it comes to car dealerships. The dude and his partner own the largest chain of dealerships in Montana and in the past year they've expanded their business to New Orleans. Steve worked for a dealership in New Orleans years ago---like when I was in high school---and because of this connection he and his partner were offered a stake in a Chrysler dealership down there last year. The dealership is located on Canal Street.

And the doof was in New Orleans last week---and didn't leave until Saturday afternoon.

You have to understand that Steve, God love him, is the King of Procrastination. He leaves everything until the last minute and then finds himself in the position of moving heaven and earth to get things done the way he wants them done, whereas if he'd just left himself a little bit of time...he would have been fine. But Steve is a stress puppy. He loves stress. He loves that go-go-go lifestyle. He's always flying here or there or anywhere to do this deal, or get that done, or meet with these people. And he's good at it. Exceedingly good. This is how he runs his business. Once you get used to it, it's no big deal. However, the only problem is that not everyone else understands how he can work and live this way. Our mother would be chief amongst these people. She's worried he'll keel over from a heartattack before he hits fifty. I don't think so, because he's in great shape, but moms will worry and if there's nothing to worry about, well, they'll find things to worry about. At least our mom will, and Steve apparently gave her plenty of reason to worry this weekend. According to our sister Christi, who I just talked to on the phone, Mom was worried he was going to miss his flight out of New Orleans on Saturday because he'd leave it to the last minute and would miss his flight. The fact that Mom's a hurricane junkie and a Weather Channel devotee did nothing to ameliorate the situation. But, like I said, this is nothing new when it comes to Stephen. He's always cutting it too close for comfort. But this is a situation where cutting it too close might mean putting yourself in a life-threatening situation and that was enough to freak Mom out. Fortunately he did get out of town. He got to the airport and caught his plane and all is well for the time being. But...

...say a Hail Mary that his dealership doesn't completely get trounced from the storm. Fortunately, it's an in-city dealership, so they don't have an acreage just chock-a-block full of brand spankin' new cars. Hence they managed to get all of the new cars up onto the second level of the dealership, where they have a large showroom, and where they should be protected by the rising water. So, that part is good. Unfortunately, however, they couldn't do anything about the used cars that are on the lot. So, they're just sitting out there, being flooded and pelted with debris. If nothing else happens to the actual structure, they'll be ok: they can handle the loss of a few used cars. But if the structure floods excessively, well... I think you can use your imaginations to good effect on this scenario. Keep your fingers crossed, kids, eh?

And therein ends the tales of the weekend and of silly brothers who shouldn't be scaring their mothers to death.

Posted by: Kathy at 02:44 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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So, in case you haven't been following the news that there is Hurricane Katrina. She's a Category Five Hurricane with sustained winds of 165 mph.

And, as of right now, she's headed straight toward New Orleans and is going to make one hell of a mess as she goes through the city, and moves northward through Mississippi and beyond.

Here's a link to the American Red Cross Online Donations Page.

Please go and give what you can. Direct your donation to the National Disaster Relief Fund, so the money gets where it's needed the most. And if you're a blogger, get the word out.

This is what the National Weather Service has to say about this storm:

EXTREMELY DANGEROUS HURRICANE KATRINA CONTINUES TO APPROACH THE MISSISSIPPI RIVER DELTA...DEVASTATING DAMAGE EXPECTED...

MOST OF THE AREA WILL BE UNINHABITABLE FOR WEEKS...PERHAPS LONGER. AT LEAST ONE HALF OF WELL CONSTRUCTED HOMES WILL HAVE ROOF AND WALL FAILURE. ALL GABLED ROOFS WILL FAIL...LEAVING THOSE HOMES SEVERELY DAMAGED OR DESTROYED.

THE MAJORITY OF INDUSTRIAL BUILDINGS WILL BECOME NON FUNCTIONAL.
PARTIAL TO COMPLETE WALL AND ROOF FAILURE IS EXPECTED. ALL WOOD
FRAMED LOW RISING APARTMENT BUILDINGS WILL BE DESTROYED. CONCRETE
BLOCK LOW RISE APARTMENTS WILL SUSTAIN MAJOR DAMAGE...INCLUDING SOME WALL AND ROOF FAILURE.

HIGH RISE OFFICE AND APARTMENT BUILDINGS WILL SWAY DANGEROUSLY...A
FEW TO THE POINT OF TOTAL COLLAPSE. ALL WINDOWS WILL BLOW OUT.

AIRBORNE DEBRIS WILL BE WIDESPREAD...AND MAY INCLUDE HEAVY ITEMS SUCH AS HOUSEHOLD APPLIANCES AND EVEN LIGHT VEHICLES. SPORT UTILITY
VEHICLES AND LIGHT TRUCKS WILL BE MOVED. THE BLOWN DEBRIS WILL CREATE ADDITIONAL DESTRUCTION. PERSONS...PETS...AND LIVESTOCK EXPOSED TO THE WINDS WILL FACE CERTAIN DEATH IF STRUCK.

POWER OUTAGES WILL LAST FOR WEEKS...AS MOST POWER POLES WILL BE DOWN AND TRANSFORMERS DESTROYED. WATER SHORTAGES WILL MAKE HUMAN SUFFERING INCREDIBLE BY MODERN STANDARDS.

If this thing is as devastating as they're making it out to be---meaning if it lives up to the hype---New Orleans and other affected areas could, quite literally, be back in the stone age by tomorrow night.

Help them now if you can.

Posted by: Kathy at 08:36 PM | Comments (3) | Add Comment
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I KNEW it! HA!

Rosalind Russell You scored 21% grit, 38% wit, 28% flair, and 19% class!

You are one wise-cracking lady, always quick with a clever remark and easily able to keep up with the quips and puns that come along with the nutty situations you find yourself in. You're usually able to talk your way out of any jam, and even if you can't, you at least make it more interesting with your biting wit. You can match the smartest guy around line for line, and you've got an open mind that allows you to get what you want, even if you don't recognize it at first. Your leading men include Cary Grant and Clark Gable, men who can keep up with you. Find out what kind of classic leading man you'd make by taking the Classic Leading Man Test.

{hat tip: Clark GableDoug}

Posted by: Kathy at 12:45 PM | Comments (7) | Add Comment
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Phin has some advice for all the coders out there.

Posted by: Kathy at 12:34 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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This one should help the husband out:

"It's August. Where Is Everybody?"

Posted by: Kathy at 12:13 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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Slash's real name is Saul.

Kinda kills that badass image he's got going on, doesn't it?

Anyhoo...I wish Slash and Duff the best of luck with their lawsuit. If anyone deserves to have the spandex sued off of them, it's Axl.

Posted by: Kathy at 11:06 AM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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Don't you just love being jerked clean out of a nice, deep sleep by a booming crack of thunder at five in the morning? Furthermore, don't you just adore the way your heart goes THUMPTHUMPTHUMP!!! during said awakening? I also quite enjoy the sitting straight up in bed part, and the sharp inhale of breath, too.

It's all just so much fun, let me tell you. It's like waking up in the middle of a big loop-de-loop on a rollercoaster. Wouldn't you agree?

Posted by: Kathy at 10:47 AM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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Coo-el.

Posted by: Kathy at 10:54 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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I saw this yesterday, but didn't have the chance to comment because the blog was down. Make sure to follow the link to Jeff's commenter, Sarah.

Leaving aside my wondering what this rebuke would have sounded like if it came from this guy's mouth (new season starts September 13th! WooT!), I will admit to being of two minds on this one. I sympathize with the doctor. He was just telling the truth, and there's certainly no shame in that. However, I also emphathize with the obese woman: in an effort to get her to change her wicked ways, the doctor apparently laid out the worst case scenario and, in the process, insulted her. While I can understand why he did it, it doesn't change the fact that, to a certain extent, obesity is the result of a personal choice. (I'm sorry, but I'm not buying that everyone who is morbidly obese in this country is the victim of a thyroid problem. Sorry, but that's just not going to fly.) This woman is making a personal choice to be fat. And I defend that choice. If she wants to do something about it, fine, but if she doesn't, she shouldn't be insulted by her doctor in an effort to scare her into doing something. It's her choice. But, when it comes right down to it, in America, you are not allowed personal choice when that choice is deemed bad for you by the powers that be.

How do I know this? Well, I'm newly minted ex-smoker, and I can tell you from experience that there was no end the many doctors and dentists I visit wouldn't go to in an effort to get me to quit. There were lectures from my gynecologist, telling me that I was increasing my chances for cervical cancer, colon cancer, ovarian cancer, breast cancer, heart disease and, of course, lung cancer. I'm not even going to go into the dire threats exhorted that I shouldn't even THINK about getting pregnant while I was smoking. The stupid pap smear and breast exam took less time than all the lecturing did. I was told by the same gynecologist that I had to exercise twice as much as a normal person would to keep healthy. Walking five miles a day, apparently, wasn't enough if you're a smoker. I should have been running ten miles a day. I've been told by my opthamologist that I'll be an excellent candidate for cataract surgery in forty some odd years. Clever, no? Then we have the dental hygienist: she, quite literally, bitched aloud about the fact she had to spend more time cleaning the back of my teeth than she would a non-smoker.

The husband has had to deal with the same sort of thing from the same dental hygienist. You see, the poor husband has had SO many bad experiences with dentists and orthodontists that he hates going as much as I do. The man, quite literally, had braces and one of those medieval spreader thingys attached to the roof of his mouth for much of his adolescence. The minute he got all that crap off, his teeth started working their way back to their original spots. (They didn't pull any extra teeth before he had his braces put on.) It did absolutely no good whatsoever, so he has good reason to doubt it when a dentist tells him something. Our dentist, who is good and who we like, nonetheless would like the husband to have his fully grown-in wisdom teeth removed. Why? Because he has too many teeth, a small jaw, and the hygienists can't get all the way back to clean them properly. Did you get that? They want him to undergo an oral surgery procedure that would cost us about two grand (we don't have dental insurance---and even if we did, it probably wouldn't be covered.) because it would make their lives easier. They've never suggested an alternative to surgery. They've never told him, hey, get some Plax or Listerine to keep that cleaned out. They did give him a special little toothbrush and he's used it faithfully, but it apparently doesn't work well enough for their tastes, because they keep on harping about it every time he goes in there. It wouldn't do the husband any good, either, as far as how his teeth look. There's not much benefit for him to have his wisdom teeth removed. Yet, consistently, they harp on about it, even though the husband has, quite bluntly, told them it's not going to happen. They've even come in to hassle me about having his wisdom teeth removed when I've been in the office at the same time. I assume they were working under the assumption that I would start guilting him into it, which isn't going to happen.

Therein lies the main issue, I believe: if you refuse to do things your health care providers would have you do, you're making more work for them, aren't you? They have to keep treating you over and over again for the same thing. They would prefer to stop the problem at the source. I could understand where it would be frustrating to have to treat people who, you deemed in all your infinite wisdom, were being stupid about their health. Furthermore, to have to treat the same things over and over again, well, that would just get boring, wouldn't it? Problem is if you lived your life according to all the studies that are released every day of the week, well, your life wouldn't be very much fun, would it? Not to mention when that information is contradictory. I would assume that every disease is preventable, and with the right amount of information scientists will ultimately come to the conclusion that you'll never get sick if you never bother being born.

I have to say, as one who's been where the fat lady is, I still find this all terribly amusing. I suppose that's bad of me, but it's kind of nice to be proven correct. Years ago, when I managed the coffee shop, my customers would, when they found out I smoked, tell me that they wished I would quit. That smoking was very bad for me. Some of them would leave it at that, and I would thank them for their concern, but there were others who would go further in their pontifications and would say that smoking should be banned entirely because it was a public health menace. That everyone had to pay for smokers behavior, whether it be through health insurance costs or their belief they could catch cancer through secondhand smoke, hence the majority opinion should rule. Ok, I said to them, that's your opinion and you're entitled to it. But, I added as I handed them their cup of joe, don't be surprised when they come after you for drinking coffee. Because we all know caffeine is bad for you. It leads to all sorts of health problems, and when they don't have the smokers to beat into submission anymore, well, they'll need a new target. It's the same, I said, if you're obese. Or if you drink adult beverages. Or if you do any number of things that the people in charge think are bad for you. Public health crusades, I told them, aren't so much about the specific actions individuals choose to make: that's irrelevant. Public health crusades are more about removing your ability to make choices the crusaders disagree with. They want to tell you how to live your life. Those choices could extend to any sort of behavior that causes health problems; smoking was simply the tip of the iceberg. Some of them could wrap their minds around this concept and it frightened them. Some of them couldn't see what the hell I was talking about because they believed the hype.

So, I will admit, I find this amusing. They came for me, a smoker, and people said nothing. Now they're going to come for them and they find it alarming. And insulting. Imagine if it was a smoker who had filed the complaint. Would anyone care? I can tell you from experience that they wouldn't give a rat's ass if a smoker was insulted by the lengths their doctor would go to to get them to quit. Believe me, I've heard worse than what this woman heard from her doctor. But no one cares about the smokers. Soon people won't care about obesity, either. Then they won't care about the caffeine drinkers. It will keep going on and on until life is just one big joyless, choice-free experience.

Have a great time in that world, kids. I'll be in the Republic of Kathyland by that point in time, drinking the wine and eating the brie the rest of the world has outlawed.

Posted by: Kathy at 12:42 PM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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Just in case you didn't know, the Minnesota State Fair starts today.

{Insert massive full body shudder here}

Just in case you were wondering, no, I'm not going. For many reasons.

The husband would, quite literally, rather die than spend any time at a fair. He played football in high school and in situations where he gets crowded by lumbering idiots who refuse to get out of the way, well, let's just say the urge to put his shoulders down and to push through whatever and whomever is blocking his way becomes overwhelming. Really and truly I'm doing everyone a favor by keeping him at home. You should be thanking me.

I, on the other hand, don't mind the crowds so much, but I can't stand food on a stick. I don't ride rides, either, as they generally make me nauseous. I have no use for ag exhibits, either, I'm afraid. But the main reason I won't go to the fair is because in all my years of living in the midwest, where fairs are common things, I have yet to actually go to a fair. Well, let me correct that. I've been to St. Margaret Mary's Parish fair in Omaha, because that was my church/school and it was expected, but, as far as fairs go I don't believe that counts. I've lived in three states: Nebraska, Iowa and Minnesota, and I've never been to a fair. In the midwest they call people like me "freaks of nature." I've never been to a county fair. I've never been to a state fair. I've got a perfect record and I plan on keeping it that way, thank you ever so bloody much.

So, ya'll have a good time at the fair. Don't eat a corndog for me. I wouldn't want you to do that to yourself.

Posted by: Kathy at 12:44 AM | Comments (6) | Add Comment
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1 Now, don't get me wrong. It's not "the lumbering idiots who won't get out of [my] way." It's the lumbering idiots wandering around in a fog. Some sort of miasma of the intellectually challenged you often see in grocery stores, airports, malls and amusement parks as well as at the fair. They fail to grasp some simple facts: Limited space, large numbers of people, clearly established traffic patterns, a high percentage of those people attempting to get from point A to point X utilizing said traffic patterns. Imagine some fat-assed kid with ketchup running down his arm bent over bedazzled at the swiling colors of used oil from the wombat on a stick trailer as it floats across some puddle. Imagine his mother just standing there with one of his pudgy hands in one of her own meathooks, more concerned with keeping cigarette ash off of the acre and a half of cleavage that no one really wants to see, looking from side to side for no apparent reason, where there are no attractions on this particular thoroughfare. These dolts in their sudden halt forward are seemingly oblivious that between the two of them they are taking up the space that five people could be using to traverse the area, and had fully expected to only moments before these two paragons of humanity stopped to bask in the wonderment of it all. They are oblivious of the 300 people that were once moving at a good clip but are now getting jammed up as a result of this miasma; toes getting stomped, obscenities shouted, cigarettes acidentally burning holes in the clothing of people nearby, food being dumped uncermoniously down the shirt of the person in front of yet another kid who really didn't need another damn funnel cake. This is when I have the distinct urge to lower my shoulder and re-live my days as the fastest pulling guard in the conference. Safely clearing a path for Kathy, all the way to the end zone [parking lot]. Touch down, victory dance, let's get the hell out of here. P.S. Don't knock the corn-dogs. "Thems good eatin'!"

Posted by: MRN aka "The Husband" at August 25, 2005 09:26 AM (QKvIa)

2 Janis & I go to the Iowa State Fair at least once every year. Last year we were walking through the Varied Industries building (the one with all those "Magic Orange Cleansers", Baldwin Organs, hot tubs & articulated ladders for sale) and I noticed that the guy next to me had somewhat of a stain on his shorts. I figured that he had gotten too close to an animal somewhere, but then I realized that the stain was radiating out from his OWN UNDERWEAR! Dude crapped himself and was continuing to walk around the fair oblivious to the spectacle. I'm not talking about a little stain - it was an ENORMOUS bowel movement that would have made a farm animal envious. I made it a point to stay three paces away from him, but I couldn't stop staring. He was maybe late 20's, early 30's, and he was walking around with an elderly lady, so I'm thinking that he was some sort of a "Rainman" type out to the fair with momma. Sorry about the mental image, but I just had to share it with someone. Other than that, I LOVE the state fair and the deep fried cuisine. "Gizmo" sandwiches? Roasted corn-on-the-cob? Pork Chops on a stick? Mini donuts? Those root beer stands shaped like giant kegs? Strawberry-Lemonade shakes? This is AMERICAN dining, people. Of course, the Minnesota State Fair is another animal alltogether. Probably features lutefisk flavored snowcones & walleye on a stick.

Posted by: Russ from Winterset at August 25, 2005 10:58 AM (M7kiy)

3 I go to every fair within in 30 mile radius of my home. I live to watch oblivions like those described above. My son and I eat corn-dogs with abandon, and you haven't lived until you have tried the deepfried snickers bars!

Posted by: oddybobo at August 25, 2005 12:30 PM (6Gm0j)

4 I can get a deep fried snickers bar here. They call it "hot monkey love" on the menu and it comes with homemade vanilla ice cream that's to die for.

Posted by: Kathy at August 25, 2005 12:47 PM (QKvIa)

5 "concerned with keeping cigarette ash off of the acre and a half of cleavage that no one really wants to see" That's just way to vivid, somebody pass the mental clorox. Mmmmmmm corn-dogs

Posted by: phin at August 25, 2005 03:24 PM (Xvpen)

6 No, I didn't know that the Minnesota State Fair was starting up. Thanks for the tip, Kath. ;-)

Posted by: sadie at August 25, 2005 08:19 PM (xV63t)

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So, in case I hadn't mentioned it, one of my cousins is currently deployed with the Seabees in Iraq.

He's a civil enginerd who was active Navy for quite some time, but now he's a reservist and he's been busy rebuilding stuff since he was deployed in March. He forwarded this along about one of his contractors. (.pdf file) My cousin is the one on the right hand side of the picture and was the contractor's supervisor.

Talk about being determined to rebuild your country! Holy Crap! As Pete said in his email: "One of our success stories. You could not think up some of the stuff these contractors run up against." After all the junk you hear on the news every night about how Iraqis are bickering about the constitution or are killing one another because of any number of reasons, it's very nice to read a story about one guy who is incredibly determined to get his country up and running again.

Posted by: Kathy at 10:50 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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Lighten up, Francis.

Of course, Jonathan knows I say this with great love

Posted by: Kathy at 10:24 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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Well, that was interesting, eh?

Posting will be limited until I'm sure the server isn't going to crash again. It's my paranoia at play here, not anyone's lack of effort that's leading to this dearth of posting, so no wisecracks from the peanut gallery about moo knew service, eh?

I would like to extend big honkin' kudos to Mr. Pixy Misa, aka God himself, who has been working his tailfeather off all through his night (because he's in Australia, kids) to get things back up and running. I, for one, am grateful.

Posted by: Kathy at 02:14 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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So, you know your blogging habit is bad when your mother calls and wonders if your blog bill is current because she can't get to it.

Sigh.

From what I and a few other moo knewvians can gather the server was down this afternoon. We don't know why, but we're happy it's back up.

Anyway, here's a few tidbits for you, my devoted Cake Eater Readers, to tide you over until I get the urge to get all windy on you.

• Lists of this, that or the other have officially jumped the shark with this one.

  The fact Madonna showed her navel marked her as a "mainstream provocateur?" Give me a break, eh? It's what marked that she had no modesty. There's a bit of a difference, eh? Not to mention that Keith Richard's liver is listed at #2, but---AHEM---there's apparently no mention made of Mick's lips on this list???

  Hell-LO!

  You're doing a list of the twenty-five most incredible body parts in Rock and Roll and you neglect to mention Mick's lips? WTF?

• "But Mother Superior, it just the Holy Spirt working in mysterious ways! I swear!"
• Has anyone ever considered the fact that Lance can't take performance enhancing drugs because it might not only enhance his performance, but enhance his cancer as well? That's The Doctor's opinion. Any drugs of that nature could, conceivably, bring the cancer back as well, or so she says.

  I think it's sleazy of the French to do this. It seems like sour grapes to me.

• Groom yourself, dude. Bleech.
• Mr. Squeaky Clean, Jonathan, swore in this post! I think that's twice, total. Not to mention he chats about threeways!

  I swear, I almost fainted.

  The Galley Slaves: Goin' for Broke in the Raciness Department!

That should keep you busy for the time being.

Posted by: Kathy at 04:52 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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Mr. Fabulous himself, aka my dear pal Robbo, has a friendly reminder for all the women out there.

Posted by: Kathy at 09:59 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
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It's Tuesday. Hence these fine blogs are hosting the Cotillion Ball.

Run along now.

Posted by: Kathy at 09:43 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
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Would you listen to this man tell you what to eat or where to purchase it from?

If Alec Baldwin's a vegetarian, I'm the freakin' Queen of Sheeba.

Alec, no doubt, sneaks down to BK every day and wolfs down a few Whoppers. Quite simply put, you don't get that porky without fast food being involved. It just doesn't happen. Alec could get back to his The Hunt for Red October weight by eating broccoli every day, all day long. And the world of women would be happy, because God only knows Alec was hot when he was thin. He was a veritable Hottie McHotHot. Yet, despite his PETA advocacy, he hasn't lost one ounce. Hmmmm. That's suspicious.

Could it be, kids, that Alec is the beneficiary of a deal with Burger King wherein he stops denouncing them and he gets all the free Whoppers he can eat?

I speculate. You decide.

Posted by: Kathy at 06:04 PM | Comments (3) | Add Comment
Post contains 160 words, total size 1 kb.

Suck it up, please.

He arrived 10 minutes before his fate, so Filip Olsson stood outside Severna Park High School and waited for coaches to post the cut list for the boys' soccer team.

Olsson, a sophomore, wanted desperately to make the junior varsity, but he also wanted justification for a long list of sacrifices. His family had rearranged a trip to Sweden so he could participate in a preparatory soccer camp; he'd crawled out of bed at 5:30 a.m. for two weeks of camp and tryouts and forced down Raisin Bran; he'd sweated off five pounds and pulled his hamstring.

Finally, a coach walked by holding a list, and Olsson followed him into the high school. He walked back out two minutes later, his hands shoved deep into his pockets and his eyes locked on the ground.

"It felt," he said later, "like a punch in the stomach."

{...}Because of increased complaints from parents, many high school coaches now strive to make cuts more scientific. Until she retired last season, longtime Eleanor Roosevelt girls' soccer coach Kathy Lacey made her players run 1.5 miles in less than 12 minutes to make the team. Mike Bossom, the volleyball coach at Centennial, scores players with a number -- 1 through 5 -- for each drill and then logs the scores on a Microsoft Excel spreadsheet.

For the first time this season, Severna Park Athletic Director Wayne Mook required his coaches to record running times and player evaluation grades, then hand in that paperwork to him. It is an arduous process that many coaches find tiresome, but Mook instituted it for a reason: After a player was cut from the girls' lacrosse team last spring, the family hired lawyers to meet with the school.

"In this day and age, you have to cover yourself a little bit," Mook said. "When I meet with a parent whose kid has been cut, I need something to show them. I need proof."

{...}While his mom, Annica, waited in the car, Olsson walked out to the school track to find Keough and Malm for his 10 minutes. They told him to work on his speed and his foot skills. They suggested he try a personal trainer.

"They think some one-on-one work would help me, so I'll do it," Olsson said. "I'm probably going to come out again next year. Getting cut hurts pretty bad, but that's what it takes. There's nothing harder than making your high school team."

{my emphasis}

Far be it from me to state the obvious, but---ahem---it's a freakin' high school soccer team. There are plenty of things that are harder than making your high school soccer team. Nuclear fission would be just one of those things, ya dig. Same with balancing the budget. Or, if we're still limiting the discussion to all things high school, well, perhaps getting a decent grade in Chemistry class might be harder than getting on the soccer team.

Oy.

I can understand about working toward a goal. This kid wants to play soccer. That's not a problem. But there comes a time when you have to realize it's simply not going to happen. I admire his perserverance, but I would think after trying out twice, and failing both times, hiring a personal trainer---for a sixteen-year-old!---so he can get on the JV squad is beyond the pale. Give up the ghost, kid. If it hasn't happened by now, it's not going to---particularly when you try out next year, you're going to be competing for a spot against fourteen-year-olds with fresher legs than yours? Do you really want a pity spot on the team? One they handed you because they felt sorry for you? Do you really want to warm the bench the whole time?

Soccer is physically demanding. Anyone can tell you that, and considering I spent a goodly portion of my time growing up attending my brother Mike's grade school, high school and college games, I can tell you from experience that it's cutthroat throughout the entire process, but is particularly nasty in high school---and this was twenty years ago! My brother's school was the Nebraska state champion, year in and year out. It took a lot to make that team, not only because soccer is a demanding sport, but because the coach had high standards. There was absolutely no shame in failing to get on the team. I can't tell you how many of my brother's friends over the years went from playing with him to stopping by to say "hello" to my mom, my sister and I while we sat in the stands at one of his games. We didn't look at them as any less a human being because they'd been cut. No one did. It was all about the team being as good as it could be, and even they understood that their presence might have hampered that.

This kid wants to get on the team. I can understand that. But, as far as I can tell, it hasn't occurred to him what his presence, if he were allowed on, would do for or to the team. It's a personal thing for him, not one where he wants to play on the school's team to help them win games. That, to me, is a pretty significant shift in attitude.

I think this kid would be well-served to go and find an indoor soccer league team he could play on. He'd actually be playing and having fun, instead of subjecting himself to torture over and over again. I also suspect he might learn a little something about being part of a team as well.

Posted by: Kathy at 01:31 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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Courtesy of the husband, your bit of gaming humor for the day: go here, read post #3 by Brion, then scroll down to post #5 by Faydra.

Heheheheheheh.

BUSTED!

Posted by: Kathy at 11:50 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
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From Sheila and Ith: List five quirks/idiosyncrasies of yours.

Allrighty Then.

1. When I'm coding stuff in HTML for the blog, if I open a tag in lowercase letters, I must always close the tag in lowercase letters. It's the same if I open the tag in capital letters. I will actually go back and change this---even though there's no need to---because the non-uniformity of it drives me batty.

2. Personal products. I am brand loyal to the point of insanity. Even if there's a better product out there, I won't switch over, no matter how many times someone praises a product. Just won't happen. Now, in certain instances, this is justified, because, for instance, there is no better lotion out there than Lubriderm. There just isn't. But, for other things, there's no rational reason for this. This particularly holds true for hair care products. I've been using the same shampoo and conditioner and styling product for, oh, about three or four years now. (In the case of the Aveda Anti-Humectant I use to control frizzies, I've been using that for seven years) I'm LEERY about switching anything up, because that might mean something very bad will happen. When I find something that works, I'm a happy camper. When someone discontinues something that I love (like my old Estee Lauder moisturizer) I practically go postal on the well-coiffed sales rep.

3. I will stay up late, even if I'm exhausted, just because I can. I'm an adult now. No one tells me when to go to bed! I feel like I'm letting down all the little kids who want to stay up late if I take a header before midnight. I'm a grownup...I can STAY UP AS LATE AS I WANT TO! Hence proving to the masses of children out there that there are benefits to adulthood.

This, of course, drives the husband to distraction, because, go figure, he actually likes falling asleep with me.

4. Speaking of bed. I must have my side of the bed, no matter what bed we're sleeping on. If we're sleeping in the twin beds at my parents house (they still apparently don't want any funny business going on in their spare room) I will take the bed that corresponds to the side of the bed I always sleep on. I also will rub my feet together until I fall asleep. I don't even realize that I do this anymore. This comes from living in a drafty old house when I was growing up and having a natural aversion to sleeping with socks on. Then I moved to Minnesota and started wearing socks in the winter. There was no getting around it. I still rub my feet together because, even with the socks, they get very cold.

5. It queers my deal to do laundry in a different order than normal. You see, first it's the whites, then the sheets and towels, then the warm load of clothes, then the cold load of clothes. It's a pretty simple system, and it works well, if you ask me. You get the sock folding business over with at the beginning, so there's no excuse for not sorting the socks. This also ensures the sheets and towels are washed and replaced before we go to bed. But if the husband needs his jeans washed because he spilled something on them, and he needs them right away, this queers my deal. I don't like washing single items of clothing, because it's a waste of water, but more importantly, it's fucking with the order of things!

Anyway. There's my weirdness, out for all to see. Enjoy!

Posted by: Kathy at 02:41 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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