For those of you kind enough (or curious enough) to wonder where I’ve been or what I’ve been up to or, perish the thought, if I’ve been sick — the answers are: Here; Nothing; No.  But thanks for asking.  (And for you, Cyl, no, the bullshit fountain did NOT run dry, I’m just conserving according to the rules of algodgore, thankyouverymuchhaveaniceday…)  Lol.

I’ve just been working on other things, have a touch of Spring Fever and have had absolutely no ambition as far as this pitiful blog is concerned.  You who know me, know that I am a fits-n-starts kinda gal; gotta be in the mood to sit down and write anything.  My rule is — if I have to stare at the screen and consciously think of what to write, it ain’t happenin’ then.  If I sit down and start typin’ somethin’, then I just go with it.  The last couple of weeks have been more of the former than the latter.

Anyway…

I saw the following bit on my MSN homepage under “News of the Weird” (which I love, btw; never fail to have a couple of laughs reading THAT) for the week of March 30, 2008:

Science on the Cutting Edge

A team of researchers from the University of Calgary and the Tokyo Institute of Technology proudly announced in February that they had successfully stored “nothing” inside a puff of gas and then had managed to retrieve that same “nothing.” That “nothing” is called a “squeezed vacuum,” and the physicists tell us that a light wave can be manipulated so that its phases are of uncertain amplitude, then the light itself removed so that only the “uncertainty” property of the wave remains. [ScienceNOW Daily News, 2-29-08] 

Well!  That certainly got me thinking.  I’m still not quite sure what it said, not being of scientific bent in general and most assuredly NOT in the area of physics, but I do have a couple of ideas about the subject.

In the first place, key words in the report made me think ”Politics”.  Words such as  ”nothing”, “puff of gas”, “squeezed vacuum”, “manipulated”, “removed” and “uncertainty” fairly scream “politics” to me.  Sounds like Congress, the present administration and all those campaigning for future office; the only thing missing is “hot air”…  Imagine crowing about storing “nothing” and then retrieving “nothing”; doesn’t that sound just like a politician to y’all?  Does to me.

My other idea on the subject:  Damn, I wish this had been available to me back in the day when I had to come up with some explanation for what I was doing.  “Nothing” never quite cut it with Mama.  If I’d had this little bit of scientific discovery to point to, I could have proudly and confidently pointed out that “Nothing” was, indeed, something of substance.  (And probably got a swat upside da head for my trouble and ’sass’, but that’s a whole ‘nother story…)

Sooo… If you re-read my first paragraph you will see that, contrary to any obvious assumption, I have been here; not ill, but furiously engaged in the pursuit of scientific excellence.  I have stored and retrieved “Nothing” and I’m proud of it!  Where’s my Nobel Prize?

Oh, I forgot.  algodgore already got one for “Nothing”.  Sheesh.  That’s me; always too late to be on the cutting edge.

Roux

 My all-time favorite Andy Griffith episode!  I love Maggie Peterson’s rendering of this song.

Or maybe I should say body parts ‘exchangers’?  They don’t really take parts, they just seem to exchange almost worn-out parts for better ones.  They’re sort of like Qeetz’l (reference here) but they’re soooo much worse.  They’re scrouxin’ around with my parts and not just stuff, as Qeetz’l does!

I first noticed this phenomenon a few years ago.  I’d always had excellent eyesight.  A bit far-sighted, maybe, but I had no trouble reading so it was like the best of both worlds.  I could read the tiny print as well as I could read the tail numbers on (low-flying) planes.  I liked my eyesight.  I didn’t need glasses to do anything; I didn’t get headaches from reading too much; I could get around in my world as well as anyone and better than lots of people could.

Then one day I awoke and all that was gone!  I had to squint to read the paper.  Tail numbers were sort of fuzzy.  Nothing was as it should be.  What the hell happened?  Oh, I could drive and read and all that, but nothing was as it had been.  If something was far away I needed it nearer.  If something was near I had to hold it at arm’s length (or more).  My eyes weren’t my eyes anymore!

They sure looked like my eyes (still do, from what I can tell; who knows for sure when you’re wearin’ stupid glasses…) but they sure don’t work like my eyes always did.

Okay, I thought, maybe I had a low-grade fever that I hadn’t noticed.  Or maybe it was just a little strain from that marathon weekend of researching, writing, editing and re-writing those two papers that were due at the same time.  (Take my advice, people; while it’s never too late to go back to school, and it can be very rewarding to do so after you’ve been out for a while and “found yourself”, if you have the chance — do it while you’re very young!  The body parts snatchers don’t seem to pay too much attention to anyone under 30…).

But the effects remained the same.  My eyes didn’t get back to their old normalcy.  In fact, they seemed to gradually get worse!  WTF’s up wit’ dat?  And then… the Ah HAH moment!  I realized these weren’t MY eyes at all!  They’d been exchanged.  Mine had been lifted in some evil five-finger discount scheme and a defective pair (albeit quite similar in appearance) had been left in their place to throw me off and prevent my tracing and reclaiming myveryown eyes!  Damn!  Evil stinkin’ thieves…  But I gotta admit — it was a pretty smart piece of thievery.

Okay, ya win some; ya lose some.  Forewarned is forearmed.  I’d be more careful.  I’d lock the doors and windows at night.  No more sleeping with the deck door open.  No more anything that might give the thieves the opportunity to sneak in, secrete themselves and do anymore mischief!  This must not happen again!

*Sigh*  All my precautions have been for naught.  No matter what I do; no matter how careful I am, the evil-doers find a way come in at night undercover of darkness and steal away with perfectly good parts — leaving shoddy, discount parts (perhaps manufactured in China?) in their place.

What else have they taken, you ask?  Oh, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.  It’s just too much to digest all at once.  ’twill have to be revealed in short bits to alleviate the shock of it all.  And it is shocking!  To think that this could happen now, in the age of Homeland Security and color-coded alerts and ID for everything (although the “exchanges” did start pre-Homeland Security, but you’d think all that surveillance would have hampered the devils a little…).

I continue to be plagued by body parts snatchers.  But it’s just too draining to talk about it now.  I’m depressed.  I’m anxious.  I fear what they may take next! 

I can’t talk about it anymore.  I have to go now and check my few remaining bits of “original equipment”…

Be vigilant, children.  You never know when they’ll pay you a visit.  Da da Dah da… Da da Dah da… (Work with me here, wouldja?  Just imagine the damn “Twilight Zone” theme, okay?)

Roux

Cat lovers may have better hearts

Cat lovers may have better hearts

By JEANNINE STEIN
LOS ANGELES TIMES

Cat owners are often fiercely loyal to their furry companions and such devotion may be rewarded in a surprising way: Owning a cat may lower one’s risk of dying from a heart attack.Non-cat owners appear to have a 40 percent higher risk of dying from myocardial infarction than those who do have a cat, according to a study presented at the American Stroke Association’s International Stroke Conference last month in New Orleans.Researchers examined the data of 4,435 people from the second National Health and Nutrition Examination Survey. Dogs didn’t factor into the findings because fewer participants owned them.“The big question is,” says lead author Dr. Adnan Qureshi, executive director of the Minnesota Stroke Institute, “is this the direct effect of having a cat or a variable of people who own cats?”

Adds Qureshi: “There isn’t enough evidence to recommend (getting a cat) as a standard practice. But the flip side is that unlike other medical interventions, which have a risk and a cost associated with it, this has minimal risk and isn’t as costly. There’s not much harm to it.”

The above article appeared today in my local newspaper (sunherald).  I couldn’t agree more!

Even if they don’t like a damn thing…lol

Roux

One of the things cats like (if said cat thinks he’s a dog, which this particular cat does). 

Afton at the Bar

He can’t help it; he doesn’t know any better.  Never having had a cat-mommy to model himself on — he was a tiny swatch of fur and bone found under a dead-fall and weighed only about 6 ounces when we found him — he modelled the only examples he had; PoGo and Sharav.

Oh, I did the bottle feedings and nurtured him as best I could, but Sharav did the actual raising of him for the most part — with PoGo acting the part of an engaged, but semi-terrified-of-breaking-him ‘dad’.

Kudos to them for the excellent job they did!  Afton is now 9 years old and weighs in at around 22 pounds; quite an achievement for the weak, pitiful little creature that wasn’t as big as some of the dust-bunnies under my bed (and I’ll entertain NO comments on my housekeeping, thankyouverymuchhaveaniceday… Hmmmph).  He’s lost a little weight after a scary infection from a spider bite, but — with the exception of the loss of 4 pounds and a droopy ear where the bite occurred — seems none the worse for it.

I guess the weight-loss is sort of a good thing, for me anyway.  Another thing that Afton likes is to be draped across my shoulders like a stole; lemme tell ya, that boy gets HEAVY!

So that’s Afton.  A cat who thinks he’s a dog, doesn’t know the first thing about being a cat and is wearable!  That’s my boy.

Hug your pets, whatever they think they are.

Roux

A little while ago I did a “Things Dogs Like” post.  It was a fun thing for me, and many of our friends who were acquainted with our late, beloved and much-missed PoGo immediately recognized the post as being almost exclusively about him, which it (mostly) was. 

Some of those friends have asked — via e-mail; Y’all know I love your e-mails, but you can comment here, y’know.  You know who you are; you know I know where you live.  Leave a damn comment occasionally, wouldja?  *Sigh* I don’t see any of ‘em changin’ anytime soon, but that’s okay; I love ‘em anyway…lol — oh, back to my original thought:

1. When are you gonna do some more posts about PoGo?
2. When are you gonna post about Sharav (our much-loved and fortunately-still-with-us-although-living-with-our-daughter-dog)?
3. Why haven’t you written about your cats?  They’re pretty funny, too.

So, okay, here’s your answer (not like I haven’t answered the e-mails…)

1. I’ll post about PoGo again.  You know he’s always with me in spirit and always will be.  I just have to be in the right frame of mind to do justice (as if I ever could do justice) to all his humorous ways.
2. I dunno about having Sharav as a subject.  She’s too smart.  She might read this and get mad at me.
3. The cats… Y’all know I love ‘em dearly, each and every one of ‘em.  But if I did a “What Cats Like” post it might look something like this:

What Cats Like:

Not a damn thing.

Short post, huh?  You know it’s true, though; cats don’t like anything.  Well, they may like some things, but they don’t want you to know they’d ever stoop so low as to actually LIKE anything.  They’re too busy being superior to notice the mundane, the humdrum, the everyday drone of actual life going on around them.  Their actual lives are conducted on a higher plane; they are just — corporeally speaking — stuck in this one. 

With the possible exception of Afton.  He has no idea he’s a cat (as my non-commenting friends all know) so maybe I’ll do a post on “What Cats (Who Think They Are Dogs) Like”.  Sometime. 

So there ya have it.  Some (possible) subjects for some (possible) future posts.  Maybe.  Sometime.  But right now, I got nothin’.  I’m gonna get some of that so-called coffee I made, read the paper and maybe hope for a stroke of genius (or a swat of inspiration) to smack me upside da head and give me some ideas to run with later.

See ya!

Roux

I have just returned from a short foray into the retail world (needed waaay more creamer.  See previous post) and I’m still shakin’.  Now, it could be partly from that nasty coffee (again, previous post) but I’m thinkin’ it’s mostly from close encounters of the worst kind.  What is this?  Inmate furlough day from da cracker factory?  Do they let ‘em all out on specified days?  Did I miss the notice?

I don’t like shopping on a good day, precious few of those that there are, but who knew before-noon-on-a-Tuesday-after-Spring-Break could be so bad?  Too many people, too-narrow aisles, the ones in front of ya are slower’n 3-toed sloths; the ones behind ya are obviously in training for either a marathon or a shot at driving in a NASCAR race (Thank you, Ma’am, but I’d really prefer to keep that tiny bit of flesh on my achilles tendon…IF you don’t mind…) and all I wanted/needed was a list of less than 10 items and I’d be outta that mess and on my way home to peace and quiet and no ringing cell phones and no being a captive audience to someone else’s inane conversations and I could count my bruises and tend my wounds and go on Key West time and have a couple or ten Tecates.  Whew… Finally made it out of the store and started to breathe again.  But I was soooo WRONG to think the worst was past.

The real crazies have all been given passes to drive today!  Same crap as in the store; the ones in front are slow, the ones behind are seriously considering sitting in MY driver’s seat; stop signs are being ignored; red lights are being blasted through (or, alternately, the slow one in front jams on the brakes and bows up 50 feet from the intersection on a YELLOW…) and all I wanna do is come home, in one piece, no damage to my car, with what little sanity I have left intact.  Is that so much to ask?  Is it?  I guess not, since I did.  Come home, that is.  In one piece.  No damage to my car.  I cannot vouch for the sanity issue…

In closing, I have but one thing to say:

For all you SFBs out there with a death-wish — do NOT look to me for help in fulfilling it!  But on second thought… hmmm…

That’s it.  Door’s locked.  Phone is off.  Meditation music is on.  Fridge is full of Tecate.  It’s 5 o’clock somewhere.

I have lost my baristo…waaaah!  Well, temporarily anyway.  Hubby is out of town this week (and for two more weeks, as well, but he’ll be home on weekends) and I don’t see a decent cup of coffee in my future for those days he’s gone.

He has the magic touch; my coffee comes out either so weak as to be not much more than (faintly) colored water or it’s stronger’n panther piss (a “Southernism” for S-T-R-O-N-G coffee!)  It’s not, in any case, anything to look forward to waking up to/with.  And that’s if (BIG IF) I even remember to set it up at night and set the timer.  Or put the water in the reservoir.  Or put the coffee in the basket. Or either/or for either…  (The last sentence makes perfect sense to me; if it doesn’t to you, just remember that I am a bit deprived this a.m. and all circuits are not in optimum operational order.  Hmmmph.)

Anyway…

I do have some talents, but making the perfect pot of coffee is not among them.  Hubby and I, throughout our years together, have realized that division of duties according to capabilities is the way to go.  I don’t program the cell phones (or anything else electronic, for that matter, including the coffee maker…); he doesn’t sort the laundry or choose the proper settings for the washer/dryer.  I don’t parallel park (or do much of anything that involves going in reverse!  I’m a totally start/aim/hit the gas or brakes…whichever-might-seem-appropriate-at-the-time kind of driver); he doesn’t — hmmm — empty the ashtray, I guess.  He makes the money; I spend it.  See?  Perfect division of duties according to capabilities.  Soooo… since I don’t scroux around with the coffee I’m gonna have a lot of out-of-sorts days, I think.  Oh Gawd, what will I do?

Yes, there is a Starbucks about 2 blocks away.  No, I am NOT hauling my arse out to go there and get my wake-up juice.  I have been spoiled; I like it that way; I don’t intend to change.  I will suffer (not graciously, I might add) and bitch and get along the best way I can, but I surely will be glad when I can look forward to waking up to HIS coffee and not mine!  Maybe I’ll have him make enough this weekend to last me all next week.  I’ll put it in the fridge and just microwave a cup at a time as I need it!  Yay!  I can do that! 

As long as we don’t have a power blip and the microwave has to be re-set…

*Sigh* 

Back to that nasty ol’ panther piss.  Wonder if there’s enough creamer in the house for me to finish this pot?

I don’t remember having anything to drink, but if I’m seein’ what I think I’m seein’ — I’ve obviously had too many!

Find the whole story here 

Excerpt from Roux’s Dictionary:

Algorithm:  Al Gore’s latest album of protest songs