I know some nice people. Including the ones who called me Thursday to offer me their tickets to last night’s performance of the Colorado Symphony Orchestra. And the friend who accepted my last-minute invitation to go with me.
Dinner beforehand was good. It was a lovely spring evening to be out and about. Downtown was bustling but not frantically crowded
Inside Boettcher Hall, our seats were primo. The program was Johann Sebastian Bach and Vivaldi; there’s nothing like baroque music to clean the cobwebs and clutter out of my brain for a few hours, and this program was a joy.
I could get a crush on Scott Yoo, the guest conductor and violinist. Who just about rocked the house with Vivaldi’s The Four Seasons. The podium was removed during intermission, and he fiddled away right on the same level as the musicians he was conducting. Vigorously, intensely, totally.
Oh, how refreshing. Spring has finally come to Denver, flowers are daring to bloom and trees to leaf out. And the looney tunes are coming outdoors, pale and shriveled from hunkering in their basements all winter, and squinting in the sunshine.
Exhibit A: the guy who says he *seriously* wants the Denver City Council to create - and I have to give this title the placement it deserves:
The Extraterrestrial Affairs Commission
Yep. ET, phone City Hall. The commission would be tasked with ”dealing with issues related to the presence of extraterrestrial beings on Earth.” Like, maybe, dating.
As required by law when the fine citizens of the City & County of Denver are proposing initiatives, City staffers held a public meeting with this visionary activist yesterday. Some interested folks turned up, including a few young folks wearing tinfoil hats. Bless their hearts.
If City Council doesn’t enact this initiative into law, and its sponsor gets enough signatures on petitions for it, it will go onto the ballot at the next election.
Think about it: if it passes, and the commission is created, the commission will need at least one staffer. What a job that would be. Although I’m not sure it would be a terrific career track for anyone.
The sponsor of this lunacy? Is 54 years old, divorced, has no children, and lives with his parents. As profiled in the Rocky Mountain News:
Occupation: Owns an Internet business, which is marketing a new technology that reduces stress “because it reduces the chaos of electromagnetic fields,” he said.
Education: A year at Maharishi University of Management in Iowa.
Number of times abducted: 0
Ever seen an alien? No. But “I believe they do exist,” he said. “I’ve seen very hard evidence.”
Have you seen those commercials for Comcast phone service? The ones where some doofus is saying “But now I’m calling you on my new Comcast digital phone!” But of course that makes no difference to the situation at hand - which results from the caller being a hopeless screw-up and isn’t curable by a change of phone service.
Well, people, today I’m writing my blog entries using my new iMac.
Which doesn’t make me any smarter or more articulate. But does indicate that I’m living through a world-shaking transition in my technology life - from Windows to Mac.
I’m proficient working in a Windows environment: organizing files and folders, using my favorite programs, knowing what’s located where and how to do what I want to.
Now I’m in Mac World, and I barely speak the language here. I have to learn how to do things here, that were second nature in the Windows Universe. Simple things, like closing windows and applications - which means a click on the upper left corner vs the upper right.
Working with photos? Not yet. I’m still working on the basics. Like learning that the Delete key = backspace, and forward delete requires the fn key + Delete.
I’ve learned that I’m too used to using a trackball to enjoy the Apple Bluetooth Mighty Mouse. Mainly because the menu bar is waaay up on the top left of this 24 inch monitor screen and I have to move the mouse nearly halfway across my desk to get the pointer up there. Too much wrist and arm movement involved. So I plugged in my trusty old trackball, and it works! I can maneuver around the iMac Half-Acre display without wearing out my wrist. Wireless mousing is nice, but avoiding another carpal tunnel experience is better.
It’s going to be a nice world, I think, but a brave new one for me.
LATER EDIT: Finally, after downloading a trial version of Photoshop Elements, I’m working with pictures here. I’m not sure about this huuuge monitor, though. I can’t seem to resize Elements to occupy less than the entire screen and I’m going to have to change the ergonomics here so that I’m not craning my neck to see the top part of the screen. In the meantime, I’m adding a picture of my puppy and my new iMac, in the same shot.
Yesterday Jasper and I went to Washington Park for the Furry Scurry. So did 10,000 other humans and 5,000 other dogs.
It was a hoot. I got there early enough and hung around our corporate team area but none of them ever showed up there and I didn’t see any of them in the crowd elsewhere. Which doesn’t mean they weren’t there.
As we had first walked into the park and toward the event area, Jasper was scared by the noise and the crowd. I picked him up and carried him then, and for almost the first time ever I felt him shaking a little.
The time we spent hanging out in our designated corporate team area turned out to be good for him. It was a safe spot where there were friendly people and dogs to meet, and after 20 minutes he seemed to lose the anxiety. Despite the absence of our teammates, we had a good time. Jasper’s so cute that many people talked to us, and were impressed that he was only 4 months old.
He walked a lot more of the 2-mile course than I’d expected. It was a breakthrough on his learning curve about being out on a leash and walking along with me in a straight line. I suppose it’s the pack thing - he was doing what the other dogs were, learning from them. And he definitely wanted to be in the middle of the pack most of the time, after we got going walking the course. I started to worry that he was going to blister his pads walking so much on pavement, because he’s used to wandering around on turf here at home.
I wish I had pictures, but handling Jasper was all I could deal with. After all, I did carry him for probably half of the distance all told. I do have the memories, including Jasper and the big sweet Newfie we walked with for awhile. And Jasper and a bunch of dogs about his size playing tangle-the-leashes in the corporate team area.
We got home at 11 am, both very tired. He could use a bath after all that, but I’m not an experienced dog bather so I may wait until I have time later this week, then give it a try. In the meantime I’ll wipe him down again with a damp washcloth to see if I can remove a little more of the dirt.
Thanks for all the good wishes, donations, and moral support.
In a sane society he would be showered with the big money now paid to US Major League Baseball players, drug-addicted rock stars, and CEOs of huge and soon-to-be-bankrupt corporations. He might be dogged by paparazzi when going to a movie. His statements would be lead items on teevee newscasts.
Thomas L. Friedman is, I hope, not starving, but I doubt the NY Times signed him up with a contract for tens of millions in compensation. He understands the Mideast, the oil and energy situation, and many other issues critical to our survival, and explains them in newspaper columns and books so that simple people like me can understand them.
He is a genius. We should listen to him.
But we’d rather obsess endlessly over Paris and Lindsey and Britney and the Thug of the Week in professional sports and American Idol.
Friedman’s columns are syndicated and I get to read them in The Denver Post. Today’s is a classic - even unto the title, “Dumb as we Wanna Be” - and I am going to reprint it right here because I devoutly hope that as many people as possible will read it and think. It is copyrighted and owned and possessed and controlled and whatever by the author and/or the New York Times and believe me when I cross my heart and look heavenward and swear and affirm that I have no designs, carnal or commercial, on this copy, and am only hoping to spread the message of a very wise man who walks among us.
In case you don’t read it all, here’s the last line, the money quote, amen:
[T]he biggest energy crisis we have in our country today is the energy to be serious — the energy to do big things in a sustained, focused and intelligent way. We are in the midst of a national political brownout.
It is great to see that we finally have some national unity on energy policy. Unfortunately, the unifying idea is so ridiculous, so unworthy of the people aspiring to lead our nation, it takes your breath away. Hillary Clinton has decided to line up with John McCain in pushing to suspend the federal excise tax on gasoline, 18.4 cents a gallon, for this summer’s travel season. This is not an energy policy. This is money laundering: we borrow money from China and ship it to Saudi Arabia and take a little cut for ourselves as it goes through our gas tanks. What a way to build our country.
When the summer is over, we will have increased our debt to China, increased our transfer of wealth to Saudi Arabia and increased our contribution to global warming for our kids to inherit.
No, no, no, we’ll just get the money by taxing Big Oil, says Mrs. Clinton. Even if you could do that, what a terrible way to spend precious tax dollars — burning it up on the way to the beach rather than on innovation?
The McCain-Clinton gas holiday proposal is a perfect example of what energy expert Peter Schwartz of Global Business Network describes as the true American energy policy today: “Maximize demand, minimize supply and buy the rest from the people who hate us the most.” Continue Reading »
Here it is. A picture of the final straw on this here camel’s back. The ultimate frustration for someone who spent years as a mere network user at work, with limited ability to customize her own PC environment. Who after paying her OWN DAMN MONEY for a PC to use at home, is confronted with this EACH AND EVERY TIME SHE CLICKS THE “SHUT DOWN” BUTTON ON BOTH OF HER VISTA-EQUIPPED PCs:
Yes. I was yelling.
Look, I have never ever put my PC to sleep. I have no idea why I would want to. It’s either on and I’m using it, or it’s off and I’m not. And it’s really off: peripherals powered down, the surge protector block turned off too. Not sucking electricity just so I can save a teensy bit of time when I want to use the machine again.
Until Vista came along, the “Shut Down” button for Windows (my cousin the software engineer calls it Winbloze) would produce a box that defaulted to your last choice. Which was probably what you usually did and wanted to do that time too: restart, shut down, log off user, whatever.
But not now. Oh no. Whatever you did last time, Vista doesn’t want to know. Because obviously the exalted gurus at Microsoft know best for you and your PC: You are feeling sleepy. Verry verrry sleepy. Do not pursue your desires and the stress they bring. Just relax. Go to sleep.
In three hours I’ll be at the local Apple store meeting with a concierge for an hour of personal shopping. I’m keeping the Toshiba notebook PC but dumping this desktop. Yeah, I know that Macs have a sleep option too but I’ll deal with it. Maybe this unalterable default to the sleep mode is an example of Microsoft aping Apple, but it’s irritating as hell on top of everything else.
And every time I see that “sleep” default on a Vista shutdown screen? I’m thinking: Bite me, Microsoft. You drove me over the edge into MacWorld and put a few thou into Apple’s coffers with that stupid little stunt.
I’ve been making a list tonight and checked it at least twice. I’m taking it with me tomorrow for my first-ever appointment with a personal shopper.
At the local Apple store.
An hour with a concierge to ask those questions and test drive the gadgets.
My craptastic desktop PC is dropping some hints that something else may be going wrong - after all, it’s been eight whole months since the hard drive failed and it must be time for some attention, huh? I looked at my finances and decided I’m about ready to take the plunge that I blogged about a few months ago.
I’m gonna get an iMac. With wireless mouse and wireless keyboard. And an Airport. Wireless printing, even! And finally, freedom from the horrendous amount of cables and wires and clutter that come along with the PC experience.
If only it could scrub toilets and take out the trash.
Okay, I know he’s not a genius. But Jasper’s been busy this morning as I’ve been sitting here at the PC catching up on things. (That little unhappiness-of-the-tummy on Sunday that I thought was just something I ate? By Sunday night it was accompanied by a temp of 101.5F and overall achiness. I’m better now but yesterday wasn’t very productive.)
I looked up a few minutes ago and saw that Jasper was in the living room. And discovered that he had gathered his big soft toys into a group in the middle of the floor. Honest. The big toy was near that spot earlier, but the others were scattered around the room.
I summoned Jasper over for a picture - by shaking the little triangle-thingie at him and dropping it near the big soft toy pile - but he was more interested in asking me to pick him up than sitting still. I finally got this shot of him near his pile of cuddly buddies.
We’ve had quite the week, kind of a personal furry scurry. Little Jasper has had to adjust to a whole new world. Instead of living in a house on 10 acres in the country with lots of other dogs and a few people, he’s now living in a condo in Denver with one crazy old lady. Instead of hearing just birds and country sounds when he goes outdoors, he hears all the big city background noises that people can be so oblivious to. And he often rides in an elevator, which was a whole new experience too.
He’s met lots of new neighbors and visited his new vet and new groomers - all very pleasant experiences.
The worst thing, is that now and then he is left absolutely alone in the condo. Which causes him to yip and yap for quite awhile. Or so the neighbors tell me.
Ouch.
So far everyone I’ve spoken to is understanding, and I hope he eventually will mature and learn that the barking doesn’t help and that I will always come back. And when I come back I will free him from his “prison” - which is a room outfitted with his crate (into which he can come and go), toys, water and snacks, and a puppy pee pad, and a gate across the door which he can see through.
Early last week I had some kind of tummy upset bug, and now this morning don’t feel so good - again.
I think Jasper and I will go outdoors for a leisurely ramble and then come back indoors for a Sunday morning nap. The fajitas I ate last night, when we went out to celebrate the 23rd birthday of my nephew first cousin once removed? A good idea at the time. But perhaps not the best possible choice after all.
The puppy’s home. I’m calling him Jasper - a name with an interesting heritage* and also a nice mineral. We are both still resting up from yesterday’s epic travels, and I have things to do besides play on the innernets so this will be short.
Jasper is cute as can be, with beautiful markings, including a lot of white. The colored parts of his coat shade from a lovely red down to almost black such as at the tips of his ears.
He’s also sweet and friendly and amazingly poised. Yesterday he was driven by his humans down to a new place (SUX), where he was playing around on some grass outdoors when this new person walked up. Then eventually his mom and grandma left him with this lady.
And the day got stranger from there!
He was in and out of a new building with noisy big sliding doors, and got to ride around awhile in a rental car, and then back to that building.
Next, it was into a carrier that he didn’t like much but put up with. Ending up under a seat in a very noisy contraption in which he experienced very odd sensations.
(The Lynxturboprop planes are brand new and comfy and this flight was so sparsely passengered that the flight crew just *might* have looked the other way when I took him out of the carrier and let him snooze on my lap for a lot of the flight. But since that would be against the rules I must assume they just didn’t *see* me doing that.)
And then being carried in that carrier through a big noisy place (DEN) and onto something she called a “shuttle bus” and then into yet another car…
That’s a lot of excitement for a six pound 4-month-old fella to handle. But he took it all like a little champ! He’s well on his way to being housebroken and I will forever be grateful to his breeder for producing such well-socialized pups. He’s used to car rides and house noises and meeting strangers. He’s also cool with going into his crate at bedtime and just generally being sweet and adorable and busy keeping me wrapped around his little paw.
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*Derived from “Casper” who was one of the Three Wise Men (he brought the gold), it’s not all dignity and honor which would be boring anyway. A “jasper” in 19th and early 20th century British and US slang was variously a villain, a troublemaker, or a guy who brought bad luck.
This is my puppy at his home in S.D. this afternoon, after his big road trip to and from the Minneapolis airport, and staying overnight away from home. He was more interested in playing with his brothers than sitting still for a picture or having his hair combed up into a topknot, but L got some quick snaps and emailed them to me.
I’m going to fly to a city not far from their home next weekend (not Minneapolis). L will bring him to me at the airport, and I will fly back to Denver a couple of hours later with the pup in the aircraft cabin. No more cargo for this guy! We’re flying on Frontier, my hometown airline which I hope emerges in due course from Chapter 11 reorganization, because it’s also my favorite airline.
Northwest Airlines can kiss my grits. They accepted my puppy for shipping. VIP shipping, yet. They literally took his crate from the hands of the breeder’s husband at the Minneapolis airport.
AND THEN THEY DIDN’T PUT HIM ON THE PLANE.
Thank goodness L, the breeder, called NWA to confirm that both puppies they shipped today (mine and a dog headed for another city) were on their way. Because that’s when they told her, well, we didn’t really get that little guy on the plane. NWA gave her some convoluted tale about there being “too much cargo” on the plane or something - although I’m damned if I can see how one tiny puppy and his plastic crate could overload a commercial jet. That would have been Flight 563 from Minneapolis to Denver, just to be specific. And that’s Northwest Airlines, NWA, just to be really specific. I suspect some ramp rat was sneaking a smoke break or something instead of tending to business, and the pup was left off the plane by negligence. But we’ll never really know.
Because bad weather’s moving in up there and they were making noises like the later flight might get scrubbed, L called her hubby who was on the road headed home and told him to turn around, go back to MSP to get the pup and bring him home. A four hour drive to South Dakota. Where a serious snow storm is moving in as we speak. Blizzard warnings are in effect for their area, according to weather.com. I pray they have a safe drive home this afternoon and evening.
I am so disappointed. It will probably be another week now before I get to bring my puppy home.
Another bad experience with Northwest Airlines. I haven’t flown NWA for nearly ten years, just to avoid crappy experiences. And now I get to have one without leaving home.
Damn.
UPDATE on Friday morning: L’s hubby went back to the airport and picked up the pup, but didn’t get all the way home to SD last night. Blizzard conditions, interstates closed. He and the pup stayed overnight somewhere about an hour from home and will get home after the roads are reopened, which I hope is later today.
L told me this is the first time they have ever had to come back home with a puppy because of shipping problems. I’m so glad that the pup is with someone he knows and not Lord knows where in whatever kennel accommodations NWA would have put him in if he had been left at the airport! But just consider how much trouble NWA caused by accepting the puppy for VIP shipment and then not putting him on the flight. What a mess.
And thanks to everyone for the good wishes about the new puppy, and the condolences on this setback.
MUCH LATER SECOND UPDATE: NWA’s story to L’s husband when he went back to pick up the pup, was that the live animal cargo area in the aircraft was not heated due to a mechanical problem so of course they couldn’t load any animals into it. And of course there is no way to know if that was just a convenient cover story, or the truth.
It’s early morning. I’ve had breakfast and coffee, read the newspaper, checked my emails and it’s time to head for the shower and get dressed, and then out of here.
My stuff to take with me is stacked on a table:
Trusty old nylon attache case
Purse
Tote bag with leash, toy, soft old towel, puppy treats, water bowl, water bottle, and so forth
Because late this afternoon I’ll head out to the airport, to PICK UP MY PUPPY.
I really feel like a kid just before Christmas. And not just because we’re having a spring snow storm today.
To paraphrase the Chipmunks, “Hurry, puppy - I can’t wait!”
I suppose it was too much to ask, that we’d get well into spring before the political ads bloom all over the teevee. One of the usual Republican suspects fine GOP candidates for the United States Senate here has been running an ad featuring kids saying “Thanks, Bob!” for his support of charter schools when he was in the state legislature. Or some “independent” and “unrelated” organization has been running them for him. After spending $470,000 to make the ad.
Whatever.
Here’s the response, by ProgressNow. They say their production costs just amounted to ”a bottle of Scotch and a few cheap cigars.”
The original ad is also on YouTube but I’m not promoting that guy so you can find it for yourself.
Thanks to Cambridge Soundworks’ customer service guru, Chris Cooper, for posting a comment below and for being so helpful in our phone conversation.
I’m OK with the radio I’ve got. It seems to work just fine. And now CSW knows I’ve got it. Chris said that if they can’t fix a radio sent in for repairs, they may ship the customer a refurbished unit of the same model instead. But that wasn’t stated on this service invoice, so this may have been a genuine mixup. Chris asked me to send my “bonus” kiddie music CD back to them at their expense, which I will. In case they hear from another customer asking “where’s my Mommy and Me CD that was in the radio I sent you to repair?”
A couple of months ago my fancy clock radio went on the fritz. I blogged about it here.
I sent it back to Cambridge Soundworks in Massachusetts for repair, via FedEx. And waited.
Finally, two days ago a box was delivered to me from Cambridge Soundworks, containing my radio. Oddly, in the box with the radio was also a cardboard envelope with a CD of some kiddie music or something. And when I plugged it in to check it out, none of the radio station presets were the same as they used to be. But I didn’t have much time to spend messing with it, and it seemed to work OK.
A few minutes ago, intending to flatten the shipping box and take it out with the rest of the recyclables, I pulled the shipping document out of the plastic sleeve on the outside. And read it. I noticed that although I’d given them my correct phone number, they had garbled it on the paperwork.
Then I read the description of the repair: “removed and returned 1 CD unit”.
Huh? The CD and radio on my unit worked just fine; it was all the clock and timing functions that were haywire. (I think that static electricity had fried those circuits.)
Uh-oh. I fetched my records, which include the serial number of my radio, then looked at the back of this one. Not a match.
They sent me somebody else’s radio. One that had been sent in for repair with a broken CD player - which still had a CD in it, and which they carefully packed up and sent along with the radio. To me.
I’ll call their customer service line tomorrow. This could be a fun conversation. Because I am *not* spending another dime to send anything to anybody after the co$t of shipping my radio by FedEx and the $65 repair fee.
Today I spent the morning doing my volunteer gig under the big top.* This was my second Sunday morning shift in a row. The four hours went pretty fast. Both Sundays, I’ve been in a spot in the main Terminal where a lot of just-checked-in passengers walk by.
When I’m out there I’m wearing the volunteer uniform: a nice suede vest, blue jeans, white shirt, bolo tie and snappy white Stetson hat. (The vest, hat and bolo tie are furnished by the airport.) I’m there to answer questions and give directions. It’s fun to have no agenda or purpose but to help people. Mostly the people I talk to need basic directions: to security, where’s their gate. I’m learning a lot as I go along although after working at the airport all those years I did know some things already.
The most common questions I heard last week and today, other than a request for basic directions: Where’s Starbucks? (Concourse B down at the far East end by the regional jet gates.) Where can I find a TV to watch here in the Terminal? (Red Rocks Bar and Seattle’s Best coffee for sure; walk by the other eateries and see if any of them has TV.) Will there be places to eat after I go through security? (Yes.)
Today I got a new one. Somebody asked if there’s a Dunkin’ Donuts in the airport. There isn’t, but that’s not a silly question when you consider the crummy junk-food lineup slap in the middle of the Terminal, 6 East: Panda Express, Domino’s Pizza, Taco Bell, and Burger King. In an ug-lee old food court which sadly has one of the primo visible spots in the place.
There’s a brand new spot in the Terminal: the Marketplace. It opened the other day and has a coffee shop, a flower shop and a corner store with food and snacks. Here are some pictures I took. It looks fresh and new. Lord knows the Terminal could use more of that. (I’m not going to waste bandwith by posting any pictures of the crummy food court.)
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*Denver International Airport, aka “DIA”, airline code DEN
Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what’s going to happen next. Delicious ambiguity.”– Gilda Radner
A year ago I grabbed the modest retirement I’d earned by sticking to a job for 17 years and achieving the age of 55 years. (Well, over-achieving that latter bit, if you want to be picky.)
And headed out the door into a world quite new to me: life without a full-time job. No pets or people to care for at home, a little bit of money dropping into my checking account each month just because I’m still breathing, a bit of money banked in the “fun and travel” account, and no fixed schedule.
I found it was relaxing, healing, scary, and sometimes I was immobilized by a sense of infinite possibilities or at least more than I could handle. I traveled, I snoozed, I took a lot of pictures and read a lot of books and walked for miles in the parks. I also let my inner lazy slob out to play and gained ten pounds. Ouch. I wish I could say that I embraced life and all its unknowns with verve and style, but I’d be lying. I’ve struggled some.
It’s been an ambiguous time, that’s for sure. Four times, on an airplane, I was handed customs and immigration forms as we headed to a foreign country. All asked me to state my occupation. How I answered depended on my mood. But I think I only wrote “retired” once because it didn’t seem right.
Now I’ve been working again for four months, this time self-employed. I’m happy about it. That ten pounds is gone. And I’m over communing with my inner lazy slob; she can go away forever.
I’m still a little stymied for an answer when asked “What do you do?”
Sometimes I say I’m semi-retired. Other times that I’m working as special counsel on a short-term contract without mentioning the R word.
In a couple of weeks I’ll probably say that I’m engaged full time in housebreaking a Shih Tzu puppy.
My hope for the next 12 months: that I can savor life’s ambiguity.
Last night I thought I’d take my two currently checked-out Netflix DVDs from the living room to watch on the TV in the bedroom. And couldn’t find them.
Anywhere. Even after I went to bed, realized I was still worrying about where they could be, and got up to rummage around a couple more places. In vain.
The good thing about living in a small-ish condo: there aren’t all that many places to look for a lost item. The bad thing: once you’ve looked all over and not found it, you have to face the strong probability that it’s well and truly lost.
In the case of the DVDs, I suspect that in their mailing envelopes they got swept into a stack of newspapers on the dining room table, and then placed into the recycling box. And duly dumped into our big recycling dumpster.
So I bravely went to Netflix to learn the worst. I can’t get any more DVDs sent to me until I either return those two or fess up and pay for them, and I pay a flat monthly fee no matter how many - or few - DVDs I circulate in a month. Procrastination will just waste more money.
It’s not as bad as I thought. There’s a simple way to report that you’ve lost or damaged a DVD. It costs you $20 (not cheap but not too outrageous - they do have to discourage people from reporting losses just to keep a DVD instead of sending it back).
And the sweet part: if you find it within a year, you can send it in and they will refund the $20.
A $40 reminder that I need to be tidier around the house. It hurts. But I’m glad it wasn’t worse.
From this morning’s newspaper, life advice from Trudy Strauss. She’s not rich or famous or on Youtube and I haven’t bothered to google her. The column (printed in full below the fold) told me all I need to know. Here’s the gist:
Ex-employees of Cici’s owner’s beauty salon are dogging their old boss. They say she lied about only using food-based dyes on the pooch.
Whatever.
Bottom line for me is the quote from the story I posted earlier today: the Boulder Humane Society spokesperson - and the BHS issued the ticket as it’s authorized to enforce animal cruelty ordinances - “agreed that the dog appears to be well-cared for, except that she’s pink.”
OK, all this squirrelly nonsense over one well-cared for little dog.
And, of course, priceless amounts of free publicity for Cici’s owner.
The fashion police. The color patrol. The aesthetic posses.
Crimes against fashion are now City ordinance violations. Yes: tickets can be issued and fines up to $1000 are possible.
I’m sure that some of my accessory choices are just all wrong. And a ticket would be too big a hit against my retirement income. I’d better not risk it.
I wish I were making this up.
For the record, I don’t like to see perfectly nice poodles and other dogs all gussied up to look like topiaries in colors that Mother Nature never intended. But as long as they aren’t ill-treated or dunked in awful chemicals, it’s a silly waste of public resources for their owners to be dragged into the court system. Entire story below the fold if the link above doesn’t work. Today it was reported that Cici’s owner has lawyered up and the case has been continued to a later date.
I’ve been busy offline the last couple of weeks. This morning I visited some favorite blogs for the first time in awhile. I felt a touch guilty heading over to Go Fug Yourself - after all, it’s pretty snarky and I’m trying out this Complaint Free World thing. Which doesn’t work if I get all snarky.
Silly me, why did I worry? That’s where I learned about the Dewey Donation System. Getting kids’ books into libraries and thus into the hands of kids. Kids who may not have a bunch of books - or any - at home.
Decisions, decisions. It’s not whether I’ll donate, it’s when and what and to whom.
How do we tell our habits from our compulsions, and our compulsions from addictions?
One way to find out is to try to change our behavior - and see what happens.
This week I received the book and purple bracelet I’d ordered from A Complaint Free World. I’m wearing the bracelet. The idea is that you move the bracelet from one wrist to the other each time you complain, criticize or gossip. My goal is to get through a day without moving it from one wrist to the other.
Last night at dinner I said my goal was to go 21 straight days without moving the bracelet. This morning I realize that’s the long-term hope, but in fact the goal is to get through one day with it on the same wrist.
The one day goal is doable. The bigger target consists of making 21 of those days in a row.
I know a little bit about one day, a string of days, an eventual enrichment of years.
I used to drink too much, and I tried to cut back or quit on my own. It didn’t work. My secret knowledge was that I could not control my drinking, but my life looked pretty good. I wasn’t broke, unemployed, facing drunk driving charges or living out of my car. I couldn’t be an alcoholic.
The moment I admitted to another human being that I was, and needed help to deal with it, I felt myself literally supported by strong arms, and a weight lifted from my head and shoulders. I kept my word and went for help. It wasn’t an incidental commitment slotted into my busy life, but a commitment that rudely interrupted my work and social life for a good month at first.
In return, I was able to hold on to the gift of sobriety. Went to a lot of meetings in a lot of different rooms, met a lot of new people, and learned a lot. Including that I can do a difficult thing for a day if doing it forever sounds too long, or for ten minutes if doing it for a day sounds too long.
I haven’t had a drink since that conversation, that moment of admission which summoned something like angels’ wings to hold and comfort me.
It happened on March 9. Twenty-one years ago today.
I think the US Transportation Security Administration is trying to reassure us regular peeps who fly commercial with this section of its website about its National Explosives Detection Canine Team. And it’s interesting.
But I find something unsettling about their breeding program logo. Unsuspecting yellow Lab being approached from behind by aggressive commercial jetliner.
Result: airplane that can sniff its own explosives, or dog that can fly itself to work?
I posted the other day about how an alert waiter in Colorado Springs recently prevented a woman from being victimized - by a drug placed in her drink by her date while she was away from their table.
Yesterday I read another story about the good deeds of restaurant staff. Details here and below the fold if the link has gone dead.
You can bet your rigatoni that I’m likely to have lunch or dinner at one of the Pulcinella Ristorante locations sometime soon.
My Inner Snark has been having fun with a comment recently submitted to my post “Anything but Pink.” From someone we’ll call “Minnie.” Which is NOT what she called herself when submitting her comment, so all you real live Minnies out there who are also starting lawsuits, this is not about you, OK?
Anyway, I’ve held the comment in the moderation queue while deciding what to do with it.
I have to snicker at the vision of someone trying to get women to volunteer as plaintiffs in a class action lawsuit against a cosmetic company - because they used the company’s cosmetics and now are wrinkled ugly crones. Whose calls the company won’t take.
I wish I could say something nice, like I feel Minnie’s pain. But I don’t. I don’t even believe anything she writes. With identifying information removed, here’s the comment:
Yes be afraid to use [name of brand] products. Are you looking to age 10yrs in 3 months time? You will age, wrinkle, and have blood vessels burst against your skin, if you use [name of brand] products. They are lying to you if they tell you it is natural and healthy for your skin, their product will do nothing but age you! BE AFRAID TO USE [name of brand] PRODCUTS! Now that I am old looking with wrinkles I did not have before using their product the corporation will not speak to me. Their customer care dept will do nothing for me. [name of brand] CORP DOES NOT CARE ABOUT YOU OR YOUR SKIN, JUST YOUR MONEY!!! Please contact me if you have had bad skin problems from using [name of brand] products. I am looking to start a class action law suit against [name of brand] for aging me and not speaking to me or trying to resolve this problem. You can contact me at ***@***.
Minnie, get your own blog if you want to drum up a lawsuit. As you would have known if you’d read my post, I have nothing to do with any cosmetic company - except as a retail customer of a few products - and I’m keeping it that way.
Note to anyone who thinks they can ask me for Minnie’s contact info: Nope. I won’t give it to you. Don’t bother me.
Thanks to Fighting Windmills for asking, I’m getting adjusted to having these braces on my teeth. I’m even able to eat again. No fear that The Pigout Queen here would ever fall victim to any condition that would keep her from eating for any serious length of time. Like three hours or more.
I’m busy - working. Really cuts into my time to sit around and goof off and write silly things on my blog.
For some reason this morning I’m thinking of recent local headlines concerning Men Behaving Badly. And in one of the two stories, a man behaving very well indeed. Knight-in-Shining-Armor well. Literally rescuing a damsel from the brink of peril.
The biggest bunch of men behaving badly were young: 9 CU frat pledges who comprehensively trashed an Estes Park motel. Assumptions are always risky, but why do I think that these guys may have felt somehow entitled to act like rock stars in a Super 8 Motel? I’d like to think that they will face no consequences as hellish for this rampage, as looking their mamas in the eye.
In the other story, an alert waiter spotted a man putting something into his date’s drink while the date was away from the table in the ladies’ room. As soon as she returned to the table, the waiter brought her a new drink, took the tainted drink away, and called the cops. The doctored drink contained Valium - not an item on the menu at Ruby Tuesday.
The date was arrested. Robert Lawrence Psaty, 56, has a history of abusive behavior toward women, but has managed to skate away from serious legal consequences, to the extent of being able to pass a background check to work at the state hospital. Scary. He met the date through a dating service. Extra scary. They were meeting in a public place - per the accepted wisdom of safe dating. Mega scary.
I’ve been busy offline the last couple of weeks. This morning I visited some favorite blogs for the first time in awhile. I felt a touch guilty heading over to 
This week I received the book and purple bracelet I’d ordered from 
I think the US Transportation Security Administration is trying to reassure us regular peeps who fly commercial with this section of its website about its 
