Self Discovery

Mao critiques her own blog post. "Meh?"

Peace...FINALLY

Sam and Mao wish you Peace on Earth. 
Or, at least, no more hissing and biting.

Mao-Mao Part II

Did I mention that I am NOT a Cat Person? And yet, I type this with a cat on my lap. What happened? Well, as you recall from the previous post, the library staff managed to capture the two homeless kittens, living behind the building. One went home with a co-worker and the other, Black kitty, went off to a shelter. As fate would have it, the shelter was closed to incoming animals on Thursdays, so back she came. "It's a SIGN!" a co-worker proclaimed. Yeah...right. We stressed, worried and pow-wowed about finding a home for her. I staunchly maintained my position: "No way...Sam would freak out...I know nothing about cats...I am NOT a Cat Person!!" but reluctantly agreed to take her home until a forever home could be found. An e-mail was sent out to other branches, along with cute photos, pleading for a home. We received one "maybe." A co-worker agreed to take her home for the night. We were thrilled but I quickly came to the (horrifying) realization that of all the people currently involved in the care of this small animal, I had the most experience with animals and am the biggest sucker. Crap. I went up to work on my day off armed with gloves, towels and flea shampoo to administer my very first cat bath. I was prepared to bleed...heavily. But as soon as I saw how scared she was, I abandoned the gloves immediately so I could comfort her and so she could feel my hands. She fought at first, but the minute I lowered her into the warm water, she relaxed and let me massage her with shampoo. As the fleas swarmed her head, she closed her huge yellow eyes and seemed to surrender herself to being cared for. I wrapped her in a warm towel and she immediately nestled in my lap and purred. Loudly... seriously, it was like a motorcycle. Then she went to sleep. Crap. I sat on the floor in the library workroom with this soggy, tiny thing in my lap and wondered exactly HOW mad Sam would be if I brought her home. Sam, who is fast enough to chase down cats...who has caught three already, and whose ears prick up at the sound of a meow and the thrill of the hunt? In the end, my trust in Sam and in my ability to control him won over and I agreed to take Kitty home until after Thanksgiving or until the "maybe" person could take her. That was a month ago. The "maybe" reneged and Harley (named for the motorcycle she sounds like when she's happy) has a "cautious" friendship with Sam. Neither one trusts each other; Harley is determined to gnaw on Sam's leg and Sam warns her with a teeth-baring snap when she swipes at him. They've finally started playing together. Sam will walk by, a black arm will shoot out and swipe his tail, she'll shoot off and he'll take off after her. Or she'll jump in a reusable grocery bag - Sam will stick his entire head in (duh, Sam!) and jump back when she swats him. And she thinks she's Asian... hiding in the wrought iron of the coffee table until Sam comes by and then silently dropping down behind him to attack. It is the way of Secret Asian Ninja Cat. I no longer worry that he'll hurt her or she, him. Both are too worried that I'll yell. I think I knew it was okay when I came out of the bathroom and both dog and cat were sitting outside, side by side, waiting for me.  It's my fault that she doesn't respond to her name, Harley. I started calling her Mao-Mao when I called her, "Mao?" and she answered, "Meh?" which is our usual routine now because I don't think she knows how to Meow. I say, "Mao, are you hungry?" and she answers, "Meh? Meeeeh" and I hustle to warm her food. If dogs could roll their eyes, Sam would. So Mao-mao is her nickname. Weird or not, it seems natural. So that's how a Dog Person came to own a cat. My sister says Mao-mao looks and acts like "Toothless" from the movie, "How to Train Your Dragon." It's true. In this case, it didn't take a whole village to rescue her but it did take an entire library staff. I'm told that it only takes one cat to change your mind if don't like them. Mao-mao, I think, is that cat. She certainly has won my heart -- but I'm still not a Cat Person. (Visit Mao's and Sam's blogs by clicking on the Blog icons in the right margin -yes, they have blogs. You don't?)

Mao-Mao Part I

I am a dog person. I've always owned dogs and, if I have it my way, always will. Dogs are whip smart, love you unconditionally, are loyal to a fault, and care whether you live or die. Cats are annoying, sneaky, irreverent, and if you are hanging off the edge of a cliff on the precipice of death, may - just may - wander over to see if you've fallen yet. I don't hate cats, I just prefer dogs. No cats! No, no no. And now, I am a cat owner. *sigh* Okay, here's the deal. Around October, the library staff at work noticed a tail-less gray cat and her two kittens (one fluffy gray and the other deep black, but all with bright gold-yellow eyes) hanging around behind the library, hiding under the shed in the back. We were compelled to do, what all animal lovers do, that is, we ran out and bought cat food and crowded by the window to watch them wander out and eat from chipped workroom dishes. Being the aforementioned "Non Cat Person," I participated in the care of the little family, scolded other staff members for forgetting to put out water and kibbles on my off days, and watched from the window during my lunch hour but tried to remain detached. More involved staff members bought kitty toys, tuna fish and spent their lunch hours sitting outside by the shed hoping to lure the kittens out. Mama Cat glared at us through the window, daring us to make a move toward her babies, who delighted us with kitten play. Our library family was drawn together; united toward the care of this little trio. Unfortunately, our worst fears were realized when Mama Cat disappeared, perhaps struck by a car in the traffic that raced alongside our building. Now our concern for the kittens was magnified and we redoubled our efforts to capture them before the weather got cold. Gray was captured in November and adopted by one of us, which left Black alone under the shed and became the focus of our efforts. Only in Texas can you say, "I need to catch a cat" and have six people step forward and offer traps. Traps...eek. The first few tries ended in disaster, with the capture of a nasty, snarling possum and then a huge black adult cat that I dubbed "Lucifer" due to its evil glare from the cage. Where was Black kitty and was she okay? I, the self-professed non Cat Person, went home worried every night. Finally, with the aid of a co-worker's determined dad, who showed up almost daily with traps, small cups of mystery meat and dressed in camouflage, kitty was captured! But now what? Gray kitty's new owner couldn't take in another and no one else was interested. Finally the decision to take her to a shelter (with dubious hopes that she would be adopted) was made and off she went. The right thing to do, certainly. But after all these weeks of worrying and watching, the emptiness was palpable. The library staff turned away from the window and went back to work. (Part 2 to follow)

Who Let The Cat Out of The Bag?

Meet the newest member of our family: Harley. She's so named because of the deep, rumbling motorcycle sounds she makes when she's purring, which I'm told means she's happy. Her story is kinda sad but has a happy ending because we're happy she's part of our family. Sam...not as thrilled, but he's working on it. Maybe later I'll blog about how Kitty Mao-mao (that's her nickname), the no-tail kitten who doesn't know how to Meow, came to be: Secret Asian Ninja Cat. 

Sheltie vs Kitty

Uh oh...

Stuffed

Thanksgiving is ofver? I is ready for left-ofvers.

The Kiddie Table

Bill Melendez Prod., Charles M. Schultz

Every Thanksgiving dinner brings to mind the iconic status symbol of the real difference between generations. The ultimate measuring stick of the vertically impaired. The true distance between childhood and adulthood.  Yes, I'm talking about the "Kiddie Table." I have fond memories of the Kiddie Table. As children, every holiday my sister and cousins and I were relegated not just to another table, but to a whole different room, separated from the adults.  We were allowed to dip from the adult buffet table (pronounced "Boo Fay" by my family) but then were shooed into "our place" as soon as our plates were filled. And we knew our place. If one of us strayed into the grownup room and took a seat, the rest of us would immediately sense the infraction and scurry to correct the insubordination. New additions (adopted) or visiting cousins were given the shakedown by us older cousins and shown their empty spot at the card table. YOUR chair folds up, don't forget that. The grown up table was for serious conversations like, who was getting a kitchen remodeled or how much one could expect to pay for a used lawn mower at a garage sale. That was fine by us. The Kiddie Table was OUR area. We told gross jokes, mixed all our food up in one cup to create the Ultimate Most Disgusting Thanksgiving Meal Ever and then tried to talk the younger cousins into tasting it. We hid terrible things in mashed potatoes, dropped cranberry sauce into glasses of Coca-Cola when one of them went to the restroom, and excelled at quickly reverting to the the Model Minority - we were trained to be - whenever an adult wandered into our sacred domain. It was a mini hierarchy of sorts, with us older cousins acting as babysitters; some shaking their heads at the juvenile behavior of the others, some participating.  Me, I was right in the thick of it, usually recommending what prank to play and then leading the charge against the uninitiated.  I know you're shocked. I think of those days with great fondness, when we didn't even have to worry about cleaning up, much less preparing the mountains of food that magically appeared every holiday.  After dinner, we'd scatter to play tag or Fruit Basket Turnover, which I just found out is an Asian game (who knew? I guess I'm oblivious; I still don't get Chinese Fire Drills). The grownups retreated into their requisite gender-specific corners: men in front of the television, women in the kitchen to clean up (that's another blog rant). Those were days unencumbered by scary news stories or those pesky government safety warnings. We burned leaves in ditches and leaped through the smoke, set off bottle rockets in the city, biked alone where ever we wanted and spent many summer hours on our stomachs dipping styrofoam cups into sludgy ditch water for tadpoles. Those were our Wonder Years, forever gone. Would I ever have let my son do any of those things when he was my age? Are you kidding? As an only child, I didn't let him light a match until he was ten, and he sure as heck never sat at a Kiddie Table. I'm glad for the extra safety precautions, I suppose.  But sometimes I mourn the fact that he never got to experience the pure, joyful satisfaction of watching your younger cousin swill his glass of Dr Pepper, completely unaware of the nasty Brussels sprout waiting for him at the bottom.  Ahhh. Eventually, we all graduated to the Grownup Table and, sadly, to all the work that came along with it.  Had I known that, I would have stayed at the Kiddie Table forever (here Tristan would say, "well, you still fit!"), still wondering in blissful ignorance where all that food came from. No wonder they called it The Wonder Years.

Just Because

Always beautiful Sam.

Happy Birthday Tristan!!

"If you live to be a hundred, I want to live to be a 
hundred minus one day, so I never have to live without you."

~ A. A. Milne

Happy 21st Birthday, Tristan! 

(This is how I'll always think of you!)

Hard Times

 

I'm In A Philly Mood

Great song...great voice.

What Secret Asian Girl is Reading Now: Life in Eighty Minutes

"There are lots of deficient numbers that are just one larger than the sum of their divisors, but there are no abundant numbers that are just one smaller than the sum of theirs. Or rather, no one has ever found one."

"Why is that?"

"The answer is written in God's notebook," said the Professor.

- exerpt from The Housekeeper and the Professor by Yoko Ogawa

What would it be like to only be able to remember your life 80 minutes at a time? Every 80 minutes, your memories would be erased and everything would start over. That's the premise of a sweet and substantial novel by Yoko Ogawa, The Housekeeper and the Professor. A young, single mother and her ten-year old son take on the daunting job of keeping house for a brilliant professor of mathematics whose mental abilities have been hampered (but not diminished) by a head-on car accident. Although he requires the aid of scraps of paper scribbled with notes like, "new housekeeper," and, "I can only remember 80 minutes at a time," pinned to his tattered coat to function, there is no forgetting the logic and comfort of his beloved mathematics.  Math provides order to the Professor's chaos and his near-superhuman abilities to clarify the most complex mathematical equations give testament to the tenacity of the human mind even when injured. The only character with a name is "Root," the housekeeper's ten-year old son, so nicknamed by the Professor because his head is flat and dipped down at the end, like a square root symbol.  "A symbol which is strong with infinite capabilities" is probably the highest compliment one can get from a math genius. Root triggers deep, grandfatherly feelings within the elderly teacher, and likewise Root learns how to make sense of his world through the teachings of the professor. Together they discuss math, baseball and life itself, in 80 minute increments. As the three become family, secrets are revealed, and even the housekeeper finds her mind wandering to mathematical equations to make sense of it all. As I read this story, I was amazed at how the professor could simplify the most difficult equations even for math-challenged people like me. Simpler, but still baffling. I think that's why some people like math so much. There's always an answer...one correct answer. But I prefer to lounge in the uncertainty of life's problems.  Simple solutions come from simple minds, I always say. Life is more complex than that. As the professor explains, some things are unproveable and the answer is only written in God's notebook, not meant for any human to know. Still, I wouldn't be against forgetting some things I've experienced in my life. God's notebook has perforated pages, right?

You May Think It's Funny....But It's SNOT

Why have I had a head cold all week?

"Honey, take your lieberry card out of your 
mouth and give it to the lady!" 
Good grief.

Get Your Flu Shot

Swine flu is still out there so get your flu shot! It's a 3-parter this year but combined into one shot. Apparently, I'm too OLD to get the nasal spray. Pppbbttt!!!  Check out this site for some popular misconceptions about the flu shot. Remember: You can pick your nose. And you can pick your friends.  But you can't wipe your friends on the couch. Remember who told you that.

Tree Frog The Sequel: It's Not Safe To Go In The Back Yard

Damn yoouuu, Tree Frog! Why are you terrorizing me?? Only a few moments ago, I had my second encounter with the tree frogs living in the passion fruit vine outside my back door. If you remember, the little "cuties" kept affixing their sticky little bodies to the glass door and then flinging themselves at me when I'd open the door to let Sam out. The last time almost gave me a heart attack. I've taken to opening the door in "armed Ninja protection mode." Okay, so I crack the door with a towel over my head and hold a salad fork (you use what you've got). I think those frogs must be training the newly born froglets in a sort of miniature amphibian Jihadist attack camp aimed at giving me a seizure of some sort. The past few days I've noticed a new fellow on the door, albino, I think because instead of bright green, he's mostly white with just a splotch of green on his back. I just now opened the door for Sam and the little critter was staring at me from about 6" above eye level. I tried to shoo him away and...he HURLED himself at my head (much like seeing a flying squirrel in full spread formation launch himself from a tree at you) straight at my HEAD, landing in my HAIR. AAIIIIIIYYII!!! Now, let's pause and take this moment to imagine the frenetic gyrations I was able to perform in order to shake the sticky booger out of my hair. I'll have to imagine with you because the whole episode is a blur to me.  I vaguely remember screeching and flinging my head in and out of the curtains much like dancing the Hokey Pokey on acid. And at some point, there was a cold, wet, stickiness on my cheek. Unless someone pitched a pre-masticated GummiBear at my face, I'll assume it was Frogzilla. As for Sam, I think he watched me with detached interest for the first few minutes and... then left the room.  Finally, I saw the terrorist all splayed out on the side of the couch (in my mind it was the size of my open palm) and I was able to gather my wits about me enough to herd the Great White Amphibian out the door and back into the wild from which it came. Leapin' lizards!!  'Course, I'm sure the frog is at home now going, "Dude, you should have seen it, it was freakin' HUGE. And that hair could use some conditioner..."  Oh, sorry, I digressed.  Sam, I'm sorry but you're never going outside again.

Book Review: Killing Mr. Griffin

Each year, to celebrate Banned Book Week, I try to read a challenged book that I have not previously read. This year, I was intrigued by a selection that, the last time I checked, was #33 on the American Library Association's Most Frequently Banned Book List.  In case you're not familiar with this list, it contains books that have been challenged. According to the ALA, "a challenge is an attempt to remove or censor materials based upon the objections of a person or group. A successful challenge results in a ban." There are many reasons why a book can be challenged: inappropriate language, offensive terminology, plot inappropriate to age...the list goes on and on.  In effect: censorship. If you know anything about me, you can imagine how this makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. The ALA Office for Intellectual Freedom has recorded 7,000 challenges since 1990; over 500 in 2002 alone. Lot of closed minds out there.  And a LOT of sharp sticks where they shouldn't be.  So I not only discourage anyone from paying any heed to the warnings, I ENCOURAGE young readers to go of their way to read what people who think they know what's best for us DON'T want us to read. "Read irresponsibly" is my new favorite mantra.  So, this year I read Lois Duncan's Killing Mr. Griffin. This one has been around since 1978 and was ALA's Best Book for Young Adults in 1978 and 1994. The plot is what caused parents to freak out, and to be fair, I can sort of see why. A group of social fringe teens get mad at their English teacher and plot to kidnap him to scare him into giving them easier assignments. They rope in a nerdy girl who doesn't really share their grievances but agrees to help in order to be accepted.  Old, old themes. Teen angst, teens trying to fit in, teens being stupid and using poor judgment.  Unfortunately, the plan goes wonky when Mr. Griffin unexpectedly dies from a heart ailment that goes unmedicated during the kidnapping.  There's a few curse words but nothing most teens haven't heard before 10 o'clock in the morning. Of course, the problem is the plot. The parents who challenged this book were afraid that reading about killing a teacher might put the idea into their children's brains and mayhem would ensue.  I think kids are much more sophisticated (and smarter) than that. I WAS a teen in 1978, and although some twisted individuals might have entertained the idea after reading this, come on...it's not a NEW concept. Who *hasn't* been so angry at someone that you wished they would die? Not literally, but disappear from your life?  Okay, maybe it's just me. But no work of fiction can *make* anyone who is not already predisposed to this kind of behavior commit an act of violence. Columbine caught us, as parents, asleep on the job. Yes, bad things can happen. So let's talk about it and understand why it's a bad idea. At least that's my opinion. If anything, I think a book like this is important for teens to read. Without being preachy or judgmental (which is more than I can say for the folks who filed the complaint), the book demonstrates the consequences of our actions and how frivolous ideas can quickly turn into life changing moments. Life can turn on a dime and doing something uncharacteristic just to "fit in" is simply not worth it. I think it stands up well for a 32 year old book. The story is more relevant today than ever and I believe kids will see themselves in the characters and will encourage critical thinking.  Put this one on your teen's night stand and talk about it together. Read irresponsibly.

Can't Seem To Get Over....Unngh!

It's like this for me every morning.

Mouthful of Goodness

The Pioneer Woman Cooks|Ree Drummond

THIS is what's for breakfast. Cheddar Onion Bacon Biscuits 

from  The Pioneer Woman Cooks! website. Enjoy!

Ingredients

• 2 cups All-purpose Flour
• 1 teaspoon Baking Powder
• ¾ teaspoons Salt
• ¼ cups Vegetable Shortening (Crisco)
• 10 Tablespoons Milk (whole Milk Is Best)
• 4 Tablespoons Vegetable Oil
• 1 whole Egg
• 10 slices Thick Cut Bacon, Fried And Crumbled
• 1 cup finely Diced Onion
• 1 cup grated Sharp Cheddar Cheese

Preparation Instructions

Sift together flour, baking powder, and salt. Using a pastry cutter, cut in shortening until all combined.

Combine milk, oil, and egg in a separate bowl. Whisk together.

Combine flour mixture, milk mixture, bacon, onions, and cheddar cheese in a large bowl. Stir gently until all combined.

Spoon batter into greased muffin tins. Bake for 20 to 22 minutes in 375° oven until golden. Remove from pan and serve warm.

Book Trailer: Night of the Living Trekkies

Remembering 9-11

The Boy In the Striped Pajamas

In reviewing my past few blog entries, it occurred to me that I've been a tad maudlin lately. My sister says that I have a dark side to my personality so maybe it's that, but usually when I'm feeling this way it's a reaction to something (or someone) that's disgusting me. The news has been offending me lately, with all the book burning talk, religious intolerance, friends and family losing jobs, YouTube videos of puppies thrown in the river, Sarah Palin "refudiating," general stupidity ...all to a Justin Bieber soundtrack. (((shudder))) Of my dark mood, I deeply apologize. That's why I was reluctant to watch this 2008 movie, "The Boy in the Striped Pajamas." Of course, I knew of the book, by John Boyne, and had a vague idea of the plot. Unlike a friend of mine who has a fondness for "Holocaust literature," (fighting urge to use the word "twisted" ha ha) I do not share this seemingly bleak desire to relive this boil on the butt of human history. It would just make me angry, and like I said, I can do that by watching the nightly news. Anyway, I finally did get a chance to see this film and I was pleasantly surprised.  Unexpectedly, the movie did not make me as depressed as I thought it would. The story is about an 8-year old boy named Bruno who is the son of a high-ranking Nazi SS officer whose new job is to oversee a "camp," filled with Jewish prisoners. Bruno is unaware of the implications and horrors of such a facility and believes his father's propaganda films which show Jewish "guests" of the camp playing outside, eating at a café, all in general good health. This is confusing to the young boy, who befriends a fragile old man who works in the house named Pavel. Pavel used to be a doctor but now peels potatoes for the officer's family and is regularly a victim of casual brutality by younger Nazi officers. After spilling a wine glass at dinner one evening, Pavel disappears. Confused and ultimately bored, Bruno resorts to exploration and on one such expedition, meets a young Jewish prisoner sitting behind the barbed wire fence who happens to be his own age, named Shmuel. Through Shmuel's eyes, Bruno realizes the true nature of the camp and thus, the truth about his father's job. He struggles with the (currently relevant) question, "Why do we hate?" Is it because someone tells us to? The unlikely friendship blooms in spite of the obvious reasons it shouldn't, and the boys learn trust and forgiveness in the face of horrendous circumstances. The ending left me with mixed feelings of deep sadness tinged with an unsatisfying feeling of retribution. I expected to come away from this movie hating what evils humans are capable of. There is that, but I also came away surprised at the unadulterated kindness humans are also capable of. Perhaps this is what my friend finds when she reads so much on this subject: Despite the worst things imaginable, if we only listen to our own hearts...in the end, there is hope.

Read a Banned Book

"A book is a loaded gun in the house next door. Burn it.
Take the shot from the weapon. Breach man's mind. Who knows
who might be the target of the well-read man?
Me? I won't stomach them for a minute.…
Take your fight outside. Better yet, into the incinerator."

Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451

Celebrate Banned Book Week 
September 25 - October 2, 2010

Go out of your way to read the books
"they" don't want you to read.

Banned Books List

Read irresponsibly.  I do!

Library Patrons

Customer exchange I had recently. The names have been changed to protect the innocent...and also, me.

********************************* 

Customer: I'd like to report a missing book.

Me: Okay, let's look at your account and see which one is missing. What's the title?

Customer: Mad House by Chris Grabenstein.

Me: Well, I don't see that book on your account. And could you be thinking of Mad Mouse?

Customer: Oh. Yes.

Me: That title is not on your account.

Customer: I know. I want to report it missing from your shelf. It should be there and it's not.

Me: (checking catalog) Our copy is checked out. Can I request it for you?

Customer: No, you're not listening. It's missing, I tell you. MISSING!! The catalog says it's on your shelf and it's missing.

Me: No, sir. We only have one copy and it's checked out to another customer.

Customer: The catalog says you have it IN at Woodoaks!!

Me: This is Oakglen.

(silence)

Customer: Oh.

Wearing White After Labor Day

Believe it or not, there are still folks who will wag their finger at you after September 1st and say, "You're not supposed to wear white after Labor Day! ha ha!" I suppose they're trying to be humorous, but I want to wag my finger back at them and say, "This isn't 1955 anymore!" Different sentiment...different finger.  But where did that saying come from?  I looked it up and it turns out there's a practical reason for the admonishment. Labor Day, celebrated on the first Monday in September, marked the end of winter and white, being a summer color for clothing due to its ability to reflect light and heat, was no longer practical in the cooler weather. The saying became popular during the 1920's as a fashion warning to the nouveau riche who may have the money but not the sense enough to know that it's time to put away the lighter colored linens and cotton clothing they wore on summery escapes. During the mid-50's, the saying was meant to only apply to white bags and shoes. A practical application to the rule may have meant trying to avoid wearing light colored shoes during the cold and slushy winter months and getting them soiled. Like so many fashion rules, this one is also out-functioned and outdated. The weather here in Houston requires its own rules. When it's still 90° on Halloween, but the stores are selling wool turtleneck sweaters, you just have to throw the rulebook out the window.  Even etiquette guru Emily Post has long ago abandoned the white after Labor Day rule. In fact, wearing "winter white" is considered very "fashion forward." Ask Michelle Obama, who wore a beautiful white gown to the January Inaugural events. And just try wagging your finger at the...Pope. Okay, too far!  I'm trying to be more tolerant of the fashion-misinformed. I just can't promise that I won't slug the next person who tries to pinch me for not wearing green on St. Patrick's Day. 

The Red Dress by Dorothy Parker

The Red Dress 
by Dorothy Parker

I always saw, I always said

If I were grown and free

I'd have a gown of reddest red

As fine as you could see.

To wear out walking, sleek and slow

Upon a Summer's day

And there'd be one to see me so

And flip the world away.

And he would be a gallant one

With stars behind his eyes

And hair like metal in the sun

And lips too warm for lies.

I always saw us, gay and good

High honored in the town.

Now I am grown to womanhood

I have the silly gown. 

I like this poem...about growing older and letting go of idealism and other childish things. If I had a daughter, I'd have it framed for her.

Delusions of Grandeur

The lesser known, "I Have An Ego" speech.

Pppppbbbbbttt!!!

Must See Movie

 

Excellent film about a topic that needs to be discussed. Watch this with your older kids and talk about it with them.

Just For Grins

Frog of Ridiculously Small Proportions

It's like a sauna here in Houston even at 6 am. But it's not the humidity I fear when I open my door in the morning. It's a teeny weeny Frog of Ridiculously Small Proportions that lives in the passion flower vine by the back door. He's only about the size of your pinky fingernail, bright green and begs to be posted on cuteoverload.com. Not long ago, I sleepily made my way there to let Sam out, when a gooey, cold, wet thing flung itself at me, landed on my arm and hurled itself off onto the door. Even in semi-wakefulness, I was able to scream, fling my arms in the air and spin myself about as if performing an African fertility dance. This frenzy went on for about 2-3 minutes after which I was able to get the light on only to see Sam looking at me like, "Really?" If dogs could roll their eyes, he would have at that moment. Turns out this smallish amphibian takes refuge from the broiling heat in the freshly watered potted plants. I did find the terrified little froglet hiding underneath the blinds on the glass door hanging on for dear life with his sticky little fingers.  It took both me and Tristan, and the aid of a mayo jar and a sheet of paper, to remove him and return him safely to the passion flower plant.  Now that I know he lives there I try to water generously every morning and evening. I always peer under the leaves to find Frog of Ridiculously Small Proportions staring at me with that "yeah, so?" look they seem to have.  Yes, he's cute, but I'm still afraid to open the door in the morning.

What Secret Asian Girl is Reading Now

The book industry seems to be capitalizing on the reading public's softer side lately: its need to eat, pray and love and its need to cuddle with a soft, loyal friend who won't give us pink slips or lose its value and leave us with nothing. Except for a almost a year following the loss of a 13 year old dear and loyal friend, I have always owned a dog. That's why I'm drawn to the plethora of books being published about humankind's best friend. I can't get through the Marley and Me's, for obvious reasons, but I search for the stories that connect my deep feelings for dogs that only fellow dog lovers can understand. A Dog's Purpose, by W. Bruce Cameron is, finally, the book I've been looking for. There's no exhaustive sadness when the dog dies, because this dog dies many times. Let me explain. The dog in this book is born a mutt, living in a culvert with his mom and siblings, living off what little life has to offer him with no human assistance. It is a short and expendable life, but not one without meaning. This existence provides him with the relative experience he needs to learn to be grateful for his next life, as a family dog, Bailey. Bailey's happy time with his boy, Ethan, is the kind of life all dogs dream of: a full belly, a warm home, and a boy who loves him more than anything. Together, they grow older, fight evil, and learn to lean on someone who will always be there for you...as long as they can. Like all dogs, Bailey's life is all too short and he is unable to see Ethan through the remainder of his human life. Bailey begins to wonder what is the purpose of a dog's life, if not to be with his boy forever? Miraculously, Bailey is reborn as a German Shepherd puppy, whose destiny is to be trained as a police dog. Now a female named Ellie, but retaining all the memories and experiences (and feelings) of his/her previous lives, this time around teaches Ellie many things. Ellie learns to Find, a fun game that seems to make humans happy. Find is easy for Ellie, having had to Find Ethan or Find food as a stray. Being a police dog is another wonderful life for Ellie, and her end is not a sad one but one of satisfaction. Surely this must be a dog's purpose? But as Ellie is reborn yet again, this time as a pure-blood black lab and again as a male, he is depressed and ambivalent about going through yet another purposeless life. Worse, he belongs to a human who doesn't want him and ends up, like so many unwanted animals owned by stupid humans, dumped "in the country" to fend for himself. By sheer luck, our friend finds himself in a place familiar to him, where he used to play with a boy named Ethan. Could he use his new skills of Find to find Ethan? I won't ruin the ending for you but Buddy (Bailey/Ellie's new name) finds his purpose in life. Find is a wonderful purpose, but Save is even better.  Buy a box of tissues, snuggle with your fur friend and read this book now. This one is for Lily, Popi, Duffy, Riley and of course...Sam.

Monster Mashup

Mwuhahahaha!

Just An Old Fashioned Space-man

awfullibrarybooks.wordpress.com

So he's not a great poet... He'd still be my first choice on an away team when breaching the space-time continuum if the fate of the universe is at hand.  What? Like you wouldn't....

Opinion: Building a Mosque at Ground Zero

bundesregierung.de

It's a sensitive subject: Is it okay for an Islamic mosque to be built anywhere near Ground Zero? This question has been in the news and the subject of many debates this past week. Probably more so in N.Y. than around here. I've watched and read some of the discussions and I can see it from both sides. Even the president has weighed in on the matter and was soundly thumped for an answer that perhaps could have been better explained.  Still, if I had to choose, I'd have to go with the Constitution. In reality, it's two questions: Can it be built? And should it be built? The first one seems to be a purely legal issue. The U.S. Constitution provides for freedom of religion, no matter whether it's Christian, Muslim or Satanism.  I know that's difficult to stomach but get used to it.  So many people can't see past the noses on their faces to see the truth. Sure, the document *says* that but we all know it's really talking about the one TRUE religion, right?  It says so, right on our currency! And if people can't get on board with that we'll just micro-legalize it in individual states and shove it down your children's throats until they all believe as well and don't even realize they've been propagandized.  (Texas Board of Education...grrrrr) This reminds me of the white crosses that sometimes pop up along the interstate or at intersections where people have been killed.  There was some bruhaha in my neighborhood a while back where some people objected to these, saying that they were offended by the overt display of religion in their neighborhood. These people couldn't see it as not so much an in-your-face show of faith, but a demonstration of the family's grief in the way in which they are familiar with being comforted: their religion.  I'm fine with all of this as long as these cross displayers understand that the same laws that make their expression okay also protects others whose beliefs MAY not be in sync with theirs.  Unfortunately, I'm afraid that while these folks may agree in theory, they might get their dander up if a goat head figure shows up at the corner of Melody Lane and Sunshine Ct. Hypocrisy has always been a bugaboo of the fanatically ignorant.  So back to the Ground Zero debate.  I give President Obama props for gently trying to remind everyone that this is still America and we have religious freedom here, at least in theory. Maybe it's still too fresh in our minds because his words were met with an uproar. The president later came back and said he "questioned the wisdom" of those making this decision.  I agree with both.  The answer to the first question is "YES," a mosque CAN be built on or near Ground Zero. Thank goodness for that because it's precisely that YES that is the reason the terrorists hate us. NOT letting them build is like saying you're right; we are bigoted and intolerant and narrow-minded and ignorant to the diversity that make us resilient as a people. As to the second question of SHOULD, my answer (for now) is NO. It's not a legal issue, it's one of good taste and sensitivity. No more should a Shinto temple be built near the U.S.S. Arizona Memorial at Pearl Harbor or a U-Haul rental store open next to where the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building used to stand in Oklahoma City. It has less to do with faith than with reminding people of the senseless reasons so many people died. Sometimes you have to take emotion out of the mix to be able to listen to rationale. Our wounds are still too raw now to be rational but perhaps one day.... Just my opinion.

New Look!!

Time for sumptin' diff'rent! Let me know what you think!

Hot Flash?

Ahhhhhh....
Wonder where all this HEAT is coming from? Visit Dr. Jeff Masters' WunderBlog to read about how our heat is related to the Russian Heat Wave of 2010 and those floods in Pakistan. Or...it could just be another pesky hot flash.

What Secret Asian Girl is Reading Now

In general, I'm not a fan of this type of "pop fiction," or "chick lit," whatever this genre's current tab is. It's like cotton candy, fluffy and ... (show more)

In general, I'm not a fan of this type of "pop fiction," or "chick lit," whatever this genre's nom du jour is. The Island by Elin Hilderbrand is like cotton candy, fluffy and sugary with nothing really substantial to it. Plus, it's completely unrelateable to most readers. A totally narcissistic family, so engrossed in each of their own pleasures that they don't see other family members crumbling around them. Every conceivable human drama or tragedy is stirred into this story: suicide, divorce, rock climbing accident, engaged to one rich handsome brother but actually in love with his not-rich-but-still-handsome rock star brother...there's even some lesbian dabbling thrown in. "But how will that affect ME??" Wah, wah, wah. What a bunch of whiners! Compounding the dynamic is the fact that all of them are drowning in money, which, at the first sign of trouble, enables all of them to pack off and spend a whole month in the family's beach house on an island near Nantucket - ostensibly to HEAL - eating foie gras and raspberries delivered daily by a sun-bleached blond hunk of the month delivery stud (whose young wife is dead and who has left him with two impossibly cute tow headed boys). Wahh... what a terrible life. The cell phones don't get great service, proving that they're roughing it. Every venture each of them has tried in life has been wildly lucrative: the youngest food editor ever for a national magazine, a sought-after computer programming whiz...even the mom's divorce was amicable and generous . The fact that AFTER the success came the reality of some tragedy is supposed to make us sympathetic to the characters. Nope, not buying it. Most people don't even get to taste a morsel of the luxurious life these folks have enjoyed. If reality is too harsh for these immature, spoiled brats afterward, oh well. I gave this book a few pity stars because as a beach read, it's quick and escapist, without having to connect to the characters. In the end, everyone ends up deliriously happy, on the outside, at least. Looks good on the outside, but is it? Sort of like fat-free cheese. This was the first book I've read by popular author Elin Hilderbrand and will, most likely, be my last. I guess I got caught up in the whole "fun summer reading" whirlwind of excitement. That, and I am drawn to her novels' beautifully photographed covers. If you see me reading another book of this kind, please, for God's sake, slap it out of my hand and replace it with something by Chris Bohjalian! Gag. Bleah.

Klingon Panhandler

Just because I like this picture.
lIjSoS ghajtaH Hab Quch!
(Translation: Your mother has a smooth forehead!)

You Oughta Be In Pictures #91 Fun With Photos

This assignment was just too tempting for someone like me. I love image generators! Fotoflexer is familiar to me but BeFunky was a new site. I really liked the variety of special effects you can add to your uploaded photo. Unfortunately, you do have to register at the site if you want to save it. You can "share" your edited photo from its home site but not save it to your own files. I edited the photo of my dog, Sam, in both Fotoflexer and BeFunky. The finished product, below, is a cartoonized version courtesy of BeFunky. I liked the quality better and the woodcut effect I ended up with was very cool. The logo watermark doesn't really bother me. If you're not interested in precise matching, FaceinHole is a lot of fun. This Baywatch photo may not be very funny to some of my co-workers but what the heck! I'm sure they don't mind sacrificing some dignity for a training exercise! he he BigHugeLabs also looks like a creative resource for future "experiments." The other plus with BHL is that you can create monthly calendars, movie posters, stickers, jigsaw puzzles and mosaics all from your own photos. There are also links where you can find out what time sunrise and sunset is going to occur at any geographical location in case you're interested in taking that "gorgeous sunset" shot you've always dreamed about. I think all of these sites are terrific resources for playing with, and learning about, digital photo manipulation. And if you happen to get a few laughs at the expense of a friend or ahem, a co-worker or two....so much the better!

You Oughta Be In Pictures #90 Sharing Photos

Used to be, if you wanted to share a classic photo, like the one left, you'd have to hurry to finish your film roll, rush it to the drugstore and then wait for a phone call to go pick up your prints on photo paper. Then you'd have to mail it to someone via good ol' U.S. Mail and hope they received it in good condition. With the advent of digital technology, you could save it on a floppy diskette, e-mail it and wait for your recipient to respond. Now, thanks to sites like Flickr, Photobucket, and other digital album storage sites, your friends and family can readily access the images at their own convenience immediately and you don't have to pay for processing. Who wants to wait for a picture like this one? I've had a Flickr account for awhile and use it mostly to store photos I've taken from my digital camera but also favorite photos I've scanned from old family albums. Not only is it easier to access an on-line album, but it's a way to preserve and archive the old paper images that have become family heirlooms. There are also editing capabilities to crop or rotate your image. For beyond basic editing, you can always use a free site like Picnik to get out red-eye or adjust color saturation. I watched the video introducing all the different photo sharing websites but I've already explored the ones listed. One is really just as good as the next one but I suppose I prefer Flickr. Protecting the privacy of my images is important to me but I'm not naive enough to think that once that picture is out there, whether on a blog like this one or on Facebook, the chances of it showing up elsewhere is pretty good. Fortunately, there are billions of photos out there to steal so why choose mine? Still, it should always be in the back of your mind that anything published is now public. And really, now that you've seen this image, it's gonna be hard to get it out of your mind anyway. Yikes.

Life Cycle of a Tree

Berkeley Breathed used this unusual "treed bike" as inspiration for his children's book, Red Ranger Came Calling, a unique holiday story about a boy's waning ability to believe in the unbelievable and how he restored his faith in the abilities of others. This real bike is located on Vashon Island in Washington. What story could you make up about how this bike-in-a-tree came to be?

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Pt. 1 - November 19

What Secret Asian Girl is Reading Now

I started reading this book with a good deal of skepticism. A notorious atheist interpreting the parables of Jesus? Good Lord! Er, you know what I mean. Interestingly, this novel is one of a group of books called The Myths series, which "brings together some of the world's finest writers, each of whom has retold a myth in a contemporary and memorable way." Margaret Atwood, AS Byatt, Michel Faber and Alexander McCall Smith are some other authors on the project, launched in 2005. I'm not against religious criticism (in fact, I'm for it) but it's at least courageous and at the most pure genius to choose this guy to retell the Bible. Truthfully, it's not really that offensive. The premise is that Jesus Christ was not born one man but rather, twins: one Jesus and the other, Christ. Jesus went about his business pretty much as the Bible states, although exhibiting more average human traits like frustration, anger and sometimes mean-spiritedness. His twin brother, Christ, acts as PR man and chief chronologist, and sometimes Spin Doctor when required. A mysterious "stranger" appears to Christ regularly and goads him into certain actions (often involving manipulation of his brother) for the good of humanity. Christ believes it's an Angel but possibly a Satan figure...or perhaps some of both. Parts of the book were boring, parts were surprising and some were laugh-out-loud funny. I enjoyed the story at the Pool of Bethesda where the smelly, crippled beggar asks Christ to hug and kiss him to prove humanity is essentially good. Christ has to vomit several times but finally manages the task whereupon the man proceeds to relieve Christ of his wallet. Also the line (same scene) where a blind man calmly states, "I don't see any good." Metaphor Alert!! Ha ha... Is this Monty Python? Pullman's disgust for organized religion is obvious as Christ's spin on his brother's good deeds and ultimate betrayal of him (that's right, Christ not Judas) is rationalized by the conviction that after Jesus is gone, his myth (uh oh) and martyrdom (look out) will inspire goodness of humanity through an organized entity, a.k.a. the Church, something not possible if Jesus were to remain alive. The well orchestrated con - removal of Jesus's body from the cave in order to make people think he had "risen" and Christ's appearance as his twin brother to Mary Magdalene - is kind of gutsy even for Pullman but I suppose required of such a premise and not really shocking if you've read anything else by Pullman. Slow start but good ending and gives the reader pause, IF they're able to open their minds and allow the possibility of another way of thinking. Stick-in-the-mud zealots will pooh-pooh this offering and ignore it. That's okay. Go back to reading your safe, non-controversial Janet Evanovich novel. This book will take you a couple hours to read but you'll think about it a lot longer.

How BP Has Changed Children's Books

Yes, I made these up.


One fish, two fish...No more fish. Ever.

What's Goo in the Blue?

The Very Hungry Petroleum Conglomerate

Murky With A Chance of Tarballs

Charlie and the Chocolate Factory...Wait, That's Not Chocolate!

Goodnight Fishing Industry

The Barren Stain Bears

Harry Potter and the Bucket of Sludge

Let's See What's Washed Up Today!

Tony Hayward and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Summer

The Little Containment Plan That Couldn't

Save A Purple Pelican

Curious George Goes To The Beach And...George! For God's Sake Don't Touch That, You'll Get Cancer!

Winnie the Goo

Horton Doesn't Hear A Who Or Any Other Sign of Life In the Gulf Anymore

Where The Wild Things Aren't

Angry Librarian

Why "Sanity Days" are needed from the Library and why I'm posting this from home today.

You Oughta Be In Pictures #89: Basic Stuff

Now we're getting to the good stuff. I love using these kinds of programs to play with, to experiment with and to post in my blog. Ever since I first learned to use photo editing programs to make birthday cards I've loved the fun things you can do with a simple photo and a little creativity. I've been a longtime user of Picnik and used it to make this "LOL Dog." I don't know how we ever managed photos without digital cropping, rotating, resizing, color editing, etc. I suppose we whipped out our handy scissors and whacked away. In this "Mr. T" picture, I flipped it to make the dog look the other way and then added the caption. I sometimes contribute funny pictures to the site, ihasahotdog which is the dog version of the wildly popular cat caption site, icanhascheezburger. I have to admit, though, cats are much more surly, which makes for great captions. (Dogs are cuter, though!) I agree that Photoflexer and the free version of Photoshop are good but not very user friendly if you're just starting. And unless you can write it off on your taxes as a work expense, how many of us can spend between $200-700 on the "pro" version? For the average user, Picnik, and even Flickr provide enough basic photo editing for our needs. I used Picnik to "zombify" myself at Halloween (surely you remember that!) and ihasahotdog.com to experiment with sheltie pictures. Great fun!!

Definition of Irony

Photo taken at a BP gas station.