Thursday, August 17, 2017

First days and countdowns

I just dropped the kids off for their first day of school for the 2017/18 school year.  Their private Christian school, known throughout the area for academic excellence on par with the secular private school at a quarter of the annual tuition, starts the first week of the school year on Thursdays to give kids and teachers a slow start to get back into the routine.  Thinking back to my public school that always had a full week to start, I think this is, perhaps, the wisest move for the teachers.  They were always so fried by the end of the week...

I start back next week.  My class site goes open for my students as of Saturday.  I need to go add content to it.  And finish editing my textbook. 

Currently, I'm sitting at the table in the library at our new home.  Laptop is on the table, ergo keyboard on my lap.  This evening, one of the kids will be doing homework at the table in the library, and the other will be doing homework either at the coffee table in the family room, or at the dining table. 

I have a lot to do today (class site stuff, since I'm recovering from a CFS flare).  I have a lot to do tomorrow (groceries, cleaning, and working on the old house). 

I'm pretty sure, chronic illness permitting, I can actually accomplish what I need to get done.  I'm lacking the distraction of having to stop what I'm doing to prevent the kids from further breaking the house,* or fighting with each other. 

Now, I just need to get to it.

I think I need more coffee.

*The imp and pixie managed to snap off one of the arms of her ceiling fan.  Not the fin.  The metal part of the arm.  Which will necessitate full replacement...which they are required to pay for.  I won't, however, require that they pay for the electrician needed to put it up in a house built in 1970, and which lacks boxes for the ceiling fixtures. 

Wednesday, August 16, 2017

Mr. President:

I live in a small town in the very middle of the country.  I have a nasty allergy to wheat.  Most of the stores in my region do not carry food that I can eat, and I totally lack the time and energy to make everything from scratch.  I also lack the knowledge, ingredients, and equipment to make other things. 

Amazon is how I get my hands on some of the things I can eat.  They are things either not carried throughout the region, or are things priced so high I simply can't afford them so that whether I can eat them or not is a moot point. 

I also have problems with the joints in my hands that make writing with a ballpoint pen--or even a gel pen--painfully impossible.  I've found that fountain pens are my best bet.  There is one store--ONE--in the region that carries fountain pens that are not also calligraphy pens.  And they're priced high and use tiny, useless cartridges.  The store doesn't carry bottled ink, nor yet converters for these pens. 

Again, I turn to Amazon to fill these needs. 

My local bookstore does not carry most of the authors who I like to read without having to order in their work--political correctness precludes some, and the rest are independent authors who publish through Amazon. 

Not every store can carry every item, Mr. President.  And not every individual can afford to fill their needs with the few options that are carried...or afford to travel to find the things that they need.

Claiming that Amazon hurts business isn't accurate.  Or, it may be, but it's a limited view. 

Hurting Amazon harms customers like me who MUST shop online instead of locally because of lack of products carried locally. 

Thank you for proving my opinion of you as a shallow, stupid, reckless, narcissistic, greedy asshole accurate. 

Although I'd have been happier to be proved wrong.


Someone Disappointed to Not Be Disappointed

Tuesday, August 15, 2017

Here's an idea...

The weekend wasn't pretty.  We had Nazis and Commies fighting each other, causing distress to the rest of us...and death amongst themselves.  Oh, but the martyr--one of your standard, well-meaning useful idiots, as described by Stalin--was a pretty, young woman, so she's been a hell of an image, and her death has been capitalized on by the usual suspects.

I don't feel anything about it.  She was an idiot, in the wrong place, at the wrong time, in amongst the wrong people.  On purpose. 

But the Left needed a martyr, so...

Any case.  There was violence, nastiness, and all of it exacerbated by wall-to-wall news coverage.  Attention seeking spoiled menaces given a camera and a venue.  Used.  The ratings are all that count.

And the Guard...brought in, but ordered to stand by, and information coming out that there were orders to peace officers to not interfere.

Smacks of a setup, in my opinion. 

I have an idea: why don't we, as a nation, pay the air-fare for a whole bunch of these morons to go protest together (and against each other) in, say Death Valley?  With a few companies of National Guard set up around the perimeter, to prevent the mess from spilling over onto those who want nothing to do with either the Nazis or the Commies, and go ahead and give them their arena, and their cameras, and their national attention?  How about we, as a nation, set it up so that they get their wish, and get to fight and/or kill one another without legal repercussions in this circumstance, and this one only?

I mean, after all: the Romans did it. 

And I'm pretty sure it'd clean up a lot of jobless, feckless dead weight.

Wednesday, August 9, 2017


I went ahead and took advantage of the sales tax holiday for back to school, and ordered a new keyboard.  An ergonomic keyboard.  It's really comfortable to use. 

I used to have one, when I used a desktop.  Did a lot of writing on them.  Using one fixed one of my worst typing habits (hitting the b key with the left hand instead of the right) that was picked up because of having small hands.  I started writing with the keyboard in my lap, leaning back with my feet up, eyes closed, without watching how it was coming out on the screen.  My speed picked up a bit, doing that, but even more, I could spend longer at the computer, composing fiction. 

By the time I started blogging, I'd shifted to almost entirely using a laptop.  Between needing a machine at work (adjuncts shared a desktop) and having to chase kids around, I've not used a desktop in years. 

I'd never forgotten the ergonomic keyboards, though.  Nor had I stopped missing mine.  However, with a big enough laptop for a full-sized keyboard, I hadn't thought the purchase justified.  Not through using five different Acer laptops, with a standard keyboard arrangement, with a full-sized shift key. 

The Lenovo Ideapad does have a full-size keyboard--in fact, the keys are a little bigger than the other laptops I've had.  All of them except for the right hand shift key.  Which is the same size as the letter keys, and has an up arrow between the question mark key and the shift key.  Bad layout for touch typists with small hands. 

At the moment, my laptop is sitting on the coffee table, off to my left.  Keyboard is in my lap.  I've got a cup of coffee on the small table to my right. 

And I know where The Schrodinger Paradox is going.  I'll have to see how quickly I can take it there, now. 

I just wish I could figure out how to get the iTunes player download and Windows 10 to cooperate and play nice with each other.

Friday, August 4, 2017


I am female.  I was born female.  I'll grant you, I'm not a very traditionally feminine female, but it is what I am. 

I am not questioning that.  I've never questioned that.  I may have, at a few points, wished it were otherwise for the sake of having things a little easier (like a lack of the menstruation and attending labor-intense cramps*), but never had any doubt that I was a girl, then woman. 

I am still not traditionally "feminine," despite my figure and preferring to not waste time and money getting regular hair cuts. 

Does not mean I see myself as any less of, or anything other than, a woman, despite what several people on campus have suggested.**

I do know people who are distinctly otherwise: a woman born into a body carrying the wrong chromosomes, and a man born likewise.

They feel wrong in their own bodies--something I've never felt.  The young man I spoke of earlier...I knew when he was fourteen that he felt not right in his own skin.  Didn't help that the individuals he went to school with as a girl wouldn't let him use the bathroom because he was different, long before he realized that it really was the wrong bathroom. 

One interesting thing I've noticed is that this whole move toward forcing acceptance and approval for everyone who isn't sure whether they are or are not transgender is that it's enforcing stereotypes and gender roles harder than any other social force in the last eighty years.  I've seen women who were not "dressed as women" harassed in women's restrooms.***  I've noticed that, if women don't particularly care for children, their very existence as women are questioned.  I've noticed that women are pressured more to be feminine, to dress, walk, act, and look feminine.  

Ironically, the worst of these offenders are NOT bible-thumping conservative Christians.  More in a bit.

I am still not feminine.  I prefer shopping for jeans in the men's section.  I wear tee-shirts, polo shirts, blazers.  I don't wear makeup.  I don't do my hair--I don't bother with more than a ponytail or braid to keep my hair out of my face. 

I don't get harassed that I'm using the wrong bathroom for my biology because I am your classic hourglass, but I do get questioned.  Others who aren't dressed to the nines, make up and hair done, and have fewer curves, get bullied.  Even on a college campus.

People have attempted to bully me the other way: "You don't dress like a woman.  Why do you insist that you are one?  Why don't you just call yourself trans?  Or something other than a woman?"

I don't knuckle under to bullies.  There is no passive in my aggressive to the point that I have to watch myself so that I don't become a bully.  But I can see how this could pressure others to call themselves something other than what they feel they are...or to try to fit in a traditional, stereotypical mold that they don't want to be bothered with. 

I don't fit the label.  I don't care, but it makes others (mainly the SJW crowd, ironically) that label everyone uncomfortable that I don't fit the label I call myself, and won't label myself as something else.

What the hell happened to "be who you are, and don't let anyone slap a label on you"?  

*Having had children and gone through labor, I can attest that yes, my cramps did get that bad at times. 

**Suggested, then been laughed at by everybody around when I tell them to say that to the two children I pushed from my vagina, or the husband that put them there to begin with.  

***I cannot speak to whether or not effeminate men get bullied in the same way in the men's rooms.