I bow to no one.

Unless you’ve been living under a rock, or have been totally out of touch with the news cycle, pretty much everyone in the world knows that Joplin, Missouri, was hit—hard—by a tornado on May 22. One of the worst things this tornado did was hang out for nearly a minute right in front of one of our two spectacular hospitals, then plow in a straight line from that hospital to our Home Depot. Six miles of not jumping, of having other little tornadoes spinning within it, of winds in excess of 200 mph, of moving at half the speed a storm of its size normally travels. It left a swath of destruction six miles long by three quarters of a mile wide.

One manager of a local Pizza Hut gave his life to save as many of his workers and customers as he could, putting his own body on the line to hold the doors of a walk-in freezer closed with a bungee cord.

Before the storm had even settled, people were showing up at the hospital with pickups, hoping to help save lives by moving victims from a place where, not only was the building's structure horribly compromised, but leaking natural gas.

For the past week and a half, Joplin has been inundated by volunteers, well-wishers, and donations of goods and money. Joplin has symbolized the generosity of a nation.

I have been humbled by the generosity and love offered by our fellow citizens.

I have also been outright disgusted and revolted by the selfishness and pettiness of some individuals, and classes of people.

For instance, a local privately owned group of radio stations has been doing 24/7 storm coverage, from 4:00 p.m. on May 22 until yesterday, when they started to transition back to normal programming. Some of the DJs have lost their homes, all their possessions (but thankfully not their families), almost everything--to the point that a listener showing up with a fresh package of socks nearly brought one to tears. They've provided a vital service: putting people on live that wanted to know that their loved ones had survived, airing announcements made by emergency workers, charitable organizations, and politicians alike, announcing where to find this or that service or organization, or where to find shelter or supplies. Sometimes, they'd get someone call in, to announce that they'd found a pet wandering near where a house had been destroyed, and giving out their phone number to reunite the pet with the owner.

Yet last week--last Wednesday--someone called in complaining that there wasn't any music on the music stations.

Obama's visit demonstrated a tone-deaf arrogance I've never personally seen so blatantly displayed in my life. While it crystallized some realizations about the nature of pride in oneself and government assistance for Odysseus (which I've understood most of my life, and danced around here, here, here, here, and here--his comment over at Tam's blog at 12:46 a.m. sums it up nicely), it clarified for me exactly how our elected officials see us: as subjects who are expected to cater to their convenience.

BHO was in Ireland when the storm hit. Bill Clinton would have cut the trip really short, and been back the next day to be visible in feeling our pain (and our boobies, if he could get away with it). Obama didn't. He didn't come on Tuesday. Nor on Wednesday, or Thursday.

No, he chose to come on Sunday. He decided to time his arrival and travel to either campus or to the zone of destruction to coincide with church letting out.

The media tried to spin it as Obama stepping into the role of "the nation's pastor" in "deeply religious" Joplin--but his behavior kind of demonstrated otherwise (watch from about :36 on very closely--thanks for pointing that video out, Vilmar.).

A leader that understood he was but first among equals--only in charge because somebody has to be, and we all agreed that that somebody would be him--would have timed that differently. He would have come a bit more quietly, a bit more quickly, and been a bit more considerate about blocking every major intersection in a city that's already taken a blow to the heart.

Obama did the opposite.

I'd be willing to bet the asshole in chief likely visited residential districts that were destroyed--and blocked people from salvaging what they could from their destroyed homes in so doing.

That demonstrated a way of thinking that only works if you start with the assumption that he sees himself as the first emperor of the nation, and that we are his subjects--nothing more than cardboard cutouts placed to give him something to rule, something to make him look good.

And then, this legend in his own mind swore to finish the work the tornado started, by funneling aid into Joplin, whether we want/need federal aid, or not.

I am not a subject. I will not bow my head to any save my Creator. I will not wait at any intersection behind a police barricade on my way home from church like a good little peon.

I will vote this son of a bitch out of office in November, 2012. I will beg the nation to do the same.

We cannot afford to lose our self-respect. That's how citizens become subjects become slaves.

Well, we’re alive.

Odysseus, the imp, the pixie, and I are all safe. Yes, we live in the general area hit by the ginormous tornado, but luckily aren't anywhere close to ground zero. As you've probably heard on the news, there's a six mile swath through the middle of Joplin that's been destroyed, including one of our two spectacular hospitals.

We're incredibly lucky. Unlike some of our friends, we still have a house, a car, and electricity. We didn't take any damage, and we have enough extra to be able to help somewhat. The only thing we lack is internet, phone, and television. Other than that, we're good.

Amazing talent

An electric string quartet that rocks harder than many metal bands...and it's not Apocalyptica. If you want to see true awesomeness, check out their cover of "Kashmir" in the sidebar--it's embed feature has been disabled.

Skip to about 1:13 or so for the music. They're frankly amazing.

Hallelujah!

Spring semester is finally over—I have three weeks or so until Summer 11 classes start (yes, I'm teaching a summer class again). Grading is done, and all I have to do is input the grades into our university database (yes, I've had to do that myself for the past three years—the registrar's office doesn't do that anymore. Maybe they could help us cut costs by firing a few of their freed-up individuals…).

I do have one gripe, though. My summer class has been full since the first week of April. And I've gotten about five e-mails in the last two weeks from students within the last two weeks, telling me that they really need that class, and would I please let them in?

Umm…no. At last check, I had a seat or two still open in my fall session. And I really can't let my summer session get overloaded: we have eight weeks, and still will be doing four papers as well as two blogs per week. I literally cannot keep up with the grading if I accept more than 25 students for that class, especially since I'll be squeezing that grading into naptimes and bedtimes.

The last e-mail, though, really irked me. Said individual marked it urgent. Sorry, sweetie—poor planning on your part does not constitute an emergency on mine. You may think you're a special snowflake that deserves special treatment, but I don't happen to agree.

Of course, I can't word it like that without getting into trouble.

F#ck you, AT&T

Didja know that AT&T as putting a bandwidth usage cap on their users? Yup, if you download more than 500MB/day (150 GB/month), you pay $10 more per 50 GB used. It would have been nice to be notified, don't you think? First we heard of it was reading about it on a few different news services after the cap went into effect.

Um...I work online, so does my husband, and we don't have any television services, so we watch TV online. We bypass the 2 GB/day mark that some satellite services set on their country customers.

Needless to say, we are no longer customers of AT&T. We've dumped their internet, their phone, and we don't use our cell phones, so we're dumping those, too. We're switching to Cable One for everything.

Update: Odysseus checked my math--we'd actually have 5 GB/day allowance. We'd still wind up going over on most days.

You might be a gun nut if...

...you change your guns at Easter and Labor Day, but your shoes are always black.

Another symptom

I recently read about people organizing to be on the streets in NYC to try to help prevent a serial killer from targeting his victims of choice—prostitutes—rather than waiting on the police to solve the crime.

I am of two minds on this issue:

I think it demonstrates one of the finer traits of our culture in this nation that strangers are willing and eager to organize to protect those who are most in danger. It shows just how much the death of one affects us all, whether or not we are a preferred target of a madman. (I'm also glad to see that people are thinking of their own safety, as well as that of others, in a more proactive way than just waiting on someone else to save them.)

On the other hand, it demonstrates a dangerous lack of trust in our society's justice system.

I may not trust the judicial system, but I like to think I have reason not to—not only did my home county not prosecute my abuser, they refused to even investigate him because he was a pillar of the community that would never do that to any child, much less his own. Personally, I like cops as individuals—but hate the institution because there is no justice in it much of the time.

If naïve, idealistic, young people, most of whom haven't had a traumatic experience with the justice system ignoring the evil happening to them, don't trust the cops and judges to do what they're supposed to do to find bad guys and put them away…we're on the verge of something horrible.

We have got to put our foot down. And if our judges don't want to take responsibility and if they want to keep letting these people loose, then you know what, you're going to have more vigilante going on. You're going to have a lot of problems in this community and in this world if they keep letting these guys out. It's not getting better.—Judy Cornett

Think about the repercussions of how the average citizen would read "put[ting] our foot down." Do you think you could simply watch, be present and obvious about watching, call the cops and be a witness? Do you think it will matter? Or do you think that, since the madman is likely to get paroled and released in fifteen years (or less, depending on overcrowding), you'd be more likely to do something about it yourself?

Once the majority lose trust in the institution—whatever that institution may be—it collapses. If that happens to be our legal system…

You can blame my husband for this...

I sometimes get weird songs stuck in my head. Sometimes all it takes to get them unstuck is to listen to them. So, here's the one stuck this morning:

I’m not the POTUS.

I can afford to take the time to sleep on big decisions. Had I been in the hot seat, the instant I'd heard that bin Laden had been found, I'd have given the go order. I wouldn't have taken sixteen hours to sleep on the info.

Don't get me wrong: I'm glad the fucker's dead, and I'm glad it was a kill order. I'll give the nitwit in the White House that much. That said, I don't think it was justice, any more than ASM826 did. Justice would have been reprisal killings of 30,000 Muslim civilians in Afghanistan—3,000 every day for ten days.

I also don't think it's going to change anything. Radical camel fellators still hate us (some hate us worse, now), still want to harm us, and are still planning to harm us. Some of them think that we're lying about bin Laden's death. They're not going to believe officially released photos (those can be faked, you know)—it would be more likely to create belief if we had a body to show. Unfortunately, he's already been buried at sea (hopefully in a bacon shroud) to avoid the construction of shrines to the martyr on his gravesite. Don't get me wrong, I think the sea burial is probably the best idea, but it should have been postponed for at least a year.

We should all take a deep breath of relief that there's one less sick, psychopathic bastard planning to kill innocents in the world. What we shouldn't be doing is celebrating in the streets, or visiting Ground Zero in a sick sort of victory lap. That's what radical fundamentalist camel fellators do every time a major attack on American civilians is carried out successfully.

So many levels of stupid on all parties’ parts.

First, let's talk about the incident: a mother stands off a swat team in Detroit sent to seize her little girl because she refused to let her be medicated.

Yeah, I'm betting you're having my reaction: why the hell would you raise a kid in Detroit? Why the hell would you even think about letting your kid go to Detroit public schools when you've been homeschooling? Why the hell hadn't you gotten her immunized earlier?

Say what, now?

Little girl born with a birth defect that required the amputation of one of her feet tells Mom she wants to go to public school. I can't fault her mother for homeschooling the child, nor can I fault her for her protectiveness. However, she never bothered to get her child her immunizations. And the little girl apparently had some nasty bad reactions to it. When the family sought treatment, the little girl was put on an ADHD med—which she didn't need. The Department of Child Illfare has admitted she didn't need it. Mom refused to dose her daughter with it, and the courts stepped in to take the little girl away and forcibly medicate her. Mom didn't do as she was told and turn the kid over.* So, the cops are sent to seize the kid like she's the ill-gotten gains of a drug deal.** Mom not only refuses to hand her little girl over, she pulls a gun to defend herself, her home, and her family from those who sought to harm them (i.e., the government and Child Illfare). SWAT got called.

Mom is now a criminal, and little girl is now in foster care, despite Department of Child Illfare promises that she'd go to relatives.

Of course the government is stupid and abusive—that's a given, sadly enough. However, Mom did a lot of stupid things, several of which I addressed earlier: first and foremost, living in Detroit; not having her child immunized as an infant; even considering the girl's request to go to public school (which ranks up there pretty high); and seeking medical help while on government assistance in a big government nanny state.

Note that I never said pulling a gun in defense of your child was one of them.

Honestly, I think this family has grounds to not only get Mom's charges overturned, but grounds to sue the city of Detroit, the Department of Child Illfare, the doctors involved, the county health clinic that called Child Illfare, and everyone involved in scarring this little girl's psyche by ripping her from a semi-responsible, loving, non-abusive family.

*I wouldn't, either. I've lived through that mistake, and I won't make it with my kids.

**Given that it's Detroit, and there's no father in the picture, the kid involved might well have been the ill-gotten gains of a drug deal.

Just another illustration of why I’m unwilling to go anywhere unarmed.

I'm a very small woman. I've been a victim of a large man; I am a survivor. I refuse to be a victim again. You never know who's going to have the courage and moral fortitude of this woman's lawyer.

There is exactly one tool (okay, one type of tool) that makes me a physical equal to any man out there. It goes BOOM! and throws little bits of metal of different calibers, from smaller than the end joint of my (very small) pinky finger to larger than the end joint of my thumb, at very high speeds.

A gun free zone is a target rich environment. I don't ever plan to be a target.

It’s about bloody time someone said it!

LZ Granderson writes an op-ed suggesting that it's parents' fault that kids are being sexualized earlier and earlier. He focuses on how people damn fashion and designer labels for putting out push-up bras for 12 year olds, but should really be damning the people who buy the push-up bras for their 12 year olds, who really don't have anything to push up. For example, he describes seeing a pretty young thing dressed to kill, with a midriff-baring top, low riding sweats with "Juicy" on the seat…and who was only about eight years old.

Yeah, that 8-year-old girl was something to see all right. ... I hope her parents are proud. Their daughter was the sexiest girl in the terminal, and she's not even in middle school yet.

The man has the right idea.

It's easy to blast companies for introducing the sexy wear, but our ire really should be directed at the parents who think low rise jeans for a second grader is cute. They are the ones who are spending the money to fuel this budding trend. They are the ones who are suppose to decide what's appropriate for their young children to wear, not executives looking to brew up controversy or turn a profit.

I get it, Rihanna's really popular. But that's a pretty weak reason for someone to dress their little girl like her.

I don't care how popular Lil' Wayne is, my son knows I would break both of his legs long before I would allow him to walk out of the house with his pants falling off his butt. Such a stance doesn't always makes me popular -- and the house does get tense from time to time -- but I'm his father, not his friend.

That's sadly becoming a unique way to raise children.

I not only don't disagree with him, I think he doesn't go far enough in castigating the parents who prefer to be their children's best friends. Those parents are raising a generation of whiny, insecure, bullying, lazy…I could go on all night, describing the children those parents are releasing into the world with the adults.

I parent more like Ganderson, and like I assume he's doing, I'm working on raising future adults. I don't care if my kids like me or not. I don't even care if they tell me they hate me. I know better, and I will know better when the time comes to tell them that no, my daughter can't go to school looking like she works at a brothel, and my son had better not look like he's just about to go to one (or worse—has just left one).

Parents love their kids. That goes without saying. Even the selfish, stupid, immature parents love their kids.

Good parents love their kids enough to set boundaries, and trust that Twain was onto something.

From the only funny dream I had last night.

"I always thought it was 'grin and BARE it,' not B-E-A-R, 'bear it.'"

"Yeah, Mom and Dad never told you because they thought it was funny when you did."

Aren’t you just the cutest little smug bug? Yes, you are!

I don't know if this guy is serious or trying to be funny. If he's trying to be funny, he's failing. Badly. What he's succeeding at is being offensively sexist to a person who doesn't typically notice sexism. His comments on female membership in the NRA (specifically, why women aren't a visible chunk of the NRA's membership) are sexist, misogynistic, and explains why he's probably still asking his mom to explain to him why he's still single while she cleans his apartment in her basement.

I am a gun owner. I am a gun enthusiast. I am a woman. I am a wife. I am a mother. Oddly enough, I'm also a college English professor.

Here are some money quotes from sexist dude:

But it seems that many preconceived notions must be overcome before the National Rifle Association attracts more women to its annual convention. Right now, it's about as popular among women as fly fishing competitions, cigar tasting events and public executions.

Hello, sexist dude—just because something may not be popular with most women doesn't mean that all women don't like that something. Next thing I know, you'll be commenting on how all women would rather have a day at the spa than at the range! Oh, wait: you did.

Its offerings at the David L. Lawrence Convention Center will include a ladies-only seminar teaching them how to become pistol instructors.

To most women, such a seminar probably wouldn't have the same appeal as, say, a holistic facial at the day spa. But providing people with relaxed, radiant faces isn't part of the NRA's mission.

And:

• Spending several hundred dollars on a serviceable handgun might leave them without enough money to get the full treatment at that next visit to the day spa.
  

Personally, spending a day at the range does leave me with a relaxed and radiant (if dirty) face. I have never been to a spa, and I am not trusting enough to allow a stranger to put their hands all over me while I'm vulnerable, so I likely will never go to a spa, either. Not my thing. I'd rather spend that money on ammo and go meditate to the sound of a .45 punching many holes very close together in the middle of an eight inch circle.

And if a woman is spending a day at the spa to find a man, she's looking at the wrong place. She'd be more likely to find one that wouldn't spend more time in the morning getting ready than she does if she looked at the range.

• Carrying a gun in a small purse would leave less room for more important items, such as lipstick or compact.
  

I have room in my purse for a change of clothes for each of the kids, diapers, wipes, snacks, wallet, checkbooks, etc. I do have a dedicated pocket for my gun, when I have to carry it in my purse, but I'd far prefer to carry concealed on my actual person. Purses can be snatched (though an army surplus multi-purpose digicam courier bag repurposed into a diaper bag is less likely to be). If I were to carry a small purse, I'd have to also carry a diaper bag, and futzing with both bags would make me more vulnerable to having the smaller one (the purse) yanked out of my hands. If my gun is in my purse, my attacker would have it. If it's on my person, it's a) not taking up room in my purse, and b) available to keep said attacker from taking my lipstick compact spare magazine and wallet.

• The baggy clothing required to successfully conceal most holsters would make them appear frumpy.
  

Actually, the best concealment I've found is a pair of well-fitting blue jeans, a tank top, and a blazer, with the holster tucked down the waistband. The way I carry, I don't look frumpy—I look classy—and no one is ever going to know I'm carrying unless, like me, they can add line of clothes + way individual is walking + keeping their dominant hand free + not letting suspicious characters get behind them and come up with "there's a gun there." Not without patting me down looking for it. (And if someone is patting me down looking for a gun, they'd better be arresting me.)

• Gunpowder residue might stain the new Karen Scott blouse they just bought at Macy's.
  

Gunpowder residue doesn't stain. Duh. If he had ever fired a gun, and/or done his own laundry, he'd know that.

• The gunpowder smell when the weapon is fired could totally overwhelm the Chanel they're wearing.
  

If a woman is wearing Chanel, they're trying to impress other women. Or metrosexuals who probably use even more expensive fragrance, so wouldn't be impressed by Chanel, anyway. No, gunpowder and Hoppe's No. 9 is a far more potent man bait than the most expensive perfume.

• Most firearm accessories come only in one boring color: black.
  

What is he, stupid? Black goes with everything. No, give me a plain black gun over shiny stainless with pearl grips any day. And don't even get me started about the accessorizing that can be done by changing 1911 grips.

• Target practice earplugs simply aren't sexy.
  

Neither is being a rape victim. (Personally, my other half finds me taking the time to learn to protect myself quite sexy.)

I could go into just why this guy must be so stupid because he's a man, but I like men in general, and don't want to insult them by implying that he is one.

Time to hook up the icemaker.

It'll make a nihilist hippie cry for Mother Gaia.

Saw this a couple days ago, didn’t have time to comment.

I love my kids, and I love my job, but I seriously wish I had more time to write. I would have beaten Vilmar to the punch.

This is a vicious violation of our fourth and fifth amendment rights. There's no way I'd a) own a smartphone to begin with, or b) hand it over to be searched without a warrant and probable cause, whether I'd been doing something wrong or not. No, I wouldn't cooperate any more than I'd cooperate if the government decided to place a GPS tracker in my car without a court order.

(And yes, I regularly look under the car for things like this. I may be paranoid, but I absolutely do not trust the government or law enforcement not to violate my rights. If I find one, it's getting tucked down in the seat of a taxi in one of the two major cities in Missouri.)

This explains so much.

Apparently, there was a study of…manhood enhancement techniques in France (where, apparently, normal, or average penis size is three inches. When fully erect.). You know, compared to the rest of the world, that's pretty darn pitiful. And you know they know it.

Honestly, given that information, I am totally unsurprised that they're studying penis length enhancing techniques. And that their birthrate is shrinking the population of ethnic French so badly that they're importing new taxpayers.

What class

I cannot believe that a judge had to slap down one panel of lawyers for objecting to a continuance requested by the other side because of one of the other side's lawyers' wife was due to give birth.

When the judge, in overruling the objection raised by one side, congratulates the other, it bodes very ill for the side that objected.

So, how has tax day treated you?

Did you get dinner and maybe a kiss first, or did they just roll you over and do you dry?

Song heard at a barbeque place...

BWAHAHAHAHA!

Dumbfounded

I finished grading last week's blogs last night. One of them was so far above what one of my students' usual writing skill has been to that point that I e-mailed said student, telling them that I couldn't prove it, but was certain that the post wasn't their work. I told them that they wouldn't be receiving credit, but that I wouldn't fail them for the whole class.

I just got an e-mail response from that student. They told me that it was their work, that it was a paper that they'd written in the past for a different class. They told me (not in these terms, but with the same meaning) that they were capable of doing much better work than they'd done for my class, and that they'd been blowing my class off.

Then they said that they planned to pick it up with my class to finish out the semester with a better grade than they've currently got.

Good luck. I'm not inclined to grade this person's work as easily as I have been, and I am not an easy grader. They've aced one paper out of three so far, and are barely average. I am not giving a grade above an average unless the paper is absolutely perfect—no grammar errors, no standout problems in focus, organization, development, or tone/style. This person is going to have to write professional level work from here on out to get an above average, much less an excellent from me.

I do not remember giving any class less than my best, when I was a student. It didn't matter if I hated the professor (four times that I can think of), or if I hated the material (much more often), or if I simply didn't understand it despite trying my hardest, I never gave less than my best effort. I do not comprehend the mindset that says "I don't want to do this, it's not related to my major, so I'm just not gonna bother."

I don't understand that mindset. I really don't understand why that student admitted that they didn't give a rat's ass about my class to me in an e-mail. I mean, I teach composition. I know they don't care about/like my class. Most of them try anyway.

I hate giving a student a failing grade. I hate it. I have never wanted to give a student a failing grade for actually failing to do the work, much less a failing grade for attitude.

I want to fail this child so hard they bounce all the way out of my university. Their attitude is, in my opinion, almost as bad as plagiarism, because of the image they set up of themselves as a failure when they could easily have been writing papers and blog posts more readable than most modern novelists' work.

Testing a feature

Microsoft Word has added something to the '07 version that I'm testing out: when you click on "New Document," it gives you a choice between a standard document and a blog post.

I'm testing out the "blog post" feature to see how it works.

Edit: It seems to have worked pretty well.

I thought the Nomenklaturea was a Soviet thing...

...apparently not. I guess it's more a Socialist/Marxist thing--the People's Democratic Republic of Kalifornia proves that.

Stupid marketing decisions.

There's a local realtor--Next Generation Realty--that really needs to re-think their ad signs and For Sale signs. Every time I drive past one, I mis-read it: NGR Realty really looks bad at even residential area speeds.

Shit.

Back in August of last year, we bought a used car, cash on the barrel. We paid $1500 for a 1986 Mercedes 190E (a 4 door, unlike our '03 Civic). We've driven that car nearly constantly since we bought it. I adored that car.

Note the past tense.

Yesterday, we were visiting my in-laws, and left the boy with them while we went into town to their Sam's Club. The boy has recently started drinking chocolate milk--"boo juice"--but only one brand of shelf-stable stuff that has a cow on the individual serving-size cartons. Our club doesn't carry that brand, and doesn't carry a few other things we like, while their club does.

Everything went fine until we were nearly back to their house. Then something went thump, and we lost power to the wheels. The engine mostly sounded fine (except for a few more thumps), but really pushing down the accelerator pedal didn't get us up to more than about 25 mph.

Needless to say, that last ten miles back to the in-laws took a while.

My car may not be worth it to fix. It would be a minimum of $600 for a shop to fix, if it is what my other half thinks it is (cracked head gasket). Unless that is what it is, and we can find a shade-tree mechanic that can fix it for under $500, it really isn't worth it to fix the car. That is, after all, about a third of what we paid for it.

Meanwhile, we're stuck with two car seats--one front-facing, and one rear-facing carrier--in a two-door car. We're not going to be able to go anywhere that isn't absolutely necessary for a good while.

I only wish this were an April Fool's joke.

Despite what the government swearing that there is no inflation, and using that lie to justify no COLAs for seniors, Wal-Mart's CEO says that the superstore can't hold the line on prices for consumers much longer.

In other words, were it not for Wal-Mart, the federal government's big lie would have been exposed sooner.

I'm now just waiting for the government to be exposed for the incompetents they are when it's revealed that, not only is there no money in Social Security for COLAs, but there's no money in Social Security, period, and they're stopping payments for good (even though they're not going to stop collecting the taxes that supposedly pay for it).

The moment that happens will mark the beginning of Rome burning.

An Open Letter

Take up the Marxist's burden--
Send off the ones you've trained--
Go bind your peers to protest,
To stand out as the brains
To cry out on the sidewalks
And compel by wise diktat
The best for all the people--
Their wishes disrespect.

Take up the Marxist's burden--
Impatient to abide,
The empty threats of congress
To reject laws you devise;
By teleprompters' prompting
Your brilliance shall be plain.
You wreck our nation's profits,
Through seeking your own gain.

Take up the Marxist's burden--
Make savage war on peace--
Kill innocents and seniors
By bidding health care cease;
And when your goal is nearest
The end that others sought,
Watch smart and wary citizens
Bring all your hopes to naught.

Take up the Marxist's burden--
Create a rule of kings--
Remember voting citizens
Shall always ruin things;
The courts you dare not enter
The line you cannot tread
Go make them with your rulings
And all your talking heads.

Take up the Marxist's burden--
And take his recompense:
The blame of those, your betters
(You know, the ones with sense);
The cry of those you harass
And force to do your will
"Why take from us our freedom--
Our choice and rights repeal?"

Take up the Marxist's burden--
You won't succeed to boot--
We're citizens, not subjects
That's something you've confused;
By all you say and whisper,
And all you ever do,
That silent witness, History,
Will judge your gods, and you.

Take up the Marxist's burden--
You've done your childish best--
Your worthless Nobel Peace Prize
The Worship from the press.
Your voters judge your manhood
And vacations, through the years,
As lacking--lacking wisdom--
Despite pronouncements of your peers.

*Revised because of men like Alan West and Herman Cain. Also, apologies to Rudyard Kipling for butchering his work.

simple biscuits

This is one thing I hate mixes for. And since the recipe is so easy, why bother with a mix? The only easier thing is biscuits from a can, and you can't top a cobbler with those.

2 c all purpose flour
1 T baking powder (NOT baking soda)
1 t salt
3/4 c milk
1/4 c vegetable oil

1. Preheat oven to 425.
2. Mix dry ingredients well with a fork.
3. Mix wet ingredients in until you have a very sticky dough.
4. Sprinkle a generous amount of flour onto a clear area of counter; turn biscuit dough out onto the floured surface.
5. Knead* the dough about 17 times. Roll out to about 1/2-3/4 inch thick, cut biscuits**.
6. Pour a small amount of oil into a plate to coat the top and bottom of each biscuit before placing on a cookie sheet for the oven.***
7. Bake for 12-15 minutes, or until golden brown.

If you want to use this to top a cobbler, add about a tablespoon of sugar, and don't cut the dough after you roll it out.

Helpful hints:

*Spray cooking spray on your hands, or liberally coat them with flour to prevent dough from sticking to you.

**If you don't have a biscuit cutter, use a wine glass, or a thin tea cup.

***Use a paper plate for ease of cleanup. Oiling the top of the biscuits lets them brown; oiling the bottom keeps them from sticking to the cookie sheet.

This is just a rhetorical question, but...

...just how stupid do they think we are, that we don't notice the calorie counts on the backs of soda cans, 20 oz or larger bottles, and snack packages? Do they really think we don't notice that a 12 oz can is a serving and a half, or that a 20 oz bottle is 2.5 servings, and are incapable of figuring the calorie counts from there?? Do they really think that moving the calorie count to the front of the packaging, and listing total calories for the entire bottle/can/package is going to change anyone's mind about consuming it?

I wonder what the first wookie would say if she were told that we notice, can do the math, know that none of it is good for us, and simply don't give a damn because we enjoy it? Maybe she'd be shocked--looking at the size of her ass, she may well be one of those incapable of doing either basic reasoning or basic math enough to figure out the calorie counts on the crap she eats and drinks. She may well just be projecting her own inadequacies onto the rest of us.

Personally, I think Smith is right (even though he's talking about smoking): "What it has to do with is the complete unsuitability, in their twisted minds, of simple human pleasure in the lives of everyone around them. This used to be the preoccupation of Puritanical religions. Today, most of the people of this bent have abandoned religion, but they haven't abandoned the demented ecstasy they experience by shouting "Thou shalt not!" at everyone in sight -- and being able to back it up with the brute force of governmental edict."

Funny, I don't feel marginalized.

According to a psychologist quoted in a CNN editorial, I should: "'As we're learning more about the tremendous dangers of smoking, fewer people are willing to tolerate exposure to second-hand smoke, which leads to smokers being pushed to the periphery,' said licensed psychologist Clifford Lazarus. 'But it is a right, people can smoke just like they can drink and have guns*, it's just that the government is being a bit more controlling in terms of creating parameters in which people can engage in this marginalized behavior.'"

I have one thing to say to Mr. Lazarus: I drink (occasionally--nothing's better to ease the tight muscles in my back after a day of working and child care than a finger or two of bourbon or scotch, or maybe an Irish coffee), and I own guns. Neither does any damage to my heath or to that of my children, or anyone else around me, because I am a responsible adult. Those who believe that no one can be responsible with alcohol, tobacco, firearms, or explosives are doing something that Mr. Lazarus, as a licensed psychologist has to be familiar with: projecting their own faults onto others. In fact, the quote makes clear that he's doing it, too. And so:

Up yours, you communist, totalitarian, hippie bastard.

Via View from the Porch

*emphasis mine

Perfect crock-pot roast

Plan on this one taking at least half the day, if not all day. Put it on the night before for Sunday dinner, or in the morning before leaving for work for supper.

2-4 lb roast (chuck or round)
1 envelope dry onion soup mix
4 large baking potatoes
1 lb baby carrots

1. Wash potatoes, slice into 1/2 inch thick disks. Arrange in one layer on bottom and up sides of crock pot.
2. Dump baby carrots into crock pot.
3. Add 1/2 c. or so of water to crock pot.
4. Rinse roast, place in crock pot. Sprinkle onion soup mix over roast.
5. Cook on high for two hours per pound, or low for four hours per pound.

Other than washing and chopping potatoes, there's little prep work for an amazing meal. And leftover roast sandwiches are fantastic, especially with provolone cheese.

You know you're a parent when...

...baby poop makes your day.

The definition of "scary little bastard"

A British Gurkha soldier single-handedly held off and chased off thirty Taliban terrorists, killing three.

He definitely deserves the medal.

Via Kickin' and Screamin'.

You might be a gun nut if...

...you overhear the word "magnum" in a pharmacy, and instantly think of a revolver cartridge instead of what the conversation is likely about.

I don't think Kipling meant "The White Man's Burden"

For decades, now, Kipling has been spit on by literature departments as a racist, Imperialist bigot, nearly completely on the strength of one poem: "The White Man's Burden."

I think the ones who've damned Kipling as a bigot are wearing blinders. Or else they're idiots. Possibly both. No one seems to take into account Kipling's hatred of the British aristocracy--poems like "The Widow at Windsor," and "The Widow's Party" are clear indications of Kipling's anger at the upper classes that ordered the subjugation of the land where he was actually born and lived in early childhood.

I'm pretty sure that that hatred was limited to the policy makers for a few reasons: first, he wrote poetry for the common British soldier, in their dialect, and quite sympathetic to their plight (see again, "The Widow's Party," "Tommy," and "The Young British Soldier"); second, he turned down the position of Poet Laureate and several offers of knighthood. His poem "Recessional" openly prays for mercy on the people of Britain for what they've done to their colonies' inhabitants.

And all this doesn't even address how long he spent in India during his lifetime. Nor that he returned to the land of his birth (born in Bombay in 1865) when he was 17 (1882), and lost much of his anglicanization: "After these, my English years fell away, nor ever, I think, came back in full strength." (Kipling's own words, those.)

No, Kipling was British only in that he was born to British parents. In all other ways that mattered, he was Indian, and there is very little chance that he was anything other than anti-imperialist.

It's interesting and ironic that the current lefties (who are looking at those citizens of their own nations with the paternalistic eyes of the British Imperialist aristocracy) hate Kipling for writing the poems that explain why their dreams of imposing on us for our own good will fail.

Bachelor Round Steak

This is a recipe that my other half brought with him, handed down from his dad. It's really good, with minimal clean up. And this recipe is really good for round steak, which is relatively inexpensive, but very tough unless baked slowly.

1 2lb round steak
1 envelope dry onion soup mix (could probably substitute dry garlic and herb, onion and mushroom, or some other dry soup mix, if you prefer)
aluminum foil

1. Preheat oven to 350.
2. Cut sheet of foil to wrap around meat. Lay raw steak in center of foil sheet.
3. Cover with soup mix. Fold foil up around steak, folding edges together to seal steak into an envelope of sorts.
4. Set package on a cookie sheet, and bake for two hours (an hour per pound)

Goes well with baked potatoes, mashed potatoes and gravy, or anything you'd want to go with it. You could probably put sliced up or cubed potatoes in with the meat, and have nearly a complete meal.

Afterwards, if you've been careful enough opening the foil envelope, you just wad up the foil and throw it away. No cleanup. If you really don't want to bother with cleanup, use paper plates and plastic flatware. Working what amounts to two part time jobs and taking care of kids (even with the help of my other half) makes the expense of paper plates and bowls, and plastic flatware well worth it in terms of one less thing to do around the house.

My brain hurts.

Our two year old is starting to use the potty. Our three month old is already ready for the jumper, but not really willing to take a bottle or use a pacifier (the only pacifier she's willing to use is me). I'm teaching two composition classes in which my students write 1000 words on their blogs with comments on two classmates' blogs every week (and I have to grade them every weekend), and assisting a colleague in teaching a literature class online.

I've also started the process of trying to write an academic paper about the future of academic citation heading toward linking sources rather than the current mess that no one department can agree on. I can think of three different citation styles--MLA (used by English Language & Literature classes), APA (Psychology), and Chicago (used by communications departments). Each has different rules, the internal citation model in APA and MLA tend to obstruct the flow of the text, and it's a pain to seek out the sources cited.

I think that students will, eventually, cite their sources with hyperlinks as a matter of course. I think that if those of us who teach courses in which research papers make up even a portion of the grade won't change the way we cite our sources (and teach students to cite their sources), our classes will continue to become more and more irrelevant to our students' lives. I think that the world as a whole is moving away from older research models, and toward hyperlinking sources.

We need to simplify things, and to agree on a method of simplification. I think that no one department is willing to agree on someone else's model. I think that our only real choice is a brand new model: to move toward hyperlinking in the text, and using some type of standardized works cited/bibliography page.

Any thoughts?

Update: The little girl will now take bottles. She still will not take a pacifier, but will take my knuckle instead of nursing constantly--thank God, as she's started teething.

For Mousie

Because one of my blog friends is sick, I'm posting one of my easy chicken soup recipes.

2 quarts of chicken broth*
1 package of dry tortellini or raviolini
1 can of chicken breast, drained
2 c frozen veggie mix
1-2 t. minced garlic** (about 2-4 cloves of garlic--the little pieces, not the whole bulb)
3 T dried minced onion***
generous pinch dried rosemary

1. Pour the chicken broth into a large pot (2.5-3 quart is a bit small--use a small stock pot if you've got one). Turn burner to high.

2. While you wait for the broth to start boiling, add chicken breast, garlic, onion, and rosemary.

3. Once the broth is boiling, add pasta and veggies. Turn the heat down a bit (to prevent boiling over), and cook until pasta and veggies are done to your taste.

Serve hot with toast or crackers. Heats up well the second day. Tastes much better than what you get out of a can.

* The Swanson in a box is good, but expensive. Stick to the store brand in a box, or use cans. I use canned chicken broth I buy in bulk from Sam's Club.
**I keep minced garlic in a jar in the fridge--the bulbs dry out faster than I use them, and dehydrated garlic just loses...something.
***Dehydrated minced onion keeps forever, and (unlike garlic) doesn't lose much in the way of flavor.

Irritation and alarm

My other half and I took our two kids and went to a conservative association meeting. We came away with a little book for the kids called Founders' Fables that teach lessons based on the Constitution. It's very cute, and very well done.

We also came away with a deep-seated frustration that the presentations offered were so basic. Seriously, people--what the hell is wrong with you? How in the hell can anyone be unaware that there is no special trust fund for social security? Who doesn't know that the current generation of workers is paying for the current generation of retirees? Who doesn't know that the population of workers is shrinking while the population of retirees is growing?

Worst of all, who simply whines "I want the money I was promised, no matter that it's at the expense of my kids and grandkids?"

So. There's the irritation. Here's the alarm.

Most of my readers are aware that I'm in Missouri. We've had "Fair Tax" legislation floated about for a couple of years, now. It sank in committee. Simply couldn't garner enough support.

Instead of abandoning it for a flat income tax (sensible--which is why politicians won't go for it), they've re-named it the Missouri Jobs Act.

Okay, first off: the whole "Something failed to gain support from the sheep--I mean voters, so let's sneak it past them by renaming it" alarms me. It's related to the whole pride issue I wrote about a bit more than two years ago now.

The reasons a sales tax didn't gain traction are too numerous to mention. Let's talk about the effects we can expect to see in Missouri if they succeed in passing this renamed "Fair Tax."

People within about thirty minutes' drive of a state line are going to do the majority of their shopping--especially on big ticket items--out of state. This directly results in...

1. Fewer sales made in state. Fewer sales mean smaller profits, as well as smaller amounts collected in state taxes.

2a. Smaller profits mean overheads must be lowered. Overhead includes employee wages. That means that people are going to be fired. Which, in turn, means not only is less money going to be spent in-state, but more unemployment is going to have to be paid out.

2b. Items sitting on shelves will have their prices dropped in an effort to sell them, leading to an even smaller profit margin, even with fewer employees. Small business are still going to go out of business.

3. Shoppers fleeing the state to shop will eventually lead politicians to increase the tax rates, and possibly re-apply an income tax on top of the "fair tax."

4. Both businesses and income earners will begin to flee the state.

The Fair Tax is not a good idea, not in this economy. Many of us knew that, and that's why it was defeated under the proper name. Re-naming it and foisting it on us again demonstrates a level of deceptiveness and chutzpah that just frightens me. Tells me that my home state is determined to self-destruct.

Chili

Before the weather gets too warm to enjoy it, I thought I'd post my version of this recipe. It's simple, thick, and can be as hot or not as you want. This recipe is about 3.5 or 4 alarm--if you want it milder, reduce the seasoning, or use mild ro-tel. Or both. If you want it hotter, use more seasoning (but not more than 1/3 c per pound) or hot ro-tel. Or both. I usually double this recipe, because if I don't, there's not enough leftovers to do more than top a baked potato.

1 lb lean hamburger meat (90/10 at least) Ground venison is also very good in this.
1/4 c chili seasoning
1 10 oz can ro-tel
1 15 oz can tomato sauce
1 15 oz can seasoned black beans, drained

1. Brown meat over medium heat, making sure to break up any large chunks.
2. Add seasoning, ro-tel (undrained), and tomato sauce. Mix well.
3. Simmer on medium low (I usually set the burner to about 4 [low=1; high=11]; adjust as needed for your stove) until desired consistency is reached (about an hour for my taste), but at least a half an hour.
4. Add black beans, stir, simmer until beans are warmed through (another five or ten minutes).

Serve hot, with cheese, crackers, tortilla chips, or baked potatoes. Tastes good the day you make it, and tastes better the next day.

*Helpful cleanup hint: as soon as you've put the leftovers away, run the tap until the water's hot, put dish soap in the bottom of the chili pot, then fill with hot water. Soak overnight and it comes clean with no effort.

New toy

We did our taxes, and did the responsible things with the refund first. You know, kids' college, our retirement...not that it'll do much good with the rapidly tanking dollar.

Anyway, after we did those things, we decided to have a little fun. I ordered this. Hopefully, it will arrive tomorrow. I can't wait to go play with it a little.

Welcome to the blog world, babe.

My husband has started his own blog. You can find it in my blog list: By Other Means.

breakfast cornbread

This is a family favorite. I strongly recommend using an 8" cast iron skillet to cook this in, or a cast iron drop biscuit pan. Spray the skillet/pan with cooking spray, and preheat it with the oven before you pour in the batter, and the cornbread flash cooks on the edges, and falls right out when you turn it upside down after it's done. No need to clean up the pan.

1/2 lb bulk maple flavored sausage
1 sweet yellow corn bread mix (I use Morrison's)

1. Preheat oven to 425 degrees or as directed on the cornbread mix. Don't forget to spray your cast iron skillet and put it in the oven when you turn the oven on.
2. Fry the sausage, breaking up chunks as you cook it (helpful tip: fry the whole pound, and freeze half for later).
3. Mix the cornbread batter according to the directions (helpful tip: measure the milk in a two to four cup liquid measuring cup with a pour spout, beat in egg, then stir the mix right into the measuring cup. That way, you only have two things to wash: the fork or spoon and the measuring cup).
4. Stir in 1/2 lb of cooked maple flavored sausage.
5. Pour into preheated cast iron skillet. Bake as directed on the mix.
6. Serve hot, buttered, with maple syrup.

No, this likely isn't good for you, but it's easy, tastes good, and heats up well the next day or two.

New category

I'm going to be posting a series of fast, easy, relatively healthy, and tasty recipes that my family and I commonly eat, all under the label "Mother's Little Helper." (I swear, there aren't any drugs involved, just a lack of sleep causing a bit of a feeling of disassociation from reality.)

First up: Beef enchilada casserole

1 lb extra lean ground beef (90/10 is adequate, 93/7 or higher is better--don't have to drain it)
1 packet taco or enchilada seasoning
1 8-10 oz can of re-fried beans
1 10 oz can of enchilada sauce
1 can condensed cream of mushroom soup (I use the 96% fat free)
1 can condensed fiesta nacho cheese or cheddar cheese soup
1 can corn, drained
1 can ro-tel (any variety)
2 or more cups cheese (cheddar works, as does Mexican blend)
4 cups of crushed tortilla chips

1. Preheat oven to 425 degrees.
2. Brown ground beef in large pot. Mix in seasoning according to directions, then re-fried beans. Mix thoroughly.
3. Remove from heat. Add enchilada sauce, soups, corn, and ro-tel. Mix well.
4. Layer chips, filling mixture, and cheese in a 9x13" baking dish (or a disposable steamer tray pan for less cleanup).
5. Bake, uncovered, for 25 minutes, or until cheese is melted and lightly browned. Serve hot.

Edit: my husband pointed out that I didn't specify that we do two layers of each ingredient, or that it's as easy to make two as it is to make one, or that they freeze well. If you want to freeze them, though, you need to more than double the cook time--we've found that it takes two hours to bring one from frozen solid to piping hot.

Big smiles!

Little twerp wouldn't cooperate for pictures until today

Remember this? In this picture, the imp is all of four days old. The monkey is about 8-10 inches long.


Here is the same boy, with the same monkey, two years later. It's really hard, looking at him now, to remember just how small he was.


It's absolutely amazing how they grow.

Too cute to keep to myself.

This...

...is doing this...


...because I had this up over my shoulder as I took the picture...

...and he adores his baby sissy.

Here's the pixie.

This was taken when she was only a couple of days old. Cute little pixie, isn't she? I'll try to get more recent pictures taken of her and post some, but right now I'm a bit sleep deprived.

I love six hour nights.

It's been a bit of a difficult month. The little pixie usually wakes up and wants fed every three hours, right on the dot. Sometimes, she'll sleep for four hours, and rarely, for six.

Last night was one of those rare, six hour nights. Between that six hour stretch, and the two hours of sleep I had before feeding her that last time, I actually feel pretty good today.

Not that it'll do much good...

The new majority in the U.S. House of Representatives plans to read the Constitution as the new session opens.

The attitude displayed in the video below illustrates why I don't think it will do a damn bit of good:



The Constitution is a simple, straightforward document. It's next to impossible to misunderstand. The language it's written in is plain, and unadorned by the standards of the time it was written, and is still pretty plain--especially when compared with the legalese that current bills (which must be passed before we can learn what's in them) are written in.

In fact, the Constitution is so simple and easy to understand that it takes a lawyer or a progressive linguist like Noam Chompsky to misunderstand what it says. We, the people of the United States understand it just fine. And we're not happy that congress has deliberately misconstrued what Article I, section 8 says it can do, and has deliberately ignored that what isn't listed in that section, it can't do: those are the things that are reserved to the states or to the people.

You know, like forcing people to buy health insurance. Or like seizing GM.

Amen, Gunny

You're going to want to go to minute mark 1:30 to avoid the lousy cover of the Stones' "Paint it Black," but listen to what Gunnery Sargent Ermey says. He's totally right, and doesn't pull any punches about it.



I wish I could thank him for speaking out, and thank him for serving. Any of my readers (all three or so of you) who have served--thank you. And thank any of your acquaintance who've served for me.

An illustration of why my kids are going to be taught how to safely handle guns as soon as possible...

...and why I don't think I will ever be willing to lock all of the guns away.

"Merry Christmas" aren't dirty words

I had something depressing happen to my husband and me a couple of nights ago: a twelve-year-old Salvation Army bell ringer wished us a "Happy Holidays" as we put what we could spare into the kettle.

Happy holidays. From a Salvation Army bell ringer. I could only assume he said that instead of the Merry Christmas we usually hear because he's been brainwashed into political correctness by his public school.

Whatever the case, it was just sad.

Role models

I didn’t have good role models on how a good marriage worked as I was growing up. My parents’ relationship failed, mostly due to the actions and inactions of my male genetic donor (though I doubt my mother was entirely blameless). One aunt is still married to her first husband after about twenty years, but that relationship is far from healthy. Another aunt has had one good marriage out of four, and that uncle was badly addicted to narcotics, and wound up committing suicide.

Not one relative that I’ve had close contact with was in a good, healthy, happy marriage. None of my friends’ parents (what few friends I had) were, either.

A lot of my current friends say I just lucked out in finding my husband. I agree, but I also had a role model: Maureen Johnson Smith Long of Robert Heinlein’s To Sail Beyond the Sunset.

So, yes: everything I need to know in life I learned from Robert Heinlein. The specific lessons that Maureen taught me about being a good wife and having a good marriage mostly had to do with my behavior—something I haven’t seen in most marriages I’ve seen fail.

--Dear, don’t bore him with trivia or burden him with your past mistakes. The happiest way to deal with a man is never to tell him anything he does not need to know.

While that one applies in part to past relationships (i.e., don’t go on and on and on about your exes; rather enjoy the relationship you’re in while you apply what you learned from your past failure), it’s not completely good advice anymore—not in this age of herpes, HIV/AIDS and other STDs. That said, that advice doesn’t just apply to past mistakes. If you’ve had a bad day, don’t unload on him when he comes home. It isn’t his fault, and most men don’t know that most women would rather vent than hear suggestions on how to fix things.

He also doesn’t need to hear about your latest argument with your mother.

Another way I try to model my behavior after Maureen’s is this: she tried, in her words, to be a gourmet chef in the kitchen (though, I know my limits), an economist in the household accounts, a duchess in the drawing room, and a perfect whore in the bedroom.

I have my limits, in the kitchen. I’m a decent cook within those limits. (If there’s any interest, I can post some of my more original, easy, quick, and relatively healthy recipes.) I do take pretty good care of the household accounts most of the time—things do tend to slip my mind while I’m pregnant, though. I do have a persona while out in public of a normal, respectable, responsible young wife and mother. Nobody that I don’t know would have any idea that I keep this blog, or that my opinions and beliefs might not follow the mainstream in this area. Last, unlike Maureen, I do tend to be possessive and jealous—I don’t think I could have the same type of open marriage she did in the book. Nor could I fathom wanting to sleep with anyone other than my husband. That said, I do try (and succeed) to be open minded and willing. And joyfully abandoned.

Last, but not least, is this:

--Formal courtesy between husband and wife is even more important than it is between strangers.

I cannot tell you how true this is. I have seen so many couples ignore this, and so many tend to fall into whinging about their spouse, or putting them down (sometimes in their presence), or bullying them, or being rude and expecting it not to matter.

It matters. The closer the proximity, the more it matters when feelings get hurt. The more (and more often) feelings get hurt, the less the one being hurt is inclined to give the other the benefit of the doubt when something just comes out wrong.

Besides that, I love my husband. I cannot bear to see him hurt by anything or anyone. I think it would half kill me if I did it through carelessness, when the same courtesy I extend to strangers could have prevented it. I could not do it on purpose, like I’ve seen other couples do.

I cannot recommend Heinlein’s work enough. The man had a deep understanding of life and human nature that many modern authors lack, and a knack for storytelling that is unmatched in any era, or by any other author.

Rough weekend...

As everyone who reads my blog knows, I was due to have a baby girl on New Year's Day.

That has changed. I went into labor Saturday morning. My tiny little snuggle bug was born Saturday afternoon, and will be going home with me today. She weighed 6 pounds, 1 ounce; was 18.5 inches long; and was in a huge hurry. I got to the hospital at around 2:00 p.m., and she arrived two and a half hours later.

I've got some end of the semester stuff to wrap up, but will post pictures of both her and her brother after I post grades on Monday.

After that, I'll be back to my regular news and political commentary, which I'd been avoiding to try to keep from going into stress-induced labor.

Let's give thanks for our blessings.

For each and every person born or naturalized to this nation have been blessed.

I'm thankful that I'm an American, with a founding document that forbids the government from interfering with my God-given rights to talk about anything I want. I'm thankful that I have a voice in firing a government that I don't think is doing its job right, and hiring its replacement.

I'm thankful that I'm married to my best friend and partner. I'm deeply thankful for that, despite never having had an example of a healthy marriage to base my expectations on.

I'm thankful that I have at least a part-time job that I love doing. I wish I could be in front of a classroom again, but I'm also extremely thankful that I had the option of staying home with my young son and teaching all online.

I'm thankful for my son's spectacularly good health, despite his rough start.

I'm thankful, deeply thankful, that I'm still pregnant with my daughter, despite the discomfort. Each week she stays put makes it more likely that we'll avoid another long hospital stay with her.

I'm thankful for each and every one of my friends, whether they're real life friends or blog friends. OldCatMan, Mousie, Ricki, Ken, and many others--you all mean a lot to me.

I'm thankful that despite my rough childhood, I managed to grow up with remarkably few lasting issues.

The things I'm thankful for are never far from at least part of my mind. I may not express it often in public, but I never forget to Whom the thanks is due.

Lessons forgotten, but not obselete: Rudyard Kipling's take

The Gods of the Copybook Headings

(1919)

As I pass through my incarnations in every age and race
I make my proper prostrations to the Gods of the Market-Place.
Peering through reverent fingers I watch them flourish and fall,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings, I notice, outlast them all.

We were living in trees when they met us. They showed us each in turn
That Water would certainly wet us, as Fire would certainly burn:
But we found them lacking in Uplift, Vision and Breadth of Mind,
So we left them to teach the Gorillas while we followed the March of Mankind.

We moved as the Spirit listed. They never altered their pace,
Being neither cloud nor wind-bourne like the Gods of the Market-Place.
But they always caught up with our progress, and presently word would come
That a tribe had been wiped off its icefield, or the lights had gone out in Rome.

With the Hopes that our World is built on they were utterly out of touch
They denied that the Moon was Stilton; they denied she was even Dutch
They denied that Wishes were Horses; they denied that a Pig had Wings.
So we worshipped the Gods of the Market Who promised these beautiful things.

When the Cambrian measures were forming, They promised perpetual peace.
They swore, if we gave them our weapons, that the wars of the tribes would cease.
But when we disarmed They sold us and delivered us bound to our foe,
And the Gods of the Copybook Heading said: "Stick to the Devil you know."

On the first Feminian Sandstone we were promised the Fuller Life
(Which started by loving our neighbor and ended by loving his wife)
Till our women had no more children and the men lost reason and faith,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: "The Wages of Sin is Death."

In the Carboniferous Epoch we were promised abundance for all,
By robbing selected Peter to pay for collective Paul;
But, though we had plenty of money, there was nothing our money could buy,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: "If you don't work you die."

Then the Gods of the Market tumbled, and their smooth-tongued wizards withdrew,
And the hearts of the meanest were humbled and began to believe it was true
That All is not Gold that Glitters, and Two and Two make Four--
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings limped up to explain it once more.

* * *

As it will be in the future, it was at the birth of Man --
There are only four things certain since Social Progress began --
That the Dog returns to his Vomit and the Sow returns to her Mire,
And the burnt Fool's bandaged finger goes wabbling back to the Fire --
And that after this is accomplished, and the brave new world begins
When all men are paid for existing and no man must pay for his sins
As surely as Water will wet us, as surely as Fire will burn
The Gods of the Copybook Headings with terror and slaughter return!

Illogical.

Recently, a blog I read posted a list of types of blame-the-victim rape apologists. I found it pretty accurate, and kind of funny, honestly. I didn't comment, because at first, I didn't have anything to say.

Then, in the comments, things got ugly. I don't know what it is about women in general and radical (or at least borderline radical) feminists in specific that takes any reasonable point made by a man and twists it to mean (in their mind) that all men are either rapists, or blame-the-victim apologists.

Actually, I think I do understand: women's brains tend to disengage when they perceive that someone is disagreeing with them. That tends to lead to the types of rather hysterical attacks, instead of the realization nobody disagrees with them. The men they're attacking as apologists also don't want women to be raped. However, since women tend to want to vent, and men tend to listen and try to think of ways to fix the problem, the men offer logical suggestions (i.e., don't drink way too much around people you probably don't know).

Women don't want to hear the logical, reasonable suggestions. They counter with "I should be able to drink as much as I want, anywhere I want, wearing whatever I want, and nobody should harass me about it." And then, they attack the man who dared offer constructive suggestions as if he was a rapist.

In a perfect world, they'd be right that they should never have to be careful. However, this world is not perfect. It has not been perfect since the first couple disobeyed their Maker in the one thing he told them not to do. Yes, we have the right to do what we want, when we want, however we want--however, just as it's the responsibility of any individual not to attack another, each of us also has the responsibility to do our utmost to protect ourselves. It is not anyone else's responsibility. It is definitely not the responsibility of a man--not even my husband--to defend me, now that I'm an adult.

However, it seems that just pointing out that this isn't a perfect world, and it is each individual's responsibility to maintain situational awareness and protect themselves is, in certain circles, tantamount to blaming the victim for the attack. And, as such, is as reprehensible as the rapist himself.

It's just another reason I dislike most other women. I prefer to hang around with people who use their brains as much as they do their emotions. Maybe that makes me a misogynist; however, since I am a woman, by certain arguments, I cannot be one.