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Watch your language!
Things that are mildly irking me these days (or perhaps they're irking me mildly!):

The television ad for The Fantastic Mr. Fox movie (which is an irk in itself, because I didn't realize you could hit the Uncanny Valley with non-humans!) begins with the line "Based on the be-loved children's classic." Two syllables in beloved; be-loved. Have we decided that this one word that retains that charming Shakespearen and earlier pronunciation (i.e., be-love-ed) must be modernized? I'm shockèd.

I've heard several people say revelant when they mean relevant. It's only 3 three in the course of a couple of months, but it's enough (and I use the word rarely enough) that I find myself questioning myself when I say or type it correctly; "Relevant? Revelant? It is relevant...isn't it?" At least these were random passers-by rather than people paid to speak well and correctly.

To ATM machines, PIN numbers and the much-more-rarely-discussed-these days HIV virus, add "She's my BFF forever!"

I really, really don't like the recent California vowel shift, which, in my mind, is best (for a very reverse value of best) demonstrated by reality "star" Megan Hauserman, or, as she calls herself "Meeeeeg'n." And no, it's not a variant pronunciation Me-gun, that horrid nasal eeeee is her attempt to make a "long a" sound, which is spelled with an e (eɪ in IPA). Work had me talking to young women today, and many of them did this, and the mom in me wanted to tell them to stop whining. (Fortunately, I haven't heard a lot of this in my best beloved [with three syllables] and her BFFs.).

Indulge me
Bless iCarly. I'm sure I've mentioned before that it's Catherine's favorite show, that I like it, too, and that it's a "food movie." (My mom and I notice whether or not there are scenes of food in movies. In some, the food is practically a character in itself. Like Water for Chocolate, Soul Food and Tampopo spring to mind as definite food movies. However, some just include characters who not only eat, but remark on their food.

Thus, tapenade. A rather evil character introduces Carly to something that she thinks looks disgusting, but, as she says later "A mix of olives and spices; atually, it was really good, weird, I know." So, Catherine wanted to try it, and I figured that if she didn't like it, more for me, if she did, good, I'd have an excuse to buy it a little more often.

"Tapenade is good, yo!" she pronounced, and that may be the first time that particular sentence was ever uttered. But, tonight, I had to make an unscheduled store stop for blondie fixings (not enough butter and no brown sugar in the house) for party at school tomorrow, and grabbed a jar of Trader Joe's excellent tapenade. I'd had plans for dinner, something vaguely involving chicken and vegetables, generally balanced and not bad, but I decided that we could use tapenade on toast points. So I made us each two bread-pieces (ie, 8 points) worth of toast, thinly spread tapenade on them, cut them into triangles and arranged them artfully around a carrot salad.

And that was dinner tonight. Tomorrow will go back to something reasonably pedestrian, but once in a while, it's nice to eat the equivalent of too many appetizers. A little salty for daily consumption, and I'll need to make sure our breks is more than usually protein-rich, oh yes, but good once in a while.

(We each had a blondie for dessert. They are more than fit for consumption by Cat's Creative class!)

On a Sunday afternoon
Not this past weekend, but the one before, twenty-four robbers didn't come knockin' at my door, but on Sunday, October 25th, happened the annual Betsy-Tacy Hallow'e'en party, and yes, Maud Hart Lovelace's chapter of that name is why I always try to put both apostrophes in the word Hallow'e'en.

I took my daughter, who said, among other things, "OMG*, I've read some Babymouse books! Millie's mom wrote them? Really? Really really?" asked Catherine. Jennifer Holm was lovely to speak to, one of those people that I immediate felt as if I'd known for years, and amazingly self-effacing.

I asked Jenni (I can call her that, it's what her nametag said!) how she knew Carla, and she said "You know, the library thing.." and Carla had elaborate that she had nominated Jenni for the Newbery Medal, and when Grace and I were getting recommendations for somewhat reluctant readers, she never brought up her own Middle School is Worse Than Meatloaf: A Year Told Through Stuff, which I found at the library the next day, and which is perfect (the story unfolds with notes and report cards and is amazingly complex, yet very easy to read. As of this morning, Catherine was reading it in the car on the way to school. I devoured it in a day and am working on Penny from Heaven.).

So, meeting this very nice children's author and her extremely easy-going two-year-old daughter Millie (whom I was referring to as "My new best friend, Millie," after we spent an utterly charming half-hour chatting about cupcakes, her Babymouse t-shirt and the various things on Carla's shelves), was lagniappe to the usual very lovely Hallow'e'en party.

As usual, we read took turns reading paragraphs of the Hallow'e'en chapter from Heaven to Betsy, which reading gets more raucous every year. We are getting better and better at keeping up with the Schnitzelbank song (sung in honor of Tib's German heritage, with Mader's Restaurant's poster used as a visual aid in honor of her Milwaukee Heritage), and Carla and Donna's Cat Duet gives Betsy and Tacy a run for their money (it just hit me that you two have been singing it annually for about as long as the Immortal Duo did!). We never did get around to Carla's proposed new tradition of reading the Okto Delta chapter from Betsy Was a Junior, but we stuffed ourselves on several kinds of chocolate desserts, pumpkin pie, gingerbread, two kinds of deviled eggs, sweet potatoes with brown sugar and something delicious involving white potatoes, looked at Susan's Mankato convention pictures (faces to put with names!), and listened to the Cragmont Kid's Choir joyfully singing about scary things.

Costumes included the usual Cat Duet, Jenni Holm as Babymouse Dragonslayer (with my new best friend Millie in a pink Babymouse t-shirt and matching tutu), one girl as a decidedly age-appropriate Dorothy Gale, Catherine and me as Lettie and Lottie (or possibly Lottie and Lettie, I can't find my copy of Winona's Pony Cart), and the librarian from the B-Tseries, Miss Sparrow going to a tea party, in a particularly gorgeous white lace gown and an absolutely stunning cartwheel chapeau (it doesn't do it justice to call it a mere hat), decorated in simply miles of pale pink tulle and all sorts of gorgeous flowers.

*Yes, my daughter and her classmates actually say the letter O M G aloud, even though "Oh, my God" or "Oh, my gosh" takes no longer to say. They also say "LOL," which seems very bizarre to me, because, if they're saying it, they are NOT Laughing Out Loud at all! I am officially old and crotchety!

Life goes by so fast, you only want to do what you think is right.
The big news of the week would have been that I sort of have my old job back. "Sort of" because there's been an uptick in business, meaning that the couple remaining recruiters got their hours increased and they needed me as well, but it's week-to-week until we see if the trend holds.

But the bigger, and bad, news is that our cat Melba died. Some of you remember her as the skinny, sweet cat who had dark gray stripes on light gray (Nimbus is the plump one whose stripes are medium-gray on mediumer-gray.)and who drooled when petted. Some of you knew her as Neighbor Mom's cat Brekken, and some even remember her as one of the two newborn kittens who were being tortured in the Blackpoint Renaissance Faire parking lot by two waste-of-skin boys, before

pentaclemoon came down on them (the boys) like vengeance and got them (the kittens) to the safety of St Bride's camp.

When she was Brekken, she responded to Neighbor Boy's birth by marking his clean laundry, and became an outdoor cat. At that time, Nimbus was indoors most of the time, although she'd occasionally manage to slip past us to the backstairs, and occasionally Brekken had managed to slip in the basement door. They'd have a hissing stand-off, with an occasional nose slash. Brekken spent more and more time completely outdoors, and some neighbor kids told me over the back fence that they had been feeding her, and was that OK? Sure, yeah, thanks, she's not mine, she's my downstairs neighbors'. But a couple years later, Neighbor Mom moved out and only took Brekken's sister, Aylie (the other kitten saved from the parking lot) and the neighbor kids moved away not too long after, though I don't know just when.

It was about 6 months after Neighbor Mom moved when there were storms, driving rain, so cold, sometimes even hail, for several days. We decided to let the cat who was coming in the cat-door stay in the laundry room. I set up bedding and food and water for her. A month later, Neighbor Dad got a good look at her and ID'ed her as Brekken, but we'd already changed her name to Melba (because she had a very pretty soprano voice, and never meowed in only two syllables, so I looked up sopranos and came up with Nellie Melba.).

We didn't know who she was because there are LOTS of gray tabbies, even in this very neighborhood, and our household never did see a lot of Neighbor families cats. However, the main reason we didn't recognize her is that this hissing, pissing, mean-faced cat had become one who was incredibly grateful for warmth and food and, especially, human contact.

By the time we realized she had been Brekken, she had acted sweet enough to get into the house some nights, though her fur was too long for her to be allowed into the bed, considering Steve's allergies.

When all hell broke loose around the household in summer of 2007, I slept with Melba every night while Steve slept on the couch. She didn't know how she got so lucky, but she showed her gratitude by lying against my churning stomach and purring, and I know that I got at least twice as much sleep as I would have, because she was around.

I wanted to take her with me when I left for good, but Mom and I ended up in an apartment that only accepted one pet, so Mom's cat (just a month older than Melba) got priority. Sad, but I knew Steve and Catherine would take good care of Melba.

The cat had been skinny ever since she came to us, not even a diet of Kitten Chow ever really fattened her up. But in these last few weeks, she'd been getting even skinnier (I occasionally stop by the old house to check on the pets and spend extra time with Catherine.) and on Thursday, Catherine told me she was "getting wobbly."

Friday, I started work, then went to Catherine's dance recital, then went to I went to see see my ill cat.

Melba wasn't moving at all, lying on the towel that Steve had spread out for her; she probably hadn't moved since the humans had left a few hours earlier. She did start purring when she saw me.

She hadn't eaten in a few days, and didn't even lick food smeared on her lips, nor could she even keep down water. I gently wet her lips and nose, and Steve, Catherine and I stayed around her for hours, watching her breath move her haunches in and out. No pain and breathing evenly, but no other movement.

Around midnight, just as it was becoming Hallow'e'en, she let out a series of about ten odd hacking sounds, about a minute apart, as her breathing became shallower and shallower, then stopped.

"Is she...with us?" asked Catherine. Steve put his ear against the cat and said "I think I'm just hearing my own heart in my ear." He carefully curled her into a basket and left her in the living room, just in case she was still alive, she'd be safe and warm, and the humans managed to sleep.

When we woke up in the morning, rigor mortis had set in. I went out back and dug a small but deep hole under the lavender, It grows so fast, it'll cover the bare patch of dirt left behind, and it smells nice, and Melba liked to hang out there on sunny days; she'd often come in smelling of lavender. Steve brought her out, we all petted her one last time and told her we loved her, then put her in the hole.

Of all the cats I have had, she was the most loving. We had her for 8 of her 14 years, and consider ourselves very lucky.

Gee, but it's been a long day.
There was more than usual packed into this weekend, much good, some not so.

Placeholder, OK?

Never believe it's not so.
Being a mom is chopping up your 7-year-old soap-bubblesque irridescent sheer fabric fantasy overskirt because your daughter wants to be a white witch for Hallow'e'en and you wanted to add something special to the white dress she already owns.

And going through half-a-bottle of Fray-Chek making a peaked hat out of said fabric, without a pattern.

And loving it.

I'm kind of proud of the (slightly floppy) hat. I might get some stiffer wires for it (I have actually reached a point where I don't own a single wire hanger, EVER!) but it's pretty cute, and sweetly irridescent, now.

That's what they call me!
I don't remember if I've told you little darlings about Fine Lines. Shame on me if I haven't!

Jezebel is a marvelous pop culture...blog? Online zine? Anyway, it's cool, and specifically by and for women.

My favorite feature of Jezebel is Fine Lines, Lizzie Skurnick's column about the kidlit and YA that shaped her. She takes requests, she lets people post their "What was that one book where that one girl did this thing?" vague memories. The essays, and many more, were collected into a book, one of those "I have GOT to get this at the library and buy my own copy if I can" books (As mentioned before, I buy books for myself somewhat rarely.). I though it marvelously cool that she didn't take the essays that had been on the site, off the site. (THe book contains a lot more!)

There's also the Shelf Pleasuring feature, about books for which we were really too young.

kimmaline, there's another woman in the world who was...intrigued by the mammoth porn!

Then, back in July, she posted a quiz called "Partial Coverage", in which the object was to guess at which book covers (with titles cropped) we were looking.

And I gave my answers, then my computer hicupped and I couldn't use my limited library dial-up sloooooow time on that site. One mildly caffeine-induced 2AM, I decided to pop into Fine Lines and see what I'd missed.

Below the review of A Summer to Die was the following:

Guys, you did wonderfully well on last week's quiz challenge, Partial Coverage, especially as Google is not really a help in these matters! Before I list the winners of a copy of Shelf Discovery, I point you to the gallery where you may find the answers to all.

The winners are AS FOLLOWS, in no particular order, only because some of you got some close to right which counted as a half point and...oy. You are winners, all! (If you won for reals though, please send me an email to jezziefinelines@gmail.com with the words "Partial Coverage Winner" in the subject line):

1. Jennifer Gibbons
2. Kerry Stubbs
3. Jen McCreary
4. Katherine Nelson
5. Jane Mendle
6. Jessica Calgione
7. Alston Erato
8. Bailey Beans (Beans, are you also above as real person up there? I will choose 11 because I think that was a double.)
9. Kidlitfan
10. ANin
11. AvantGardenia

They don't call me (well, I don't call me)

kid_lit_fan for nothin'.

Emailed Lizzie a few days ago, got the book via UPS yesterday, and am nearly done already. Had it been a library copy, I'd've bought one for myself. But I don't have to, because I WON IT! All this useless kidlit knowledge got me somethin' gooood!

Be careful not to mess with the balance of things
Two grammar peeves:

"The most unique! There's never been anything this unique! So unique!"

Unique comes from a root word meaning "one." It doesn't mean "rare," or "unusual" it means, well, "unique." Singular. Uno. You can't use qualifiers, because it IS THE ONLY ONE. Nothing else like it. Any unique thing is precisely as unique as any other unique thing, because 1 = 1 = 1, every time!

There's a Disney Channel show called Wizards of Waverly Place, which, like many other Disney Channel shows is a ~~total freakin' rip-off~~ homage to something that has already been sucessful in the demographic, in this case, Harry Potter's teen wizards (particularly the scenes at the wizard school, WizTech.). Anyway, the theme song, sung by the shows charming but not brilliantly-voiced star Selena Gomez, is called "Everything is Not What It Seems."

It doesn't quite fit the current tune (which could've been tweaked before this monstrosity of grammar was foisted on unsuspecting tweens and their parents--hi!), but it should be "Not Everything is What It Seems." "Everything is Not What It Seems" means that, well everything is not what it seems. That chair over there? Not a chair. That guys who's says he's their dad? Actually Mom's boyfriend. And Mom's not their mom, she's a stranger who wandered in off the street and they call her Mom because she has their real mom locked in a dungeon...or does she? Because once we see Real Mom in the dungeon, she's NOT Real Mom, because everything is not what it seems. EVERY! THING!

To me, that repeated line seems like fingernails on a blackboard when I hear it.

Also, one of the lines is "You could fix any problem at the slightest ease." Should be "with the," but it's "greatest ease, dear. The whole song is about how it's great to be a wizard because stuff comes easy! Slight ease would be great difficulty.

Le Bal de Vampires Tickets still on sale
PEERS' 16th annual Bal des Vampires will be on Saturday, November 7th.

PLEASE NOTE:
ALL TICKETS must be purchased in Advance.
Tickets will not be available at the door.
Tickets are $30.00, while available.

Saturday, November 7, 2009
Alameda Elks Lodge
2255 Santa Clara Ave, Alameda
Dancing on Two Floors
Doors Open: 6:30 pm
Vintage Dance Lesson: 7:00 pm
Formal vintage ballroom dancing: 7:45 - midnight
Featured Band: Bangers & Mash
Dracula's Daughter Discotheque & Bar: 6:30 - midnight

Waltz the night away in a beautiful candlelit ballroom with the San Francisco Bay Area’s most glamorous Undead at the 16th Annual Le Bal des Vampires.

Suggested costume is evening dress of the century and country of your “rebirth.” This may include dress uniform, period costume (authentic or fantasy), vintage attire, or modern evening dress. There is no dress code for the ball (We certainly don’t expect Spike to attend in black tie!), but you will see some of the most gorgeous and creative costumes of the social season at Le Bal des Vampires.

This year there will once again be simultaneous dancing on two separate floors:

Our band in the elegant upstairs ballroom is the stylish but always dashing chamber ensemble Bangers & Mash. As usual, haunting waltzes dominate the program, but the evening will feature a variety of dance music from across the centuries – from 18th century Baroque contredanses to 19th century Victorian rotary and Viennese waltzes, polkas, and mazurkas; to elegant early 20th century tangos, blues, and fox trots and even some classic rock and roll Swing. Please note that the band’s first dance set will start at 7:45 pm sharp – 15 minutes earlier than usual. The dance sets will be unusually long, even by Bangers & Mash’s high standards, so if you do plan to dance, please be certain to wear shoes or boots you can actually dance in.

For those preferring a more modern style of dance music and free-style dancing, join us downstairs in Le Bal des Vampires’ Dracula’s Daughter’s Discotheque for a wonderfully varied repertoire of music to stir the blood and spirit from 6:30 p.m. to Midnight. Hosted by our principal DJ, Dark Moon, the disco also features a no-host (cash) bar and light refreshments for our mortal guests.

Our half-time show in the ballroom is a performance by the celebrated Le Theatre des Vampires. Not recommended for the faint of heart but highly recommended for fans of the genre.

Every girl in the club, exposin' cleavage.
I saw a ten-year old girl in, essentially,this costume today. However, on one who has not yet developed, it becomes this costume! It is odd to realize that I are so used to seeing slutty costumes on women, many too young (though physically developed, or well on the way.) that my first response is "Why is that child dressed like a slutty $CHARACTER?" (I do realize that, as slutty pirate costumes go, this one isn't particularly so. Not at all, I'm just numb, and every women's costume sets off my "How slutty is this one?" radar..)

I have seen girls no older than the one in the second pic dressed much like this*, and I don't mean this.

I wish I were kidding.

Those sorts of costumes make EVERY women and girls' costume suspect. But the biggest little piece I ever felt dying inside me was the Sexy Judge costume. Doesn't matter how educated we are, how much we uphold the law, we are cleavage, garters and heels. Even if we're too young to have cleavage, we are, all too often, short skirts and thigh highs.

Who wears this?

Please note the difference between male and female costume. Same manufacturer. Ugh.

*Somewhat less than I hate the "women + costume = big ho!" trope, I dislike the "Alice has card suits on her pinafore." I guess I can't expect those who would slutify an imaginative preteen girl (please don't comment that "That's what Louis Carroll did!" because, whatever his relationship with his child friends, and the jury is out on how untowardly he behaved. Alice Liddell herself said that the trouble with being one Carroll's "child friends" was that the moment you became too old, he was no longer interested in your friendship. Alice in the books is NOT a sleazy fantasy, as ANY female ANYTHING OR ANYONE can be.) would get that a nice young Victorian lady would not have a card suit motif on her clothing. But it irritates me.

In October I will play host...
How adorable are these Where the Wild Things Are bento boxes (How-to's first, amazement at the bottom. Her boyfriend better've appreciated it!)

meopta, skim around her site, there's also Miyazaki-based bentos.

WtWTA fans, find more Sendak Inspired coolness at Terrible Yellow Eyes.

Alack-aday! Oh, woe! Oy, vey!
I enjoyed Where the Wild Things Are, for the measure of enjoyment that includes not needing to see it again and crying frequently throughout.

I had said to myself that they couldn't POSSIBLY cut something nor miss something in a 9-sentence book. Yet there was no sea monster (that would've been such a cool scene and one of the 8 monsters pictured in the book wasn't there. C'monnnnn!

But I kind of loved Max, empathized with both him and his mother (he's an unholy terror, but he has good reason, or at least he thinks so, being a kid, and I adored the all-too-realistic way he had huge, huge plans, for once with a group that had time and inclination to help), fell into the world of the Wild Things. They're gorgeous creations of Jim Henson's creature shop, or what I've always called "Giant Walking Muppets, y'know like Sweetums." They must've been wonderful to design, difficult to create (all that fur and feathers, I can just feel bits in my nose and throat), glorious to present to the directors and producers and hell's worst beeyotch to wear.

I noticed that no-one ate, which seems strange for a land of creatures mostly ruled by id, but I suppose it makes sense in a movie based on a book wherein a kid goes to bed without supper and comes back and finds it waiting and "It was still hot."). Max' leaving was all wrong for me, and parts of it (especially toward the end) were so depressing that I wouldn't DREAM of taking a kid who's young enough to still be in the picture book phase to it. Seriously, it's nightmare fodder for those who aren't quite in control of pretend vs. real.

However, the books reassuring theme that you are still loved even when you misbehave is there.

Being directed by Spike Jonze and written by Jonze and Dave Eggers (and with a Karen O soundtrack, yet), this movie is about as hip as it's humanly possible to get, ten years ago. I can't put my finger on why, but something about the pacing and the dialogue feels very 70's to me, like the live-action movies they made for kids when I was one (and so were Jonze and Eggers.).

Maurice Sendak wanted Jonze to direct and worked closely with him throughout the process. There's nothing to be ashamed of in this movie, in some ways it captured the basic feel of the book beautifully, but in others, it's just..off. It is true (and was expressed beautifully in Sendak's few pages) that sometimes we lose control of our emotions and we can make up for it. But it was expressed in ways that are frightening to watch.

I've always said about Pixar Studios that their respect (and box-office) comes from the fact that they make good movies for grown-ups that happen to be acceptable for kids to see. By contrast, this movie (distributed by Warner Brothers because Universal executive meddling lead Spike Jonze to look elsewhere) is a kid's movie that little kids probably shouldn't see. There's stuff in it for grown-ups (especially if they have kids. The script, though not the visuals, was more interesting to this grown-up than Ponyo.) but it's not really for them, either. I think it's for Jonze and Eggers, and if you happen to have common interests, you'll enjoy it.

That we may mak' our dinner sweet
Haven't heard the crows for a while. Still alive.

I heard twa corbies makin' a mane
If you don't hear from me within the next 24 hours, it's because the crows have eaten me.

Outside my window is a taller building, and ten minutes ago, I heard a caw, then an answering caw, coming from the top of it. This is not unusual, we have a few crows who nest hereabouts, make irritating noises, and buzz the neighborhood cats. As I walk home from wherever I'm walking, I see them fix me with their bright eyes, and I look back, making sure they know that I see them, and they turn their heads away and try to look casual.

But the answering caw was followed by another, and another, and then many more. I looked up and they were circling the taller building's roof, in a frenzy. I estimate 20, but there may have been more or fewer--they were moving too quickly to count. The sound kept going and going. When you're used to a call being "kraw kraw krraaaw kraw!" annnnnd stop! it's bizarre when it keeps going and going.

§
As I typed the above, they stopped. Then they started again, and a flock of geese (there seem to be an obscene amount of geese on the island this year) flew overhead, just to complicate the sounds with their honking. The geese have passed. The crows have simmered down to one cry a minute. Before, it was cacophonous, however-many crows all cawing out of sync, creating an awful, inonomatopoeiatable noise. Now, its a once-a-minute or so ""krawkrawkrraaawkraw!"" just a few of them in perfect unison.

Somehow, this is even more unnerving.

Bells will ring, the sun will shine ***record scratch!***
The fact that in Lousiana this one JoP has had four requests to perform an interracial marriage in only 2.5 years should be a cluestick that it's not this bizarre abnormality that creates mutant children and liberalism. If he had a request every. single.day, that's about one out of 200. It's a low number, but, considering all the factors, it's not some rare and bizarre man-and-a-box-turtle scenario!

A same-sex marriage or an interracial marriage likely will be harder than a heteronormative marriage of two people of the same race. But that's because of the way jerks respond that makes it harder, there's nothing intrinsic to these marriages that makes them more difficult because of the structure of the marriage itself. Should we stop letting fit people marry overweight people? Shall we not let people with children remarry, because that might be hard on the children? Should we not allow blondes to marry brunettes because we might lose those recessive genes and OMG! NO BLONDES IN 200 YEARS!

I'm all for not allowing brides who choose "As Long as He Needs Me<" from Oliver! as a wedding song to marry, but if they're over 18 (in California, it's 16 in Louisiana, IIRC), not currently legally married to anyone else and not related too closely to the groom, then they've got the right. I suppose I have the right to say "Nah, no, I'd rather not perform this one", but if I lecture them on their taste or say "You kids aren't gonna make it," I just look like a jerk.

I stand by the concept that Mildred and Richard Loving are MUCH better role models than Bill Sikes and Nancy Sopoorshedoesn'tevenhavealastname.

Sometimes I get hungry
Grocery shopping happens tomorrow evening, and it hit me that it's considered a good idea to feed your kid around 7-ish each night (at least that's dinnertime in this household.), and maybejustmaybe it's best not to have cold cereal for dinner, especially if it was today and tomorrow's breakfast. So I pawed through the freezer and cupboards and came up with:

Turkey cutlets
Ground Ginger
Parsley flakes
Chopped Dates (mom loves dates, I think she grabbed these by mistake looking for the bigger, pitted ones). They would've been good in the Fruity Oaty bars, but I digress.
Shredded coconut (bought to make pie for Catherine's birthday, stored airtight and still tender and tasty.)

So, I sprayed some canola oil spray into a pie plate (This is happy stuff, basically it's canola oil in aerosol form, cost 2 bucks at TJs for a can that lasts many months, and non-sticks your food while adding less than two calories.) put the turkey cutlets down I threw the last four ingredients on top of them, and rubbed for a while (to taste. Basically, it was a handful total of dates and coconut, a few good shakes of parsley flakes rubbed to bring out the flavor and probably a couple tablespoons of ginger; I REALLY like ginger, on 1.23 lbs of turkey.)

Then I drizzled some fruit juice (Minute Maid 100% Fruit Punch, 4oz worth, from one of the juice boxes waiting for Catherine's lunches this week.) over the lot and threw it a 350° oven for 30 minutes, turning and rotating cutlets at about 20 minutes.) When serving, make sure to scoop the excess date-bits and coconut slivers and juice and jus that have slipped beneath the cutlets and gently spread some atop each of your plated cutlets.

Oh, yummers. I served it with pita and raw carrot slices marinated briefly (as in, while the turkey cooked) in Cuban Garlic-Lime dressing. The tang of dressing offset the sweetness of the carrots and the mix on the turkey perfectly. I ended up eating with my fingers, making tiny pita pockets with one carrot slice and a bit of sweet-bits-of-yum-slathered turkey each. I'd've made with the fork more if I'd had company.

There are leftovers. Catherine's getting one sliced into her pita-fulla-hummus for tomorrow's lunch, and I think I'm going to get some rice, cook it with the rest of the turkey and roux, add some more dates and coconut, and have it again tomorrow night, maybe with the same marinated carrots, only shredded on top this time!

What are Lessons 1-8 of the AUSD anti-bullying curriculum?
Full disclosure: I am against the recall of Alameda School Board members based on the inclusion of sexual orientation in anti-bullying curriculum, and I find the idea that the plan of lesson 9 is "teaching sodomy" stunningly simplistic and misleading.

To hear S.E.R.V.E. tell it, LGBT Lesson #9 is the whole of the curriculum. I ended up finding the gist of Lesson 9 for K-5 at hyper-conservative newsblog World Net Daily of all places. (Toward the bottom of the article.) ( Curriculum quoted here )

My question is this: What are lessons 1 - 8? I can find online opinions, outlines of how teachers will be trained for Lesson 9, etc, but does anyone have a source for Lessons 1-8?

ETA: Found the Lesson 9 plan at the AUSD site, with a useful FAQ. Still no Lessons 1-8.

x-posted to my_island

Rain...I don't mind.
Huh. Storm was a-comin', I booked a bit to make it home before it hit, made sure matches and oil lamps were available,made sure the coffee was hot and turned on the heat to take the chill off the house before the possible, if not probable, power outage that can come with a storm of magnificent proportions, then...

Well, it'll probably rain sometime around 1 in the morning. The vicious winds are supposed to be coming soon. Right now, the trees outside aren't even wiggling the usual amount, nor even at all.

Did we actually get rain so mild I missed it?

I'm not complaining about the delayed, or possibly tamed storm, I'm just stupidly disappointed. I should count my blessings though, and remember the sogginess that was the Bay Area's winter and spring of 1994-'95.

Over a hundred days in a row, it rained. And rained. And rained. At the time, we lived in the front of a duplex that didn't get enough sun on the best of days. Even inside our home, our lives were spent avoiding ever-encroaching mold and trying to get a draft in our actual working fireplace. Also, there were blackouts, from an 30 minutes to several hours, at least once a month. One of the nice things about living on this island is that it has its own electric company, which really doesn't do power-outs--we've had a couple of brownouts and only one blackout that lasted more than five minutes (not counting the rolling blackout, which came in the early afternoon on a blessedly pleasant day; Neighbor Mom and I took the kids outside and attacked the shrubbery for the hour.) in the 12+ years I've been living here

Sometimes a brighter-than usual light would appear in the sky, through a thin spot in the cloud cover, bringing wistful memories of sunny blue days, then the rain would resume, ranging from a spitting, mocking drizzle to a vicious downpour that didn't seem to bother to divide itself into civilized drops.

I remember never quite feeling dry. The storm drains overflowed, and the street of my then-workplace was a river, anywhere from half an inch to ankle deep. Being a Californian by birth, choice and nature, I didn't own something so...non-temperate as a pair of galoshes, so every pair of shoes I owned was vaguely damp. My feet were always cold and a little bit wrinkled. My hair, which normally responds with gleeful curls to a bit of dampness in the weather, ranged from a humidity-sogged frizz to a sodden mass of limp chilly strands.

Worst of all, it was all anyone talked about. I should be thankful to have mediocre enough weather that I feel the need to prattle on about a possible oncoming windy downpour.

If you can read this, I hope your power stays on. Let's not take that for granted.

Would my life make some sense to me?
I'm believing, gently, that my luck is turning around. I've never considered myself unlucky, mind you, but I've had a rough-ish couple of years (thank you to everyone who made the landings softer and the bumps less bumpy.), and finances have been tetchy. Never thought that homelessness was a possibility, but not quite so

In the past couple of weeks, I've gotten a bit of unexpected work, enough to keep a couple of bills at bay and get some small necessities, a nice tip at a wedding I had the honor of working (came in handy, as I'll be paid for the wedding in a few weeks and it's good to have had my commute costs more than reimbursed, considering I don't get paid for three more days. I splurged by riding the ferry back, which is a lovely trip, buying the latest BUST and buying a loaf of olive bread from Acme Bread Company.), and a free-for-nothin' functional computer left outside a neighbor's house with a FREE sign on it and including compatible screen, keyboard and printer, though I need to get ink cartridges.

After a few false starts, it's working for the price ($2.99) of a pack of 3.5" floppies (They still sell 'em. Yeah, it's old enough that it has a 3.5" floppy drive, but it also has CD-ROM and a flash drive-compatible USB port, or at least flash drive-compatible once we got the wininet.dll file that was missing installed, which file I had previously uploaded to the flash drive, which flash drive was inaccessible until the wininet.dll file was accessed--yeah. 3.5 floppy. As FaceBook friends charmingly pointed out, it wasn't a punch card or a reel-to-reel. I am old enough that I learned basic computer tech with DOS commands (which I cannot remember) and 5" floppies , but punch cards were slightly before my time.

I missed a couple of calls for temp-to-perm jobs (seriously, lovelies, you have my cell number. Call them both, please!) over the last couple of weeks, but at least there ARE calls.

I want to believe my financial luck is upswinging, just a bit. Things feel mildly shiny.

For many a poor orphan lad, the first square meal he ever had/
Was a hot meat pie made out of his dad
From Sweeney Todd the Barber

Besides the stunningly obvious, what should I serve at the Sweeney Todd Ball? I could just keep minature meat pies coming out the kitchen all night long, but it seems there should be something else.