Bun Warmers of Death (I love you!)

Have you read John Scalzi’s absolutely brilliant post Being Poor yet? No? Go read -- I’ll wait here.

I could relate to far too many of these. This one really hit home:

Being poor is having to keep buying $800 cars because they’re what you can afford, and then having the cars break down on you, because there’s not an $800 car in America that’s worth a damn.

My first car cost $100. My second $300. Third $600. Fourth $800. Of course that’s not including the constant repairs needed to keep them limping along just a little longer. Yes, it would’ve made sense to get a less used, ancient and decrepit bucket but the monthly payments were daunting. My thinking was that the rust machines wouldn’t necessarily break down every month and I could get around carless for a few days if need be. That car loan bill, however, would need to be paid on the first no matter what.

So, every car was bought with fingers crossed.

Now I have Bix the Wondercar. Yes, he's a tiny thing but, for the most part, that's all we need.

Oh yeah and he has THE most awesome seat warmers and no, I am NOT concerned about the Bun Warmers of Death Syndrome, thenkyewveddymuch. Talk to me about that in March.

I am concerned however about my friend Susan. She lives in Minneapolis. Mind you it’s always frozen there in winter but lately, they’re giving Neptune a run for its money on coldest temps EVAH.

Check it it out -- with a projected high of three degrees Fahrenheit 'today's temperatures forecast to be much warmer than yesterday.'

Damn!

From Think Progress’ Climate Progress page :

Cold weather tends to bring out the climate change deniers — in the Senate, that would be Senator James Inhofe (R-OK) {ed note: correction. He is R-Corporate Shillistan}. On Monday, Inhofe pointed to freezing temperatures across the country to explain climate change science is both “laughable” and rigged.
Usually the first to seize on snowy weather to argue against climate action, Inhofe described how the United Nations invented the “global warming thing” as a power grab.

Wow. Just motherfucking WOW.  This dude’s a good 51 cards short of a full deck.
A lyric from the trenchantly eloquent Mister Bob Dylan comes to mind:

Idiot wind blowing every time your move your mouth
Blowing down the backroads heading south
Idiot wind blowing every time you move your teeth
You're an idiot babe
It's a wonder that you still know how to breathe

From an article on Slate which featured and debunked the Tweets of the rich and soulless, the roundheeled skanks of the ‘right:’

1. Statements about climate trends must be based on, er, trends. Not individual events or occurrences. Weather is not climate, and anecdotes are not statistics. 

2. Global warming is actually expected to increase “heavy precipitation in winter storms,” and for the Northern Hemisphere, there is evidence that these storms are already more frequent and intense, according to the draft U.S. National Climate Assessment.
snip......
Finally, just one last thing: When it’s winter on Earth, it’s also summer on Earth ... somewhere else. Thus, allow us to counter anecdotal evidence about cold weather with more anecdotal evidence: It’s blazing hot in Australia, with temperatures in some regions set to possibly soar above 120 degrees Fahrenheit in the coming days.

Here in Valhalla we’re due to reach a balmy 16º Fahrenheit today with a chance of snow. I’ve battened down Rocco’s cave -- packed blankets, old clothes and rags all around it for insulation. The Amazing Bob’s put a sweater up in Coco’s castle. Yes, she’s  an indoor beastie but it’s chilly!

It's a day when every seat, in the car, the cat cave and castle too, should be heated. N'est-ce pas?

Assholes and Opinions

Everyone’s got one and/or been one.

Yes, even your faithful and NEAR angelic scribe here.

No, really!

Sometimes my assholish acts or behaviors have been completely unintentional -- like not showing up for my THIRD rescheduled mammogram because I just keep forgetting about them despite noting the day, date and time on my calendar EVERY single time.

Doh!

Sometimes my bad behavior is wholly on purpose -- like when I responded to one of my high school tormenters, after being insulted/taunted for the millionth time, ‘oh shut up George, no one likes you anyway.’

Nasty. Terribly assholian of me but he, as well as so many other bullies, had it coming.

And occasionally it’s a product of my own stupid, tiny minded, jealousy and unresolved issues.

There was that time when I was, likely, not carefully quiet enough when dissing the mega aloof, pretentious, poor-little-me chick to Jen while at Tina's party. (What am I? Five?!)

Madam Aloof ended up becoming the girlfriend, now wife, of a dear friend. They hooked up at that party. Unsurprisingly, Bill and I no longer get together for a pint and a meal -- his choice, not mine. You’re shocked, right? No? Yeah, me either.

Maybe I don’t see him anymore for reasons other than my badly concealed opinion of his future mate. Could be.
Was my mean girl behavior ignited because she was stealing my friend away? (when in a relationship, he would vanish into his new gal pals’ world. Poof. Gone) That could certainly be part of it but it was also about her having such an easy, posh life (from my POV anyway).

She’s one percenter wealthy AND healthy.

Not only could she afford to buy expansive digs in a former brewery building/now artist loft space (no, she’s not an artist -- just enjoys being perceived as one), she was able to pay an architect to come in to do the place up Fresh Home Design Mag grand. There was family money on top of her high paying, posh PR gig.

Yeah, there’s my jealousy right there. Zilcho money concerns. A safety net the size of the planet. No frets about paying the rent AND the health insurance bills. Ever. Wow.

Envy city.

Maybe, had my chum’s squeeze been at all friendly when we first met -- not reserved to the point of rudeness, we’d have gotten off to a better start.

Possibly she was painfully introverted and suffered Olympic levels of nervous around relative strangers.

Perhaps she simply didn’t find us interesting or entertaining -- we weren't worth her effort.

Conceivably, had I not reacted to her behavior with my stellar, insecurity fueled twatishness, Bill and I would still be friends.

I doubt I’ll ever know, not that knowing would change anything I suppose.

I was an ass, she was an ass -- sometimes we just can’t all be buds.

My Mother's Ring

My mother’s wedding band was 99 kinds of gorgeous. It was a band of William Morris-y sort of flowers and vines stamped into silver and rimmed with gold.

I remember thinking it the most beautiful thing in the world when I was just a wee bairn. I’d sit next to her on our couch with my face pressed up against her hand so I could marvel at it’s organic swirls. I’d twirl it around her finger so I could gaze deeply at all sides.

My attraction to it never changed.

She and I always had a strained relationship. I had the balls on temerity to be born a girl not a boy and, to make matters worse, I was always an independently minded, go-your-own-way sort. She couldn’t relate and I was often left to my own devices.

Well after I left home she made an effort to get to know me, to build a bridge or three. We began to understand and appreciate each other. We made it to a better place.

One of the bits that she discovered was that we had very similar tastes in crafts -- jewelry, pottery and the like. She remembered that I loved the dinnerware from Stangl Pottery and sent me all that was left of what she and Pop bought.

And then she remembered that I was in love with her wedding ring. Even as an adult, I would take her hand, play with the band -- spinning it around while I studied the beautiful design.

Lucy told me that she would leave me the ring. When she died it would be mine.

WOW! This was huge. Not only was it a stunning circlet, it was a symbol of what was most important to her in this world. Pop. Their marriage.

Closest match. Found in a back street Florence artist's studio

Flash forward to mia madre’s last surgery at MGH. This was in the late ‘90s or early ‘00s  I think. She was having a meningioma removed from the front, the bow of her brain (I have one there too). All went well BUT, before being wheeled down to the OR she’d left her ring in a drawer next to her hospital bed.

It was gone by the time she was returned to the room and never found, never discovered, never returned.

Yeah, it’s just a thing but, for me, it represented all that she and I had in common -- art, craft and hearts full of big crazy love. It was a symbol of family history, of our peripatetic life, of beauty and survival.

I’ve never found anything like it nor do I have a pic of it. Maybe some day.

Floods, Bizarro Worlds, Cookies and Sunshine

Yes indeed, that WAS me that you saw down at the seawall this morning in my big fleecy, forest green robe with faux fur hat, paisley scarf and bright red slippers...in minus five degree weather.

Hey, the sunrise was a beauty -- I had to snap it! Of course. I would’ve climbed down onto the beach too -- it was low tide and the light on the rocks and shells looked monster fine -- but there were some major snow drifts in my way.

Tomorrow I’ll be prepared. I’ll pull on my boots and grab The Amazing Bob’s cane before I go out. Yes I will.

Yesterday, after the snow finally ended and the sun poked it’s head out of the overcast, TAB and I motored off the the Neck to forage for supplies. Tuna -- our poor Rocco deserved a dish after living through that storm. Eggplant. Because I love it, that’s why! And toilet paper. You know, the necessities in life.

I’d forgotten that at high tide, after these big storms, the Neck essentially becomes an island. The one road on and off, Sea Street, gets swamped right by Saint Erin’s house. She’s fine but the road’s a lake.

TAB and I were able to make it through -- the water wasn’t so deep yet. On our return though, the street was blocked. A very nice officer dude told us that the tide was at peak and the icy water was too deep to ford and we should come back in a half hour or so.

OK. Swear to Bast the Neck’s gonna be an island year round in another ten years minimum.  Hope to hell the town builds us a bridge before then.

How did TAB and I wile away our wait while the tide had a chance to recede? Why, we went to Saint Fratelli’s of course! TAB got a black and white. I had a luscious piece of carrot cake. We sat, read the paper, snarfed our goodies while pointing out odd bits from the day’s Globe.

We discovered that Bob Grant had died. Creepy as all fuck seeing my honey pie’s name in an obit. THIS Bob Grant, however, was our TAB’s Bizarro World opposite. He was a foul, cretinous, minuscule minded, asswipe piece of humanity and is ‘credited’ as being ‘the template for broadcasters such as Sean Hannity and Rush Limbaugh’
No tears here.

And then my sweet TAB pointed out this article ‘In Fla., tanning salons exceed fast food outlets’

‘There are more tanning salons in Florida than McDonald’s or CVS stores and their widespread use poses a public health risk, a new report warns.’

Rocco emerges from his cave

Emmm
Carry coals to Newcastle much? Bringing ice to the Arctic? Giving Donna gifts of feral cats? Tanning beds to FLORIDA?

The state really takes the torte for craziest, oddest territory. I’ve always thought Tim Dorsey and Carl Hiaasen’s mystery novels were, well, wild exaggerations of life in the The Sunshine State.

Guess not.

I found this on Buzzfeed -- 21 More Reasons Florida is the Craziest State. My fav: 

‘Mean Drunk’ smears iguana ‘poop’ on teenager’s head

What’s with the scare quotes? Was his action NOT ‘mean?’ Was the ‘poop’ NOT real, actual feces?

In any case, here in the frozen North, we’re due for 27 whole degrees today (we’ve got two now).

A beach day perhaps or maybe I need to continue with my snow shoveling activities? While Schmooze Master Rocco’s porch kingdom is mostly clear, there’s still work to do. Plus, my Wonder Trike’s still buried and I MUST RIDE SOON!

Coco at Sunrise

That's it -- just a sweet kitten at sunrise.
Happy post blizzard to all us snow encrusted, sore muscled Northerners!

Hercules Unchained

High temperature today is predicted to be 11º Fahrenheit (wind chill 17º below). Joy.

Anticipated Hercules snow accumulation, here on the Neck, is 12 - 16 inches. I’m just thrilled down to my buttons, I tell yas.

Jen got to leave work early yesterday and actually gets to labor from home today (which translates as ‘checking her email’ since there’s not much else that can be done from home). This is HUGE.

Two bits of fab mid blizzard news though:

1) We still have power. YEA!

As much fun as our Killer Blizzard Nemo slumber party at Saint Erin’s was last year, I’m happy as all Hades (quite the convivial joint. of course) to be home. 

2) Rocco made it through the night. More YEA!

His cat cave, with makeshift tent and snow barricade, survived -- no collapsing. It's not pretty but it worked.

I brought him some brekkie and put it at the cave’s mouth so that, to eat, all he had to do was poke his jowly face out. Which he did.

Possibly this wasn’t my smartest move since that means he had to leave his relatively warm, dry haven in order to drain the dragon. Still, I shoveled a path so he can get back in with less time spent shoulder deep in the cold wet crap.

Yes, I worry something outlandish about our boy.
It was so cold and nasty last night that Coco, our pampered princess, slept on my chest all night instead of in her castle aerie. I kept thinking that Rocco should have been there too.

PRE Arctic action, I fell into two beautiful bonanzas:

1) The Amazing Bob, finally over his cold, baked a tremendous apple pie.

DAY-um, the man has serious pastry crafting chops!

2) My brandy new Lori Watts/Fine Mess Pottery bowls arroved. 

Look at these! Just take a gander at these babies. They are magnificent plus and just the right size for last night’s dinner of thick veggie stew too. Check out the flashes of rose within the blue/grey belly and the sweet slip trail patterning (click on the images to embiggen 'em). These are just exquisite and a half.

Hercules Unchained

A 1959 Italian epic fantasy feature film starring Steve Reeves and Sylva Koscina in a story about two warring brothers and Hercules' tribulations in the court of Queen Omphale.

Winter Storm Hercules

I HATE when they name storms! Almost as much as when they refer to them as 'weather events.'

We’re due for a blizzard today. Joy. Actually, it's already begun. Eight to twelve inches of the annoying, heavy white stuff’s expected. Sigh.

I’ve been inviting Rocco in every day for the last week (at least). I’ve told him about the blizzard (he doesn’t get the weather channel), tried to reason with him, explained that we have actual, real live heat indoors.

Rocco, demanding more pats

Nope. No deal.

You might ask ‘why don’t you just pick him up and carry his old scarred self in?’ Seems like it ought to be easy, eh? Em...no.

Remember, this fierce, handsome boy was the Feral King up until quite recently. It was in early August, less than four months ago, that he let me pat him for the very first time in the nearly 12 years he’s been coming around.

The front cave and yes, that's his baby blanket

 
The path from ferocious, untamed jungle warrior to happy-ish, schmoozy boy was not smooth or straight. Shit took time.

In any case, I bought him what I thought would be a fabulous little house -- a heated one at that!  He was wholly unimpressed and uninterested. I’ve not seen him in there once. Dunno why.

Coco in her nice warm house

Coco's castle

Rocco has two plush ‘caves’ though. He's quite happy with these. One was Coco’s but, apart from the first day we brought it home, she’s had negative amounts of interest. Why go into the cave, after all, when she has her choice of warm laps, a queen sized bed, her very own castle and, hello, central heat?

Rocco's caves aren’t waterproof and don’t have hard shells. That is, a big snowfall is gonna soak and crush them.

What to do? What to do?!

Yesterday I rearranged the porch furniture (2 benches and an Adirondack chair), slipped one of his caves into an open ended cardboard box and rigged up a couple of tarps over the whole mess. Not perfect but maybe he’ll stay as dry and warm as he’ll accept.

Here’s the one guilt inducing hitch. When I bring out his brekkie, lunch and dinner (yes, our poor benighted warrior prince gets three squares or more daily. He deserves it!) he likes to snuggle before digging into his ‘salmon’ shreds in sauce. This involves me sitting or reclining on the veranda floor while he circles me, scent marking his property like the good, responsible human owner he is. Rocco then pushes his head against whichever body part is handy so that I can provide him with a thorough round of pats and chin skriches. Recently, he's gone as far as allowing me to hug him. Can sitting on my lap or letting me pick him up be so far away?

We have a solid routine. I can’t give him all the affection he now needs if the wind's stiff enough to knock me off my feet (and that doesn’t take much) and we’re being pelted with snow.

This storm is fucking with our schedule.

All is Quiet on New Year's Day

Spinning on the old internal turntable this morning is U2’s New Years Day. Of course. More bleak than I feel right now but LOVE this song.

Of all the music that I miss, well -- boyhowdy, they’re up there in the top ten. I’m not whining, mind you, just scrolling out a piece of reality.

In any case, last night’s New Year’s celebration was full of low key loveliness -- our custom since we moved down here to Valhalla.

Jen, Oni, The Amazing Bob and I got take out Indian (Palak Paneer, Aloo Mutter, Garlic Nan, Veggie Samosas  and Chinese (whoa! General Tso's Tofu anyone?), played Scrabble and watched the 2009 Star Trek  flick. Again. Yes. I’m wild about it not least because Kirk does NOT get the girl in this version -- Spock does. And the girl? Uhuru. Awesome!

We were all in bed by 11. Yeah, I didn’t watch the clock tick over to midnight and the start of a new year. I had complete faith that 2014 would arrive on schedule. I didn’t feel it necessary for me to supervise.

What’s this mean?

Yes! I was up to greet the dawn on New Year’s Day.

Solid!

U2 -- New Year's Day

All is quiet on New Year's Day


A world in white gets underway

I want to be with you, be with you night and day

Nothing changes on New Year's Day
 
On New Year's Day

I will be with you again

Under a blood red sky

A crowd has gathered, black and white

Arms entwined, the chosen few

The newspapers says,

And so we are told this is the Golden Age

And gold is the reason for the wars we wage

Though I want to be with you, be with you night 
and day

Nothing changes on New Year's Day


On New Year's Day