Friday, November 30, 2007

November 30th


It's been raining all day and my stupid dogs won't go outside. I swear these dogs would rather hold it for 24 hours than get their little feet wet. But, they have no problem getting into the pond up to their chests. Silly beasts!

A good day to eat some soup-and I just happen to have a batch of really good homemade potato leek soup. I started with about a half a pound of bacon, cut into inch long pieces. Into the big dutch oven went a half stick of butter and the bacon, which I cooked until done. (Not crisp, but only because I don't like crisp bacon. Cook it the way you like it.) I removed the bacon and put in a couple of chopped hot peppers, some grated garlic and two leeks cut in half lengthwise and then sliced thin. (Soak the leeks in water to cover first to get out the dirt that hides inside.) Cook that until the leeks are soft, then put in potatoes cut into chunks. I used five small red ones, and I didn't peel them, but you can. Put the bacon back in, and add enough chicken stock to cover it all and some seasoning. I used a bay leaf and some organic salt free seasoning mix from CostCo, freshly grated sea salt and black pepper. Simmer until the potatoes are done. I mash them up a little to thicken the soup. Then I put in a cup and a half of half and half. When that got warm again I added about a cup of grated cheddar cheese. Stir until the cheese melts, and enjoy your soup.


I enter contests. I buy lottery tickets. I dream of what I will do with the absurd amount of money I'll have when I win.

I don't win. Anything. Ever. I have the worst contest luck in the world. If I bought every ticket for a raffle I still wouldn't win.

Actually, I take that back. I won $10 in an online contest once.

The check bounced.

GSD Breeder who needs to hire a proof reader

Actual excerpts from their site:

Here at Diamond R Farm, We are producing sound stock for the Public, whether it be a reliable Paso Fino Horse or a Working German Shepherd. We have a small farm in the foothills of East Tennessee that we are bringing up-to-date.We just completed our ten stall barn and we are in the process of building a kennel to house at least eight dogs. Our goal is to breed and sell quality Paso Fino horses and Working German Shepherds that exceeds the Standards. Right now we have Seven Paso Fino horses,Two Stallions, Two Mares and 2 Fillys and a Colt.We have seven adult German Shepherds for Breeding and Stud Service, and they have thier Hips Guaranteed thru the Orthropedic Foundation for Animals against hip dysplasia. As time goes by we will be purchasing more quality Dogs and Horses for Breeding Purposes.

If any breed of dog is most deserving of the title Noble with Natural Beauty then that dog is the German Shepherd. They are a dog with elegant yet flowing lines, glamorous to behold, with a shining coat, erect ears, and an intelligent expression that will command attention wherever they are seen. Their eyes indicate the love and affection they have for those who care for them and their sweeping tail will show their mood whether it be gay or sad. They love human companionship and will respond to his owner’s mood whether this be lying quietly by his side or romping across the fields. Indeed, at all times, his one desire is to be with you and to please you! They have a keen sense of humor and enjoys playful games yet, in defense of those they love, can become a frightening adversary that one would be well advised to keep clear of. They can fit into a apartment or a mansion as the need may be, for they are happy wherever you are happy. In bringing a German Shepherd into your home, you are making an addition to your family and they will quickly feel a part of it. Your house, your garden, your possessions and in fact all that you own will from then on be in his special care. He needs your love, but he needs also correct attention to his grooming, exercise, food and general welfare. Given these, your German Shepherd will devote his very life to you and you will be the richer for this and for the companionship and love you, and your family will all share.

I don't know where to start with this, I can find something wrong in almost every sentence. I doubt I would buy a puppy from them though. To be fair, I wouldn't buy a puppy from anyone unless I found a breeder with a fourth or fifth generation raw fed and non-vaccinated coated GSD. But, if they were selling something I was interested in buying I'd be inclined to look elsewhere.


“A spark from one of your equipments...”
Yes, my equipments often get a bit sparky.


They arrived, they fit. All is well. For now. Almost time to start the process of trying to get the correct gift all over again.


Monday, November 26, 2007

November 26th


Since my mother chose to move to Missouri and my sister chose to move to some frozen northern place, the only family member living close to me is my brother. He's not really into doing holiday dinners, and I feel no obligation to go visit family members who moved away from home in order to fulfill some Rockwellian holiday fantasies. I was invited to join my best-friend-from-high-school (who for the rest of this story will be BFFHS) for Thanksgiving dinner. She couldn't decide whether to take her mother (this is the friend whose mother had a stroke, and is pretty much paralyzed) down to the VFW for a $5 Thanksgiving dinner or to cook a dinner at home. I said that if she chose to cook at home I would help. Apparently that tipped the scale towards dinner at home. I volunteered to do garlic/rosemary potatoes and green beans with bacon. And, since I had a large quantity of the favored type of brown rice on hand I was asked to cook up two cups of rice for the dressing. (It's nice that neither one of us can consume wheat. She's allergic, suffers from typical allergy reactions, and I can't digest it.) BFFHS kept calling it stuffing, but she doesn't stuff the turkey with it. If it doesn't stuff something, it isn't stuffing.

When I arrived BFFHS was rummaging around in her car. Now, I would like for you to imagine the most disorganized handbag you have ever seen. Magnify it to the size of a Toyota Camry, and put it on four wheels. This is the state of BFFHS' car. She was looking for the oven knob. Why was the oven knob in the car to begin with? Because it has no numbers on it, and BFFHS had been trying to find a replacement knob with numbers. The reason that BFFHS wanted to find the knob at that particular moment? Apparently the oven thermometer was showing that the oven temperature was 500º and they weren't having any luck adjusting the temperature by turning the stem with pliers. Okay, just how will the knob make a difference, if turning the stem with pliers (which does the same exact thing as turning the stem with a knob attached) isn't doing anything? The knob was not found in the giant four-wheeled pocketbook, so BFFHS couldn't test her theory that the knob would fix that problem. She then determined that the oven thermometer must be malfunctioning, since the temperature didn't go up or down no matter which way the stem was turned. So, she removed the thermometer. Out of the oven, it showed a lower temperature. The oven thermometer was not broken. It was pretty obvious to me that the thermostat in the oven was the problem-the oven didn't know when to turn itself off in order to avoid getting too hot. This was not a theory that was welcomed or even considered as a possibility by BFFHS, so at least two hours were spent “adjusting” the oven with pliers. It didn't matter where the thing was turned-within 10 minutes the temperature was back up to 500º. So, I kept turning the oven off until it got to 300º and turning it off when it got to 400º. BFFHS began predicting that the turkey would be horrid, burnt, not cooked through, just plain old ruined. It wasn't any of those things. It was pretty good. The rest of the dinner was also tasty-much better than the pedestrian fare we would have gotten down at the VFW (although, dinner with old veterans who enjoy their cocktails can be entertaining enough to make up for bland food).

When I told BFFHS that I was going to tell the tale of her war with the oven on my blog she said “It's a good thing nobody reads your blog”. That is not true. Some people read my blog. One or two anyway.


I recently needed (wanted?) some jars with lids for a craft project, and thought that good old Mason Jars would be just the thing. Cheap, and you can find them everywhere. You know, at the grocery store high up on the shelf above the pectin and the household wax, or way over in a back corner somewhere-but they always have jars, right? Not any more! I tried two grocery stores. They still carry pectin, and the wax for putting on top of jelly, but no jars. I went to Walmart, figuring that they would still cater somewhat to the uber-domestic types. No jars. I went to Target. No jars. Doesn't anyone still grow vegetables and can them? Doesn't anyone make jam to give as presents to people who will never use it and finally toss out the old dusty jars in ten years? Isn't anyone preparing for the upcoming disaster? I guess not here in Southern California. I had to order some on line. I'll bet the General Store up in Julian would have them, they have everything you would need to live off the land in a log cabin. Should have thought of that-a drive to the mountains would be fun. Not cost efficient I'm sure-the shipping charge for the jars is probably less than the gas would cost for a little day trip.


“The October wildlife fires.” I have images of flaming lions and tigers and bears. Oh my.

Friday, November 23, 2007

November 23rd


For a short time after I decided that I didn't want to grow up to be a biologist, I was an art major in college. I quit because I got tired of starving, and I really had no clear idea of how I was going to make a living with an art degree. My emphasis was ceramics, but we had to take classes in other stuff. Like painting. I am not a painter, but I figured I'd give it a try. During the first class the teacher (who had sympathy for poor students) told us that we could paint on paper-plain old butcher paper coated with gesso on both sides made a satisfactory painting surface.

The first class assignment: “Paint something.”

I went to the painting classroom one afternoon, armed with a roll of butcher paper, paintbrushes, a jar of gesso and five tubes of acrylic paint (white, black, red, yellow and blue). I grabbed one of those rolling bulletin board things, and tried to decide just what “something” I was going to paint. My first step was to take a piece of paper and rip the edges. Why? I decided that if I was going to paint on paper I would make it look like paper. I then did the same thing to another piece of paper. Since I had no clue what I was going to do it seemed prudent to have a back up piece of paper prepared for the very real possibility that my first (and perhaps second, third and fourth) attempt at painting “something” would end up in the trash. I stuck the two pieces of paper on the rolling bulletin board with thumbtacks, and proceeded to coat one side with gesso. I thought they were dry enough to turn over, so I flipped them and again stuck them to the bulletin board. I was wrong, they weren't dry, and they stuck to the bulletin board. Undaunted, I coated one with gesso. Then I wondered what it would look like if I put some blue paint in the gesso, so I did that and coated the other one. That looked good, so I went back and coated over the white gesso with the blue.

I now had two pieces of paper with ripped edges, stuck to the wall, with blue gesso dripping off of them. One with white peeking through the blue, one with brown. I sat down to try to think of “something” to paint on my prepared pieces of paper, and then I heard a voice behind me.

“Don't touch it! It's perfect.”

It was the professor. He proceeded to tell me how he liked my perspective of art being a part of its surroundings, blah, blah, blah. Okaaaaaay, no problem. Glad you like it. I spent the rest of the quarter ripping up paper and painting it different colors. I got an A.

So, I guess art is anything that the beholder believes is art. For instance, today at the store I saw a truck with a camper shell, that had hardened paint brushes sticking up all over it.

Interesting, but is it art?

It is now.

Sunday, November 18, 2007

November 18th


I'm not fond of the ritual of Christmas presents. For so many years I would really try to buy people things that they actually wanted and would use, but rarely got it right. Nine times out of ten the presents I got in return were things that were completely useless to me. I know, we're supposed to be grateful for the thought, not the things, but I don't go out and spend money on things that I'll never use (well, not intentionally, but there are time that I make a mistake), so it just bothers me that I feel that I MUST spend money on other people and I get useless crap in return. With some people that I deal with at holiday time gift giving is NOT an option-it is required. The consequence of not giving gifts is not pretty.

It may seem shallow, but I now make a wish list at Amazon. And, I request that people I need to buy gifts for do the same. Yes, it would be nice to use what I know about someone and pick something out and have it be appreciated, but that just doesn't happen in my family. The Mother has voiced her displeasure with almost everything I've ever bought her that wasn't something she specifically requested.

My brother and I have reached an understanding. We have opted out of the Christmas-Gift-Must-Participate madness. We're both much happier about it. But, that brings me to the saga of the Christmas Boots.

Two years ago The Sister requested “fake Ugg boots”. Now, I didn't interpret this as meaning “boots that look just like the original Uggs, but don't cost over $100”. I thought she just wanted some warm, shearling boots. I had just bought a really cute pair of boots that didn't look anything like Uggs, but were made with sheepskin and had a nice sole, and I thought she might like them too. I sent her the link so she could look at them. She said they were fine. But by the time she responded and I went to buy them, they were sold out. So, I searched for a couple of hours and found a similar pair. Sent her THAT link. Same thing. She said they were fine, but it had taken her so long to respond that THOSE were sold out. At least, they were sold out at the Target on line store. I ran over to the Target near work on my lunch hour, and went through every pair of boots on the shelf. I found the last pair they had in her requested size. Bought them, and did an on line postage thing with USPS to send them Priority Mail. Apparently, paying for PM doesn't guarantee that anything will actually be SENT that way. The package took over two weeks to get there, and TS's feelings were hurt because she didn't have a present to open on Christmas. Then when the boots finally arrived they were too small. Obviously, Christmas #1 didn't turn out too well.

So, on to Christmas #2. That year TS was going to be at TM's house. She hadn't put anything on her wish list, too busy, limited internet access, etc. Now TM stepped into the fray over the boots, and berated me because I hadn't listened to TS about what she wanted. “She wanted slippers.” Slippers? She said boots, but whatever. Remembering how important it was for TS to have something to open on Christmas I again searched for hours and found some nice and affordable shearling slippers. Told TM that I would be having the package shipped to her house so that TS would have a gift there. TM received the package, opened it and put the slippers in her closet because she completely forgot that I told her the slippers were for TS, and they didn't fit her. When the mix up was discovered the slippers were wrapped to be opened on Christmas, but they “didn't fit right”, and weren't what she wanted. She wanted BOOTS that looked like the good old original Uggs. Dear Mother; Ugg boots are NOT slippers.

By this time it was too late to even buy the nice fake Uggs that they sell at CostCo. So, I told TS to find what she wanted on line, send me the link and I would buy them and would keep the slippers myself. I really like those slippers. Anyway, also by this time TS was headed out of the country to go work on a yacht or something, so I told her that I would have the boots shipped to me and would leave them at our brother's house, because she always goes there when she comes to town even when she's short on time. I thought that the matter of The Boots was closed. I was wrong. In October I got an email from TS asking if I was going to do anything about replacing the slippers. Both siblings had forgotten that a new pair of boots was in the closet in the spare room. He finally found them, but by then TS was back in the Caribbean for work. She breezed through town last week, and I assumed that she had picked up the boots and finally all would be right with the world. Wrong again. The boots (in the size she requested) were once again TOO SMALL. You know, I used to always wear a size 7 shoe, but now I wear an 8. Feet sometimes get bigger, it happens. Of course, by the time I found this out TS was back in the frozen place she chooses to live, and her feet were cold. It just so happened that earlier that day I had bought a pair of baby blue fake Uggs for $10 at the store where CostCo sells off things cheap. Things that have no boxes, left over one-offs, etc. They were a size bigger than TS has been requesting, because that's the only size they had. Will baby blue be okay? Yes? So, I paid for priority mail, AGAIN, and sent off my new baby blue boots.

I have now spent so much money buying her boots that I should have just bought real Uggs in the first place. If these don't work, I don't want to hear about it. “La la la la la, I can't hear you.”


100 Boots Facing the Sea 1971-73 Silver gelatin print8 x 10 inches

Courtesy of Ronald Feldman Fine Arts, New York
Del Mar, California February 9, 1971 2:00 p.m. (mailed: March 15, 1971)

I took an art class from Eleanor. She is a very interesting woman, and I mean that in a good way. I actually received this postcard in the mail from her. I wish I hadn't lost it. The price of being young and stupid. If you want to see more of the adventures of the 100 boots: PBS Series

There was also a book: 100 Boots Book at Amazon (Yeah, I put it on my wish list.)


...without a word from the morons.

I've commented before that the "blogs of note" as designated by often aren't really noteworthy. Here's a few bits from a noted blog:

“First Sony in all their wisdom decided that the PS3 was too good and down graded there console and in doing that took away the ability to emulate PS2 games, they have also dropped 2 USB ports, the multi car reader and the HD is 20GB smaller.”

And: “This quote baffles me a bit as sure you can upgrade the USB and card reader with extra hardware, and you can also upgrade the HD, but I am sure that opening the device would void the warranty Mr Ephraim and if dust is a warranty voider then I would hate to see what using none Sony peripherals does to your warranty. It is looking that the only people who will be able to use there warranty is people who never take there PS3 out of the box.”

Obviously, good grammar is not one of the things they take into consideration when they choose blogs to spotlight.

From frequent contributor Channel 10:

Even the not-a-moron weather person isn't immune: Talking about what could happen if your neighbor doesn't trim a tree and it falls on your stuff: “That person could be negligible.” I sometimes feel negligible myself.

From a “digital reporter” (What are those? Apparently, morons with digital cameras.) Talking about a recreational basketball team, except he pronounced it “re-creational.” Do you have any clue what you're reading?

Thursday, November 15, 2007

November 15th


Why do we spend so much time, energy and emotions rescuing dogs? Some of the canines we help are just good dogs who end up in high kill shelters and need a little more time to find the right human, so we take them in and introduce them to the public. Some dogs were owned by morons who got rid of them when they grew out of the puppy stage, and got bigger than a chihuahua. Or worse, by people who thought of them as disposable assets and dumped them when they "had" to move, or had a baby, or whatever feeble excuse they could come up with to get rid of a dog because owning it became a tiny bit inconvenient.

And, then, there are dogs like Faith. Take a look at this, and you'll understand the real reason we do this.

Faith's Story

Tuesday, November 13, 2007

November 13th


I don't get a lot of comments on my blog. Maybe because I don't get a lot of readers. Or maybe those that do read are afraid that I'll pick apart their grammar. Here's my promise to any future people who leave comments: If you're nice you can make as many grammatical errors as you want and I'll ignore them. If you're not you'd better be pretty much perfect in your use of the language, or else I'm going to make fun of you. Like this message from the little weasel who commented on yesterday's blog entry:

“it says a lot about someones personality when they are willing to unconsentually cut off over 20,000 nerve endings from another persons body because they didn't find it attractive.”
Maybe Joel needs a new keyboard, it appears that his shift key is broken. And, this is the result of trying to find “unconsentually” in the dictionary:

Sorry, we have no matches for unconsentually.
Did you mean unconcernedly?

I think he meant “without consent”, but since he's a moron, who knows.

He may not be done, you can go look at the comments to see his continued ranting.

Monday, November 12, 2007

November 12th


My sister is in town, and we were trying to get together to do something. As usual she has too much to do and too little time, so I was going to go with her to her dentist appointment down in Tijuana and maybe get some lunch and a margarita. Or two. Then I remembered something about new requirements for crossing the border, so I looked it up. Good thing. I don't have a passport OR a copy of my birth certificate. I could have stopped at the county recorder's office on the way, except that it's Veteran's Day and they're closed. Would not have been fun being stuck in Mexico.

Back in the old days (as in before 9/11) you would drive up to the border, the agent would stick his head in the car and make everyone say where they were born. If you had an accent you'd better have papers proving you could be here. One time back in the 70's some friends and I went down for a night of drinking. On the way back towards the border my friend's cute little Colombian boyfriend informed us that he didn't have his documentation permitting him to be in the U.S. with him. Uh, dude! Why didn't you mention this BEFORE we got to the wrong side of the border? The guy who drove was also a foreigner, here with a visa as a visiting professor. So, we pull up to the border with us all having visions of going to jail for smuggling this immigrant, the guard asked "Are you all Americans?" The driver replied "No, I am Italian", and pulled out his passport and visa. The guard checked his papers, never asked the rest of us anything, and off we went.


Why do I keep watching Channel 10 news, since their mangling of the language seems to upset me so much? Because, they give me so much material. The latest from JQ: “It's going to be a little bit of a while.” And “moving into Saturday's forecast.”

This one from Good Morning America: “New ways to have your identity theft stolen.”

From something on TV about a fancy bakery: “Everything we made is of the highest ingredients.” How do you get your ingredients high? I've never seen flour smoking pot.


Last night's episode of Desperate Housewives had Bree and Orson disagreeing over whether or not to circumcise the baby they are passing off as their son. I agree with Bree. Uncircumcised penises are “unsightly”. Her word. I would have said “fugly.”

Saturday, November 10, 2007

November 10th

Proof that our public employees "grad-eated" from public school.
Is otherside the killing of an other? And if so, shouldn't it be spelled othercide?

Thursday, November 8, 2007

November 8th


The source of the feathers from yesterday was apparently a white pigeon, it was hanging around my front yard this afternoon. Someones racing pigeon at that, it has a band with a registration number. I couldn't get close enough to see the whole thing, and now he (how do you tell the sex of a pigeon?) has taken off to parts unknown.

It probably belongs to the guy across the street, he has a flock of pigeons that he lets out to fly. I hope he made it safely home.

Wednesday, November 7, 2007

November 7th


My neighbor across the street no longer has a car. I guess it broke down, and she either doesn't have money to fix it or buy a new one, or is just too stupid to figure out how to solve the problem. You'll see what I mean in a moment.

I gave her a ride down to the store one day. I wasn't busy, it's not far, no problem. Then about a week later she asked if I would go down and get her some beer and cigarettes because she was taking care of her mother and couldn't leave. I did, but now there's a small problem. Her beer and cigarettes cost $1 more than she gave me. I told her that when I got back. Now, $1 isn't going to break me, but I won't keep doing favors for people who don't pay me back what they owe me, whether it's $1 or $100. Yesterday she knocked on my door and asked if I was going anywhere. I was, to the grocery store. She asked if I would take her to the bank, 15 miles in the opposite direction. “No.” I mentioned the $1 (which is the end of favors as far as I'm concerned-if I have to ask you for what you owe me it's done, over, finished) and she said “I don't have any money.” Then, she got pushy about the ride, I said “NO” again, and she said “I'll give you money for gas.” “You said you don't have any money.” “I have $2.”

Okay. Not only are you obnoxious, won't take "no" for an answer and don't pay people back what you owe them, you're a liar too. And, so stupid that you'll contradict your lie in the next sentence. I am so done with you.


The thing about wheat is that it's cheap, plentiful and fills people up, so people tend to eat a lot of it. Unfortunately, humans didn't evolve to properly digest it. There are many people who can't eat gluten, like me. I think I just have post-menopausal gluten intolerance because I can eat small amounts without consequence, but why do it when I know it's not good for me? I miss crusty sourdough bread though. And pasta. Hint-don't even bother with the fake pasta made with rice four. Might as well put sauce on wallpaper paste. If you can find them, noodles and pasta made from quinoa are quite good.

I found an idea for something better, and healthier. Noodles made from zucchini! Trim off the ends and peel a zucchini, then use the peeler to cut noodle sized strips, discard the inner part with the seeds (or puree it in the food processor and use in the sauce). Put them in a strainer, toss with salt and let sit for half an hour or so. You can either eat them raw or warm them up just a bit by blanching in boiling water for about 60 seconds, then drain. I made this with a raw sauce-a cut up tomato, two grated cloves of garlic, about a tablespoon of fresh basil with some olive oil poured over it and left to sit until the tomato juice is all mixed in with the oil. Then toss with the noodles and top with grated Parmesan or Romano cheese. For one serving I used one squash and one tomato, so figure one of each per person. This is where that crusty bread would be a good addition, but even without bread it's a tasty meal.


Example: A message came thorough one of my email lists asking me to click on a link and put myself on some one's birthday calendar. I have no idea who that person is, so I deleted it. Maybe I should have put some random name and birthday in there. If you're going to be a moron and send this to a big email list then you deserve to get some really strange entries.

Oooh. I could enter the names and birth dates of famous dead people, that would keep her guessing.


Earlier today my dogs were going berserk-barking at what seemed to be an invisible intruder. I couldn't see anything worthy of making a fuss over out the window in the door. However, when I went outside I saw the evidence of what they were so worked up about.

Obviously, a vicious feline on the loose! I didn't see any blood or body parts, so maybe the bird got away.

Tuesday, November 6, 2007

November 6th


Monday, November 5, 2007

November 5th


First of all, let me just tell you that I hate standard time. I remember fondly 1973, the year we stayed on DST all year. It was abandoned because children were waiting for their school buses in the dark. That's a no-brainer folks, school starts too early anyway. They did a study in one school district where they started school an hour later and test scores went up dramatically. But, as much as I would like to, I can't live my life on my own time and I don't rule the world, so I reset my watch. I decided to make sure that it was accurate so I dialed the old standby 853-1212 to hear the correct time. Imagine my shock when I heard this: “Effective September 19 2007 the time announcement information service has been discontinued.”

WHAT? She's always been there. The lady with the well modulated voice telling me what time it will be at the tone. What happened to her? Did she retire? Did she die? I know you can get the correct time from the internet, but it's just not the same as the Time Lady's soothing voice, reassuring me that my watch is set correctly, that I will make it to my appointment on time, that it's 7 o'clock and all is well. So, I guess I will have to bookmark this: Poor substitute for the Time Lady


You hate it when people tell you to lighten up? I hate it when people can't tell when something I say is meant to be humorous and jump all over me, so we're even. By the way, LIGHTEN UP!

Yes, I do feel better now. Thank you.


Why so many people cannot formulate a proper sentence these days. This is from a teacher who was interviewed on Good Morning America:

“I don't wear nothing fancy.”

Saturday, November 3, 2007

November 3rd



When I was a child I remember that my mother would save old toothbrushes to use for scrubbing things, like the gunk that builds up around the base of the kitchen faucet. I just retired a toothbrush, (might as well use a new one, I bought a pack of 2,000 toothbrushes at CostCo) and felt that I needed to save it. You know the routine: save it in the junk drawer, and use it to scrub some nasty little spot that will only come clean when scoured with a used toothbrush.

Who am I trying to kid? First of all, I will most likely not remember that I even HAVE a toothbrush in the junk drawer. Secondly, if I do think of it the chances of finding it in that drawer are extremely slim. And most importantly, there's an even slimmer chance of me ever scrubbing anything with a toothbrush to begin with. Dirt in a crack? Who cares? It's in a crack and I can't see it in there.

I saved the toothbrush anyway, because some warped part of my psyche is convinced that the moment I throw it away I will have a compelling need for a used toothbrush.


You do NOT “take a breathe”. You take a BREATH. In order to breathe you take breaths.

If you are getting money back because you overpaid your taxes you are NOT “getting a tax return”. You FILE a tax return, you GET a tax refund.

There's no such thing as a “wheel barrel.” If you need to move things around in your garden you use a wheelbarrow.

Learn the difference!


My favorite Channel 10 moron, JQ: “turn your clocks one hour behind.”
You want me to stand behind something and turn my clock for an hour?

From a commercial: “He's eating healthy.” I didn't know that healthy was edible. Do you cook it, or eat it raw?

And, another strange entry from the comment section of the online newspaper, to which I can only say "HUH?"

Just goes to show you how retarded our system is...what gives me the right to claim ownership over what has been here for billions of years before I was even born, and will continue to be here for billions of years after I've died? And then, we convince ourselves that we have a right to "maximize" the income from our brazen claim of ownership! Chutzpah...that's what Americans have...a whole lot of CHUTZPAH!!!!!! Imagine the so-called "travesty" were people ONLY losing their homes, and not the acre-or-so of goodness they have dedicated themselves to desecrating in the first place. If you didn't own it, you wouldn't have landscaped it with Eucalyptus trees, palm trees, and Bermuda grass...since you did those things anyways, were you assuming that "your" land didn't "want" to burn? Did you learn a lesson? Probably not!
Has anyone considered that nature has had enough of us
destroying it, under the mistaken premise that it is OUR possession? Has anyone wondered what might happen if she tried to get even?
BTW...warming cause melting, and the Anza-Borrego desert is
below sea level. No more ice caps means no more desert, and Baja California becomes a bigger peninsula! An ocean on the desert means no more Santa Ana wind phenomena. No more Santa Ana means no more fires quite like these. But we can't
expect scientists to think rationally like that...nah!
And, thanks to SL for these little tidbits:

My poodle does the same thing, taught it was strange, but this is a plaything he just does, I did ask my vet he said it is not a seizure, I do havea Chinese Crested who is on meds for seizures and her body gets stiff and she starts staggering back woods.

I have six-year Pom dog. His voice is very soar. It's difficult for him to bark (Although he always forces himselftodo it). Any tips to cure soar voice? I want to try natural things, not meds. Does soar voice indicate severe disease? Also, any tips to give meds to him? He hates to have meds. He doesn't have favorite
food. He may like something but will get boaring on it and doesn't want to eat it anymore.