Special "For Pete's Sake" Edition

Sometimes reading the paper makes me angry. "Why read the paper if it makes you angry," you might ask. Because then I couldn't share my dismay with you, my ever dear and gentle readers.

Your Tax Dollars Hard at Work (protecting you from dead birds and ornamental fish)

1. They sure have some gull. Well, not anymore. Federal Fish & Wildlife agents entered Cappy's Chowderhouse in Camden (hey, we're in Maine, of course we have a Cappy's Chowderhouse!) and informed the owner that she was in violation of a 1918 law protecting migratory birds. There are two items that I would like to point out. First, the bird is stuffed. How exactly are they protecting the bird. Second, the stuffed bird has been there for 20 years. Oh, and the bird has been stuffed for 150 years. If my math is correct, the bird was stuffed well before the law was ever enacted. What did the agents propose to do with the gull? Put it in a government warehouse in Colorado. Thank goodness we have these federal agents to protect us from 150 year old stuffed birds in Camden, Maine. Phew! I can only hope that the fine people of Colorado will be safe from the bird when it is locked away in a climate-controlled government warehouse.

2. Don't be so koi. Cuong Ly, owner of a Freeport Chinese restaurant, had some koi in a tank. The good folks at the Fish & Wildlife department showed up and informed him that since he didn't have a koi permit, he would be fined, and had to get rid of the fish. He appealed. Now, you would think that he could just keep his koi. But no! It's not that simple. While technically he can keep the koi, and keep them in his restaurant, the fish must be hidden from public view. Yes, you read that correctly. He can have the fish, but our eyes must be shielded from them.
Apparently the government is concerned that Mr. Ly, who has the fish as part of his spiritual beliefs, is going to release the koi into the wild, and they will become and invasive species. BUT he will only do this if the fish are displayed publicly.
If Fish & Wildlife folks are really concerened about protecting our water, perhaps they could focus more on stormwater runoff, people discharging their waste into lakes, etc. You know, once they get the koi under control.


Since folks seemed so responsive (and by responsive I mean more than one comment was left) to my previous post about the "who is selling this, and more important, who is buying this" Native American Nativity scene, I have decided to select something I don't like from the weekly coupon flier. For your disapproval, I submit this week's pick:

Seriously?
I would be willing to wager that there were fewer potty training problems back when kids were in cloth diapers, or even when there were just plain old white disposable diapers. Why don't we just make diapers that flash, or sound a piercing alarm when wet? If a kid doesn't realize when their diaper is wet, do you think they're going to notice when the diaper feels cool? So now in addition to puting the regular diaper in the landfill, we can add in whatever chemical produces a cooling sensation when in contact with urine. Hooray for more chemicals!

Benchwarmers

Oh, those crazy judges are legislating from the bench again! That's what the anti-gay marriage folks will tell you. Legislating from the bench, dang-it all to heck. Actually, they're NOT legislating a damn thing, and that's what makes this such a big question mark.

For those of you living under a rock, the New Jersey Supreme Court (which, to my dismay, does not contain former members of The Supremes) ruled that gay couples are entitled to the same rights as (gasp!) heterosexual couples. In a nutshell, they said that gay couples should get the same rights and benefits as straight couples. And that's pretty much where they stopped, leaving it up to the legislature to figure out how to correct the inequity. What the legislature will do with this is not known. They could enact gay marriage (why do they call it GAY marriage? have we being going around referring to straight couples as having a STRAIGHT marriage?), which is not terribly likely, in my opinion. They could come up with some sort of civil union, in a separate-but-equal sort of way. While not ideal (being that it's kind of like saying, well, we don't really like you that much, but here's a nice party gift), at least it would give gay couples the same rights and benefits as straight married couples. "But what about that domestic partnership law they have," you may be asking to yourself or no one in particular, "isn't that enough?" No, my dear and gentle reader, it is not, and I'll tell you why.

Domestic Partnership Laws are what Democrats use to keep the gay people voting for them. They are better than nothing, but not too much better. "Little Timmy has the ability, but refuses to apply himself," a teacher might say. Of course by Little Timmy I mean Big Timmy Governor, Big Timmy State Senator, etc. And we are happy to have Big Timmy, because in general, at least he doesn't want to beat us up like Big Fartface Republicans who want to ban gay marriage, and if they thought they could do it, ban gay people too. So yeah, it's better than nothing. Allow me to elaborate. Brooke and I signed up for Maine's Domestic Partnership Registry. In doing so, we got to send the state $35. In return, if I am in the hospital, Brooke can come visit me. If the doctor accidentally leaves a leafblower in my abdominal cavity and I die, Brooke will get my life insurance, etc. So the moral of the story is, (a) beware of doctors weilding leafblowers, and (b) domestic partner benefits only really apply if you are maimed or dead. Isn't that nice?

So, why do we want these rights again? Anti-gay activists might tell you that all the gay people are rich and want to harm your children. I'm still waiting for that Big Gay Check to come in the mail. As for the children, I don't want to harm them, I just want them to be able to spell (EZ Mac? CheeZ doodles? What the hell?).
What are some of the things that gays want? You know, the things that happen automatically when a straight couple gets married...

1. When a straight couple gets married, they pay their $35 or whatever to get their marriage license. Let's eat cake! With that $35, the blushing bride can change her last name if she wants. They also get a host of inheritance rights, blah blah blah. We had to pay a lawyer $600 to draw up a rock-solid will and other paperwork that essentially will get us those benefits. Well, except for the name change. That'd be probably another $600 if we wanted to do that. So, straight couple: $35. Gay couple: $1200. Yeah, that seems about right.

2a. Heath insurance. I'm lucky to work for a place that offers domestic partners health benefits. Yay! Let's eat some more cake! However, there are some things that my straight married coworkers don't have to do. For one, they just say they're married and the employer takes their word for it. I have to sign paperwork promising that Brooke is not my sister. I have to sign it every year. I have to provide proof, if required, that we are domestic partners. Proof of joint housing, joint banking accounts, etc.

2b. Heath Insurance. Okay, so we've filled out our paperwork stating under penalty of death (hey, that Domestic Partnership benefit should kick in right about now!) that we are not sisters. Now I can have money deducted from my paycheck to have Brooke covered under my dental plan. Fancy! Oh, but there's one more thing... those deductions are TAXED. If we were married, they would not be taxed. So it's kind of like we're paying an extra Gay Tax. Doesn't that just warm the spikey cockles of your heart?

"What can I do about this, you big 'mo?" you might be asking yourself in your outdoor voice. Well, let me tell you. You can contact your representative and your senator. Also contact your local state representatives, as changes are likely to happen in state government. Let them know that this sucks ass (you may want to put that in your own words). Tell them Captain Crankypants sent you.

So Wrong in So Many Ways

We generally get a couple coupon fliers in the Sunday paper. Even though these fliers are riddled with crap (elastic waist double-knit jeans, Precious Moments figurines, little teddy bears on motorcycles, etc.), I tend to look though them anyway, just in case a useful coupon made it in.

I was especially stunned by one of the ads this week. It is so wrong. I don't know where to begin. The ad is for the "Nativity of the Christmas Star," which features Native American figurines in the role of Mary, Joseph, and baby Jesus. Oh, they are so happy that they've been colonized and given Christianity! Who wouldn't get the warm fuzzies from this inspirational treat? I am so appalled that I must share the ad with you. Be sure to click on the picture to read the full load of crap.



But wait! There's more! Bask in the joy of the Creator, just like "Mother Mary"!

We'll Miss You, Chili Man

I haven't written about this yet, but recently we had a temorary dweller in our home. My coworker came back from visiting her family, only to find out that her husband was divorcing her. I will reserve my comments on that, but let's just say he made a big mistake.

Anyway, she needed a place to stay, and we have a lovely finished walk-out basement with a guest bedroom available. In she came with her 4 weiner dogs. Among them was Chili, an approximately 18-year-old mini dacshund. Considering his age, he did pretty well for himself. His back legs weren't what they used to be, and he had 2 teeth (well, one when he left) and a love for licking (the picture to the left illustrates Chili's gift for licking; in this case, Tula). Oh, the licking! If your foot was within licking distance, you were going to get a nice long bath, and you were going to enjoy it, damn it.

I was saddened to find out that just a little over a week after my coworker and her canine posse moved out, Chili passed away. I was glad to know him, and will not soon forget his shaky walk-dance or his "leather chaps" (his ears no longer had fur on them). He was a funny little guy, and we were honored to have him in our lives, even for such a short time.

300 million of my closest friends

I was watching the Today Show (what's with the new set design? It looks like a womb.) when it was announced that our population hit 300,000,000. And people cheered!!! It made me want to toss my toasted wheat cereal (generic for Chex). Why are we celebrating overpopulation? Will we cheer when there are 600,000,000 Americans and we're beating each other with sticks because we've developed all of our land and there's no food left besides Lunchables?
There's a net gain of our population...one more person every 11 seconds. That's a lot of Gerber babies.



I found it ironic that this "milestone" was covered in the evening news, right next to a report about how wild horses are being thinned out because they don't have enough land to support the herd. Maybe if we didn't have 300,000,000 people building their McMansions, which they of course drive to in their hulking SUVs (hey, gas has gone down to $2.27...I'm sure it's sustainable! Let's buy an SUV!), the horses might have more than 10 acres of land.

Sarah's Crazy Skydiving Video

Higher than a Kite

No, that wasn't a drug reference.

What did I do this weekend? Well, let me see. I changed the oil on the car and the truck. Oh, and I jumped out of a plane. That is correct.

Last October (2005) I did a fundraiser wherein I promised to jump out of a plane if people would donate money to the Maine Won't Discriminate campaign, which was fighting to make sure it was illegal to deny folks housing, jobs, etc. based on sexual orientation. Anyway, I raised $1000 (apparently people really wanted me to jump out of a plane), but on my scheduled jump day, it rained and rained. And on my next scheduled jump date, it rained some more.

Finally, one year later, I did it. It was a crisp, clear fall day, with not a cloud in the sky. Brooke and I headed out at 6:45 am, to pickup Brooke's coworker (for extra moral support) in Portand at 7:15 am. We arrived in Lebanon, Maine around 8:45 am and hung around until the skydiving class started. In the class, you learn the basics of what will happen, what to do, and what not to do. We also got to watch a video of a jump, and a video of some guy with what may have been a three foot long beard talking (the guy was talking, not the beard) about how skydiving is dangerous, and we can't sue if we die. Right-o.

After the class was done, we went back outside to watch some people get ready for their jump. They loaded into the plane and took off. The plain just kept getting higher and higher. "Isn't that high enough?" I thought. But no! The plane kept going up and up until it was just a little speck. And then the plane started dropping out people. It looked like the plane was pooping out little dots. Of course those dots were people. We watched the dots for a minute, and all of a sudden about 5 colorful parachutes opened up. At this point I was pretty excited, but still a little nervous about the whole jumping from the plane thing.

After what seemed like forever, my name was finally called. I met my jump instructor, Herbie, who was very handsome and had pretty hair. He assured me that I would have a great time. I went into the gear room to find a jumpsuit. This was no small task for a short, non-skinny girl with boobs. The jumpsuit I got was okay, except it had probably been worn a billion times and the zipper was sketchy at best. Once I get zipped in, I got to put on a very uncomfortable harness that made me waddle instead of walk. This particular getup makes me look like I have a 48DDD chest, which I assure you is NOT the case. Anyhow, we loaded up onto a funny little bus, which took us to the plane. I was glad that there were enough people to necessitate taking the big plane (I like to refer to it as the "good plane"), as the small planes just looked plain scary. We load (or waddle, if you will) into the plane. There are no seats in the plane, just two benches. At this point I'm pretty well wedged in there, and am feeling very close to Herbie. Because the "jumping door" is at the back of the plane, we actually have to sit facing the tail section; it was a little odd to take off while facing backwards. The takeoff was smooth, and the plane ride was lovely. At one point, I was thinking that we really had to be high enough. I mean, we had to be at 10,000 feet by now. Not so. Keith, who was sitting in front of me, turns around and informs me that we are at 4,000 feet, and we only have 10,000 more feet to go! Herbie is busy attaching his harness to mine, and reviewing my instructions for, you know, exiting the plane. At around 7,000 feet, someone opens the door (a little disconcerting, I might add) and jumps out! He just jumps out the plane, backwards. Ooookay.

At 14,000 feet, I put my goggles on (they're really more like giant clear suction cups -- very attractive) and it's time to go! The jump door is open, and it's my turn. To your left is a picture (taken by Keith, who had a still camera strapped to his helmet, and a videocamera in hand). At the jump door, there was a handle, and my instinct was to grab it. "No," said Herbie, "just hold onto your harness." So I did. He counted one, two, three (my job was to arch my back at the count of three and lean my head back) and we were out of the plane!

I really can't describe the feeling... I was freefalling at about 120 miles per hour, which did cause the leafblower-in-the-mouth effect, hence my billowing cheeks. Keith had instructed me how to hold my mouth so that I wouldn't flap, but at that point, flapping flesh was the last thing on my mind. It was amazing how much control the knowledgeable jumpers had... Keith, videocamera in hand, would get close to us, and then back off. Then he came back and held my hand and spun me around. I'm pretty sure I was screaming, but at that speed, I couldn't hear a thing. I just remember trying to figure out if I was still breathing. It was amazing. The freefall lasted about a minute, and then Herbie pulled the cord for the parachute. There was an incredible amount of force, and I felt like I was being yanked back up.
I will admit that there was a certain amount of relief once the parachute opened.
It was a nice fall day, and I could see the ocean and the mountains. It really was spectacular. Herbie loosens my goggles a little (they really were plastered on) and then asks me if I want to spin. "Sure!," I said, "since we're already up here." Now, I was thinking of a nice leisureley twirl. Oh no. He proceeds to put the parachute in this rapid tailspin, like some sort of out of control amusement park ride, but at 3000 feet in the air. And, as suddenly as it started, it stopped, and we were gliding down to the ground.

Everything went very smoothly, although I didn't exactly stick the landing; being that I am not the most graceful human being, this was not a great surprise. I landed a little hard and ended up twisting my ankle a bit, but nothing some ice didn't fix. When I finally stood up, I couldn't believe I had done it. I was completely stunned that just moments before I was hurtling towards the ground at incredible speed. I can see why people get addicted to jumping...it's an incredible rush unlike anything else. Unfortunately it's a bit pricey (my jump was free, since I did it as a fundraiser!), so I don't see myself doing it again very soon. But you never know...

In the meantime, I can watch the footage that Keith made, which makes me feel like I'm starring in my own music video.

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Tick Talk

I like to change into my pajamas after work. As I do most evenings, I got home, did a few chores, and went upstairs to clad myself in flannel. Except I wasn't alone. Apparently I've attraced a little buddy. You might know him as a tick. At first I thought I had the world's most disgusting skin tag, but no, it was a big fat tick. Attached to my back. I had to call downstairs to Brooke. "Um, honey? Can you please turn off the stove (hey, just because I have a parasite feasting on me, I'm not going to throw safety out the window) and come upstairs?"

I proceeded to clean the tweezers with alcohol (don't want to give the tick an infection!) and then Brooke went to work getting the stubborn bastard out. The only problem was that there's a little bit of the tick head or something still in there. She tried digging around (about as much fun as it sounds) but it just seemed to go deeper. I didn't know if leaving a little piece of tick in there was bad. Would it work its way out? How should I know?

I went online to see if my HMO had one of those services where you can call and talk to a nurse to see if the situation can wait until morning, or if it would resolve itself. Apparently my particular HMO does not offer this service. They had a link to WebMD, which tells you how to remove a tick, but not what to do if you don't remove all of the tick. Okay. So I call my doctor's office (which is closed by now, of course). I just want to know if this needs to get right out to avoid infection, or if I can just wait. The message instructs me to call this number to talk to the physician on call. I call the number and am told that my doctor is the one on call, and that she will call me back. I think that was about 2 hours ago. Maybe she's busy sewing limbs back on a patient, and can't be bothered with the Tick Without a Face. Or maybe she's up in the doctor's lounge smoking crack. Well, probably not. Being that my back hasn't fallen off, I think I'll just wait until morning. I think a good hour of Grey's Anatomy will take my mind off things...who is that hot new doctor? Can she remove my tick?


Special Tick Update:
I got in to see my doctor at 11:45 am. This happened to coincide with my gym schedule, so instead of going to the gym, I decided to ride my bike to the doctor's office (it's about 4 miles roundtrip from where I work). Even after a slightly sketchy ride across a bridge under construction, my blood pressure was at a nice 114/70. Hooray! But I was not there for a blood pressure checkup, so no gold star for me.

As it turns out, the type of tick I was bitten by was not the bad, Lyme-disease ridden tick (deer tick = bad). She said to slap some Neosporin on it and call her if it swells or gets redder than it is.

I find it interesting that our dogs have been tick-free this season (knock on wood veneer), but I'm the one who ends up with one stuck in my back.

FYI, for those who are interested... I've read folks saying to burn the tick out or twist it. According to many lyme-related sites (as well as poison control sites), burning a tick, smearing it with Vaseline, and "unscrewing it" are old-fashioned methods and can do more harm than good. The risk with those methods are that they often cause the tick's mouthparts (which can contain disease) to be left in the skin. The other danger is that the tick will likely vomit (especially with the burning and the jelly assault tactics) right into your skin, and the tick vomit will go right on into your bloodstream. So if you don't want tick puke, resist the urge to smear. Or light on fire. Or light on fire and smear. Whatever your preference.

Special Sanctity of Marriage Edition!

Jennifer Willbanks, aka The Runaway Bride, means business. After running off before her gazillion dollar wedding, she felt well enough to register at Pottery Barn. She and her husband split in May, and now she is suing him for $500,000. The bulk of that is for the book deal for their story; she also has her cranky pants on because he didn't return some wedding gifts, including a vacuum cleaner, a ladder and a gold-colored sofa. First, anyone who feels entitled to a gold-colored sofa as a wedding gift can kiss my ass; at least they can get married.

Granted, there wouldn't have been a book deal if it weren't for her big ball of crazy, and perhaps she should deserve some of the proceeds. However, this is the same woman who ran off 4 days before her wedding, MADE UP a story about being abducted by a Latino man (Way to blame a person of color, Jennifer. Class act.), and then had the gall to register at Pottery Barn. If I were her, I'd just shut the hell up and concentrate on not being an entitled be-yotch.

My mom was right... I *am* special!

So, it appears that I was destined to be the lesbian Martha Stewart. I know, images of Martha with a mullet are dancing in your head. It's a hard image to shake, trust me.

Anyhow...I combined two staples of fall--mums and pumpkins--into one delightful hybrid decoration...the Mumkin. "How do I get a Mumkin," you might be asking yourself this very minute. Well, I will tell you.
First you must harness your inner Mullet Martha. This entails getting out a knife, a big spoon, and some sort of bowl for collecting pumpkin guts. Step 1: cut the top off the pumpkin. Step 2: Scoop out the guts. Of the pumpkin. Use the knife to poke a hole in the bottom of the pumpkin for drainage purposes. Step 3: Take the mums out of their pot and cram them in the pumpkin. Now, I should have mentioned that you will need to eyeball the mum to make sure it will fit in the pumkin, but if I have to spell it out for you, perhaps you shouldn't be wielding a knife and a big spoon in the first place.

Welcome again, gentle readers

I decided to stop posting to 2smilingdogs, as Blogger Beta really hosed things up, forcing me to put on my extra cranky crankypants (now with more cranky!). If you are subscribed to FeedBlitz as your email feed, you will no longer receive updates, as I won't be posting to 2smilingdogs. I will see if I can transfer the 2smilingdogs subscribers over to FeedBlitz. If not, I'll post a new subscription form in the next few days.

Things that are not sports

1. Hunting
2. Competitive Eating