I humbly admit that I’m addicted to Wapsi Square to the point that I sometimes forget and check it multiple times a day. I’m lame. It’s a good comic though. Not the type that I’m usually attracted to, but it has solid characters and story arcs. Sometimes it’s hard for me to believe a boy writes it. He captures very well the type of girls that I get along with (and boys for that matter). I wonder what that says about me?
We’re having Christmas early this year, so I’m unashamedly getting into the spirit of things early. I’m usually nauseated by people who have their trees up and are humming Christmas tunes before Thanksgiving hits, but since this year’s Thanksgiving is Xmas, I feel somewhat justified. The family is gathering from all over the country and we’re exchanging gifts after turkey. I don’t know what will happen on the actual Christmas day. All I know is that the Boy will have left for work by the time I wake up (Arr… Poor thing!), and only one out-of-town sibling is going to be in the area. I am trying very hard to think of something to keep it from being miserable. Maybe those of us who are in town will have a morning celebration of sorts. I’m so glad to have any Christmas spirit at all this year. It is certainly my favorite holiday, yet there have been years where I would much rather sit in a silent dark closet (on a submerged submarine) than listen to one more carol. I think it has to do with working retail, and overdose of family. This year, I think, is more balanced.
Tuesday, November 25, 2003
Monday, November 24, 2003
In other news…the cats have gone right nutty, old chap! Though it makes me flinch, I’ve been using the spray bottle on Nihao at the occurrence of night howlings (less and less, I might add. I think Boo is actually keeping her from being quite so lonely—as was the point.) The other day Boo was attacking the curtains remorselessly, though I clapped and hissed and shooed him numerous times. Finally, I gave in and brought the spray bottle into play. However as soon as I raised it to aim at him, Nihao jumped up from where she’d been lounging, positioned herself between the bottle and the blissfully ignorant Boo, and stood there squinting, as though she was waiting to be sprayed.
!!!!
Are cats protective like that? Apparently. I couldn’t think of any other reason for that particular pose in that particular place at that particular moment. And the squinting against the expected water was the clincher. Wow. They must really be getting along. That or Nihao has sudden fits of unquenchable thirstiness.
!!!!
Are cats protective like that? Apparently. I couldn’t think of any other reason for that particular pose in that particular place at that particular moment. And the squinting against the expected water was the clincher. Wow. They must really be getting along. That or Nihao has sudden fits of unquenchable thirstiness.
Sun, Nov 23, 2003 11:50pm
Black and White, and Red…I mean Read all over.
In reference to the couple of posts I’ve made about the outrageously ridiculous case of the murdering millionaire: I may not have been in the courtroom. I may not have scooped the bags of person-bits out of Galveston Bay, but I know a gross perversion of the justice system when I see one. I’ve said my piece.
Surprisingly, the other day I got an email from one of the jurors on the case. I would first like to point out that this is not a widely known or read blog. I’m not quoted on CNN.com or debated over at Reuters. The only way this person could have found me was through Googling her own name. And she was digging deep, too. I tried it and this link turned up 5 pages from the front at the time. Interesting. Uh...but beside the point.
What she wrote was this: “Durst never admitted to killing Black. He admitted to the dismemberment but claimed accident/self-defense.” Oops, I did it again! How does one accidentally dismember a dead body? Or for that matter, how does it happen in self defense? Okay… I know I’m being nitpikcky here. But for crying out loud—if dismembering a body is not an admission of guilt, I don’t know what is. The man’s own brother is horrified the jury didn’t put him away. From what I understand, the defense convinced the jury to completely overlook the dismemberment. Gawd. Quotes from the jury indicate that they were punishing the prosecution for not having one set story as to what happened. (Note to self: if you happen to commit murder, fabricate one implausible self defense story and stick to it. The jury will reward you for not confusing their little heads.) God forbid the prosecution present more than one possibility for what happened. More stellar quotes from the same astounding member of the astute jury: “We cannot convict him based on our thoughts and beliefs.” Then what the hell does one use to convict someone? A Magic 8 Ball?? Or consider this quote, gleaned from an article by John Springer—
“Though it is generally considered risky to put a defendant on the stand, Durst had no choice but to testify if he was going to convince the jury of self-defense. And he testified without apparent emotion, often claiming he could not remember the events following Black's death. Interestingly, jurors said they largely discounted his testimony because of inconsistencies and past lies. Regarding Durst's claim that he never cleaned the gun, for example, juror Lovell said, "We know Morris Black didn't wipe those fingerprints off that gun."”
The jury doesn’t believe the testimony of the man they found innocent.
I was civil in my reply to Ms. Gorgonga, though I find her participation in that particular decision loathsome. I wrote that there was always a possibility that I was wrong, but that I was curious as to what convinced her of Durst’s innocence. If she would like to respond (with something more intelligible), I would humbly post her reply and my apology. No reply yet.
Blatantly basing my decision on my “thoughts and beliefs,” I find Ms. G. guilty of not having a clue of what was originally intended to be right and good about our justice system.
Black and White, and Red…I mean Read all over.
In reference to the couple of posts I’ve made about the outrageously ridiculous case of the murdering millionaire: I may not have been in the courtroom. I may not have scooped the bags of person-bits out of Galveston Bay, but I know a gross perversion of the justice system when I see one. I’ve said my piece.
Surprisingly, the other day I got an email from one of the jurors on the case. I would first like to point out that this is not a widely known or read blog. I’m not quoted on CNN.com or debated over at Reuters. The only way this person could have found me was through Googling her own name. And she was digging deep, too. I tried it and this link turned up 5 pages from the front at the time. Interesting. Uh...but beside the point.
What she wrote was this: “Durst never admitted to killing Black. He admitted to the dismemberment but claimed accident/self-defense.” Oops, I did it again! How does one accidentally dismember a dead body? Or for that matter, how does it happen in self defense? Okay… I know I’m being nitpikcky here. But for crying out loud—if dismembering a body is not an admission of guilt, I don’t know what is. The man’s own brother is horrified the jury didn’t put him away. From what I understand, the defense convinced the jury to completely overlook the dismemberment. Gawd. Quotes from the jury indicate that they were punishing the prosecution for not having one set story as to what happened. (Note to self: if you happen to commit murder, fabricate one implausible self defense story and stick to it. The jury will reward you for not confusing their little heads.) God forbid the prosecution present more than one possibility for what happened. More stellar quotes from the same astounding member of the astute jury: “We cannot convict him based on our thoughts and beliefs.” Then what the hell does one use to convict someone? A Magic 8 Ball?? Or consider this quote, gleaned from an article by John Springer—
“Though it is generally considered risky to put a defendant on the stand, Durst had no choice but to testify if he was going to convince the jury of self-defense. And he testified without apparent emotion, often claiming he could not remember the events following Black's death. Interestingly, jurors said they largely discounted his testimony because of inconsistencies and past lies. Regarding Durst's claim that he never cleaned the gun, for example, juror Lovell said, "We know Morris Black didn't wipe those fingerprints off that gun."”
The jury doesn’t believe the testimony of the man they found innocent.
I was civil in my reply to Ms. Gorgonga, though I find her participation in that particular decision loathsome. I wrote that there was always a possibility that I was wrong, but that I was curious as to what convinced her of Durst’s innocence. If she would like to respond (with something more intelligible), I would humbly post her reply and my apology. No reply yet.
Blatantly basing my decision on my “thoughts and beliefs,” I find Ms. G. guilty of not having a clue of what was originally intended to be right and good about our justice system.
Wednesday, November 12, 2003
Regarding my September 23rd post...
Just kidding, Mr. Kill-and-chop-up-my-former-friend-and-dump-him-in-the-bay Millionaire. You can do whatever you want, because apparently, there is a jury out there who will find you NOT GUILTY. That cooks my bacon. In explaination, One of the jurors was profound: "I could understand Durst's panic," said juror Joanne Gongora. "I can understand his drug-induced state. I can understand his life."
You can understand his... What the fuck??? So you can understand his drugged out insanity. Hookay-- obviously we have two of a kind here. But you can understand fleeing the police from New York to Texas, MURDERING someone, chopping their body up and dumping it?????? It was Durst's gun that shot the victim. He admitted to the dismemberment. He was wanted for questioning in TWO other disappearances/deaths. His own lawyer admits that "his compass doesn't point north." This is not a man we want running around. Geez.
Just kidding, Mr. Kill-and-chop-up-my-former-friend-and-dump-him-in-the-bay Millionaire. You can do whatever you want, because apparently, there is a jury out there who will find you NOT GUILTY. That cooks my bacon. In explaination, One of the jurors was profound: "I could understand Durst's panic," said juror Joanne Gongora. "I can understand his drug-induced state. I can understand his life."
You can understand his... What the fuck??? So you can understand his drugged out insanity. Hookay-- obviously we have two of a kind here. But you can understand fleeing the police from New York to Texas, MURDERING someone, chopping their body up and dumping it?????? It was Durst's gun that shot the victim. He admitted to the dismemberment. He was wanted for questioning in TWO other disappearances/deaths. His own lawyer admits that "his compass doesn't point north." This is not a man we want running around. Geez.
Looking Forward to Decemberween
I tried to write two posts since the last one. Really I did. They keep getting deleted or programs shut down unexpectedly etc etc. I tried. Honest.
Since last I wrote I've done scraping and painting and cleaning and pulling MORE nails from odd places around the house. I've raked the yard and planted bulbs for next spring--all sorts of hopelessly domestic and settled activities.
Nihao has taken well to the new house, despite the fact that her limited intellect causes her to be confused on a regular basis. She's never lived in a place with stairs before. As a result she managed to get lost downstairs at least twice a day for the first little while. I suppose the stairs could be very confusing to someone that close to the ground. You think you've oriented yourself to the few rooms upstairs, you explore this confusing angular area, and when you look up you're in an entirely different "house." Solution: Howl. Loudly. Now that Nihao has gotten used to the concept of stairs, she howls for entirely different reasons...none of which we are entirely aware. I sometimes think she misplaces me. I'll sit at the computer and she goes downstairs only to suddenly realize that she can't see me anymore. Result: more howling. It can only be good for the lungs, right? One thing's for certain, howling outside our bedroom door at 3 am won't be very healthy for her if she doesn't stop. So far the spray bottle seems to be working--if only because it causes her meowing to recede into the distance as she peeks over the top stair and sings gratingly.
All the research I'd done and people I'd talked to suggest that a feline companion would help her to feel less alone and she'd be entertained more. Sooo... about a week and a half ago, I answered a "free kitten" ad online and drove out to BFE north and brought home a little black cat. He seemed ok at the people's house, though he was pretty quiet and had slightly gummy eyes. Maybe some conjuctavitis? (sp?) No problem. We had some leftover medicine from Nihao's bout. It wasn't until I got into the car with him that I realized that he reeked. Awfully. The people had been running some sort of cat farm, it seemed. The whole area stunk of cat piss. If you've ever smelled it, you know it's unmistakable. The inside of their house stunk of stale cigarette smoke and body odor and lots of cats. When I got him home, the kitten was floppy and gummy-eyed and completely unresponsive. And really really stinky. The revelation hit after I gave him a bath and he suddenly started acting like a kitten-- playful and hopping around-- he had been allergic to himself. It was too hard for him to keep up with the grooming that would have been required in that gross environment. Huh. Whoda thought?
We named him Boo, though we had plans for another name. Boo just seemed to fit him better. He's like a little imp. His legs are too long for him and he's so black that his face looks like nothing but eyes. My brother once owned a rat named Bu, but that was short for Bubonic. As in plague. Hopefully no one will be confused.
Nihao is already taking it upon herself to hold him down with one paw and groom him until he wiggles away. They seem to get along well. Boo follows her around with an air of awe, and she, in turn, is entertained by his leaping and twisting and dancing over little specks on the floor. He's a weird little cat. Really likes to carry things around in his mouth. We have a ribbon on a stick that serves as a fishing pole for them, and when he catches it, he bites the end and then purposefully marches away dragging the ribbon, the pole, and the human right along. Tonight as we were making dinner he discovered that by jumping onto the trash can, he could make it to the counter, where legend has is that untold troves of butter and catnip await. I shooed him a couple times, before looking over to find that---what the fu......??! --- he was casually sneaking along the counter, carrying a paring knife in his mouth. Not just the handle. He was holding it by the blade. Geez-- what do they TEACH cats these days?? Fortunately, some double-sided tape atop the trash can has put an end to his escapades.
I tried to write two posts since the last one. Really I did. They keep getting deleted or programs shut down unexpectedly etc etc. I tried. Honest.
Since last I wrote I've done scraping and painting and cleaning and pulling MORE nails from odd places around the house. I've raked the yard and planted bulbs for next spring--all sorts of hopelessly domestic and settled activities.
Nihao has taken well to the new house, despite the fact that her limited intellect causes her to be confused on a regular basis. She's never lived in a place with stairs before. As a result she managed to get lost downstairs at least twice a day for the first little while. I suppose the stairs could be very confusing to someone that close to the ground. You think you've oriented yourself to the few rooms upstairs, you explore this confusing angular area, and when you look up you're in an entirely different "house." Solution: Howl. Loudly. Now that Nihao has gotten used to the concept of stairs, she howls for entirely different reasons...none of which we are entirely aware. I sometimes think she misplaces me. I'll sit at the computer and she goes downstairs only to suddenly realize that she can't see me anymore. Result: more howling. It can only be good for the lungs, right? One thing's for certain, howling outside our bedroom door at 3 am won't be very healthy for her if she doesn't stop. So far the spray bottle seems to be working--if only because it causes her meowing to recede into the distance as she peeks over the top stair and sings gratingly.
All the research I'd done and people I'd talked to suggest that a feline companion would help her to feel less alone and she'd be entertained more. Sooo... about a week and a half ago, I answered a "free kitten" ad online and drove out to BFE north and brought home a little black cat. He seemed ok at the people's house, though he was pretty quiet and had slightly gummy eyes. Maybe some conjuctavitis? (sp?) No problem. We had some leftover medicine from Nihao's bout. It wasn't until I got into the car with him that I realized that he reeked. Awfully. The people had been running some sort of cat farm, it seemed. The whole area stunk of cat piss. If you've ever smelled it, you know it's unmistakable. The inside of their house stunk of stale cigarette smoke and body odor and lots of cats. When I got him home, the kitten was floppy and gummy-eyed and completely unresponsive. And really really stinky. The revelation hit after I gave him a bath and he suddenly started acting like a kitten-- playful and hopping around-- he had been allergic to himself. It was too hard for him to keep up with the grooming that would have been required in that gross environment. Huh. Whoda thought?
We named him Boo, though we had plans for another name. Boo just seemed to fit him better. He's like a little imp. His legs are too long for him and he's so black that his face looks like nothing but eyes. My brother once owned a rat named Bu, but that was short for Bubonic. As in plague. Hopefully no one will be confused.
Nihao is already taking it upon herself to hold him down with one paw and groom him until he wiggles away. They seem to get along well. Boo follows her around with an air of awe, and she, in turn, is entertained by his leaping and twisting and dancing over little specks on the floor. He's a weird little cat. Really likes to carry things around in his mouth. We have a ribbon on a stick that serves as a fishing pole for them, and when he catches it, he bites the end and then purposefully marches away dragging the ribbon, the pole, and the human right along. Tonight as we were making dinner he discovered that by jumping onto the trash can, he could make it to the counter, where legend has is that untold troves of butter and catnip await. I shooed him a couple times, before looking over to find that---what the fu......??! --- he was casually sneaking along the counter, carrying a paring knife in his mouth. Not just the handle. He was holding it by the blade. Geez-- what do they TEACH cats these days?? Fortunately, some double-sided tape atop the trash can has put an end to his escapades.
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