Shoes, Ships, and Sealing Wax

Memorial Day

I spent yesterday trying to write an appropriate entry for Memorial Day, but I came up empty. I did note this year that with the war going on and the dedication of the World War II memorial, I did hear a lot less beach-and-pool-opening news and a lot more honoring of those who gave their lives...as it should be.

I found this quote on Beliefnet's Memorial Day tribute:

Say a prayer for those who made the ultimate sacrifice. Remember the appalling costs.... We must remember so the world will not forget. Remember. - 1st Sgt. Harry Feltenbarger (Korea)

Carp and CAM

Victor got home from work this evening and said "Are you feeling all right? You didn't blog today."

Actually I feel kinda carpy. (A fish sitting where I am would not be well, either. Heh.) I'm trying not to be too whiny, thinking about my friend's sister's friend, the kid with stage 4 cancer...I'm just sort of sluggish, unmotivated, and dim-witted today.

I heard one news story today that piqued my interest (well, two, but the other was about snakeheads and I suspect other people may be sick of my weird critter obsessions): the results are in on complementary and alternative medicine in the U.S. I'm really interested in alternative therapies. Shortly after NIH established the National Center for Complementary and Alternative Medicine (CAM) I attended a lecture by one of the scientists there. At the time I was firmly in the "better living through chemistry" camp, working in the pharmaceutical world, and hadn't really considered that when you come down to it, it's all chemical reactions.

This is fascinating stuff, and I think it is great that alternative therapies are being studied alongside what's become conventional medicine (of course, many of the alternatives are far older than the conventions). Personally, I want the least-invasive effective therapy available for whatever ails me, and I don't care who discovered it.

I'm not sure what they best therapy for carpy feeling is, but I'll work on that research myself this weekend.

Are you completely sick of cicadas yet?

I'm not!

One decided to hitch a ride home with me tonight. I saw him on my shoe while I was stopped at a red light...no problem. Then he decided to crawl up under my pants leg. I'm neither scared nor disgusted, but still, I don't want bugs in my pants. Thinking of Zenchick, I very carefully lifted my slacks and offered him my hand, which he thankfully stepped onto (also thankfully, it's a long light at that intersection). I put my hand out the window and said "Fly, little friend, be free!"

He liked me. He started crawling back up my arm. The light changed. He stuck like glue. At the next light I opened the door and flicked him off my arm...I suspect he probably smacked into a windshield behind me, but I did the best I could. These critters ain't the smartest.

If you are missing the cicada experience: I took a seven-second video outside my office at lunchtime. You don't see any of them flying, unfortunately, but there are several clinging to the tree branch. And you can hear their trippy song.

Random things

I need a name for these little mini-posts. Here we go:

Victor sometimes credits me for his healthier diet, but the truth is, I need to give him the credit for making us both eat better. I realize this because he's working late tonight, and while I could go ahead and make what was planned for tonight's reasonable dinner (dirty rice with ground turkey, squash, and green beans)...I am so tempted to order a steak & cheese and onion rings.

I love the cicadas. (No! really?) I am incredibly jealous of a coworker who found an albino one, and I've been scooping up the bugs that have found their way into the office and taking them back out to the trees. They (the people at work, not the cicadas) think I'm nuts. I'm hoping this filters back to my boss so I can get that Section 8.

Some people hate the cicadas and some people are frightened of them. I saw a woman walking down the sidewalk this afternoon swinging a badmiton racquet at them as they flew.

An annual rite of spring at my office is the reiteration of the dress code: no shorts. No sandals. No bare midrifts. Apparently somebody showed up at an all-hands function with a skirt too short and a top too cropped, and she's the talk of the company now. I'm guilty of bending the dress code to the breaking point on the too-casual side (it says no blue jeans, and my jeans are tan), but I wouldn't mind seeing a little less skin myself. Not that I've seen it be a huge problem at work, but as it's gotten unseasonably hot and muggy, I keep seeing men who appear to be about ten months pregnant with quadruplets baring their midrifts out on the street. Case in point: guy at a bus stop who'd hiked up his shirt so it rested on top of his giant belly, just standing there letting his gut cool in the breeze. Then there was a guy on the way into the grocery store Sunday doing the same damn thing. This is just wrong! I expressed my revulsion and horror to Victor, who finds my reaction hysterical. When I asked why fat guys will do this but I'm not seeing 22-year-olds with six-pack abs following suit, he pointed out that fit guys' shirts won't stay up.

I personally will not be going out in any tops that don't go down to at least my hips...so I think I'll order those onion rings now.

I think there is a lesson in here somewhere

I went down to the lake at sunset last night hoping to find the beaver. No luck, just lots of bug bites. When I did see the beaver...and the frog, and the rabbit, and the deer, and the swan...I wasn't out to look for anything, I was just taking a walk.

I bet there's a Zen saying about this somewhere...not seeking and finding; finding when you aren't seeking.

We had to have one of the rats put to sleep today. I stayed home with him all day...I was afraid he'd go downhill quickly and I wanted to be able to rush to the vet before the 6:00 appointment if necessary. I also wanted to be with him to make sure it really was the right choice, although it's hard to know.

He was such a good rat. He was a rescue we didn't intend to make; one afternoon the vet just called and asked if we wanted him. His former owners had asked that he be put to sleep because they couldn't treat his mite infestation, and the vet wouldn't do it.

We weren't looking for him, but there he was.

I'm very conflicted about death; stuggling a lot to find peace, wishing I had faith that there was something afterwards, that my friends, family, and pets have not completely ceased to be.

I lost another old rat, Bob, in January. Bob had his quirks, one was hissing at his cagemate for no good reason. He was just a grump. This spring when I got back outside and starting seeing the geese, they reminded me of Bob with the hissing.

I know Bob wasn't reincarnated as a goose. Geese have been hissing at me for years. Bob's only been dead a few months, and the geese hissing at me now are a few years old. But sometimes I sorta think I have a vauge feeling of sensing Bob...until I look for it and it goes.

I find that with people I miss, too. I get half a sense of them being with me, then I remember--no, he's gone!--and I rush to grab that half a sensation and try to follow it, to find them, to understand, and I lose it all.

Maybe I need to stop looking.

Washington, D.C.

As part of a series of articles related to the new World War II Memorial, the Washington Post has a piece today about how the wartime population boom affected the city: Employee Explosion Transformed Washington.

The article quotes David Brinkley:

In his book "Washington Goes to War," journalist David Brinkley described the evolution this way: Washington "never did explode. Instead, it began to adjust to a new form of existence: more harried, more crowded, more contentious, faster, lonelier, bigger. And while some of the strains of wartime would subside when the fighting was over, the city would never again live by its old rules."

Washington Goes to War is a great book, and I recommend it particularly to those who live here.

Or perhaps I should say, particularly those who live here but say things like "Washington sucks compared to New York/Chicago/LA/Minneapolis/Boston/Detroit/Buffalo/Charleston/Miami/Podunk."

There are plenty of things about Washington that I don't love, but I'm sure there are plenty of unlovable aspects to everyone's favorite city. That wartime growth spurt here is an interesting chapter to Washington's history and helps explain how the area became what it is.

I have a personal interest too, as the granddaughter of two locals and two government employees who came down for the war and never left. Had this not happened, I might not be.

Wow, I wish I'd invented this

I was checking my spam and found this ad:

Introducing the amazing new and revolutionary Eggstractor! Tired of peeling eggs? Not anymore! Simply place a hardboiled egg into the EggStractor, and out pops your peeled egg. It's that easy! For snacks, parties, meals, fast food, and fun food. It's quick easy and convenient.

To think of the hours I've wasted peeling eggs! Thank God we now live in a world where such labor is no longer necessary.

The sad thing is...after I watched the video...I admit it. I do want one.

It's not easy being green

Kermit is a bit cuter, but this guy is closer to home.

(We saw him this morning, not far from where I saw the beaver yesterday. I'm really loving our walks around the lake. Um, beavers don't eat frogs, do they? If they do, don't tell me.)

In which I vist Kermit

There is a new statue of Kermit (with his creator Jim Henson, one of our favorite sons) in front of the student union at the University of Maryland.

I was out in College Park today with my camera...a few pictures of campus (wow, it has changed since I graduated)...and cicadas...in my gallery.

More Suburban Wildlife

Another new neighbor:

Actually, we have had beavers as long as I have lived here, this is just the first time I've seen one up close. (He's bigger than I realized...in Ranger Rick drawings, all the little woodland creatures looked to be the size of squirels.) One year their dams were so effective that the creek flooded and washed out the bike path. A lot of people wanted to get rid of them (the same people who consider the geese pests, and don't like deer because they eat gardens)...I admire their adaptability, myself. And the animals eating my tomato plants and crapping on the sidewalk doesn't irk me nearly as much as the neighbors who park in my reserved parking space.

Perspective

Actually, the line I have in mind is from Spinal Tap: Too much fucking perspective.

I had an annoying afternoon. The file cabinet I ordered came in; it's too long for any of the space available in the building. I've done eight revision of our emergency action plan; every time I turn it in it gets kicked back with a request to add the procedures for yet another type of emergency. (But what if there is a hurricane during the invasion of aliens with sarin?) I have a headache and my eyes itch.

I did get a welcome distraction when a friend called. I bitched about work, she bitched about home. In the course of the conversation she told me about her sister's friend, a 22-year-old, who has been diagnosed with stage four cancer in her breasts, liver, and spine.

My headache's not so bad.

This kid, 22 years old, has a seven percent chance of surviving.

She is being treated at Hopkins. Baltimore isn't convenient for her parents, so they aren't showing up for oncologist appointments. Chemo takes a lot out of her; she can't drive home afterward, so she's crashing with friends in the city. Her parents are forwarding her bills to her at the friends' house. She's not really sure how she's going to pay them, since her job ended when school got out.

If I were in chemotherapy, my parents would be next to my bed. I'm sure of this because my mom will come over when I just have the flu. And my job may seem like a pain in the ass, but I have insurance and savings because of it.

My friend was baking her cookies and is having her over to relax and watch movies. I said "Let me know if there's anything I can do," though I'm not sure what that might be. The girl doesn't seem like the type to ask for help, from what my friend said (and given her parents' level of involvement, I can see how she'd get that way).

I'm definitely thinking of her.

And I'm definitely thinking of what a good life I have.

The busy, busy month of May

I read a lot of magazines, and I get a lot of health-related press releases at work. It has been dawning on me that I keep seeing "May is something month." This is probably true of every month, but this month I saw several different diseases/causes that interested me, so I actually noticed.

There are probably even more, but here are a few:

May is Allergy and Asthma Awareness Month.

May is National Stroke Awareness Month.

May is National Physical Fitness and Sports Month.

May is National Bike Month.

May is Mental Health Month.

Arnold Beckman

I caught the obituary on the NAS homepage this morning, and thought "I've seen that name."

Indeed I have, on the Beckman Coulter instruments in the labs. This was the company that grew from Dr. Beckman's invention of the pH meter...and I'll be honest, it never crossed my mind that somebody had to invent that. It's one of those things that just is.

Beckman Coulter has a very good memorial to Dr. Beckman. Interesting gentleman. From his biography:

Born in the small farming community of Cullom, Ill., on April 10, 1900, young Arnold Beckman's interest in science was first piqued upon finding a chemistry book in the family attic. Not long after reading Steele's textbook series Fourteen Weeks in Science, originally published in 1861, he converted a tool shed built for him by his father for his 10th birthday into a makeshift chemistry lab.

I don't relate to that sort of thing; I was one of those kids who "hated science" in school. I didn't really hate science, of course, I just didn't recognize how many of my interests were science.

Now that I appreciate science, I thought it appropriate to take a moment to honor Dr. Beckman and his legacy.

Meme

I still am not sure exactly what a meme is...in fact, I think it's safe to say I don't grok memes, but then I'm not entirely sure about groking either.

I feel like my dad: I have no idea what you kids are even saying!

But if you do grok memes, this is for you:

Memeblog.

What is wrong with people?

There was the chemical-drinking kid in Texas. Victor found a story about a guy having an allergic reaction to eating cicadas. And in New Mexico, a frequent zoo visitor is now banned after leaving his finger behind at the jaguar cage.

Darnell said the man was contacted by phone and was asked if he was missing any fingers, but said there was nothing wrong.

Is there a full moon?

Poor Martha

CPSC, Kmart Corp. Announce Recall of Martha Stewart Everyday® Safety Matches.

These matches may ignite upon impact, posing a fire hazard to consumers.

That sound you hear

...is the banging of the heads of chemistry teachers, laboratory workers, safety professionals, hazard communicators, and people with a gram of common sense.

Student Drinks Chemical on a Dare

ODESSA, Texas - A student who drank a chemical from his high school lab on a dare was recovering in a hospital, but not before a scare.

I heard one safety pro say something along the lines of "Great, now the school boards will want to teach chemistry without chemicals so this doesn't happen again."

Diets

There are two studies in today's Annals of Internal Medicine related to low-carbohydrate diets. (There's also an editorial by Walter Willett of the Harvard School of Public Health; I can't wait to read it, but it isn't online and I'm pretty far down the distribution list of the journals at work. Hopefully I'll report back on this in about six weeks.)

I recently read Atkins' books. I wanted to go to the source instead of just trashing low-carb as the fad of the moment. There were some laughable passages, particularly in the 1972 version, but not all of it seemed outrageous. I'm glad to see the diets being studied.

I should start playing the lottery so I can go back to school and become a nutritionist. I have a radical theory I'd like to test, a theory based on a tiny sample of three people. One, my dad, was slightly overweight with high triglycerides and low HDL and a strong family history of diabetes. The low-carb diet helped him. Another, my mom, was overweight with high blood pressure. Weight Watchers, with an emphasis on lower-fat foods and pretty strict portion control, and walking helped her.

Then there's me. My diet actually comes pretty close to the Mediterranean food pyramid and my weight has been stable for over a year. My cholesterol is 142. Except for my borderline blood pressure, which I'm sure is related more to stress, I was textbook healthy when we had our screenings at work a few months ago.

My radical theory: different people have sufficiently different metabolisms so that an optimal diet will not be the same for everyone, and finding the optimal diet requires experimentation and monitoring over a period of time to find a mix of acceptable foods (for sustainability) that result in acceptable health outcomes (weight, glucose, lipids).

This is a study for the Center for Thoughtful and Reasonable Analysis of All Available Data with Appropriate Advisories on the Limitations of Said Data for Informed and Responsible Individuals Who Are Willing to Make Decisions and Accept the Consequences.

HIV Vaccine Awareness Day

Check it out.

Phoning it in

A very spectacular thunder storm is keeping me off my desktop computer, and the laptop batteries are fading fast. I'm still not recovered from the weekend (Zenchick had a great idea about calling in well, but I had a supervisor training today...learning how to manage employees who don't come to work and stuff like that.) but I am compelled to post something. Anything. Even if it is essentially nothing, just so I don't have a missing day.

It may be time to admit I have a blogging problem.

Quickly before the battery dies: Another snakehead. More bugs. And if you do come to DC (and why would you? We have huge red-eyed bugs and fish with sharp teeth!) stand right! Walk left!

Swan Lake

One of my waterfowl neighbors. She (and actually, it may be he, but something about a swan makes me assume female) is the only swan I've seen around here, and I'm curious as to how she ended up on our lake with the ducks and the geese. She doesn't seem to take questions, though.

I'm beat. Work's been rough since my mini-vacation, and yesterday Victor and I babysat my sister's kids all day. We had no disasters, but man...I don't think I sat for more than 30 seconds. I don't know how parents do it. I vow to be a lot more sympathetic next time I'm irked by a kid meltdown in a bank, grocery store, or restaurant.

Well, unless it's a restaurant where I'm paying over $20 for my entree. Then they oughta get a babysitter. Um, but that wasn't my point...oh, yeah. My point is that I'm wrapping up the weekend even more tired and fried that I started it, so except for a serene swan picture, I really have nothing to offer.

The Iguana

Instead of telling you everything I know about iguanas in general, I'll tell you a little about my iguana. If you have an iguana or are considering one, check out Melissa Kaplan's page. I wish I'd had access to this information when I got my boy.

His first baby picture.

In his prime.

The (started out to be) short version of the iguana story in the extended entry:

I bought Ig when I was living down south. The pet store where I got him had only one book on iguana care; most of what was in the book was superficial or downright wrong. Several months after I moved back here Ig stopped climbing, so I found an exotics vet who diagnosed him with some fairly severe vitamin deficiencies. He had a vitamin D infusion and I changed his diet, including dog food in addition to his vegetables, and he quickly regained his strength and growth.

Over the years we had a few bouts of illnesses, usually related to his diet. We tinkered with it based on new information that seemed to be coming out (I bought every iguana-related book I ever found, as well as every reptile magazine. This was pre-internet, but I did join a Prodigy iguana board when we got our first modem). Ig grew to be about 18 inches snout-vent length, plus a few more feet of powerful tail.

Ig had his own room, since he quickly outgrew the ten-gallon tank he came with (completely inadequate) as well as a 100-gallon tank. It was heated with infrared lamps and lit with full-spectrum vitalights, and since I am usually cold I loved hanging out in Ig's warm room. (I also completely expected to find a DEA agent at my door looking for a pot farm, since I'm sure my house glowed like a Christmas tree on surveillance photographs.) Ig himself was a bit catlike in personality...he showed affection, but on his terms, not yours. He did seem to appreciate a good back scratch, though, since he had trouble pulling the dried skin off his spikes by himself.

Ig's favorite foods were cheese and eggs, neither of which were optimal, and pumpkin pie, which he got only seasonally. Man, he'd tear up pumpkin pie...

Some male iguanas can be quite aggressive, but I never had any behavior problems with Ig. I could get him to do some posturing...someone gave me a not-particularly realistic stuffed toy iguana, and I'd bob it toward Ig. Ig would drop his dewlap and whip his tail and the toy would "run away," giving Ig what I assumed was a feeling of great superiority.

He'd also drop his dewlap and bob his head at his reflection in the mirror, though, so I'm not sure he was the smartest lizard in the jungle.

When Ig was about eight years old he had a sharp appetite decrease and became very lethargic very quickly. I took him to the vet thinking it was another vitamin problem, but this time it wasn't. His kidneys were failing, and died at the vet's office one day while I was at work.

I felt horribly guilty. The high protein in his diet had certainly contributed, as had the low humidity in his room. Even running a vaporizer and misting him wasn't sufficient. The poor guy had had only about half a life, since their natural lifespan is more like 15 to 20 years.

My ex-husband, "dad" for most of Ig's life, tried to console me by saying that Ig was probably the only iguana from that batch in the pet store that had lasted even eight years. The sad thing is, he's probably right. We were willing to spend many hundreds of dollars on his vet care, which many people won't do for a $12 lizard. And Ex, who eats a less-than-optimal diet himself, says he'd trade a few years of life for lots of eggs, cheese, and pie. I only hope Ig did enjoy his life with me, and that his sufferering at the end was minimal.

More on pedometers

A visitor to my humble blog came via the Google search "Are McDonalds pedometers any good?"

After nearly a week of playing with the pedometers (yeah, you know I was first in line for a Go Active meal. I love that balsamic vinaigrette dressing.) I have discovered that I am not even sedentary (7000 steps a day). My category, if they had one, would have to be "slackass." My daily step count is in the 4000-6000 range, it looks like. It doesn't help that my office is in a one-story building, we have a small parking lot, and my printer is about 18 inches from my desk. And this week was quite hot, so the dog had pretty short walks, for her sake...when her tail drops and her tongue hits the sidewalk, I don't want to push her. Last thing I need is an overweight elderly beagle having a heart attack on me.

Excuses, excuses.

(I haven't worn the pedometer at the gym or while doing my aerobics tapes, which is usually where I get my 30 or so minutes of activity every day. I'm not worried about fitness levels, I just wondered where I stood in normal activity. Now I know, and I'm chagrined.)

Anyway, to answer Googler's question: the McDonald's pedometer works just as well as my other two freebie pedometers as a step counter. I like that it has a cover so you can't accidentally hit the reset button, and it has a pretty good spring clip so it doesn't fall off your pants when you move. The drawbacks: you don't actually calibrate anything, so the only data you have is number of steps, not miles walked or calories burned. And the one thing that annoyed me is that the click from the mechanics seems really loud. I'm self-conscious wearing it at work, because I'm afraid everyone can hear me.

This week's Lean Plate Club (a Washington Post feature that I frequently invoke; it's a common-sense approach to everyday fitness and nutrition for real working people) is about pedometers, if you're looking for more information.

And me, I'm looking for ways to increase my steps. I think I'll bribe myself...a walk around the block before typing each blog entry. That should get me out of the sedentary range.

Maybe I didn't actually say this, but I wanted to

I had a phone call from a chemist today who said:
"I'm reading your material safety data sheet for methyl ethyl death acid, and I want to know why it's a solid."

My reply:
"MEDA is a solid because it has a melting point of 200 degrees centigrade, which is significantly higher than the ambient temperature here in my office, and I'd guess higher than the temperature in yours, given that you are comfortable enough to be calling me. So, the molecules that make up the MEDA are pretty much lined up in nice neat rows instead of bouncing around like little kinetic madmen. Since the neatly-arranged molecules don't move much, the MEDA keeps a specific shape, so we consider it to be in the solid physical state.
But if you are a chemist, shouldn't you know that?"

Where is my fishing pole?

Catch a snakehead fish, win a hat!

Concerned by yet another snakehead fish, the natural resource guys are enlisting the help of the fishing public:

Officials say they have no systematic way of determining how many snakeheads, if any, remain in the Potomac. Their only option, they said, is to rely on reports from anglers. Early said the state is asking them to kill any snakeheads they catch. Anyone who catches one is asked to call the Department of Natural Resources at 410-260-8320.

There is no cash reward for the outlaw fish, Early said. But officials are designing a snakehead hat.

"If we get a bona fide snakehead, the reward is the hat," he said.

Ain't superstitious...

But a black cat crossed my trail.

Really. I was out walking the dog and wooom, right in front of my feet. That cat was pure black, too.

Now I have Howlin' Wolf going through my head, but that's good luck to me.

Bugsbugsbugsbugsbugs

Any day now my knowledge of cicadas will be qualifying me as a geek.

One of my co-workers presented me with an exoskeleton this morning.

One of the newscasters on the radio station I listen to referred to themselves as the "news, traffic, and cicada station" this morning. I am looking forward to the special cicada flashback feature, a 1987 retrospective, which starts tomorrow.

Washingtonpost.com has a special section.

My alma mater has a cicada news desk staffed with entomology grad students ready to answer questions...and they are also selling t-shirts (Don't fear the cicada).

I've only seen the few bugs around the office, none at home yet. In 1987 I was living in a neighborhood that had been build only eleven years prior, so the construction had pretty much knocked out the local cicada population. Around my office then, though, were two wooded lots full of them, and I can remember cruching my way through the exoskeletons in the parking lot every day.

Victor is carrying his camera around waiting for his first sighting, so I expect he'll have a cicada album up soon enough. For those of you west of the great plains (or outside North America) who have no earthly idea what I'm talking about, here's a picture from the University of Maryland's collection.

(And I haven't forgotten our other local creepy-(sometimes) crawlies: somebody caught another snakehead fish.)

I am not a geek...or am I?

I think this is one of those "meme" things...although I think my lack of understanding of the term "meme" proves that I am not a geek.

Or maybe I am. What do I know a little too much about?

Rats.
Iguanas.

Well, when you keep somewhat unusual pets, you end up needing to do a lot of husbandry research on your own. That's not geeky, then.

Chemical safety.

Well, that's my job. Being paid for it makes it not geeky.

I know a little more than the average American female in my age group about ice hockey and professional road cycling, but lots of other people know much more than I do, so no way I get geek status for that.

Oh, okay, I thought of something where I know just a little too much for other people's comfort: Bob Crane.

Sometimes humans are not my favorite animal

There is a house in my neighborhood between my house and the gym that faces the main road. They have a big dog, maybe a collie mix of some kind, that they sometimes leave tethered on a chain in their front yard. Not all the time...I didn't see the dog left out in the winter, for example, nor have I noticed him outside in the rain. But still, he's left out a little too often for my comfort as a dog owner, and it's bothered me to see the poor thing straining at the end of the chain, barking at everyone who passed.

Well, today on my way home I got to know the dog a little better...he'd managed to pull out the tether. As I came down the sidewalk, he jumped up on me. I did the few things I remembered for behavior with an unknown dog: no eye contact, low soothing voice, offered him the back of my hand to smell. He jumped and slobbered and wrapped the chain around my feet as he flailed. I think he was freaked out because he was no longer restrained. I was trying to get ahold of the chain (one of those rubber-coated metal cables, thankfully, not an actual metal linked chain, or my legs would be in bad shape now) to lead him back home, but he was moving fast and, on his hind legs, he was taller than I.

He actually knocked me down once, and when I was down I was able to free my feet and step on the cable. I was close to getting a decent grip on his collar...although he did put his mouth on my arm and I was starting to worry about being bitten...when his owner came out.

Well, actually, it was the teenage daughter and her friend. The dog went right to them. I told the kid very calmly but in what I hope was my best adult authority-figure voice that the county has a law prohibiting tethering dogs, and they risk being fined or having their dog taken away. The kid apologized profusely to me, but I have a bad feeling my real point--you're gonna get your dog killed or confiscated!--didn't get through. I left, mostly relieved I wasn't hurt and that the dog was safely inside.

In just the two more minutes it took to get home, though, I got pissed. For one thing, I was starting to feel the scratches and bruise on my arm. That wasn't a vicious dog, but he was scared, and could have really hurt someone. He could have also darted right onto the fairly busy road, getting himself hurt or killed, and potentially causing an accident where people could be hurt or killed. And as far as the traffic...while I was essentially being attacked by this dog, several cars drove by. I made actual eye contact with one guy who stared out the window at me...I clearly was not someone out for a nice walk with my own dog. Not one freaking driver stopped to see if I needed any help. Thanks, neighbors.

I'm not sure if I'd have stopped either, I admit it. I hope I would have, but I'm not sure. I will now.

I looked up the animal control law, too, and unfortunately I'm wrong about the tethering...it isn't completely illegal. I'm not sure if their conditions were okay or not...certainly the dog being able to get away is not allowed. I'm still considering paying the adults in the family a visit (while you can see my bruises...as I typed this, my arm and hand did start hurting), or giving animal control a call. If nothing else, I will be keeping a really close eye out, because that poor dog deserves better than what he's got.

Green beans through the ages

When we cleaned out her house after my grandmother died a few years ago I ended up with boxes of her old cookbooks. I was interested to note that some were earlier editions of cookbooks I had...Fannie Farmer, Better Homes & Gardens, Joy of Cooking...so I started going though to see how recipes had changed.

Not long after that I bought a reprint of the original Boston Cooking School, and in mentioning my growing collection to my other grandmother, she turned over her copy of Fannie Farmer to me, too. I now have a collection that goes from 1896 to 2002.

To show how things have changed a bit, here are the green (or string) bean recipes from each:

The original, 1896:

String beans that are obtainable in winter come from California; natives appear in market the last of June and continue until the last of September.

Remove strings, and snap or cut in one-inch pieces; wash, and cook in boiling water from one to three hours, adding salt the last hour of cooking. Drain, season with butter and salt.

My late grandmother's Boston Cooking School, 1930:

Select beans as nearly stringless as possible. Test by gently pulling off tip end. One pound serves four. Remove ends and strings, snap or cut in inch pieces. Wash, cook in boiling water 20 minutes to 1 hour, or until soft, adding salt when half done. Drain, season with butter and salt. If desired, cook with small piece of ham, bacon, or salt pork.

My other grandmother's 11th edition Fannie Farmer, 1959:

One pound serves four. Select beans that are crisp enough to snap when broken and are fresh-looking, with a bright, clear color.

Wash thoroughly. Cut off the ends. Cut with a sharp knife or scissors in 1-inch pieces. Or cut in very thin diagonal strips with a bean cutter; or cut lengthwise and then crosswise in thin pieces about 1 1/2 inches long.

Cook about 2 minutes in a pressure saucepan, or 15 to 20 minutes in a covered pan in boiling salted water 1/2 inch deep. Drain. Add salt and butter to taste. Sour cream is delicious in place of butter. Season with finely cut dill or chives, if you like.

And most recently, my 13th edition, 2002:

Green beans were once called string beans. Today they are stringless; just break off the ends as you wash them. Green beans, wax beans, and pole beans may all be cooked the same way, until just tender but crunchy. Try them fried whole in beer batter for a change sometimes.

Wash the beans and remove the ends and strings, if there are any. Leave them whole or cut into diagonal strips. Drop them into a large pot of boiling water and boil them gently until just done, allowing about 5 - 10 minutes, depending on the size and age of the beans. Taste one to see if it is done; it should still be very crunchy. Drain the beans and rinse them thoroughly in cold water to stop the cooking. Reheat them in lots of butter, salt, and pepper just before serving.

The major change has obviously been cooking time...at least it has gotten faster to make dinner in the last hundred years. Boil beans for three hours? Just how tough were 19th century vegetables?

I'm just sayin'

Not to perpetuate any stereotypes, or to suggest that what applies to me applies to women universally...

...But if I ran the world, drug stores would have a special express line for women buying ibuprofen, heating pads, and tampons. This express line would not be staffed by surly clerks who keep the "register open" light lit while they are "on break." This register would not be open to customers who were purchasing a twenty-year supply of greeting cards for everyone in an extended family.

And most importantly, the clerk in this express line, especially if the clerk is male, would absolutely never ever attempt humorous banter like "Ha, I'm surprised you aren't buying some chocolate too," while taking his sweet time in ringing up the aforementioned purchase.

Step up

The fitness gadget of the moment is a pedometer. I ended up with two last week, in sponsor swag at both charity walks, and pedometers are the toy in the new adult "Go Active" Happy Meals that McDonalds will introduce this week.

I've been reading about pedometers in the fitness news for awhile now. Sally Squires of the Washington Post's Lean Plate Club is a proponent (and user). A study from Medicine & Science in Sports & Exercise on physical activity, daily steps, and body composition in middle-aged women found 10,000 steps to be the magic number to help with weight loss. The President's Council on Physical Fitness and sports concluded "Pedometers are practical and accurate tools for measurement and motivation for physical activity."

I had no intention of buying a pedometer, because I've managed to get myself into a decent general fitness routine. But I am a geek, and now that I have two different pedometers, I had to check them out to see if they worked. I put one on each hip this morning and took the dog for our usual walk around the lake.

The data were close enough for government work...I took either 3333 or 3309 steps, for a total of 1.543 miles or 1.409 miles, burning 82.2 calories or 112.1 calories, depending on which one I should believe.

Wearing it just for that one walk did make me curious about how I do on a normal day, whether I'm anywhere close to 10,000 steps. I think I'll actually play with one for a few days and see what my results look like. And from this I see the appeal of the pedometer...I suspect that I will take more steps in the day, and burn a few extra calories, just because I'll be looking down at the counter.

Every step counts.

Mother's Day Menu

As the one non-reproducing female old enough to use knives and a stove in the family, I am pretty much stuck with preparing an appropriate Mother's Day celebration. The guys in the family haven't shown great Mother's Day prowess...my brother-in-law favors brunch buffets with remarkable crowds and unremarkable food, and my dad has a bad habit of saying "We'll just go out" without thinking of reservations, meaning we eat at midnight.

So it's up to me. I found my notes from last year and checked with the moms; luckily they don't mind a repeat of the menu. We have a Greek theme going: chicken marinated in retsina, grilled zucchini, orzo, horiatiki salad, and baklava for desert. While shopping today I found jarred dolmades, which I'm not about to make by hand (I'm buying the baklava too, I admit it), so I'm adding that this year.

If I have to do the work, I'm making food I like. I actually considered doing a complete vegetarian dinner, but I didn't feel like listening to the men (besides Victor, of course) complain. Maybe for Father's Day I'll grill them Tofurkey and see if they notice.

When I was a kid I used to whine "When is Children's Day?" (Tha adult answer was inevitably "Every day is children's day.") Now I wanna know: when is umarried oldest daughter/aunt/babysitter/cook/errand-runner day?

Chicken and salad recipes are in the extended entry...

The chicken was inspired by one of Steve Raichlen's beer can chicken recipes. Although Victor does a great beer can chicken, to feed a big group of people, I adapted it a bit.

Greek spice mix:

I mix this up in a jar and use it all the time on chicken, vegetables, french fries, whatever...

2 tablespoons dried oregano
2 tablespoons dried mint
4 tablespoons black pepper
3 tablespoons salt

Marinade:

1 bottle of white retsina
2 tablespoons of olive oil (I have become very fond of the Greek olive oil from Trader Joe's)
1 white onion, sliced
2 cloves of garlic, crushed
1 heaping teaspoon of dried oregano

Marinate boneless chicken breasts for at least three hours. Sprinkle chicken with greek spice mix then grill or broil.

Horiatiki salad

1 cucumber, seeded and diced
2 tomatoes, seeded and diced
8 ounces kalamata olives, pitted
1 small red onion, diced
1 clove garlic, minced

I sometimes use green pepper in the salad, but not for family dinners, because my brother-in-law won't eat them.

Toss the vegetables with red wine vinegar and olive oil to taste. (I personally like vinegar a lot, so I use almost a 1:1 oil-vinegar ratio.) Sprinkle with feta cheese before serving.

I sometimes use green pepper in the salad, but not for family dinners, because my brother-in-law won't eat them.

For lunch the next day, I mix what's left of the orzo and what's left of the salad together and eat it stuffed in a pita.

By the third week, it's a tradition

Someone is trying to fax something to my phone. Dolt that I am, I keep answering...maybe this time it's a person who wants to talk to me instead on an ear-splitting fax tone! I need conditioning lesson from my rats.

---

Cool sites of the week: the most common fallacies (from the Internet Encyclopedia of Philosophy) and the Critical Thinking Consortium.
I'll be honest: a lot of my thinking is not critical, and I fall into some of those fallacies way too easily.

---

Man survives six nails driven into head. Something disturbs me about this. Not the guy surviving, of course...that is great as well as amazing...but the fact that the incident occurred at all. Seems to me there should have been some fall arrest protection or something, and I have heard that a safety feature on the nail gun may have been disabled.
There is no such thing as a freak accident, just broken links in causal chains.

---

Good pictures from last week's Kinetic Sculpture Race.

---

Around the time that today's high school seniors were in diapers I was swatting cicadas and choosing a major. Now, despite my sticker shock over current tuition, I'm contemplating a new degree and a career change. I wonder if there is any such thing as the 17-year itch.

Thus endeth Friday's random collection of mini posts.

A day of prayer

An ad in the newspaper caught my eye this afternoon. Apparently today is the National Day of Prayer.

This "National Day of Prayer" ad mentioned the long history of calls to prayer going back to the Continental Congress in 1775, but it reminded me of something I learned about during family vacations in Williamsburg as a kid.

For those who haven't been to Colonial Williamsburg, a trip to the visitor's center usually starts with the movie Story of a Patriot. I have friends who can't get past the fact that the movie stars a very young Jack Lord, but I think the film does a really nice job of setting the historical context of late colonial Virginia.

I have a Virginia-centric view of early American history, I admit it. If I were a New Englander I'd probably know a lot more about Paul Revere and Sam Adams, but my revolutionary heroes have always been Patrick Henry and George Wythe.

Anyway, one of the pre-revolutionary situations portrayed in Story of a Patriot is Thomas Jeferson's idea to show solidarity with Boston over the closing of the port with a day of fasting, humiliation, and prayer. The resolution was actually proposed to the House of Burgresses by moderate Robert Carter Nicholas, because Jefferson had already become too closely allied with hothead Patrick Henry, who wasn't exactly a hero in Virginia in 1774. (My favorite line in the movie is Henry explaining why he wouldn't be able advance the day of prayer proposal, since "if I merely propose the opening of a window on a sultry day there are those who see in my request treachery and evil.")

Imagine, the founding fathers as crafty young radicals, hiding their agenda behind something so pure as prayer.

So I noticed that while the current National Day of Prayer does have a presidential proclaimation behind it, the chair is Shirley Dobson. The honorary chair is Oliver North. Not exactly Robert Carter Nicholas.

Personally I don't really pray much any more. It struck me awhile ago that when I did pray I was sounding a little too much like a kid on Santa's lap, even if what I was asking for were good and noble things...I was still just asking for presents.

I do get a laugh, though, out of the idea that if I were to mark today with a prayer or five, there would be those who saw in my prayers treachery and evil.

Everybody Comes to Rick's

I'm sure it is a cliche to say that my favorite movie is Casablanca. I'm not even sure it's true, though I can't come up with another movie that I like as much, or one I have seen more often.

I was all of ten years old the first time I saw it. It was on television on a local UHF station that pretty much just showed old movies and reruns. It was the first night of summer vacation and I was celebrating my new later bedtime. Something about it just captivated me.

It took years...decades...for me to realize that maybe Rick Blaine might not be my best role model. Cynicism was harder to quit than smoking...well, not so much actual cynicism, but cynical sarcasm. I was (and am), of course, a rank sentimentalist.

As such, I'm not sure about Rick's Cafe, a new venture opened in Casablanca by an American former diplomat. It may be a wonderful homage, but I see a bit of potential for, well, schlock.

Not that I'll be in Morocco anytime soon to check it out. So to keep from being cynical, I'll assume it is cool...until they franchise.

Then when one opens in Maryland, I'll apply for a job as a croupier.

Cinco de Mayo

"I join today with all Americans in celebrating Cinco de Mayo and the important contributions of Mexican-Americans to our nation," says Congressman Steny Hoyer (D-MD).

Wow, it's Cinco de Mayo. I may be off here, but it seems to me that Americans celebrating the triumph of the Mexican people over the French Army in the battle of Puebla in 1862 coincided completely with the discovery by Tex-Mex restaurants that it was a good way to lure people in and sell lots of Dos Equis and margaritas.

Completely coincidentally, tonight's dinner plan:

Chicken simmered in salsa
Pinto beans
Guacamole
Salad
Corn tortillas

Drat. I forgot the Dos Equis.

About Face

Today was Spa Day. I had a complete overhaul: massage, facial, pedicure, manicure, hairstyle, and make-up application. I look pretty good. I also look like a completely different person.

The massage was great. I could have stopped right there...slept on the massage table for five more hours and come hope quite relaxed and happy.

I was a little nervous about the facial going in. I've never had one, and my skin care routine consists of soap and water. I have horrible skin and no patience, and I had a bad feeling that the facial expert was gonna notice that.

She did. And somehow her Russian accent made it worse...when she said "Why do you not use a moisturizer?" I was ready to confess to crimes, I was so intimidated. And I know she's probably right...after she acid'ed off a few layers of skin and puffed me up with collagen, along with waxing and tweezing and scraping and poking me with hot needles, my crow's feet were practically gone and the other wrinkles and pimples were not quite so noticable. So I bought a ton of cleanser and toner and day cream and night cream and eye cream and God knows what else...but I bet that by the end of the month it will all be stashed under the sink and I'll be zitty and wrinkly again.

I understand why women do it. Properly cleanse and tone and clarify and conceal, then improve on that with make-up, and it's a night and day difference. Right now, like I said, I look good. But it takes time, money, and effort, and I'm just too slackass lazy for the investment.

It doesn't look like this should have taken the whole day, and yet...

As I said, I know how to have fun...the day so far:

Bank
Paid bills
Cleaned rat cages
Noticed excessive sneezing
Made vet appointment

Now I'm going downtown to wash dishes (my volunteer job). Tomorrow, though...it will be all about self-indulgence. I've booked a day spa appointment.

Rainy Days and Mondays

I'm on vacation. Just three days, and I'm not going anywhere, but it became very apparent over the last few weeks that I needed some time away from the office. I feel better already just sleeping in (all of 90 extra minutes!) and today will probably be devoted to household chores neglected from the weekend and lame little posts when I get bored.

Hey, I know how to have fun.

Walking in the rain, with chili

The WalkAmerica walk for the March of Dimes turned out to be only seven miles, and the rain turned out to be only a heavy mist for most of it. Thank God for that, because I admit that my hips and knees are really sore...another mile and more water might have done me in.

Getting old sucks.

Hard Times, a local chili parlor, provided the post-walk lunch, which was very cool...or warming, as the case may be. I don't go there very often anymore (partly the health kick, partly because I no longer work just around the corner), but back in the day I knew Hard Times very well...Texas chili mac, wet, with cheddar cheese, chopped onion, and tomato, washed down with a Lone Star.

I took a Texan there for Frito Pie. Have you ever eaten with Texans outside Texas? Nothing is ever right. And even it nobody claimed the food was supposed to be Texas-like ("It's the Hunan Palace!") they find fault.

My Texan friend did like the Frito Pie, though.

Next week I have the Arthritis Walk. (I may be using the services of the Arthritis Foundation soon, the way I'm going.) And this walk is practically around the corner from Hard Times (and yes, my old office; different corner, though.) This might be a good new post-walk tradition: Chili and ibuprofen. Yum.

Kinetic Sculpture Race

Okay, when we turned the corner in front of the Visionary Arts Museum and saw this

I knew we were in for a good time.

And it was a good time...and a bit of a long and tiring day, and I have eight rainy miles to walk tomorrow. Bug Victor for more pictures; I'm going to bed.