It's all about priorities

E&P article on the cost-cutting follies that preceded Katrina. (Via Eric Boehlert at Huffington Post.)

The best way to start the day

is to find your six-year old boy carrying his pet rabbit around the living room so she can listen to Hank Williams with him.

The worst way to start the day

on the other hand, is to learn that maybe the flood-control efforts in the gorgeous city where you spent your honeymoon aren't going so well:

New Orleans Mayor Ray Nagin just told WWL TV in New Orleans that the project to fill the breach in the 17th St Canal flood wall with sandbags didn't fail -- the sandbags were never tried. Nagin suggested that, after repairing the breach had been made the top priority in discussions with state, federal and Orleans Parish Levee Board officials this morning, someone had apparently "reprioritized" the helicopter earmarked for the sandbag assignment.

Harry Shearer is updating.

Oopsie-doodle!

The Texas lege just meant to curtail women's freedom, not doctors' (from AAS, free reg req'd):

Texas doctors who perform abortions without parental approval or after the third trimester could face capital murder charges because of a new law that takes effect this week, a prosecutors group says...

But key legislators said Monday that wasn't their intent.

Remember, Texas is a death-penalty state. Hell, we're the death penalty state. So it would seem logical that the folks crafting new laws involving capital murder charges would think through the ramifications, maybe even review the other laws on the books, before deciding. But they were so busy cooking up a new way to implant 'smaller government' in uteruses statewide that they lost sight of the fact that actual living people (and by people I mean physicians, not women) might be harmed by their zealotry.

Anti-choicers are downplaying the possibility that such a prosecution could happen. But there's your 'culture of life' laid bare, once again. Was it intentional? Who knows? With a lege as gloriously inept as ours, it can be hard to tell what's brazenness exposed and what's merely the result of stupidity.

What's lower than low?

Having birthed three babies in American hospitals where security is tight and only staffers wearing special badges are allowed to handle the newborns, I was stunned to read Celia Dugger's NYT piece describing how some hospital nurses in Bangalore take infants hostage the moment they emerge from the womb:

Just as the painful ordeal of childbirth finally ended and Nesam Velankanni waited for a nurse to lay her squalling newborn on her chest, the maternity hospital's ritual of extortion began.

Before she even glimpsed her baby, she said, a nurse whisked the infant away and an attendant demanded a bribe. If you want to see your child, families are told, the price is $12 for a boy and $7 for a girl, a lot of money for slum dwellers scraping by on a dollar a day. The practice is common here in the city, surveys confirm.

The only phrase that comes to mind is my dad's stock expression of disgust: That's lower than whale shit.

Dugger's article goes on to describe new parents paying bribes to get medicine and vaccines for their babies. Activists are trying to eradicate this and other predations, but it sounds like an uphill battle.

Victory garden fall prep

Today was reserved days in advance for gardening so we could whip the veggie beds into shape for next month's planting extravaganza. But the morning kicked off with the discovery of a nasty case of overnight canine diarrhea and peaked with the surprise appearance of a four-foot long snake in our garden hose container. A snake whose tail rattled ominously when Hombre launched a pebble at it. A snake that turned out to be harmless. Either that or it was just unnerved to find itself surrounded by a family of sweaty, arguing geeks passing a reptile guide and a shovel back and forth.

At least the grass got mowed. Nature 1, victory garden 1/2. We do have some new seedlings up: watermelon, yellow crookneck squash, bush cucumber. Against the standard advice I did not pull out the pepper and tomato plants to start anew for fall. The old tomatoes are still producing after all the rain we had earlier this month, and the bell pepper has finally set fruit. Basil loves this weather, and the rabbit loves basil so they are creating their own little circle of life.

Easter Beagle, by the way, is turning out to be a much better tractor animal than the chickens were. She's quiet, she's cuddly, and she is tearing up the weeds at a nice clip. Her tractor has been in one spot for two weeks now and it needs to be moved already. Thanks, Easter Beagle!

Now why, you may ask, are you calling this a victory garden? Well, because oil dependence is going to kick our economic ass one of these days, quite possibly sooner rather than later. I started gardening years ago to be kind to mother earth, put my kids in touch with nature, and all that good jazz, but the fact is it costs money and fuel and air quality to truck produce all over the place. Why contribute to that any more than I have to?

What are you growing?

Not that I want to jinx this, but

Has anyone heard of a toddler who says yes? I used to work with toddlers, all of whom used 'no' the way ten-year-olds on Christmas break use new BB guns: all day long, because they can. I also read during my teacher training that it's easier for young kids to pronounce 'no' than 'yes,' hence the discrepancy. And of course, there's the growing desire for independence as kids turn two and decide they ain't gonna work on Mommy's farm no more.

Hurricanehead is 19-months old now and says a few words, mostly names of people and animals and favorite foods. He also says yes, or rather, 'yeah,' all the time in response to questions and requests. It's pleasant but strange, especially since I've never head him utter 'no.' He runs away or ignores me if he doesn't want to do something. The yes thing is also odd because Rocketboy's favorite word of all time is no. He used to sing it to the tune of 'Baa Baa Black Sheep' when asked to pick up toys. Even now, at six, he is often reflexively contrary.

I'd expected Hurricanehead to follow his example. And perhaps eventually (or as soon as I hit 'publish' on this post) he will. But for now it's weird and amazing to me that I can say, "Hey, Hurricanehead, will you pick up that sock?" And he'll give me his little lopsided grin and say, "Yeah."

Bus boys

I've been making noises about learning the bus schedule for a year now, ever since we moved into this house. A while back Hombre looked up a trip from the park and ride near our home to a big park downtown, and when I saw that it would take 90 minutes each way, I balked and lost my motivation.

The recent wave of festive news about global warming and the price of gas have inspired me to rethink the bus.

Those of you lucky enough to live in cities with good mass transit may wonder what the hell is wrong here. Those of you who live in Texas or any other large state that developed mostly after the advent of the automobile know exactly what I'm talking about: Sprawl. Even the mightiest fleet of buses and trains cannot vanquish it entirely. And in most sprawly towns, mass transit is underfunded, leading to few routes and riders, until the whole thing becomes a chicken-and-egg race to the bottom. (I know, I know. It's late.)

Anyway, on ozone action days, the bus is free. So we tried it -- just me, two small children, one lightweight stroller that seemed to gain pounds as the morning wore on, and a tote bag that held about ten pounds more stuff than we needed. We had to walk in the heat, smell weird smells, wait (always tough with kids), plan ahead and, once, run for the bus.

We loved it. We just went to a park (not 90 minutes away) and picnicked and played. Nothing so extraordinary except that we saved two gallons of gas and discovered the freedom that comes with riding the bus.

Eh? Riding the bus is supposed to be about sacrificing one's privacy and time, but the kids were thrilled that they could sit right next to me and each other. They loved the people-watching. Hurricanehead got his flirt on with a lady in the seat behind us. And he could sit in my lap. Rocketboy practically squealed when he saw the a/c and reading light controls: "It's just like an airplane, mom!"

And I hate driving with the kids on the highways but today I came home actually relaxed from our park time. Another bonus: Rocketboy always talks nonstop when I drive and it drives me nuts. But on the bus, with all those other quiet adults around, he fell silent and simply watched. It was a great gift. Rocketboy wanted to know if we could take the bus somewhere again this afternoon, but we had other stuff to do.

There aren't a ton of everyday places we can go on the bus -- the vet, the dentist, the library, the grocery store are not on bus lines. But some pretty neat places are -- museums, parks, campuses. So whenever it's an option, we'll take it.

Exporting freedom like it's 1899

I first saw a reference to this at DED space: a little outtake of this morning's MTP interview of Reuel Marc Gerecht, a former CIA Middle East specialist, by David Gregory, who asked about concerns that Iraqi women's rights will be curtailed by the new constitution.

Gerecht: Actually, I'm not terribly worried about this. I mean, one hopes that the Iraqis protect women's social rights as much as possible. It certainly seems clear that in protecting the political rights, there's no discussion of women not having the right to vote. I think it's important to remember that in the year 1900, for example, in the United States, it was a democracy then. In 1900, women did not have the right to vote. If Iraqis could develop a democracy that resembled America in the 1900s, I think we'd all be thrilled. I mean, women's social rights are not critical to the evolution of democracy. We hope they're there. I think they will be there. But I think we need to put this into perspective.

When Bush said in his weekly radio address, "we're spreading the hope of freedom across the broader Middle East" I guess the emphasis was on hope and not actual freedom, since, as Gerecht says, "one hopes the Iraqis protect women's social rights," not that we're going to push them on it. Freedom may not be free, but hope damn sure is. Have we really spent over 1,800 American lives to offer half the surviving Iraqi population the hope of freedom without insisting on the real thing?

Gerecht, not satisfied playing Toto to Bush's Wizard, then introduces the Nationbuilding Wayback Machine: "If Iraqis could develop a democracy that resembled America in the 1900s, I think we'd all be thrilled." Who're you calling 'we,' male man? Apart from, I don't know, women, I can't think of too many people who might be disappointed. Just calm down, ladies. This thing should sort itself out in the next hundred years or so.

Steam-age democracy. That's the best we, the most powerful and wealthy nation on earth, can offer to a country we invaded on false pretenses and still cannot control or fully secure? I guess it's a good thing for somebody (probably the Kurds) that we didn't set our sights about 50 years lower. But think of the lives and money we could've saved if we'd just recreated in Iraq the sociopolitical conditions that predated the Magna Carta. Shitfire, man, that would've been a cakewalk.

Gerecht goes out with a flourish, dismissing the importance of women's social rights and adding, "I think we need to put this into perspective."

Here's my perspective: I think the administration misunderestimates the predicament of Iraqi women and what it could mean for us in the long run. Homes, families, and livelihoods damaged by war, and possibly fewer rights as well. A nation of angry women who may point to the US as the cause of their trouble. Their children and grandchildren will grow up on those stories and laments. That doesn't make me feel any safer.

While Narcissus rides his bike

Missy Comley Beattie writes about the death of her nephew, Marine Lance Cpl. Chase Johnson Comley, and the dearth of "noble cause."

For those of you who still trust the Bush administration -- and your percentage diminishes every day -- let me tell you that my nephew Chase Johnson Comley did not die to preserve your freedoms. He was not presented flowers by grateful Iraqis, welcoming him as their liberator.

He died fighting a senseless war for oil and contracts, ensuring the increased wealth of President Bush and his administration's friends.

He died long after Bush, in his testosterone-charged, theatrical, soldier-for-a-day role, announced on an aircraft carrier beneath a "Mission Accomplished" banner that major combat was over.

He died in a country erupting into civil war and turned into a hellhole by Bush, a place where democracy has no chance of prevailing, a country that will become a theocracy like Saudi Arabia.

Have we won the hearts and the minds of the Iraqi people? Apparently not.

I don't think these critical, bereaved military families are crazy or anti-American. They are simply opposed to fraud and incompetence. Imagine that.

These kids today

Rocketboy had a tantrum today. At the peak of his fury, he didn't spit or scream or say he hated me. He yelled, "I'm going to spam your blog!"

"I hope the ambitious realize that they are more likely to succeed with success as opposed to failure."

That Black Lesbian Jew has a little search-engine snark for you.

The global struggle against lies

The British now have their own Cindy Sheehan-style crew, with one key difference: While Cindy Sheehan stands the proverbial snowball's chance of getting a real response, these angry parents of 17 dead soldiers may be able to get answers from Tony Blair under oath.

Rose Gentle of Glasgow, whose 19-year-old, Gordon, was killed by a bomb in Basra in June 2004, said her son had been sent to Iraq "on a pack of lies". She would fight the government until she got the truth. "My campaign will continue until the troops are home."

The families argue that, under human rights laws, if the British state is involved in the use of lethal force there must be an independent inquiry.

Among the questions the families want to ask at court is why "the equivocal advice of March 7, in 2003, from the attorney general, Lord Goldsmith, changed so that 10 days later it was completely unequivocal in giving legal support for the war?"

The families are seeking an urgent preliminary hearing so the judicial review can be held before the year's end.

I wonder what the findings of independent inquiry in the UK would mean for the administration here?

Update: more here at BBC

The price of freedom

It's almost vigil time. We'll be doing ours here at home, just the family. I would love to join Dru and all the others supporting Cindy Sheehan at the Lamar Street bridge, but bedtime for little ones is mere minutes away. We'll keep our watch here.

For writers, there can be no more tired hackery than to quote the dictionary. ("Webster's defines blah-blah as...") But I like etymology and the Latin roots and related Latin words illuminated the idea of keeping vigil, at least for me: "vigil awake, watchful; akin to vigere to be vigorous, vegere to be active, rouse."

I'd always thought, without much reflection, of vigils as only memorials. But it makes sense, especially tonight, that the roots of vigil are tied to waking up and doing something.

Good stuff

Dru is reviving The Radical Homeschool Blog and has kindly invited me to post. I'm quite pleased -- and amazed, as she is also starting a DIY Goddess blog, kicking ass on her main blog, raising her kids, working and having a life. Stay tuned.

Back to pool

Today was the first day of school, or what I refer to as the first day of public school. When I'm really feeling sassy, it's the first day of government school.

Rocketboy is six, which he patiently points out to the occasional baffled person who repeatedly asks, "What grade are you in?" as if there is no other way to describe or understand children and childhood. And today he, his 1-year-old brother and I spent a big chunk of the afternoon at a pool party. We also fed dogs, rabbit and fish; read various books; played piano; practiced handwriting; shot marbles; pretended to be cheetahs; made a pressurized fountain with a milk jug and a water hose; and made a plaster-of-paris bowl for the sole purpose of breaking it to see how it would shatter.

Lots of parents look forward to the beginning of the traditional school year, and I do, too, for my own reasons. With the exception of the annual pool party, it's like any other day for my family, which means it's tailored to our needs, wants and obligations. It's different every year. And because we learn year-round, it's not the start of anything for me except a delicious sense of freedom.

We own our time. When it's time to go somewhere -- the dentist, Grandma's house, a vacation -- we don't have to ask permission or work around the school calendar or put it off because of tests. We take road trips in the autumn and spring. The boys don't scarf down lunch before a bell rings. Recess is a meaningless concept to people who spend half their days outdoors.

I have no idea how much the kids feel this sense of freedom, and Hombre is at the office all day so I can't say he feels it to the same degree I do. And yes, I'm lucky that I can spend my time with the kids, although there are days I covet an office job because in an office, you get to sit down a lot.

But every year when school starts, I remember the one-page calendar the school would send home with me, with its code of dates circled or squared or printed in red ink. This was to be my life for the next nine months. Any deviation from the calendar would require a note and supplication to be excused.

Because I was an ornery, defiant child, this stuck in my craw. And now I savor the freedom my family has from bells and in-service days and test dates. On the first day of school, the buses run and the crossing guard waves as I drive past, and I feel great. A breeze promises that fall will eventually come, the parks and museums are free of crowds, and the world is ours to explore.


cross-posted at The Radical Homeschool Blog

Thinking with his truck

Zeebah tipped me off to this; I share her astonishment. Who, exactly, is dishonoring the memory of our dead soldiers and marines? Cindy Sheehan or the local genius who drove his truck over half the roadside crosses at Camp Casey?

He's so over it

From the Waco Tribune-Herald: Bush Defends Ignoring Protest.

President Bush, noting that lots of people want to talk to the president and "‘it's also important for me to go on with my life,'' on Saturday defended his decision not to meet with the grieving mom of a soldier killed in Iraq...

The comments came prior to a bike ride on the ranch with journalists and aides...

In addition to the two-hour bike ride, Bush's Saturday schedule included an evening Little League Baseball playoff game, a lunch meeting with Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice, a nap, some fishing and some reading.

"‘I think the people want the president to be in a position to make good, crisp decisions and to stay healthy,'' he said when asked about bike riding while a grieving mom wanted to speak with him. "‘And part of my being is to be outside exercising.''

"‘So I'm mindful of what goes on around me,'' Bush added. "‘On the other hand, I'm also mindful that I've got a life to live and will do so.''

Forget the quagmire in Iraq. The man can't even manage the quagmire at the end of his driveway.

There's something about Cindy

Cindy Sheehan's protest seems to be prompting a certain class of men to reveal the smallness of their character: calling her a whore, claiming she tarnishes the memory of her dead son, saying she's been brainwashed. (You can Google these if you like; I'm not linking to disgraceful ad hominem drivel.) I know there are women who disagree with her stance, but the attacks from some men have a truly hateful tone that goes beyond what I've seen from the women -- in general.

An email loop I'm on was apoplectic this weekend after a guy wrote a vicious screed attacking a fellow list member for mentioning that she was going to Camp Casey. Another dude jumped on board to second that emotion, and some women on the list (including, I must say, me) shut them down.

There was a palpable current of panic beneath the illogical rage these men spewed when criticizing Cindy Sheehan and her supporters, and it puzzled me. Crooks and Liars points to Arthur's analysis at The Light of Reason, and suddenly it makes sense. Twisted, pathetic sense, but sense nonetheless:

[I]t is as if her own words and her own thoughts count for nothing. Oh, she can'’t possibly really mean it, her detractors cry. She doesn'’t know her own mind! (Some incredibly patronizing men have gone so far as to say that she is literally insane.) Other people are taking advantage of her!...

Would they say the same things about Mr. Sheehan? No, they wouldn'’t for the most part.

This is the same psychology of entitlement and power that leads many men to the unsupportable and insufferable conclusion that they somehow should have power over women'’s bodies, and that they should determine what women may and may not do with regard to their own reproductive rights. Hey, you moron males: it'’s her body, not yours. Lay off.

In the same way, it'’s Cindy Sheehan'’s mind, and her convictions, not yours. Lay off. She clearly knows what she thinks -- —you just don'’t want to believe it.

A big brain, a big heart and a large-minded character make the man. A big mouth does not.

Really processed meat

Interesting. The Guardian reports that there's a way to grow meat in a lab without harming animals:

Researchers have published details in a biotechnology journal describing a new technique which they hailed as the answer to the world's food shortage. Lumps of meat would be cultured in laboratory vats rather than carved from livestock reared on a farm...

[Scientists] envisage muscle cells growing on huge sheets that would be regularly stretched to exercise the cells as they grow. Once enough cells had grown, they would be scraped off and shaped into processed meat products such as chicken nuggets.

This could also greatly expand the market for edible bed linens. Someday, thanks to science, the term 'bed and breakfast' may be redundant.

Sign of the apocalypse

Dallas is more liberal than Austin? Today's Statesman says yes (reg required):

Bay Area Center for Voting Research... ranked 237 U.S. cities on the liberal-to-conservative spectrum, based on results from the 2004 presidential election.

The group named Austin the 93rd most liberal city in the land, just slightly bluer on the electoral map than Virginia Beach and Salt Lake City.

Dallas was 32nd, two slots more liberal than Madison, Wis.

Does this mean I have to start frosting my hair, matching my bag to my shoes and getting my news from Fox?

Uh-oh part two: redoing the math

When you combine this news from NYT with yesterday's piece from the Guardian, you almost get the idea that there's some sort of climate change going on:

Some scientists who question whether human-caused global warming poses a threat have long pointed to records that showed the atmosphere's lowest layer, the troposphere, had not warmed over the last two decades and had cooled in the tropics.

Now two independent studies have found errors in the complicated calculations used to generate the old temperature records...

A third study shows that when the errors are taken into account, the troposphere actually got warmer. Moreover, that warming trend largely agrees with the warmer surface temperatures that have been recorded and conforms to predictions in recent computer models.

The three papers were published yesterday in the online edition of the journal Science.

Bush has a long record of donwplaying global warming. Can we at least "teach the controversy" on this one?

Uh-oh

I saw this at the Guardian yesterday:

A vast expanse of western Sibera is undergoing an unprecedented thaw that could dramatically increase the rate of global warming, climate scientists warn today.

Researchers who have recently returned from the region found that an area of permafrost spanning a million square kilometres - the size of France and Germany combined - has started to melt for the first time since it formed 11,000 years ago at the end of the last ice age.

The area, which covers the entire sub-Arctic region of western Siberia, is the world's largest frozen peat bog and scientists fear that as it thaws, it will release billions of tonnes of methane, a greenhouse gas 20 times more potent than carbon dioxide, into the atmosphere.

It is a scenario climate scientists have feared since first identifying "tipping points" - delicate thresholds where a slight rise in the Earth's temperature can cause a dramatic change in the environment that itself triggers a far greater increase in global temperatures.

I don't like it when climatologists use the phrase "tipping point." It makes me nervous. Maybe there should be a scientist camped out in Crawford, too.

Return of the redneck

We must've had some hellacious lightning yesterday morning. When we got home from a friend's house in a nearby burg, our computer and surge strip were fried, along with (we later discovered) a thermostat and the timer and heating element on our seldom-used clothes dryer.

So I've been busy and adrift from information. Time to catch up.

Star Wars, pantsed

A little change of tone this evening: puerile humor. You know, the best kind.

Protesting mom put on arrest notice

Snagged this from Cookie. Cindy Sheehan, a bereaved mother of an Army mechanic killed in Iraq, has been protesting outside Bush's ranch in Crawford. She told a Kos diarist today that she's been put on notice that come Thursday, she'll be considered a threat to national security and arrested.

So now, in addition to library patrons, Greenpeace, and ACLU members, we file bereaved military parents under "national security threat?" In that case, why don't we stop making more of them?

Doctored research, doctored stock trades

David Heath and Luke Timmerman of the Seattle Times report on Wall Street's drug-research payola and the doctors who play along:

Doctors testing new drugs are sworn to keep their research secret until drug companies announce the final results. But elite Wall Street firms— looking to make quick profits— have found a way to harvest these secrets:

They pay doctors to divulge the details early.

A Seattle Times investigation found at least 26 cases in which doctors have leaked confidential and critical details of their ongoing drug research to Wall Street firms.

The practice involves doctors at top research universities from UCLA to the University of Pennsylvania, and powerful financial firms including Citigroup Smith Barney, UBS and Wachovia Securities.

In 24 of the 26 cases, the firms issued reports to select clients with detailed information obtained from doctors involved in confidential studies. The reports advised clients whether to buy or sell a drug stock.

Trading stock based on secret information bought from medical researchers is illegal, say legal experts who were told of The Times' findings.

"That's a good way to go to jail," said lawyer Thomas Newkirk, former associate director of enforcement at the Securities and Exchange Commission (SEC).

Of course, there's more. Apparently the SEC has been in the dark about this. Which is too bad, because this payola can derail the drug-development process. Nice.

Easter Beagle has landed

Her crate is actually 3'x3', although the photo makes it looked cramped.

Because two juvenile dogs, two small boys and nine fish just were not enough, we now have Easter Beagle, who arrived day before yesterday. She is a dwarf bunny, about a year old, and very tame. She was a little nervous about the move at first but yesterday evening she was eating out of my hand. When the weather cools off, she'll move from the screened porch into a rabbit tractor in the veggie garden to begin the weed-and-feed job she's taking over from the chickens. The boys adore her.

And the dogs? Well, she's used to dogs, having had one as a playmate at her previous home. When Dogzilla strode up to investigate, Easter Beagle unnerved her by hopping up to investigate right back. And Perrito just wants to eat the bunny's timothy hay. I'm not sure he even realizes there's a rabbit sleeping three feet away from him.

Take cover! It's the Bookmobile!

We celebrated my dad's birthday yesterday with too much food and a trip to a certain mall-sized sporting goods emporium that he and Rocketboy wanted to visit.

It was crowded because of the tax-free weekend, full of taxidermied animals and fish ponds that held Hurricanehead rapt, and featured a kids' shooting gallery that sucked Rocketboy and his grandpa in like a whirlpool. I'd like to go back some time to browse the dog-gear section and to answer my big question: What is a gun library?

I'd had every intention of checking it out, but time and the crowds prevented it. Hombre and I were left to ponder the possibilities, with our local book library as our frame of reference.

Do they actually let you check guns out or are they reference guns, only for use in the building? Rocketboy would love to explore the children's section, complete with picture guns, easy shooters, and board guns for the babies. Storytime might be louder than usual.

Hombre's more of a guns-on-tape guy, but I might like to brush up on my guns en espanol skills. And although I don't read Braille I like to look over the guns for the blind section to see what titles are there. Hombre imagines a most comprehensive magazine section.

Remember, patrons, that anything you check out may be subject to scrutiny by federal agents. And if the thing goes off as you're heading out the door, it's okay. Just keep going.

Happy dance!

Dance of the Mind is back up. Actually, she's been back for a while now, and I am so glad.

Is that ID valid?

Here'’s something else I don'’t understand about the logic (I'’m feeling charitable) behind "“intelligent design."” How can it be that ID proponents hold invalid the best-supported theory in modern science for lack of "“empirical proof,"” yet they replace it with a completely unsubstantiated creation myth? If IDers applied the same show-me rigor to their analysis of religion that they do to science, they would all be atheists.

Also, once the ID folks knock off biology, can chemistry be far behind?

technorati tag: intelligent design

Fake ID

I've snarked recently to Evil Mommy that Bush's win of a second term disproves "intelligent design" flat out. Theology prof and former veterinarian Lisa Fullam asks, "What about unintelligent design?"

Horses are ... badly put together: They ferment their food in a large, blind-ended cecum after the small intestine. Unlike rabbits, they don't recycle their feces -- they're just inefficient. Moreover, those big sections of hind gut are a frequent location for gut blockages and twists that, absent prompt veterinary intervention, lead to slow and excruciating death for the poor horse. The psalmist writes: "God takes no delight in horses' power." Clearly, if God works in creation according to the simplistic schemes of the intelligent design folks, God not only doesn't delight in horses, but seems positively to have it in for them.

This also casts doubt on the theory that God is a 10-year old girl. But I digress.


technorati tag: intelligent design


Knit, finally

I've been talking big about this for a while now. Here's the first actual piece of clothing I've done (as opposed to accessories). This is from the free shell pattern that used to be up at Chicknits. [I found it again, here.] It was easy to modify the pattern to fit my yarn and gauge; I also reworked the neckline and shoulders to match a top I own that I like. I think it turned out okay:

Now I'm knitting a small wrap to go with it for when the weather cools off. It feels odd to be preparing for fall and winter when it's 100 degrees and 80% humidity outside, but it's a hopeful, defiant kind of odd. Also, dorky.

The butt-scarf that failed

I got a bunch of Paton's Katrina yarn on clearance because it's both shiny and sproingy, and it was cheap. Yes, I knit with cheap yarns. I'm a novice, I'm naturally frugal and I don't have time to drive to the miles-away fancy yarn store or browse online for luxe yarns. Maybe someday, after the training wheels come off my knitting needles. In the meantime, I did this:

It's a neck scarf, and I'm reasonably pleased with it, except that it was actually supposed to be a hip scarf for my bellydance class. We all wear some sort of scarf tied over our regular clothes. Most of them are fringed, but the more devoted dancers wear hip scarves loaded with coins and metal beads, the better to jingle. So I had butt-scarf envy and wanted to DIY.

I got a couple of yards of glass-bead tape with red and golden-yellow dangling beads and I was going to thread it through the scarf lengthwise to make jingly, overlapping rows. Unfortunately, the sproing in the yarn became sag under the weight of the beads, and I can't use any more of that. So neck scarf it is.

Asked and answered

Julee has a son who uses drive time as question time, too. Henry's inquiries are priceless, the kinds of things asked in innocence that would cause me to drive off the road.

I've had to ask Rocketboy to tone down the drive-time inquisition so I can focus on piloting the van. And, mercifully, he was with Hombre when he asked the thorniest question of all as they drove past the adult superstore on the interstate:

"Daddy, what does 'X-X-X' mean?"

If it had been me, I would've stammered and stumbled and wondered what to tell him about adults and their appetites that wouldn't scar him for life or invite more detailed questions. But Hombre misses no beats:

"Thirty," he said, and turned it into a lesson on Roman numerals.

Breath-holding strongly discouraged

Yeah, I said I would post some knitting pics. Today was not the day for it. Tomorrow?

Talk on

Cool idea for boosting women's presence in the media: this fall, SheSource will start linking newspeople to female experts for interviews, talk shows, etc. I'm pleased to see that Zainab Salbi is featured on their site; she's the head of Women for Women International, the group that does my sponsorship sister's job and rights training in Rwanda. Via So What Can I Do?