Moving the Blog

I've been trying out Typepad for about a week now, and I've decided to start blogging from there. There may be a few back-and-forth's while I sort things out--blogging both here and there--until I get it completely figured out, but so far I really like what it can do. You can check it out HERE.

Cheers!

I'm Behind

Has it really been five days since my last blog? Well, exciting things going on--none of which are a J.O.B.--but I just haven't been home much. So to catch up, I'm just going to start listing things. Boring, perhaps, but it will get the job done.

After a big gust of wind, last Thursday, our cable went out--both television and internet. So, with nothing for either of us to stare at, we headed out, ostensibly to run errands. We ended up in Santa Cruz. I did not realize how close it is! And it was such a beautiful day, sunny and clear, crisp without being too cold, it was the perfect day for "a drive."

We had dinner at my favorite, The Saturn Cafe, or it would be if they hadn't gotten rid of their hummus and their Mediterranean plate *hmph*. So I punted and had a fake chicken Santa Fe salad with cilantro-lime dressing that was so damn good, I ate the whole effing thing.

It had gotten dark by the time we finished, and we had walked down from Bookshop Santa Cruz, which was a nice walk, perhaps 1/2 a mile (?), (and where I got a used copy of Terry Goodkind's Wizard's First Rule), but the homeless had come out. In droves. Now I'm from L.A., and I'm used to homeless people. Hell, I've even been homeless myself (with car), and I've helped out many, many homeless with money and/or food, but these were packs of homeless; obnoxious, in-your-face homeless, who seemed to feel that they had a right to demand money from us and we were expected to noblesse oblige. I don't like demands, from anyone, so we headed straight to the car and ignored the packs.

Yesterday saw us in Morgan Hill, which is near Gilroy, the garlic capital of the world, where there is a big-ass Big and Nasty bookstore. I picked up a copy of my last, unread, Cliff Janeway bookman novel, The Bookwoman's Last Fling.

The Salvation Army just had a grand opening for their store in the same mall, and we perused it for some time. They had a large book selection and I came away with Patricia Cornwell's Book of the Dead, and Peter Straub's The Throat, both for $3- each. Such a deal for hardback.

I also looked at their sofa selections as we seriously need a loveseat in our living room. It's so...bare. Just a reclining chair and a modest, leather, modular reclining chair my FIL picked up at a yard sale. It's comfy, though.

I felt the S.A.'s prices on furniture we too high, but being as they were in the oh-so-expensive Morgan Hill, I suppose they were about right.

I did see the perfect love seat at a Goodwill in Santa Cruz, but how the hell would we have gotten it home?

So, anyway, we were going to go to the movies last night and see Ricky Gervais in Ghost Town, but we balked at the $9- admission cost. Granted, it's still cheaper than LA or OC, but still. And I love Ricky Gervais. We are going to try to make a matinée today. The only matinee showing on Sunday is at 2:00pm. We'll never make it.

Did I mention my husband's financial aid check arrived on Friday? Well, it did. We can pay our rent, some bills, buy Julie some books and salad, and buy my husband his books for class! Only six weeks late!! (That last bit is sarcasm in case you missed it. This University can't find it's own ass with two hands and a flashlight. Seriously.)

Friday night a classmate of my husband's took us out to dinner. Why? My husband was teasing him about "taking his job," because his classmate got the science position at the local high school that my husband wanted. Hey, the guy has four son's he has to pay child support on, I guess I don't hold it against him too much. ;-) But seriously, the federal police (who have jurisdiction here along with the local police, the military police, and the campus police--really), towed his car a few weeks ago because he hadn't registered it in California (he's from Virginia), called R. to get a ride home, so that's what he was really thanking him for.

He took us to an English-style pub, despite the English not being known for their food preparation prowess, it was an OK meal but good company. We then put some gas in his tank in thanks for picking us up and dropping us back at home.

I've been looking at grad schools--I'm not sure if I really want to go or not, but I'm just looking around. I've looked in Maine, Wisconsin, Virginia, Oregon, Washington, and California. So far. I'm still just looking. I don't know if I want an MA in English: the BA I have in English doesn't seem to be worth a snot, even though it was fun getting it (mostly).

I'm trying out Typepad for the next week or so, and if I like it, I'm going to be moving my blog over there. It's more scalable and functional, and although I like the ease of use and the familiarity of blogger, I cannot change the template without losing all my links, and that sucks. It's only $4.95 per month at Typepade, and I got it for 10% off for signing up and not finishing the sign-up process. *hint*

I did get a call from a temp agency late Friday so I'll call them first thing tomorrow and see what they've got.

That's it for now.

The Thrill is Gone

OK, maybe there was never a thrill, but the last couple of days I've not felt that well. On Monday some expected money arrived (finally), and it found my husband and I running errands. R. dropped me off at Target while he took my car to get the oil changed. While I was in the store, I found my energy lagging and lagging. It wasn't a blood glucose crash because I had none of the other symptoms (shaking, pounding heart, sweating, dizziness, loopiness). By the time he joined me to check out, I really needed to sit down. And pee. So he checked out while I went to use the ladies room. My urine was very dark--unusual. As I was washing my hands, I looked in the mirror and I looked, well, red.

I left the bathroom to meet up with my husband and I asked him, "Do I look OK?"
He said "you look tired."
I said, "Do I look red"?
"Yes," he said. "You look red."

We went out to the car and I mentioned the dark urine and did he think it was a sign of dehydration. He said that's what they'd told him when he was in the Army Reserves. He then asked me if I would like some water and I said I would.

He ran back inside and bought me a bottle of water. I drank most of it in about fifteen minutes, and I started feeling much better.

I've never been dehydrated before, at least to that extent, and it was a weird experience. One that I can say I was not fond of, at all.

And the weirdest part is that I was drinking a Schnuttbucks black iced tea at the time. Maybe too much caffeine? I don't know. So I have taken heed.

Yesterday found me in fairly good spirits, but my feet were killing. I was out of the prescription I take for the neuropathy, and it had dramatically escalated. When I got home I rubbed hot schmutz (ben gay) on my feet and legs, and put them in my Dr. Scholl's Foot Spa, and that helped a lot. When I went to bed, I took two (pills, not foot spas), to give the drugs a boost. My feet feel better today, although not 100%. My experience when I ran out last time has been that it takes two to three days for the medication to really kick in.

I was tired last night. I mean, really, really tired. Why? I do not know. I got into bed at 7pm and tried to read. That lasted about 30 minutes, then I turned out the light, closed my eyes, and next thing I know, it was time to get up. I woke up about 6:30am, decided I didn't want to leap out of bed, and so I laid there for a while, just reveling in the warmth and snuggliness factor of the blanket and bed.

Then Pascal started meowing outside the bedroom window. Which is outside our fenced backyard. Which meant he'd been out a good part of the night. *+&%$@* Evidently he snuck out sometime late last night when my husband went into the backyard on some unknown errand. I'm telling you, Super Sleuth. Then he had the nerve to beg me to let him out again when I finally got up at 7am.

He loves going out so much, and I've been, up to today, able to monitor his activities, i.e., not let him out at night. He generally wants out in the morning, and I have no problem with that, so this is our uneasy truce. Charley, on the other hand, cannot get over the fence. TG.

I still feel a little peek-ed today, and feel like I could sleep more. It could be ennui, it could be something else, but I feel run down.

Bleh.

And if you don't have a foot spa, I recommend running out to Walgreen's and dropping $30- on one--totally worth it. I often use it without the water. On my feet. ;-)

Even in Baghdad

Obesity rises as populace is forced inside by war

By Tina Susman
Los Angeles Times
Monterey County Herald

BAGHDAD — In a land where just staying alive is a challenge, Haider Kareem Said's problem might seem trivial. He's overweight.

But that isn't a mere annoyance or something Said can fix with diet and exercise — he's 5-foot-4 and weighs 495 pounds. So in August, Said had a band surgically strapped around his stomach, an operation relatively new to Iraq that is proving to be a godsend for people facing an unusual consequence of the war: obesity.

For most of the past five years, sectarian violence has drastically altered Iraqis' lifestyles. Most retreated to the safety of their homes and became increasingly sedentary. To go out was to risk being kidnapped, killed by a bomb or caught up in the other violence plaguing Iraq. Curfews hindered people who tried to remain active.

Said, 25, had a photographic supply shop but closed it for three years because of security concerns.

"I stayed home and couldn't do anything. All I did was play PlayStation and eat," Said said while awaiting his surgery in Baghdad's St. Raphael Hospital.

The ankle-length brown gown he wore could not hide his heft. Fat rolled around his ankles, and his rounded feet barely fit into his slip-on sandals. His face, soft and absent of contours and lines, made him appear younger than his years. "When I worked, my weight was a lot less, but those three years really had an impact," Said said, estimating his weight gain in that time at about 200 pounds.

Statistics on obesity in Iraq are difficult to come by, but a World Health Organization survey in 2006 found that 26 percent of men and 38 percent of women ages 25 to 65 were obese, with a body mass index of 30 or higher. Although no direct comparisons are available, about 33 percent of American men and 35 percent of American women were considered obese in a 2005-06 study done by the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention's National Center for Health Statistics.

Said's BMI is 83, the highest seen by Dr. Ramiz S. Mukhtar, the only surgeon in Iraq who performs gastric band surgery.

Mukhtar would not discuss the reason for Iraqis' growing weight problem beyond saying that they eat too much unhealthful food and don't move around enough.

But Said's uncle, Jabar Said, agreed that the war had made many Iraqis fatter, himself included.

"People are unemployed. They're sitting at home. Sometimes they're depressed and that makes them eat more. Obviously, the security has had a direct influence on the activities of people," he said, his round belly pressing against the fabric of his white dishdasha. "I've been on a diet for the past two years. I've only eaten one meal a day, but I didn't lose anything because I don't move a lot."

Now that the violence has decreased, he hopes to shed the roughly 65 pounds he's gained.

The uncle spoke in the Said family home in east Baghdad the day after his nephew's surgery. Friends and relatives had gathered to welcome home the younger Said, who had arrived a few hours earlier.

A plasma TV was on one wall of the long, narrow living room. At the opposite end was another television. They are symbols of the Saids' comfortable middle-class life and of the unhealthy habits adopted by many Iraqis during the war.

The fall of Saddam Hussein didn't just usher in chaos and violence — it also introduced satellite television to Iraqis. Suddenly, with scores of channels to watch, even people who weren't forced to stay inside often did.

Ironically, TV might have saved Said.

About a year ago, he was channel surfing and stumbled on "Beauty Clinic," a show on Lebanon's Future TV that focuses on cosmetic surgery. It featured a segment on gastric banding.

"I saw the before-and-after results, and I was amazed, so I decided to do it," he said. He began planning a trip to Lebanon to find a doctor. Then a friend told him that Mukhtar could perform the operation, which, in simple terms, drastically shrinks the stomach by strapping a band around it.

Once the band is in place, the amount of food patients can consume is limited.

For Said, finding a Baghdad surgeon meant avoiding the humiliation of traveling in public.

"I was embarrassed to be so fat," he said. "When I walk down the street, everyone looks at me. It's as if I were Saddam Hussein, the way everyone stares."

Said said that even as a child he had a weight problem, something he attributes to loving food and hating exercise.

The surgery took about 45 minutes, Mukhtar said. He has performed about 150 of the operations in the past 2½ years, he said. He would have done more if the price tag of about $4,000 wasn't so steep for most Iraqis.

For Said, the next step is learning to eat tiny portions totaling about 2,500 calories a day, a fraction of what he used to consume. That means giving up the delicious mounds of chicken, beef, sheep's head and fish, along with honey-soaked sweets, that his mother used to make for him.

He acknowledged being worried that when his appetite returns, he will have problems adjusting to his stomach's limited capacity. And he said he has no intention of starting to exercise.

"I'm not into sports," he said with a laugh when asked whether he planned to change his lifestyle. "If I wanted to exercise, I wouldn't have had to do this operation."

Mukhtar disagreed. Most of his patients take up exercise when they reach their ideal weights, once they see how good they look, he said.

"You'll see," he said knowingly. "I know them very well."

Times staff writer Saad Khalaf contributed to this report.

I Just Want To Go On Record

and say how very tired of, and how much I dislike, the template for my blog. I'd really like to change it, but last time I did that, I wiped out every. single. one. of. my. links. And it totally sucked.

I'm tired of the color, I'm tired of its narrowness, I'm not tired of the tree--I still like the tree, but I'm so not happy with it.

I'm thinking of transitioning it--well, I've been thinking about it for a while, now--to something more scalable, but that will require $$$. Which isn't pouring out of my arse just at the moment and the way the economy is going? I'm not feeling optimistic.

So. I just want to go on record as saying, yes, I hate it.

Thanks for listening.

Pascal, Super Sleuth

So I'm sitting here at the 'puter, in front of the window, working on the flier for my biz so I can go to Kinko's and make copies (and save on HP printer ink), when I look up and see a little black and white kitty slink by. Not just any b/w kitty, MY kitty, Pascal. Who has apparently gotten out of our "cat-proof" backyard. *snort*

I run out and retrieve him, and he let's me. I put him back in the yard, and I stand in the doorway and watch him. He sits between rose bushes, casually smelling the leaves, and looking at nothing in particular.

I come inside and continue watching him through the living room window into the backyard. He waits--he sits in the same "casual" position. For about two minutes. Then he leaps the fence, stays poised on top for a moment as I shout "Pascal"!, and then he jumps down into the "outside world."

I exit the yard gate, get within one foot of him, and he tears away uphill as fast as he can run: I'll never catch him. I just saw him stroll by again. I guess he'll come home when he's ready. Now what?

Do I continue to let him outside anymore, or not? I do not know. I need to weigh the balance for his need to be outside (and happy), and his (and my) need for his safety.

Transitioned to Days

I'm on day shift. At last. I've been going to bed between 7 and 9pm, and up between 4:30am and 6:30am.

How did I do this, you ask? Thursday I woke up late, really, really late, I mean, the sun was down. So I just stayed up, through Friday, when I passed out, almost literally, around 5pm. I woke up, on my own, at 4:30 in the morning. The next night, I was out at 7pm, up at 6:30am, and last night, out about 9pm, up at 5:30. With no alarm clock.

I've discovered my body likes about 9 hours of sleep. (I thought it might be more and am relived it's not). I've always needed a lot of sleep, and I envy those who, like my father-in-law, only need about 5 hours. But I cannot stay awake if I do not have enough sleep. I've fallen asleep on many, many day jobs, usually between 10am and 11am; for some reason, that time of day I am always sleepy. Fortunately I've never been fired for sleeping on the job--it really was never on purpose.

So I'm up early and to bed early. I get to watch the sun come up, listen to the quiet, have the computer to myself, morning news, do some chores, more TV, whatever I like. I like having that time to myself (my husband is asleep).

It wasn't easy to do, but I needed to do it quickly, and staying up nearly 24-hours, as opposed to pushing my sleep time up two hours every day, so it is done.

I'm ready to work the day shift.

Days of Destruction

I've been watching the hurricane coverage off and on the last couple of days on CNN--in a combination horrific, schadenfreudic, curious, keepin-an-eye-on-the-governmental-response fascination, particularly as someone who just evacuated (voluntarily), twice, herself in response to a natural disaster in the last few months.

No doubt it is a gianormous storm, nearly the size of Texas itself. I saw the Governor of Texas announce on television, that those who stayed to "weather out the storm. . .would die." That would be more than enough for me to get the hell out--with pets. I do not understand the mindset of those who want to stay behind--and I'm sorry, poverty is not a good enough reason. I borrowed money to get both me and my two cats out of harms way in June when fires were advancing on our community. An evacuation order had not been called for my area, specifically, but forest fires are difficult to predict, and since I needed to be 100 miles away for several days, I stayed in a hotel. With two cats and a box turtle. If I had to, I would have stayed in my car.

And something that really irritates me: those who stay behind put the lives of first responders on the line, and I really resent that. Resources will be spread extremely thin both during and post-hurricane, and to foolishly stay behind and then require services is, IMO, selfish and thoughtless.

Additionally, my understanding is that buses and shelters were made available for those who were financially unable to evacuate, including places for pets. Of course, there are exceptions to every rule, and I'm sure some people stayed simply because they had no other choice due to some circumstance beyond their control. What I'm specifically thinking of are those people who intentionally decided to stay simply due to hubris or plain foolishness. I do not understand that behavior. When fire encroached on our home, in a town with only one road in or out, we got the hell out. It just really makes me angry.

The second disaster in the last 24-hours was a Metrolink commuter train collision with a freight train in Chatsworth, Ca. Chatsworth is in "the Valley," made famous in the song by Frank Zappa in the 80s, and where I went to high school and spent most of my 20s and 30s. (Like, Ohmygod!!) As a former Angeleno, I've taken Metrolink, and the subway, numerous times, especially when I was attending USC. And I've been on the Metrolink line that crashed yesterday. I can't imagine how this happened. The trains run on a schedule, and in my experience the Metrolink trains were nearly always on time, and therefore that Metrolink should have had precedence for that piece of track at that time. There had to be an error in switching somewhere. I am stunned at the amount of lives lost and number injured. My thoughts and prayers go out to the victims and their families.

And lastly, and this is so ridiculous but I have to talk about it, I can't get that damn Glenn Campbell song, "Galveston," out of my mind. It keeps repeating over and over in my head, with one caveat: My brain has somehow bastardized the lyrics so what I keep hearing over and over in my head is, "I was twenty-one, when I left Albertson's."

Albertson's is a grocery store chain in California that was bought out by Save-Mart last year. Isn't that ridiculous? It's not even part of the ding dang lyrics. I'm lucky that the only effect Hurricane Ike will have on me is the song...but still...it keeps playing over and over. LOL Here's a video of Glenn Campbell singing "Galveston." Note the fabulous 70s "drylook" haircut.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XiY1NQwEbCE

Wishing nothing but the best for all those affected by the storm.

Magellan Maestro 3225 Portable Car GPS

Hey, if anyone is interested in buying my portable GPS system that I got in June as a graduation gift, it is for sale. Shoot me an e-mail and I can direct you to its listing on e-bay. It's in nearly new condition, and the document package with CD has never been opened. It may even be under warranty. $99 + shipping.

Let me know.

Thanks,

Jules

For more info: www.magellangps.com

The Vivanno

At Starbucks. It's chocolate, banana, and protein powder, I'm not sure if there's coffee in there or not, but I had my second one yesterday and damn, they're good.

I hadn't been to a Starbucks in a while, and I love me some Starbucks, and after hitting Mall-Wart yesterday for some printer ink so I could print some fliers, then the grocery store for milk and one of the Tuscan Dulcinea cantaloupes on sale, I figured the milk could sit in the car for 30 minutes or so without any serious damage while I pampered myself with a coffee and a newspaper--one of my favorite things to do to unwind.

As I looked at the menu, I remembered how much I had enjoyed the Vivanno the last time I'd had one some time in July or August, so I ordered it. I handed over my debit card after quickly calculating in my mind how much I had left on there and I had more than enough. . .but the muther didn't go through. She tried three times. I had about a dollar in change in my wallet and no more at home, so I simply excused myself, apologized, and headed for the door.

I was called back by the Barrista who told me, "Here, I already made it. Just go ahead and take it." I was stunned. I apologized again and told him I'd come back another time and pay him for it and he just told me "don't worry about it."

I was too embarrassed to sit outside and read, so I brought it home. Well, the cup made it home, but I had sucked it all down by the time I got home.

I'm not a huge banana lover. I like banana bread or muffins, and I like a banana on cereal, but I can really take or leave them. They also tend to give me heartburn. My mother was allergic to bananas, so I'm not surprised to have some sensitivity to them.

But the Vivanno? With chocolate? Sweet G*d, it's fabulous. Not only that, but with 20g of protein, that was lunch yesterday. It's like a shake that's good for you! I am totally on board with that.

Of course, now that I've sung its praises, they'll immediately withdraw it from their menu. ;-)

Of course, I couldn't help but notice that the pumpkin spice latte's are back. *roll eyes*

I said I loved Starbucks. (Truthfully, I love most any coffee / lounging / bar. Place.)