tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15426457450204726392024-03-13T00:24:29.508-07:00Chimaera Contemplations<b>Aquatic Ecologist, Bright, Atheist, Skeptic, Freethinker, Humanist, Mild Misanthrope, Pastafarian, Musician...Ok, Musician is debatable</b><p><img src="http://www.blogblog.com/scribe/divider.gif" width="600" height="3"></p>Chimera: A fire breathing Greek monster that is part lion, part goat and part serpent;
A wild and unrealistic dream or idea; An organism that contains two or more genetically different tissues;
A deep sea cartilaginous relative of the shark of the family ChimaeridaeLauriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00682513110485580000noreply@blogger.comBlogger163125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1542645745020472639.post-9230035988921459712016-08-10T22:17:00.000-07:002016-08-10T22:17:53.419-07:00Scat!Far too much has changed in my life since I last posted to explain. Nutshell and not in order: Bill and I got a divorce, Twister the one-eyed-wonder horse died at the ripe old age of 31, my son William got married to a wonderful woman, I took up hammock camping, I moved - thrice - and now own a cute, slightly eclectic blue and purple house in Placerville (I opened the front door and my friend M laughed and said, "What's with the Willy Wonka door?"), I bought a Jeep, I had a cancer scare and major surgery (no cancer - only pre- cancer), I learned to ride a motorcycle (not as easy as I expected), I stopped drinking - Hahahahahaha NOT! Where was I? Right.<br>
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And now Bob and I are buying a 26 foot Nonsuch catboat named...Scat. Oh, wait. Did I mention Bob?
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKWxrXp5DnFknPtP6uxMLNfFCayEeEZyAugM3MdfuO4nP25eixrCk-R8EP1OuG0N-IKxp1UxO818_T_lHrYRTl62WkvyjjqiEJqu5TM8F7CGLuMbRCQMCcqKOfehiIltbQdGw1Fxt7gFYL/s1600/IMG_20160730_135603604_HDR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKWxrXp5DnFknPtP6uxMLNfFCayEeEZyAugM3MdfuO4nP25eixrCk-R8EP1OuG0N-IKxp1UxO818_T_lHrYRTl62WkvyjjqiEJqu5TM8F7CGLuMbRCQMCcqKOfehiIltbQdGw1Fxt7gFYL/s320/IMG_20160730_135603604_HDR.jpg" width="320" height="180" /></a></div>Lauriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00682513110485580000noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1542645745020472639.post-68828655513549949002012-01-08T19:27:00.000-08:002012-01-08T19:39:49.487-08:00This blog is not dead!It's just restin'Lauriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00682513110485580000noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1542645745020472639.post-9284725040799210862010-06-20T08:39:00.000-07:002010-06-20T09:19:17.867-07:0015 Book memeList 15 books you’ve read that will always stick with you. The first 15 you can think of in 15 minutes. I saw this meme last year on <a href="http://iambilly.wordpress.com/2009/08/02/15-book-meme/">Billy the Atheist</a>. Since it took me well over 6 months, I don't think I followed the instructions very well...<br /><br /><i>The Tolkien Trilogy</i> - I liked The Hobbit, so I went on to read the trilogy when I was nine. I’ve since read the trilogy about 4 more times. So far.<div><br /><i>The Selfish Gene</i>, Richard Dawkins – it blew my mind when I read it in about 1986.</div><div><br /><i>The Ancestor’s Tale</i>, Richard Dawkins - How we are all related to every other living thing on the planet. It was fascinating.</div><div><br /><i>The Fire Cat</i>, Esther Averill – I read it over and over to kids I babysat, and then to my son. </div><div><br /><i>Green Eggs and Ham</i>, Dr. Seuss – I read it to my son so often that at one time, I could recite almost the entire book from memory.</div><div><br /><i>Black Beauty</i>, Anna Sewell – Anna Sewell was a Victorian era animal welfare activist who, with this book, single-handedly managed to get "check-reining" abolished. Check-reining kept a horse's head fashionably, but painfully, and sometimes cripplingly high. Anna did not live to see this occur.</div><div><br /><i>Watchers</i>, <i>Lightning</i>, <i>Midnight</i> - For a while, every Dean Koontz book I could get my hands on. I had to stop reading them, though. I couldn’t take it anymore. His writing is so descriptive, it felt too real.</div><div><br /><i>The Robot Series, and Foundation Series</i>, Isaac Asimov - That R. Daneel Olivaw sure got around.</div><div><br /><i>The Complete Sherlock Holmes Treasury</i>, Arthur Conan Doyle</div><div><br /><i>The Dragonriders of Pern Series</i>, Ann McCaffrey – I’m pretty sure <i>Avatar</i> poached the “telepathic link to your dragon” idea from this series.</div><div><br /><i>The Hornblower series</i>, C.S. Forester - Only the best Naval series ever written...</div><div><br /><i>The Hunt for Red October</i> – started me off on two tangents. One – reading every Tom Clancy book I could get my hands on, and two – finding every book I could on submarines. </div><div><br /><i>Into Thin Air</i>, John Krakauer - I had to read this for a class in business school, and I found it gripping.</div><div><br /><i>The Last Herald-Mage series</i> - Telepathic "horses" and magic. Need I say more?</div><div><br /><i>The Incredible Journey</i>, Sheila Burnford - One of the best animal stories ever written. It even says so on the cover!<br /><br /><i>James and the Giant Peach</i>. Roald Dahl is just very odd. Apparently C.S. Forester encouraged him to start writing...</div><div><br /><i>Lad: A Dog</i>, Albert Payson Terhune - The reason I got a collie as soon as I moved out on my own, as I <a href="http://ichthyologistbright.blogspot.com/2008/06/line-breeding.html" target="_blank">explained in this post</a>.</div><div><br /><i>The Railway Children</i>, Edith Nesbit - Just a wonderful story.</div><br /><i>The Count of Monte Cristo</i>, Alexandre Dumas - I could include <i>The Three Musketeers</i> and <i>The Man in the Iron Mask</i> here.<div><br /><i>Island of the Blue Dolphins</i>, Scott O'Dell - Inspired by a true story of a woman stranded alone from 1835 to 1853 on San Nicolas Island off the coast of Southern California. I read it over and over.</div><div><br /><div><i>Swallows and Amazons</i>, Arthur Ransom – A tale of children, sailboats and adventure on the high seas. Well, the Lake District, anyway. BETTER DROWNED THAN DUFFERS IF NOT DUFFERS WONT DROWN.</div><div><br /><i>Traveller</i>, Richard Adams – The Civil War told from the point of view of General Lee's horse. You didn't think I would only have one horse book on the list, did you?<br /><br /><i>The Golden Treasury of Poetry</i> – my favorite – The Tale of Custard the Dragon.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Belinda lived in a little white house</div><div style="text-align: center;">With a little black kitten and a little grey mouse</div><div style="text-align: center;">And a little yellow dog and a little red wagon</div><div style="text-align: center;">And a realio trulio little pet dragon.</div><br /><i>A Lion Called Christian</i> – after reading <i>Born Free</i>, <i>Living Free</i>, and <i>Forever Free</i>, I combed the library for other books about lions and found <i>A Lion Called Christian</i>. It’s an amazing story about two guys who lived above a trendy furniture shop in London back in the '60s who saw a lion cub at Harrods and bought him on the spur of the moment (yes, you could buy absolutely anything there, at least back then). The lion lived in their shop, and eventually got so large, they didn’t know what to do with him. One day, amazingly enough, the two actors who played Joy and George Adamson from the film Born Free, Virginia McKenna and Bill Travers, walked in (the book said it was coincidental, but I’m sure someone told them, “Hey, you should go to this furniture shop! They have a lion there!). The two guys ended up taking Christian to George Adamson in Africa and introducing a 4<sup>th</sup> generation captive-born lion to the wild. This is what happened when they went back to Africa a year later:</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre; font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;font-size:12px;"><object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/zVNTdWbVBgc&hl=en_US&fs=1&"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/zVNTdWbVBgc&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object></span><br />I only just recently found that video and am in floods of tears every time I watch it…<br /><br />I think that's a few more than 15 books... I looked at my bookshelf. I could have listed 50 more.</div></div>Lauriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00682513110485580000noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1542645745020472639.post-54039343269232868942010-06-09T20:09:00.001-07:002010-06-09T22:21:23.067-07:00Scenes from TruckeeNot much of a post. Just a series of photos from the Truckee area.<br /><br />The Truckee River is the only outlet to Lake Tahoe. Although Lake Tahoe is the second deepest lake in the United States, the dam at the lake outlet can raise the lake elevation six feet. This may not sound like a lot, but as the lake has a surface area of 191 square miles, this adds up to quite a bit of water. Here is a view from the dam looking toward the lake:<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi892wQ2DOk0ETjIyDHGw1NIpaKNLtUjtHA5zG2NwNNRmwymRMbtJ8QJ7jRUQkqKmdBTx7XfQziSX9xIoAM9eEiopMgksC6hAwN_7r5p4gh3MDVHEKOEMEYNG-LQu-LJjAkYyrlnTqZWk3d/s1600/Goose+habitat.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480987582594113698" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi892wQ2DOk0ETjIyDHGw1NIpaKNLtUjtHA5zG2NwNNRmwymRMbtJ8QJ7jRUQkqKmdBTx7XfQziSX9xIoAM9eEiopMgksC6hAwN_7r5p4gh3MDVHEKOEMEYNG-LQu-LJjAkYyrlnTqZWk3d/s400/Goose+habitat.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />And of the dam itself:<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3VHcXiE3V10T9uToqPz_3F1cCOp4LPZAqLmFJsvxB5Ca9oA4t4sBlODVM4DWNjXaZBqFLFKPzJj_tpdz0zo5_3ZhWei994pP_FcfRnbd5fGaVjP2d_Dn2FMD97kI-CdE8GD4LCImkksPN/s1600/Tahoe+dam+front.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3VHcXiE3V10T9uToqPz_3F1cCOp4LPZAqLmFJsvxB5Ca9oA4t4sBlODVM4DWNjXaZBqFLFKPzJj_tpdz0zo5_3ZhWei994pP_FcfRnbd5fGaVjP2d_Dn2FMD97kI-CdE8GD4LCImkksPN/s400/Tahoe+dam+front.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480987850154649426" /></a>The Truckee River a little further downstream. A little later on in the season, this tranquil scene is completely obliterated by bank-to-bank large blue rafts:<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGT9rMOhTjw56Hc5Mf6RLTQoAcPXMD7bAYnJw37R97RTHX8L9l5yRLgJBgSWT2TO6C9ozV5MXivP_JkGKKkHe30kfaIat-DSjmI8rniJM1FiIJjoMIfedSxEHi7VWqNy54NYXlbQoQYzh1/s1600/More+tranquillity.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480986776272296450" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGT9rMOhTjw56Hc5Mf6RLTQoAcPXMD7bAYnJw37R97RTHX8L9l5yRLgJBgSWT2TO6C9ozV5MXivP_JkGKKkHe30kfaIat-DSjmI8rniJM1FiIJjoMIfedSxEHi7VWqNy54NYXlbQoQYzh1/s400/More+tranquillity.jpg" border="0" /></a>Here are the rafts piled up and waiting to go:<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6kXEJScDhfUiRcRn4MhupoivB3BvcJ0rluozY-QMJSZLZWq-E6MOegoCmV-FxSumBxsfIGGTtjZyhH-Ue7oAE5d2IaR3g19-QLesJCZFm47eUKbj7IFeVfGZolATnvAkCBD_5nZu6iwsP/s1600/Tranquillity+busters.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480985429160851954" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 219px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6kXEJScDhfUiRcRn4MhupoivB3BvcJ0rluozY-QMJSZLZWq-E6MOegoCmV-FxSumBxsfIGGTtjZyhH-Ue7oAE5d2IaR3g19-QLesJCZFm47eUKbj7IFeVfGZolATnvAkCBD_5nZu6iwsP/s400/Tranquillity+busters.jpg" border="0" /></a> Whitewater is somewhat of a misnomer in the section of the Truckee that they go down.<br /><br />Squaw Valley:<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBryc9anEqU35koPJ4Mq1v_rlQiFHq4Vvt5q2gcLw5nfE23wvrL2T-EpsrEQeP2zAr_wQTtgrDTWU6eoggy7BIdgmO84Etla0vBRUiKaZdX9fv1ZIxfpzF2PGYorNUEL3Xpf2OnCX72DqH/s1600/Squaw+Valley.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 256px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBryc9anEqU35koPJ4Mq1v_rlQiFHq4Vvt5q2gcLw5nfE23wvrL2T-EpsrEQeP2zAr_wQTtgrDTWU6eoggy7BIdgmO84Etla0vBRUiKaZdX9fv1ZIxfpzF2PGYorNUEL3Xpf2OnCX72DqH/s400/Squaw+Valley.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480988509668590930" /></a>Right now it's a big wet meadow.<br /><br /><div>Spot the mergansers:<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKHY-WLNhYczKYINV205k8-s4-cgeOJ6tHKuBBYFzGywq-gWRXlCtTglFbeGgOw_jXLdg3_EDrzFDRQJ8cAbMFobH2o7I4TtOyVE_oIVmzWJTxGAdzSpjgvnkBBW4KOU07cE3a-l9Fwzb2/s1600/spot+merganzers.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480984911023894162" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKHY-WLNhYczKYINV205k8-s4-cgeOJ6tHKuBBYFzGywq-gWRXlCtTglFbeGgOw_jXLdg3_EDrzFDRQJ8cAbMFobH2o7I4TtOyVE_oIVmzWJTxGAdzSpjgvnkBBW4KOU07cE3a-l9Fwzb2/s400/spot+merganzers.jpg" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUboiQ_EM8TLgkii293F_TRN7_Pt4Hs8kS5T9qSS87L6x-aoODWl8dHL5787eiIomjS-2dli1s31kYswu8rupGaBYzBk7_LgXiPADMbXdU0QkgW8mAk0dFpC1h6Ovu3GgltaPa-25lBkwf/s1600/Merganzer+coward.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480984687483524802" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 254px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUboiQ_EM8TLgkii293F_TRN7_Pt4Hs8kS5T9qSS87L6x-aoODWl8dHL5787eiIomjS-2dli1s31kYswu8rupGaBYzBk7_LgXiPADMbXdU0QkgW8mAk0dFpC1h6Ovu3GgltaPa-25lBkwf/s400/Merganzer+coward.jpg" border="0" /></a> When he noticed me taking the photos, the male merganser swam and hid behind the log. Typical.</div><div><br /></div><div>The Donner Pass Bridge:<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5BV8hNBJJTAyUm5SMlW-C4DhFP3j0HES_S7SDvfvG4DKfQejIlbv9FzYmQ-gh-uPE6oFGg4Dqu2aQ6szT0M1zP86stiJ90XCGD7sYRMl5vJuF-fPthAYzTDDsYetBDnjEHRThoYUD3DcM/s1600/Bridge.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480981904128693170" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 359px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5BV8hNBJJTAyUm5SMlW-C4DhFP3j0HES_S7SDvfvG4DKfQejIlbv9FzYmQ-gh-uPE6oFGg4Dqu2aQ6szT0M1zP86stiJ90XCGD7sYRMl5vJuF-fPthAYzTDDsYetBDnjEHRThoYUD3DcM/s400/Bridge.jpg" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz85SvFxa3Mb8kSZGdT5cUksNqHmYLQ4sDJcAdFEFArS1WXU3PzbQ7H8HWPgX8G6o7DkluMi-XssyDL0fZe5BjFUMEC2GLZ_T0bEMSbtJevWukKoYExnXSS1x9acgLMa8_1X2uilDJziX0/s1600/Donner+Pass+Bridge.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480980702877632178" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 312px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz85SvFxa3Mb8kSZGdT5cUksNqHmYLQ4sDJcAdFEFArS1WXU3PzbQ7H8HWPgX8G6o7DkluMi-XssyDL0fZe5BjFUMEC2GLZ_T0bEMSbtJevWukKoYExnXSS1x9acgLMa8_1X2uilDJziX0/s400/Donner+Pass+Bridge.jpg" border="0" /></a>Sometimes called Rainbow Bridge. Even though it's grey.<br /><br />Not very good camoflage. Unless they're really Porsches:<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggANT4zBhawRUZlG0XUKlWntArSLEtkaPhIVj-TVs2VblPd7Le0CU5LfVbJnnw-s0_wi_KTvF5pAWkteUYmeEuioLQTbHL6UhywYDNFb7GJYDltLhv_GIkLZzoRQtCe0eTUFflLXbn3eSA/s1600/camoflage.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480979750746340162" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 242px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggANT4zBhawRUZlG0XUKlWntArSLEtkaPhIVj-TVs2VblPd7Le0CU5LfVbJnnw-s0_wi_KTvF5pAWkteUYmeEuioLQTbHL6UhywYDNFb7GJYDltLhv_GIkLZzoRQtCe0eTUFflLXbn3eSA/s400/camoflage.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4TuQTeyxJ2-b1kuZgwLs-gYwHmRbz63A2LCIAHy8q9u2PTP7NfMSn6IjGIuDaBAt3NTsjGDOTy8ep_v75owIMeDGr97zCMFnUKFpKI-vyuU5O_wLmGoUbDTw4tV5IH1DhjOLK749BMRWh/s1600/CalTrans.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480977800559173250" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 259px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4TuQTeyxJ2-b1kuZgwLs-gYwHmRbz63A2LCIAHy8q9u2PTP7NfMSn6IjGIuDaBAt3NTsjGDOTy8ep_v75owIMeDGr97zCMFnUKFpKI-vyuU5O_wLmGoUbDTw4tV5IH1DhjOLK749BMRWh/s400/CalTrans.jpg" border="0" /></a> As I rode by, I noticed these guys had two bags full of wooden stakes. They must be really worried about vampires!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV7MogPHCZHaoF32Mq_2vnzpHAV0wrVdzfl3krZp9JQ9v8ijrCZrDzbBiUBlOQI45Ce5eV2LCCgP7TsWdZvOD8eLzPdS0BP_bDdlwTyzVxYCSgWZfIzL1l_fdVqwUEDvra59UYYWLTMk8I/s1600/Me+and+Donner+Lake.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480977109855659378" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 260px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV7MogPHCZHaoF32Mq_2vnzpHAV0wrVdzfl3krZp9JQ9v8ijrCZrDzbBiUBlOQI45Ce5eV2LCCgP7TsWdZvOD8eLzPdS0BP_bDdlwTyzVxYCSgWZfIzL1l_fdVqwUEDvra59UYYWLTMk8I/s400/Me+and+Donner+Lake.jpg" border="0" /></a>It was really WINDY!</div>Lauriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00682513110485580000noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1542645745020472639.post-61945574200520644772010-06-01T20:00:00.000-07:002010-06-01T20:32:37.746-07:00Guest post from Brother Phil. Sort of.Hmm. It's been so long since I posted, <i>my brother, Phil,</i> is apparently getting sick and tired of waiting and is now sending me blog post material. But then, he also sent it to Click and Clack, so I guess I'm not that special. This is his contribution (unedited by me)(I take no responsibility for this post)(except for the fact that I'm posting it)(well, it is my blog, so I suppose I have to take some responsibility)(but no credit):<br /><br /><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000099;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Brother Phil’s Fake Movie Names</span></span></b><br /><br /><i>Guy movie titles make sense and involve violent action. Chick flick titles either make no sense or involve chocolate. Sometimes both.</i><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102); font-weight: bold; ">Find the chick flick:</span><br /><div>Metal Death<br />Kill the Undead<br />Deader Than That<br />Even More Dead<br />Mostly Dead<br />How Much More Dead Can You Get?<br />Chase Until You Kill<br />The Ultimate Death Machine<br />Car Killer Chase Sport<br />Steal, Cheat, Lie, Kill<br />Robot Sport<br />Ultimate Blood Sport<br />Spy on the Dead<br />Confessions of a Mafia Spy<br />Spy Killer<br />Dead Metal Action Hero<br />Action Killer<br />Killer Hero<br />Hero Killer<br />Action Hero<br />Cooking the Flying Rose Society<br />Dead Hero<br />Metal Hero<br />Ultimate Car Chase<br />Two Drunk Idiots Steal Cars<br />Gun Killer<br />Gun Sport<br />Gun Hero<br />Gun Metal<br />Metal Gun Sport<br />Spring Break of Death<br />Beach of Death<br />Death Robot<br />Electric Death Monkey<br /><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><b>Spot the guy flick:</b></span><br />A Lady and a Ruffian<br />The Chocolate Way<br />You Walk Into Gabardine<br />She's Pregnant<br />With Honesty<br />Monday, My Mother<br />A Credenza With Legs<br />Extreme Violence<br />Contrary Flowers<br />The Sisters of The Chocolate Icing<br />I Met My Mother<br />Cause and Chocolate<br />A Confluence of Blouses<br />The Wardrobe<br />Fried Chocolate<br />A Chance Encounter of Chocolate Flowers<br />Socks in a Dresser Drawer<br />Vanilla Isn't Plain<br />Like Hanna, For Instance<br />Hats, Blue and Red<br />Earnest Chocolate In Summer<br />Rain In Love<br />The Chartreuse Wardrobe Society of Flying Slingbacks<br />The Guy Falls For The Broken Wing (A Box of Chocolates)<br /><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><b>Movies that flopped because they tried too hard to appeal to both women and men:</b></span><br />Chocolate Metal<br />The Chocolate Chase<br />The Zombie Sister Society<br />Red Zombie Blue Zombie<br />Action Chocolate Zombie Racer<br />Quarts of Blood, Gallons of Chocolate<br />Killer Hero's Baby<br />My Zombie, My Love<br />Chasing, Cheating, Chocolate<br />A Credenza With Legs, A Dresser Full Of Heads and a Closet Full Of Zombie Torsos<br />The Ultimate Death Machine of the Flying Electric Monkey Sister Society<br />A Stroll in the Park OF DEATH<br />She's Having a Zombie Baby<br />A Mother's Heart, A Sister's Legs, A Daughter's Head and Miscellaneous Parts Make A Zombie<br />Robots Have Chocolate Blood<br />The Red Shoe of Death<br />A Death Monkey Diary<br />Zombie Wedding<br />Action Killer Wedding Hero<br />An Hour to Wed, A Day to Die<br />Guns in a Dresser<br />Cheese<br />The Wedding Singer Killer<br />Perfect Heart, Rotting Soul<br />The Smell of Death in Springtime<br /><i><br /></i></div><div><i>Adult movies make plays on words. Children's movies appeal to a sense of family, involve animals or have the word "adventure" in the title. </i><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102); font-weight: bold; ">Spot the adult movies:</span></div><div>Captain Rabbit's Secret Adventures<br />Robbie the Robot Rabbit<br />The Adventures of Abe, the Talking Donkie<br />Swiss Family Rabbitson<br />Debbie Does Donkies<br />Adventures in Rabbits<br />Nick Danger's Great Escape Adventure<br />Adventure Animal Family<br />Love Animal Style<br />Big Bear and the Bunny Rangers<br />A Bunny Family Christmas<br />A Playboy Bunny Christmas<br />Spy Family Adventure</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330033;">Note from Laurie: Donkie is apparently not misspelled. If you don't know what it is, you'll have to look it up on Urban Dictionary yourself.</span><br /><br /></div></div>Lauriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00682513110485580000noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1542645745020472639.post-60417541238030652602010-04-05T18:42:00.000-07:002010-04-05T20:06:38.793-07:00ConservatismI was never very interested in politics until...well, really until Bush Jr. got into office. I always figured that things sort of evened themselves out over time. Also, I wasn't a US citizen, so I couldn't really do anything about it anyway. I got my US citizenship in 2000 - just in time to vote in that election. Lotta good that did. I've slowly gotten more and more active - enough that I actually went in and volunteered to work on Charlie Brown's campaign for Congress against that lying, carpetbagging, scumbag Tom McClintock (did I just say that out loud?) because I felt so strongly about it (McClintock won - barely). <br /><br />My son seems to have grown up with a highly developed sense of fairness. Being raised by me and two dads, he's been a gay rights activist from a fairly young age. He also refused to join a fraternity because they required a declaration that there might be some sort of higher being, and he felt that that discriminated against me (I think the "frat" part of that would probably have excluded me, anyway).<br /><br />He's taking a Problems in American Politics class this semester. I keep getting calls immediately after he gets out of class that go something like this:<br /><br />Me: Hi William. How much money do you need?<br /><br />William: CONSERVATIVES ARE SO %@#$ing STUPID!<br /><br />Me: Uh...yes, but...<br /><br />William: ALL THEY %@#%ing WANT IS TO MAKE THE RICH RICHER AND THE POOR POORER!!!<br /><br />Me: Um...Yeah, I think that's pretty much a given. Some of them don't feel....<br /><br />William: My professor is trying to give a balanced viewpoint and let us draw our own conclusions.<br /><br />Me: And your conclusion is...<br /><br />William: Conservatives are MORONS!!<br /><br />Me: *hysterical laughter* <br /><br />William: We're learning about the healthcare debate this week. Oh, and I need to use PhotoShop for a class. Could I please have $60 dollars for 2 gigs of RAM so I can run it on my computer?<br /><br />Me: *sigh* Try asking your dads first.<br /><br />I was telling my mother about this conversation, and she completely agreed with William. I got almost the same response from her, without quite so many vulgarities. At least I didn't end up sending her money.Lauriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00682513110485580000noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1542645745020472639.post-12760701883567029952010-03-02T17:06:00.000-08:002010-03-02T20:32:24.962-08:00Exactly how long can I hold a grudge?I wouldn't say I was mechanically inclined overall, but I do enjoy DIY projects. For instance, I decided to extend the patio with paving stones several years ago, and did most of it myself while Bill looked on (slightly bewilderedly, I think - especially when I started digging an enormous hole in his backyard). I love putting things together from kits. This may have started when my brother and I got build-it-yourself crystal radio sets for Christmas one year. Only one station came in clearly, but I would lie awake at night listening to Houston Aeros Hockey (Go Gordie Howe! (Oh, wait. Does that date it?)), and the CBS Radio Mystery Theater with E. G. Marshall (Until next time,....Pleasant....dreams?). I wasn't allowed to have my light on to read (which I would have done all night if allowed), but I could listen to my radio without my parents knowing.<br /><br />I also like messing around with cars. I once replaced the brakes and brake rotors on my Saturn (with minor help from my brother) and then spent the next eight years mildly surprised that the wheels hadn't fallen off yet. <br /><br />Soon after he got his driver's license, my son got a 1988 Jeep Wrangler and he and I spent hours tinkering with the engine, trying to keep it running, during which time I think we taught each other some new swear words and spent way more money on parts than I could really afford. We actually managed to replace the head gasket on it at one point. After a few months, we gave up and got him a Honda Civic instead. <br /><br />Just before William was born, David and I started having trouble with our Dodge Colt. It turned out to be a fusible link, and all we needed to do was twist the wires back together to keep it working for another couple of weeks, until it would burn through again (probably not the safest thing to do). When William was about a month old, it finally got so short the wires barely reached, so I went to Kragen Auto Parts, parked the car, unclipped the fusible link, carried it in, and told the guy I wanted a new one (I'm sure I said please, actually. I used to be extremely polite). He had absolutely no idea what it was. <br /><br />While I was looking around to see if I could find one myself, William suddenly spat up - all over the floor. Fairly embarrassed, I bent down and started to wipe it up with William's blanket, and the guy suddenly loomed over me and said, "Does your <i>husband</i> know you're messing around with the car?"<br /><br />Excuse me??? Today, I would probably tell him exactly what I thought of him, but at the time, I was only 24, and still had a lot of trouble talking to strangers (even after working with the general public for years). I couldn't think of anything to say to that. I didn't want to tell him that I knew WAY more about cars than my husband, because that would have been insulting to David. I mumbled something, finished wiping the floor, stood up, and carried William out. And refused to go back to Kragen Auto - any Kragen Auto - for about 16 years. I plugged the fusible link back into the engine and drove down the street to Grand Auto where they actually knew what it was and were able to help me.Lauriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00682513110485580000noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1542645745020472639.post-15326216715261889792010-02-17T20:32:00.000-08:002010-02-18T06:27:30.777-08:00Pet peevesThis is a completely gratuitous post on: Things that irritate me <i>or</i> How to piss me off.<br /><ul><li>Fundamentalist religionuts and any pseudoscientific garbage, but those are just a given.</li><br /><li>Mispronunciations. Especially people who mispronounce <i>nuclear</i> as nuke-yoo-lar (our favorite former commander-in-chief, for instance), <i>realtor</i> REE-lit-or (I've know actual <b>realtors</b> who can't pronounce this word) and <i>mispronunciation</i> mis-pro-noun-see-ay-shun. Bill is completely unable to pronounce labyrinth and pronounces it lab-er-nith, but that's just cute.*</li><br /><li>People who say <i>irregardless</i>. The word is either <i>regardless</i> or <i>irrespective,</i> people! Pick one, but don't combine them. From my 1974 edition of Webster’s New World Dictionary, irregardless is defined as <i>a substandard or humorous redundancy for</i> REGARDLESS.</li><br /><li>Snowboarders, with the exception of <a href="http://a-blog-about-everything.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Kia</a>, with whom I've never skied, and my son. He irritates me for other reasons. Snowboarders don't seem to have the brain capacity to understand that most skiers go back and forth across the slope, not straight down, and seem to be constantly surprised when skiers turn and go the other way right into their path such that they scream by at 50 mph barely missing and frightening the skier (me, anyway) half to death. In addition, skis make a pleasant shush, shushing sound - snowboards literally roar as they go by. I'm constantly swearing at snowboarders and calling them fracking moron idiots under my breath. Redundant, I know, but it makes me feel better. Ok, I don't <i>always</i> say fracking. Frelling? Smegging? (30 points if you can name all three Sci Fi shows - without a search engine). One ran into me earlier this year on a completely wide open slope with just the two of us on it, and then was bent out of shape when I yelled, "moron" at him (more out of fear and surprise than malice. Ok, maybe there was a little malice).</li><br /><li>Led vs. Lead.<br /><br />Lead (lěd) - a heavy, comparatively soft, malleable, bluish-gray metal, sometimes found in its natural state but usually combined as a sulfide, esp. in galena. Symbol: Pb; atomic weight: 207.19; atomic number: 82; specific gravity: 11.34 at 20°C.<br /><br />Lead (lēd) - to go before or with to show the way; conduct or escort<br /><br />Led (lěd) - the past tense of lead.<br /><br />LED - light emitting diode</li><br /><li>Fracking big SUVs, perhaps just when they're driven by idiots. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;">UPDATE: Andrew reminded me that it's a general rule that fracking big SUVs are always driven by idiots</span>.</li><br /><li>People who say Safety Deposit Box. It is SAFE Deposit Box, people! We just watched an episode of <i>Fringe</i> where ALL the characters said safety deposit box <i>over and over and over</i>. I, of course, had to yell, "SAFE! The word is SAFE!" every time. Yeah, okay. I was probably more annoying than they were. Probably. Same thing happened recently with an episode of Alias.</li><br /><li>Bigotry of any sort against anybody for any reason. Except snowboarders. Bigotry against snowboarders is fine.</li><br /><li>Cruelty to animals. Humans included.</li><br /><li>Having the television on just as noise in the background. I'm constantly coming into the living room and turning it off because NO ONE IS WATCHING IT! Unless I'm watching something in particular, I don't like it on at all. I have happily gone without TV for years at a time (I did use it to watch movies occasionally).</li></ul><br />When I asked Bill to list things that irritate me, he said, "People who make slight grammatical errors and misproNOUNciations" (I already had that on the list). "And people who don't change lanes soon enough for you." No, Bill. That's just YOU. <br /><br />*<span style="font-size:85%;">NOTE: Bill says he's not cute, he's ruggedly handsome.</span><br /><br />(Note to self - figure out why there are no bullet points. <a href="http://staringatemptypages.blogspot.com/">Barry</a>, help???)<br />UPDATE: Ok, now I have the funky flowers, but I guess they're better than nothingLauriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00682513110485580000noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1542645745020472639.post-70556110381385947782010-02-05T21:13:00.000-08:002010-02-06T11:44:24.449-08:00Wild what chase?As I've mentioned <a href="http://ichthyologistbright.blogspot.com/2009/08/i-havent-written-enough-posts-about-my.html" target="_blank">in a previous post</a>, since they retired, my parents have become licensed wild animal rehabilitators. What this means for the rest of us (that would be me and my brother), is that we can only visit at certain times of the year - when there are no baby animals. Otherwise, my mother is too busy feeding babies and doctoring injured adults to even speak coherently. She wears herself to the bone, and my father is just as busy going out on calls to pick up injured adults or more baby animals and taking many of them to one of several (wonderful) vets in the area that will administer to wild animals for free. My parents still end up spending A LOT of their own money on medical supplies, housing and food.<br /><br />Other implications: They always need food for the carnivores. My father actually drives to a nearby state to pick up dead rats from a research facility. Once I was with my father and we passed a recently dead squirrel. My father slammed on the brakes, reached under the seat, pulled out a plastic bag, and handed it to me. I didn't even have to ask. I just jumped out, ran back and picked up the squirrel (first making sure it was really dead and not just stunned-I didn't really want to be bitten by an angry squirrel), got back in the car, and we sped off. At least my parents draw the line at dead skunks. I think.<br /><br />A few years ago, my father picked me up at the airport, and we were dragging my luggage into the house. My mother met us at the door, gave me a hug (we only hug now that we live in different states and don't see each other more than about once a year - we're still British, you know), and said to my father, "We got a bird call while you were gone. You've got to go and pick up a Turkey Vulture." My father looked at me and raised his eyebrows. I said, "Sure, I'll go! Sounds like fun!" My father threw a large dog crate and a couple of big nets into the back of his Chevy S10.<br /><br />I've had some experience with vultures before, actually. I volunteered for a short while at the Raptor Center at UC Davis, and the Turkey Vultures were everyone's favorites. They are highly intelligent, and when we went in to feed or clean out their cages (talk about stinky), some of them were tame enough that they'd come over and untie our shoelaces. They may be lumped into the raptor (birds of prey) designation due to superficial resemblances, but there is genetic evidence that vultures aren't really raptors, but are far more closely related to storks. This also makes sense if you look at their feet. They don't have the grasping talons of hawks and owls, and so can't pick up their dinner and carry it away, or even catch it in the first place.<br /><br />This particular fairly young vulture had been hiding out in a culvert near a harvested corn field during the day. In the afternoon, he would cross the road and go up to this family's porch where they were leaving out hot dogs and steak for him. He then spent the nights on their porch, fairly safe from predators. After a few days, they finally realized that he couldn't or wouldn't fly for some reason and wasn't going to go away, so they got in touch with my mother. My parents do not recommend feeding your friendly neighborhood vulture hot dogs, by the way. They're about as good for the vulture as they are for humans. However, hot dogs can fill in in a pinch if you don't happen to regularly collect roadkill like SOME people.<br /><br />My father and I arrived, and the woman told us that he was probably across the road in the culvert where he had been spending his days, so we grabbed our nets and marched over. As soon as he saw us, the vulture took off running, with me and my father in hot pursuit. At the time, my father was still playing soccer regularly (he played until he was 66 or 67 and his knees finally gave out on him), so he was in pretty good shape. This vulture obviously couldn't fly for some reason, but he sure could run, especially when he used his wings to give him a boost. The recently harvested corn field was mucky and uneven, and the vulture just ran circles around us. At one point my father almost had him, but tripped and fell (actually injuring his knee). I would try to cut the vulture off, but he just veered off in another direction and stayed well ahead of me.<br /><br />Finally, he got tired of running and decided to make a beeline for the house across the road, where there was more cover, and he had been safe on the porch. He was far ahead of both of us, and I was freaking out in case he got hit by a car as he crossed the relatively busy county road. He ran up to the road <i>stopped and looked both ways</i> and ran across. Yes. I couldn't believe my eyes. I yelled to my father, "Did he <i> really</i> just look both ways?" My father saw it, too. This Turkey Vulture was smarter than most 10 year old humans. In his many trips across the road, he had obviously had a close call or two <i>and learned from them</i>.<br /><br />We chased him around the farmyard, and eventually managed to trap him up against a fence. My father grabbed him, and turned around and handed him to me so he could talk to the woman. I put my arm around this very large bird, pinning his wings, while my father told me, "Keep his head up! Keep his head up or he'll vomit on you!" Thanks Dad. NOW YOU TELL ME. I quickly grabbed the vulture's neck and lifted as he tried to lean down to retch - mouth open, tongue out. I carefully kept his body pinned against mine and gently, but firmly held his head up, while he panted at me and looked in my eye - promising to vomit if I allowed him the slightest opportunity. Great. He was also more than a little smelly.<br /><br />We eventually stuffed him into the dog crate and drove home. This was a while ago, and my parents get so many animals each year that they don't remember what happened to this particular vulture. He was possibly released. If not, all their unreleasable vultures have ended up in either zoos or nature centers.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbSwnlvIpL9n3JYqk8feAX9571o43T-ndUlX8Y-sR6Shr8kmprpDqgLYLbv0ogPC-yQwfvbpExAJQN2iwIBOhrw7YC4mr84YEkXzyHN6jbwIYzfAfLiYF-j49pNOB7G8K4eoQYPLZprzb3/s1600-h/Dexter_the_Vulture.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbSwnlvIpL9n3JYqk8feAX9571o43T-ndUlX8Y-sR6Shr8kmprpDqgLYLbv0ogPC-yQwfvbpExAJQN2iwIBOhrw7YC4mr84YEkXzyHN6jbwIYzfAfLiYF-j49pNOB7G8K4eoQYPLZprzb3/s400/Dexter_the_Vulture.jpg" width="400" /></a><br />This is Dexter, one of their more recent Turkey Vultures. Aptly named, but I'm pretty sure my parents don't watch the (really good, but more than somewhat gory) Showtime series. My father said he got the name because his left wing is injured.<br /><br />It is illegal for most people to do what my parents do. My mother has federal and state licenses and is fairly strictly regulated. If you do find a sick, injured, or baby wild animal, call your state Department of Fish and Game/ Department of Natural Resources. You could also try a veterinarian or web search to find the number for a local wildlife rehabber.<br /><br />Why was I reminded of this particular xkcd.com? <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG0yJQDr_-YSYmwKymkbvqfoSUIISMIPOLQ4xoK_7wcyryjQ0DaFdlP1RNXznccLm4a8pEA1uCjAuarHVz3HRyjI_3PwJZ2zx4A-uYCnvAKU1Je_-rpKuqYb9wwPet0kbMk8SouUYtz5cj/s1600-h/close_to_you.png"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 108px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG0yJQDr_-YSYmwKymkbvqfoSUIISMIPOLQ4xoK_7wcyryjQ0DaFdlP1RNXznccLm4a8pEA1uCjAuarHVz3HRyjI_3PwJZ2zx4A-uYCnvAKU1Je_-rpKuqYb9wwPet0kbMk8SouUYtz5cj/s400/close_to_you.png" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434991125845944242" /></a>Oh, right. I was listening to The Carpenters today in the car...Lauriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00682513110485580000noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1542645745020472639.post-11320320144634421122010-01-30T17:57:00.000-08:002010-01-30T19:20:28.209-08:00PZ Myers!Well, I <i>actually cut band rehearsal</i> on Thursday night. This is almost unheard of for me. The only times I've ever missed rehearsal, I was either ill or in England. I did have what I consider a really good reason, though. <i><b><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/PZ_Myers" target="_blank">PZ Myers</a> was speaking just down the road at Sierra College!!!</b></i><br />
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Author of the blog <a href="http://scienceblogs.com/pharyngula/" target="_blank">Pharyngula</a>, PZ Myers is one of the top science bloggers AND one of the top two atheist bloggers (the other being the much "friendlier" <a href="http://friendlyatheist.com/" target="_blank">Hemant Mehta</a>). The <a href="http://scienceblogs.com/pharyngula/2010/01/if_its_thursday_it_must_be_sie.php" target="_blank">Sierra College stop</a> wrapped up a <a href="http://scienceblogs.com/pharyngula/2010/01/the_leap_into_insanity_tour_be.php" target="_blank">whirlwind eight day speaking tour</a> of mostly Northern California for him that included UC Davis, UC Berkeley, and Stanford. I'm not sure how Sierra College managed to rate a stop, but I'd like to thank the Freethinkers of Sierra College for hosting.<br />
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His blog may be strident and snarky, particularly about religious insanity, but in person he really is very soft-spoken and polite. He gave a very interesting talk about creationist's sometimes seemingly deliberate misunderstanding of evolution and the differences in the ways creationists (including intelligent design advocates) and scientists get their points across to the general public.<br />
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During the question and answer period after the talk, a creationist in the audience actually identified himself and asked questions. I felt kind of sorry for him. His hands and voice were shaking. It must have been awful feeling as though he were the only theist (he wasn't, actually) completely surrounded by a sea of atheists. Oh, wait. I know <i>exactly</i> how that feels, as I'm sure did all of the other atheists in the audience. <br />
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Part of the exchange between PZ and the creationist went something like this:<br />
<b>Theist</b>: Blah, blah, blah, ontological argument, blah, blah <i>(Ok, so now maybe <b>I'm</b> being a little snarky. Oops)</i><br />
<b>PZ</b>: [reasoned and rational explanation of the ontological argument and why it is based on circular, fallacious arguments]<br />
<b>Theist</b>: No it's not!<br />
<b>PZ</b>: [reasoned and rational explanation...need actual evidence]<br />
<b>Theist</b>: No it doesn't!<br />
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PZ is well known for going out for drinks after he gives a talk, and Thursday was no exception. About 30 people met afterwards at a local brew pub (including the theist, surprisingly!), and guess who somehow managed to snag a seat right next to PZ! I'm not quite sure how that happened... Unfortunately, all I had was my phone, which doesn't take the best photos.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjclitpveUoa05BUOE_dT3x_B1ydu7IMd79cWNLggP8DntszyQkAgfoThjTFjhrjzOAYJjPcTLgYIuZgEdRnH48sAvlTjKUZ5EyNO3zx4DGcRNmSdi4A7gyOu_1k_1xZT3jYKbSR4DNHyoY/s1600-h/PZ+and+me.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjclitpveUoa05BUOE_dT3x_B1ydu7IMd79cWNLggP8DntszyQkAgfoThjTFjhrjzOAYJjPcTLgYIuZgEdRnH48sAvlTjKUZ5EyNO3zx4DGcRNmSdi4A7gyOu_1k_1xZT3jYKbSR4DNHyoY/s320/PZ+and+me.jpg" /></a><br />
Thanks to Brett for taking the picture!<br />
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I got the opportunity to tell PZ that, when I first started an "atheist" blog, as I said in <a href="http://ichthyologistbright.blogspot.com/2009/08/i-havent-written-enough-posts-about-my.html">this post</a>, my mother was very concerned that religious nutcases would shoot me or burn crosses in our front yard. I told her that there were other far more prominent atheists out there (meaning PZ, among others. Especially PZ) and I would be way down on the list. He's of the opinion that you just can't live your life in fear, and the vast majority of theists of any religion are decent people. It's only a very small percentage of the most radical theists who are actually dangerous.<br />
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The famous <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Crocoduck" target="_blank">Crocoduck tie</a>. There were two made, and the other belongs to Richard Dawkins (there are now knock-offs you can find on the internet). I really wish I'd remembered my camera...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1BFCtLcEePybkzxNhPjORwryZH_IsA2NnMv7ts1Fg3Km3h8YoqJLi5dRFj3Y5_XXVgx_wOYZxsTSOXkYhoyVpF60SL0j0mPxbBTMKAti1rZNkzDi1D_jxbGWOnUZJ6-HJbdfxy0jR0Wpc/s1600-h/crocoduck+tie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1BFCtLcEePybkzxNhPjORwryZH_IsA2NnMv7ts1Fg3Km3h8YoqJLi5dRFj3Y5_XXVgx_wOYZxsTSOXkYhoyVpF60SL0j0mPxbBTMKAti1rZNkzDi1D_jxbGWOnUZJ6-HJbdfxy0jR0Wpc/s320/crocoduck+tie.jpg" /></a><br />
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PZ was recently interviewed by reddit.com, so you can see how soft-spoken he really is: <br />
<object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/x01lqhrp1-4&color1=0xb1b1b1&color2=0xcfcfcf&hl=en_US&feature=player_embedded&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowScriptAccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/x01lqhrp1-4&color1=0xb1b1b1&color2=0xcfcfcf&hl=en_US&feature=player_embedded&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" allowScriptAccess="always" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>Lauriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00682513110485580000noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1542645745020472639.post-80457607313535544092010-01-22T08:47:00.000-08:002010-01-22T16:48:11.074-08:00I wish I were still that naiveI'm thinking about learning to scuba dive, and for some reason this has triggered some memories from when I was a lifeguard at a swim club for four summers in high school. Well, I was only actually a lifeguard for three summers, because after they hired me, we all found out that, even though I was completely certified, since I was only 15 I was too young the first summer. So they put me to work as the Gatekeeper (no Keymaster jokes!) keeping out the hoi polloi (of which, if I remember correctly, my family was part, because we didn't live in the right part of Benicia and couldn't join). One of my jobs was to answer the phone, which happened to be a pay phone in the clubhouse. Most of the time it was questions such as, "When do you open?" and "How do we join?," but one day:<br />
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<b>Me:</b> Southampton Swim Club, may I help you?<br />
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<b>Him:</b> I'd like to [redacted] and [redacted]<br />
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<b>Me:</b> (thinking) <i>I must not have heard that correctly</i><br />
I'm sorry, I couldn't hear you. Could you repeat that?<br />
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<b>Him:</b> (louder) I'd like to [redacted] and [redacted]<br />
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<b>Me:</b> <i>I can't have heard that right. It doesn't make sense.</i><br />
I'm sorry, but it's really loud in here. I still couldn't hear you.<br />
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<b>Him:</b> I'D LIKE TO [REDACTED] AND [REDACTED]<br />
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<b>Me:</b> <i>Ok, that's what I thought he said.</i><br />
(long pause)......Um...we don't <i>have</i> a pool table here.<br />
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<b>Him:</b> OH, FORGET IT! (click)<br />
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As I turned away from the phone and started walking back through the clubhouse, I bumped into the chairwoman of the board who had recently hired me. I must have looked confused, because she asked me what happened. I relayed the conversation to her, and was startled when she burst out laughing so hard that she actually couldn't speak for a minute or two. By this time I was REALLY confused. When she finally was able to get control of herself, she wiped away tears, put her arm around my shoulders, and said, "Honey, you just had an obscene phone call!" Then she told me to stay innocent for as long as possible.Lauriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00682513110485580000noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1542645745020472639.post-89612743736757363542010-01-17T09:20:00.000-08:002010-01-18T09:49:46.288-08:00Non-Believers Giving AidThe Richard Dawkins Foundation has set up a <a href="http://givingaid.richarddawkins.net/" target="_blank">site for non-believers to donate money for Hatian relief</a>. One hundred percent of the money donated will go to <a href="http://doctorswithoutborders.org/" target="_blank">Doctors Without Borders</a> and the <a href="http://www.icrc.org/" target="_blank">International Red Cross</a>.<br />
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According to a tweet by <a href="http://ichthyologistbright.blogspot.com/2009/02/darwin-day-week-month.html" target="_blank">Michael Shermer</a>, the site raised over $50,000 in less than 24 hours (of course, being a skeptic myself, I'd like to see where he got the information). <span style="color: red;"> </span><br />
<span style="color: red;">Update: Over $124,000 in 24 hours. </span><br />
<span style="color: red;">Update again: <a href="http://scienceblogs.com/pharyngula/2010/01/the_power_of_organization.php">According to PZ Myers</a>, over $150,000 in 24 hours. Currently at over $180,000.</span> <br />
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I don't care where you donate, but please donate. The situation in Haiti is critical.<br />
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<span style="color: red;">Update:</span> Poodles reminds us <a href="http://poodlesplace.wordpress.com/2010/01/17/giving-to-haiti/" target="_blank">not to forget about the non-human animals</a> caught up in the devastation...Lauriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00682513110485580000noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1542645745020472639.post-7448351323863644272010-01-14T18:47:00.000-08:002010-01-14T22:29:27.209-08:00CeilidhMy parents got a new dog last week. My mother is completely enamoured. Their 17 year old Australian cattle dog, Butch, died several months ago, and my parents wanted a companion for their 12 year old and still very active border collie, Duffy. They have had Border Collies most of their married life (close to 50 years), and my mother started searching through the Border Collie rescue sites. Duffy is getting older, and has always been at the bottom of the pecking order, so she wanted to make sure he wouldn't be picked on by any new dog. One that caught her eye was a little female who had been hit by a car and had spent weeks at the vet's and months recuperating. She's only got three usable legs, and she's really still recuperating. She's possibly been a little stunted by the accident, because she's half the size of Duffy, but apparently he's being a perfect gentleman to her. My mother named her Céilidh (Caylee), which, as I said in my last post, is a Gaelic dance.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibRpk8BUrjZoDke2x-5kqTf_G9RQydUlHN-Tsy1QqlPrJzuhfxzVdGLkwfARSfMajIHDckmhC_RkEeZy7PH_cm_0ixg3Ncs235uCelQi_kjUp2X8ToYUdl0cLVWXhspXaGlLT1txlnOZP6/s1600-h/ceilidh1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 285px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibRpk8BUrjZoDke2x-5kqTf_G9RQydUlHN-Tsy1QqlPrJzuhfxzVdGLkwfARSfMajIHDckmhC_RkEeZy7PH_cm_0ixg3Ncs235uCelQi_kjUp2X8ToYUdl0cLVWXhspXaGlLT1txlnOZP6/s400/ceilidh1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5426796833780019538" border="0" /></a><br />One of the first things my parents did when they got married was to get a Border Collie. Gammon was three when I was born. He was more like an older brother to me, and being a Border Collie, of course looked out for me. One day when I was a toddler, my mother looked out in the front garden, saw that I had somehow managed to open the front gate and that Gammon and I were gone. She rushed out, looked down the street, and way off in the distance there we were. Gammon was slowly walking next to me, leaning into me and herding me out of the street. Most other dogs would have bolted for freedom, but he stayed right with me. He, of course, could have stopped me from leaving at all, but he was always up for a walk.<br /><br />Another time (when I was even younger), we were camping, and I crawled into an adjacent field full of cows. Cows are fairly curious, and so they all started crowding around me to have a look. Since we were in a campground, Gammon had to be chained up, but he actually became frantic, broke his chain, and flew into the middle of the cow herd, scattering cows in all directions and protecting me until my parents could get there a few seconds later (my parents really weren't nearly as careless with me as this all sounds. Really...).<br /><br />When I was older, I would try and order Gammon around and I swear he would just raise one eyebrow and look at me. I could actually see him thinking, "Hmph. Like I have to do anything <i>you</i> say." Gammon owned, to borrow a phrase from <i>101 Dalmatians</i> (the book NOT any of the lame movies), one of the keenest brains in Dogdom. He died when I was nine, and I'm not sure my parents have ever completely gotten over it. He was their first child.<br /><br />After Gammon, we got a half St. Bernard half Weimeraner. She was the size of a Great Dane, and looked a lot like a giant Rhodesian Ridgeback (especially when she had her hackles up). Poor Shandy was probably very intelligent in her own way, but she could never live up to Gammon. She lived in his shadow for 15 years.<br /><br />Other Border Collies they've had:<br />Whisky — who was found near a rest area (I think) by a friend of the family who knew of my parent's fondness for Border Collies. They thought she may have fallen out of a truck. I think my parents had her for 13 or 14 years.<br /><br />Heidi — She was the sole survivor of a head on collision. Again, my parents got her because someone heard (through me, actually) that they were fond of Border Collies. She was about 11 when they got her, but she lived another 4 or so years.<br /><br />Vixen — wasn't really a Border Collie, but she was a collie mix. She looked like a giant fox. She came from the Humane Society and had been kept in a basement for the first nine months of her life.<br /><br />They often seem to name their dogs after food. Duffy is Plum Duff, Gammon is a cut of bacon (their cat was named Streaky - another cut of bacon), Shandygaff is a beer flavoured with ginger beer (can I just interject? - blech! I don't like beer OR ginger beer), and Whisky was Black and White Scotch.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCLSumnIZ8ogwmI87Kzd-Tb0t_qO0XOErwvsArN9hKgZWzA9D7WKJb3mIxtYeA49d4K6uJb3G55da0T-FyXxr6dzAsBgzH2gmj8bpJ8G5qBldDG1dZNwUSH6en2ySnjkhBpC1vFC18H8ex/s1600-h/ceilidh.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCLSumnIZ8ogwmI87Kzd-Tb0t_qO0XOErwvsArN9hKgZWzA9D7WKJb3mIxtYeA49d4K6uJb3G55da0T-FyXxr6dzAsBgzH2gmj8bpJ8G5qBldDG1dZNwUSH6en2ySnjkhBpC1vFC18H8ex/s400/ceilidh.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5426839768427968322" border="0" /></a>I think they're lucky to have Ceilidh, but she's also very lucky to have them. Note - That is her tail and a chew toy, not her bad leg...Lauriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00682513110485580000noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1542645745020472639.post-61912677560060538092010-01-07T20:35:00.000-08:002010-01-07T21:26:19.588-08:00Scenes from Scotland: Edinburgh or More Photos of my BrotherScotland is very welcoming<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-nKYyCGomPY6a0Ijm3U0I26WkCwtWJ8ZOOB6RiGTQwUh5Jlhh15MBTbrkfVwkFw62PD-H3yEbMFxtsXgQyjEBJpe8wGKjqDhvrPT1Yanxb7PyTBt4IiPVVEpK856t_ZajwFJQFOfypgzd/s1600-h/Scotland+welcome.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-nKYyCGomPY6a0Ijm3U0I26WkCwtWJ8ZOOB6RiGTQwUh5Jlhh15MBTbrkfVwkFw62PD-H3yEbMFxtsXgQyjEBJpe8wGKjqDhvrPT1Yanxb7PyTBt4IiPVVEpK856t_ZajwFJQFOfypgzd/s400/Scotland+welcome.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423861383718040834" border="0" /></a>Unless that part in Gaelic actually means <i>Now Go Home</i>.<br /><br />We only had about three days in Scotland, so we spent most of our time in Edinburgh on and around the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Royal_Mile" target="_blank">Royal Mile</a>, which runs between Edinburgh Castle and the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Holyrood_Palace" target="_blank">Palace of Holyroodhouse</a> (Holyrood Abbey, to be more specific). Holyroodhouse is the Queen's official residence in Scotland.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUNummoG_xYhaCZOA2yql1pYDJdaFJWCS_WHnESgCpb19PFcMola8Uz1iE6sjsbRg4GmL4Rl2WcFFtMbPZ72CB85iQs9iCBxD0nN1qPvyiWKJyA7w9bsPJLedIuR8AsKvDu_2lJYq6xuh4/s1600-h/Greyfriars+Bobby.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUNummoG_xYhaCZOA2yql1pYDJdaFJWCS_WHnESgCpb19PFcMola8Uz1iE6sjsbRg4GmL4Rl2WcFFtMbPZ72CB85iQs9iCBxD0nN1qPvyiWKJyA7w9bsPJLedIuR8AsKvDu_2lJYq6xuh4/s400/Greyfriars+Bobby.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423869084704943650" border="0" /></a>Of course we first had to find the statue of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Greyfriars_Bobby" target="_blank">Greyfriars Bobby</a>. We almost tripped over it, actually. I think every bus we took went past it. It's entirely possible we might have been breaking the law if we hadn't found it AND taken a photo.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn4E6FRvHK0bxCijEDTVGe1nC9VUJUdDYzOhCUrt1LcrY1apkzNfRnse6etSo3xJDx0kyAAOmnZzatUd009bOYRXiiNUwfvIfWhbjLfiDrQSn2ekK5Aw0mOc2bzWPhcsZ9maQOYECo_4ys/s1600-h/view+from+kirkyard.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn4E6FRvHK0bxCijEDTVGe1nC9VUJUdDYzOhCUrt1LcrY1apkzNfRnse6etSo3xJDx0kyAAOmnZzatUd009bOYRXiiNUwfvIfWhbjLfiDrQSn2ekK5Aw0mOc2bzWPhcsZ9maQOYECo_4ys/s400/view+from+kirkyard.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423869967102895618" border="0" /></a>View from Greyfriars Kirkyard.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhXyZhGIP-tyQtFGYbp7NJFfP2fkKmbdUxEe6cuGVVstuXrs1LX5uQJ1AzNvSCSmzNEKTTKrcn2OOLViKhaOnNT_Y1HCbFtlKV5-tA5Q1LbPxS-B83P1A24WVa3HWJIEAqqQ-Iyze71RQQ/s1600-h/St+Giles.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhXyZhGIP-tyQtFGYbp7NJFfP2fkKmbdUxEe6cuGVVstuXrs1LX5uQJ1AzNvSCSmzNEKTTKrcn2OOLViKhaOnNT_Y1HCbFtlKV5-tA5Q1LbPxS-B83P1A24WVa3HWJIEAqqQ-Iyze71RQQ/s400/St+Giles.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423870627595422754" border="0" /></a><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/St._Giles%27_Cathedral" target="_blank">St. Giles Cathedral</a>. St. Giles is the patron saint of <s>cripples</s> (just doesn't sound PC anymore) disabled people, lepers and Edinburgh. And horses, breast feeding, mental illness, rams, forests, sterility...He was apparently a very popular saint.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlD2I5SX9XJjO5NxaZyNHDlZWE-hJXEHUMQrff-VOSkvm8s_NeXnxEzizSp87qjv5sc-5QI3DW75iN2mcfm91RvxrcNcFzjlofT-GCY6hgsEGJie5SFkJLKHH4TjWwRuXni7uFAnT-T5jh/s1600-h/St+Giles+door.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlD2I5SX9XJjO5NxaZyNHDlZWE-hJXEHUMQrff-VOSkvm8s_NeXnxEzizSp87qjv5sc-5QI3DW75iN2mcfm91RvxrcNcFzjlofT-GCY6hgsEGJie5SFkJLKHH4TjWwRuXni7uFAnT-T5jh/s400/St+Giles+door.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423872125674111042" border="0" /></a>St. Giles front door, the very impressive stonework of which I believe dates to a restoration done in the late 1800s. Phil managed to get in the way, of course.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0tIXqYeRQk8qhGHO8g0BbdIhHhKjDHFltKdDmCWEhb5ka3bPkwBoAHRN3FfoKBVkEQFQyOIBDOaKC9QrFJrPGkzFAfwqQ2X_C19KdcLedRxTKqoRsE7KNRhAxLfil0SyBRqkMDE4V_saj/s1600-h/Holyroodhouse+gate+.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0tIXqYeRQk8qhGHO8g0BbdIhHhKjDHFltKdDmCWEhb5ka3bPkwBoAHRN3FfoKBVkEQFQyOIBDOaKC9QrFJrPGkzFAfwqQ2X_C19KdcLedRxTKqoRsE7KNRhAxLfil0SyBRqkMDE4V_saj/s400/Holyroodhouse+gate+.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5424200938134549602" border="0" /></a>Holyroodhouse gate. And Phil.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhihyDktwTZ8sI4JmjxyUy-RI10cuKs28_qpfwVhU0FQ98XuDl4cSGkSwJBm4qK6FiQjCHaA_uf_bRy-EnUXTEK9uEhkFEA-N87zbcofHcUwXOG-9u0wzO9O0QyZyHDDH5s6YM58yKIEBt0/s1600-h/Lion.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhihyDktwTZ8sI4JmjxyUy-RI10cuKs28_qpfwVhU0FQ98XuDl4cSGkSwJBm4qK6FiQjCHaA_uf_bRy-EnUXTEK9uEhkFEA-N87zbcofHcUwXOG-9u0wzO9O0QyZyHDDH5s6YM58yKIEBt0/s400/Lion.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5424201567970221906" border="0" /></a> A lion, the symbol of England, holding <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/St_George%27s_Cross" target="_blank">St. George's Cross</a>.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinMEYu7yktbzVkSTijJ9NiHr-B-uk4obwfU0K-e6ksjxudQZ37nHoYCPX1fQfL_n8gUXztVJZkTn8D1kJenuOWRU-ePxogdpUl8zF5G034ac44nmgv2izBB1vRIgN17oC5APK-hFp9L1Ct/s1600-h/Unicorn.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinMEYu7yktbzVkSTijJ9NiHr-B-uk4obwfU0K-e6ksjxudQZ37nHoYCPX1fQfL_n8gUXztVJZkTn8D1kJenuOWRU-ePxogdpUl8zF5G034ac44nmgv2izBB1vRIgN17oC5APK-hFp9L1Ct/s400/Unicorn.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5424202531811273890" border="0" /></a>A unicorn, the symbol of Scotland, holding <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Flag_of_Scotland" target="_blank">St. Andrew's Cross</a>. And if you superimpose the crosses and add <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cross_of_Saint_Patrick" target="_blank">St. Patrick's Cross</a> (British readers please bear with me for a moment — this isn't generally taught over here), you get the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Union_Flag">Union Jack</a> (Poor old Wales is just lumped under the Cross of St. Andrew). <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYk-GFuy1sbjKAQKbEDK93YoRvO3ZA6EA4rH_H0htJadDsrA8l5a1JBn6rhE51mZwRydwEd3RNMOr7ZzYLr8Lf-a0HKK6nRXmr7A_gXe-LF6CoId7nx-5EUh8HkPQ2DBc3u40YSC7hGy0l/s1600-h/UJ2.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 359px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYk-GFuy1sbjKAQKbEDK93YoRvO3ZA6EA4rH_H0htJadDsrA8l5a1JBn6rhE51mZwRydwEd3RNMOr7ZzYLr8Lf-a0HKK6nRXmr7A_gXe-LF6CoId7nx-5EUh8HkPQ2DBc3u40YSC7hGy0l/s400/UJ2.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5424211154793222882" border="0" /></a>Image snagged from <a href="http://www.wardsbookofdays.com/12april.htm">Ward's Book of Days</a><br /><br />Meanwhile, at the other end of the Royal Mile:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8bLsAgag0HUdmsjrdmXEujAiU1pbrQq3qefl4d4qPTXlQtBYuk2StcRYuKF9jnz0n0XZ2HdH5gDzPJkT_KLxhvmeS1QeMNQWsJmn1MjBzws4N5-ul_z0A_0aQgHsiV7KOEUi4MneDCPOc/s1600-h/Edinburgh+with+castle+in+distance.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8bLsAgag0HUdmsjrdmXEujAiU1pbrQq3qefl4d4qPTXlQtBYuk2StcRYuKF9jnz0n0XZ2HdH5gDzPJkT_KLxhvmeS1QeMNQWsJmn1MjBzws4N5-ul_z0A_0aQgHsiV7KOEUi4MneDCPOc/s400/Edinburgh+with+castle+in+distance.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5424214459292562722" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPWXfKgbLgHSeCMdQj4v_V0CY5ccQGdlF0szjOIrd26vmyBXxCl3eH22v71Z3yEmqZuEPkGDpSW1cULedQRtjcgBOgcdVNXJBfKnwFx9rdJApu31guDDRxF2udh_FGwq7dqdj2EZL_aKsc/s1600-h/Edinburgh+castle+with+houses.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPWXfKgbLgHSeCMdQj4v_V0CY5ccQGdlF0szjOIrd26vmyBXxCl3eH22v71Z3yEmqZuEPkGDpSW1cULedQRtjcgBOgcdVNXJBfKnwFx9rdJApu31guDDRxF2udh_FGwq7dqdj2EZL_aKsc/s400/Edinburgh+castle+with+houses.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5424214803140508194" border="0" /></a> Edinburgh Castle<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrJ6cGNDMNcD17U_A8jJR7A68Wb9yCdjI3TFDNa9Tv40fH4IQhFL2vdzoE67idzogUPTEdUdrI4KzQHYcE6B8rFWamtGuYeLajJboI3CSnlzKQweYqZOczu1i03wMX8tQo2_JhiizPo1G0/s1600-h/Edinburgh+castle+portcullis.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrJ6cGNDMNcD17U_A8jJR7A68Wb9yCdjI3TFDNa9Tv40fH4IQhFL2vdzoE67idzogUPTEdUdrI4KzQHYcE6B8rFWamtGuYeLajJboI3CSnlzKQweYqZOczu1i03wMX8tQo2_JhiizPo1G0/s400/Edinburgh+castle+portcullis.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423875412886562258" border="0" /></a> Phil and Bill. I prefer not to stand under a portcullis, myself.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRFcdZQwXO23eYKa3Jskxd3k0xs3mcQMXV2IP_xOAGzmnb6NBCmXQPkErd7AT72bX3jFW6moXRrrRx-7rauI3wnjU2OX4c91rOwof1Kgxj5w2VOD0BFohknBF-xbzR_wt12Y5SAMqDwu7Q/s1600-h/Mons+Meg.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRFcdZQwXO23eYKa3Jskxd3k0xs3mcQMXV2IP_xOAGzmnb6NBCmXQPkErd7AT72bX3jFW6moXRrrRx-7rauI3wnjU2OX4c91rOwof1Kgxj5w2VOD0BFohknBF-xbzR_wt12Y5SAMqDwu7Q/s400/Mons+Meg.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423875868619770722" border="0" /></a>The medieval seigegun, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mons_Meg">Mons Meg</a>. And Bill. And Phil.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkLQhH6TJaUPCHH87OR6fcr4-JhP-kgeozfhXMAaFrDjhFYnNN_DSsij_F7eJvR_f36oP-wZE6QsQcEI7h1ogz4l5V3p2J_ClZr8mUMqzozvL8-I_SUUJsiYn-0tU0Bu74jMCX70I13zlN/s1600-h/Embra+castle+hallway.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkLQhH6TJaUPCHH87OR6fcr4-JhP-kgeozfhXMAaFrDjhFYnNN_DSsij_F7eJvR_f36oP-wZE6QsQcEI7h1ogz4l5V3p2J_ClZr8mUMqzozvL8-I_SUUJsiYn-0tU0Bu74jMCX70I13zlN/s400/Embra+castle+hallway.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5424216489377896738" border="0" /></a> Do I have to even say?<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXe2WIKHUHQJ8nLNK42KcRyTcSMfoOXYiHKY33Ad6-JFJ9F7oTY7pNgBMuKd2FfmuRPRCpnbHLOiV_YHJHQowcYtOmxAQnGF1qLAKjXPMqJ5Dyw184qnd91FeTyj-MLjUZQFC97qZQIC0V/s1600-h/lion+and+unicorn+mantlepiece.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXe2WIKHUHQJ8nLNK42KcRyTcSMfoOXYiHKY33Ad6-JFJ9F7oTY7pNgBMuKd2FfmuRPRCpnbHLOiV_YHJHQowcYtOmxAQnGF1qLAKjXPMqJ5Dyw184qnd91FeTyj-MLjUZQFC97qZQIC0V/s400/lion+and+unicorn+mantlepiece.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5424218443297028802" border="0" /></a>The Lion and Unicorn fighting for the crown.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvd7W9dtUlMix9j_VoK7kz4Y9iaFvlfzc6WRYzUpX9kQQ_8oBHANOMnbgExkgFFbU2_VP79BEf_GpUxPGz9YIJr7RRz7pogHojIo-Y6ifnFzm-C6L-QTbOg3Xrq6sLzYBf9dJLZVuJiJq4/s1600-h/Firth+of+Forth.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvd7W9dtUlMix9j_VoK7kz4Y9iaFvlfzc6WRYzUpX9kQQ_8oBHANOMnbgExkgFFbU2_VP79BEf_GpUxPGz9YIJr7RRz7pogHojIo-Y6ifnFzm-C6L-QTbOg3Xrq6sLzYBf9dJLZVuJiJq4/s400/Firth+of+Forth.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423876840163902978" border="0" /></a>A view of Edinburgh and the Firth of Forth (a fjord) from the castle.<br /><br />And just so <a href="http://lesley.typepad.com/umwhat/" target="_blank">Lesley</a> doesn't feel gypped:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWM0Cif9sNLXsJUgkswAdcJ2g7JnqxV8MtOOL2cofPjwIcyKSnEU_LQXdgw6WUO8v9j3SLNq5Hpyw_VreATakGlXCrDqRqj9aLvyiYdRq-GeKFw8eeu5t-l8E4GVAEbZVk77nYH8XV57j9/s1600-h/mmm+haggis.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWM0Cif9sNLXsJUgkswAdcJ2g7JnqxV8MtOOL2cofPjwIcyKSnEU_LQXdgw6WUO8v9j3SLNq5Hpyw_VreATakGlXCrDqRqj9aLvyiYdRq-GeKFw8eeu5t-l8E4GVAEbZVk77nYH8XV57j9/s400/mmm+haggis.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423859584610561602" border="0" /></a>Me eating haggis (you probably don't even want to know. But it was good) at the Royal McGregor pub on the Royal Mile, which is a tourist trap according to Mr Farty. He prefers the Worlds End pub down the street where he can get a really good <a href="http://betterootthanin.blogspot.com/2007/06/most-embarrassing-moment-or-something.html" target="_blank">Pan-Galactic Gargle Blaster</a>. Also check out the photos on Mr Farty's sidebar at <a href="http://betterootthanin.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Better Oot Than In</a> for better views of the entire area.<br />~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~<br />I remarked that I was posting some photos of Scotland, so my mother wants me to mention that they got another border collie yesterday (they have two now) and named her Céilidh (pronounced Cay-lee) which is a traditional Gaelic dance. She promised to send me photos.<br /><br />So Bob, did it work?Lauriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00682513110485580000noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1542645745020472639.post-91414852117930842582009-12-31T20:07:00.000-08:002010-01-01T17:05:45.219-08:00On being alone<span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">UPDATE: Being alone is all well and good, but sometimes it would be nice to have another person in the car when I'm going skiing and have to put chains on the tires to get there...</span><br /><br />At the age of about 8, I was lucky enough to have a horse-crazy mother who was finally able to fulfill her lifelong dream by getting me a pony - Paleface - and then later, a horse - Najmah (she also got herself a horse for a while). By the time I was a young teen, I was doing things like riding Najmah through the Dairy Queen drive-thru and sharing a hamburger with her. I ate the burger, she ate the bun. This was Texas in the '70s, so the only really unusual thing about that was that I was riding English style instead of Western. Although I often rode with friends, we lived in a rural area where I was also able to just saddle up and ride off by myself pretty much whenever I wanted. It was very liberating.<br /><br />It would be just me and Najmah. Usually Whiskey, our border collie, would come — ostensibly for protection, but in reality she mostly just chased squirrels (she did attack and drive off a much larger Keeshond who was trying to bite Najmah's heels once). I had a feeling of exhilaration and well-being and thought I never felt alone or lonely because I was enjoying the company of other beings. I had these same feelings years later with my horse, Sandpiper.<br /><br />The weird thing is, I get the exact same feelings when I'm skiing, and I'm almost always alone when I ski. I even prefer to ride the lift alone if the resort isn't too busy. Making conversation with a complete stranger on a long lift ride can be interesting, but is sometimes just too stressful. My mother actually recently asked me if I get lonely skiing. No, never. It doesn't bother me to have lunch at the resort restaurants alone, either.* I have more recently started riding my bike regularly, and yes, I get those same feelings. I often ride with friends, but far more often alone.<br /><br />I actually kind of find it sad that the "company" was all in my head. This, of course, doesn't mean that I didn't love the horses. When we left Texas for California, we had to leave them there, and I missed them terribly and cried for weeks (that was back in 1979, and I'll still get choked up thinking about it). Or perhaps I should say that I WAS enjoying their company, but that wasn't why I wasn't lonely.<br /><br />I like company, but I guess I'm also just comfortable being by myself.<br /><br />* My mother told me once that she had <i>never</i> eaten in a restaurant alone. I was flabbergasted. I've even been to <i>movies</i> by myself.Lauriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00682513110485580000noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1542645745020472639.post-37750199916468582102009-12-27T11:00:00.000-08:002009-12-27T12:29:19.359-08:00Lolcats, birds, horses, elephants, goats...I know. Lazy post. Hey, I did all the hard work of weeding through <a href="http://icanhascheezburger.com/"target="_blank">icanhascheezburger.com</a> for you!<br /><a href="http://icanhascheezburger.com/2008/07/17/funny-pictures-spider-wuz-huge/"><img class="mine_1468103" src="http://icanhascheezburger.wordpress.com/files/2008/07/funny-pictures-goats-discuss-spider-size.jpg" alt="cat" /></a><br />Yah, I would have been right up there with them. Srsly.<br /><br /><a href="http://icanhascheezburger.com/2009/07/10/funny-pictures-and-stuffs/"><img class="mine_4554568" title="funny-pictures-cat-upsets-your-gravity" src="http://icanhascheezburger.wordpress.com/files/2009/06/funny-pictures-cat-upsets-your-gravity.jpg" alt="funny pictures of cats with captions" /></a><br />see more <a href="http://icanhascheezburger.com">Lolcats and funny pictures</a><br /><br /><a href="http://icanhascheezburger.com/2009/07/17/funny-pictures-show-off/"><img class="mine_4602126" title="funny-pictures-bird-shows-off" src="http://icanhascheezburger.wordpress.com/files/2009/07/funny-pictures-bird-shows-off.jpg" alt="funny pictures of cats with captions" /></a><br />see more <a href="http://icanhascheezburger.com">Lolcats and funny pictures</a><br /><br /><a href="http://icanhascheezburger.com/2009/07/31/funny-pictures-he-couldnt-catch-birds/"><img class="mine_4761278" title="funny-pictures-cat-is-cross-eyed" src="http://icanhascheezburger.wordpress.com/files/2009/07/funny-pictures-cat-is-cross-eyed.jpg" alt="funny pictures of cats with captions" /></a><br />He might actually be able to catch that starling...<br /><br /><a href="http://icanhascheezburger.com/2009/08/07/funny-pictures-teh-dark-side/"><img class="mine_4820293" title="funny-pictures-cat-invented-dark-side" src="http://icanhascheezburger.wordpress.com/files/2009/07/funny-pictures-cat-invented-dark-side.jpg" alt="funny pictures of cats with captions" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://icanhascheezburger.com/2009/08/10/funny-pictures-walk-behind-the-elephant/"><img class="mine_4852345" title="funny-pictures-bird-walks-behind-elephant" src="http://icanhascheezburger.wordpress.com/files/2009/08/funny-pictures-bird-walks-behind-elephant.jpg" alt="funny pictures of cats with captions" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://icanhascheezburger.com/2009/08/27/funny-pictures-me-is-just-an-expression/"><img class="mine_4968223" title="funny-pictures-lions-bite-eachother" src="http://icanhascheezburger.wordpress.com/files/2009/08/funny-pictures-lions-bite-eachother.jpg" alt="funny pictures of cats with captions" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://icanhascheezburger.com/2009/09/03/funny-pictures-going-to-fit-in-here/"><img class="mine_5003106" title="funny-pictures-horse-looks-at-engine" src="http://icanhascheezburger.wordpress.com/files/2009/08/funny-pictures-horse-looks-at-engine.jpg" alt="funny pictures of cats with captions" /></a>If I know horses, he's actually just about to rip out the spark plug wires.<br /><br /><a href="http://icanhascheezburger.com/2009/09/07/funny-pictures-escape-gets-under-way/"><img class="mine_4940872" title="funny-pictures-turtle-escapes-slowly" src="http://icanhascheezburger.wordpress.com/files/2009/08/funny-pictures-turtle-escapes-slowly.jpg" alt="funny pictures of cats with captions" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://icanhascheezburger.com/2009/11/30/funny-pictures-the-birds-2/"><img title="funny-pictures-bird-means-business" src="http://icanhascheezburger.wordpress.com/files/2009/11/funny-pictures-bird-means-business.jpg" alt="funny pictures of cats with captions" /></a>If my mother reads this (highly unlikely), she's just going to worry in case he hurts himself. She's probably worried about the upside-down starling, too.<br /><br /><a href="http://icanhascheezburger.com/2009/06/14/funny-pictures-in-the-backyard-again/"><img class="mine_4276788" title="funny-pictures-there-are-zombies-in-your-yard" src="http://icanhascheezburger.wordpress.com/files/2009/05/funny-pictures-there-are-zombies-in-your-yard.jpg" alt="funny pictures of cats with captions" /></a>Zombies are more of a problem in our front yard.<br /><br /><a href="http://icanhascheezburger.com/2009/06/09/funny-pictures-this-2/"><img class="mine_4255592" title="funny-pictures-you-have-a-very-dangerous-box" src="http://icanhascheezburger.wordpress.com/files/2009/05/funny-pictures-you-have-a-very-dangerous-box.jpg" alt="funny pictures of cats with captions" /></a>My brother actually sent this one to me.<br /><br /><a href="http://icanhascheezburger.com/2009/02/01/funny-pictures-start-having-rowdy-parties/"><img class="mine_3124636" title="funny-pictures-this-cat-has-rowdy-earmites" src="http://icanhascheezburger.wordpress.com/files/2009/01/funny-pictures-this-cat-has-rowdy-earmites.jpg" alt="funny pictures of cats with captions" /></a><br />see more <a href="http://icanhascheezburger.com">Lolcats and funny pictures</a>Lauriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00682513110485580000noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1542645745020472639.post-5973733620549433922009-11-26T21:44:00.000-08:002009-11-26T21:50:24.034-08:00Proof that I've been to ScotlandI took Bill to England two years ago last October/November for my grandfather's 99th birthday. Since this was the second time Bill had ever been off this continent (he went to Hawaii once), we decided to cram as much into the three weeks as possible. After heading down to Devon with my parents to see my grandparents, my aunt Hilary gave me a few driving lessons (it was very nice of her to put her car at such risk), and Bill and I rented a car (well, I rented a car. Nobody wanted Bill to try and drive on the other side of the road, including Bill) and headed back to London (with a side trip to Stonehenge) where we met up with my brother. After a few days in London, we took off on a road trip that went up the M1 up through Leeds (I might do another post on the Royal Armory at Leeds) and then cut across through Jedburgh to Edinburgh. Bill was in archeologist heaven the entire time.<br /><br />Before we got to Scotland, we had to stop at <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hadrian%27s_Wall" target="_blank">Hadrian's Wall</a> (Phil, does this count as another post about you? It does have photos of you...). <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6kHVtwASwN50fnptNgArrssay1ufZjqJCSoTQZARaRv4v0O6XYmcN2lM1W6nSBEbhkMJy24BU-RwsWcXDmhLvXwTMTop0xXQ1qevam8X0Y9E32hTKc-pUpx86iZ0qpTNHMISzgxEv3vZq/s1600/Had+wall+Bill+and+Phil.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6kHVtwASwN50fnptNgArrssay1ufZjqJCSoTQZARaRv4v0O6XYmcN2lM1W6nSBEbhkMJy24BU-RwsWcXDmhLvXwTMTop0xXQ1qevam8X0Y9E32hTKc-pUpx86iZ0qpTNHMISzgxEv3vZq/s400/Had+wall+Bill+and+Phil.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5406408868052716338" border="0" /></a>You can see in this photo that the wall was built as two parallel walls, and then the interior was filled in with rubble and concrete:<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNrm_8cn6ZBT48s1h9QeOiJFG360PTM-S0KpHyYS-jBzYIu3xEyjOgZBlLJZs_XPkfICTlD8-BJ8KUTivv-45ZNvnGZi8iF2Lg-7ybIc2saLVV1-eEV_5Q7cDwD6CODIyte_ZzIHKz0bFh/s1600/Bill+and+wall.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNrm_8cn6ZBT48s1h9QeOiJFG360PTM-S0KpHyYS-jBzYIu3xEyjOgZBlLJZs_XPkfICTlD8-BJ8KUTivv-45ZNvnGZi8iF2Lg-7ybIc2saLVV1-eEV_5Q7cDwD6CODIyte_ZzIHKz0bFh/s400/Bill+and+wall.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5406412326383110082" border="0" /></a> There were several forts along the wall. This is the ruins of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vercovicium" target="_blank">Vercovicium</a> (Housteads)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4xm-J-MJFxjJGfavOlIbT-yvWYpJEDknu4ccEiGYIeJGgqfAWl1PT5OX5rmlf8hEiu0BMwsaqDvOkCk-BHvUUpi8QZuAngd4i4fMTStnBxozRMqzEbLbRGvsR7QlKQMeaMb7BU3u-hVt_/s1600/Housteads.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4xm-J-MJFxjJGfavOlIbT-yvWYpJEDknu4ccEiGYIeJGgqfAWl1PT5OX5rmlf8hEiu0BMwsaqDvOkCk-BHvUUpi8QZuAngd4i4fMTStnBxozRMqzEbLbRGvsR7QlKQMeaMb7BU3u-hVt_/s400/Housteads.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5406418373799526914" border="0" /></a> The pillars supported a raised floor (some of which is still there). Hot air from wood burning stoves circulated under the floors for central heat. The Romans were big on comfort. The granary:<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtGP1KlGfQUbLja0ccggIVCV51iUPNYkwI_aPwWhKBN1EY-RbjhUCB_EpSspGUfMUwPczR9Hxo8ZZywRWf_oTEDBarxzx30bcN1N9c98DdTPp-swXBXk301-Pg6Rc6DCVjar9A7vHY53pW/s1600/Granary.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtGP1KlGfQUbLja0ccggIVCV51iUPNYkwI_aPwWhKBN1EY-RbjhUCB_EpSspGUfMUwPczR9Hxo8ZZywRWf_oTEDBarxzx30bcN1N9c98DdTPp-swXBXk301-Pg6Rc6DCVjar9A7vHY53pW/s400/Granary.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5406419954721907442" border="0" /></a>The latrines:<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4obKf8MxlKKnPqj55c6If058zunZBH_giXX-vnhTfk45W2Qub4BXPpg3HopTXCo57G9DfraaD_79URxYNqhsS05fD-7nPY5bccqGd3xts_Wu-T5GEGXWod0tz_s_31fqAL0e0Jycj3fD3/s1600/Latrines.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4obKf8MxlKKnPqj55c6If058zunZBH_giXX-vnhTfk45W2Qub4BXPpg3HopTXCo57G9DfraaD_79URxYNqhsS05fD-7nPY5bccqGd3xts_Wu-T5GEGXWod0tz_s_31fqAL0e0Jycj3fD3/s400/Latrines.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5406420292273411826" border="0" /></a>And an artist's rendition of what the latrines probably looked like:<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkxbFLxp9GV-uq2A8HRuLt23JhTE3k_N2dm7eYYET1KOBOyQt1TAx0_KNSyiObcDXR5ZYVy5yzoAKxHZ9wpQXn1peWG_Wn-TAVg2zDv6bvZwbYUHa7LGwlVG239LBlRNF8a4LM5LewuLAQ/s1600/Latrines+2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 277px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkxbFLxp9GV-uq2A8HRuLt23JhTE3k_N2dm7eYYET1KOBOyQt1TAx0_KNSyiObcDXR5ZYVy5yzoAKxHZ9wpQXn1peWG_Wn-TAVg2zDv6bvZwbYUHa7LGwlVG239LBlRNF8a4LM5LewuLAQ/s400/Latrines+2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5406420565367726610" border="0" /></a>We could tell we were getting close to the border, because we met a large Border Collie. He looked very similar to and was about the same size as (huge) the one my parents had for their first 12 years of marriage. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhdw9vjYYgAOwOubisj2PxA_RlhgiYfGKDsuxMWIkw5fAbY4NsiYYmj8NmzCcRJIJ1O_k-cfYJKb2kdo0y46fwCKigevbqzz2PD4kc1IxFYtLLN2xu2SEvkDPPmU-Y3CseK0JEpJys9tkh/s1600/Border+collie.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 325px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhdw9vjYYgAOwOubisj2PxA_RlhgiYfGKDsuxMWIkw5fAbY4NsiYYmj8NmzCcRJIJ1O_k-cfYJKb2kdo0y46fwCKigevbqzz2PD4kc1IxFYtLLN2xu2SEvkDPPmU-Y3CseK0JEpJys9tkh/s400/Border+collie.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5406427271580641298" border="0" /></a> We finally made it to the Scottish border, and took the typical touristy pictures:<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl1H9w940pnFm4Dkcaipz4EVV1i_68P9vJvCMAtuR14OYat1TB74PcXb6BuZTGIDY_7kz-xmg82HpxucURpyeBaAlsUNOHJK2cOb8UXrRzItyCLJMulbkkrYP7HEggJNGYW_TH-eQfEyky/s1600/Border+England.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 298px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl1H9w940pnFm4Dkcaipz4EVV1i_68P9vJvCMAtuR14OYat1TB74PcXb6BuZTGIDY_7kz-xmg82HpxucURpyeBaAlsUNOHJK2cOb8UXrRzItyCLJMulbkkrYP7HEggJNGYW_TH-eQfEyky/s400/Border+England.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5406427557586834498" border="0" /></a>Bill is in the Vauxhall Astra in the background because it was cold and rainy and he's a wuss. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS0rtudojRf9jgMZRYFWMoEbSoHx88-7iwNVlKSDVZmBk8P_ewvG9O-lYR_XxquTAyPbG2pYY6Hal-vNvGHpaSn6FQ669I3Ot-_stFLoLRhhpvBT-fBhITSYsiDeP6SRAZU9bUsrxMuVDq/s1600/Border+Scotland.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 393px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS0rtudojRf9jgMZRYFWMoEbSoHx88-7iwNVlKSDVZmBk8P_ewvG9O-lYR_XxquTAyPbG2pYY6Hal-vNvGHpaSn6FQ669I3Ot-_stFLoLRhhpvBT-fBhITSYsiDeP6SRAZU9bUsrxMuVDq/s400/Border+Scotland.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5406427781731948674" border="0" /></a><br />Next post - maybe some actual photos of Scotland....<br />All photos taken with my Canon PowerShot A540.Lauriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00682513110485580000noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1542645745020472639.post-49118807126058050992009-10-30T12:23:00.000-07:002009-10-31T09:27:40.824-07:00Kiva - Loans that change livesOver the past year or so, several atheist blogs I read (but mainly the <a href="http://friendlyatheist.com/" target="_blank">Friendly Atheist</a>) have mentioned a microfinance site where you can loan money to specific low income entrepreneurs throughout the world as a way to fight poverty. A couple of months ago, I wandered over to take a look. <br /><br />It sounded like a good idea, so I joined the <i><a href="http://www.kiva.org/community/viewTeam?team_id=94" target="_blank">Atheists, Agnostics, Skeptics, Freethinkers, Secular Humanists and the Non-Religious</a></i> (AASFSHNR) team but didn't make a loan for a while. Via a lot of blog promotion, the AASFSHNR has become the number one lending team on Kiva, but I felt I had to research more about it before I actually gave Kiva any money.<br /><br />The way it works is you loan to an individual or group somewhere in the world and the loan gets paid back over a specific period (like any loan, of course). Then you have the option of either loaning the money again, donating it to <a href="http://www.kiva.org/" target="_blank">Kiva</a> to cover operating expenses, or withdrawing it. Although Kiva does not charge interest, the loan goes through a field partner in the borrower's country, and they do charge the borrower interest. The loans you make are interest free, so this is not a way to make money, and in fact, there is a chance you will lose it if the borrower fails to repay. Researching what might be going on (e.g., political or economic problems) in the part of the globe to which you're sending your money, and the microfinance field partner is probably a good idea. <a href="http://www.kiva.org/about/facts/" target="_blank">Over $99,700,000</a> has been loaned worldwide through Kiva so far.<br /><br />Then, Bobby Henderson, founder of the <a href="http://www.venganza.org/" target="_blank">Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster</a>, made a plea on the AASFSHNR message board because the <a href="http://www.kiva.org/community/viewTeam?team_id=191" target="_blank">FSM team</a> was getting close to the $100,000 mark (note that, although the AASFSHNR name is rather long, and in fact might possibly be the longest team name on Kiva, it does NOT include Pastafarians). I went over and checked, and found that the FSM team is the number two lender in the religious organizations category! It seemed as though I was being tapped on the shoulder by His noodly appendage (or maybe I just had an itch. I don't know), so I, of course, had to <a href="http://www.kiva.org/lender/laurie38158922" target="_blank">make a couple of loans</a> (Ok, if you click that link, you'll notice 11 so far). I figure that I can afford a few dollars better than most of the people on this planet. I've already been able to re-lend a substantial amount of the money I've loaned, so my "investment" is fairly minimal.<br /><br />On October 7, the AASFSHNR team became the first group to loan over a million dollars (the number two team is still over $300,000 away). <a href="http://atheist-monkey.blogspot.com/2009/10/press-release-atheists-lead-movement-to.html" target="_blank">Here is a press release</a> regarding the event. We are currently over $1,100,000.<br /><br />Twenty-five dollars is the minimum you can loan, but you can re-loan it as often as you like. That $25 can turn into $50, $75 or much more. Go and loan now. Join any of my teams, or a competing team (we like the competition! It means more loans!). There are plenty of them: <a href="http://www.kiva.org/community/viewTeam?team_id=147" target="_blank">GLBT</a>, <a href="http://www.kiva.org/community/viewTeam?team_id=473" target="_blank">Team Obama</a>, <a href="http://www.kiva.org/community/viewTeam?team_id=83" target="_blank">Animal Lovers</a>, and even <a href="http://www.kiva.org/community/viewTeam?team_id=1088" target="_blank">Beer Goggles Never Lie...much</a>. Or you can start your own team. It doesn't matter what team, or even if you aren't on one - for a minimal amount of money, you can help change lives. This may not be an investment for you, but it is an investment in the world and our future.<br />~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~<br />Paraphrasing LeVar Burton, you don't just have to take my word for it:<br /><br />'Revolutionising how donors and lenders in the US are connecting with small entrepreneurs in developing countries.' <span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">(actually, there are lenders from all over the world)</span><br />-- BBC<br /><br />'If you've got 25 bucks, a PC and a PayPal account, you've now got the wherewithal to be an international financier.'<br />-- CNN Money<br /><br />'Smaller investors can make loans of as little as $25 to specific individual entrepreneurs through a service launched last fall by Kiva.org.'<br />-- The Wall Street Journal<br /><br />'An inexpensive feel-good investment opportunity...All loaned funds go directly to the applicants, and most loans are repaid in full.'<br />-- Entrepreneur MagazineLauriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00682513110485580000noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1542645745020472639.post-30400829085430059532009-09-08T19:40:00.000-07:002009-09-09T19:01:40.414-07:00The Prince's Rainforest CampaignNot much of a post, but this wouldn't fit in my sidebar. I was floored at the speed of the counter at the <a href="http://www.rainforestsos.org/pages/about-us/"target="_blank">top of this page</a> displaying the m<sup>2</sup> of rainforest that has been destroyed since the page is opened. It is really, really depressing.<br /><br /><img style="visibility:hidden;width:0px;height:0px;" border=0 width=0 height=0 src="http://counters.gigya.com/wildfire/IMP/CXNID=2000002.0NXC/bT*xJmx*PTEyNDQ4MTE5NjA*OTcmcHQ9MTI*NDgxMTk3MzkzMiZwPTYxNjIxMiZkPXBycGZ1bGxwcnBzaXRlJmc9MiZ*PSZvPTRjNjc5ZDk*YTkwNjRmYjc5OGFiMTdiYWNmYjE2ZmIyJm9mPTA=.gif" /><object width="375" height="373" id="PRPWidget" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000"><param name="allowScriptAccess" value="always" /><param name="allowFullScreen" value="false" /><param name="movie" value="http://prp.gigya.s3.amazonaws.com/prp_loader_full.swf?gid=prpsite&uid=7226"/><embed src="http://prp.gigya.s3.amazonaws.com/prp_loader_full.swf?gid=prpsite&uid=7226" width="375" height="373" name="PRPWidget" allowScriptAccess="always" FlashVars="gig_lt=1244811960497&gig_pt=1244811973932&gig_g=2"/></embed><param name="FlashVars" value="gig_lt=1244811960497&gig_pt=1244811973932&gig_g=2" /></object><br /><br />On the other hand, Princes William and Harry are really cute <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=boEDMVNAPk4"target="_blank">in this video</a>.Lauriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00682513110485580000noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1542645745020472639.post-43694730092655791922009-08-14T15:11:00.000-07:002009-10-30T17:17:55.325-07:00EarthquakesThe first earthquake I ever felt was a small one that barely shook the stage while I was in band rehearsal a couple of months after we moved to California. The Drum Major screamed, "Earthquake!" but the rest of the band just sat calmly as the room swayed back and forth a little.<br />______________________________________________________<br />I was also in class at UC Davis when the 6.9 magnitude <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1989_Loma_Prieta_earthquake" target="_blank">Loma Prieta earthquake</a> (otherwise known as the earthquake that interrupted the World Series that almost nobody cared about anyway) hit the San Francisco Bay Area on October 17, 1989. Davis was about 100 miles from the epicenter, and we actually felt it quite strongly. I was in Human Physiology in the largest lecture hall on campus, and everyone in the room thought that the person behind them had kicked the back of their chair. Hard. The professor was standing, and couldn't feel it, but slowly realized that he had suddenly <i>completely</i> lost everyone's attention. Finally the class managed to point out to him that 1) his bike was rolling back and forth behind him, and 2) the trees outside were whipping back and forth without wind.<br /><br />I got out to my car after class, and KGO, the Bay Area talk radio station to which my radio was always tuned was off the air. That's when I started worrying about my parents, who were living in the Bay Area at the time. By the time I was able to get home and call them, the phone lines were completely overwhelmed and useless.<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"><br />Cut to my parents:</span><br />My parents were sitting on the couch watching everything swing and sway around them, and after a while, my mother said to my father, "Do you think we should get in a doorway or something?" by which time, it was over. They sat and watched as a large vase on the wall unit spun around and around on it's base, but eventually righted itself rather than falling over. My collie, <a href="http://ichthyologistbright.blogspot.com/2008/06/line-breeding.html"target="_blank">Robin</a>, was staying with them for a few months, and had had a couple of dizzy spells. They said he stood in the entryway with his legs splayed, obviously thinking this was another one.<br /><br />KGO was off the air because their radio transmission tower<a href="http://gallery.usgs.gov/photos/mQHs38Vjj1_35%20" target="_blank">...broke</a> and fell into the bay.<br />_______________________________________________________<br />I happened to be in Redlands, CA when the <a href="http://gcmd.nasa.gov/record/GCMD_gov.noaa.ngdc.G01210.html"target="_blank">Landers and Big Bear twin earthquakes</a> hit, June 28, 1992. I was doing field work for the consulting firm for which I worked and I had dragged one of our field technicians, Burt, down to Southern California to help. We had fyke nets in the Santa Ana River and Big Bear Creek up in the San Bernardino Mountains that we were checking a couple of times a day. <br /><br />Unusually for me, just as I was falling asleep on the 27th, I thought to myself, "What would I do if there's an earthquake tonight? I'll get under that table." No, I had never thought anything like that before. No, I'm not psychic. I either felt one of the pre-shocks, or it was just a coincidence. I was literally thrown out of bed when the 7.6 magnitude Lander's quake hit at 4:58 AM (Redlands was ~40 miles from the epicenter), and woke up under that table thinking, "Damn! I should really wear more clothes to bed. I can't run outside wearing this!" Yes, if the building had collapsed, I would have been killed due to modesty.<br /><br />I wasn't really frightened - more excited than anything. When I finally got dressed and outside, it was mostly over, the water was sloshing around in the pool a little, and the completely freaked out Burt was at my door with his bags packed, ready to leave. I convinced him that we should at least eat breakfast first. I also called my parents to tell them I was OK even though it was 5:00 AM, because I knew from previous experience that the phone lines would soon be overwhelmed.<br /><br />A fairly strong aftershock hit while Burt and I were eating, but I convinced him that we should just stay and finish our job. We couldn't just leave the nets there, and "What are the chances that there will be <i>another</i> earthquake," I said, rolling my eyes. I remember saying this several times.<br /><br />We left to go up into the San Bernardino mountains and a really strong aftershock hit while we were gassing up the truck. This helped him convince me that we should go back to our hotel and at least call in to see what our supervisor said. While we were on the phone, the 6.7 <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Big_Bear_earthquake"target="_blank">Big Bear earthquake</a> hit. Although it was a much smaller earthquake, it was also much closer (~25 miles away) and a MUCH sharper jolt.<br /><br />It was probably one of the most exciting things that has ever happened to me. Burt and I were taking turns yanking the phone out of each other's hands and relaying the earthquake to our poor supervisor blow-by-blow. We were on the second floor, and had a pretty good view. <br /><br />Large amounts of water in the pool started sloshing out, which was just amazing to see.<br /><br />The television in my room kept tilting forward until it was caught by the cord, and then thrown back onto the table.<br /><br />The hotel we were in was right next to a freeway overpass, which was swaying violently back and forth. The teflon-lined joints in the road bed were doing their job, and sliding against each other - one half of the overpass was going one way, and the other the other way. The friction was so great, the joint started smoking. Although it was only offset by a few inches, it was incredible to watch!<br /><br />It was an unusually clear day, and as I looked out at the mountains, it suddenly looked as thought they had spontaneously burst into flames. What looked like smoke started billowing up all over them. I realized this must be from numerous simultaneous land slides and relayed this to my poor supervisor. <br /><br />Everything calmed down fairly quickly, and Burt was finally able to convince me to leave. Before we left, we drove out to explain to our client's office to let them know we were going and ask them to pull the nets when they got a chance. They told us that they had several work crews stuck up on the roads <i>unable to move because landslides had blocked them on either side</i>. Yes, the very same roads we would have been on if I had had my way. Later, we also found out that the nets had actually been buried under boulders. THAT would have been exciting had we been there... The nets were only a few miles from the epicenter of the Big Bear quake.<br /><br />Amazingly enough, there were only three casualties from these two quakes, although sadly one of them was a three year old boy.Lauriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00682513110485580000noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1542645745020472639.post-54558883322144230362009-08-07T22:49:00.000-07:002010-02-06T19:24:04.828-08:00I haven't written enough posts about my brother. Apparently.Ok, I've tried to keep several members of my family pretty much out of this blog. My father has really been the only one that reads it regularly, and he never comments except in person (well, usually on the phone since they live thousands of miles away). He does send me blog material occasionally. He's a retired <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Helminthology" target="blank">helminthologist</a>, and when I was growing up, dinner table conversation often turned to such interesting things as parasitic nematodes and tapeworms. This was sort of an unofficial litmus test for potential boyfriends (and girlfriends in my brother's case) — if they didn't run to the bathroom and vomit, they had promise. If they joined in, even better.<sup>[1]</sup><br /><br />My mother is terrified that I will be found and shot or harassed or lose my job or something because she feels that the religious nuts in this country are highly unstable and I shouldn't be putting myself and family in danger by actually coming out as an atheist. I've told her that there are a lot of far more prominent atheists out there, and I would be <i>way</i> down on the list if people started gunning for us. I think she doesn't read my blog for the same reason that when she's a passenger in a car, she won't look over the edge of a cliff in case the car goes off.<br /><br />It's also partly because she and my father are really busy as licensed wild animal re-habbers. When my mother sends my father out on a wild goose chase, he usually comes home with an actual wild goose. No, they don't get paid, they do it for the animals, and yes you do have to have both federal and state licenses to do it, so don't try this at home. Oh, and thawing rats (to feed the carnivores) on the kitchen counter can also be a BIG turnoff for potential dates for both me AND my brother.<sup>[2]</sup> Just sayin'<br /><br />In addition she's...well, lets just say my brother and I both got her the same birthday card this year:<br /><span style="line-height: 1.2; color: rgb(102, 51, 102);"><blockquote><b>Outside </b>- Mom, This year I'm going to program your phone to play Happy Birthday whenever it rings<br /><br /><b>Inside</b> - And you won't be able to do anything about it, will you?</blockquote></span>My brother Phil, on the other hand, actually has commented several times, but wanted to remain anonymous due to what I can only assume are some shady dealings at some point in his life. He did at one time frequent a speakeasy, after all. Or maybe it was something about not wanting any of his ex-wives to find him. Whatever. He also has stated that he doesn't want to be associated too closely with me when they start rounding atheists up and putting us into concentration camps. SORRY PHIL. Too late. They have a file on you now, too. Not that he's paranoid or anything, but then again, he used to be a registered Republican. Which could possibly be a symptom of mental illness in itself. Luckily, the previous administration brought him to his senses. Now he's in the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Prohibition_Party" target="_blank">Prohibition Party</a>, AND the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/United_States_Marijuana_Party" target="_blank">Marijuana Party</a>, which causes him a lot of cognitive dissonance.<sup>[3]</sup><br /><br />When he discovered he wasn't exactly <a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/16250285273565825622" target="_blank">internet anonymous</a>, he started commenting more and suddenly became REALLY NEEDY! For example:<span style="line-height: 1.2; color: rgb(102, 51, 102);"><blockquote>See why I don't spend much time reading this blog? It has nothing about me in it. The whole page and nothing. She took days to write about her whole life, tomatoes, hives, horses. Me? Nope. Oh, wait. She mentions me in a reply to a post. Here. On this little backwater of a page. Humph.</blockquote></span>Did anyone who reads this know I had a brother? (PLEASE SAY YES, OR I'LL NEVER HEAR THE END OF IT!) And congratulate him. He's getting married soon! Again! Hey, wait. Do I have to get him yet another wedding present? I can only assume she passed the dead rat litmus test already.<sup>[4]</sup><br /><br />He's my younger brother, and I was always really mean to him. For instance, I slammed the door shut in his face once. Unfortunately, the door was exactly the right height to rip the toenail off his big toe. I also pushed him down a vine out of a tree. Unfortunately, the vine had a broken offshoot which caught him in the groin area. He had to have several stitches. I'm sure he still has <i>that</i> scar. Considering how I treated him, he's always been really nice to me. I don't know why...<br /><br />He's actually posted a picture of himself <a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/16250285273565825622">on his profile</a> (Yes, it's the same link as before. He doesn't give me much to work with).<sup>[5]</sup> I like this photo better, though.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAPyTwqslDugUnI37eh_JZ5CqmoaKW42UywECt3RAvPr5kquLOd6Wat_GCFppzBYMCu-06l17eqA20r5HB52I3LIuMayOCbT1xvP4WcTbD7DqVWQvIlyYQ5Xud-tDrBqb5QcgGUvSjBiTB/s1600-h/Philip.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAPyTwqslDugUnI37eh_JZ5CqmoaKW42UywECt3RAvPr5kquLOd6Wat_GCFppzBYMCu-06l17eqA20r5HB52I3LIuMayOCbT1xvP4WcTbD7DqVWQvIlyYQ5Xud-tDrBqb5QcgGUvSjBiTB/s400/Philip.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5367093053112071570" border="0" /></a>And you thought I was odd. Obviously the orange peel should go the other way around. Sheesh.<br /><br /><sup>[1]</sup> Both Bill and David passed with flying colours<br /><br /><sup>[2]</sup> Again Bill passed with flying colors. He was also accidentally fed rice that had confused flour beetles (they WERE cooked!) in it. Well, it wasn't actually accidental. My mother and I looked at the rice and then at each other, and quietly and quickly started picking the small black things out. We didn't tell my father and Bill until AFTER dinner, and Bill STILL married me two years later. It didn't bother either of them at all. But now nobody is ever going to come to my house for dinner again. Especially not my son, who has an irrational fear of insects (No, William. You were not there. As far as YOU know).<br /><br /><sup>[3]</sup> I suppose I should put a disclaimer that, no he is not in either the Prohibition or the Marijuana party. Especially not the Prohibition Party. I don't think...<br /><br /><sup>[4]</sup> Getting to Wallis and Futuna for the wedding is going to be a pain in the butt.<br /><br /><sup>[5]</sup> Contrary to what his Blogger Profile name might indicate, my Brother Phil is definitely NOT a monk.Lauriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00682513110485580000noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1542645745020472639.post-57144621908718259952009-07-26T20:10:00.000-07:002009-07-26T21:50:21.692-07:00Tomatoes<span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Warning: Boring tomato post. If you couldn't already tell that from the title.</span><br /></span><br />Bill and I usually have three tomato plants in tubs in our backyard, at least two of which are heirloom. This year we have Bull's Heart (my favourite - we grow it every year), Belgium Giant (Bill picked it out), and Jetsetter (which, contrary to the name, was the last to ripen yet again this year). This usually means we have so many tomatoes we can't eat them all before they rot, so I can many of them. <a href="http://ichthyologistbright.blogspot.com/2008/08/first-harvest.html" target="_blank">Last year started out promising</a>, but ended up being a dud. I canned 4 jars of Bull's Heart, and we easily kept ahead of them and ate the rest as they ripened.<br /><br />This year:<br />First harvest<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJeb-YnsJQ7fQKRI0smgMMNC5EpmHvhJMWCta53SB1ymeRC6AetuED3thRo3IVrHC1WR59x6ynEE2VaWMGzRtUcD1-X74VeFMTM7OldaY58ywpbKg4g0Y57ayx5VRg3GZUkYXycNfxVYmb/s1600-h/First_harvest.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 250px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJeb-YnsJQ7fQKRI0smgMMNC5EpmHvhJMWCta53SB1ymeRC6AetuED3thRo3IVrHC1WR59x6ynEE2VaWMGzRtUcD1-X74VeFMTM7OldaY58ywpbKg4g0Y57ayx5VRg3GZUkYXycNfxVYmb/s400/First_harvest.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5362917002686056530" border="0" /></a>A few days later it had grown into a big scary pile. Time to can:<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisXuJvh_8dXz9xzNupQgi62tVtAGQ_K-7eN3KwdeIVD4FUgymuln7oLk6n6Ff_K2TFkioopMJjfMPdSz_A_y7Xkez7K6fTpHt8XdidoEdLvKBvNkgWQq6PEPcNEgTRtISmm1W12qOKToQb/s1600-h/Scary_pile.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisXuJvh_8dXz9xzNupQgi62tVtAGQ_K-7eN3KwdeIVD4FUgymuln7oLk6n6Ff_K2TFkioopMJjfMPdSz_A_y7Xkez7K6fTpHt8XdidoEdLvKBvNkgWQq6PEPcNEgTRtISmm1W12qOKToQb/s400/Scary_pile.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5362916857405372610" border="0" /></a>After the massacre:<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi66VQd84bgl-DFc_9-K6ZY2ktOP_yNIPIQlCP4c0fENFKii9hZ63Ql-q_vMxWNqR6NPDwNwlpVa3aMi7vy-EIl9nuW9pJCRgx-kl7rDmIYgh9k-8J2BRD20s0c9eJvERpld0C1B4laqcBC/s1600-h/Massacre.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 274px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi66VQd84bgl-DFc_9-K6ZY2ktOP_yNIPIQlCP4c0fENFKii9hZ63Ql-q_vMxWNqR6NPDwNwlpVa3aMi7vy-EIl9nuW9pJCRgx-kl7rDmIYgh9k-8J2BRD20s0c9eJvERpld0C1B4laqcBC/s400/Massacre.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5362917106712922754" border="0" /></a>Done deed:<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVhKUHaL39DZ0sI1IKa33bBM1TW1A04bwi2pY5gcbHziQUR3PJaTMOMOvcJsx8HPe6RdWQthcRbijMoYWxxa8sMm1owUv-7aIAzggw3rpi3N7kK4BTC0XuJiceyzUa-ZIdWuemXFBjIqYN/s1600-h/Done_deed.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVhKUHaL39DZ0sI1IKa33bBM1TW1A04bwi2pY5gcbHziQUR3PJaTMOMOvcJsx8HPe6RdWQthcRbijMoYWxxa8sMm1owUv-7aIAzggw3rpi3N7kK4BTC0XuJiceyzUa-ZIdWuemXFBjIqYN/s400/Done_deed.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5362916700318691874" border="0" /></a>This year they are very juicy. I usually use a slotted spoon to spoon them into the jars, and that only leaves a little liquid at the bottom. Usually. I actually canned 3 more jars after this photo was taken.<br /><br />When you grow tomatoes, tomato hornworms often show up eventually and can do some major damage. I call them an attractive nuisance. They're really quite pretty.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOsSO0Smu9mFiWWoyPUYlOEroloYTrzZQHYZ1EJRPcOd0jaYA7BbQFxFKoABnskc7NEGZvNedDKh_0kJ9EQ4rvmjsppcN_UDufZo14RESfHfHhlqlC4Ca91H2FHBr06fBXpk0WwExHbV0h/s1600-h/Hornworm.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 256px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOsSO0Smu9mFiWWoyPUYlOEroloYTrzZQHYZ1EJRPcOd0jaYA7BbQFxFKoABnskc7NEGZvNedDKh_0kJ9EQ4rvmjsppcN_UDufZo14RESfHfHhlqlC4Ca91H2FHBr06fBXpk0WwExHbV0h/s400/Hornworm.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5362916581354474994" border="0" /></a>(click to embiggen) Bill called me outside to see a small black wasp "stinging" this one. I ran out and there was a pitched battle going on. The wasp was landing on the hornworm's back, and the hornworm was flinging it's head and upper body violently around at it. I said, "Um, no. It isn't stinging. It's laying eggs." <br /><br />Then I wouldn't let Bill kill the hornworm (what he normally does when he finds them) because I thought we should allow the parasitic wasps to survive to adulthood. The hornworm hung around in the top of the Belgium Giant plant for about a week, and then disappeared yesterday. I didn't see any signs of wasp infestation (it is apparently fairly obvious when they pupate). Now I don't know if it died due to the infestation, or has gone further down into the plant to pupate and metamorphose into a moth.Lauriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00682513110485580000noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1542645745020472639.post-2936253257840732282009-07-14T20:45:00.000-07:002009-11-26T21:06:29.923-08:00WOW! She got it EXACTLY... well, maybe not.Although <a href="http://scienceblogs.com/pharyngula/" target="_blank">PZ Myers</a> already <a href="http://scienceblogs.com/pharyngula/2009/07/a_lesson_in_atheist_philosophy.php" target="_blank">posted about it</a>, I thought I'd throw in my two cents worth.<br /><a href="http://www.reddeerexpress.com/express/edition03/opinion-003.html" target="_blank">This woman</a> sums up what a lot of people seem to believe about atheists. Because they know us better than we know ourselves. Apparently.<br /><br /><span style="line-height: 1.2; color: rgb(102, 51, 102);"><blockquote>There are some key factors involved in this thinking by atheists that are not usually published. <span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);">(Actually, these idiots write about it all the time)</span><br /><br />Being the hot topic of the day, any discussion of atheism, should include these 'difficult to admit' points:<br /><br />Firstly, atheists claim that they themselves are god. They claim they have superior knowledge then* the rest of us by trying to say that they have better knowledge because of their own thinking. They will not acknowledge anyone else to be above them.</blockquote></span>I have been an atheist all my life and have never once claimed to be a god or goddess, except in the kitchen and maybe once in the bedroom.** Come to think of it, I may have only <i>used</i> Green Goddess salad dressing in the kitchen, and may have only been <i>called</i> one in the bedroom.<br /><br />I love PZ's response to this - <i>Personally, I only rank myself as a lesser demon.</i><br />*Note, I refrained from correcting her misspellings, but not from making fun of them.<br />** If you are my father - DON'T READ ANY FURTHER!<br /><br /><span style="line-height: 1.2; color: rgb(102, 51, 102);"><blockquote>Secondly, atheists have been hurt somewhere in their lives, can't understand suffering, and are mad at God — so it is easier to deny there is one.</blockquote></span>Um, nope. I'm a generally happy person who has not been hurt any more than anyone else, very happy with how my life has turned out so far, very much in love with my husband, happy that my family is in fairly good health, and happy in my job (except for the potential 20% pay reduction - but at least I still have a job!). I have occasional "down" periods, but those are just part of normal cyclical ups and downs.<br /><br />I'm not sure what she means by "can't understand suffering." Suffering <i>is</i> a normal part of life. I know many people who suffer or have suffered both physically and emotionally far more than I have, and I know I've been fairly lucky so far. Suffering actually seems to me to be an argument against the existence of any sort of "loving" god. A truly loving and omnipotent god wouldn't allow it, and would actually be an evil god if he/she/it could stop it, and yet still allowed it. However, suffering has to be explained somehow, so it seems to be a big part of the religions of many cultures.<br /><br />As for being mad at God - how can you be mad at something that doesn't exist? It's like being mad at the Tooth Fairy or Santa Clause or the Loch Ness Monster. I am sometimes mad at religious idiots, but not at their imaginary friend.<br /><br /><span style="line-height: 1.2; color: rgb(102, 51, 102);"><blockquote>Thirdly, atheists are looking for God for the same reason a thief would be looking for a police officer. They don't want to be accountable to a higher being because of the wrong things they do.</blockquote></span>I <i>knew</i> someone would finally catch us on that. Bill and I will just have to stop having sex in the street* and robbing banks. We tend not to do illegal things (well, I speed a little sometimes) not because some magic book tells us not to, but because they are either illegal or morally** wrong.<br /><br />*I actually had someone ask me what stopped me from having sex in the street. That would be...HELLO! cars and a healthy sense of self preservation. Oh, and not only would it be illegal, <i>it would be WRONG!</i> I'm an extremely private person and wouldn't do it even if it was legal.<br /><br />This same person then went on to accuse me of having sex with my dog. Now I loved Charlie more than any other dog I've ever had (or possibly ever will have), and we had a very, very strong bond, but if I had wanted to do that, I wouldn't have had him NEUTERED, would I?<br /><br />** Morals have been around far longer than any present day religions, and the basics (such as the taboos against murder and incest, and reciprocity (aka the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ethic_of_reciprocity" target="_blank">Golden Rule</a>), are most likely evolved, while many others are learned depending upon the culture in which you live. Many other animals also exhibit morality, and they certainly didn't learn it from a magic book.<br /><br /><span style="line-height: 1.2; color: rgb(102, 51, 102);"><blockquote>Fourthly, atheists forget that when a person goes to a museum and admires a painting, that there was a painter/designer of that art piece. The art piece is absolute evidence of a painter and not caused by random nothingness.<br /><br />All of the world, stars, animals, plants, oceans, and mountains are absolute proof of a divine intelligent being (beyond our human ability and thinking) who made these things.<br /><br />Can the atheist make a tree? It is scientifically impossible for bees to fly (laws of physics) and yet they do. It is impossible for our eyes to see and yet they do. What more proof does an atheist need than their own heart pumping in their chest without them commanding their heart to pump each beat in perfect timing each and every second necessary?</blockquote></span><br />Of course things weren't caused by random nothingness (except maybe this woman's brain). Evolution by natural selection is actually the opposite of random, and over millions and millions (sometimes billions) of years only gives the illusion that something was designed.<br /><br /><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Evolution_of_the_eye" target="_blank">Complex, image forming eyes may have evolved up to 100 different times</a>, so obviously they are a handy thing to have. Actually, if you look at the physiology of the vertebrate eye, it is not "designed" very well at all - sort of back-to-front, actually - because the light photons have to travel <i>through</i> all the nerves and blood vessels to get to the photoreceptors, <i><a href="http://webvision.med.utah.edu/sretina.html" target="_blank">which are pointing backward</a></i>. These nerve cells and blood vessels all come together at the optic nerve, and create a blind spot. This is exactly what you would expect from something evolved, but not purposefully designed. Cephalopod eyes, on the other hand are "designed" correctly. The photoreceptors are pointing <i>toward</i> the light source rather than away, and there is no blind spot, as the nerves are <i>behind</i> the retina rather than in front of it. <br /><br />Can the theist make a tree? If not, then why should an atheist be able to? <a href="http://www.physorg.com/news8616.html" target="_blank"><br />This interesting article</a> shows it's not scientifically impossible for bees to fly and they in no way contradict the laws of physics. Obviously, SINCE THEY FLY! Duh!<br /><br /><span style="line-height: 1.2; color: rgb(102, 51, 102);"><blockquote>Fifthly, denial is a strong coping mechanism in crisis, but does not serve anyone in the long run. Like an ostrich with its head in the sand, an atheist denies God not because God does not exist—but because the atheist doesn't want God to exist and does not want to see the truth and evidence in front of their eyes.<br /><br />I would rather believe in God and make sure my life is doing what is acceptable to this Superior Being than to not believe in God and find out I will be accountable to this God for everything I've done after I die. With 84% of the world's population believing in the existence of God, I think the majority rules in this case.</blockquote></span>Yeah, actually there is no evidence of a god. If there were, I would believe, but nobody's come up with anything at all convincing or that could only have a supernatural explanation yet. Gods were invented by man to explain the unexplainable. Over the last 1000 years or so, we've been slowly chipping away at things that previously could only be attributed to a god until we will eventually understand every one.<br /><br />Pascal's wager (better to believe than not just in case there is a god and he gets mad at you) has been done to death. An omniscient god would be able to tell you were only believing in him because you were afraid not to. I would ask her how she knows for sure she's worshiping the correct god? There are so many. What if the Hindus or followers of Shinto are actually right? Maybe the ancient Greeks were. What if she's following the wrong type of Christianity? There are numerous Christian sects. Maybe the Amish or the Mormons are right.<br /><br />At one time far more than 84% of the world's population believed that the Earth was the center of the universe. Did majority rule make <i>that</i> correct? Up until the latter part of the last century, most people believed that the continents were static and had always been in their present positions. Did majority rule make <i>that</i> correct? And 84% may believe in gods, but does she believe that Mohammad was the true prophet and flew up to heaven on a winged horse? I doubt it. And to which version of Christianity (I'm assuming she's one of the many Christian sects) does she adhere? There were numerous <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ecumenical_council">Ecumenical councils</a> where church leaders got together and decided what biblical canon to keep and what to throw out.Lauriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00682513110485580000noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1542645745020472639.post-57303725263954637652009-07-02T21:32:00.000-07:002009-12-27T11:53:25.265-08:00And introducing...Clio!Alright, already! I'm being badgered <a href="http://lesley.typepad.com/" target="_blank">by someone who shall remain nameless</a> to post some photos of our new kitty, Clio. A little while after both <a href="http://ichthyologistbright.blogspot.com/2009/02/goodbye-kitty.html" target="_blank">Kitty</a> and <a href="http://ichthyologistbright.blogspot.com/2008/06/cats-o-four-tails.html" target="_blank">Isis (yes, she's the gorgeous fluffy goofball in the fishtank)</a> died within a month of each other, Bill thought we should get a kitten. I did a little online research and found a cat rescue place nearby, so we went over. It turned out the woman and her husband also rescue horses (no we already have one, thankyouverymuch).<br /><br />There were cats (and horses) everywhere. We went into the detached mother-in-law's cottage which was entirely devoted to cats. There were about 5 cats who immediately came out to greet us, one of whom was a skinny little long-haired calico who had just been spayed. Bill's eyes literally lit up as soon as he saw her, and she was the first one he picked up. Over the hour and a half we were there, the woman kept bringing more and more cats in to show us. Cats of all ages, but mostly Maine Coons, Ragdolls, Turkish Angoras and Siamese. I wanted to take them all home. Bill couldn't stop picking them up and cuddling them, but he kept coming back to the calico. I finally told the woman that it looked as though he'd fallen in love, and we'd take her. Here is a photo from the day we got her.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKMzpfmXQA4eAK1iqbBRmMoifacLN6Cg9BVCQWaZdbzh8qYry_hPQkyyoRbfNWPAvPcGnNpfZqSCerO_z5RTcsiYpdBFEvnOF4Sro__EHCSLq3hn8s3dBNcP8sD7-5KY463-s7isq2hoBS/s1600-h/Clio_and_Bill.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKMzpfmXQA4eAK1iqbBRmMoifacLN6Cg9BVCQWaZdbzh8qYry_hPQkyyoRbfNWPAvPcGnNpfZqSCerO_z5RTcsiYpdBFEvnOF4Sro__EHCSLq3hn8s3dBNcP8sD7-5KY463-s7isq2hoBS/s400/Clio_and_Bill.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5353686841043450306" border="0" /></a> On the way home, Bill suddenly said, "Clio. I think we should call her Clio after the Greek muse of history." <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl7qnPsGPU92idPjv0iBDIbJ9zqdoZT2fz79YIDUkKBz80a2E_JiftLl_23nx78orDdJCj3yj6iwm1hArMgbZ8u0WgDiUqkrIeotFtlvzggxdr9IgHYB_dON3G729z1sZzMlqeqxRgKPGA/s1600-h/First+day.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 275px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl7qnPsGPU92idPjv0iBDIbJ9zqdoZT2fz79YIDUkKBz80a2E_JiftLl_23nx78orDdJCj3yj6iwm1hArMgbZ8u0WgDiUqkrIeotFtlvzggxdr9IgHYB_dON3G729z1sZzMlqeqxRgKPGA/s400/First+day.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5354085657116780418" border="0" /></a>We got her home, and she immediately jumped up and tried to steal my dinner. I pushed her away, and she just looked affronted and swatted at my hand. I pushed again and she swatted again. Bill picked her up and put her on floor. She jumped up again. About 12 times. She doesn't take no for an answer.<br /><br />She quickly made herself at home.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik23cJAIDRwirNDlkYfzoC_iMhyUajYqNiywggRHlXLyA_8eJKkPjni5-Zq3h9DqFtC8jjvyoOtG4KINgG2HUzxgRas4OnYLjFb9Vh02Ea3hITx_sZj4VzTJVtggYzn5_GIldu3U7vkCtF/s1600-h/Smothered+in+cats.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 190px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik23cJAIDRwirNDlkYfzoC_iMhyUajYqNiywggRHlXLyA_8eJKkPjni5-Zq3h9DqFtC8jjvyoOtG4KINgG2HUzxgRas4OnYLjFb9Vh02Ea3hITx_sZj4VzTJVtggYzn5_GIldu3U7vkCtF/s400/Smothered+in+cats.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5354086052676465314" border="0" /></a>Bill happily smothered in cats.<br /><br />A few days after we got her, one of her eyes started watering slightly and she started squinting a little. It didn't look very bad, and I didn't think much of it. Then suddenly both eyes started watering and she could hardly keep them open. I figured she had pinkeye, and we had just decided to take her to the vet when they opened on Monday when Alice suddenly got really lethargic and wouldn't come out from under the couch - very un-Alice-like behavior. When we dragged her out, she obviously felt absolutely crappy. Alice is the love of Bill's son's life, and Bill completely freaked out. He rushed her to the outrageously expensive emergency clinic on Sunday, found out she had a very high temperature, and came back with broad-spectrum antibiotics, but no diagnosis.<br /><br />Bill then took Clio in to our regular vet on Monday, and came back with more broad spectrum antibiotics for both her and Alice, eye ointment, and a diagnosis for both cats. Feline rhinotracheitis or herpesvirus (FHV-1). The antibiotics were to treat the secondary bacterial infections. I was really concerned about my son's 11 year old cat, Smokey, but I'm not sure if she ever got it. She was really sick when I found her next to the road when she was a tiny kitten, and perhaps she had FHV-1 then. She did, however, cough a few times and suddenly completely lose her voice, so I got her some antibiotics too, even though I believe they are way overused. The vet was concerned that she would contract a respiratory infection more easily than the younger cats, and after Kitty and Isis, I was NOT going to lose another cat. We then spent the next two weeks dosing three not-very-happy cats twice a day.<br /><br />Clio was already looking at us suspiciously before all this, but us grabbing her twice a day, stuffing nasty bubble-gum flavored Clavamox down her throat, and squeezing ointment in her eyes just confirmed all her worries. She still really doesn't want us to catch her and pick her up, although she's getting better about it.<br /><br />The vet thought she was a very small 8 month old when we got her, and she has grown tremendously over the last couple of months <i>because she never stops eating.</i> I think she was starved before she was rescued. She's supposedly at least part Maine Coon, and they can keep growing for up to five years, so we'll see how big she actually gets. She'll definitely grow out if not up.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirI25k6IWhaQm7o3Qm5L-IdxX2wJ8IoCdpOzmNRCZW3ryxk0Wzt6dq4VWQnHoURHuGG5uvAoJA2EMKOahdqw4YtwNH9IL5sXdpmtKdcs3Uyp2w4vu7RqctQx4nWGJUsO27dypeT_5ob2tl/s1600-h/Still+laying+around.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 206px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirI25k6IWhaQm7o3Qm5L-IdxX2wJ8IoCdpOzmNRCZW3ryxk0Wzt6dq4VWQnHoURHuGG5uvAoJA2EMKOahdqw4YtwNH9IL5sXdpmtKdcs3Uyp2w4vu7RqctQx4nWGJUsO27dypeT_5ob2tl/s400/Still+laying+around.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5354086906277667586" border="0" /></a>She's almost as big as Alice now. They love this crunchy tunnel, by the way. Clio loves jumping on it, so we just have to fluff it back up <i>every 3 minutes</i>.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj95LjUokUBAzVzenIrV7mK_RQaQVMBaCiiGAmpzldXrXPVqOwy7EW9WCMy1Spp9boFAy7WjjKEuYrNUvJPyLNwoHG0jdjcbfqUkwa5rKbBP_hMVBVJO-T7JRRCBqhXE5avpaocQXOprJt1/s1600-h/Playing+with+Alice.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj95LjUokUBAzVzenIrV7mK_RQaQVMBaCiiGAmpzldXrXPVqOwy7EW9WCMy1Spp9boFAy7WjjKEuYrNUvJPyLNwoHG0jdjcbfqUkwa5rKbBP_hMVBVJO-T7JRRCBqhXE5avpaocQXOprJt1/s400/Playing+with+Alice.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5354087075840770338" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFnAog6GRyveQ1rOdYZGIMqxUM3e4veWh3BR6R8Bp2FFpwK_ssmj2k3QjRKeBtGA-e3DPpw3Ts8reYCYe_D0mwFDz-qBIoTjhC2pgMlwZrsw62bM8ki1QV9TPrEvim4mRLpuh3iDvPQdvn/s1600-h/Looking+bored.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 310px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFnAog6GRyveQ1rOdYZGIMqxUM3e4veWh3BR6R8Bp2FFpwK_ssmj2k3QjRKeBtGA-e3DPpw3Ts8reYCYe_D0mwFDz-qBIoTjhC2pgMlwZrsw62bM8ki1QV9TPrEvim4mRLpuh3iDvPQdvn/s400/Looking+bored.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5354087432642202290" border="0" /></a>I keep interrupting their wrestling to take photos. They stop as soon as the red-eye reduction light comes on.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtoJ_6w1sqzHAwmPpfZ4obk2NeGeyDYwSlLMupwNbILkSI5frINYcv6AaVNTXmbJG_NK3mB9mmeHe7ZoHsoOy7zIF_DUeSutmC7zV2P-K1aHFlQKTDFj_551lwb_BFUDi7RvHGWvMgR3nB/s1600-h/Im+messing+with+their+game.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtoJ_6w1sqzHAwmPpfZ4obk2NeGeyDYwSlLMupwNbILkSI5frINYcv6AaVNTXmbJG_NK3mB9mmeHe7ZoHsoOy7zIF_DUeSutmC7zV2P-K1aHFlQKTDFj_551lwb_BFUDi7RvHGWvMgR3nB/s400/Im+messing+with+their+game.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5354087631612765426" border="0" /></a>We even got them all a big new toy from <a href="http://www.cozycatfurniture.com/"target="_blank">CozyCatFurniture.com</a> <br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7BHdEguStPp28maLu9I3PE3ow6fSz59C0dPeTdGmm3rM40UhS3vou-ojqvYdYTTLGKBWVvYIDx5q9b1kEufDl3hMCYLeVPhIMWnrG15SPHRDGvYt1iXCS5HyrKZC1s8cVxbn5BGPGZGtV/s1600-h/New+toy.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 312px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7BHdEguStPp28maLu9I3PE3ow6fSz59C0dPeTdGmm3rM40UhS3vou-ojqvYdYTTLGKBWVvYIDx5q9b1kEufDl3hMCYLeVPhIMWnrG15SPHRDGvYt1iXCS5HyrKZC1s8cVxbn5BGPGZGtV/s400/New+toy.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5354087789979464898" border="0" /></a>Please stop flashing that nasty light in my face.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_H60jxt-uJgFeDgrgmJ4ZrgWu37Oy5aGydA-MwprmZdPLnOb-b_uOOU4wpqN1T4vj4vAG2qGQMnmTkP7iYqf_seB1ePoNNmgiruEbxkB9_8PIcpjcRyCCB28LBYNobFVeRKCgG8x7JdLr/s1600-h/Stop+already.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 329px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_H60jxt-uJgFeDgrgmJ4ZrgWu37Oy5aGydA-MwprmZdPLnOb-b_uOOU4wpqN1T4vj4vAG2qGQMnmTkP7iYqf_seB1ePoNNmgiruEbxkB9_8PIcpjcRyCCB28LBYNobFVeRKCgG8x7JdLr/s400/Stop+already.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5354086574315752866" border="0" /></a>Lauriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00682513110485580000noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1542645745020472639.post-2619533665888903952009-06-14T09:15:00.000-07:002010-02-17T20:43:44.261-08:00Poppies and lupins and a bridge?This is a photo I took of <a href="http://ichthyologistbright.blogspot.com/2008/04/state-tartan.html"target="_blank">California poppies</a> down in the Sacramento Valley.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUYERr59RDJPdcxcXg50AMKH8F25uj_XeFBwTiuvJtMApdrdpEdW1qk0NOklwRnZbsSaZSoi5wzr0uHryfEBG6yafrzIgjAorY7583QlR2oEF9S09n79G-UUGQCWy4UPurHxBBeeJSJY4F/s1600-h/Valley+Poppies.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUYERr59RDJPdcxcXg50AMKH8F25uj_XeFBwTiuvJtMApdrdpEdW1qk0NOklwRnZbsSaZSoi5wzr0uHryfEBG6yafrzIgjAorY7583QlR2oEF9S09n79G-UUGQCWy4UPurHxBBeeJSJY4F/s400/Valley+Poppies.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347218869413181186" border="0" /></a>And lupins from the same area.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0FyMZBbfWc20ujyJggTJA3-XNoId_sTfuV7TSKmWlRr5sc0V36buZd4bq2uQoAho7Kx-DI7MTJ6cxb3ziwMEDTl4jCk0nQ161KqsRQ47m3E9K53u7g0uft-hAHSWJIdnPZ2soQJiiSFKL/s1600-h/Valley+Lupin.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0FyMZBbfWc20ujyJggTJA3-XNoId_sTfuV7TSKmWlRr5sc0V36buZd4bq2uQoAho7Kx-DI7MTJ6cxb3ziwMEDTl4jCk0nQ161KqsRQ47m3E9K53u7g0uft-hAHSWJIdnPZ2soQJiiSFKL/s400/Valley+Lupin.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347218748060323602" border="0" /></a>Here are some poppies just struggling to survive in a rocky river floodplain up in the Sierra Nevada mountains. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizF6jEavMZlSy_-movi30FKWagVDVWrpU-JMQPTtEfZlLavi2WONqjXr-MVv-pon0KbI8xiFXoVDQHA9gmlfSGdWBYC-kxWLb0MNZ1yYGlDAvce4XNo0iNN4XTlQdfVcckswUF69reln2D/s1600-h/Mountain+Poppies.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizF6jEavMZlSy_-movi30FKWagVDVWrpU-JMQPTtEfZlLavi2WONqjXr-MVv-pon0KbI8xiFXoVDQHA9gmlfSGdWBYC-kxWLb0MNZ1yYGlDAvce4XNo0iNN4XTlQdfVcckswUF69reln2D/s400/Mountain+Poppies.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347218585955436418" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF_N68Xrqrm5uA0gdkjafgkikJ3IVGLWEorP2V1QzoL6lmC7UffcpmC1nTCLo22VziVQESPGB7UIKdin4VTdVordJMKdxJDbef1gGeoZSDfaNmRS4_mN1Ab2QjKUaXt1duMbD4dRMthYRD/s1600-h/Mountain+Poppy.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF_N68Xrqrm5uA0gdkjafgkikJ3IVGLWEorP2V1QzoL6lmC7UffcpmC1nTCLo22VziVQESPGB7UIKdin4VTdVordJMKdxJDbef1gGeoZSDfaNmRS4_mN1Ab2QjKUaXt1duMbD4dRMthYRD/s400/Mountain+Poppy.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347218476224330674" border="0" /></a>Ditto for the lupins. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzV2DKUU63YvzsGZT9F57RpQYoMVJ_5yZDEJ-RRT033uBeL5f2Rw5-IwKFbBtvRE5dTVPDtGAHmH5jX-BPaPjZ7ed8sD4w8o3Ulb7305TCVnfjgx1HOfZFMWYbMbR7WYn6qvlBPHuoTvpL/s1600-h/Mountain+Lupin.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzV2DKUU63YvzsGZT9F57RpQYoMVJ_5yZDEJ-RRT033uBeL5f2Rw5-IwKFbBtvRE5dTVPDtGAHmH5jX-BPaPjZ7ed8sD4w8o3Ulb7305TCVnfjgx1HOfZFMWYbMbR7WYn6qvlBPHuoTvpL/s400/Mountain+Lupin.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347218344977144706" border="0" /></a>You sometimes find poppies that are lighter or darker than the typical California poppy. I was trying to take a picture of the bee, but she kept moving.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi51HpvMVecLBGSIBzVDPjnLtHeo1LVLsjsK8r0k1wKavczJsbd1rm5cNrxcru8vOBs_nBqGqvpBiBOyvkR8UCIiq_65o5nAwBfhr4cd0sBcm_jeKz7C2upPMDtHXzSzdgnc6jnoAk0AHFi/s1600-h/Pale+Poppies.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi51HpvMVecLBGSIBzVDPjnLtHeo1LVLsjsK8r0k1wKavczJsbd1rm5cNrxcru8vOBs_nBqGqvpBiBOyvkR8UCIiq_65o5nAwBfhr4cd0sBcm_jeKz7C2upPMDtHXzSzdgnc6jnoAk0AHFi/s400/Pale+Poppies.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347218186260925442" border="0" /></a>This rocky river floodplain is not natural at all. It is 30 or 40 or more feet higher than it should have been because the bottom of the canyon was filled in back in the late 1800s due to hydraulic mining during the California gold rush. I talked more about that <a href="http://ichthyologistbright.blogspot.com/2008/08/delta-in-distress.html"target="_blank">in this post</a>. This gravel layer makes a very unstable substrate on which to try and build a bridge.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6EjvtuJjvcqQYdTDzGTCF9i5FzHlpQZW45H6eFNn_IAj_JVhW3M7Y9EC00GQh_pXosIL3ac6uPbVHnEWq35On7iFjmMRzryCWRL1VFeHJRpfQdwNtucSUmCa56Tmca-yc4hPumLcghJ8A/s1600-h/Bridge+out.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6EjvtuJjvcqQYdTDzGTCF9i5FzHlpQZW45H6eFNn_IAj_JVhW3M7Y9EC00GQh_pXosIL3ac6uPbVHnEWq35On7iFjmMRzryCWRL1VFeHJRpfQdwNtucSUmCa56Tmca-yc4hPumLcghJ8A/s400/Bridge+out.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347218004896102834" border="0" /></a> The gravel is slowly being washed out from under this tree. Note the rocks embedded in the roots.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje3AFp013BPshcOHZyQsfuxkYU0voo1-YCmkl9oKSNHvmyB0P2PkeuCtZJtBIzHBJb121dtAYGTWM5pW-_UjL4Up9nk-_upPBCcCgoK_KAZ_MMQlCeqzSgGxrm2vC_9wXGq2JGVN78S1kj/s1600-h/Tree+roots.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje3AFp013BPshcOHZyQsfuxkYU0voo1-YCmkl9oKSNHvmyB0P2PkeuCtZJtBIzHBJb121dtAYGTWM5pW-_UjL4Up9nk-_upPBCcCgoK_KAZ_MMQlCeqzSgGxrm2vC_9wXGq2JGVN78S1kj/s400/Tree+roots.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347229024760988418" /></a>Lauriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00682513110485580000noreply@blogger.com4