Cake Eater Chronicles

For the Discriminating Firearm Owner

Now, this is useful. Particularly for some chicks I know.

See, he puts it in his back pocket at the end, but I was totally thinking "It's a cute little clutch purse!" I mean, in the dark, who's going to know the difference?

Just try and mug a chick who's carrying one of those. I dare you.

Movie Meme

Because it's Friday afternoon and I don't have much going on.

Swiped from Sheila.

Here are the rules:

Bold movies you have watched and liked.
Turn red movies you have watched and loved.
Italicize movies you saw and didn’t like.
Leave as is movies you haven’t seen.

You got it? Read the rules a few times for good measure, so that this list makes sense. You ready? Ok. away we go.

The Godfather (1972)
The Shawshank Redemption (1994)
The Godfather: Part II (1974)
The Good, the Bad and the Ugly (1966)
Pulp Fiction (1994)
Schindler’s List (1993)
Star Wars: Episode V - The Empire Strikes Back (1980) (The best entry in the entire series. Hands down.)
One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest (1975)
Casablanca (1942)
The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King (2003) (just because I was happy it was finally over with.)
Star Wars (1977)
12 Angry Men (1957)
Rear Window (1954)
No Country for Old Men (2007)
Goodfellas (1990)
Raiders of the Lost Ark (1981)
The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring (2001) (Any fondness I had for it evaporated with repeated viewings. Weak.)
City of God (2002)
Once Upon a Time in the West (1968)
The Usual Suspects (1995)
Psycho (1960)
Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb (1964)
Citizen Kane (1941)
The Silence of the Lambs (1991)
North by Northwest (1959)
The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers (2002)
Fight Club (1999) ("SPACE MONKEY!")
Memento (2000)(Trippy little tale.)
Sunset Blvd. (1950)
Lawrence of Arabia (1962)(You want to understand Arabs? Watch this movie. You'll get it afterwards.)
It’s a Wonderful Life (1946)
The Matrix (1999) (perhaps the color should be green?)
Taxi Driver (1976)
Se7en (1995)
Apocalypse Now (1979)
American Beauty (1999) (Yeeuch!)
Vertigo (1958)
Amélie (2001)
The Departed (2006)
Paths of Glory (1957)
American History X (1998)
To Kill a Mockingbird (1962)
Chinatown (1974)
Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (2004)
The Third Man (1949)
A Clockwork Orange (1971)
Pan’s Labyrinth (2006)
The Treasure of the Sierra Madre (1948)
Alien (1979)
The Pianist (2002)
The Shining (1980)
Double Indemnity (1944)
L.A. Confidential (1997)
Leben der Anderen, Das [The Lives of Others] (2006)
The Bridge on the River Kwai (1957)
Boot, Das (1981)
The Maltese Falcon (1941)
Saving Private Ryan (1998)
Reservoir Dogs (1992)
Forrest Gump (1994) (Loathe this film. Really and Truly. Mr. H. and I were recently discussing how, one day in the future, Tom Hanks will be ashamed he won an Oscar for this role. )
Metropolis (1927)
Aliens (1986)
Raging Bull (1980)
Rashômon (1950)
Singin’ in the Rain (1952)
Rebecca (1940)
Hotel Rwanda (2004)
Sin City (2005) (Visually interesting, but not all that good in the scheme of things.)
Terminator 2: Judgment Day (1991)
All About Eve (1950)
Modern Times (1936)
Some Like It Hot (1959)
2001: A Space Odyssey (1968)
The Seventh Seal (1957)
The Great Escape (1963)
Amadeus (1984)
On the Waterfront (1954)
Touch of Evil (1958)
The Elephant Man (1980)
The Prestige (2006)
Vita è bella, La [Life Is Beautiful] (1997)
Jaws (1975) (Nope. I've never seen it. Sue me.)
The Manchurian Candidate (1962)
The Sting (1973)
Strangers on a Train (1951)
Full Metal Jacket (1987)
The Apartment (1960)
City Lights (1931)
Braveheart (1995)
Cinema Paradiso (1988)
Batman Begins (2005)
The Big Sleep (1946)
Mr. Smith Goes to Washington (1939)
Once Upon a Time in America (1984)
Blade Runner (1982)
The Great Dictator (1940)
The Wizard of Oz (1939)
Notorious (1946)
Salaire de la peur, Le [The Wages of Fear](1953)
High Noon (1952)
Star Wars: Episode VI - Return of the Jedi (1983) (But not because of the damn Ewoks!)
Fargo (1996) (I just DO NOT GET what was so great about this movie.)
The Bourne Ultimatum (2007)
Unforgiven (1992)
Back to the Future (1985)
Ran (1985)
Oldboy (2003) (I actually wanted to shower after watching this, if that gives you any indication how gross it is. Not recommended. AT ALL.)
Million Dollar Baby (2004)
Cool Hand Luke (1967)
Kill Bill: Vol. 1 (2003)
Donnie Darko (2001)
Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade (1989)
The Green Mile (1999)
Annie Hall (1977)
Kind Hearts and Coronets (1949)
Gladiator (2000)
The Sixth Sense (1999)
Diaboliques, Les [The Devils] (1955)
Ben-Hur (1959)
It Happened One Night (1934)
The Deer Hunter (1978)
Life of Brian (1979)
Die Hard (1988)
The General (1927)
American Gangster (2007)
Platoon (1986)
V for Vendetta (2005)
Judgment at Nuremberg (1961)
The Graduate (1967)
The Princess Bride (1987) ("Have fun stormin' the castle!")
Crash (2004/I) (Tried to watch this. Way too pretentious for my tastes.)
The Wild Bunch (1969)
Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid (1969)
Letters from Iwo Jima (2006)
Heat (1995)
Gandhi (1982)
Harvey (1950)
The Night of the Hunter (1955)
The African Queen (1951)
Stand by Me (1986)
Kill Bill: Vol. 2 (2004)
Witness for the Prosecution (1957)
The Big Lebowski (1998)
The Conversation (1974)
Little Miss Sunshine (2006)
Wo hu cang long [Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon ] (2000)
The Grapes of Wrath (1940)
Gone with the Wind (1939)
3:10 to Yuma (2007)
Cabinet des Dr. Caligari., Das [The Cabinet of Dr Caligari] (1920)
The Thing (1982)
Groundhog Day (1993)
The Best Years of Our Lives (1946)
Sleuth (1972)
Patton (1970)
Toy Story (1995)
Glory (1989)
Out of the Past (1947)
Twelve Monkeys (1995)
Ed Wood (1994)
Spartacus (1960)
The Terminator (1984)
In the Heat of the Night (1967)
The Philadelphia Story (1940)
The Exorcist (1973)
Frankenstein (1931)
Anatomy of a Murder (1959)
The Hustler (1961)
Toy Story 2 (1999)
The Lion King (1994)
Big Fish (2003)
Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels (1998)
Bonnie and Clyde (1967)
Young Frankenstein (1974)
Magnolia (1999)
A Streetcar Named Desire (1951)
In Cold Blood (1967)
Rosemary’s Baby (1968)
Dial M for Murder (1954)
All Quiet on the Western Front (1930)
Roman Holiday (1953)
A Christmas Story (1983)
Casino (1995)
Manhattan (1979)
Ying xiong [Hero] (2002)
Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl (2003) (Call me crazy, but these films are lacking what most people would call "a plot.")
Rope (1948)
Cinderella Man (2005) (Even though Renee Z. is in this film, and she is HIGHLY annoying with that cloying New Jersey accent that just makes you want to wash out your ears after hearing, this film is still pretty good. I just wish they would have marketed differently. There was no need to see it after they blew the ending in the commercials and the trailers)
The Searchers (1956)
Finding Neverland (2004) (Cried buckets. Freddie Highmore is one gifted kid. His performance is astounding.)
Inherit the Wind (1960)
His Girl Friday (1940)
A Man for All Seasons (1966)
Arsenic and Old Lace (1944)
The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance (1962)

What the Hell?: The Leap Day 2008 Edition

Because what's been missing around here lately is some random outrage on my behalf. Sorry. I've been slacking. I'll try to do better in the future, but, I present to you, my devoted Cake Eater readers, my effort to try and fix the problem.

1. I just looked at my calendar for next week, and it appears Daylight Savings Time starts next Sunday, March 9th. WHAT THE HELL? That seems a wee bit early, eh? If things continue apace, we're still going to have snow on the ground. How, precisely, is that going to help the farmers in this neck of the woods, eh?

I seem to remember this early DST thing happening last year, too, but as I was in the throes of recovering from serious surgery, it didn't make too much of a dent, apparently. I'm not really getting this whole deal. It may help the folks down south, but up here in the hinterlands, where the sun just started setting a few moments before six p.m.? Not going to help all that much, I'm afraid. Particularly since the ground is still frozen solid.

2. WHAT THE HELL?

While I fully realize I'm behind the times here, the simple fact that Jessica Alba and any number of other celebrities have lined up behind Barack Obama because, and excuse me while I paraphrase here, he'll be OUR president, and not the president of the top 10% of the country, doesn't exactly make me want to vote for the guy, ya dig? (Not like I was going to anyway, but I'm on a roll, or will be shortly, so I'm not going to let facts get in the damn way.)

Who do these people think they are? THEY ARE THE TOP TEN PERCENT OF THE COUNTRY! They make ludicrous amounts of money for what? Pretending to be someone else. Oh, that's a NOBLE profession right there, let me tell ya, and one that, apparently, qualifies them to tell us who to freakin' vote for. BITE ME! Take your fake tits, ass implants, botox, and, most importantly, your misguided noblesse oblige and shove it up your ass.

For The Husband

Here you go darling: the Ironman trailer you saw whilst you were forced to endure yet another scintillating episode of Lost last night.

The husband said, and I quote directly, "Please don't suck. Oh, please don't suck," when the commercial was over with.

I don't know a flaming thing about Tony Stark or this entry into the film exploration of the Marvel Universe. But, I've got to say, I've always liked Robert Downey, Jr., and he appears to be in top form here. "Is it better to be feared or respected? I say, 'Is it too much to ask for both?'" Heh.

Putin's Putative Lackey

A little background on Russia's putative president, Dmitry Medvedev.

Go read the whole thing. It's long, but it's worth it.

If you can't be bothered, the upshot is that Medvedev is strikingly low key, and has generally been discharged in the past with seeing to it that Vlad's desires have been fulfilled, that it seems likely he'll do the same when he's elected President. However, there are some clues from his past that, perhaps, just perhaps, he'll follow a more pro-western, pro-economic reform line, and could, possibly, at some point in the future, come into conflict with his mentor. He's a poodle plodder, who's kept his head down, and his opinions to himself, and this is where the trouble lies: no one really knows what he's going to do.

We're just going to have to wait and see how thing shake out. But his visit to Serbia, earlier this week, to play a part in the rabble rousing, in my humble opinion, doesn't leave much to doubt about where his loyalties lie. If I had to put money on it, I'd say he knows better than to bite the hand that feeds him.

Hey, Ron Erhardt

Yes, you. My district's representative in the Minnesota house, who've I've voted for any number of times since I moved to Cake Eater land almost ten years ago.

Ahem.

YOU'VE JUST LOST MY VOTE.

Jagoff.

People come to Minnesota from all over the region to buy clothing, in large part because the state charges no sales tax on clothes.

But now two state lawmakers from opposite sides of the aisle at the Capitol have introduced bills that would repeal that exemption. In exchange for that unpopular move, they would cut the sales tax rate for all taxable items.

"Monies from the sales tax are shrinking," State Representative Ron Erhardt, a Republican from Edina, told KARE 11.

"This would be a way to broaden the base we tax on and reduce the rate as a matter of fact."

Erhardt's bill would repeal the sales tax exemption clothing currently enjoys, and at the same time reduce the rate on all items from 6.5 percent to 5.96.

The competing sales tax reform bill from Brooklyn Park Democrat Melissa Hortman would lower the state sales tax rate to 4.5 percent. It would tax clothing, plus a long list of services and some food products.

Both Erhardt's and Hortman's plans offer income tax credits to lower income Minnesotans, to help offset the expected blow. The thinking behind the original exemption is that clothing, like food, isn't a discretionary expense.

{...}Representative Erhardt says he realizes it won't happen soon, but he wants to get the conversation going in the Legislature to bring some fiscal stability.

"I don't know if mine's a good idea," said Erhardt, "But that was the lowest we could come in at and the biggest pot of money readily available. So let's start here and start talking about it. ...

"I certainly don't want to be tagged with raising taxes!" Erhardt laughed, "After this last mess with the transportation bill."

Erhardt was one of six Republicans who crossed party lines to support the highways bill which increased gas taxes, license tab fees on new cars, and sales taxes in the Metro area.

Oh, really? You don't want to be "tagged with raising taxes" ? Bite me, asshole. Your idea of fiscal responsibility is not to cut spending---which, I hesitate to mention is regularly one of your campaign promises---but rather raising taxes. I'm not going to vote for you anymore. Christ. Like it doesn't already cost an arm and a leg to live in this friggin' state, you want to nickel and dime us some more? CUT SPENDING, JERKWEED. That's your solution to the problem.

I don't really care about a sales tax on clothes, because I know it won't happen. The Mall of Gomorrah is located in the Twin Cities for a reason, people, and they won't let it happen. To this day, I am still surprised every time I purchase an article of clothing and don't have to pay sales tax on it. This comes in handy when you're buying things like, say, suits for the husband, as you will have saved yourself $30 (or thereabouts) in sales tax. That may not be much overall, but that's money that can be spent elsewhere, like on, say, gasoline, which is over $3.00 a gallon these days. But the fact that this won't happen isn't so important as the whopping omissions Erhardt makes. He's telling us that, if his proposed legislation is passed, the overall effective rate would drop across the board to 5.65%, hence we'd be paying sales tax on a broader range of products, but we'd be paying less in sales taxes. That's his "fiscal responsibility" argument. But what dear old Ron is leaving out is this: the state's effective rate may drop to 5.65%, but he completely neglects to mention that many counties, like Hennepin, have added on a percentage point here or there to pay for things like, oh, I don't know, a state, county, and municipality subsidized ballpark for a BILLIONAIRE OWNER, as have local municipalities, who aren't so bold as to add on a full percentage point, but stick with halves and quarters, to pay for essential services the state won't cough up for. Like police and fire.

The husband is a retailer: he sells computer parts to people and he has to charge sales tax on these items. Wanna know how much sales tax is if you're running a business in the City of Minneapolis, already? 7.15%. 6.5% goes to the state; .5% goes to the City of Minneapolis; and .15% is levied by the county for the new new NEW Twinkie ballpark.

"But, Kath," you say, "if the state rate goes down, you'll be paying LESS in taxes." Uh, yeah, maybe on one item. But go to the mall, to buy clothes, and you'll be paying more. Go to purchase a service that perhaps didn't have to charge sales tax, but now does, and you'll be paying more. And you'll still have to pay for the municipal and county sales tax levies, which won't have gone down, but I'll betcha five bucks will go up, because they'll see the opportunity to keep sales tax at the same rate it's always been at, thinking no one will notice.

Fortunately, this won't happen. The state says "Bless you. Do you need a tissue?" every time the Mall of Gomorrah sneezes, so if this goes through, I'll be highly surprised. But the overall point is clear: Erhardt doesn't want to bother with the tedious business of cutting spending. He's all for raising taxes, and even if he claims that's the fiscally responsible thing to do, I'm not buying it.

I'm done with you, Erhardt.

Gracious

I didn't think it was possible.

William F. Buckley, dead at age 82.

You can find the NY Times obituary here.

I honestly thought he'd outlive us all. A man with a brain as big as his, it would seem, would figure out a way to cheat death. Unfortunately, he was as mortal as the rest of us.

I remember, way back in the day, watching Firing Line and wondering how his brain worked. He would seemingly go off on tangents in any debate he partook, but the glorious thing about Buckley is that he could always make the digressions and tangential arguments relevant to the debate in which he was participating. In other words, he could bring it back, and it made his argument all the more compelling. He's like a boxer, looping around the ring, hitting here and there, perhaps taking a few punches himself, but ultimately winning the match in the end. Very few people have the presence of mind to be able to do that. To consistently have one line of thinking, of belief, but to be able to explore other areas without losing part of what brought them there in the first place? That's rare.

Don't believe me? Go on and watch him debate Noam Chomsky in 1969. It's long, but it's absolutely riveting and completely worth it.

While I will forever be cursed to listen to that odd mishmash of an accent in my head whenever I read anything he's written, I'm nonetheless very sad he's passed on. Moreover, conservative bloggers owe Mr. Buckley a untold debt of gratitude for starting the ball rolling, way back in 1955, when National Review was launched. There was nothing like it at the time, and it was his willingness to yell, "Stop! When no one else was inclined to do so," that, in part, gives us our mandate to do what we do, even if our contribution will never be as meaningful and long-lasting as his was.

RIP, dear sir.

Old School Indy

Courtesy of Dearest Jonathan, we have a remix of the new Indy trailer, cut specifically to make it look like the trailers of yore.

I think my favorite bit is that they lifted the music from the truck hijacking-on-the-road-to-Cairo from Raiders. Despite the fact that I'm positively sure John Williams plagiarized it from someone else, even if I don't know who, it's still great music, loaded with suspense and intrigue---something which, I think is lacking in the teaser trailer. In the teaser trailer, you have the triumphant music that we all associate with Dr. Jones, that signals, yes, he will, of course, come out the winner! Because he's Indy! Of course he's going to triumph. He just has to, otherwise the world will shift on its axis.

See, the thing that bothers me with most trailers nowadays is that, after viewing them, you don't really have to go and see the movie. They outline the entire plot, and reassure the audience that there's a happy ending. It's as if Hollywood as a whole has decided that most movies are formulaic---which they are, but you can blame that one on the ancient Greeks---so they're going to go out of their way to admit that, and try and point out the interesting and significant portions of a film that, they believe, make it stand out from the other formulaic entries in the marketplace. That's the wrong way to go, if you ask me. Yes, most movies may be formulaic, but you have to pay heed to the formula. The formula's there for a reason---because it works. It's the foundation on which the house is built, and you screw with it at your peril. Everyone knows that a neglected foundation will cause a house to fall to the ground---and it's the same with the films. You can have all the nifty accoutrement you'd like in a house---or a film--- but if you neglect the foundation, the whole shebang is going to come crashing down. Ultimately, this is the mistake I believe they've made with the newest Indy. I mean, after all, this is precisely what Georgie Porgie Puddin' and Pie did with the Star Wars prequels---why would we think that he'd do otherwise with the latest installment of Dr. Jones and his adventures. Well, the answer to that is Steven Spielberg, but one can only hope that he fought the good fight this time around and didn't let Lucas win.

Erm. I digress, but it is interesting, no, how this trailer whets your appetite for the actual story, while the original makes you simply long to be reacquainted with Indy?

Dorks of the World Unite for A Good Night's Sleep

The husband just sent me a link to this post with the title line of the email stating, ahem, "MUST HAVE!"

What must the husband have? you, my devoted Cake Eater readers, ask. Well, I'm glad you asked, because it's basically a Craftmatic adjustable bed. For extreme dorks.

I quoteth from the posteth:

{...}The bed includes built-in electronics: wireless Internet connectivity and a wireless keyboard; a built-in iPod docking station; integration to life|ware Connected, a Windows Media Center program that controls home electronics; as well as 1.5 terabytes of storage to maintain your media collections.

It provides a surround sound system with four eight-inch subwoofers, an audiophile ribbon tweeter, and 2,500 watt RMS amplification. A headboard projector casts a 120-inch (10-foot) screen on the wall and can be used to project movies, books, music navigation features, the Internet and the local daily weather.

Next, there’s anti-snore technology. The bed detects snoring with a vibration-detection system and automatically moves itself into an angle that will help open the sleeper’s nasal passages to reduce mild to moderate snoring. When the snoring stops, the bed returns to its original position.

Plus, vibration sensor and load cell technologies measure how much you toss and turn, and how often you get out of bed during the night. According to a company press release, the same vibration sensor technology detects and monitors rhythmic breathing patterns that indicate relaxation. It compares these movements to a 30-day baseline measure of the sleeper and then provides tips on a “Good Morning Screen” to improve sleep quality. That’s right. Your bed will start giving you advice about how to improve your sleep performance.

If you don’t sleep alone, each of you can control the temperature on your side of the bed, from 68 degrees to 117 degrees Fahrenheit.{...}

What? No cup holders?

Here's what it looks like.

So, like I said, it's a Craftmatic adjustable bed that your grannie would lurve to have, only you can plug your iPod into it. Grannie wouldn't know what to do with an iPod, but you would, right?

And get this. It's going to cost anywhere between $20 and $50...thousand dollars.

I can only say this: I am NOT going to want to listen to a mechanical hum as it raises itself up every time the husband starts snoring. Nor am I going to want to listen to it reposition itself to a horizontal position when he stops. It's sounds like something out of Logan's Run. Only without the neat metallic leisure suits and Michael York trying to fight the future on a monorail. No one needs that. Really and truly. The only time I am currently allowed to wail on the husband is when he starts snoring, because it's the only way to get him to shut up. If he thinks I'm going to listen to all that racket, ON TOP OF THE SNORING, well, his shins aren't going to be the only thing that's bruised come morning.

Purposefully Empty Rhetoric

While the last three paragraphs are crap, I agreewith everything Gideon Rachman has to say in his column this week.

Even his most bitter opponents grant Barack Obama one thing – he makes great speeches. The senator from Illinois is generally held to be a competent debater and an electrifying orator.

The notion that Mr Obama is the new Demosthenes has even made it across the Atlantic. On BBC radio the other day, there was a long discussion of the art of rhetoric, illustrated with clips of the best of Barack. William Rees-Mogg, a venerable former editor of The Times, asserts that Mr Obama is the most inspirational presidential candidate since John F. Kennedy and that “he is, in my view, a better speaker than Kennedy”.

All this leaves me baffled. I have watched Mr Obama speak live; I have watched him speak on television; I have even watched his speeches set to music on a video made by celebrity supporters. But I find myself strangely unmoved – and this is disconcerting. It feels like admitting to falling asleep during Winston Churchill’s “fight them on the beaches” speech.

I will admit one thing. Mr Obama has a nice, gravelly voice – which is perhaps a legacy of his days as a heavy smoker. But his most famous phrases are vacuous. The “audacity of hope”? It would be genuinely audacious to run for the White House on a platform of despair. Promising hope is simply good sense. “The fierce urgency of now”? It is hard to see what Mr Obama means when he says this – other than that some inner voice has told him to run for president.

{...}And then there is “Yes we can” – the phrase that was so inspirational that it inspired Will.i.am of hip-hop group the Black Eyed Peas to make his infamous video, backed up by film stars and musicians such as Scarlett Johansson and Herbie Hancock.

The strumming of guitars and crooning drowns out Mr Obama on the musical version. So I had to consult the text to find out what exactly it is that we can do. “Yes we can to justice and equality. Yes we can to opportunity and prosperity. Yes we can heal this nation. Yes we can repair this world. Yes we can.”

This sounds to me like a man doing an impression of what he thinks a great speech might be like. It is the kind of empty exhortation that usually gives politicians a bad name. Peter Sellers, a British comedian of the 1960s, caught the genre nicely in a parody speech: “Let us assume a bold thrust and go forward together. Let us carry the fight against ignorance to the four corners of the earth, because it is a fight that concerns us all.” Mr Obama might easily give a speech like that – although he would probably strip out some of the detail.

{...}And while Mr Obama’s most “inspirational” phrases are vague to the point of vacuity, he has shown in a series of television debates that he is more than capable of serious discussion. You do not get to be president of the Harvard Law Review if you cannot cope with detail.

So Mr Obama is not relying on empty exhortation because that is all he is capable of. It is a deliberate political strategy. And it makes sense. The more a candidate gets stuck into the detail, the more likely he is to bore or antagonise voters. Appealing to people’s emotions is less dangerous and more effective.{...}

Hits it right on the head (before Rachman subsequently goes off the rails entirely, saying, in essence, that just because Obama's speeches are empty and vacuous, he wouldn't be as president.)

See, here's the thing. I can't stand Obama any more than I can stand Bubba Clinton. They're both con men. They're both slimy. All you need to do is watch them on tee vee for thirty seconds or so and you get the overpowering whiff of used car salesmen. Now, while I'm fairly certain Bubba would have been selling used Pintos, and Obama "pre-owned" Lexus' (Lexii?), they're both cut of the same cloth. They are salesmen, and they both damn well know it. Obama is selling a dream of an America where everyone can, really and truly, get along; where no one will have any partisan leanings after he's elected president; where everyone will unite hands and sing Kumbaya at sunset every day, across all the time zones of this country. Do you really think he's going to be able to deliver it?

Moreover, how dumb are you if you think he can actually do it?

Happy Thoughts Needed

So, a few people around here know that---and a few people over at Ace's place---rabid commenters Russ from Winterset and his wife, The Lovely Janis, will soon be adding to Winterset's population by one. Yep. You read that right. They're knocked up and are due in April.

A few weeks back, I received an email from Janis, from the hospital, where she was incarcerated with a mild case of pre-eclampsyia. Since the baby was only at twenty-eight weeks or thereabouts at the time, the doctors were concerned enough to start injecting steroids, to develop the baby's lungs should he/she/it be born prematurely, and for Janis to have been put on bed rest until the birth. She's ok'ed for me to share where she's at, and since I received another email from her the other day, I'll use her words instead of mine:

So here is that latest on me and Baby H---I had a doctor’s appointment Tuesday and the BP was up (140/98) when I went in and after a hour of doing the non-stress test on the baby (which is listening to the baby's heartbeat by hooking up monitors around my belly and recording the heart rate, when the baby kicks and if I have contractions - the heart rate is great 158, the baby kicks and moves a bunch and I have not had any contractions which is really good) my BP had dropped to 138/80. The swelling in my feet and hands are back, but not to the extreme they were two weeks ago. No protein in my urine for the 2nd time too which is good. I know when I have done too much -- my head starts to feel fuzzy and I need to go put my feet up and either read, sleep, do counted cross-stitch, finish the baby blankets I am making for friends, check the internet or see what is crappy TV has on. {...} I don’t have to go back to the doctor till next Wednesday.

We are at 31 weeks, and doctor’s first goal is 34 weeks. The doctor tells me that the pre-eclampsia can get worse for no reason so we will have to be ready for anything. Or the symptoms will stay in check as they are now and we will go as far as the Doctor deems safe – probably around 37 weeks. So it’s a week to week thing right now. My goal this week is to at least have a bag packed for me that we can grab and go if needed.

So, since Janis has to go back to the doctor tomorrow, join me in wishing her and Russ (who seems to be preoccupied by thoughts of bacon right about now) the best of luck and sending the three of them happy thoughts/prayers/good karma that everything continues to go well (or at least be uneventful from here on in) and that they make it to thirty-seven weeks.

The only thing that I would recommend for Russ to do is to take all the sharp implements and keep them out of Janis' reach, so that when the Ginsu commercials start getting to be too much, she doesn't pick up one of her own knives to prove that, yes, her knives CAN TOO CUT THROUGH A TIN CAN, whilst shouting, "NO ONE NEEDS A FRIGGIN' GINSU FOR THAT!"

Because my friends, I think it goes without saying that Ginsu Derangement Syndrome (GDS) is a side-effect of sitting on your ass and being forced to watch too much tee vee. Janis is at high risk for this. She needs our prayers and well wishes. Send them to her in the comments. (You can send them to Russ, too, because I'm fairly certain he's going to need them as well. You try keeping a knife out of a determined pregnant woman's hands. )

Oscar Wrap-up

I chose not to liveblog the Oscars this year because, well, I was too busy hosting my annual Oscar Snarkfest. Mr. H. came over and we chatted online with Cake Eater Sister Christi, who was having her own little Oscar Snarkfest down in Omaha. Good times, eh? Sure beats last year, when I was vomiting bile in the hospital. (Seriously, I did not remember who won what last year---or anything else about the ceremony, even though I watched it, in between throwing green stuff up and receiving a fresh IV. Pretty pathetic, even though I have a fairly good excuse.) Anyway, it was good to get things back to normal, so we had the usual artichoke dip, the mustard wings Mr. H. makes so well, the wheel of brie encased in puff pastry and plenty of other goodies. We settled in to watch and we had our usual snark fest. It was so delicious. Loved it.

Anyway, here's the wrapup, because I, of course, had some thoughts about what people were wearing. Some of it's good, and some of it's baaaaad---per usual.

While Cate was nominated twice, she went home empty handed. I can only think the humiliation of that was enlarged because she was wearing a muumuu. Now, don't get me wrong, it's a gorgeous muumuu, but it's a muumuu nonetheless and she should have known better.

At least she looked better than Jennifer Garner.

Oy vey. That dress doesn't do a damn thing for her other than make her look like a washed out dishrag. The hair doesn't deter much from that impression, either. But let's get back to the dress: I bet it looked pretty on paper, and on the mannequin, but on her? Nope. She's one of the few women in Hollywood with boobs---and they're natural looking boobs, which is good, because it means she's either got a really good plastic surgeon (and she should keep him or her on retainer, lest they get ideas and start banging on to go and fix clef palates for Doctors Without Borders, ala Sean McNamara) or she's a lucky girl in that she'd naturally endowed. So I have no idea why on earth she'd choose to squash them down. It looks like she's used to bandaging down her boobs to get on the boys football team, because she can throw a wicked long spiral (and she's got the guns to do it) and if only they'd realize that GIRLS CAN TOO PLAY FOOTBALL, all would be fine and dandy, but that she forgot this was the Oscars and she could, ahem, let the girls out to play because no linebackers were headed her way. She threw on a few diamond-encrusted bracelets to jazz up the outfit yet it doesn't really deter from this impression, but rather seems like she was overcompensating.

Fortunately for Jennifer, she was not alone in the boob-squashing department. Keri Russell had some issues with that as well.

Oy. This dress does nothing for her. The color is blah. As she's normally so pretty, she should rip it up and wash the floor with it as revenge. It doesn't fit properly, and as the Cake Eater sister (and designer extraordinaire) noticed, it was one of the few strapless dresses in existence that kept rising instead of sliding down, like they normally do. Apparently, according to Christi, she kept having to put her hands on her hips to keep the dress down while she was on the stage.

As far as fit is concerned, well Penelope Cruz should have paid a little more attention to the way her gown fit.

Yeah, you're thinking, HOT!, and NICE ASS! , so what the hell is my problem. Ok, well here's my problem. Penelope, sweet, tiny, weighs no more than 110 lbs. has back flab hanging out. It's not much in the scheme of things, and it's kind of a happy moment to realize that Penelope has back flab like the rest of us, but still. She should have ixned it for something else. That the thing has feathers on it, well, that should go without saying. Yeesh.

Getting back to colors that wash pretty women out, well, Cameron Diaz should have gone with something other than this Dior number.

It's a pretty color, yes. But it does absolutely nothing for her. It flattens her boobs, ala Garner. (And, as a related aside, how do they stand it? God, that's gotta hurt.) It washes her out, even with her surfer tan. And the back is well....yeesh.

That, my friends, is what the cool kids would say is a "hot mess." I can see where this would have looked good on paper, but they should've picked a different fabric, because, ahem, it needs to be ironed. Badly. Besides, it gives yet another skinny actress back flab.

Yet, it's still better than the European contingent who won the awards for best supporting actress and best actress, respectively.

Tilda? Well, I think we're beyond hope here. She's a striking woman, and while I appreciate the fact that it appears she deliberately chooses clothes that play up this characteristic, well, this is just ugly. There's no getting around it. It's period-nightgown shapeless, it's blah-black and it's missing a sleeve entirely. She should have worn the bracelet on the unadorned arm, just to give it some balance.

And Marion, well...fish scales as adornment? Eh? I get the whole It's-a-mermaid-dress-hence-it-should-have-a-fishy-theme, but, well, yeesh. While she totally pulls it off and manages to look GORGEOUS nonetheless, perhaps she should stay away from the Gaultier in the future, lest she get a reputation for this sort of thing.

It appears red was the color this year.

This is how you should wear red.

Here's another fabulous example of how to pull a red dress off.

Dame Helen could give lessons.

And perhaps she should pull Katherine Heigel over and tell her, Darling, never put on a dress with cutouts.

That and never let the red be orange-based red. You need purple-based red to make it really work.

All those aside, here's the worst dress of the evening---hands down. And it really kills me to do this because it's our own little Minnesota-Blogger-Who-Could, Diablo Cody, who wore it.

Oh, honey. You are smokin'. Who talked you into wearing this leopard print muumuu? You need to kill them immediately. Show no mercy. Because, while I'm sure it was comfortable, it doesn't do a damn thing for you. It made you look fat, and you're obviously not. Also, I don't think I need to remind you, but you almost pulled a Sharon Stone as you were walking offstage. You caught the damn dress before it did anything untoward, but you shouldn't have had to worry about that in the first place. I repeat: you are smokin' hot. Don't do this to yourself again, ok? You're better than this.

And, lest it be said, that we're not equal opportunity slashers here at the Cake Eater Chronicles, here's a man...

Ah, Daniel Day Lewis. Whom I adore and can pull a fascinating character straight out of his ass and make it golden. But he really needs a new tux. While I appreciate the fact that he's a man with a tux in his closet (because every man needs one) and the fact that he keeps wearing it over and over again signals something that's not the first thing you think of when you think "Daniel Day Lewis," which is practicality. I like the fact that he keeps pulling the same one out and wearing it, over and over again, but he should be pulling a normal tux in his closet, not one with brown piping along the lapels. He wore the same damn tux to the BAFTA's last week in London, and to the SAG's a few weeks ago.

It's beyond tired, bud. Put it away and never wear it again.

So, my devoted Cake Eater readers, did that do you? I would hope so.

Sure to Bring Tears of Joy to The Husband's Eyes

The general plot of Star Wars: Episode IV according to a three-year-old. It's chock-a-block full of relevant observations.

{Ht: Gary over at the Butcher's Shop}

A Rare Admission of Blame

The last Krispy Kreme has closed here in the Twin Cities.

I'm so ashamed. This is my fault. I'll admit it. I'm to blame. Since the various Krispy Kremes about town were nowhere near the Cake Eater pad, I visited only occasionally when we had a car, and then not at all when we didn't. Maple Grove is quite the hike from the Cake Eater Pad. It takes about a half-hour to get there---and that's without traffic. I just couldn't be bothered to get in the car and drive all the way up there to get some donuts. I lamented their lack of inner city locations, but, woe is me, did nothing to support their glazed ambitions because it was too far to go for donuts. I should have made the effort. Really, I should have.

To be fair, however, they did deliver to all the local Holiday stations, and there are a few of those nearby. I patronized their glazed deliciousness via the local gas station, but alas, they lost that contract to a local grocery store chain a few months ago. And while I like the local grocery chain's custard filled chocolate bismarcks, I still adored the glazed goodness of a Krispy Kreme. Unfortunately, I didn't adore them often enough. If I had, well, perhaps we wouldn't have come to this sad state of affairs.

Sigh.

The last Krispy Kreme donut I ate was on August 10th, 2007. The only reason I remember this is because it a very bad day for me. I was supposed to receive my final chemo treatment that day, but could not because I was short a few bajillion neutrophils, and was very upset about not being finished with that nightmare. After I sat around on the sofa, crying for about an hour, I wiped my eyes and decided there was only one thing that was going to make me feel better: a donut. Red and puffy eyes and eyebrows notwithstanding, I headed over to the local Holiday station and purchased a glazed donut for eighty-five cents. The sugary concoction made me feel better. Yes, I was comfort eating, but honestly, who cares? It's Kracky Kreme: if one of their donuts doesn't make you feel better when you're down and out, well, you haven't an appreciation for the finer things in life, and no one can help you out in that respect.

Fare thee well, oh glazed yummyness. I shall miss you terribly. I'm very sorry that I didn't serve you better.

What's That I Hear?

Could it be...

...the ferocious snap of a whip?

Balkanization c. 2008

Ok, so while I may have been a little off in the timing, it appears I was somewhat right in predicting that it was going to go to hell when Kosovo declared independence from Serbia.

In case you hadn't seen, the US Embassy in Belgrade is currently en fuego.

BELGRADE (Reuters) - Smoke billowed from the American embassy in Belgrade after scores of protesters broke into the building on Thursday, cheered on by crowds outside, in a protest at U.S. support for Kosovo's independence.

One protester climbed up to the first floor of the building, located on one of the Serbian capital's main boulevards, ripped the Stars and Stripes off its pole and briefly put up a Serbian flag in its place.

Protesters jumped up and down on the embassy balcony, holding up a Serbian flag as the crowd below of about 1,000 people cheered them on, shouting "Serbia, Serbia."

Some 200 riot police finally arrived about half an hour later, beating and arresting some of the rioters and driving the rest away. Some protesters sat on the ground, bleeding.

The storming of the building came during a largely peaceful state-backed rally attended by around 200,000 people to protest at Kosovo's secession on Sunday.

"As long as we live, Kosovo is Serbia," Prime Minister Vojislav Kostunica told the crowd from a stage in front of the old Yugoslav parliament building in Belgrade, to applause.

"We'll never give up Kosovo, never!" protesters chanted back, as they waved national flags. A huge banner reading "Kosovo is Serbia" draped the front of the building.

"We're not alone in our fight. President Putin is with us," Kostunica said, paying tribute to the Russian leader who has opposed U.S. and European states' recognition of Kosovo.{...}

Mmmm. Nationalistic hyperbole? Saber rattling---even if it's not your saber you're rattling, but one of your friends' instead? Fire? Busting into an American Embassy and treating it like it's your own personal kaibo? What more could you ask for?

Mark my words: this thing is not going to end peacefully. We're just ramping up. The UN, for all its posturing, can't do a damn thing about Russia and its veto. And if Russia didn't veto any resolutions put forth, then China would. The EU is completely hamstrung, because, apparently Serbia doesn't want the carrot they've offered, and they're pretty sure they can get around the stick. All the Kosovars have going for them right now is NATO---and while that's a pretty big and good organization to have on your side, they really didn't solve the problem in 1999, did they? All they'll be able to do is keep things from going from bad to worse. While that may be a lot, it's not going to end this conflict, once and for all. It'll just put it on the back burner, again, for it to simmer, again.

Furthermore, I suppose this could actually be considered, well, somewhat opportunistic for the Russians. Presidential elections are on the slate for Russia next month, and if Vlad the Impaler wants to make sure his lackey Medvedev replaces him, and is willing to show some muscle to guarantee it (even though polling data suggests Medvedev already is going to win by a landslide) how handy is it that the Kosovars declared independence with such perfect timing and obliged him. I can almost see Vlad rubbing his hands together with glee, can't you? It remains to be seen whether Vlad can put his money where his mouth is in terms of the supposedly new and improved Russian Armed Forces, but, rampant speculation aside, there's just one thing that really needs to be said about all of this: hold onto your diapies, babies! This is going to be a bumpy ride.

UPDATE: According to Fox, the fire at the Embassy has been put out and the embassy has now been secured.

Also, according to Fox, and a Reuters correspondent they're currently chatting with who was on the ground at the time, the police let the protesters into the Embassy to set it on fire/trash it. Then they came back about ninety minutes later and cleaned things up.

Niiiiice.

A Direct---and Slightly Confusing---Quote

A selected excerpt from the radiologist's report on my latest Pet Scan:

{...}Abdomen/pelvis: Post surgical changes are evident related to hysterectomy and bilateral oophorectomy. Clips are also present related to pelvic and retroperitoneal lymph node dissection. Fluid collection along the left external iliac chain vessels is stable in size measuring 4.8 x 4.6cm, on axial CT image 118. This again is likely related to a lymphocele{...}

Yep, kids. This is what the problem is. If anyone can explain it to me better than it has already been so---which is to say, not well enough to get it through my thick skull---have at it in the comments section.

The More Clarification Update Simply Because I Don't Want to Start Another Post

So, basically the deal is that I have fluid in my pelvis. This is a complication from the surgery, and it's a pretty common one at that. When they removed all my bits and bobs, they also removed a boatload of lymph nodes, which they then sent to the pathology department, where they were dissected, to see if the cancer had spread. Fortunately, it had not spread, but I'm short about forty lymph nodes in my abdomen and pelvic region as a result. Good times, no? Unfortunately, however, scar tissue has formed around where a lymph node/nodes used to reside, and fluid is collecting there---and isn't draining. Apparently, this thing has been there for a while---as in it was visible on the pet scan back in November---but because it wasn't causing me any troubles, they weren't worried enough to relate the information to me. Again, it's a pretty common situation and not one to worry about, unless it causes me pain.

The nurse practitioner palpated my belly---which they always do--- and while she was at it, I asked her what this particular bump was, because it'd been there for a bit and that's the same general vicinity where the pain was. I told her I didn't have enough information about the general state of where everything was located now to make any calls on whether that should be there or not. She felt it, felt it some more, put a questioning sort of expression on her face, and then she went running for Dr. Academic. About five minutes later, he strolled in and poked and prodded, and told me I was a first for him: he'd never actually felt a lymphocele on an abdominal exam. Usually, said he, they're on the posterior side of the pelvis, not on the anterior, but as I have a shallow pelvis (or a platypellic pelvis, which just made me giggle, because all I could think of was 'duck billed platypus' at the time), it made sense to him that he should be able to feel it. They said they didn't know why it would be causing me pain, but one proposition, though unlikely, was that it had become infected. It is, apparently, very rare for them to become infected this far out from surgery, and since they didn't pull blood to see if my white count was high, I gather they aren't too worried about that being the cause.

As far as treatment is concerned, they can stick a needle in the thing and aspirate it, but the problem is that it will most likely just fill back up again, and then we're back to square one. Which would be a waste of time to me. I want permanent solutions, not half-assed ones. Apparently, however, according to Dr. Academic, there's a radiologist at another hospital here in town who has had good luck in dealing permanently with these things by draining them, and then inserting alcohol to create more scar tissue so it won't fill up again because there wouldn't be any room for it to do so. (And, no, according to Dr. Academic you don't get a buzz when they insert the alcohol, so it's got that going against it.)

Before I go running to that guy, however, the pain has got to get a lot worse. Because the pain is really not all that bad (not even enough for me to take an advil for it) and I don't want to have to commit myself to more procedures and another hospital stay until I have observed the situation from all angles, we're in a wait and see mode. I'll have a CT scan done in five weeks, and then I'll meet with Dr. Academic to see where we go from there. The Pet Scans are all well and good, but they're really set up to look for cancer, and, apparently, are pretty radioactive, because he asked the nurse practitioner to set me up for something a little less nuclear. Good times, no? (As it turns out, my former employee who used to work at Dr. Academic's office has now moved over to the pet scan place, and I had a nice chat with her last week. But her visit was somewhat short, and she didn't even enter the room where I was waiting for the radioactive FDG to kick in so they could scan me. She simply pointed to the radioactive sign on the door, smiled and then walked away. I knew I was nuclear, but I didn't know I was that nuclear.)

The husband is getting a little pissed off about all this. Sigh. I can understand his frustration. I want to move on. So does he. He just wants this whole nightmare to be over with, as do I. Unfortunately, it's not that simple. He wanted to know why Dr. Academic didn't just go in and cut the damn thing out. Then we had to have the conversation about surgery creating scar tissue and any new surgeries would likely do the same, about this being a less invasive procedure, less time in the hospital and less time recovering, and, perhaps, not doing anything about it at all if the pain resolved itself. I think he's resigned himself to the situation, but I know he's not happy about it.

I'm not really happy with it either, but I trust Dr. Academic---he knows what he's doing. Besides, as he was wearing scrubs, even though it wasn't one of his surgery days, it was obvious that he'd had to perform some surgery nonetheless. You can tell that, on those days, when he's spent some time in the operating room, he doesn't want anyone to have to go back in there if they don't absolutely have to. He's not one of those kinds of doctors, quick to put people under the knife and who thinks surgery is the be all, end all. He doesn't want to have to go there if he doesn't have to, so he was pushing for the 'wait and see' approach and I concurred.

So, if the pain gets worse, we'll move the CT scan up. If it doesn't, then we'll wait and see what's going on in six weeks. Either way, I get the feeling that something's coming down the pike. We'll just have to see what it is when it gets here.

Interesting Read

How that wild and crazy guy became Steve Martin.

Make sure to check out the clip from The Tonight Show. If only to see Johnny Carson's coat.

{ht: The Cake Eater Sister, Christi}

It's Good...

And it's the chosen stuffing whenever we roast a turkey, but the question remains: but is it that good?

This stuffing was hot, but not in the roasted turkey sense. Police have arrested a 32-year-old man they accuse of stealing 217 cases of Pepperidge Farm stuffing mix.

The stuff went missing last week from a storage trailer in Midland. Deputy Police Chief Robert Lane said area distributors have access to the trailer, and that the suspect worked for one of the distributors.{...}

What? Is there some black market in Pepperidge Farm stuffing that I wasn't aware of? Are there, perhaps, some secret ingredients mixed in with the spiced bread that we weren't familiar with? Is that why it's so tasty?

A Little Project Runway Fun

"I'm the fiercest elf of all, bitches!"

That's just freakin' funny. I bow to the Maestro, The Manolo, for producing this, the most marvelous of the fairy tales.

And while we're on the topic of Project Runway, I cannot tell you how badly I want Christian to fall flat on his face at Fashion Week. The troll is extremely talented, yes, and he's definitely more talented than, say, last year's winner, Jeffrey, but his clothes are not flattering to a woman's body. He makes them for himself, obviously, because he takes such joy in trying them on every episode. He's yet another gay designer who wants to make Barbie clothes for a living, but his Barbie is the one packaged as "Androgyny Avant-garde Barbie." Despite his being part of that annoying trend, he's a. too young and b. TOO FULL OF HIMSELF to deserve winning. He needs to be served a whopping portion of humble pie.

I suspect, however, with Victoria Beckham on the judges panel, he'll win though. She's got a thing for funky little trolls, so I suspect she'll throw her weight (HA!) toward him.

Perhaps there should be a reality show called "Behind the Dummy" that would follow Christian around after he won Project Runway, and would capture his downward spiral. I mean, you know it's going to happen, right? He's just way too full of himself. He's a pretty scrawny guy; if his already lopsided head gets any bigger he's going to tip right over.

As far as the rest of the crew is concerned, well, Jillian's attention to detail---cut and fit, mostly---has grown on me over the past couple of episodes. My mother (master seamstress that she is) would probably love Jillian. Mom's rule of thumb is that you should be able to turn any dress inside out and still be able to wear it. No loose threads, no messy seams, no uneven hems---no nothing. I think you could probably do this with Jillian's work---and that says something rather remarkable in a competition where the contestants generally have less than forty-eight hours work time to put together something fabulous. I'm sure all the time she spent fussing with the iron would have warmed my mother's heart, because my mother couldn't live without her Rowenta. Jillian's the dark horse. She could win it all, and I can sincerely say that I don't think I'd mind if she did.

Rami NEEDS to lay off the draping. We all KNOW he loves the draping, and he can do it very well (and, I can definitively say that, after watching my mom and sister struggle with it for hours on end, draping is NOT as easy as he makes it look, so he is rather talented in that area) but, for once, I agree with La Nina: I want to see what else he can do. If he doesn't pull something out of his ass, Chris will get the coveted runway spot by default. That said, I think his clothes are, by far, the most beautiful of all the designers and are the ones I would LOVE to wear. I think that if you put on one of his dresses, you'd just feel beautiful. That says a lot.

As far as Chris is concerned, well, I just love the guy. I want to give him a big hug and invite him over for a grade school-esque sleepover. We could have catty conversations while we drank steaming mugs of cocoa in our bathrobes. It'd be SO much fun, but I'm not really certain he should be in the competition at this late stage. He's definitely got a taste for the flamboyant, but, surprisingly, his work never really elicits anything other than 'ho-hum' for moi. I really thought his dress this past week was gorgeous, but it was derivative of what he did with Christian for the avant-garde challenge. I really just want him to go nuts, but to do it the right way, with the right taste level, and I don't know if that's going to happen.

So, what say you, my devoted Cake Eater readers? Who are you rooting for?

It's Been a Weird Week

You never really know what's going to come of a call to Dr. Academic's office.

I don't really call all that often any more, simply because I'm not having that many problems. I never called all that much to begin with, simply because I felt guilty taking time away from patients who could really use the help. I sucked up many of my complaints, and I was glad that, when they passed, I skipped calling for help. Going through chemo is like going through anything else: you get used to it. But even now that I'm through the worst, I nonetheless have to call in every now and again to get certain things taken care of---getting my vicodin prescription refilled is at the top of the list (due to idiotic Minnesota state law in regards to narcotics, you can't order a refill through the pharmacy, but rather you have to go through your doctor's office). Any time I have questions, though, they're pretty good about getting me an answer, even though Dr. Academic's main nurse, who is omniscent and omnipotent and is, generally speaking, AWESOME, has been on maternity leave since December and her absence has really been screwing things up. That aside, I called in the other day because, well, I've been having some pain in a place where I shouldn't be having any: my pelvic region. Particularly, in the area where all the trouble began.

I called in because, mainly, I was curious. It's not high-grade pain. It's very low on that 1-10 scale they use to rate your pain, and I was more curious about it than anything else. I thought, perhaps, this was me finally feeling the mysterious endometriosis, which I never knew I had until after I had my surgery. Dr. Academic had mentioned at our last meeting that he thought, perhaps, that the chemo hadn't killed it off, like they thought it would. Apparently, endometrial tissue is the cellular equivalent of a cockroach who's still putzing around after a nuclear war. I was told to keep an eye on things and to report in if I had any pain. I had pain, so I reported in.

The last thing I expected---and I seriously mean that---would be to receive a call back later in the day, telling me that Dr. Academic would really like it if I came in to give blood for a CA-125 test and to have another Pet Scan done, as well. Well, hello there sailor! Furthermore, even though I had my three month checkup already scheduled for next week, they wanted to move it up to a day when Dr. Academic was actually in the office. It makes your head spin, sometimes, when a doctor freaks out, and starts ordering tests willy nilly.

It had seriously never occurred to me that the cancer might be back, but even after this information had been related to me, I still had a hard time getting worked up about it. I really didn't think the cancer was back and was fairly certain that he was freaking out over nothing. Yet, I nonetheless went in for the CA-125 (and, man, was it ever weird being back in that office after a three month absence! All those worried, exhausted, sick people of whom I used to be one. It's just a sad place to be when you're well.), and the next day went in for the Pet Scan, and then went about my business. I knew that if the cancer was back, well, that didn't bode well. The odds are that if ovarian cancer comes back after an optimal surgery (which I had) and optimal chemo (which I also had), "Ovarian Cancer" would most likely be listed as the cause of my death on my death certificate. As in it would be inevitable, unless I died from getting run over by a bus or a Benz-driving Soccer Mom gabbing uncontrollably into a cell phone. That's just how it works. That's the point where a cure is forever put out of reach; you will simply receive treatment to keep you alive, but you'll eventually die of ovarian cancer, at some point in the future. It might be next week, or it might be thirty years from now, but it will happen. It's very sad, but it's very true, as well. Even knowing this, I just couldn't get worked up over it. It just didn't feel like cancer, which, I'll grant you, is ironic given my original OB-GYN said precisely the same thing before my surgery, but, still, it didn't feel like it. Cancer for me means lots of pain and fatigue that comes out of nowhere and demands that you take a nap. I'm not having any of that. Despite the fact I'm still feeling some of the aftereffects of chemo, for the most part, I feel great! My body is working the way it's supposed to. And while I'm absolutely certain that you can probably feel great and still have cancer, I was fairly certain that I hadn't recurred.

It turned out that I was right, too. The test results came back yesterday and the nurse called me first thing to relay them. My CA-125 is at 5.6, which is fantastic and the Pet Scan came back as normal, as well. I know we're no further along in figuring out why I'm having pelvic pain, but we can sort that out on Tuesday, when I have my appointment.

I suspect it's the endometriosis that's causing the trouble. I've been on HRT since July, and have been feeling some weird things in that region ever since I started up, but there's been no pain, until now. Endometriosis feeds on estrogen, which is, of course, what the HRT is supplying so I don't have to suffer through hot flashes and the like. But I'm also receiving progesterone, the anti-estrogen hormone (it's the predominant hormone during pregnancy, which explains why I'm fat, fat fat right now.) and that was supposed to combat anything the estrogen might do in terms of the endometriosis. Dr. Academic hypothesized that what I was feeling was probably adhesions, which were being charged by the estrogen in the HRT. Now, I don't know if they'll be able to treat it, so I can still stay on HRT, or if I'll have to give up the HRT entirely. It would be bad for me if I went off HRT, not only because I freakin' hate hot flashes, night sweats, and weeping like a ninny every time I turn around, but simply because thirty-seven-year-old women are not supposed to be in menopause. Without the hormones, your bone density deteriorates and the chances for osteoporosis go through the roof, and since osteoporosis jumps from branch to branch in my family tree with the greatest of ease, that's something I'd like to avoid. One of my greatest (and stupid) fears is that I'll shrink---and that one was already in play before I got ovarian cancer. It also means that my expected life span, which is pretty much back to normal since the cancer went on its merry way, would be diminished. So, I need the HRT until I reach the age when I should have hit menopause, despite what it might do to the endometriosis. The benefits, for me, are greater than any risks that might come with taking it.

But then again, I'm not a doctor, so I might be entirely wrong about this whole thing. It was this weekend last year that I was certain I was having a gallbladder attack and went to the ER for help---and we all know how well that turned out. The timing of all this aside (which, honestly, is one of the weirder coincidences in my life), I'd at least like to think I have a better handle on all of this medical stuff. I didn't freak out, like I did back in November, about receiving the results of the pet scan. Perhaps just having more distance between the rigors of chemo over the summer and now has helped. Maybe being at the hospital and getting over some deeply ingrained fears held over from the time I spent there has helped, as well. I don't really know. But, come whatever may on Tuesday (and I suspect something will come, even if I don't know what it is. I've learned that when a doctor freaks out like Dr.Academic did, it's generally something and something will generally come of it.), I've surprised myself this week by handling this pretty well.

Lately, I've thought that I didn't have a lot of emotional reserves left after battling cancer for the better part of a year. I freaked out at the least likely of things, and didn't really have a good grasp on that gift from God called "perspective." I made more of things than I should have. This week was a bit of a wake-up call in that department. Strangely enough, you can apparently bring the threat of cancer back into my life and I won't freak out. Oh, sure, I'll think about it a lot but, for the most part, I won't let it bother me. I wasn't paralyzed with fear. Mostly, as I told the husband repeatedly, I was going to be pissed off if the cancer came back. And I seriously meant that: all that...for what? Just to have to do it all over again? How fucking unfair would that be? What a load of hooey, I thought. I just don't have time for this crap! I feel well. I have been told repeatedly by all and sundry that it's time to get on with my life---only to have to put it on hold again because the cancer had reappeared? I don't fucking think so. And, yes, while I was relieved when the tests came back normal, it wasn't like the huge wave of relief that knocked me over when I received the same results in November.

So, it's been, on the whole, a very weird week. We'll have to see what happens on Tuesday, and on Friday, which is my one year anniversary, to see if next week trumps this one on the weirdness scale.

An Interesting Theory That's Growing on Me

Steve-o tacks on an interesting theory to Robbo's post about his plans for the weekend.

Hmmmm.

Robbo as Mr. Bennet? Why, yes, I think that works quite well, thank you ever so much. Enthusiastic daughters? Check. Hides in his study to read extensively and to get away from said enthusiastic daughters? Check. Hasn't properly prepared to ensure that they'll marry well? None of my bleedin' business, but I doubt it.

In the immortal words of Mr. Loaf: Two out of three ain't bad.

If this is true, then Robbo has bigger things to worry about than simply surviving this weekend. He should start preparing a "Gretna Green" plan of attack, you know, should one of the girls decide to run off with a Wickham at some point in the future.

As far as Steve-o being Mr. Collins, well, one then wonders who the Lady Catherine DeBurgh might be.

And despite my excellent ability to bitchslap at ten paces, it's not me.

A Club I Want to Join

Not really a joiner, per se, but this is one club I could join with ease. Minnesotans for Global Warming.

Yep. Sign me up. Particularly considering it's 11 here right now. And that's an improvement over recent days.

{shamelessly hoarked from RP}

Conflicted

What we have here, kids, is the new teaser trailer for the latest chapter in the Indiana Jones saga. Take a peek.

Man, I don't know whether to be excited or just scared as hell that Lucas is going to fuck it up.

I adore Indy. I really do. Raiders is one of my favorite movies. Is it the equivalent of high literature filmmaking? No. It's definitely not Wings of the Dove material, but the glorious part is that it doesn't have to be. It's a story worth telling, and they told it well. The simple fact that they told it well, in my humble opinion, puts it right up there with any number of Best Picture Oscar winners. Besides, it's got nasty Nazis, long lost hidden treasure, Denholm Elliot, John Rhys-Davies, and snakes, which are a trial to our mercenary treasure hunter, conflicted hero, Indiana Jones, whose weapon of choice is a bull whip. What more could you ask for? But most important, it's got Marion Ravenwood, Indy's spunky lost love. Karen Allen doesn't get a lot of credit for making that movie work, but it's been obvious in the two sequels, simply by her absence, how much her presence in Raiders was integral to making the legend of Indy come alive. She gave Indy a past---and a caddish one at that. But she also established that he had his redeeming points, particularly when he mourned her in the bar in Cairo. He could have been a blank slate, but he came with baggage, and that made him all the more compelling a character. That's why I'm SO stoked to see that they brought Marion back for this new one. I have missed her terribly. (According to IMDB, we will also see Abner, Marion's father, for the first time, and he's being played by the always excellent John Hurt. I'm assuming this will be in flashback format, since it was established in Raiders that Abner was dead.)

But there are several things about this trailer that are very disturbing. Very, very disturbing. First off, what's with the lead-in that paints Indy as the next messiah? "He protected the power of the divine?" Hardly. If you'll remember he wanted the Ark to be opened up repeatedly and studied, but the government disagreed with him. "He saved the cradle of civilization?" I don't really remember Temple of Doom all that well---I refuse to watch it again because it was so horrible---but I think that might be a bit of a stretch. "He triumphed over the armies of evil?" What? He defeated Hitler singlehandedly? While Indy's a fairly resourceful dude, I doubt even he could have managed that. He looked like he was about to shit his pants when Hitler autographed the Grail Diary.

This introduction just makes me wary. Georgie Porgie Puddin' and Pie Lucas seemingly is unable to work with shades of gray---his characters of late are either all good, or all bad. For example, he reworked the cantina scene in Star Wars to have Greedo shoot first, instead of Han, who was the culprit in the original edition. Everything white must be good. Everything in black must be bad. There's no in-between. No nuance. I know he'd probably argue otherwise, but this is my impression. Lawrence Kasdan---the original screenwriter who gave Indy breath, bones, flesh, and flaws---where are you when we need you? Indy is not the messiah. He's not even all that good, in the scheme of things. Now, I will grant you that, with Last Crusade, the kiddification of Indiana Jones had already started, but they have the opportunity to turn it around with this film, and I sincerely hope they do. But with Lucas holding the purse strings, well, you have to wonder if it will actually happen.

The next problem I have with this is that, apparently, Indy's got a sidekick---again---in Ray Winstone. While I like Winstone just fine, the last time Indy had a sidekick, well, it was Short Round in Temple of Doom and we all know how well that worked out. (I don't count Indy's Dad as a sidekick. He was on the same level as Indy, not beneath him, which is where a sidekick generally resides. Sallah doesn't really count either, because there was a certain quality about him that just doesn't qualify him for sidekick mode. He could arrange any number of things for Indy---sidekicks are just along for the ride, and to throw Indy his whip when it's out of his reach.) Indy, for all intents and purposes, is a loner. His work is at its best when he works by himself. A sidekick will simply slow things down, and create too much bleedin' exposition. I hope they treat Ray well. I really do, but, gracious, it certainly doesn' t bode well.

I don't know how excited I am to see that there's the possibility of a "New Indy" being introduced, either. Yes, you need someone to bring in the younger viewers, especially since it's been nineteen years since Last Crusade was released, but Shia LeBeouf? You couldn't come up with anyone else? Eh. I don't know. I think this casting move also harks back to the Lucas kiddification. Gotta have someone the kids can relate to. Bleh.

But there are also good points to this trailer. Cate Blanchett apparently is the villainess (replete with jet black hair!), and she rarely, if ever, sucks, so it's got that going for it. And, of course, Marion makes her return, so there's that, too. It's also got a warehouse full of wooden boxes, and US Army cars and trucks. Hmmm. Where have we seen that before? Could it be that Indy, and his trusty sidekick (sigh!) are going in to try and retrieve the Ark? Hmmm? Trying to tie up some loose strings? I don't know. It's also, apparently, got ancient temples replete with booby traps, and that collapse at the drop of a fedora.

Sigh.

I JUST DON'T KNOW ABOUT ANY OF THIS!

I'll be there, first in line, when it's released, but, really and truly, THIS HAD BETTER NOT SUCK! They ended it on a good note with Last Crusade. I can only hope that they don't regret making another sequel, and that I don't regret handing over $8.50 to see it.

"Because I stucked up for myself?"

I fully believe that RP's kids are going to be world class, Grade A Prime people by the time they hit adulthood.

Random Question of the Day: The Wednesday, February 13, 2008 Edition

Do you think Hillary's getting a wee bit miffed by Barack's constant plagiarizing of Bubba's 1992 campaign?

Now, That's a Dirty Job

Since I spent a lot of time on the sofa this past year, watching tee vee, I tried to make the effort to watch educational tee vee, so I could at least get something out of the only thing I was able to do. As such, and as I've mentioned many times, I watched the Discovery Channel a lot---and in the process got completely hooked on Dirty Jobs. If you're unfamiliar with the premise of the show, it's fairly simple: people who have "dirty jobs" invite the host, Mike Rowe, out to complete a day's labor. It's one of the funnier things I've seen in a long while, because Rowe is completely incompetent and always manages to screw things up. Very funny stuff. Think of it as "Inspector Clouseau Goes to the Dump" or anywhere else that's even remotely filthy. It's a lot fun, and it has the added benefit of making you realize that being a television show host ain't all that glamorous.

Anyhoo, the husband forwarded this interview with Mike Rowe along, and not surprisingly, I laughed just as much reading it as I would have had I been watching his show. Here's one brief, but hilarious, excerpt, regarding Mike's pre-Dirty Jobs days at QVC:

{...}QVC taught Rowe the ins and outs of live TV and how to talk off the cuff on just about anything. "There was no training," he recalls. "Nothing." Working the ultimate graveyard shift--3 a.m. to 6 a.m.--Rowe was left alone to hawk thousands of different products pretty much however he wanted. "Basically, I just made fun of the products and the callers. I was a complete anarchist." He was selling lava lamps, Hummels, and other nonsense, and falling in love with the occasional hand model.

Then came the business with the nun doll. He had just returned from a weekend getaway involving the beach, a case of Dos Equis, and one of those hand models, when a Sunday-evening emergency call arrived from the studio: The prime-time host was ill. Eager to prove his mettle, Rowe rubbed the weekend from his eyes and headed into work, only to find a display of collectible girlie dolls waiting for him. "There were dozens of little hobbits," he recalls, still sounding vaguely offended some 18 years later. "Little pixies from another time, just sitting there like these little Victorian whores. I thought it was a joke."

He was about to be humiliated in his first shot at prime time. "I'd already called everyone I knew to watch." The producer tried to calm him down, but in his panic, Rowe just reverted to his usual shtick. He picked up the first doll, Rachel--"a nightmare in crushed velvet"--by the hair and plopped her in his lap. "I think I described her as 'soulless, a little creepy but kind of hot,' and as 'a runaway from Little Women,'" he says now, rubbing his head. The crew on the set was dumbstruck. But, Rowe says, "I was really encouraged because the little whore sold out in record time."

Then someone handed Rowe a 2-foot nun doll named Sister Mary Margaret. "If you wound her up, she played 'Climb Every Mountain,' which I thought was hysterical." Rowe had four minutes to kill but ran out of material in 30 seconds, including the time he spent having her spank him with a ruler. Then he tried to crank up her music feature. "I've already announced that she plays music, and I'm squeezing her hand, looking around her neck, but I can't figure it out." When the technical director finally cut away to a display version of the same doll, Rowe, in desperation, turned the little sister upside down in his lap and peeled down her garment. He finally found the crank "in the small of her back, but it's really sort of in her ass." Unfortunately, the technical director cut back to Rowe without warning: "Suddenly, I see myself live on the monitor, with Sister Mary Margaret's face in my crotch, my hand on her ass, and her habit around her neck. And the damn thing is playing 'Climb Every Mountain.'" Rowe froze in horror, then made an unfortunate gesture not suitable for prime time. "It was not good." {...}

Go read the whole thing.

Delicious Irony: Second in a Series

Yeah, so I think we all know that while France is a member of NATO, they haven't committed any troops to that mission since De Gaulle was president. We all know this, right? You didn't? Well, that's what the deal is. However, ever since Sarkozy was elected president, France has been toying with the idea of supplying troops to NATO again. Apparently, however, they're concerned with how NATO is run.

Their concerns have nothing to do with the possibility of their troops being sent out to, say, Afghanistan, unlike their neighbors the Germans. No, their concerns have to do with NATO's bureaucracy---and how unwieldy and bloated it is.

France, which is studying a possible reintegration into NATO military structures, called on Saturday for faster moves to reform the 26-nation body's labyrinthine internal structures and budgets.

Defense Minister Herve Morin told a security conference in Munich that NATO had a 2 billion euro (US$2.90 billion) annual budget and a staff of 22,000 full-time employees, the equivalent of one for every three alliance troops currently on missions.

"It has nearly 320 committees or sub-committees, with some carrying the name of 'committee on the challenges of modern society' or the 'food and agriculture committee'!" Morin said.

Who would have ever guessed that France (FRANCE!!!) could (or even would) be so concerned with the size of a bureaucracy that they might rule out reinvolving themselves because they judged it to be so out of control?

This is shocking.

It's on par with some scientist announcing that, indeed, cats and dogs don't really hate each other.

Delicious Irony

Have you heard? Foster and Associates (the geniuses who gave us this brilliant work of art. ) are in the process of building the world's first carbon neutral city, to be called Masdar City.

Wanna guess where Masdar City will be located?

Abu Dhabi’s renewable energy initiative, Masdar, has laid the cornerstone of its carbon-neutral, waste-free city, saying it will invest $22bn in the hope that the project becomes a blueprint for sustainable development around the world.

Oil-rich Abu Dhabi said it was committing $15bn (€10.3bn, £7.7bn) into a broad range of alternative energy projects beyond Masdar City, such as solar and hydrogen power plants and solar panel manufacturing sites.

Foster & Partners architects will design the car-free city, housing 50,000 residents by 2016. Masdar’s research institute, founded in partnership with the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, will be located in the 6.5 sq km development that aims to turn into an alternative energy cluster for 1,500 ­businesses.{...}

Yes, you read that correctly. This environmentally forward and car-free project will be built in Abu Dhabi.

And, of course, it will be funded with the proceeds from the sale of all that glorious Texas Tea.

Think that's good? Just wait. It gets better.

{...}To maximise energy efficiency, the city’s narrow thoroughfares will draw on the traditional architecture of the old walled towns of the Middle East. Carbon emissions saved by these techniques will then be monetised through carbon credits under the Kyoto Protocol’s clean development mechanism.

{my emphasis}

That's just freakin' genius. Would that we could all be so canny.

I have an announcement

Hey Cake Eaters! Russ from Winterset here. I've got some interesting news coming up that I wanted to share with you, but unfortunately the moveable type system that we use to post items to mu.nu blogs sometimes holds my posts hostage for up to 12 hours, so the source material is inaccessible for now.

Yeah, I COULD type it all over again, but that's inefficient ("efficient" is just a synonym for "lazy" but that's just fine with me, yannow?), so I'll update with a link when there's something available to link to.

Hint? It involves bacon, Pabst Blue Ribbon beer, and competitive eating contests.

UPDATE: The post is now up at Ace's. Feast your eyes on this.

UPDATE FROM KATHY: Go and read. It's pretty damn funny.

Mmmmmm. Pork products rule!

A Clever Plan

Robbo has a clever idea about how to get his garden in shape.

When I was a young girl, I whined volubly about the amount of chores I had to do. They usually revolved around "inside chores," because that's what the girls did in our household. The boys got the manly, outside chores. This, of course, ultimately meant that I---and my three sisters---was forced to clean their bathroom. I didn't think this was very fair and, of course, I whined about it. This cut very little ice with my mother. Her reply to my complaints was always, "Why do you think I had eight kids? Slave labor!"

If she'd been of a different generation, she would have followed it up with a "Duh."

I suspect the Cake Eater Mother would support Robbo's plan.

Plenty of Answers. None of Them Enlightening.

We have this occasional problem with our FT delivery: the paper is actually printed elsewhere (in Chicago, I believe) and has to be flown up here for distribution, and, on occasion, it doesn't make it from the printers to the airport on time. Hence, one day we will go empty handed, but the next, we will have two newspapers on our doorstep. Yesterday, we had no paper. Today, we had two, and while I usually take this sort of thing in stride, I was a wee bit pissed off because the front page story on yesterday's FT was the first face-to-face interview with Mikhail Khodorkovsky since 2003.

Khodorkovsky was in court on a hearing related to new fraud and embezzlement charges levied against him, and he spoke with the FT's reporter during a break. You can read the transcript of the interview here. I have to say, I don't really know what to make of the entire situation. Khodorkovsky is currently on a hunger strike, to protest the treatment of one of his former Yukos' vice presidents, who was being offered treatment for some medical problems in return for falsifying testimony against Khodorkovsky. The former Yukos vice president refused, and so Khodorkovsky decided to starve himself to try and get his vice president admitted to a Moscow hospital for treatment. So, for someone who has put himself up as a martyr for democracy, and is currently starving himself so that a fellow prisoner (and friend) can get medical treatment, I kind of expected more vitriol against Putin and his hand picked successor, Dmitry Medvedev. Not so.

FT: Do you think Medvedev believes in the rule of law? When he becomes president is some kind of change possible?

MK: It’s very difficult for me to predict, because it will be so difficult for him. I can’t even imagine. Honestly speaking, if you asked me how to get Russia out of this situation, I would be utterly lost. Tradition, and the state of people’s minds, and the lack of forces able to [support] any movement towards the rule of law, everything’s against him. So…may God grant him the strength to do it. All we can do is hope.”

But that's not the only curious answer Khodorkovsky gave:

FT: Some people say fear is returning to Russia, that things could go back to the Soviet era…

MK: I hope that that won’t happen. We need to be ready for the best…I don’t think it will happen. People can leave freely, the internet works. It’s just not possible.

FT: But the Federation Council will examine a law on internet this week?

MK: That’s just not possible. Everyone clearly understands that innovation is important, we won’t be able to survive without innovative technology.

FT: But does the government understand that?

MK: The government understands it very well. Even the oil industry can’t work properly without innovation. There can be situations where it’s very difficult to develop an oil well. Without innovation you can’t do it.{...}

Naive? I don't think anyone in their right mind could claim that Khodorkovsky, of all people, is naive. That's just not a possiblity. Beaten down to the point where all he has is hope to cling to? Perhaps. Not in his right mind because he hasn't eaten in ten days? Well within the realm of possibilities. Trying to play the game Putin's way, and is putting out the message that he's finally gotten with the program in the hopes that the establishment will ease up on him? Again, well within the realm of possibilities. I don't really know. It's all very curious. Very, very curious.

But I have to say, what I was really hoping for was some enlightening commentary on this issue:

FT: What’s your attitude to the auctions of Yukos assets that took place last year?

MK: I reacted to all that fairly calmly. Because I used up all my nerves in 2004, when a company that was working well was seized and handed over to Rosneft. Rosneft today is basically Yukos with a bit added on. To a large extent, it’s the same people. The production capacity is 75 per cent the same. Rosneft is Yukos after three years of peredelok.

What the hell? His former company headquarters sells for almost $4B US to an unknown entity, when everyone claimed it wasn't worth more than $300M, and all he's got to say about it is that he reacted fairly calmly to it? Sheesh. It's not like I expected all that much, but come on! This is Russia, for chrissakes! Ate least wrap your answer up in an enigma that will leave me wondering for days, bub. Get with the program, eh?

Go read the whole thing. The answers may not be all that enlightening, but if you read between the lines, well, perhaps you might get your Russian Grandmaster political jones satisfied.

C'mon Baby, Light My Fire

I lit a fire last night.

Our choice of kindling is the leftover Financial Times we have lying around the house. The FT usually puts out a lot of supplements, covering things like digital business to, as was recently the case, the World Economic Forum at Davos. Last night, I pulled out that supplement to get the fire going, and how sweet it was because guess who was on the cover?

Yes, you guessed right: it was Al Gore.

How sweet it was to set Al Gore on fire. I relished every moment that section of the paper burnt, spreading his warmth and light to the logs. I watched as he turned to ash and scattered under the grate. It was brilliant and satisfying in a way that really isn't a normal part of my day.

The Goricle: Helping Boost Carbon Emissions at the Cake Eater Pad since 2008!

Going Overboard

Thank God the husband no longer plays World of Warcraft.

You're probably thinking that he quit because I was having trouble with all the time he spent playing. Nope. If he wants to play MMORPG's, I don't really have an issue with it, so long as he's not spending every waking hour on the damn computer either playing or dealing with "guild business." It's fun for him. While I don't get it and never really will, it's not for me to judge. And, as I've mentioned before, anything that leaves me with sole control over the tee vee is a good thing.

No, the reason I'm glad he's not playing WoW anymore is because of crap like this.

Now, the husband would never want this bit o' machinery in the first place, mainly because he likes to build his own gaming rigs. But, I'm glad he quit playing because I don't want him associating with people who would buy this sort of thing.

Embracing your inner geek is one thing; slapping down your credit card to buy a World of Warcraft Edition Dell Laptop is entirely another.

You're Not Helping

In a move that was undoubtedly meant to boost his career skin cancer awareness, Eric Dane, who apparently is on Grey's Anatomy has gone public about his "battle" with skin cancer.

For actor Eric Dane, the first sign that something was wrong came right after the new year, when the Grey's Anatomy star glanced in the mirror and saw what looked like chapped lips but clearly wasn’t.

“I went to my dermatologist,” Eric reveals in an exclusive interview in the new issue of OK!. But the last thing the 35-year-old expected was to be diagnosed with skin cancer. “He said it was malignant tissue caused by sun damage."

The malignancy was treated by freezing the cancerous tissue off with liquid nitrogen. Unfortunately for Eric, the actor had a severe reaction to a cream given to him for his lip after the treatment . “My skin is very sensitive," the actor most famous for playing Dr. Mark "McSteamy" Sloan, explains to OK!, "and my lip was traumatized by the procedure I had to go through.”

His lip’s overreaction to the medication created a painful scenario that made eating difficult, if not impossible. “I didn’t eat very well for a couple of weeks and lost a bunch of weight,” Eric explains, estimating that he dropped at least 10 pounds off his 6'1" frame while dealing with his cancer.{...}

MAN UP for chrissakes. Ditch the dermatologist, get some cherry Chapstick and soldier on!

While I'm glad they caught it in time (and, snark aside, I genuinely mean that), I nevertheless have no desire to hear about how sensitive his lips are and how he couldn't eat for a week because of an allergic reaction to therapeutic lip cream. I mean, he's not exactly doing cancer awareness a favor with this little tale of woe, is he? Wooh. Malignant lips and rampaging lip balm are not exactly the stuff of high drama, are they? Are you ready to whip out your checkbook and write a hefty check to a skin cancer research foundation because McWhomever decided to go public with his touching story?

I didn't think so.

I really wish that celebrities would have enough presence of mind to know that, sometimes, their desire to raise awareness just isn't a welcome thing. Of course, however, that presumes he went into the interview with only the best and most noble of intentions.

Which I highly doubt.

Overheard

They don't use the intercom much at the hospital where I volunteer. Usually it's the last resort to round up stray doctors (or, sometimes, patients), but even though it probably has nothing to do with you, and likely never will, you have to listen to it anyway, because if there's a code, even lowly volunteers have to know what each code means and what's entailed. You know, in case the hospital catches on fire or something equally unlikely.

This morning was no different in the rounding up of a stray doctor. But the details are where the difference was made. Overheard around ten a.m.

"Available OB to Room 222. Stat."

Three minutes later, the same voice and message appeared. The difference was in the delivery.

Available OB to Room 222. STAT."

Two minutes later, another announcement came booming through the loudspeakers:

STAT! ANY AVAILABLE OB TO ROOM 222! STAT!"

Shortly thereafter the familiar, light, cheerful chimes rang throughout the hospital, on, of course, the intercom system.

Room 222 is located in the maternity wing and the chimes ring whenever a baby is born.

Just for the Record: Two, Count 'Em, Two Items

Without further ado...

1. I suspect I am not the only person who is relatively up on political things, yet who has absolutely no interest in watching the Super Tuesday returns.

Just. Don't. Care. And you can't make me.

2. Three-quarter-length sleeves drive me up the goddamn wall.

I bought a couple of what I thought were long sleeved tee shirts at Le Boutique de La Target a couple of weeks ago, and when they turned out to be three-quarter-length, I was pissed off, but hell, I should have looked more closely instead of just grabbing a few off the pile and heading for the checkout counter. I mean, honestly, it's just a tee shirt---this shouldn't be that difficult of a purchase. Yeah, I know. Caveat emptor and all that, yadda, yadda, yadda. Whatever. I'm still going to whine about them.

While the shirts nicely enhance my (fabulous) rack, they, however, neither keep my forearms warm, nor do they allow me to escape the hot flashes I still have on occasion (and have more frequently when I'm at the hospital because that place is broiling hot.). Besides, they just feel funky. Like you washed a shirt in hot water and the sleeves shrunk. They're the shirt equivalent of floods.

The Kumbaya Method of Cultural Conversion

Alcatraz: Future Home of Global Peace. Or at least that's what some hippy drippy trippy idiot would have it become.

San Francisco voters will decide on Tuesday whether to remove the famous Alcatraz Prison visited by thousands of tourists a day and instead create a "global peace center."

The proposition sharing the presidential primary ballot comes from the director of the California-based Global Peace Foundation who gives his name as Da Vid. He says transforming Alcatraz will "liberate energies, raising the whole consciousness of the Bay Area."

Supporters would like to raze the prison and build a medicine wheel, a labyrinth and a conference center for non-violent conflict resolution. Volunteers collected 10,350 voter signatures last year to put it on the local ballot.

But even in a city long famed for its embrace of counterculture, many are skeptical about he plan.

"Perhaps we haven't reached the proper stage of enlightenment yet, but we're more inclined to support propositions with defined sources of funding attached to them," the San Francisco Chronicle said in an editorial.{...}

I went on a tour of Alcatraz a few years back, when the husband and I visited San Francisco. It was one of those guided tours, where you wear headphones and listen to certain tracks as you visit different places within the facility, and one of the parts that struck me was when former prisoners reminisced about their experience and said that when the wind came across the bay from Oakland and San Francisco, they became miserable and depressed because they could hear the life they were missing out on. The sounds of traffic carried, but so did the sounds of laughter and conversation. One can only hope that, if such a place were to be built on Alcatraz, the wind would carry the sounds of guitar strumming, Kumbaya singing hippies to the residents of those fair cities---and perhaps, just perhaps, they'd get so annoyed they'd ditch their dippy hippy ways and would get with the freakin' program already.

Have a Coke and a Smile

One of the better Super Bowl Ads from yesterday. I was kind of disappointed in them as a whole, but this one fit the bill quite nicely.

The shape of Stewie's head really does give him the blocking advantage. He had some pretty sweet moves.

I Believe The Children Are Our Future..

...or so Whitney Houston warbled all those years ago. Yeah right.

{...}Authorities said that a 17-year-old girl in a hot-pink sweatshirt approached Smith outside of a Winn-Dixie supermarket at Hypoluxo and Jog roads in Boynton Beach Wednesday evening and asked the girl what her favorite cookies were. Police told WPBF that, while Smith was telling the teen about her favorite Cinna-Spins, the teen snatched an envelope containing about $167 off of Smith's table, hopped into another teen's car and drove away. sponsor

Smith told WPBF that she turned to her mother in tears, saying, "Mommy! That girl took all my money!"

Authorities said they caught up with the 17-year-old girl Thursday and pulled her out of class at Park Vista High School, where she allegedly confessed to the crime, WPBF reported. Investigators said the girl's female accomplice, another a Park Vista student, also confessed.

The Palm Beach County Sheriff's Office said that the case has been handed over to the State Attorney's Office to determine if charges will be filed against the teens.

Smith's mother, Charlene Rubenstrunk, told WPBF that the girls returned to the store Thursday to taunt her daughter.

"They are within 10 feet of the same kid they just robbed last night and there is nothing anybody can do about it. I find that offensive," Rubenstrunk said.

The girls, whose names are not being released because they are minors, told WPBF that they were not remorseful for the crime, and that they did it because they "needed money."

"We went through all that effort to get it, we got all these charges and we had to give the money back. I'm kind of pissed," one of the girls told WPBF.

The other girl told WPBF that she was upset because police found them.

"I'm not sorry, I'm just pissed that I got caught," the girl said."

You think that's offensive? Check out the video. Pretty much the same as the article, but chock-a-block full of attitude.

I thought it was bad enough that they'd said what they did, but the way they said it, the way they apparently thought it was cool to be on tee vee is even more offensive.

You needed money, so the best way to go about that is to steal from a freakin' girl scout? What the hell?

You know, since I don't have kids, I generally refrain from telling parents how to raise their offspring. But if either of those girls was my kid, well, I'd take a strap to them. Then, when they're incapable of sitting for a few days, I'd let the police arrest them and throw their worthless asses into jail for a few days without bailing them out. Then I'd make them volunteer in a homeless shelter for about a year. To show them what it's really like to need money.

But, I don't have kids, so what do I know?

{Ht: Laura W. over at Ace.}

UPDATE: I just showed this to the husband and his question was, "Do we have someplace to throw little whores like that other than Vegas?"