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Buy olive oil in small quantities--its flavor doesn't hold up well to storage.
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I think I need to stop using puppet as an adjective. I need to stop the spread of puppets, post haste.
One thing that struck me was that Cate and Elizabeth both clearly have the same public speaking coach: it appears that they don't have arms, because of the tucked-elbow forearm gesture. Very weird. In more local news, I had to rip out the new tile in the bathroom, along with a chunk of subfloor, a bunch of wall tile and a long strip of sheetrock. It's all fixable, but there was a day of major visions of debt dancing in my head. Sweetie and I are now sharing the second bathroom; we've never had to share a bathroom before. I'm the messy one; he's the one who spends an oddly long time primping.
Last, I would like to encourage all government bureaucrats to go fuck themselves instead of hassling brown people. Now then: Yesterday was long and lovely, with a houseful of folk drinking an army of beer and playing games like Bang! and Advanced Settlers and Puerto Rico. The second one was fun, but in a death march sort of way; the first and last were more lightly enjoyable. At least for me: I do love yelling 'Bang!', and Sheriff Dawson ending the whole game in a bloodbath was a Hall of Fame moment. I also realized that I know absolutely nothing--and the Boom means nothing--about Puerto Rico, which was easily remedied by this site. Do check out the history page, and read of the world's biggest mistake in 1493. I especially like 'Greetings are often cordial and genuine', a so-called 'interesting fact' from the people page. Certainly one can't say as much for most parts of this overly large country of ours.
Hmm. They still have them, but apparently only in countries with funny accents. Speaking of funny accents, I am changing my name to Miss Bobo, and offering ham biscuits to anyone who henceforth remembers to call me by that name. Sweetie doesn't seem to want to be known as Mr. Bobo, but that's OK by me: in our Modern World, married people can keep their own names. And I think Mr. Sweetie-Bobo doesn't have quite the same ring as Mr. Sweetie-Boom.
Sweetie and I have returned from camping near Mr. Rainier for a few days. I don't know if I have ever been so delighted to be clean once again. We attempted swimming in a lovely spot called the blue hole. The coldness made it fairly unpleasant, although at some points there was the nice hot sun/artic water contrast. There were also a great many chipmunks and red squirrels. As a salute to their general cuteness, I give you this educational link. As a further salute to their cuteness, I give you this link to cuteness personified.
I am now fully obsessed with Captain Aubrey and Dr. Maturin. One of the marvelous things I have learned from the books is that there is a pudding called drowned baby. It is, apparently, much like spotted dog. The most important common ingredient is suet, which I'm sure you know is the fat around the kidneys and loins of a cow (and sometimes sheep). It is, um, nutritious? Except when rolled up with whitebait and fried. Moving from suet to politics, not a very big leap these days, let me bring a rather remarkable woman to your attention. Her name, like all admired women in this country, is Elizabeth. This bit in the New Republic seems condescending, but I also think it's probably pretty right. And for your reading pleasure, have a long article from CNN about the defeat of the stupid marriage amendment. I don't really like Kerry and Edwards not voting on it. Even more, though, I don't like GOP referring to "unelected activist judges", like they don't appoint them as well. I also am really sick of GOP owning the idea of "family". They've owned it for about 20 years now, and I still see many, many people who aren't GOP that belong to families. Since so many families I know are damned liberal elitist, I suggest to them that they start referring to their home situations as "multigenerational cooperative living arrangements". And while this thing in the Seattle Times is clearly written by a damned liberal elitist, I think it's interesting.
In the last week or so, the homeless crew at the church across the street has gotten louder and annoyingly drunk, from about 7am until I fall asleep under the spell of Almighty Ambien. On the one hand, I can be annoyingly drunk in the privacy of my own home and not shout at a whole neighborhood, so it's just a typical class hatred issue. On another hand, let them take some cozy comfort in a bottle, because there's just not a lot of comfort in living on a sidewalk when it's all chilly and rainy. On another hand, shut! up! I am thinking about writing a firm-yet-sweetiepie note to the church and ask them to take a little more active role in the homeless at their church, because I refuse to call the pigs on non-violent people. I've been re-reading Jane Austen while waiting for a bunch of Patrick O'Brian books to arrive at the liberry. Upon careful consideration, Jane should've added a bunch of sea battles. Still, both authors have the same sort of mean humor directed at their own characters. It's awfully refreshing in this age of "oh I didn't mean to write a sequel, but this character just wasn't *done* with me! I am communing with the Great Beyond!" Feh.
And in the spirit of parenthood, from a girl who wanted a hysterectomy at age 14 until her mother told her she'd get a mustache, I have this little advice about raising a kid:
On the subject of independence: I also found my favorite new religous holiday: Hurricane Supplication Day. This is an awesome display of the whole "God favors my team" variety of prayer. But then, hell, we were once on the tail edge of a hurricane (in a very sturdy house) and it was overwhelming. And it was once. I love finding new places that incorporate pre-Catholic needs and behaviors into Catholic churches. Some things just don't get absorbed.
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