tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-188201732024-03-07T10:08:34.529-08:00Suebob's Red Staplerred staplerSUEB0Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16301963922769609715noreply@blogger.comBlogger1195125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18820173.post-8688375090711671982013-11-13T15:41:00.002-08:002019-08-08T12:24:04.628-07:00SUEB0Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16301963922769609715noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18820173.post-1845628658891358592012-05-16T10:10:00.002-07:002019-08-08T12:23:40.108-07:00Instagram thinks my blog violates community standards, so I had to post a link to this old dusty thing.
My "new" blog is over at <a href="http://suebobdavis.com">Suebob's Red Stapler</a>. Please visit me there.SUEB0Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16301963922769609715noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18820173.post-35432612930863337942011-08-21T12:35:00.000-07:002011-08-21T12:35:15.993-07:00On Not Having A Fridge<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/suebobdavis/123511916/" title="Fridge by suebobdavis, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/1/123511916_8399963c79.jpg" width="350" height="466" alt="Fridge"></a><br />
<br />
I know this is ostensibly a food blog, but bear with me as I veer off into food politics a bit. I was watching The Daily Show and found this clip from their continuing series on Class Warfare. The quote about the poor beginning about 4:30 in floored me:<br />
<br />
<table style='font:11px arial; color:#333; background-color:#f5f5f5' cellpadding='0' cellspacing='0' width='512' height='340'><tbody><tr style='background-color:#e5e5e5' valign='middle'><td style='padding:2px 1px 0px 5px;'><a target='_blank' style='color:#333; text-decoration:none; font-weight:bold;' href='http://www.thedailyshow.com'>The Daily Show With Jon Stewart</a></td><td style='padding:2px 5px 0px 5px; text-align:right; font-weight:bold;'>Mon - Thurs 11p / 10c</td></tr><tr style='height:14px;' valign='middle'><td style='padding:2px 1px 0px 5px;' colspan='2'><a target='_blank' style='color:#333; text-decoration:none; font-weight:bold;' href='http://www.thedailyshow.com/watch/thu-august-18-2011/world-of-class-warfare---the-poor-s-free-ride-is-over'>World of Class Warfare - The Poor's Free Ride Is Over</a></td></tr><tr style='height:14px; background-color:#353535' valign='middle'><td colspan='2' style='padding:2px 5px 0px 5px; width:512px; overflow:hidden; text-align:right'><a target='_blank' style='color:#96deff; text-decoration:none; font-weight:bold;' href='http://www.thedailyshow.com/'>www.thedailyshow.com</a></td></tr><tr valign='middle'><td style='padding:0px;' colspan='2'><embed style='display:block' src='http://media.mtvnservices.com/mgid:cms:item:comedycentral.com:394983' width='512' height='288' type='application/x-shockwave-flash' wmode='window' allowFullscreen='true' flashvars='autoPlay=false' allowscriptaccess='always' allownetworking='all' bgcolor='#000000'></embed></td></tr><tr style='height:18px;' valign='middle'><td style='padding:0px;' colspan='2'><table style='margin:0px; text-align:center' cellpadding='0' cellspacing='0' width='100%' height='100%'><tr valign='middle'><td style='padding:3px; width:33%;'><a target='_blank' style='font:10px arial; color:#333; text-decoration:none;' href='http://www.thedailyshow.com/full-episodes/'>Daily Show Full Episodes</a></td><td style='padding:3px; width:33%;'><a target='_blank' style='font:10px arial; color:#333; text-decoration:none;' href='http://www.indecisionforever.com/'>Political Humor & Satire Blog</a></td><td style='padding:3px; width:33%;'><a target='_blank' style='font:10px arial; color:#333; text-decoration:none;' href='http://www.facebook.com/thedailyshow'>The Daily Show on Facebook</a></td></tr></table></td></tr></tbody></table><br />
So now people aren't considered poor if they have a refrigerator. A REFRIGERATOR! <br />
<br />
It started me thinking about the last time I had to live without a fridge. I moved into a house with no fridge and had to buy a new one. I'm obviously not poor, or I would have gotten a 30-year-old used one that sucks up $300 in electricity every year like I used to have.<br />
<br />
I bought one at Sears and they said it wasn't in stock and would take a week to deliver. No problem, I thought. I can survive a week without a fridge. I can eat non-perishable food and eat out and what-have-you, because I can afford that stuff.<br />
<br />
But if you don't have a fridge and you do want some perishable food, say something nutritious like milk, cheese or eggs, you need ice.<br />
<br />
I didn't have an ice chest, because I was only missing a fridge for a week, so I just put the ice and milk in a dish pan and covered it with a baking pan with newspapers on top for extra insulation. Still, I had to buy ice every day. It was messy and inconvenient and expensive, but for me, with my income, it was a short-term problem and I could easily survive.<br />
<br />
If you're poor, you don't have the same luxury of eating out and wasting money on small quantities of food and having the comfort of knowing a brand new fridge will be delivered at the end of the week.<br />
<br />
Ice is expensive. And heavy. So if you don't have a car - which I'm assuming you don't, if you're too poor to be able to afford a $50 yard-sale fridge - you have to schlep ice. Heavy, cold ice. <br />
<br />
Hope you're not old or disabled or live more than a few blocks from a grocery store! And I hope you don't need any other groceries, because once you have a couple sacks of ice, it's pretty hard to carry anything else.<br />
<br />
I also hope you have the spare $3 a day you'll need to buy 2 bags of ice. You could make ice almost for free but HEY, THAT'S RIGHT, you don't have a fridge. Sucka. So that's $3 a day - or about $1000 a year you'll need to support your non-fridge habit. And since the federal poverty level is $22,000 a year for a family of FOUR, I'm sure you'll probably miss that $1000 pretty badly.<br />
<br />
You could have bought about 750-1000 pounds of dried beans with that same amount of money, but that would be ridiculous. You're poor. You don't deserve a fridge!<br />
<br />
And if you do want to cook perishable food, you'll have to buy it in small quantities you can use right away. So instead of buying a pound of margarine on sale, you'll have to buy it by the cube at the corner convenience store, because the market doesn't sell it in tiny quantities. It will cost you about as much as a whole pound, maybe more, but that's the way it goes, right?<br />
<br />
You'll probably waste a lot of food, too, from spoilage or getting soaked by water from melting ice, food you can ill afford to lose. But waste is part of the American way! Learn to embrace it.<br />
<br />
As you can see, I'm being sarcastic. I'm just hiding the fact that I'm so furious at the numbskulls who think poverty is easy, that it doesn't take cleverness and flexibility and constant scrambling to just get by. They sit up in their studios and have lattes brought to them by production assistants and talk about how poor people have refrigerators and that they are surprised by that. I have two words for them, and they aren't "Bon appetit."<br />
<br />
<br />
SUEB0Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16301963922769609715noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18820173.post-84264512322784666132010-11-24T13:22:00.000-08:002010-11-24T13:22:23.199-08:00If you love me...Can you please put <a href="http://suebobdavis.com">my new blog in</a> your reader?<br />
<br />
http://suebobdavis.com<br />
<br />
Thank you kindly.SUEB0Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16301963922769609715noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18820173.post-65327681558207675702010-11-21T15:16:00.000-08:002010-11-21T15:16:05.925-08:00Over there! Over there!Kyran got a new url at <a href="http://www.plantingdandelions.com/">Planting Dandelions</a>. You should go read her there.<br />
<br />
And my new url is, well, <a href="http://suebobdavis.com">my name</a>. Please bookmark accordingly.<br />
<br />
Thank you.SUEB0Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16301963922769609715noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18820173.post-8501938443831010342010-11-16T22:16:00.001-08:002010-11-16T22:16:46.723-08:00Come visit me at my new place...same as the old place but with my fancy new url<br />
<br />
<a href="http://suebobdavis.com">http://suebobdavis.com</a>SUEB0Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16301963922769609715noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18820173.post-52880606324268527932010-11-16T10:02:00.001-08:002019-08-08T12:24:04.423-07:00Tips for Not Being a JerkDon't make fun of someone's name, no matter how tempting it is. I recently met a woman whose name was the equivalent of "Cleopatra Anthony." I had to hold myself back. It took my force of will. But I stopped myself, because honestly? How often does a person with an odd name hear the odd name joke? ALL THE TIME. I assure you, as someone who knows someone with the last name "Ho," you are not the first.<br />
<br />
Do not ask about someone's infirmity or scar. Everyone wants to feel normal. Asking someone "Hey, what happened to your face/arm/leg?" is a sure way to push them right off the normal path. If they want to talk about what happened, they will mention it in their own time, when they like and trust you not to be a nosy jerk.SUEB0Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16301963922769609715noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18820173.post-63686159645114847762010-11-15T19:15:00.000-08:002010-11-15T20:21:01.508-08:00Some kind of depressing musings on life and burritosI came home after the gym and Farmer's Market on Saturday and tossed all of my vegetables on the kitchen table and my wet gym bag on the floor.<br />
<br />
They were all still there this morning. Monday morning. The vegetables were faded and limp and the swimsuit had that murky, not-so-fresh smell.<br />
<br />
As soon as I had gotten home, I had thought "I'm so tired," and I laid down on the couch. Then I got up and went to bed. After about half an hour, I tried to convince myself to get up, but I couldn't move.<br />
<br />
One of the great blessings of getting older is a certain amount of perspective. If I had been 20, I would have spent a great deal of time berating myself about what a lazy jerk I was, sleeping a beautiful Saturday - and it was a glorious, warm, sunny day - away.<br />
<br />
But being Of A Certain Age, I realized "There must be something seriously wrong with me," and you know, Being of A Certain Age, I was right.<br />
<br />
The fever and chills hit about 2 p.m. The cookie-tossing commenced shortly thereafter and lasted for the next 10 hours or so. <br />
<br />
Thank God for twitter on my phone, because it was the only thing I could do to pass the long hours - I don't have a TV and reading a book made me even more nauseous. Sleeping led to weird hallucinatory dreams populated by the - I am not making this up - People of Wal-Mart. Standing up, other than to dash to the bathroom, was beyond my capabilities.<br />
<br />
I usually love living alone. I don't get lonely. I seem perfectly suited to a solitary lifestyle, a room of my own, a house of my own, a life all my own.<br />
<br />
I have to admit, though, as I lay there pinned down by the after-effects of an ill-conceived food stand burrito, that I questioned the wisdom of my decision. Being alone and healthy and happy isn't the same as being alone and sick and incapacitated, is it? <br />
<br />
Flat on back, unable to move, helpless. Those were some long and lonely hours, despite my little glowing twitter connection. My tiny little house suddenly felt way too big for just one person.<br />
<br />
But despite all of my fantasies of Brad Pitt carrying a cool cloth for my forehead, we never know what life may bring. We may get sick and get a <a href="http://www.hope4peyton.org/2010/more-of-this-and-that/">Peter Mayhew</a>, or we may have to <a href="http://ninjapoodles.blogspot.com/2010/10/excellent-historian.html">be the hero</a> when our loved one gets sick, the hero in ways that are tough and awful and scary. <br />
<br />
Or, as happens all too frequently, we may walk out or get walked out upon in our hour of darkest need (no links here - I guess nobody ever blogs about that).<br />
<br />
That's the crazy part about life. You just never know. But one thing is for certain: eating a bad burrito will give you a lot of time to think about it.SUEB0Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16301963922769609715noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18820173.post-31867940106612851742010-11-10T20:57:00.000-08:002010-11-11T06:17:19.822-08:00A War Story (in honor of Veteran's Day)My dad wanted to enlist in the Army during World War II. He was born in 1918, so he was a bit older than the average soldier when the war rolled around, but like every able-bodied man at the time, he wanted to go.<br />
<br />
He signed up and kept reporting for duty, but was turned away several times because the Army had lost his paperwork.<br />
<br />
In the meantime, he was working in Long Beach as a welder, building warships. Finally, he got tired of waiting.<br />
<br />
He sold all of his possessions, including his car. He reported to the Army with the clothes on his back and $5 in his pocket.<br />
<br />
"You have to take me now," he said. "I have nowhere else to go and no money to get there if I did."<br />
<br />
They took him, and he served in the 3<sup>rd</sup> Army, 261<sup>st</sup> Field Artillery Battalion in Europe, including fighting in the Battle of the Bulge.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/suebobdavis/2559682607/" title="Dad in Germany 1945 by suebobdavis, on Flickr"><img alt="Dad in Germany 1945" height="142" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3272/2559682607_dd9bc7dd63_m.jpg" width="240" /></a><br />
<i>Dad in Germany, 1945</i> Click to see larger<br />
<br />
Here is a poem my dad carried in his wallet along with pictures of the family. It obviously meant something special to him:<br />
<b>Soldiers</b><br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><i>I was that which others did not want to be.</i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>I went where others feared to go, and did what others failed to do.</i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>I asked nothing of those who gave nothing,</i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>and reluctantly accepted the thought of eternal loneliness, should I fail.</i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>I have seen the face of terror, felt the stinging cold of fear, and enjoyed the sweet taste of a moment’s love.</i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>I have cried, pained, and hoped…but most of all I have lived times that others would say were best forgotten.</i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>At least some day I will be able to say that I was proud to be what I was…a soldier.</i></div>SUEB0Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16301963922769609715noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18820173.post-34990835385007670102010-11-06T16:13:00.000-07:002010-11-06T16:32:29.191-07:00You Give and You Get<i>Warning: </i><a href="http://www.busymom.net/"><i>BusyMom</i></a><i> said this should have a tear-jerker warning. Consider yourself warned.</i><br />
<br />
It's a long story, but Catherine of <a href="http://herbadmother.com/">Her Bad Mother</a> asked us to <a href="http://www.momimprovement.com/blogher-5k/">make tutus and run in Central Park at BlogHer 10 as a benefit for her nephew, Tanner.</a><br />
<br />
I was taken with this idea, but I was a bit baffled about how to transport a whole tutu across the country without mangling it, so I came up with a brilliant plan.<br />
<br />
I would buy yards of tulle, cut them into strips, and offer people at BlogHer the chance to assemble their own tutus before the benefit race.<br />
<br />
I bought tulle. A LOT of it. It was pretty and cheap and I got a little over-enthusiastic, as I tend to do, and I bought about 110 yards:<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/suebobdavis/4821904333/" title="The little princess in tulle by suebobdavis, on Flickr"><img alt="The little princess in tulle" height="180" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4138/4821904333_1c07d3505f_m.jpg" width="240" /></a><br />
The tulle was Goldie-approved<br />
<br />
I realized that cutting 110 yards of tulle in a hotel room in the compressed timeframe of BlogHer wasn't going to happen, so I had to cut it at home. 110 yards into 4-inch wide strips...It was a big deal.<br />
<br />
I decided to cut tulle at my folks' house on the kitchen table, since my only table is too small. And because my parents are lovely, lovely people, they decided to help me.<br />
<br />
You mom bloggers know how it is when your kids "help" you make cookies? It was kind of like that.<br />
<br />
My mom has bad arthritis and couldn't work for very long, so my dad stepped in. My 90% blind, not terribly steady dad. But dang it, there was work to be done and he was going to do it. He and I fumbled and twisted tulle and cut at funny angles and made mistakes, and there were times I felt like either screaming or running away.<br />
<br />
But I took deep breaths and took his help in the spirit it was offered. We got that damned tulle cut into strips and we looked good doing it.<br />
<br />
By the time I got to Central Park, I had two sprained ankles and couldn't run. I did have a walk down 6th Ave. to the park in gorgeous, Lakers-colored tutu, and many others at BlogHer got tutus made by volunteers who did tutu construction at the People's Party.<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/suebobdavis/4865883368/" title="Caffeinatrix and me, bright and early. Really early by suebobdavis, on Flickr"><img alt="Caffeinatrix and me, bright and early. Really early" height="375" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4093/4865883368_b706d06070.jpg" width="500" /></a><br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/suebobdavis/4865868232/" title="IMG00141.jpg by suebobdavis, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG00141.jpg" height="180" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4137/4865868232_87c2657dfc_m.jpg" width="240" /></a><br />
<br />
Three weeks later my dad was dead.<br />
<br />
Making those "Tutus for Tanner" was the last father-daughter project we ever worked on, and it turns out I'm thankful for those goofy, crazy hours of frustration and screwed-up teamwork.<br />
<br />
That's life, isn't it? You just decide to do things and do your best under the circumstances, and sometimes you get a gift you don't expect, a gift that you wouldn't trade all the gold in Fort Knox for. And then you go on to write sentences that end in prepositions, and life goes on.SUEB0Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16301963922769609715noreply@blogger.com26tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18820173.post-78479418582585524172010-11-02T22:00:00.000-07:002010-11-02T22:01:10.940-07:00Sometimes you get luckyYou know my sister's name was Laura.<br />
<br />
At BlogHer 2007, I got a new friend, whose name is <a href="http://www.lauriewrites.com/weblog/">Laurie</a>. Which is far enough from Laura to not squinch my heart up every time I say it, but close enough to make me think that sometimes families aren't necessarily made by genes.<br />
<br />
It also makes me think that having someone you really love take your photograph somehow makes you prettier.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilaWU4bp-RjovInzpayPNIDIy6cYUQAeJLnrQxX_DIFbNqw0EWHkwo8v6dqRPoOTnXmaJ4UfmIJru_9kt_Ab4XDQKWuIHoXmav7BTOA_7_QDf0kAWLHE2HHQEDsr1GnSuklrU/s1600/5137550257_ddb98ca786.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilaWU4bp-RjovInzpayPNIDIy6cYUQAeJLnrQxX_DIFbNqw0EWHkwo8v6dqRPoOTnXmaJ4UfmIJru_9kt_Ab4XDQKWuIHoXmav7BTOA_7_QDf0kAWLHE2HHQEDsr1GnSuklrU/s320/5137550257_ddb98ca786.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>Photo by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/rubyshoes/">Laurie White</a>. Used by permission. All rights reserved.SUEB0Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16301963922769609715noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18820173.post-23456877142752313402010-11-01T22:06:00.000-07:002010-11-01T22:06:59.624-07:00Things I Can Say Because I Have PMSRandom Idjit: "The happiest people I know don't have blogs because they are too busy having real lives."<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;">Suebob: "The reason people don't have blogs is because they don't have anything interesting to say."</span><br />
<br />
Random Idjit: "You're exploiting your kids/your family/your friends/yourself to make money from your blog."<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;">Suebob: "If you knew how to make money making anything more creative than Slurpees, maybe you wouldn't be so jealous."</span><br />
<br />
Random Idjit: "I think people that need to put their lives on view all the time have something wrong with them."<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;">Suebob: "Your pathological need to hide from the world is baffling to me."</span><br />
<br />
Random Idjit: "What makes you think everyone wants to know your opinion all the time?"<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;">Suebob: "The way they find out my opinion is by seeking it out. As far as I know, no one has ever been forced to come to my blog or twitterfeed at gunpoint."</span><br />
<br />
Random Idjit: "I just don't understand what you're trying to accomplish."<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;">Suebob: "YOU WOULDN'T."</span>SUEB0Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16301963922769609715noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18820173.post-39776401128439577602010-10-30T13:37:00.000-07:002010-10-30T13:37:13.835-07:00She was kind to dogsOne night at dinner, some friends and I stumbled onto the topic of Hitler. It was posited that Hitler had no redeeming qualities.<br />
<br />
One person said "Well, he was kind to dogs."<br />
<br />
That person became famous and derided as a Hitler apologist, all in jest of course. The capstone of the ridicule was when the exMrStapler created a birthday present - a book with a fake dustjacket that featured a large photo of the Fuhrer and the title "Hitler: Kind to Dogs."<br />
<br />
Yesterday when I was working at home with the front door open, the neighbor's little dog Katie wandered in. This had happened once before. I have no idea how she gets through the fence, but she must get lonely, because she only comes in when her Mom is off at work.<br />
<br />
The first time she came over, she immediately hid behind Goldie's bed and stayed there:<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/suebobdavis/5031776793/" title="The neighbor's dog just wandered into my house and hid behind Goldie's bed. by suebobdavis, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4092/5031776793_449ca8d229_m.jpg" width="240" height="180" alt="The neighbor's dog just wandered into my house and hid behind Goldie's bed." /></a><br />
<br />
This time, she felt a little more at home. She sniffed around a bit, walked into my bedroom, jumped up on the bed, got under the covers and fell asleep.<br />
<br />
I left her there for a few hours before I had to leave, then carried her out and put her back under the fence. <br />
<br />
It struck me that I must be some kinda sucka. Who lets a strange dog sleep under their covers?<br />
<br />
Me. I do. Despite all my other flaws and shortcomings, at least I'm nice to animals.<br />
<br />
Let it be known that I want my epitaph to read: She was kind to dogs.SUEB0Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16301963922769609715noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18820173.post-13512982810079502412010-10-29T22:33:00.000-07:002010-10-29T22:34:58.992-07:00The poor studentDon't you just love it when you run into people who are absolutely unamused by you? People who you can tell are just really, really underimpressed by your whole existence?<br />
<br />
Yeah. That's my physical therapist, Paul.<br />
<br />
My last physical therapist, a few years ago, was a chatty, super-hyper Mormon guy who was great. He tortured me appropriately and fixed my shoulder, so it was all good.<br />
<br />
Paul did my therapy with a kind of machine-like disaffection. It WAS after 5 on a Friday, so who can blame him? But it was still a bit unnerving to be such a disappointment. <br />
<br />
My problem is with my ankles. I had a back injury that has impinged the nerves to my ankles, making them floppy as 3-day old fish. I sometimes fall off my feet just standing there. Honestly. <br />
<br />
I sprained both ankles by falling off a curb.two days before BlogHer and I just have to say it is a good thing that being in NYC and at BlogHer don't involve any walking! Because that would be painful. Oh, wait, they DO. Totally do. Yeah. Every night at BlogHer I had cankles like a baby elephant.<br />
<br />
Then three weeks ago I fell again going down the 2 stairs in front of my house and hurt my right ankle badly again. I didn't trip or anything - my ankle just refused to hold me up and I toppled over.<br />
<br />
So Paul is to help me cure my fish ankles. <br />
<br />
He made me do this thing where you lay on a slant board and balance one foot on this tippy thing and try to keep it steady while you use that leg to do a leg press. Not only could I not keep the tippy thing from tipping, I couldn't even feel that it was tipped.<br />
<br />
I failed tippy board.<br />
<br />
We moved on to something more remedial. Something suitable for even the terminally physically incapable, like me.<br />
<br />
He laid these foam board shaped things on the floor, immediately giving me bad flashbacks to Junior High Gymnastics.<br />
<br />
Yes, he was making me walk the balance beam. So guess how that went?<br />
<br />
I failed balance beam.<br />
<br />
He then gave up and put me on the stairmaster and went to chat up a cute athletic girl with a knee injury. And chat. And chat. Approximately 97 minutes later when he got done, he came to check on my progress.<br />
<br />
Well, there's good news and there's bad news. The good news is that I don't have ankle problems anymore.<br />
<br />
The bad news is that my legs fell off.SUEB0Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16301963922769609715noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18820173.post-28550295293423379232010-10-28T16:20:00.000-07:002010-10-28T16:48:00.945-07:00Reunited and it feels so fineToday was the semi-annual Sock Reconciliation Event at Casa de Suebob.<br />
<br />
This is the joyous day when all the single socks floating around the place are lined up and carefully matched with their mates. <br />
<br />
Results are thus: 16 pair of black socks were rejoined with their mates. One pair of blue socks and two pair of brown were also made whole.<br />
<br />
Still unmatched are the not-quite brown rust colored sock that came from God-knows-where, the black sock with the subtle argyle-like pattern that I always think is solid black but only shows after I have put it on and gone to a meeting where I cross my legs, and a really good black spotted Smartwool sock that has remained unmatched for 2 years but is so great of a sock that I cannot betray its trust by tossing out.<br />
<br />
Stand by for more exciting updates from Suebob's underwear drawer! Next up: will she ever get rid of those bras with the stretched-out elastic?SUEB0Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16301963922769609715noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18820173.post-63348580315876091112010-10-25T21:38:00.000-07:002010-10-31T08:00:17.836-07:00Volunteer work should not cause post-traumatic stressI have ideas, lots of them. That's one of the reasons my Rear-View Life List is so full of wonderful items. I get some nutty notion and then I feel compelled to do it.<br />
<br />
It usually works out. Sometimes I convince people to go on a speed boat on Lake Michigan and I find myself flying across the water, laughing my ass off at a guy's ears flapping in the wind with <a href="http://karensugarpants.com/">Karen</a> and the <a href="http://queenofspainblog.com/">Queen of Spain's</a> husband.<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/suebobdavis/943440621/" title="Kaiser and Karen on the lake by suebobdavis, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1423/943440621_e2d8c90ada.jpg" width="350" height="236" alt="Kaiser and Karen on the lake" /></a><br />
<br />
Other times, not so much. This weekend was SO not so much.<br />
<br />
My work sends out a list of volunteer opportunities every so often. One of the opportunities was to go to this <a href="http://wildlifewaystation.org/">wildlife sanctuary</a> and help them inventory fencing materials.<br />
<br />
I asked the organizer if lifting would be required, because, after back surgery, I just don't lift.<br />
<br />
"Oh, no," he said. "You can hold the measuring tape." (Spoiler alert: THIS WAS A LIE).<br />
<br />
Okay then. CC, Ish and I headed out bright and early to a facility deep within the Angeles National Forest to help the animals. <br />
<br />
We had been promised a tour of the place to go along with our labors. We were pointed toward our appointed task: hundreds of rolls of chain link fencing needed to be moved, unrolled, measured and re-rolled, then stacked in order of size.<br />
<br />
There was another option: clean up the wood pile. We quickly volunteered for wood pile duty, correctly assuming that fencing duty would suck. About 15 of us took every piece of wood out of a disorganized pile, sorted it and re-organized while the other poor suckers dealt with the fencing. <br />
<br />
Did I mention that rattlesnakes live in the woodpile? Oh, yes, they do. I looked down and one was about 6 inches from my foot. I managed not to freak the hell out and Volunteer Wrangler Bob soon moved the snake off into the bushes where he could live to menace volunteers on another day.<br />
<br />
This place had the volunteer thing down, though. After about every 45 minutes of slave labor, they would bring a wild animal ambassador around to keep us interested - first a wild boar, then a coyote, then a grey wolf - just enough to give us a break and keep us working.<br />
<br />
We finished the snake-infested woodpile and moved on to chain link fencing. After about 16 hours of work, more or less (ok, it was about 3 hours), they said "We just have one more hour, THEN LUNCH, then another hour of work, then the tour."<br />
<br />
Lord help me. At that point, I was ready to quit, but CC insisted we stay for the tour. Dang her and her dedication and enthusiasm.<br />
<br />
Lunchtime rolled around. We strolled up to get the proferred lunch...aaaaaand there WAS no lunch. Apparently we missed the memo that said we were supposed to <i>bring</i> lunch. We scavenged some stale granola bars from under the seats in the car and glumly chewed them at one of the rickety picnic tables.<br />
<br />
Then it was back to work on the chain gang. All the measuring was done, so then it was just re-stacking chain link fence. The measuring-tape holding duty had been claimed by a young, fit guy named Wolf. Thanks for the gallantry, Wolf. You look good there holding that measuring tape while sweaty-faced office workers move heavy rolls of fencing. <br />
<br />
I stood with the other girlie-girls and watched the men scratch themselves to hell on the fence wire and ruin their backs lifting rolls of fencing up onto these tall racks. Yay, men, and the three macho chicks. You go. I'll be over here, cheerleading.<br />
<br />
After 6 more hours (more or less), tour time finally rolled around! Note: there will be no photos from the tour because the woman who owns the place doesn't allow photos. Whatevs. Here are <a href="http://wildlifewaystation.org/wildlife-waystation-animal-photos#">some photos from their website.</a><br />
<br />
We got bused down to the area where the big cats and predators are kept. We split into tour groups - for leaders, you either got Bob and Tony, the volunteer wranglers, or Heather, the crazy possum-lover. I tried to scooch CC and Ish over toward Bob and Tony, but they were clueless to my motionings. So Crazy Heather it was.<br />
<br />
Heather had an officious proprietary crazy animal lady thing going on. I was all too familiar with the personality type from my time voluteering at the County Animal Shelter. For instance, she kept insisting we stay "THREE FEET AWAY" from all the cages, even the very secure cages where the animals rested calm, sleepy and bored.<br />
<br />
I guess she had some kind of a point, though, because a lot of those animals were dangerous killing machines. <br />
<br />
I don't know if I have ever been as chilled as when the grizzly bear - about 4 feet high at the shoulder, maybe more - regarded me with its piggy little eyes. It viewed me with the casual disregard with which one might inspect a Chick-Fil-A while one has a steaming pizza before them. You could just see it thinking "Not now. Maybe later."<br />
<br />
It paced around, its 3-inch claws clicking on the pavement, staring us down, taking the measure of our mettle. I was glad for the extra large-gauge chain link right about then.<br />
<br />
There were also cheetahs, tigers, ligers. Honest to <a href="http://www.zimbio.com/watch/waLURLED4Hp/Napoleon+Dynamite+Scene+Liger/Napoleon+Dynamite">Napoleon Dynamite</a>, there were <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Liger">Ligers</a> - which Heather told us were very sad animals "Because they don't know what they are, how they should behave." Right, Heather. Thank you for your keen insights on animal genetics and psychology.<br />
<br />
There were also wolves and coyotes and Mountain Lions, who were elegant and fierce and, like the Grizzly, seemed to look at me more as food than anything else.<br />
<br />
It was all heart-breaking and confusing. The place is trying to do good, rescuing animals who have worked in movies or who have been raised by Michael Jackson-style idiots who think that a tiger cub is so cute and who suddenly end up with a 600 pound cat with razor-sharp teeth and a $1000 a month food bill.<br />
<br />
I was torn between being captivated by the beauty and power of the animals, feeling sad for them being in cages, and being terrified at being THREE FEET from killing machines.<br />
<br />
The worst part was the chimps. They have about 30 chimps, mostly rescued from animal laboratories, and those dudes just aren't right in the head. We had to run the gauntlet between their cages, where they spit on the unfortunate tour members who happened to be at the back of the line.<br />
<br />
They made this unearthly whooping/crying/moaning sound. It sounded like the voices of those descending to hell. And it was LOUD. I don't know when I have heard something more heartbreaking and more terrifying.<br />
<br />
CC, Ish and I all agreed that we were disturbed to the bone. We left quiet, somber and more than a little angry. Why are people so stupid? Why do they think that chimps are babies and lions and tigers and mountain lions are kitties that they can just snuggle with and play with, when in reality they are wild beasts who would be better off wild?<br />
<br />
None of us had been fans of zoos before, but we vowed to never visit one again. It is just too horrible. I know that place is the best hope for animals whose lives were ruined by the idiocy and cruelty of humans, but the sounds of those chimps keeps ringing through my head.SUEB0Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16301963922769609715noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18820173.post-53113568842358418822010-10-23T20:57:00.000-07:002010-10-24T12:59:55.319-07:00The Raven Life ListMy dear friend CC invented a new Life List today: Stuff I Have Done and Never Want to Do Again. Let's call it the Raven Life List ("Quoth the Raven: Nevermore"). Not quite as glamorous as <a href="http://mightygirl.com/mighty-life-list">some people's Life Lists</a>, and certainly not sponsored by anyone, but worth considering nevertheless.<br />
<br />
Get a haircut at Supercuts<br />
Food poisoning from a suspect burrito<br />
Be dumped for an ex-girlfriend<br />
Have the ex-girlfriend come to a meeting I was leading - at my house<br />
Dance with a guy who grabbed my boob<br />
Break a high heel<br />
Fart in a board meeting<br />
Drop something valuable into a public toilet<br />
Fly United Airlines<br />
Have my car die on a freeway onramp<br />
<a href="http://redstapler23.blogspot.com/2006/04/sudden-loss-of-control.html">Pee my pants in public</a><br />
Rent a room to a psycho<br />
Be bullied in high school (hi, Jamie Lambert)<br />
Fail a class<br />
<a href="http://redstapler23.blogspot.com/2009/11/promised-details.html">Be laid off</a><br />
Deal with Charter Cable customer service<br />
Eat leg of lamb<br />
Lose my shoes in the mud<br />
Have it rain for 28 days in a row<br />
Live with an unmedicated person with bipolar disorder<br />
Date someone who hated to brush their teeth<br />
Have a landlord with boundary issues<br />
Kill a rattlesnake<br />
Be too cold to sleep<br />
Go to a college on the quarter system<br />
Lose an heirloom<br />
Eat at Marie Callendars<br />
Have the sewage back up in the yard<br />
<a href="http://redstapler23.blogspot.com/2010/06/you-be-judge.html">Go to small claims against idiots</a><br />
<br />
Ok. Enough for now. You get the picture.SUEB0Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16301963922769609715noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18820173.post-19104766137045608062010-10-21T11:54:00.000-07:002010-10-21T16:40:39.797-07:00More on the Rear-View Life ListI was talking to my brother-in-law about my blog post on the <a href="http://redstapler23.blogspot.com/2010/10/whats-off-my-life-list.html">Rear-View Life List</a>.<br />
<br />
He said "You've done so much. When I look at my list, there isn't anything on it except 'Have dinner with Liberace.' That's it."<br />
<br />
I said "Hey, wait a minute, you've done ALL KINDS of interesting things. You were a roadie for Bill Graham Productions, after all."<br />
<br />
We talked for a bit and realized that his list includes:<br />
- Holding Wolfman Jack's head while he puked<br />
- Flying in a helicopter into a crowd of 500,000 people<br />
- Getting a ride from Chuck Berry in Chuck's golf cart<br />
<br />
That's what I love about this project. In two minutes, we had three amazing life stories that came flooding back.<br />
<br />
And then, there's this:<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/suebobdavis/2095721911/" title="Mikey Umping by suebobdavis, on Flickr"><img alt="Mikey Umping" height="240" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2308/2095721911_9c162c1e1f_m.jpg" width="240" /></a>SUEB0Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16301963922769609715noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18820173.post-20627270033582082882010-10-17T22:17:00.000-07:002010-11-16T16:13:44.659-08:00What's off my reverse life listI found out that Dave had my reverse life list idea <a href="http://www.blogography.com/archives/2004/09/list.html">a long time ago</a>. That does not make me feel stupid. Au contraire - it makes me feel great because it confirms that I am well-justified in having Dave as my not-so-secret blog crush. (I plan on having my avatar marry his avatar and run away to Second Life, where they will live happily ever after, or as long as the Lindens last.) (Do people still do Second Life? It seems so 14 months ago).<br />
<br />
ANYWAY...I am having a blast making my Reverse Life List. Every time I open my brain, something I did that was fun pops up. I recommend doing this - it's amazing what you remember, and how much cool stuff you have done without even realizing it.<br />
<br />
So far I can cross off from my big Reverse Life List:<br />
<br />
Fly in a hot air balloon<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Ride a mule in Yosemite<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/suebobdavis/4621144434/" title="Sue n ringo by suebobdavis, on Flickr"><img alt="Sue n ringo" height="180" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3328/4621144434_1a746b4467_m.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Fly in a helicopter over Kauai</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Walk a labyrinth</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Take an award-winning photo<br />
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Build a Rose Parade Float</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/suebobdavis/2173868580/" title="What building a float looks like by suebobdavis, on Flickr"><img alt="What building a float looks like" height="500" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2395/2173868580_903671b1b9.jpg" width="361" /></a></div></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Pilot a helicopter (verrry briefly)<br />
Pick macadamia nuts</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Ride a recumbent tandem bike</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">See a horse being born</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Drive a backhoe</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Learn another language</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Have the White House pastry chef make me dessert</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Get a college degree<br />
Volunteer on a presidential campaign</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Make a good wine</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Win a blue ribbon at the county fair<br />
Drive halfway across the country</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Be published on McSweeney's</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Do the chicken dance</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Drive sideways</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Plant 20 kinds of sage in my yard<br />
Climb a pyramid<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/suebobdavis/16156083/" title="Bigsteps by suebobdavis, on Flickr"><img alt="Bigsteps" height="180" src="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/14/16156083_8fea674457_m.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Buy a recumbent bike<br />
Roast my own coffee</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Go to Oaxaca</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Drive a Caterpillar</div>See Buck Owens at the Crystal Palace<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Snorkel with sea turtles</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Get paid to write full-time<br />
Make beer<br />
Play roulette in Vegas</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Adopt a shelter dog</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Start a food blog<br />
Eat shave ice in Hawaii</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Design a book</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Get a big grin from Buddy Guy</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Heal a very old wound</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Hug chef Michel Richard<br />
Go body surfing</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Visit Washington DC</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Study A Course in Miracles<br />
Sail in a catamaran in high seas</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Have Barack Obama answer one of my questions</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Save a lot of trees</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Go to a pro soccer game</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Interview Anthony Bourdain</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Protest George W. Bush in his presence<br />
Get stopped by Secret Service (see above)</div>Be the 9th caller<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Paddle a canoe with my dad</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Have a peak moment</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Go to chef school</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Start a life blog</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Manage a crew of amazing people<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Go to baseball Spring Training</div></div>Marvel at the redwoods<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Hike in Zion National Park with my dad</div></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"></div></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Jump off the Pismo pier<br />
Watch fireworks from a yacht</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Meet cycling legend Davis Phinney</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Visit San Miguel Island<br />
Be in the middle of a huge electrical storm</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Help get a prisoner of conscience out of jail</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Go to the Rose Parade<br />
See a live condor<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/suebobdavis/3612572228/" title="Condor wings by suebobdavis, on Flickr"><img alt="Condor wings" height="180" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2460/3612572228_c66cb16719_m.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Ring in the new millennium<br />
Play in the snow</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Buy $250,000 worth of paper</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Celebrate the Harmonic Convergence</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">See "Starry Night"</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Read at a poetry festival</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Dance on the lawn to Los Lobos</div>Course Marshal a pro cycling race<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Read at BlogHer Community Keynote</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Live by myself<br />
See a meteor shower</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Dance like a maniac to Koko Taylor</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Write front page, above-the-fold story</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Hang out in a yurt</div><div>See Half Dome</div>Protest a war<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/suebobdavis/2434009863/" title="Radicals by suebobdavis, on Flickr"><img alt="Radicals" height="274" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2277/2434009863_a97030b50e.jpg" width="350" /></a><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Interview a former first lady</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Make mole negro<br />
See a real autumn</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Eat a grasshopper<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/suebobdavis/1795956323/" title="Grasshoppers sauteed in oil with garlic by suebobdavis, on Flickr"><img alt="Grasshoppers sauteed in oil with garlic" height="224" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2344/1795956323_70fb472269_m.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Dance to the Neville Brothers</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Go to NYC<br />
See the Grateful Dead</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Ride in a speed boat</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Go canyoning<br />
Be a bleacher bum</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Celebrate Samhain among 500 pagans</div><div>Take a yoga class from Judith Lasater</div>March for civil rights<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Go to a nude beach<br />
Attend Catholic mass<br />
See a full eclipse of the sun<br />
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Take the Chicago architectural boat tour</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/suebobdavis/3769558554/" title="Chicago River by suebobdavis, on Flickr"><img alt="Chicago River" height="180" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3562/3769558554_1777c3dbff_m.jpg" width="240" /></a></div></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Shop at LA's Grand Central Market</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Help land a multi-million dollar account</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Climb a mountain<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Thank a great teacher from elementary school</div></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"></div></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">See Bruce Springsteen</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Learn street fighting<br />
Experience an earthquake</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Speak on a BlogHer panel<br />
March in a Mardi Gras parade</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Hear a symphony that makes me cry<br />
Receive laying on of hands</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">See John Lee Hooker in a tiny venue<br />
Do improv comedy</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Make a bully back down<br />
Hug George Foreman</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Get hysterical<br />
Receive an answer to a prayer<br />
Give an award-winning speech</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Hear Brian Wilson play "Smile"</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Meet Rick Bayless and thank him</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Fall in love with opera</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Hike the Pinnacles<br />
Eat bananas I grew myself<br />
Learn to weld<br />
Visit the Carizzo Plains</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">See Dave Chappelle</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Participate in important scientific research</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Swim with the US. Men's Olympic Waterpolo team</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Raise a flower crop and sell it</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">See the day when the Berlin Wall falls</div>SUEB0Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16301963922769609715noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18820173.post-71242900879049062992010-10-17T01:08:00.000-07:002010-11-16T16:12:58.100-08:00My Reverse Life ListMaggie Mason and her amazing hair have this thing about<a href="http://mightygirl.com/mighty-life-list"> Life Lists</a>.<br />
<br />
(Well, maybe just Maggie does, and she might have just brought her hair along for the ride. I do not know for a fact that she consulted her hair.)<br />
<br />
The idea is that you make a big list of things you want to do before you die, and then you do them. Simple.<br />
<br />
The only problem is that I am too lazy and not at all goal-oriented, so even when I make those kind of lists, I lose the paper, or I forget about it even if it is right there on the fridge, or I change my mind, or I put stuff on the list that I think sounds cool at the time, but who do I think I'm fooling with the surfing lessons? I can't WALK without spraining both ankles.<br />
<br />
So, I am doing a reverse life list. I am doing cool things first, and then crossing them off. This saves confusion and disappointment. Rather, it is entirely satisfying. Ah, one more item off my list! Why look, everything is off my list!<br />
<br />
Hooray! Done! Until the next cool thing comes along that I can write down and then immediately cross off. Instant gratification.<br />
<br />
Reverse Life List:<br />
<s>1. Washing my hair in a waterfall.</s>SUEB0Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16301963922769609715noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18820173.post-89034333182402335412010-10-16T08:03:00.000-07:002010-10-16T08:06:04.942-07:00And get off my lawn!I'm at the<a href="http://creativealliance10.com/"> Creative Alliance 10</a> conference this weekend. I know it is kind of de rigeur to say, when attending a conference, especially a brand new conference, how <i>amazing</i> and <i>wonderful</i> and <i>more special</i> than any other conference it is and how you just can't imagine how you'd ever miss this because of the <i>sisterhood</i> and <i>closenes</i>s and OK OK WILL YOU STOP BECAUSE WE WEREN'T THERE AND YOU'RE EITHER MAKING US JEALOUS OR IRRITATED AND WILL YOU PLEASE NOW NOT GO INTO ALL THE SWAG YOU GOT BECAUSE THAT CRAP IS SERIOUSLY ANNOYING.<br />
<br />
So I'm not going to do that. It <i>is</i> in a gorgeous posh home slash vacation rental slash retreat center, in the mountains above Ojai with a little creek and oak trees and white sage.<br />
<br />
It <i>is</i> well-organized and there are great people there and there's a lot of talking and energy and sharing good information.<br />
<br />
But I'm having a hard time and it's not them. It's me.<br />
<br />
I'm off my game. I feel kind of unplugged and weird.<br />
<br />
Part of it IS them. These are a bunch of amazing women who are smart and capable and who are making their blogs do tricks and jump around and make money, while my blog just sits here and looks at me.<br />
<br />
So THAT's intimidating. I'm like "My blog? It has a URL and that's about it. BUT IT IS A GOOD BLOG AND TO ME IT IS THE MOST BEAUTIFUL BLOG IN THE WHOLE WIDE UNIVERSE SO THERE."<br />
<br />
The other thing is that I don't get out much anymore. I've been working at home and not actually seeing many real live people, and I think I have fallen into some weird Pajama Zone where real life feels surreal and virtual life feels real.<br />
<br />
So when I get out there in the real surreal world, my timing is off, the way I relate is just oddly filtered...It's like I have self-induced Asperger's or something (no insult to Aspie people or any wonderful Aspie children you may have. People with Asperger's are wonderful and unique and I love what they contribute to the world. Do not hurt me.)<br />
<br />
And then I had to do the cranky old person thing. During introductions - which went on for approximately 16 hours yesterday, while we were sitting on the floor of a yurt (I am not making this up) (well not the yurt part anyway), I chided - chided!! - people for screwing around with their cell phones and laptops while other people talked.<br />
<br />
I was just sick of ADD culture where it is ok to check your mail while someone is pouring out their deepest dreams to you. So I was the one to say it. "You damned kids and your technology! In my day, we had to PASS NOTES if we wanted to talk while someone was speaking."<br />
<br />
Ok, I didn't say it that way. But still. I said it. In a group, everyone has to be something. The funny one, the organizer, the helpful one. I'm the cranky one. My name is Suebob. Glad to meet you.SUEB0Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16301963922769609715noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18820173.post-52430973296656133592010-10-10T21:57:00.000-07:002010-10-12T12:20:19.693-07:00Animals Don't Have FeelingsI once volunteered at a county animal shelter that had a fabulously well-organized volunteer crew. It was in a wealthy area with lots of ladies who did not have day jobs, so they could spend hours a week at the shelter, looking after dogs and cats.<br />
<br />
They did great work. In addition to the day-to-day dog walking, cage cleaning and customer helping, they would cough up thousands of dollars for crazy things, like hip replacements for young Golden Retrievers. Or for private vet care when the county vet was...oh, God knows what he was. He once cut open a male cat to spay him before he spotted the testicles. Enough said.<br />
<br />
All of the ladies had also adopted multiple animals, many of them the hardest-luck cases. Cats with one eye and epilepsy. Dogs who needed shots 3x a day. Things like that.<br />
<br />
So of course, because the volunteer crew was organized and functioning like an expensive Swiss watch, the county had to mess with us. They found one of the shelter directors who wanted to retire, but who wasn't quite of age, so instead they gave him a well-paid position as the "Volunteer Coordinator."<br />
<br />
He decided to further organize us by having expensive volunteer binders printed and t-shirts (for which we had to pay) made. We all had to show up at 8 a.m. on a Saturday for our "training."<br />
<br />
He then had to enlighten us with his theory of animal care.<br />
<br />
"Remember, animals don't have feelings," he proclaimed. "It may seem like they do, but we are just projecting human emotions onto them."<br />
<br />
All of the air left the room. Everyone glared at him. Every one of us was a stone-crazy animal lover.<br />
<br />
Even if he had evidence to back up his proclamation, why would you say that to a room full of 40 women who chose to spend their spare hours covered in fur, dog spit and kitten vomit?<br />
<br />
While we were on a break in the bathroom talking about the moron volunteer coordinator, someone stated the truth: "At least this will be the only time we ever see that jackass."<br />
<br />
And they were right. Having done his training duty, Mr. Jackass slunk off to collect his county checks and wait for retirement. The volunteers went on running things just like always.<br />
<br />
But I think of him often, especially when this happens: I put food in Goldie's bowl. She is hungry, but she does not like the food I have offered. So she walks into the kitchen, licks the edge of the bowl, and gazes at me mournfully.<br />
<br />
The message is obvious. "I am hungry. However, I do not choose to eat this crap you have provided me. Please rectify this situation."<br />
<br />
She not only HAS feelings. She tries to manipulate my feelings. Or maybe I'm just imagining this.<br />
************<br />
Note on the header: It is a photo of a day during my unemployment when I decided not to get out of bed. It was about 10 am and Goldie was seriously distressed at my horizontalness. In the photo, she is not resting comfortably. She is menacing me by thumping her head down on my side about every minute or so. Again, she has no feelings and no way to express them.SUEB0Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16301963922769609715noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18820173.post-75230053672127936862010-10-09T07:35:00.000-07:002010-10-09T07:36:17.113-07:00Mom tells the squirrel story<i>We lived in that little house out on Santa Rosa Road. Dad and Bernie - Little Bernie [my cousin] somehow caught a squirrel. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><i>They brought it in the house and put it in the sink and were going to cut its throat.</i></span></i><br />
<br />
– What?<br />
<br />
<i>Yes, they were going to kill it and I discovered them.</i><br />
<br />
– For dinner?<br />
<br />
<i>Yes, or something. </i>[She throws up her hands.]<br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>But I really let them have it. I was pregnant and when you're pregnant things can really get to you in a different way. I really tore them up. I almost packed my bags. I wasn't meant for that kind of thing. I just knew that wasn't the life for me. I was wondering what I had gotten myself into.</i><br />
<br />
My mom was a city girl and my dad was a country boy. Here's a photo of the men in my family on one of the happiest days in their lives:<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/suebobdavis/2091613382/" title="Pheasant Hunting, San Joaquin valley by suebobdavis, on Flickr"><img alt="Pheasant Hunting, San Joaquin valley" height="240" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2198/2091613382_3957307ea7_m.jpg" width="240" /></a><br />
Click photo to embiggen.SUEB0Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16301963922769609715noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18820173.post-66536769129383867622010-10-06T16:24:00.000-07:002010-10-07T22:13:39.635-07:00Sometimes I just write posts so you can feel better about yourselfI'm the first to admit that I'm not a <s>great housekeeper</s> any kind of housekeeper at all. Ok, let's face it, I'm terrible at housekeeping.<br />
<br />
I once told <a href="http://sarahandthegoonsquad.com/">Goon Squad Sarah</a> "I realized that I'm just not interested in housework, so I'm not going to do very much of it."<br />
<br />
This means that, when I tell you I'm doing housework? I'm probably reading blog posts. Full disclosure, people.<br />
<br />
The thing I did - or didn't do really takes the cake. The lint-covered, fur-lined cake.<br />
<br />
My vacuum had not been working well. It is a <a href="http://www.sears.com/shc/s/p_10153_12605_02029914000P?prdNo=6&blockNo=6&blockType=L6">Sears canister vac</a> and I mostly love it. It has a little powered hand tool that is great for upholstery.<br />
<br />
I figured it needed a new belt and a new filter, because it was smelling kind of dusty and leaving little trails of dog fur on the floor. What with one thing an another, it took me a while to face going to the demonic Sears appliance department where Mitch is the only person who knows anything and Mitch isn't speaking to the other employees. When I finally got there, they didn't have any belts and yadayadayada a month (or three) passed.<br />
<br />
I finally bought and installed the new belt and filter ALL BY MYSELF I AM WOMAN HEAR ME ROAR AND USE A PHILLIPS-HEAD SCREWDRIVER.<br />
<br />
The vacuum still sucked. Or didn't suck, to be more precise. I decided to further disassemble it and take a look.<br />
<br />
Oh mah gah, my people. Are you sitting down?<br />
<br />
I thought there was a little clog at the base of the tube that connects to the floor cleaner thingy. I took it out on the lawn to shake it out.<br />
<br />
<b>Eventually, a 4-foot dirt cylinder emerged like a germ-covered furry dust snake.</b><br />
<br />
The tube that connects the floor cleaner thingy to the hose that leads to the canister had been PACKED FULL of dirt and dog hair and random filth and whatnot.<br />
<br />
Sorry I have no photos to prove this. There are some things too horrifying for photos. There aren't many - but this was.<br />
<br />
That dusty smell? Yeah, that was dirt flinging itself out of every little seam in my vacuum, trying to escape the fact that my vacuum tube had become a de facto bagless dirt catcher. Except the dirt, instead of being nicely contained, was just kind of hanging out.<br />
<br />
I think you must agree that I win at sucking at housework. Just a warning so that you know. If you come over, a Tyvek suit and gloves are advised. Respirator is recommended but optional.SUEB0Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16301963922769609715noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18820173.post-84211636169215100842010-10-04T03:00:00.000-07:002010-10-04T06:31:37.543-07:00My Ultimate Family VacationSponsored By<br />
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Not having kids of my own, I don’t have a little family unit to define as mine. When I got assigned to write a post on my ultimate family vacation, it took me back a bit.<br />
<br />
I feel lucky to have a family that is not so much defined by blood as by love. It doesn’t matter if someone was born into our family - if they hang around long enough, they get absorbed. Like Annie, the woman who has been vacuuming my folks’ house for the past 20 years. She started having a little sit-down before she got to cleaning. Then a longer sit-down. Then phone calls and visits and Facebook - and she’s one of us now and we wouldn’t have it any other way.<br />
<br />
Even the ultimate vacation idea is rough for me to narrow down, as I love to travel anywhere. I am happy whenever I wake up somewhere away from home, even if it is just 10 miles away. There’s always something cool to see. I always want to know everything about wherever I am and I'm happiest just wandering around with a camera, checking stuff out.<br />
<br />
My travel wish list wraps around the world every which way. The only places I really don’t want to go are caves (ewwwwww) and ski resorts (because I am, as a bred in the bone Southern California girl who thinks snow is something Up With One Shall Not Put)…other than that, I’m packed and ready to go if you give me half an hour.<br />
<br />
The idea for an Ultimate Family Vacation took some head scratching, but Dave from Blogography gave me inspiration with his <a href="http://www.blogography.com/archives/2010/09/day_fifteen_bar.html">most recent travel adventure.</a><br />
<br />
The whole family. Me. Mom. My sisters and brother. Their spouses. As many of their 8 kids as I could round up. And might as well throw in their steps- and halfs, too. We love them all. And now the great-nieces and -nephews – I think we would be up to about 20-something little ones. And heck, let's grab Annie and her husband, too.<br />
<br />
On a boat. A cruise ship, to be precise. If you’re going to have a large, unruly group, it is best to keep them somewhat contained so they can’t wander off, thus the cruise ship. <br />
<br />
Watch out, world. The big extended Davis family is heading for the gangplank.<br />
<br />
How awesome that would be. I have nieces and nephews who have never met each other. This would give them a chance to know their cousins. They could run around like little maniacs (what else is new?), play, swim and sun while the parents and grandparents got some relaxing in, too.<br />
<br />
I think it would be so much fun that it wouldn’t much matter which itinerary we chose, but as long as I am having an impossible fantasy, the 11-night Mediterranean cruise that Dave did sounds awesome. Spain. Tunisia. I can almost feel the warm breezes and smell the spices. And maybe there’s an Armando or Felipe out there with an eye for a certain saucy older American woman…Olé!<br />
*************<br />
Don't forget to enter the <a href="http://r1.fmpub.net/?r=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.cheerios.com%2Flove%2FSweepstakes.aspx&k4=584&k5={banner_id}%22"> “Do What You Love” Sweepstakes</a>, for a chance to win your own ultimate family vacation. I was selected for this sponsorship by the Clever Girls Collective, which endorses <a href="http://blogwithintegrity.com/">Blog With Integrity</a>, as I do.SUEB0Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16301963922769609715noreply@blogger.com5