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October 2007
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December 2007

Mooch update

Three words from the vet last night: Acute Renal Failure.

The Mooch could have ingested something toxic or it could have been congenital. Regardless, the news is pretty dire. We're doing a 48-72 hour phosphorous binding treatment and fluids but ... well... there's been lots of talk about the big pink shot that will send him gently into that good night.

I'm crying as I type this because even though he is an eeeeeevil, psychotic cat, he is our eeeeeevil, psychotic cat.  If that makes any sense.

Right, then. Must man-up and deal with the undergrads.

More details as they become available, but suspect they'll be of the bleak-to-bleaker persuasion.

made of suck

The day started with the discovery that Mooch pee'd on the bed at some point last night because he was feeling too weak to move. You'd think the day could only go up from there. You'd be wrong.

The Diva, sensing weakness, was in high Diva mode this morning, which resulted in a trip back to the house to retrieve blankie even though we were already half-way to school. Given her that she has made being pokey her own personal artform, it was a loooooooong walk to school today. I was so frustrated with the Diva and the pokey and the fits about getting her clothes on, I burst into tears on the way home. Not because I was sad, mind, but because it was either that or kick the living crap out of everything I passed.

Got home. Chucked Mooch in his carrier for the trip to the vet -- he didn't go yesterday, which is a long story that has to do with our vet, several vet emergencies and her sick kid -- and got lost on the way out. The upside is that I discovered the Oneonta airport; the downside was that I had to endure the howling of Mooch for an extra ten minutes.

She did an exam, which included poking the Mooch in the bladder, which made him pee all over me. I've gotten it all washed off, to the best of my knowledge, but still smell of cat urine, which means that I always smell like this, even when clean. And the vet's office did what it always does to me, which is set off my nascent cat allergy. My nose won't stop running and I have a pounding headache. And smell of urine, natch.

And it's only 11:30 and I now have to go to deal with undergrads. And I am worried about the damn cat.

Updates as they warrant.

qotd, bonus round

The New York Times Style section published a feature on the rise of the term "vajayjay" to describe female genitalia. "The reason that vajayjay has caught on, I think, is because there is a black--Southern especially--naming tradition, which is to have names like Ray Ray and Boo Boo and things like that," said John H. McWhorter, a linguist at the Manhattan Institute. "It sounds warm and familiar and it almost makes the vagina feel like a little cartoon character with eyes that walks around."

-- From today's Weekly Review from Harpers.

In other news, the Mooch is feeling poorly and I'm waiting for a call back from the vet. How do I know he's not well? I didn't once scream "God damn it, cat!" this weekend. We are all oddly concerned about his welfare, which is, you know, odd. More as events warrant.

Also, Spike Gillespie has a new book out! Hurrah! How can you not love the title Quilty as Charged?

one of those days

I am inexplicably busy today and have nothing at all entertaining to say.* Additionally, I can't get the damn Guy Fawkes rhyme out of my head, which might be blocking out anything else that I could say.

Instead of waiting around here for something interesting to happen, go to Finding Wonderland's interview with Connie Willis, whose work you really should be reading.

Remember, remember...

* I know this implies that I am usually entertaining. Work with me, people.


"Based on Britain's nation driving exam, [South Africa's] K53 effectively requires and applicant to imagine that he is driving a live claymore mine under assault by guerrillas in bumper cars. The hand brake must be engaged silently at all stops (ratchet-clicking is strictly forbidden), and all mirrors must be checked every seven seconds. Points are deducted for glancing at the gearshift, driving too slowly, failing to ensure that head- and taillights are securely attached, failing to check play on the clutch pedal, failing to look beneath the car for leaks and several score other sins."

-- From the NYT's Johannesburg Journal, Oct. 30, 2007.

In keeping with my general scattershot theme of the week:

* Before I forget again, I'll be part of a kick-line reading at Hartwick College tonight at 7. My forgetting isn't because I'm not thrilled to do it but because my brain is more sieve-like than usual. Thanksgiving break can't come too soon.

* Tim Walker talks about what a writer needs more than a pen or some paper.

* This is just wrong on a number of levels. At least it's organic!

* We have a couple of babysitters that the kids love; however, Sittercity would be a great resource for those who don't. And, yeah, I didn't think that Oneonta would have any options listed, either. Color me surprised.

* Redneck Mama ponders the mother's calling card. Be sure to read the comments. I think Heather's hits the nail: " I think more bothersome than the trend to define yourself by your children is the idea that if you DON'T, you're a bad mother."

* I appear to be fixated on Julie Powell and her amazing (and deserved) success. But, still, Meryl Streep? Crap. I am bitter. Bitter, bitter, bitter - and a wee bit obsessed.

the ween that was

Oneonta's a big Halloween town. Pretty much everyone in the city participates in some way. There's even a parade, which seems to get huge-r every year.

The Boy went as a bee.


The cookie is his left hand was merely a distraction so that I could get a picture of him with his antennae hat.

At least I got one picture.

He had a grand time and loved being a bee, which was great because it is the only costume we had for him. He'd dance around in circles, flap his arms and buzz. Very cute.

The Diva looked like a standard-issue princess, complete with tiara. The pictures I manged to take were truly awful, so you'll have to use your imagination. In keeping with her standard procedures, she refused to say "trick or treat" at the first few houses because she is shy. When we all pointed out that no one will give you candy if you don't say the magic words, I was politely informed that "everyone trick or treats in her own way."

She got into the spirit, however, once she had a chance to warm up to the idea of talking to strangers.

The Boy and I came back early while the Diva and the Saint did the parade. A fine night.


I meant to show you this earlier.

The Diva went on a field trip and picked up this Indian corn as a souvenir. I love the colors and think it would make a fine yarn. Anyone?


(sorry about the blurriness. i can either get the colors right or the focus right. stupid reds.)