Dear classmate,

If the professor, the multi-degreed professor with decades of experience in both teaching and in this concept, tell you something, she likely knows what she's talking about. So if in a discussion of nature v nurture she tells you that a particular concept doesn't fall within the "nature" parameters, it doesn't.

No, not even if you want it to. No, not even if you reword it. No, not even if you provide an example of a different subject who has that concept in their life. No, not even if you pout. Additionally, you should look up "biological determinism" and learn its limitations as a concept within a nature/nurture discussion AND learn its limitations in a more sociological context because if I hear BOOTSTRAPS out of you again that many times in a class, I will be Most Displeased.

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Actually, at this point, I just want to email the URLs for the Wikipedia entries for both biological determinism and Social determinism to the entire class, along with a couple of URLs regarding the nature/nurture argument that would be more helpful.

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So, yeah, I wrote that on THURSDAY. Oy. In the meantime there's been a trip to the in-laws and back. Today, Labor Day, I am indeed laboring.( Workin' for a livingCollapse )

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Also treated the cats for fleas again. The Frontline didn't adequately work, so this time we're going with Advantage. Hopefully this will do the trick.

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A trip to McKay's with a very large selection of B's cullings from his CD collection resulted in a not-at-all-small amount of cash, all considered. The grocery trip ate 4/5s of it (groceries plus flea stuff plus other necessaries came to about $180) but that's still money that won't come out of the budget.

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( Chicken shenanigansCollapse )

Dear Husband,

I appreciate that you are really interested in saving us a buck; it tends to complement my less penny-pinching ways.

But, dearest love, if you ever again define as "functional" a lawnmower that will only occasionally not lose its deflector if you only ever turn left and never think of turning right even wistfully, you will not like the results. You've mown the yard so far this season and mentioned that it had come off "a couple of times, while it was windy," which was why you came back in reeking of fumes and so covered in grass that I made you disrobe in the kitchen, and then still had to have you muck out the shower when you were done. I just went out to mow, have come back in and showered, and I'm here to tell you that you can't even mow in a straight line over already-mown grass without the damn thing coming off. That neither of us were belted by some random rock or other piece of shrapnel is a miracle.

See, I love to mow the yard. I really do, dunno why. Part of it's that I love *having* a yard, even a two-acre monstrosity that's part yard, part brushy crap field. Part of it is that it sort of reminds me of when I was a kid and did the yard at Daddy's. So, I would be happy to mow the yard - as long as I've got the machinery to do it. Hiding the fact that the machinery doesn't work for shit will only work for so long, because I'll find out, and then I'll be angry and frightened because the only reason that none of us is seriously injured by flying shit is sheer, dumb luck. For a part that costs less than $20.

Still upset and wigged out a little,
Your wife

Dear person:

I am positive that earrings were not tied on one's ears till the 1700s.

I am also positive that wearing earrings did not denote one's status as slave.

I also doubt that your granny's earrings date from the 1500s, or that if those objects *do* date from the 1500s, that they are either unaltered in the ravaging of time or were originally intended to be earrings.

In conclusion, please put down the crack pipe.

I like to think we've got a pretty solid breastfeeding relationship. It's become a fabulous parenting tool for a seriously high-strung little girl and you can't scream, full-voiced, into my ear if you have a breast in your mouth (by the way, it's still funny that you like to experiment with that every once in a while). On top of that are the health benefits which are awesome. For example, the antibodies thing is still in effect because, child, you put *everything* in your mouth. It's also still adorable that you want to climb into bed with me in the mornings after Daddy heads off to work, and have a nursing session.

However, with this note I need to raise a protest. See, they're attached. Non-detachable. They'll move around some, sure, but there's a distinct limit. Therefore, mouth on the boob while your entire body is extended out across my body and away, while pointing your butt at my face is, in fact, Right Out. Also Right Out is trying to pull off the mole in the center of my chest and being insistent about it. I'm having it removed as soon as I can manage the time and money but in the meantime, Management requests that you knock that right off.

Likewise, your sudden fascination with my buttcrack is disturbing and I'd rather not look behind me to find you trying to kiss it! I think I jumped three feet forward from a still and standing position; I'm just glad I jumped into the bathroom and not a wall, because I didn't really care what direction I was headed at the moment of takeoff.

Thanks for taking the Poly-Vi-Sol well with your dinner last night. You've been chewing/sucking on ice for about a week, now, and we were getting concerned - and today you haven't begged for ice once. It's also evident that unlike in tiny babies the iron is definitely *not* stopping you up, because that was just a champion diaper this morning, wow. Hopefully this will help solve the problem. We so wanted to get you the gummy bear kind that you liked before, since you won't eat the chewables, but the makers of the gummy bear sort can't or won't put iron in them.

In conclusion, I love you - I just want to keep my body parts intact and, occasionally, I'd like to finish my morning coffee without rescuing you from yet again crawling into the cats' tower hidey hole.

Love,
Mom

P.S. Thanks for warning us about your fashionista bent - we'll start a savings account for shoe and clothes storage immediately.

After reading my flist and reflecting on my own experiences with you, Today, I've called you into the office for a very serious conversation. Yes, a rep from HR wil sit in on this and this conversation will be recorded as you may note by the recording device in the middle of the table, here.

Well, there's nothing for it but to say it: you're fired. You're fired with prejudice for actions that can only be called malice aforethought. You have devalued company property, you have insulted most of those who've had to deal with you, and your unrelenting refusal to avoid disrespectful actions and words with me alone - not counting others of good reputation and proven worth here - have directly led to this.

Stop the denials. There are records of incidents spanning nothing less than your entire tenure! This is not an argument. There is no appeal. Your services are no longer required. Further, there will be no need for you to attempt to file unemployment as you are being terminated for nothing less than insubordination.

Your unit leader, June, packed your personal effects for you from your cubicle. Three members of security are just outside. They have your coat and will escort you from the building to your vehicle. Should you reappear here without written permission and accompanying a senior member of our staff, you will be forcibly ejected and trespassing procedures begun against you. All of your passwords have been disabled and your keycard no longer works. We are currently working with the appropriate folks to downgrade your security clearance as well. If you feel you have a chance at it, you can appeal that using the information on the letter you'll receive from them. There's not reason to believe that they won't reduce your clearance to that of a substance-abusing nihilistic sociopath.

No. Again, there's no argument. Frankly, firing's too good for the likes of you. You should know that wiith the blessing of HR and even our legal team, I'm also releasing the contents of this file, labelled "Today's Ridiculous Shit," to the world at large, and directly to all nearby neighboring life-sustaining planets who might have need of a June day. Frankly, I feel it's only fair to the universe at large. No decent planet or its population should ever have to work with you. Now, get out.

You know, I looked and looked for a sock for Meg, one that she'd like and that would serve her well here in winter. I got my new book after Christmas with nifty sock patterns in and was delighted when she picked one of the ones from there. As luck would have it, she picked yours! I had knit another sock in the book by another author and the thing went beautifully but for my yarn choice. I hated that lovely sock simply because the yarn made knitting it such a chore. Very sad, but I'm sure I'll re-do that one in another suitable yarn at some point in the future.

I relished the thought of making socks for Meg after remembering the previous sock pattern that I knit from this book - clear, lovely directions and a lovely sock produced just as desired. It was like following a GPS to a vacation destination. A GPS that gently murmured directions in your ear in a low and attractive voice, that took over the driving when you got sleepy, and which relinquished vehicle control to you in the interesting bits of the drive, suggesting delightful side destinations with fabulous viewpoints, clean restrooms, and unsung jewels of roadside dining spots that happened to serve food from an undiscovered soon-to-be-famous chef.

But this sock, ah, designer! This sock? The attractive, appealing cover sock? Oh, what merry hell you've led me through! I got the first sock done and I'm most of the way through the second and it's taken me twice as long as it should have because, haha, you really didn't write down what you were doing until your design was accepted by the publishers! Oh, haha! What a little joke you had! Ha! Ha! I mean, you used numbers and everything, concrete wee beasties that didn't work at *all.* That heel, that looks so cool in the picture, woohoo! Oh, my, what a laugh you must have had as you wrote the directions for that out for those sucker knitters! What a total HOOT you must have had when you decided to hit the nitrous before writing the really sticky bits! I mean, bwahahaha!, and who needs tech writers?! Those are for sissies and losers, am I right? Of course I'm right!

...


I've completely fudged this heel for the second time (er, this being the second sock). It is literally mathematically impossible to get the written numbers of stitches without fudging and I went to some lengths to assure that I was doing precisely what the instructions said to do, when, and with what stitches. I am Most Irked. My book with this pattern is now thoroughly annotated well beyond published errata. The author's blog page about this damn pattern is chock full of "teehee! I got away with it!" kind of writing. It even breaks the pattern down to discuss its sections and then completely glosses over the sticky bits where she wrote complete bullshit about the numbers.

I'm going to be so glad to finish this pair and NEVER KNIT HER SHIT AGAIN and go back to nice, mathematically-thinking, logical, vetted, tested, well-written Cookie A. patterns.

Dear landscaping idiots folks:

First, thanks for coming out and using your nifty big machines to shorten the grass.

Second, I apologize for having the audacity to try to make the outside of my apartment look better. What was I thinking? I mean, beds? I blame the stroke, honestly. Nonetheless, the apartment manager approved the stuff - likely in a cruel effort to point out to the world my obvious defectiveness and then laugh maniacally, so there they are. For the most part, they have little fences. These fences create boundaries, so that my madness doesn’t leak out, and so that the dogs have a chance of running out of pee marking those before they get to the plants. But some places don’t - and the madness, the wackiness, the sheer silliness is exhibited to all by raised beds without boundaries. I thought, you see, that the sharp contrast between the black, black dirt and the “verdant” green of the grass would form boundary enough. That and the plants, with spacing within the black soil, and I thought “Surely, the Landscaping Demigods will know that I have planted this rosebush here, for they see flora day in, day out, and knoweth the diff between crabgrass and more desireable plants when planted in a Raised Bed (Holy! Holy! Holy!). Therefore, trusting in their knowledge, and the fact that I pointed this out to them Two Weeks ago, I shall spend my money on something foolish, like food, instead of a little fence.”

I’m really damn glad that’s a rugosa, or it wouldn’t have survived this treatment - they did this last year, luckily when it was just about ready to go dormant. God dammit! They’re back there again!