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breeden
ursulav

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The Obligatory Activism PostCollapse )

breeden
ursulav

(no subject)

Swiped from Sailormur:

“I believe that the president’s leadership in the actions taken in Iraq demonstrate an incompetence in terms of knowledge, judgment and experience in making the decisions that would have been necessary to truly accomplish the mission without the deaths to our troops and the cost to our taxpayers.”
–House Minority Leader Nancy Pelosi

One of the Emperor’s particularly nasty minions, the House Majority leader [Tom DeLay], responded:

“Nancy Pelosi should apologize for her irresponsible, dangerous rhetoric. She apparently is so caught up in partisan hatred for President Bush that her words are putting American lives at risk.”

(Source: CNN)

That’s right, folks, it’s now official: criticize our so-called President and you are endangering American lives.

But a better president than Dubya said this:

“To announce that there must be no criticism of the president, or that we are to stand by the president right or wrong, is not only unpatriotic and servile, but is morally treasonable to the American public.” – Theodore Roosevelt (1918)

I suggest the following meme: Everyone who is so inclined, write down that Roosevelt quote on a postcard and send it to the dear House Majority Leader at either of the following addresses:

The Hon. Tom DeLay
242 Cannon HOB
Washington, DC 20515

The Hon. Tom DeLay
Office of the House Majority Leader
H-107 The Capitol
Washington, DC 20515

Then post this info in your journal and see if we can generate a big, fat reminder that dissent and criticism are not treason.

Seriously, if saying “The president is incompetent” is endangering American lives, then what? Every time I say “God, Bush is such a fucktard,” a terrorist gets his wings?

It reminds me of the every-time-you-masturbate, God-kills-a-kitten thing. Remember, kids! Tom DeLay says, “Every time you question the president’s competence, God kills an American!”

Somebody, think of the kittens!

Originally published at Tea with the Squash God. You can comment here or there.


breeden
ursulav

Water Damage

Last night, 'long about midnight, as I was getting into bed, I stepped in something...wet.

I stood for a moment, as people do while the sogginess percolates their tired brain, and then pronounced judgement: "Goddamnitthefloorswet."

My first thought was that it had been an Athena accident. This would be rather unusual, because while Loki was known to express his displeasure by letting us know that his house training was optional, Athena, despite having an IQ of i, is blindingly well trained and has never gone anywhere but the litter box, so far as I know. (Vomit is another matter, but we'll assume that's not entirely under her control.) But it was totally clear, and it didn't have the rather distinctive ammonia of carnivore urine.

And then, while attempting to mop it up, there was more and more and more and we moved boxes, and there was more, and it became obvious that unless Athena had a bladder twice the size of her body and capable of peeing around tight corners in a fine, evenly saturating mist, that it was not the cat.

This seemed to be a bad sign. And it was damp and dark in that corner, and a centipede crawled out from where the carpet met the wall, and Ursula's skin attempted to hunch itself up to a safe position somewhere on the back of her neck until James killed it.

Since it was now 1 AM ish, we slept on it. Poorly. Thinking "Oh, god, I bet there's thousands of them under the carpet," and "Oh god, please don't let it be so serious that we have to move again, I cannot TAKE that," neither of which are exactly conducive to good sleep. This morning, we moved more boxes, and went out to check the furnace, in a shed on the deck outside, on the other side of the wall from the damp carpet. And the furnace was surrounded by sogginess, and also by centipedes, a vast horde of little inch long leggy bits that made Ursula's skin make Three Stooges noises and crawl right off her body and onto the chandelier for safety.

I cannot abide centipedes. I am sure they are terribly helpful predators on evil bugs, and because I am a good environmentalist, I do not wish them extinct, but I would be comfortable with them living on a nice wildlife preserve a long ways off.

So I went next door to the landlady and said "Houston, we have a problem." And that redoubtable woman, after investigating, and being equally (if not more) horrified--after all, she'll have to pay for it--crawled under the house and dug around. (She's in her fifties, and a tough cookie.) It was dry, or as dry as NC gets. So there is obviously some kind of leak that is in that spot, but not dripping.

The plumber hath been summoned, and I am very glad we're renting.

breeden
ursulav

Water Damage

Last night, ‘long about midnight, as I was getting into bed, I stepped in something…wet.

I stood for a moment, as people do while the sogginess percolates their tired brain, and then pronounced judgement: “Goddamnitthefloorswet.”

My first thought was that it had been an Athena accident. This would be rather unusual, because while Loki was known to express his displeasure by letting us know that his house training was optional, Athena, despite having an IQ of i, is blindingly well trained and has never gone anywhere but the litter box, so far as I know. (Vomit is another matter, but we’ll assume that’s not entirely under her control.) But it was totally clear, and it didn’t have the rather distinctive ammonia of carnivore urine.

And then, while attempting to mop it up, there was more and more and more and we moved boxes, and there was more, and it became obvious that unless Athena had a bladder twice the size of her body and capable of peeing around tight corners in a fine, evenly saturating mist, that it was not the cat.

This seemed to be a bad sign. And it was damp and dark in that corner, and a centipede crawled out from where the carpet met the wall, and Ursula’s skin attempted to hunch itself up to a safe position somewhere on the back of her neck until James killed it.

Since it was now 1 AM ish, we slept on it. Poorly. Thinking “Oh, god, I bet there’s thousands of them under the carpet,” and “Oh god, please don’t let it be so serious that we have to move again, I cannot TAKE that,” neither of which are exactly conducive to good sleep. This morning, we moved more boxes, and went out to check the furnace, in a shed on the deck outside, on the other side of the wall from the damp carpet. And the furnace was surrounded by sogginess, and also by centipedes, a vast horde of little inch long leggy bits that made Ursula’s skin make Three Stooges noises and crawl right off her body and onto the chandelier for safety.

I cannot abide centipedes. I am sure they are terribly helpful predators on evil bugs, and because I am a good environmentalist, I do not wish them extinct, but I would be comfortable with them living on a nice wildlife preserve a long ways off.

So I went next door to the landlady and said “Houston, we have a problem.” And that redoubtable woman, after investigating, and being equally (if not more) horrified–after all, she’ll have to pay for it–crawled under the house and dug around. (She’s in her fifties, and a tough cookie.) It was dry, or as dry as NC gets. So there is obviously some kind of leak that is in that spot, but not dripping.

The plumber hath been summoned, and I am very glad we’re renting.

Originally published at Tea with the Squash God. You can comment here or there.


breeden
ursulav

Those Cardinals Again

I spent part of today mopping up the bedroom carpet with my landlady--the leak turned out to be a blocked condensation pipe for the AC, which backed up and soaked everything--and bleaching the wood underneath. So now half the carpet in the bedroom is draped over boxes with fans blowing on 'em. But at least we found the reason.

I found her eyeing the Twigjack warily on the way out. (Well, it's three feet tall, you can't miss it) "This is just...weird," she told me cheerfully. I made helpless yeah-I-know gestures. "Were you on acid when you painted that?" (I have never mentioned drugs to my landlady, who is a pleasant woman in her late fifties and up until about five minutes ago would not have believed that she knew what acid was) I protested my sobriety. Unfortunately, I have a heavy metal cover commission of screaming trees and ravens on the computer at the moment, and after she said "Ah. THAT kind of art," and laughed, I had no choice but to dig out a print of "Lizard Love" to prove that I also do cute as well as creepy.

The Cardinals (sold, but still hanging in the house until the buyer gets a place off the base) also came under scrutiny. Her only concern was that it was anti-religious. And so, I had to explain, once again, that no, it was just cardinals and I hadn't thought anything except "Hee! Cardinals! But like cardinals!" We gazed at it for a moment, and agreed that probably they wouldn't look nearly so ominous if they weren't next to the Twigjack.

While she was very cheerful about the whole thing, and obviously doesn't care what kind of art I'm doing, since A) I helped mop up, and B) James bakes cookies now and again, and most importantly C) we pay the rent on time and are very quiet neighbors, I occasionally get these flashes of myself as an elderly, wispy-haired nonogenarian in a nursing home trying to explain in a cracked, raspy voice that no, they're just cardinals, I wasn't really thinking anything...

breeden
ursulav

Those Cardinals Again

I spent part of today mopping up the bedroom carpet with my landlady–the leak turned out to be a blocked condensation pipe for the AC, which backed up and soaked everything–and bleaching the wood underneath. So now half the carpet in the bedroom is draped over boxes with fans blowing on ‘em. But at least we found the reason.

I found her eyeing the Twigjack warily on the way out. (Well, it’s three feet tall, you can’t miss it) “This is just…weird,” she told me cheerfully. I made helpless yeah-I-know gestures. “Were you on acid when you painted that?” (I have never mentioned drugs to my landlady, who is a pleasant woman in her late fifties and up until about five minutes ago would not have believed that she knew what acid was) I protested my sobriety. Unfortunately, I have a heavy metal cover commission of screaming trees and ravens on the computer at the moment, and after she said “Ah. THAT kind of art,” and laughed, I had no choice but to dig out a print of “Lizard Love” to prove that I also do cute as well as creepy.

The Cardinals (sold, but still hanging in the house until the buyer gets a place off the base) also came under scrutiny. Her only concern was that it was anti-religious. And so, I had to explain, once again, that no, it was just cardinals and I hadn’t thought anything except “Hee! Cardinals! But like cardinals!” We gazed at it for a moment, and agreed that probably they wouldn’t look nearly so ominous if they weren’t next to the Twigjack.

While she was very cheerful about the whole thing, and obviously doesn’t care what kind of art I’m doing, since A) I helped mop up, and B) James bakes cookies now and again, and most importantly C) we pay the rent on time and are very quiet neighbors, I occasionally get these flashes of myself as an elderly, wispy-haired nonogenarian in a nursing home trying to explain in a cracked, raspy voice that no, they’re just cardinals, I wasn’t really thinking anything…

Originally published at Tea with the Squash God. You can comment here or there.


breeden
ursulav

The Horror

So we had ripped up the carpet, wrung out water, bleached the boards, and were letting it all dry, draped over boxes, in a general mess.

And a few hours went by.

And we went in to check on the progress, and James stopped a few feet in, and turned back, and said, very kindly, "You might not want to come in here."

"How many?" I asked glumly, having already killed a few adventurers that got into the rest of the house.

James considered and then said "Less than a hundred?"

And lo! Like Lot's wife, Ursula could not resist, and cast her gaze 'cross a scene reminiscent of that from "Temple of Doom," with a cast of inch-long leggy things, which evidentally thought that the newly nude, slightly soggy boards were the Promised Land. The floor was, arguably, not "awash" with centipedes, but it was at least "liberally drizzled" with them.

And Ursula's skin went "Woopwoopwoop!" like Dr. Zoidberg and did not so much crawl off her body as sprint wildly off it, out the door, down the street, and last I saw, it had bought a one way ticket to Siberia.

The bed has been re-located to the living room. The carpet has been adjusted. The room will be tamed with bleach and Raid, by James.

And I'm going to forget that room exists entirely, and pretend that this is a one-bedroom for at least a week.

breeden
ursulav

The Horror

So we had ripped up the carpet, wrung out water, bleached the boards, and were letting it all dry, draped over boxes, in a general mess.

And a few hours went by.

And we went in to check on the progress, and James stopped a few feet in, and turned back, and said, very kindly, “You might not want to come in here.”

“How many?” I asked glumly, having already killed a few adventurers that got into the rest of the house.

James considered and then said “Less than a hundred?”

And lo! Like Lot’s wife, Ursula could not resist, and cast her gaze ‘cross a scene reminiscent of that from “Temple of Doom,” with a cast of inch-long leggy things, which evidentally thought that the newly nude, slightly soggy boards were the Promised Land. The floor was, arguably, not “awash” with centipedes, but it was at least “liberally drizzled” with them.

And Ursula’s skin went “Woopwoopwoop!” like Dr. Zoidberg and did not so much crawl off her body as sprint wildly off it, out the door, down the street, and last I saw, it had bought a one way ticket to Siberia.

The bed has been re-located to the living room. The carpet has been adjusted. The room will be tamed with bleach and Raid, by James.

And I’m going to forget that room exists entirely, and pretend that this is a one-bedroom for at least a week.

Originally published at Tea with the Squash God. You can comment here or there.