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| Hiya. Most of my journal is viewable only by subscription ("Friends list", as LJ calls it). Below are a few sample entries everyone can read. Please leave a comment here if you'd like to subscribe. If you haven't got a LiveJournal account, go grab one free of charge, then leave me a comment here. | |
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| Y'know, yeah.  | |
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| No, I do not respect your religious beliefs, and I don't have to.
I respect your right to have them and to express them, and I respect your right to think of me whatever you will. I respect you as a human being to whatever degree you respect me likewise. I do not respect your "right" to tell me I am evil or that I am going to hell.
As long as you are not hurting me, I respect your right to live your life as you will, regardless of whether I would make the same choices, to whatever degree you likewise leave me be. I do not respect your "right" to codify, enforce, or otherwise impose your beliefs on me.
I do not respect ignorance, superstition, bigotry, sexism, homophobia, racism, or any other variety of hatred; I reject it no matter how it is rationalised, whether it be manifested in words or in actions, and regardless of how fervently you choose to believe god approves it. | |
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| I'm selling my well-equipped, low-miles, no-rust, no-dents, nicely-upgraded, highly-hyphenated '73 Dart Custom. Car is in Seattle and I would not hesitate to jump in it right this minute and drive anywhere. $6172 including a small mountain of desirable spare parts. Pics and details are here. | |
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| - The highway signs in Pennsylvania are a little weird; they don't use decimal expressions of less-than-full-mile distances. You see "Wadsworth St 2 1/3 mi" or "Hampden Blvd 6/10 mi" or "Cheltenham Rd 3/10 mi".
- Those automatic faucets in airport washrooms never work right. If your hand is in exactly, precisely the right place and orientation, you might get a fraction-of-a-second splash of water, but probably not. If you are trying to wash your eyeglasses, good effin' luck; it won't trigger at all. The old damped-return hand-push valves were slightly less obnoxious. Better: spring-loaded foot-operated valves.
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| I consider it important and good to use gender-neutral terminology whenever doing so will avoid rendering half the human race invisible or implying superiority of one sex over the other. When we refer to a position that could be held by a man or a woman, it is not appropriate to use a gender-specific term. However, I see no reason or need to use a gender-neutral term when the referent's gender is known. A male spokesperson is a spokesman, a female chairperson is a chairwoman, a male ombud officer is an ombudsman, and so on. Calling David a "chairman", Marge an "ombudswoman", and Michael a "spokesman" does not imply that the other gender is unsuited to the position, and does nothing to advance gender equality. It is sexist to use gender-specific language to refer to a person of unknown gender (or an unfilled job), but it is not sexist to refer to a man as a man or a woman as a woman. I do prefer a thoughtful choice of gender-neutral terms; there is no excuse for using a clunker like "spokesperson" or "chairperson" when representative and chair are much more cromulent. Artificially-gendered terms like "actress" and "waitress" and "hostess" aren't warranted, and probably never were. "Actor" and "waiter" and "host" aren't inherently gendered and should be used regardless of the referent's sex. The jury's still out on "dominatrix".
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| Interoffice Memo
From: Me To: Nose Re: You
Nose:
I am fully aware that if "intelligent design" had any role in the design of the human body, your function would be served by some kind of replaceable-element air filter. I already disbelieve in "intelligent design". Thus, it is not necessary for you to carry on pressing the point; stop it now.
-Me | |
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| Multnomah Falls, Oregon — April 2011. Click for larger:  | |
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| Multnomah Falls, Oregon — April 2011. Click for larger:  | |
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|  1C Pan-toasted matzo meal, turmeric (next time I leave it out), sweet paprika, smoked paprika, dried onion flakes, garlic powder, salt, pepper + 4 beaten jumbo eggs + 4T schmaltz + 1T minced fresh marjoram + 4T chicken stock mixed to soft dough, refrigerated 90 minutes, dropped by small bits into boiling chicken stock, simmered til done. | |
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| I've been posting on here in my usual sporadic way—sixteen posts so far this month, twenty-one last month—but I suspect many of you aren't seeing most of my stuff. Most of my posts are visible only to LJ Friends. If you are reading this on a feed of some description and not on LJ itself, you're probably not seeing most of my posts. I'm not sure what to do about it; ideas are welcome. | |
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| You can vote today (Friday), tomorrow (Saturday) and Monday, at advance polls. They are usually much faster then the regular polls. If there is ANY doubt about you being able to make it on May 2nd, please go early! | |
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| March is Ask-Me-Anything month. If you'd like to ask me a question — anything at all — leave a comment on this post. I've set it so only you and I will see what you post. I'll answer without identifying who asked. | |
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| I just happened upon some really effin' good compact fluorescent household bulbs that are also cheap, widely available, and although they're made in you-know-where, they're from an American company (GE) so at least the profit stays reasonably local. They're the GE Reveal compact fluorescents. I am surprised how good they are, because the Reveal incandescents are just as pathetic as all the rest of the BS blue-glass "whiter light" or "full spectrum" incandescent bulbs from the other makers, but these CFLs are terrific. Their light color/appearance, and the appearance of items lit up by them, is a damn close match to a good quality incandescent bulb. After the initial ~10 minute burn-in, they come up to full intensity quickly when lit from cold. There's no greenish, pinkish, yellowish, or bluish cast to the light. I put these in some of the ceiling fixtures and left some of the regular ones in nearby fixtures. The difference is huge. Can't tell the Reveals aren't incandescent once the fixture cover is in place. I'm running the 26w = 100w variety. Got 'em for $6.99 apiece at Ace Hardware after passing 'em up for $8.49 apiece at Fred Meyer. (Hi, jamesbeary, I still miss you.) | |
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|  "Argue for your limitations, and sure enough, you get to keep them." Sometimes the doors we think impassably locked and walls we find most confining are in fact so thin we can see right through them if we only will. Sometimes with a small step to the side and a fresh look, we can see—or even just get a hint—that they're not the immutable constraints they seem to be. With a little thought, sometimes it becomes apparent that we put them there ourselves. With reflection and work, perhaps it becomes possible to see that they were never there to begin with and we were imagining them all along. - Mood:pensive

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| I've long been aware of the existence of hamburger presses. Mother had a Tupperware one we never used, because the ground meat stuck fast to it. Over the years I've seen various types of hamburger press, but I think this is the first one I've ever seen that is apparently meant to compact whole, assembled hamburgers:  | |
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| (This post started out as a comment yesterday in philbutrin's journal.) Given the tobacco industry's "They got lips, we want 'em!" attitude towards kids, it comes as no surprise at all that they specifically and effectively target gays and lesbians. It stands to reason; peer pressure and marketeering suggesting smoking brings sophistication and social panache will naturally be much more effective on people extra-specially desperate to fit in because they know that they Don't. And the tobacco companies know this, and they aggressively exploit it. See also here, here (guess which is deadlier, HIV or smoking. Are you sure?), here (note the lovely project name), and here. Tobacco addiction is grievously sad. It is also largely preventable, which makes it much more infuriating. Regulation, schmegulation; it is astounding to me that we still let these monsters manufacture and sell addictive misery and death. That we allow it in the name of "freedom" is positively orwellian. If you go out and set a trap for an animal, put something tempting in it as bait, to make the animal think it's choosing to consume something pleasurable and of no negative consequence and maybe even of some benefit, and it works and you catch it and slowly, painfully kill the animal, you get slapped with a fine if you don't have a licence or the animal's out of season. If you're a tobacco company and you do the same thing—entrap, enslave and painfully kill twelve hundred people a day (in the U.S. alone)—and you make them pay for the privilege, then that's "freedom of choice" and the "free market" and "adult decisions" and blah blah blahbitty blah blah. (Or, with a different spin on it: Kill someone with a pistol, and you get locked up or lethally injected for it. Kill someone with cigarettes, and you get paid and tax-abated for it.) If you're reading this and you're a smoker, you know how I feel. I struggle to mind that there is less than zero effect of any amount of frantically wishing my friends and loved ones would start to stop now and keep trying and trying and trying, making it first priority until they succeed. You may not fully realise that I empathise with you to the degree I can. Addiction has nothing to do with reason; if it did, then it'd be a simple matter of "Smoking is going to cripple and/or kill me slowly, expensively, and agonisingly; I'm going to stop right this instant". It's not, and that's why I am so furious at the tobacco industry and the almost entirely free pass they get for their ongoing mass murder. - Mood:enraged

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| (long overdue for scunnerred) In 1985, I was nine and my sister was twelve. She was about to have her bat mitzvah, and for my previous birthday I had requested and received the Betty Crocker's Step-by-Step Picture Cookbook (ahem!). On page 262 is the recipe for Do-Ahead Lemon Cheesecake. Through a sequence of events now lost to time, it was decided that Do-Ahead Lemon Cheesecake would make fabulous little hold-in-the-hand nibbly bits for the reception after the service. The cookbook was mine, went the logic, so naturally that responsibility would fall to me. Clever little stripèd snail shells moulded in that nominally-edible styrofoam they use to make sugar wafers and cup-style ice cream cones were procured in seemingly industrial quantity, and it was my job to fill each of them with Do-Ahead Lemon Cheesecake. The snail shells had about as much balance stability as they had nutritive value, so we—that is, I—carefully balanced them upright against one another into rows and columns on a baking sheet, put the Do-Ahead Lemon Cheesecake goo into an icing bag, and piped it into each and every last one of those infuriating edible-styrofoam snails. Each baking sheet went into the oven and then into the freezer in turn; by the time one sheet's worth of Do-Ahead Lemon Cheesecake snails had frozen enough to be bagged, I needed its baking sheet again. I no longer recall how many batches of Do-Ahead Lemon Cheesecake I made. It might've been fewer than ten, but it felt like dozens. At least dozens. Hundreds, maybe. Enough to cause a discernible uptick in the Philadelphia Cream Cheese sales graphs for one particular Safeway grocery. The day coiled into an endless Do-Ahead Lemon Cheesecake Möbius loop, along which I crawled at the pace of, well, at the pace of a frozen styrofoam snail full of Do-Ahead Lemon Cheesecake. At the end of the day, the freezer was full of containers and Ziploc bags full of edible-styrofoam snail shells full of Do-Ahead Lemon Cheesecake. Perhaps a tenth of the supply was consumed at the reception, so at the end of the week, the freezer remained full of containers and Ziploc bags full of edible-styrofoam snail shells full of Do-Ahead Lemon Cheesecake. They were perfectly fine fabulous little hold-in-the-hand nibbly bits, but I'd lost my appetite for them well before the event. The rest of the family's didn't last too much longer, so at the end of the month, the freezer was still full of containers and Ziploc bags full of edible-styrofoam snail shells full of Do-Ahead Lemon Cheesecake. To this day, I have no interest in eating or making any cheesecake — do-ahead, lemon, or not. And now, to erase that Do-Ahead Lemon Memory, I present my father's much faster, much less laborious, much yummier (not much better for your health but make it anyhow because you'll be glad you did) recipe for: Chocolate-Almond Pâté1-¼ C (315 ml) whipping cream ¼ C (60 ml) unsalted butter 1+ lb. (500 g) bittersweet and/or semisweet chocolate, chopped 1 C. (250 ml) ground, toasted almonds 1 tsp. (5 ml) almond extract 1 tsp (5 ml) vanilla extract Fresh or thawed unsweetened raspberries Whole toasted almonds, mint (for garnish) Line a medium loaf pan ( 7-1/2" × 3" × 2-1/4", 20 cm × 7.5 cm × 6 cm) with waxed paper. Bring cream and butter to simmer in heavy medium saucepan over medium heat, then reduce heat to low. Add chocolate and stir until melted and smooth. Remove from heat and stir in ground almonds and extracts. Pour into prepared pan and refrigerate. Check periodically. As chocolate mass cools, excess cocoa- and butter-fat will rise to surface; blot thoroughly with paper towels to absorb liquid fat. Resume refrigeration Cover and chill several hours or overnight. To unmold, dip upright pan into hot water bath, then invert pan onto serving platter and peel off waxed paper. Cut paté into thin slices with warm, thin-bladed knife, place slices on plates and garnish with almonds, mint and drizzle raspberries and juice over slices or puree raspberries and run through sieve, and drizzle on plate. | |
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| I had to put Qat down today. He had no muscles left on his hind legs, so he could no longer stand or sit up, could scarcely walk more than a few feet without having to flop down and rest. He couldn't jump any more, and while he devised very clever ersatz-jump techniques using his front paws to yank himself upward, he could no longer reliably make it to the catbox, either. Cats prize their dignity above all else, and they are very good at hiding pain and distress. Qat had taken his bodily failure in remarkable (and adaptive) good humour; his temperament sweetened and he became a purr-monster. But this past Thursday it became obvious his condition was quickly declining beyond his ability to adapt, and his bearing developed a bitter edge that was as close as a cat will come to admitting any discomfort short of grievous agony to us lesser beings. Thursday was roughened by the awful realisation. Yesterday it seemed so odd, so surreal to pick up the telephone and make an appointment for the end of my cat's life. Yesternight I dreamt of Qat's end at least six different times (and of my late father once). And this grim morning was full of weeping and resignation as we drove three of the longest kilometres over to my place to get Qat for his last trip anywhere, for his last half hour of this life. I am awfully sad he's gone — it's hard for me to read the screen as I type this. But I unexpectedly find myself less...wrecked?...now than I was in the hours leading up to Qat's end. I will sit with this and ponder it, but I think the knowledge of his decline and discomfort was affecting me more than I was letting myself acknowledge. Just the same, no matter how much experience I accumulate with death of loved ones, it still seems wrong how the universe doesn't acknowledge the loss. It always feels like things ought to pause, ought to stop for a day, or an hour, or even just a moment, but they never do, and that will never feel right. → Click almost any photo to see and read more ←Qat came into my life just under five years ago as an abandoned, abjectly traumatised, withdrawn and shellshocked guy, the victim of unknown horrors at the hands of unknown perpetrators. For awhile, he kept warily to himself:
 Sometimes wholly so: . With time and patience, he ventured forth to give the world another go, and very quickly became fast friends with the calico Qitty I got to keep him company: 

 By and by, his innate feline vanity won out and he sat for proper photos, so that he might be presented to the world in fitting grandeur:  Farewell, my dear Qat. Thank you for sharing your life and your lessons with me. It was a privilege. I wish I could've met you sooner and known you longer, and I hope your next go-round is easier. - Mood:sad

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| I last visited Berthillon a long 15 years ago when it had been there for only 35 years, in another life on another planet with my sister and parents, back when all the cars in France had yellow headlights. At the time, I decided Berthillon made the best sorbet and ice cream in the world. I debated going this time, wondering if my previous impression had been the result of sorbet exposure limited to that which could be driven home from the suburban Safeway (or, occasionally, Toddy's). But I decided to go, so yesterday evening, I walked across the bridge from Boulogne (where I'm staying) to Paris (where I'm not), descended to the Port de Saint Cloud bus station, and hopped on the #72 to go across town. A 15 minute walk across l'Ile de Cité and through some side streets of l'Ile Saint-Louis had me at Berthillon, and I sat and ordered a quadruple. Cassis, bitter chocolate, and blood orange sorbet, and — Hi, dad — pistachio ice cream. The garçon asked if I wanted whipped cream, and I said «Peut-être un p'tit peu, merci» — maybe a little bit, thanks. This is what constitutes "maybe a little bit" at Berthillon, as it seems. Click for (even) larger:  I needn't have worried about shattering my previous best-in-the-world impression. Two spoonfuls in, I was high as a kite. I don't know how they do it, but they manage to create these mind-blowingly intense flavours that are nevertheless not too sweet. So what do you think I did when I'd finished my quadruple? Right, I ordered another. Peach, pear, grapefruit, cherry. No whipped cream this time:  The only downside to the place is that it's in a very touristy part of town, and I can still hear the echo of that awful New Jerseyite family who seemed to follow us around on that long-ago family trip, one of the kids shrilly shrieking "NO, GRAMMA, YOU CAN'T HAVE THAT, IT'S NOT KOSHA!". As I did back then, I spoke quietly and avoided using English. Afterward, I walked around and took a few pictures. Night Yard Red, Green, Dot, Line | |
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- There are three syllables, not four, in vinaigrette. The word "vinegar" is not in there. It's "VIN-eh-GRET", not "VIN-egger-ETT". Three syllables. Stop adding extra ones.
- There are four syllables, not three, in America. Republicans pay attention, because you fuck this up all the time. It's "uh-MERR-ick-uh". It's not "uh-murka". It's not "Murrica". It's not "uh-MAIR-ca". It's not "Mairca". There are four syllables in there, now start sayin' 'em or I'll add an item to the Gay Agenda to sic the Activist Judges on you and get a Constitutional Amendment to ban the mutilation of the word "America".
- The emphasis is on the second syllable, not the third, of electoral. It's "eh-LECK-tuh-rul", not "eh-leck-TOR-uhl". If you can say "pectoral" correctly — and I know you can — then you can also handle this one. If the word had an "i" and five syllables ("electorial"), then the emphasis would be on "TOR", but it doesn't, so it's not.
- There are four syllables and no hard C/K sound in the word et cetera. It is "ett-SET-eh-ruh", not "eck-SET-eh-ruh", and definitely not "eck-SET-truh". Christie Blatchford, this means you; say it until you get it right. Or better yet, just shut the fuck up altogether because you're full of shit. And since we're on the topic of etcetera, the abbreviation is etc. It is not ect.
- Speaking of abbreviations, they are usually formed by putting together the first letters of the words in the phrase to be abbreviated. Thus, the abbreviation for do it yourself is DIY, not DYI. If you are talking about your car's positive crankcase vent system, then we can discuss PCV, but otherwise you are probably referring to polyvinyl chloride, which is abbreviated PVC.
- Au jus is a French phrase that means "with or in (usually its own) juice". It is an adjective phrase, not a noun. You can serve roast beef au jus, but not "roast beef with au jus", and there's nothing such as "au jus sauce".
- Loose means not tight, and it has a hissing ssssss sound like a snake in it. Lose means not win or not retain, and it has a buzzing zzzzzzzz sound like a bee.
- Your refers to something that belongs to you. You're means "you are". The same goes for there (not here) and their (belonging to them) versus they're (they are), and were (used to be) versus we're (we are).
- Gifts are free. That's what makes them gifts. If they weren't free, they'd be purchases. Stop saying I'll get a "free gift" if I sign up for your crappy mobile phone service or whatever. And really stop using the phrase "for free". I really mean it. Stop doing it. Oh, and unless you are a tax lawyer or a parent very impressed with your child (whom you consider gifted, i.e., exceptionally intelligent), gift is a noun, not a verb. You didn't "gift" somebody a free toaster, you gave him a toaster.
- You may or may not have a penchant for doing this or that or the other thing, but you do not have a "perchant" for it.
- To revert means to return to an earlier habit, practice, belief, version, plan, or developmental stage. In law, it means the return of property to a former owner or her heirs. It does not mean to reply or get back to someone. "I'll check our warehouse to see how many of that item we have and revert to you by Tuesday" is wrong.
- Less means a smaller amount of something. fewer means a smaller number of something. Less water, less air, less money, less hassle. Fewer trips, fewer cups, fewer slices of pizza, and the express lane at the grocery is properly limited to purchases involving 15 or fewer items, not "15 or less items".
- I deliberately omitted the word "store" in the previous item, because it would have been redundant. I buy baked goods at a bakery, not a "bakery store", and I buy food, food-related items, cleaning supplies and other groceries at a grocery. My grandmother bought this sort of thing from her grocer, whose grocery was usually his own small business rather than part of a corporate chain.
- Momentarily means "for a moment". It does not mean "in a moment". If you say you will be somewhere momentarily, it means you will be there very, very, very briefly. It does not mean you will be there soon.
- Contractions like could've, should've, would've, had to've are written thus because they contain the last couple letters from the word "have". Stop writing "should of", "could of", "would of", and "had to of".
- To electrocute means to execute (i.e., kill) a person or animal by means of electricity. It is not a synonym for "charge", "shock", "generate voltage near" or "electrify". Brits take heed, because for some strange reason you seem to think it's clever to make this error.
- As many of you know, the Country Bunker has both kinds of music: Country and Western. Likewise, sometimes the same word is used as a noun and as a verb. But the pronunciation is different. Take address for example. You "uh-DRESS" (verb) a letter or a crowd or anyone else you wish to speak to, but mail comes to your "ADD-ress" (noun). You "pro-JECT" (verb) your slides on the wall or your emotions onto others, but that new garage you're building out back is a "PRO-ject" or "PRAH-ject" (noun). You "reh-CORD" (verb) your thoughts in your blog, so that later you can look back on the running "RECK-ord" or "RECK-erd" (noun) of what you were thinking. Easy enough, right? Well, it works the same way for detail: You read the "DEE-tails" (noun) of a report, but you "deh-TAIL" (verb) your car. "Firefighters rescue a cat stuck in a tree, we'll have deh-TAILS coming up after this break on Action Six News" is wrong.
- Kilometre is properly pronounced with the emphasis on the third syllable, and optionally with emphasis on the first. "kil-uh-MEE-tur" or "KIL-uh-MEE-tur" is yes. "ki-LAH-mit-ur" is no. A “ki-LAH-mit-ur” would be a device for measuring kilos, much as a “my-CROM-it-ur” is a device for measuring small dimensions, pronounced that way to distinguish it from a “MY-cro-MEE-tur”, which is a very small dimension.
- I left this off originally because I didn't think it had to be said, but popular demand suggests otherwise, so — Republicans, I'm looking at you again — let's all say two easy words together: New. Clear. Everyone can say these words. Each of them has only one syllable. They are both practically impossible to mispronounce. Now say them again, without pausing between them: NewClear. Congratulations! You can pronounce nuclear correctly after all!
- The word ridiculous does not contain the letter "e" in either its written or its spoken form.
- The apostrophe is a lovely punctuation mark. It looks a little like a helium-filled comma. One use for the apostrophe is to indicate that something or someone possesses something or someone else. Stephen's house, the dog's tail, the socket's connections. Another use is to form a contraction from two words, where "is" is the second word: It's true, and that's a fact. Where neither an "is" contraction nor a possessive situation exists, using an apostrophe to warn the reader that s/he will soon encounter the letter "s" is wrong.
- Supposably and expedential and irregardless are assemblages of letters, but they are not words and so they don't mean anything. For best results, use only 100% genuine actual real words when building your sentences. Accept no imitations; use supposedly and exponential and regardless.
- "Kudos" is one of those words that ends in "s" but is not plural, like "pathos" and "ethos" and "gravitas". The "s" has to be on the end of it, or it's not a word. There's nothing such as "giving a kudo" to someone for a job well done.
- If you care about something, even just a little bit, then you could care less than you do care. If you are trying to be clever and cute about expressing your utter lack of concern regarding whatever matter or idea is being discussed, then you couldn't care less. If you have been confused by nonsensical justifications for saying "I could care less" when "couldn't" is meant, reread the sentences preceeding this one as many times as necessary.
- Stop using the verb "do" as a substitute for whatever verb you really mean; it's lazy. You aren't going to "do" Chinese food, you're going to eat it or order it or have it. You didn't "do" New Guinea, you went there and saw it. And how did we wind up with a clunker like "doing" drugs? No! You smoke marijuana or crack, you take pills, you shoot heroin, you eat mushrooms. Not all at the same time, it's to be hoped.
- Yes, gauge is a less-than-intuitive spelling, because the word is pronounced with an "ay" sound, not an "aw" or an "oh" sound. No, that does not make it okay to spell it "gage". And since we're on the topic, "guage" is wrong, too.
- Significant means real. Substantial means large. They are not synonyms. Stop and think every time you're tempted to use "significant"; odds are you really mean "substantial".
- Like the apostrophe, quotation marks are delightful bits of punctuation. They come in pairs, and are really diverse. But whether they look like « » or like “ ” or like " " or like „ ”, they're used to denote text spoken or written by someone else. They can also be used as "scare quotes" to denote a dubious or questionable word or phrase. They're not used for emphasis, ever. Please “do not” leave paper in urinal & remember to “flush” is wrong.
- Normal is not a noun, it is an adjective made from the noun norm. It's possible to adapt to a new norm, but there is nothing such as "the new normal".
- Words that sound alike but have different meanings and spellings are called homophones. Three such words are there, their, and they're. These words are not interchangeable, and picking the right one requires only the smallest, quickest mental effort. Using the wrong one makes you look lazy and feebleminded. You don't want to look lazy and feebleminded, do you?
- Champing at the bit means eager or anxious to get going and do something. "Chomping at the bit" doesn't mean anything.
- One and the same means two things are alike. "One in the same" doesn't mean anything.
- Stock in trade means all the merchandise and equipment kept on hand and used in carrying on a business. Colloquially, it refers to the resources habitually called on by a person in a given situation (e.g, "A ready wit is her stock in trade"). "Stock and trade" doesn't mean anything.
- Case in point means an anecdote used to illustrate a point. "Case and point" doesn't mean anything.
- i.e. means "that is". e.g. means "for example". The two are not interchangeable.
- There is a punctuation mark properly used to indicate words omitted from a quote, and informally used to signify a longer pause and perhaps a looser connection between thoughts than you'd indicate with a comma. It is called an ellipsis, and it looks like this:
…
It is used far oftener than warranted, but whether you're using it correctly or insisting on using it instead of the appropriate comma or semicolon, it is always only ever composed of three dots. Not four, not five, not seventeen, but three. More dots don't mean a longer pause, they mean you don't know how to write.
- Artwork and porn stars are hung. Condemned criminals are hanged.
- A margarita is an alcoholic beverage. A margherita is a pizza.
- "See in-store for details" is wrong with or without the hyphen. Find another way to say it. "Visit a store for details" or "ask us for details", for example.
- A warranty is a guarantee; the warrantee is the party (such as the buyer of a product) to whom the guarantee is made by the warrantor (such as the maker of the product).
- A published work that cannot be copied or redistributed without permission of its owners is copyrighted. It is not "copywritten", which is not a word. A copywriter is s/he who writes copy, which is the text in an advertisement. Such an ad, including the copywriter's copy, may or may not be copyrighted.
- It's not nice to defame someone, but if you're going to do it, use the right tool for the job at hand. Slander is verbal defamation spoken, shouted from the rooftops, or sung to a fiddle, flute, monkey-operated calliope or the like. Libel is written defamation done with a pencil, crayon, printing press, can of spray paint, or computer. When the moderator of an internet forum tells you to behave yourself, you make yourself look like an idiot by threatening to sue him for slander. You make yourself look like an equal but different idiot by threatening to sue him for libel, but that's beyond the remit of this treatise.
- Tenant means "Holder" in French. It refers to the occupant and/or lease holder of an apartment, office, house, or other property. Tenet means a principle, belief, or doctrine generally held to be true, notably one held in common by members of an organisation or society. They aren't the same, and "tenent" doesn't mean anything.
- Loathe is a verb more or less synonymous with "detest". Loath is an adjective the meaning of which falls between "reluctant" and "unwilling". I am loath to admit it bothers me when people misuse loathe where loath is called for. Actually, that's not true; I am not loath to admit I loathe it.
- Log in is a two-word verb meaning to assert or notate permission to enter a facility or use an online resource such as a website or email account. Login is a noun; it is a name, word, or code used to identify oneself in the process of logging in. You log in using your login. You cannot login to a website.
- A carrot cannot be used as a carburetor, nor a noun as a verb. Words such as pressure, acquisition, and transmission are nouns, not verbs, though each has a verb form; respectively these are press, acquire, and transmit. One company may acquire but not "acquisition" another company. A special-interest group may press but not "pressure" a politician to adopt their stance on an issue. A warehouse manager may transmit but not "transmission" an order to a manufacturer.
- If you can't resist using the tired "Home of…" cliché as a tagline for your business, please use it correctly. That is "Home of the" followed by a noun optionally preceded by one adjective or more. Like this:
57th Street Burgers—Home of the amazing three-pound Super Wowburger Vinnie's Vacuums—Home of the 45-Day Money-Back Satisfaction Guarantee Don's Fine Used Cars—Home of the Dealin' Don Deal Land of the free—Home of the Brave
It is not "Home of the" followed by a verb phrase, so not like this:
Tiny's Texaco—Home of giving you the best service with a smile Azaz Beds—Home of finding the best mattress for you
- The thing you see hoisted by forklift is a pallet. The board for mixing paints is a palette. The organ of your taste is a palate.
- The word pronunciation does not contain the word pronounce. The second syllable of pronunciation is nun like a very Catholic woman. It is not noun like the part of speech that refers to a person, place, or thing.
- There is no word such as "alot". There is allot which means to assign, distribute, or allocate. There is also a lot, which means a large number or amount of something.
- Cue and queue are pronounced alike, but they are not the same. A queue (noun) is a line of waiting people, events, computer commands, phone calls on hold, or suchlike. To queue (verb) (or "queue up") is to join or add to such a waiting lineup. A cue (noun) is a signal or mark that it is time for a prepared action to occur. Examples include utterance of a line (as by an actor in a play), unveiling of a thing (as a new car at a car show), and activation of a particular combination of lighting, sound effects, and/or stage props (as in a play). To cue (verb) something is formally to prepare it for its impending time, as when a DJ cues (or "cues up") a musical track by advancing the recording to just before the intended starting point, or the stage lighting operator readies his controls to activate what will soon be required. Informally or sarcastically, "cue" is used to signify that an expected event will happen: "Oh, climate change is in the news again? Cue the usual babble about how it's all a big conspiracy."
- It is important and good to use Gender-neutral terminology whenever doing so will avoid bias or render half the human race invisible or imply superiority of one sex over the other. When we refer to a position that could be held by a man or a woman, it is not appropriate to use a gender-specific term. However, there is no reason or need to use a gender-neutral term when the referent's gender is known. A male spokesperson is a spokesman, a female chairperson is a chairwoman, a male ombud officer is an ombudsman, and so on. Calling David a "chairman", Marge an "ombudswoman", and Michael a "spokesman" does not imply that the other gender is unsuited to the position. It is sexist to use gender-specific language to refer to a person of unknown gender (or an unfilled job), but it is not sexist to refer to a man as a man or a woman as a woman. And please make a thoughtful choice of gender-neutral terms. There is no excuse for using a clunker like "spokesperson" or "chairperson" when representative and chair are much more cromulent.
Artificially-gendered terms like "actress" and "waitress" and "hostess" aren't warranted, and probably never were. "Actor" and "waiter" and "host" aren't inherently gendered and should be used regardless of the referent's sex. The jury's still out on "dominatrix".
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| I had a really interesting dream early this morning. We were in the Denver house. Me, my mother, and my father. I had told my mother that I was Done trying to find a way to live with her defective behaviour. She was alternately begging and pleading, sobbing, screaming and hollering, and threatening. The really interesting part was dad. He had my back; he was holding her at bay and helping me collect and pack my things as we went room to room through the house. Keeping himself between me and her as we moved through the house. "Are you going to be OK? Do you have enough money?" he was asking me. His tone was a mix of worry, love, grim determination…and committed resignation to his sacrifice to help and let me get away from her.
The dream sequence came to an end and I woke up thoughtful and grateful at 6:04. I don't think I'd thought of the last decade quite this way before, but...yes. It fits. He was a man of his word; I never ever saw or heard him lie or break his word, not once. He kept his vows to my mother for 31½ years, seldom ever raised his voice or even began to lose his cool, even in the face of the fevered peak extreme of mother's rants and tantrums and vocal, casually strident hatred. I do believe the emotional suppression he employed (it had also, to be fair, served him well as a US Army captain in 1966-70; his answer to "What did you do in the Army, dad?" was always strictly limited to "I worked at the Pentagon") played a significant role in his death of Non-Hodgkins Lymphoma, which seemed to come out of nowhere because he had zero physical, environmental, or hereditary risk factors.
Fact is, if he hadn't died, I would not have attained the perspective on my mother's behaviour and its deleterious effect on me to say "What if this isn't how it has to be? What if I could find a way to take control, to reject her toxic behaviour and say 'no, this will stop or we are done; you may not inflict this damage on me any more'?". I really think it truly never would have occurred to me if dad had never got sick or if he had survived.
I'll readily admit I might just be trying to assign noble meaning to the senseless, inexplicable, meaningless and painfully irreversible loss of my father. But I've been thinking about it all day, and I've decided to choose to acknowledge this possibility but not worry about it. It is what it is. That I find positive meaning in such a horriible event makes that meaning valuable without asterisks or parentheses or strings attached.
And so, today and always, I am deeply grateful to my father, who I feel in a very real way died for my freedom. - Mood:grateful

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| Inspired by fattest's recent posts: CARPÅ: A modern, tested-tough corporate complaint and suggestion drop box. Design and quality: IKEA of Sweden. Made in Gibraltar.
GROÜSÅ: A shelf with complaint forms and a chained-on golf pencil. Designed to work with CARPÅ. Design and quality: IKEA of Sweden. Made in Haiti.
GUILTI: A small round kitchen table set that comes complete with a chipped plate just large enough for a crust of bread, a plastic drinking cup the crack in which doesn't leak too badly, and an overhead light with a preburnt-out energy-saving bulb. Design and quality: IKEA of Sweden. Made in Swaziland.
MESSA - a standard soft-cork bulletin board, extra large to hold all your little scrips and scraps of paper. Design and quality: IKEA of Sweden. Made in Transylvania.
FUSSA - a compartmented plastic tray that clips to the bottom edge of MESSA and organises your pushpins by head colour. Design and quality: IKEA of Sweden. Made in Greenland.
NÜÇ - a gaily coloured rubber mould for making frozen peanut butter rings. Design and quality: IKEA of Sweden. Made in Cuba.
ŠNØT - a facial tissue dispenser sold in assorted brilliant colours by the plastic-wrapped 4-pack. Design and quality: IKEA of Sweden. Made in Tuva.
MJÅØ - a stylish programmable self-dispensing cat food bowl which holds 9 days' supply. Design and quality: IKEA of Sweden. Made in Northern Ireland.
MJØRK - an elfin tray designed to work with MJÅØ. Design and quality: IKEA of Sweden. Made in Iceland.
PÖPLI - H'm. Maybe not; everyone laughs at kids who have the PÖPLI. Design and quality: IKEA of Sweden. Made in Quebec. | |
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| OK, I'm stoned out on sleep deprivation at the moment, so don't expect chronological linearity (and iahklu, I am hangin' onto that Boggle board; you'd whup me badly if I tried to play it now). More details from this weekend: We had remarkable big groups over for dinner on both Saturday and Sunday. Saturday's group included jongrizzman, grimmlok, nfotxn in from Hamilton with his friend Matt from DC. Also Mike H. from Ottawa. And of course the fried-chickenmeisters carytown and Greg, with whom there'd been an enjoyable leisurely day down Kensington Market. We ate red barbecued pork, dumpling soup and pea greens with Chinese mushrooms at Kom Jug Yuen, strolled through Kensington shopping for dinner items, and then came home and prepared it all. To go with the amazing Southern fried chicken, there was a big kettle of mashed potatoes (skin on, w/butter, old white cheddar and mozzerella mashed in). ( Waffles! )Serve them.
Eat them.
Blog about them.- Mood:exhausted

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| I've been promising to post some new pics of Qat now he's decided to stop being a meatloaf and start being a cat. So, in the interest of taking a "break" from cleaning the apartment, I give you...Qat! ( 6 more Qat pictures ) | |
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