Neo-politics

So, as I sat here this evening, watching my cat defend his favorite napping spot against invisible tribbles, I thought about politics.

Now, this isn't a political blog. I hate politics even more than I hate McDonald's food. But politics are on a lot of minds, right now. So I think about them.

There seem to be two main sides in most American politics: Democrats and Republicans. I've given a great deal of thought into the differences.

A Democrat is a Republican who wears pinstripe suits and believes in welfare.

A republican is a Democrat with shorter, darker hair who receives campaign donations from oil companies.

Both sides make my teeth itch.

I'm a registered podophile, and I've recently found a podcast which I enjoy listening to. It's called The Rush Limbaugh Lie of the Day. The podcaster is a rabid liberal democrat. That means that he believes everything that every democratic candidate says and wants all conservatives dead. There's a lot he says that I agree with, but there's a lot that I don't agree with. That's alright... he doesn't mind people disagreeing with him.

But the reason I like it... It's not that I can side with the Democrats. As I said, both sides make my teeth itch. But Rush Limbaugh... I hate that guy. I can't stand him. Even my cat wants him dead, and my cat is a virtual fount of love and happy wishes.

Of course, if I had to pick a side, I would pick Obama.

No, hear me out!

I don't know him... I don't know the issues, really... I know he has made some good promises, and that some of those good promises scare people who wouldn't benefit from them, but that's normal. What I do know is... He's black.

No, really, hear me out!!!

He's black. Ish. That is, I'm told he's mixed, but I guess that just means that he really is an American. But he's still black. Now, I don't consider myself a racist, so standing on its own, the fact that he has dark skin isn't an issue. The important additional detail is that my mother would die.

She always told me when I was growing up that the Bible says that if the US ever elected a black president, the world would come to an end. She honestly believed that. It should be obvious at this point that she never actually opened a Bible, but that didn't sway her... ummm... faith. Anyway, she's very, very hardcore set against a non-white man, or any kind of woman, being elected. During Kathy Whitmire's term as mayor of Houston, my mother cried almost daily, and still complains about the effects, decades later.

So if Obama is elected president, she'll just die. Maybe literally. I want him elected, so that I can call her and ask her opinion. It'll be fun.

Shortest... blog...

ever!

Recently Diseased

So, I've made the tough decision... I've decided to go to the doctor. But there's a reason this had to be a decision and not just something I did.

You see, I've been in pain ever since my appendectomy. This is normal... at least, pain is normal for the first few days or so. But I didn't experience any pain from the wounds. Minor irritation from the wound that became infected and didn't close for a month and a half, but no real pain.

No, I've been having a persistent pain in areas that have nothing to do with the surgical area.

It's annoying, too, because it's a distraction. Also, it hurts. Picture this...

You're walking down the sidewalk. You see a sexy hunk of man-meat. (This example assumes you're a heterosexual female.) You smile. He smiles. You decide to show off your best... um.... asset. So you put on your sexiest walk and proceed to pass Thor (we'll call him "Thor"), hoping to be able to glance over your shoulder and catch him checking you out. The possibilities for your future married to a thundergod lookalike are endless. You're on your game... you're sexy... you're gliding past....

Suddenly, a sharp pain enters through your rectum. It travels forward to your bladder, then takes a left and heads up toward your kidney, making a quick detour to stop at your spleen for gas and smokes. The pain finally stops in your lung, with some periodic flirtation with your liver.

Your first thought is, I'm hit!!! But you manage not to say that... Instead, you oh-so-coolly shout, "God! My ovaries!" Yeah. Really smooth. You look to see that Thor has decidedly turned away and is studying the house he was building (he was building a house... construction workers are just so... Rowr!) and is no longer showing any signs that you exist.

You can see how this could complicate your life. And it's darned inconvenient.

Oh, plus, it hurts.

So you can see why I would be going to the doctor. The problem is, I've been going to the doctor. That is, I've been going to the surgeon who allegedly (yes, I said it) removed my appendix. I was going back once a week to deal with the open wound, but once that finally closed they were willing to drop it. I (not for the first time) brought up the subject of the pain. When I described how it was spreading, the surgeon and his intern (a very nice woman) started looking nervous. Not like they necessarily care about whether I have this "minor" pain to deal with forever... I'm under no illusions... They looked like they were deer and I was driving a lawyer with my headlights pointed straight into their eyes.

Or something like that. You know what I mean.

Anyway... So, they decided to finally do some tests. They poked, took some blood (I think they just threw that away, because it's black and they don't like testing black blood) and urine (ick) and scheduled the CT scan which I previously wrote about.

The results of the CT scan showed nearly all the organs present that one might expect. They noticed, and noted, the conspicuous absense of my gall bladder, which was removed a couple of years ago. After I left the doctor's office, though, I realized that they didn't mention a missing appendix.

Considering that the radiologist who analyzed the CT knew nothing about my prior surgeries, and, indeed, took time to make note of the gall bladder thing, it seems odd that he didn't note the missing appendix. Unless...

I see three possibilities. One, they missed the appendix and removed something else that I still needed. This isn't terribly likely, because I would be dead by now.

Two, whatever caused my appendix to rupture continued to grow, and has now filled the appendix-shaped hole in my abdomen. This is slightly more likely, because, as far as I know, the doctors didn't check to see what caused an appendix to go from zero to rupture in three hours.

The third option, which seems most likely, is that an alien entered my bedroom in late September and implanted an egg in my abdomen, most likely through my anus. The implantation process probably busted my appendix open, and the resulting infection kept the egg warm. The wound under my navel didn't close because the alien fetus was sucking up my life force, preventing most forms of healing. And the growing pain is caused by Junior growing and eating my fresh, juicy organs.

So the problem I mentioned... I don't like to go to the doctor. She's nice, and the office is pleasant, and really close to my office, but I have (thanks, Mom) a complex that tells me that if I'm seeking medical help, I'm a hypochondriac. But if I let the alien grown, it will eventually burst out of my abdomen and attack my cat. Now, even though I'll be dying, this alien is still my baby, in a sense, and I need to protect it from the horrible death it will suffer if it tries to attack the little bastard.

So I have to go to the doctor.

Hyperassociativity Scene

So, I was reading an article about Spasmodic Dysphonia, and that got me thinking... If I lost the ability to speak, and explained this to people (perhaps by writing notes), but indicated that the problem was only my voice, would they then, when speaking to me, speak more loudly, perhaps over-enunciating? I think so, and so do all the people whose opinions I asked. It's funny how people associate things.

For example, I've noticed a tendency for some men, mostly the less-evolved breeds, to associate a woman's lung capacity with the shape of her lips ("I'll bet she could suck-start a motorcycle") or her height with her athletic abilities ("Those legs don't quit").

Not that this phenomenon is restricted to the harrier gender... I once had a woman tell me that I look like a lesbian. Hrm. I wanted to ask her which lesbian, but I was afraid of the answer.

I'll never understand why people make these associations. I mean, I understand why people look at me strangely when I'm walking past and I hear someone say something like, "...brand-spankin' new wife..." and I reflexively say, "Kinky" and start laughing, but when someone leans over my cat and says, "What a pretty boy! You must be so sweet," and they reach out to touch him, they're almost inevitably surprised when he tries to take off a finger. Is the fact that he has coloration which humans find aesthetically pleasing supposed to be an indicator that one has permission to touch him? I don't see the connection.

But I know the connection exists. At least, in the minds of the insane people who run the world. I know that a responsible driver with a red car will pay more for insurance than a half-attentive driver with a brown car. This is because, in the minds of those who make rules, red cars like to get in wrecks. I also know that if I wear black pants and a black shirt at the same time people will think I'm depressed. Even if I try to explain that it's laundry day.

I know that the lyrics to one popular song indicate that the speaker associates another woman's butt size with her level of promiscuity. After all, there have never been any skinny sluts.

I know a transsexual who tried to donate blood. She was turned down because they said that any sex she could possibly have would be gay sex. She was a virgin who didn't use drugs and had a rare blood type.

I was told that I couldn't possibly be an engineer because I drive a standard and don't wear glasses and have XX chromosomes.

The list goes on, but the point is this: When I hyperassociate, I'm told that it's because I have a neurological disorder (ADHD) and need to take a pill. When someone else hyperassociates, it's because they must be right. After all, "How could a woman with such bodacious ta-tas be a Catholic?"

Oh, and for the record... I'm definitely not lesbian.

Hypothetically speaking...

OK, suppose, just hypothetically, someone who, Idunno... Someone who lookes a lot like me, for example... suppose this someone did something, like, for example, accidentally overwrote... Idunno... Let's say, this person overwrote Cisco's website. Just hypothetically speaking, of course.

What would you say to this person? I mean like, what do you think she... hypothetically, let's supposed this person is a "she"... what should she do? I guess I.... er, she... could make a big batch of cookies and send them to John Chambers. (He's actually pretty nice.)

Any other thoughts about what this hypothetical person should do?


I mean, it could have happened to anyone, right? And it's not like they aren't using Micro$oft solutions internally, which is really what caused this whole mess to begin with.

Or would have, if this weren't hypothetical.

Yeah. Hypothetical.

Yearly Policy Revision

OK, it's like this... For the past several years, each year (except the year before last, during which I faked my own death for tax purposes) I made a New Year's Resolution. This year, though, things are different. Before the beginning of the year, I joined the ranks of the cursed... the hated... the scourge of the planet... the ulcer on the butt cheek of humanity... You guessed it! Management.

So, on January 1, following the schedule I had already laid out in my Outlook calendar, I outlined a new Annual Vision Statement.

This year's vision statement: Make Them Pay.

I like to keep my vision statements simple. Anyone can make a resolution to lose weight or spend more time with family. One year, I made a resolution to do both. So I went on the Atkins diet. First, I lost 30 pounds in like a month. Then, due to my suddenly lowered immune system, I caught a nasty case of strep and had to get my tonsils removed, and spent a week at my grandmother's house recovering. I couldn't eat for two weeks, so I lost another ten pounds.

See... If an engineer makes a resolution (or vision statement), she'll find a way to keep it, even if it has multiple parts.

As the world turns...

So I was thinking today about... You know how you'll be watching television or a movie or something, and the main characters will get into a spaceship, and fly to another planet, and find a native of that planet, and call the native an "alien"? Even on the best shows. I mean, the "aliens" are the ones who just arived in a spaceship, right? So, that got me thinking...

I thought back to my childhood, and remembered a Tang® commercial. In this commercial, two children are exploring a barren planet and are accosted by walking, talking flowers. One of them exclaims, "Those plants are alive!"

Now, I know that there are just sooooo many things one could find wrong with this whole commercial, but what sticks out to me is the "alive" part. It was frequent back then. Every sector of the entertainment industry referred to plants that were ambulatory as "alive". Even as a child, this bothered me. I knew that all plants were alive. Well, except for the dead ones. And the fake ones. And palm trees.

I figure that the problem is that back then the people who wrote screenplays, books and other readables had received a poor education when they were younger, especially in science. What really made this clear is the things my mother told me when I was younger. For example, she informed me, quite seriously, that if the sun was shining while it rained, that meant that the devil was beating his wife. I once pointed out to her that she didn't look like she was being beaten... I don't remember much after that.

What really tipped me off was the time my brother asked her about the position of the sun changing on a long road trip. She told us all about how the sun traveled around the earth and how at night the sun was under the earth.

Imagine my surprise when I asked a teacher about that, and found out that there seemed to be some disagreement on this issue. Apparently, my mother went to some school like Flat Earther Elementary. I can just imagine their theme song...

Oh, how we love you, F.E.E.,
Our fav'rite elementary,
You teach us how this big, flat Earth,
Is the center of the Univerth!

That would also explain why she has such a nasty lisp.