Tag Archives: rant

techno bumps

DONE – FIXED.  So, I couldn’t post the little felt disk photo that I took with my phone a little while ago right from flickr, which is what I wanted to do — Instead, here is a picture of a tray from the basement, which I shot a few days ago.

Our basement is currently riddled with mice, and my general tolerance for the critters has been worn away.  This winter has been characterized by finding their nests and food stores in so many of my fabric bins, that even I am a little grossed out (we have been killing three-four-five a week with traps).  At least the dog food now lives in a mouse-proof bin, so that they aren’t busy transporting those nuggets into little caches all over my studio.

Even WITH my tolerance at an all time low, I see this dead baby and wince.  What killed it, I wonder?  How can I throw it out?  Even as it begins to stink, I can’t bring myself to dispose of the tiny body, curled into death… so vulnerable, so small!

Silence as a Crime and It takes Five Women (Rant)

About 8" tall - "Silence is a Sin"

That is my Bernie Law Doll.  I made him a batch of years ago, but apparently he wants to come out and watch the news this week.  (Sorry for some of the pictures, which suck, but which also demonstrate a curve of learning to recognize and celebrate).

Wickipedia on the infamous dude –

“… despite substantial amounts of documentation that demonstrated deep involvement with covering up the molestation of 1,000’s of children, Law refused to step down as Archbishop of Boston… ”

And, as if that weren’t bad enough, the Catholic Church promoted him by shipping off to Rome and making him a member of the College of Cardinals (whatever THAT is).

So that’s old news.  But turning to August of this year?   The Boston Globe reported an in-depth story about the tennis coach, Bob Hewitt, who apparently abused his female tennis students for years, even after complaints were lodged against him in the 1970’s.

How’s this for a comment by someone in an official capacity (John Korff, director-at-large of the US Tennis Association, who knew Hewitt ‘back in the day’):

“Gee, it’s nice of the girl to pop up 35 years later,’’ Korff said. “Give me a break.’’

Wow.  Later apology not believed! Korff’s comment stinks of monstrous disdain and ignorance (but I won’t use the words ‘sexism’ or ‘misogyny’ here because somehow those have become dirty words with a whole host of knee jerk reactions by people from all over the political spectrum).

After decades of holding it together, the victim referred to above (Heather Conner),  broke her silence publicly in the very year that one of her daughters turned the age she had been when the abuse started (14).  Her life began to come apart at the seams in an arc of survivor behavior that is not uncommon (and probably well-documented in the annals of psychology).  Hewitt, by the way, apparently sneered to a journalist, “Why is she coming forward NOW?”

And now Penn. State – in which the beloved, long-serving coach ought to have done better than alert campus police about a fifteen year history of abuse by his assistant.  He ought to have believed that those who held him in such high esteem, his players,  ten year old boys using his facilities deserved protection.  In 1998, (1998!!!), Sandusky (the assistant coach, or as I shall call him, “the Head Fiddler” – HA~  Craig Ferguson – you can use this if you like) ADMITTED to ‘inappropriate contact in the shower room’.  And well, guess what beloved coach?  This is on your hands too, not just Sandusky’s — all the candlelight vigils in the world and all the tweeting and honking in the world will not absolve you of your failure.  Fiddling with young boys in the shower is a crime.  ‘Head Fiddlers’ belong in prison, not in steamy showers with boys.  You do not report crimes to the dean, to the athletic director, or to campus security.  You report crimes to the police or the D.A.

Hello Herman Cain?!!  Oh god, give us a break and go away.  Back in law school, it was noted often when studying Title VII, that it took 4-5-6 women’s allegations to bring a creep down.  In other words, in a “he said/she said” situation, even with the protection of the Constitution and the federal laws built around the Constitution, it took four, five, six women’s word to overcome one perpetrator’s claims of innocence.  This was in the late 80’s, but it appears that some things have not changed all that much.  Herman Cain’s accusers have reached the critical weight.

P.S.  I thought Clarence Thomas was a pig, too, and that does not make me a racist.

I should re-read this a few more times and then probably decide not to post it (rants are risky, always risky), but I have already spent too much time here and I’m gonna take the risk (can always pull it down later, right?)

BTW – Bernie’s cape (you know how those Catholic figures of authority love women’s clothes!) – is made by sandwiching fibers between two layers of water soluble film, stitching them on the machine, then dissolving the plastic — this is exactly what I need to go make samples of for tomorrow’s ‘Creative Quilting’ class.

Rant #1 — A Persistent Stink

A persistent stink in our fridge is beginning to feel like a haunting.  What IS that smell?! K. and I have doggedly taken turns wiping down and emptying shelves and containers.  I drained the veggie swamp from the lower bin.  More than one green fuzzy lump has made its way down the disposer (“was that meat or potatoes” one wonders idly watching the grinding matter, hoping none of it will generate spit-back in the face).  So, where’s the stink?  Oh, I suppose there are a few mystery containers left.

Given my habits of attention (HA!), it is very possible that all 6-7 of those yogurt containers are, in fact, yogurt.  And here’s another thing.  What do you bet that all 6-7 are vanilla? You can’t imagine the number of times that I have gone to whip up a simple cucumber salad only to discover that every single tub of yogurt crowding my fridge is VANILLA!!  That means I get no points whatsoever for having fresh and appealing dill at the ready.

Conclusions about the stink are running in two directions.  One is downright scary — what if it’s coming from the freezer?  What mass of what decomposing grotesquerie would it have to be if even its frozen state it is capable of perfuming our kitchen with a rancid blossom of stink?  I think of the new movie, “The Unborn” to reach the right level of disgust.

The other direction is old — (and here you have permission to use Andy Rooney’s voice) — Why aren’t fridges wider than they are deep?  I’ve seen them out there, in the glossy magazines, so I know someone’s thought of this.  Wouldn’t it be great if no shelf were deeper than one or two containers’ worth?  I call a good 60% of our Maytag “the back forty”. It often seems to me that the only purpose of the distant reaches of the fridge is to house the shit that will prop up the triple-stacked stuff in the usable, visible real estate of the front.  Alas!

This is why I love the days before I grocery shop, for as the fridge declutters, it gets brighter in there and my sense of calm grows.  Today the stresses of having nothing to eat/nothing to feed teenage boys/nothing on deck for dinner will compete with the satisfaction of having an increasingly empty, increasingly illuminated fridge.  It is amazing how resourceful my putting off grocery shopping makes me in the kitchen!