Crankypantsing

Some Bastard Company

Yes, that’s what SBC stands for.

I got home last night to find that the electricity had been off all day. That wasn’t SBC’s fault, but I also found that my phone was dead. I assumed the two were connected somehow, because it seemed like an awfully big coinky-dinks. But, coinky-dinks, it was. The electricity came back on in time to watch Survivor, but I still couldn’t get a dial tone. Hmmm.

This morning, I called SBC from my neighbor’s house and went through their auto-response maze. They tested my line, said it was fine, and recommended that I test my network interfact thingumy. M’kay. So I called my landlady, to tell her that there was an issue and that she’d have to get the rear area bush-hogged so that someone could actually get to the box. It’s seriously overgrown and probably full of snakes and lord only knows what. I wouldn’t go back there, and there’s no way I’d ask anyone else to, either.

My landlady said that her ex had recently had his work line transferred to his new house. A-ha! When I originally moved in, and had my phone hooked up, the worker bee had accidentally switched my landfolks’ line to my house. I’d bet a million damned dollars that that’s what the problem is. When SBC switched my landdude’s line to his new house, they actually switched my line.

So, I called SBC back and went through their maze again. This time, when they ran the line, they got a busy signal (and so did I, when I tried calling it). Their auto-response was to hang up my phone. Duh. I’m not a stupid. That was the first thing I checked. The second thing I checked was to make sure that the jack hadn’t come loose. The third was to swap out all my cables. I’ve done everything I can to troubleshoot the inside lines and equipment. The funny part is that SBC says they’ll have it fixed by tomorrow at 8pm. Now, how does that work? If they think the problem is that my phone’s off the hook (it’s not, but that’s what they claim), then how, exactly, do they propose to fix it?

I don’t know what to think. I know my landlady won’t actually do anything to get the problem fixed. Her advice was to get another line installed. Um, I don’t think so. I’m going to try phoning my number later today, to see if I still get a busy signal. If it’s still busy at the end of the day, I’m going to have to figure out some way to get hold of an actual, live human at SBC, because their auto-response system is doing me absolutely no good.

Crankypantsing

Bucket Residence, Lady of the House Speaking

My desk at work is right by the phone, so when it rings, I’m usually the one who answers it. It’s not like I want to answer it (it’s never for me), but I’m the one who sits closest to it, so it makes sense. Right? Only, there’s a woman who, every time I stand up to answer the phone, asks me “Are you expecting a call?” Um, no (remember, it’s never for me). Perhaps I should just sit on my lazy ass and wait until someone else answers it? That wouldn’t work, though, because no one else, including the Ms. Nosy Parker, will actually get up and answer the damned thing. So, why does she keep asking me if I’m expecting a call? Is there some reason why that information would be helpful to her?

Crankypantsing

No Need to Be Rude, Dear!

While I’m on the subject of things that piss me right the hell off…

I’ve been participating in a collaborative art project. Mostly, it’s been an enjoyable experience. That is, until the timing of things got all bolloxed up. Someone up-stream from me got really behind on mailings, which made me late, which made the people down-stream from me late. It was a mess. The person organizing the project was a peach about it, and reconfigured all the mailing dates, so that things could get back on track. Things would’ve been fine, except that my life decided to pick that time to fall apart. My car died, my heart dog died, my cat nearly died, my best friends’ marriage took a bizarro turn to splitsville, and my landfolks decided to call it quits, too. All that, in the space of two weeks.

Somewhere between burying my dog and trying to figure out how I was going to get to work and pay over $1000 in vet and car repair bills, I managed to get my artwork done. It was a couple of weeks late, but that’s the best I could do. I told the person down-stream from me that I’d be mailing on Monday, but then the damned cat got sick and, in worrying about his health and where I was going to get another $300+ to cover his vet bills, I forgot about mailing the package. I finally got it in the mail on, I think, Wednesday or Thursday–a whopping two or three days later than I’d promised. I’m pretty sure the world didn’t end because of it. It’s not like I planned it that way, or did it on purpose. I was preoccupied, which I suppose is selfish of me, but c’est la vie.

Anyway, the next week, I got a three-page nastygram from the person down-stream from me. I was called on the carpet for being a liar (WTF?) and for basically being a thoughtless fuck-up. I was also treated to a litany of ways in which my life was not as important as hers. Nice. Oh, and the pièce de résistance was that she told me not to contact her ever again. M’kaythen. She gets shitty with me, then tells me not to contact her. I saved it and printed it out, so that I’ll have a tangible reminder of why I don’t ever want to get involved in another collaborative art project. This was supposed to be fun. Or, at least that’s what I thought.

I just don’t get it. We’re all adults, so if someone is late with a mailing, she’s probably got a good reason. I don’t see any point in second guessing her, or in expecting her to explain herself, or in berating her. I’m sure she has a mother already, and doesn’t need a second one. Even if she–like me–is some sort of wastoid fuck-up, I figure she’s got enough problems and doesn’t need my ranting at her on top of them.

Anyway, I was so boggled by the whole thing that I didn’t know what to think. I decided not to say anything, because I didn’t have anything at all nice to say. Then, when the next mailing date rolled around, something got screwed up and the book that was supposed to come to me got returned to the sender. In England. Which is Way The Hell Over There —–>. There’s no way it could’ve gotten to me in time for me to mail it out to the person after me, so I asked the person above me to send it directly to the person after me. I also told the person running the group that I didn’t see any point in my continuing with it. 1) I’m cranky as hell about the whole thing, 2) I didn’t think I’d have time to do any work, and 3) the round robin is nearly over. I feel badly about anyone who feels like they got screwed out of getting their fair share of artwork (this makes two people who have dropped out), but I don’t know what else to do about it. I don’t like the idea of dropping out, but as far as I’m concerned, I don’t think the experience is salvageable.

So why am I whinging about it now? After being unable to access my e-mail for almost a week (see other rant about lack of connectivity in my neck of the boonies), I found messages from the person running the group, and the person up-stream from me, wanting to know why my contact info was deleted from the group database. I figured the person in charge would’ve contacted people to tell them I’d dropped out, but I guess she didn’t. And now, I don’t know what to do. I really want that experience to be over and done with, but I’m unhappy about being responsible for others getting the short end of the stick.

Crankypantsing

What is Wrong with People?

On my way to work this morning, I saw a guy riding a motorcycle while wearing flip-flops.

So, I’ve been tossing around the idea of moving, and am getting more and more serious about it. My crazy landlady is about to shred my last nerve. There are a couple of things that have needed fixing since I moved in, and a couple more that have needed fixing for about 2-3 years. I keep reminding her about them, every time I talk to her, but she either goes on tangents about things that do not need fixing or she makes appointments to come check out the problems, then blows them off. I’m fed up. So, I talked to her last week and made an appointment for her to come out and look at the things I’m concerned about, on Saturday. Saturday came and went and, unsurprisingly, I didn’t see or hear from her. Hrmph.

To make things even more irritating, when I talked to her last week, she told me she’d moved out of her old house (she and her partner are splitting up). She gave me her new address and phone number, but told me not to give them to him. Apparently, she’s moved out on the sly, without telling him. She also told me that she’s worried that I’ll get screwed over if he gets the property I’m living on. M’kay. She told me I should sign a long-term lease (5-6 years!), to protect myself, and that she wouldn’t hold me to it. I Don’t Think So. If the property is, in fact, hers (I was led to believe it was, but I don’t know which of them actually owns it), then I can’t imagine it would be handed over to him. If it did get handed over to him, then any lease I’d signed with her would be void. Leases in Indiana are not transferable. She knows this, or she ought to: she’s a real estate agent. So, I can’t figure out what sort of scheme she’s trying to wangle, but clearly something is up. Whatever she’s cooking up, I don’t want any part of it.

I had been looking at places near where I’m living. I like being out in the country. I hate the lack of amenities, though–cable teevee, phone lines that don’t crackle, and broadband (!). I’m about 80/20 in favor of moving to Bloomington, so that I can actually pretend that I’m living in the 21st century.

Pets, Photography

Dogblogging

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Our town’s fall festival was last weekend. I imagine it’s pretty typical of any small town street festival: lots of tacky craft booths and way too much disgusting fair food. It’s fun to wander around and look at everyone’s tchotchkes, though. I took Harriet with me, this time. She’s freaked out by crowds, and easily over-stimulated, but I figured she’d be able to handle a short outing. I’m happy to report that she did very, very well. She only got nervous twice: when the live band started playing and when a woman approached her with arms spread out and waving. The live band was playing Poison covers and the woman was clearly crazy, so I can’t blame her.

Harriet tooled around the square with her nose plastered to the ground, hoping to hoover up any food trash that’d been dropped. I’m a meanypants, so I didn’t let her have any of it. She got lots of attention from various young ‘uns, which she lives for. She also, shockingly, was perfectly okay with the strange men who petted her, even going so far as to solicit attention from one old guy.

One thing that surprised me, was the number of adults who didn’t ask before petting her. Almost all the kids asked first, which was great. Normally, it’s the other way around. Also, she got mistaken for a Pit Bull by two different people. I realize she’s petite and kinda dainty, for a Boxer, but I don’t think she looks very Pit Bullish.

Crankypantsing

Ewww

I overslept this morning. I’m blaming it on allergies–the pollen count has been ludicrous, so I’m living on Benadryl (night) and Claritin (day). It’s working fairly well, but some mornings I’m so groggy that I hit my snooze button ten times without ever even approaching any sort of conscious state. So it went this ayem. Which meant that I didn’t have time to pack a lunch. Which meant that I had to buy a salad downstairs. That wouldn’t have been so bad, but the dressing packets were warm. Yuck. There’s nothing quite like a nice, crisp salad with warm dressing.

It is for to weep.

Crankypantsing, News & Politics, Pets, Photography

The Mind Wobbles

People, Part the First: If you make an appointment for a job interview, then fail to show up for it, and do not call or e-mail me, or in some way let me know that you need to reschedule, then please, do not call me three weeks later to find out if you are still in the running. Because, the answer is not only no, but hell, no. And please, if you do call me, for the love of all that is good in this world, do not spend ten minutes telling me how upset you are because this would have been the perfect job for you. And, yes, for those who keep track of these sorts of things, this is the very same person who could not follow directions.

People, Part the Second: Why do people feel the need to bring junk food buffets to work? One of my co-workers has a bottomless candy jar, which annoys the crap out of me. Not only is the candy sometimes difficult to resist (and resist it, I do!), but there is constant and annoying to-ing and fro-ing, as people hike back to her desk for treats. And then there are the umpty million parties each unit has throughout the year. Yesterday, it was just a random “Because it’s Thursday” carry-in. Someone decided to bring chips and pretzels, eclair-lets, cookies, and some other crap. The problem–for me–is that whenever anyone in this unit brings in food to share, it gets put on the table right behind my desk. I hate having people milling around behind me, talking and eating. I also hate having food I do not want to eat sitting right behind my desk, all the damned day long.

Weather: It finally cooled off last night, after several humid days in the 90sF. Clouds started to move in Wednesday night, at sunset.

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In the meantime, for those who are needing a mental break from the heat, I recommend listening to some of these audio clips from the 2005 Beargrease sleddog race. Great Yiping Sleddogs, Batman!

Pens: I picked up some neat-o Sarasa retractable gel pens last weekend. Office Depot had sets of 10 for US$9.99, plus a $5.00 rebate. I haven’t tried writing over acrylic paint or any weird surfaces, yet, but I’ve been using them in my Dada Journal and they do very nicely on magazine paper. They write smoothly without skipping, and they dry very quickly, so they don’t smear as much as some other gel inks. They’re also archival and acid-free. Oh, and the colors are yummy (including denim-y blue and deep wine red).

The Asswagon Report: Remember the quote from Rick Santorum, that serious action should be taken against the folks who did not evacuate from Katrina? According to an LA Times article, evacuees were not allowed to cross over into neighboring towns.

Three days after Hurricane Katrina hit, Gretna officers blocked the Mississippi River bridge that connects their city to New Orleans, exacerbating the sometimes troubled relationship with their neighbor. The blockade remained in place into the Labor Day weekend.

[…]

Gretna is not the only community that views New Orleans with distrust. Authorities in St. Bernard Parish, to the east, stacked cars to seal roads from the Crescent City. But Gretna’s decision has become the symbol of the ultimate act of a bad neighbor, gaining notoriety partly from an account in the Socialist Worker newspaper by two San Francisco emergency workers and labor leaders who were in a crowd turned back by Gretna police.

Fil-ums: I watched The Magdalene Sisters yesterday. The film was inspired by the documentary Sex in a Cold Climate, about the Magdalene asylums in Ireland. It’s hard to believe that the last Magdalene asylum closed only 9 years ago. The horrors the inmates endured seem impossible and distant, like something from Dickens’ worst nightmare.

Ch-ch-ch-Changes: I’ve been thinking about various life changes lately. First, I think I’m going to move. I blame it on the fact that we moved frequently when I was growing up. I start to get restless when I’ve been in one place for too long. I’m not planning on moving far, though; I definitely want to stay in the general Bloomington area.

This decision to up stakes has been percolating for a while, but it was suddenly moved up in the priority queue a couple of days ago. My landlady is going through a divorce, and I don’t want to get caught in the middle of their chaos if and when the shit hits the fan. I really don’t want to be involved in someone else’s circus.

Altered Books, Art, Collage, Crankypantsing, Pets, Photography

Friday Round-up (Are We There Yet?)

I Carry a Picture in My Teeth
I Carry a Picture in My Teeth

Meme-tacularity: I normally don’t get meme-y here. They bore me to tears on other people’s blogs, but I saw this on Creating Text(iles) and it amused the hell out of me. So:

You are Joan of Arc! You don’t really want to hurt anyone, but if they attack your friends or your country and no-one else will stand up to fight them, you head into the battle. Beware though, conviction tends to get you killed. (Which Saint Are You? brought to you by Quizilla)

Basically, I hate taking any sort of leadership roll, but if I’m forced to, heads will roll. Which is not inconsistent with what the Myers-Briggs personality test has to say about me (iNFj).

Anyway, a while back, I was asked to contribute artwork for the cover of an anthology of poetry. They ultimately chose to use a page I’d done in an altered book (above). The piece was inspired by a song called John Dark (if it were a rose of another name, it would be called Jeanne d’Arc).

Craptacularity: In other news… Today got off to a less than stellar start. I woke up at midnight and didn’t get back to sleep until nearly 4am, so I’m tired and cranky and my back hurts from tossing and turning all night. The bathroom light burned out, and I had to fumble around in the dark to put a new bulb in, almost stepping on the cat in the process. While I was in the shower, the gas company started cutting down brush along the easement (at 7am!). Harriet, who is normally very quiet, decided to sound the Intruder Alert. I had to get out of the shower, see what what she was barking about, tell her the sky was not falling, then get back in the shower to finish rinsing my hair. Blech. Then, I was a dork and turned on the microwave while I was making toast, and had to go reset the breaker and re-toast my breakfast. Naturally, after the toast was done, I forgot to finish heating up my tea water.

Hopefully, all that craptacularity will mean that the rest of the day goes smoothly. I’m not holding my breath or anything, though.

Friday Dogblogging, Starring Harriet Brown the Canine Corkscrew:

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Isn’t she the cutest thing ever? I love watching her wallow around. She’s one of the twistiest dogs I’ve ever met. What cracks me up is that she’ll stay in that position for quite a long time. I can’t imagine that it’s comfortable, but it seems to work for her.

Harriet’s a funny, funny dog, in both definitions of the word. She’s a typical Boxer, in that she loves to make people laugh. She’s got a great sense of humor and will do anything for a joke. She’s got a serious, sensitive side, though, and is changeable, so you never know which Harriet you’ll get. It’s like getting two dogs for the price of one. She’s nothing at all like Elliott, who was thoroughly consistent. He was always sunny and gregarious and pretty much just happy to be. Harriet is like having hot- and cold-running Boxer.

Okey Cokey Pig in a Pokey: I’m half-way through season three of The League of Gentlemen. Dear God. It’s truly brilliant. The plot keeps twisting and weaving like an inebriated acrobat. It’s funny and disgusting and I can’t wait to see what happens next. Oh, and the extras are damned good, too. I recommend re-watching the episodes with the commentary on. If you can get your hands on the Christmas episode, watch that, too. It contains three horror vignettes that are priceless, as well as tv and radio interviews and old footage.

A Blue Crescent Moon from Space

A Bone Dry Moon: I learned an interesting bit of weather lore yesterday. A friend’s mother said that she’d been taught that a dry moon meant it would not rain. Last night’s crescent moon was dry. It was supposed to rain yesterday and today, but so far, we’ve gotten bupkis, and the radar is crystal clear. I know it’s just coincidence, but it’s interesting, nonetheless.

Image credit: A Blue Crescent Moon from Space, Expedition 13 Crew, International Space Station, NASA, from APOD.

News & Politics

I’ll Take Katrina for $200, Alex

In no particular order, but numbered for your convenience:

1. Not surprisingly, the folks who mandated that caskets returning from Iraq not be photographed or filmed have requested that the media not photograph the corpses of those who have died in the hurricane. I guess it might make people feel all sad and disgusted and could possibly remind them that George Antoinette and his court jesters are incompetent asswagons.

2. Select press are getting limited access to evacuees at the Houston Astrodome. Some outfits (FOX and CNN, naturally) are being allowed in while others are not. FEMA is blocking FM transmissions out of the dome, even if the FCC has has granted a temporary license. There are reports that evacuees are being beaten, raped, and murdered inside the Astrodome. I bet you won’t see any of that on FOX or CNN, though. [Via Boing Boing]

3. And, that apple apparently didn’t fall far from the ancestral tree. Babs made it clear that she thinks the storm refugees are better off now.

“And so many of the people in the arena here, you know, were underprivileged anyway, so this is working very well for them.” [Audio from public radio’s Marketplace, in Real Audio–Addendum.]

Because, obviously, the folks who have lost everything–family, homes, jobs–are making out like bandits at the expense of the good, kind, caring, patronizing Bushes of the world. Really. I mean, they were poor and disadvantaged and all, so this whole hurricane thing was doing them a favor, right?

Oh, and there was this little gem from the dowager countess Bush, too: “What I’m hearing, which is sort of scary, is they all want to stay in Texas…” Egad! Heaven forfend that those poor, black folks would want to sully Babs’ pristine state by trying to make homes for themselves there.

4. Meanwhile, Rick Santorum wants those who do not have the wherewithal to evacuate from impending disaster areas to be punished. It’s not enough that he wants to keep women barefoot and pregnant, he also wants to blame, then punish, the victims for not having the foresight to be wealthy enough to have the means to evacuate.

You have people who don’t heed those warnings and then put people at risk as a result of not heeding those warnings. There may be a need to look at tougher penalties on those who decide to ride it out and understand that there are consequences to not leaving.

5. Once again, The Onion balances on a knife edge between reality and satire. Read it and weep and/or laugh.

6. Irony alert! Bush says: “Bureaucracy is not going to stand in the way of getting the job done for the people.” M’kaythen.

7. From Think Progress, a timeline of events (this comes in handy for #8).

8. There is a well orchestrated plan in action for minimizing the federal government’s responsibility in bolloxing things up, and, instead, pointing the finger (you know which one) at local and state governments. Part of that plan has thus far involved telling outright lies, so referring to the aforementioned timeline is a good idea.

9. What the fuck?! Why on earth weren’t FEMA relief workers already trained for field work? I’m sorry, but it is absolutely, 100% unacceptable that the federal agency in charge of emergency management does not have trained field workers on staff and on call. Can you imagine what people would have done if it had taken two days for relief workers to show up after the World Trade Center attacks? Much less a week or more? “I’m sorry, but we had to train people” is not the correct answer.

FEMA director Michael Brown sent an Aug. 29 memo to Chertoff, his boss, about five hours after the storm struck. It said employees would arrive in the Gulf coast areas within two days as part of an effort to “convey a positive image” of the government’s effort to help, the AP reported, citing the memo. “These were administrative, clerical and support functions,” not emergency workers, Homeland Security Department spokesman Russ Knocke said in an interview. They would have had to undergo at least a day of disaster training before being deployed.

And, I think it might be a little too late for “convey[ing] a positive image” of FEMA, as they’ve done too good a job of making themselves look like total fuckwits.

10. If there is a real and present danger of terrorist attack on US soil, now would be a perfect time to go for it. We’ve pretty much proved to anyone and everyone watching that we are totally and completely unprepared and unable to protect our homeland.

11. If a government cannot protect its own people, or, failing to do that, render timely and useful assistance to its citizens who are affected by disaster, then what is the purpose of that government? Instead of pointing fingers, BushCo should be bending over backwards to apologize, take responsibility, and do whatever it takes to quickly and effectively clean up the mess it has created. Instead, those affected have been taken advantage of by a government which has, whenever possible, abdicated responsibility. I expect “I didn’t do it” or “It wasn’t my fault” from a five-year old, not from adults in charge of a world superpower.

Photography

Saturday Photoblogging

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Last Monday morning was foggy and crisp, one of those mornings when it finally feels like autumn is on the way. As I left for work, I noticed there was a spider web on my television antenna. I took a couple of quick shots of it, hoping at least one of them would turn out half-way decent. Unfortunately, I didn’t get any good, clear images. I think this one, though, after cropping and playing around with some channels, turned out pretty cool. It almost has a watercolor feel to it, though I didn’t use any filters. That’s due to the graininess from being blown up, along with the color and contrast manipulation.

I had considered cropping it even tighter–eliminating as much of the aerial as possible–but decided that I liked the rusted quality of the supporting pole and the juxtaposition of the natural web with the industrial feel of the antenna.