I haven't updated this thing in a few days now. My Grandfather went into surgery today, to have a tumour removed from his bowels. I have spent the last few days alternating between worrying and worrying some more. Happily, my Mom called me a couple of hours ago, and although the surgery was more complicated than they thought it would be, he now resting comfortably, and they think his recovery will go smoothly.

I can breathe again.

Better Living Through Chemistry

I keep seeing this commercial for Jergen's "Naturally Smooth" moisturizer. This product frightens me. A moisturizer that makes hair finer and less noticeable after 8 weeks of use? What the hell is in this stuff that it makes your hair fall out, and why would I want to put it on my skin? Sheesh, chemotherapy would produce the same results, but I don't think I will be signing up for that any time soon.

I am Living A Hitchcock Movie

Across from my kitchen window is another building which houses a party supply store. The alley way between our buildings is fenced in on one end and a wall is on the other so it is cut off from the street. The windows in the building across the way are barred, and several pigeons have made nests on the windowsills.

Oddly enough, I like the pigeons. They aren't screechy, relatively clean, and they mate for life, so I have watched several generations of pigeons born and leave the nest. Actually, it's the baby pigeons that won me over, since like most baby animals, they are fluffy and cute.

My super doesn't feel so kindly disposed towards the pigeons. So one day a couple of months ago he decided to tie several soda cans together, and hang them from the bars of the windows. I suppose he thought the noise would scare them away, and it did - for about a half hour. Being city pigeons and all, they got used to it pretty quickly, and settled back in. He then took to going out at night and rattling the cans around. This little tactic didn't even get them to move, let alone leave permanently.

Little did my super know that this little plan would have an unexpected effect. Now, with their territory invaded, the pigeons have decided to wage a subtle war of dominance against our building. For instance: every once in a while you will see a pigeon perched on a soda can, staring defiantly at our building. The newest hatchling in particular, now in birdie adolescence, has taken to swooping down - barely missing my kitchen window -and proceeding to perch on the window ledge, and strutting back and forth while my cats go wild in frustration. Yesterday, the war escalated as no less than five pigeons swept down from the windowsills and roof and started marching back and forth in precise formation up and down the length of the alley. My cats don't know what to make of this new aggression. They have tried their usual tricks of sitting in the window and warbling their "don't mind me, I'm just a little bird" tunes, but the pigeons merely look at them, their beady eyes shining in mocking disdain.

I can't wait to see what is next. If my body is found, pecked to death and covered in feathers, you know what happened.

Urgh. Sinuses congested. Headache pushing eyeballs out of skull. Brain foggy. Allergies suck...

Why, oh why do people who live in the middle of the city allow their cats to roam around outside? I was taking the garbage out tonight and this pretty little cat, with collar, goes wandering through the parking lot. Hello, people! We live at a major bloody intersection, in a big city! This is a really good way for your cat to get hit by a car, stolen, or catch some terrible disease.

I read the most wonderful thing the other day (in a review for the new Leonard Cohen CD, actually) and I keep coming back to it:

The truth isn't always pretty, but it is always beautiful.

Last fall, we decided to start having bi-weekly dinner parties with some of our friends. Every second Sunday, a bunch of us get together and cook, and eat and chat. We rotate who cooks and where it is hosted. It usually gets hosted at our place half the time, because both DH and I like to cook, so we each take a turn "hosting", and another friend of ours, Jay, cooks at our place because it's bigger than his apartment. It's been very fun, and I was very sad that it sort of got sidetracked after the holidays. Today, we have decided to start it up again. So, tonight, DH is cooking his fabulously fantastic signature dish, often known as "heart attack on a plate". It's fettucini in a cream sauce, sort of like an alfredo sauce, but made with feta and fresh basil. Before serving, the pasta is topped with more basil, crumbled feta and diced tomatoes. It is too good for words. It is incredibly rich, though, so we will be forgoing my usually decadent and fattening style of dessert, and have fresh strawberries with a little freshly whipped cream.

I am so excited, I have been running around cleaning all day! Over the last few years, I have come to realize that I love entertaining. I really like to cook and do cute place settings and stuff. It's a little Martha-y, but what can ya do? The nice thing about this whole set up is that since the six of us rotating hosting duties, sometimes you get to entertain, and sometimes you get entertained.

Not to mention that my apartment is so much cleaner when I know people are coming over every couple of weeks.

MmMmmm... I made the most fabulously yummy pizza dough tonight. So, I thought I would share the recipe. (I make the pizza dough in a bread machine.) This recipe makes enough dough for two pizzas, I usually make one, and wrap the other half in plastic wrap and freeze it.

1 1/2 cups water
2 tbsp. olive oil
2 tsp. salt
2 tsp. sugar
2 tsp. basil
2 tsp. garlic powder
4 tbsp. parmesan cheese
4 cups flour
4 tsp. quick rise yeast

Place ingredients in the order listed into the bread machine. Use dough setting. When the dough is ready, remove from the bread machine, and divide dough in half. Press one half into a 14 inch pizza pan. (I use a pizza stone dusted with cornmeal.) Spread with toppings. Bake in a preheated 425 degree oven for 20-30 minutes or until crust is crisp and browned. For thicker crust, let dough sit in pan for thirty minutes before adding toppings.

So, on another blog, a guy commented about how the current discussion going on in the comments section was being conducted by "hormonally heightened" females. He apparently came into the discussion in order to start some "intelligent discourse". Little did we know that the discussion happily going on before that was lacking in intelligence. Gosh, it's a good thing he came along to set us little ladies straight.

Do people still really think this way? Didn't this misogynistic bullshit go out of style sometime in late 1973? Last I checked, we were all, male and female, under the influence of hormones. They go running through our bodies when we are stressed, scared, hurt, and frightened, not to mention when we are in the mood to tangle some sheets. Last I checked, neither sex gets to claim some "get out of hormones free" card that allows them to pass go and collect two hundred dollars. Unless of course, testosterone is no longer considered a hormone. Gotta keep up with those advances in medical science, I guess.

It wouldn't bother me so much if this were only about the rantings of the occasional internet dipshit. The problem is, this whole "those pesky women, always at the mercy of their hormones" mentality affects more than just the clouded minds of a mere few. It's awfully pervasive, for these oh-so-enlightened times. For instance, the British Boxing Association decided, oh about two years ago, to not allow women to enter the sport of boxing, because apparently women are so at the mercy of their hormones that they could not be trusted to not accidentally maim or kill another boxer while they suffered through the apparently mind bending effects of PMS. Gee, little do my friends and family know that they gamble with their lives hanging out with me for a few days each month. Funny how the male dominated boxing that I have witnessed has also had their problems with the occasional maiming and killing. Guess the British Boxing Association is suffering from short term memory loss. Too many blows to the head can do that, I have heard.

Now, I am not all that interested in stepping into the boxing ring, as I like my nose right where it is, but decisions such as this have a much wider impact. We can assert that women are autonomous and capable individuals, yet every time a group of people who get to decide what we can do and how we can do it base their decisions on the idea that women are helplessly at the mercy of their overwhelming hormonal urges, any assertion to the contrary by the general public is completely undermined. Yeah, you've come a long way, baby. The thing is - I don't get it. I really don't. What is so fearsome and loathsome about a few women having an intelligent and passionate conversation, or about a woman wanting to play a freakin' sport that makes everyone have to run out and find any excuse to characterize them as nothing more than a Stepford wife married to a bunch of biological secretions.

So let me say this for all those who may be a little confused. Just because a woman displays a little passion and zeal doesn't mean she is a hapless victim of her hormonal urges.

Well, unless she's naked.

Now the fish tank in the laundry room is housing nothing but a rather lonely looking snail....

So yesterday was my husband's birthday, and I was out running around, picking up his gifts and such. As I stepped out of the record store, a reporter asked me if he could ask me about health care. (Or as it is also known, an AOA - "any old asshole" interview.) So, being the sap that I am, I agreed. Now, the reason I say I am a sap is threefold.

1.) I looked like crud. I had a huge pimple on my cheek, and of course, this was an hour before I got my fabulous new haircut.

2.) I hate being on camera. I loathe it to the point that I have yet to watch my wedding video. But, invariably I agree to these stupid things, (three times in the last year) because I always feel sorry for the poor guy who has to ask strangers to answer idiotic questions on camera.

3.) Although I have very vehement opinions on the status and future of our healthcare system, you wouldn't know it from my pathetic (and giggle ridden) answers yesterday. I sounded like a total dork, and worse yet, a dork with an opinion (if you can even call it that) without any shred of substance. In fact, I think my loathing of being on camera is quickly being overcome by an even bigger loathing of having missed my opportunity to sound off about healthcare and privatization.

Oh well, it could have been worse. At least I wasn't playing tennis!

It's a Serious Issue

You know it's a slow news day when you hear this:

"On the news at eleven. Flying truck tires! Freak accident or tragedy waiting to happen? An in depth look at how to keep you and your family safe!"

Better set you VCR's, folks, you wouldn't want to miss this fascinating and informative report. :P