Friday, December 19, 2014
Friday Flora can't wait to leave the nest edition
We have a teasel problem. They are an invasive weed without even the redeeming qualities of blackberries. They are kind of pretty, though.
But invasive. The seeds often sprout before they've left the seed head. They remind me of aphids, born pregnant.
Wednesday, December 17, 2014
Tuesday Tool Keepin' it cool edition
Wednesday, December 10, 2014
Wednesday Wordage Just Say It, Dammit, Edition--a rant you don't have to read but that I have to rant.
Begin rant:
A long time ago, I was on a bike tour that passed through some lovely scenery in Washington, Idaho, Montana, Wyoming, and South Dakota. I was not supposed to be naive--I had a college education from a prestigious institution under my belt--but, I was. Maybe it was because I missed some classes in High School, or because I slept through something, or maybe because it just wasn't taught. Whatever the reason, I was almost completely unaware of the history of the relationship between my country and the First Nations who originally lived in the area. Every day we passed historical markers and parks and battlefields, I got a good eye-opening about just how rotten one's government can be, and how enthusiastically a democratic majority can support that rottenness. And, of course, if you pay attention, you can hear that lesson again and again and again.
So I found myself listening to the radio today as I drove to the vet. I had tuned in while the show was in progress, and heard somebody vigorously defending the use of "EITs". I eventually figured out that an EIT was an "Enhanced Interrogation Technique." As I listened on, it became very, very clear that EIT was torture, given legal blessing by compliant lawyers and paranoid, fearful agents. It was clear that the things being legally purified were, when practiced by Khmer Rouge or North Vietnamese or Maoist or Imperial Japanese or Nazi or Stalinist agents, torture. It was clear, as I was driving to the vet, that if I did the things blandly described as EITs to the goats in the back of my truck, I would be arrested and prosecuted. It made me kind of sick, and gave me a bit more of that feeling I had while reading yet another sign describing United States soldiers killing native women and children in some beautiful valley in Montana.
And now, I am sicker. Apparently, over 50% of people who identify with one of our major political parties reckon that EITs are a genuinely good thing. Not tolerable, but right and just.
Carlin and Orwell, a couple of Georges who were keen observers of the abuse of language, talked about how you can hide the most awful things behind bland, meaningless words. Torture becomes Enhanced Interrogation becomes EIT, and heck, EIT's don't sound so bad. Torture doesn't magically become something else when the same thing is done by the CIA rather than Pol Pot, no matter how scared you are, no matter how many lawyers bless it, and no matter what name you disguise it with.
I want never to hear the terms "EIT" or Enhanced Interrogation used by any news organization to describe the torture that agents of my country performed. It was torture. Just say it, dammit. And if you're one of those people who thinks that EITs are tolerable, just own the fact that you endorse torture.
Oh, and what I was saying earlier about epithets and chyrons...there are a lot of people who, whenever they make any public pronouncement about anything, should have a label saying "...supports torturing people..."
End of Rant.
A long time ago, I was on a bike tour that passed through some lovely scenery in Washington, Idaho, Montana, Wyoming, and South Dakota. I was not supposed to be naive--I had a college education from a prestigious institution under my belt--but, I was. Maybe it was because I missed some classes in High School, or because I slept through something, or maybe because it just wasn't taught. Whatever the reason, I was almost completely unaware of the history of the relationship between my country and the First Nations who originally lived in the area. Every day we passed historical markers and parks and battlefields, I got a good eye-opening about just how rotten one's government can be, and how enthusiastically a democratic majority can support that rottenness. And, of course, if you pay attention, you can hear that lesson again and again and again.
So I found myself listening to the radio today as I drove to the vet. I had tuned in while the show was in progress, and heard somebody vigorously defending the use of "EITs". I eventually figured out that an EIT was an "Enhanced Interrogation Technique." As I listened on, it became very, very clear that EIT was torture, given legal blessing by compliant lawyers and paranoid, fearful agents. It was clear that the things being legally purified were, when practiced by Khmer Rouge or North Vietnamese or Maoist or Imperial Japanese or Nazi or Stalinist agents, torture. It was clear, as I was driving to the vet, that if I did the things blandly described as EITs to the goats in the back of my truck, I would be arrested and prosecuted. It made me kind of sick, and gave me a bit more of that feeling I had while reading yet another sign describing United States soldiers killing native women and children in some beautiful valley in Montana.
And now, I am sicker. Apparently, over 50% of people who identify with one of our major political parties reckon that EITs are a genuinely good thing. Not tolerable, but right and just.
Carlin and Orwell, a couple of Georges who were keen observers of the abuse of language, talked about how you can hide the most awful things behind bland, meaningless words. Torture becomes Enhanced Interrogation becomes EIT, and heck, EIT's don't sound so bad. Torture doesn't magically become something else when the same thing is done by the CIA rather than Pol Pot, no matter how scared you are, no matter how many lawyers bless it, and no matter what name you disguise it with.
I want never to hear the terms "EIT" or Enhanced Interrogation used by any news organization to describe the torture that agents of my country performed. It was torture. Just say it, dammit. And if you're one of those people who thinks that EITs are tolerable, just own the fact that you endorse torture.
Oh, and what I was saying earlier about epithets and chyrons...there are a lot of people who, whenever they make any public pronouncement about anything, should have a label saying "...supports torturing people..."
End of Rant.
Monday, December 8, 2014
Monday Musical Note--Opera and the Bechdel Test, updated
A while ago, I wondered about operas that would pass the Bechdel Test. I found another yesterday--Richard Strauss' Ariadne auf Naxos. In a brief section of the "Opera" portion of the opera, Naiad, Dryad, and Echo sing to each other about how miserable Ariadne is. No male (human or god) is mentioned. And it's really quite pretty, too.
Thursday, December 4, 2014
Wednesday Wordage--the spirit of Bob and Ray lives...
...and is working the cash register at the Co-op. I bought a sack of kibble for Eleanor the Akbash there. It was a different brand than her usual, because it was on sale (a hundred pound dog that can run the hundred meters in 7 seconds can put away a fifty pound bag of kibble in no time). So, I got home, and as I was filing the receipt in the "co-op receipts" folder, this item caught my eye:
"Prairie Dog Food 50#"
We have lots of animals, but no prairie dogs. I finally figured that the Eleanor's food was sold as "High Prairie Bison Blend" or some such.
Anyway, it's ground already trod upon by the two and only Bob and Ray. I can't find the audio, but here's the text; imagine these announcements, in the blandest possible voice, interrupting the radio show.
"Prairie Dog Food 50#"
We have lots of animals, but no prairie dogs. I finally figured that the Eleanor's food was sold as "High Prairie Bison Blend" or some such.
Anyway, it's ground already trod upon by the two and only Bob and Ray. I can't find the audio, but here's the text; imagine these announcements, in the blandest possible voice, interrupting the radio show.
At this time, as a public service, we are glad to post the following bulletin from the Office of Fluctuation Control, Bureau of Edible Condiments, Soluble, Insoluble, and Indigestible Fats and Glutinous Derivatives, Washington, D.C.:------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Directive 943456201: As of February 1, 2009, the price of groundhog meat will be fixed at a level higher than the price of groundhog meat on October 15, 2008, with the exception of the low-level water route outlined in the Bureau’s directive 20066 of finding the Kansas City stockyards. Note: slightly higher west of the Rockies.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
At this time, as a public service, we are glad to post the following supplementary bulletin from the Office of Fluctuation Control, Bureau of Edible Condiments, Soluble, Insoluble, and Indigestible Fats and Glutinous Derivatives, Washington, D.C.:
Correction of Directive 943456201, issued earlier today, February 1, 2009, concerning the fixed price of groundhog meat. In the Directive above-named, the price-fixed low-water-level quotation on groundhog meat should read “ground hogmeat.”
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
At this time, as a public service, we are glad to post the following additional supplementary bulletin from the Office of Fluctuation Control, Bureau of Edible Condiments, Soluble, Insoluble, and Indigestible Fats and Glutinous Derivatives, Washington, D.C.:
Correction of the Correction of Directive 943456201, issued yesterday afternoon, February 1, 2009, which noted said Directive should read “ground hogmeat” instead of “groundhog meat.” Note that “ground hogmeat” should now read “chopped hogmeat.”
At this time, as a public service, we are glad to post the following superseding additional supplementary bulletin from the Office of Fluctuation Control, Bureau of Edible Condiments, Soluble, Insoluble, and Indigestible Fats and Glutinous Derivatives, Washington, D.C.:
Correction of the Correction of the Correction of Directive 943456201, issued earlier, February 2, 2009. First correction: that number is now 943456202. The second correction: please note that said Directive reading “chopped hogmeat” formerly reading “ground hogmeat” formerly reading “groundhog meat” should now read “sausage.”
Wednesday, November 26, 2014
Wednesday Wordage What Word Do You Live In Edition
I live in Roseburg, according to the cartographer--on Oak Creek Road, if you're the county, Oak Creek Drive if you're the IRS. If you're the Postal Service, I live in 97470. This area, until maybe forty years ago, was known as ORchard. So, who called it ORchard (not Orchard or ORCHARD)?
Hint:
Highlight for answer: Ma Bell. We live in the "67X" telephone exchange, and when direct dialing was introduced, mnemonics were used by the telephone company to get people to remember the extra two numbers they'd have to add to their number. A phone number around here would have been given as "ORchard 3-4567.
What was your area known as? There's a website (of course) that can tell you.
Hint:
Highlight for answer: Ma Bell. We live in the "67X" telephone exchange, and when direct dialing was introduced, mnemonics were used by the telephone company to get people to remember the extra two numbers they'd have to add to their number. A phone number around here would have been given as "ORchard 3-4567.
What was your area known as? There's a website (of course) that can tell you.
Monday, November 24, 2014
Happiness
I forget which philosopher tells us that true happiness is found at the
concordance between what one wants to do, what one ought to
do, and what one is able to do. If that is the case--and if the intensity
of desire is a significant coefficient--then Cernunnos and Go Daddy, the bucks
who are the sires in most of this year’s breedings, are the happiest creatures
on the planet.
*****
There are a lot of incidents that launch themselves on a trajectory that can lead either to farce or to tragedy, and until they play out, there's no knowing whether to laugh or cry. One such incident happened last Friday.
We "leash breed" our goats, so we can be absolutely sure that breeding has taken place and we know exactly who is the daddy. It means leashing up a specific doe and a specific buck individually and leading each to some place where we can watch them mate. What ensues has nothing that a human would recognize as romance; the deed takes a few seconds, and then the animals get led back home. Being able to provide certainty about our pedigrees enhances the value of our stock, and is reflected in the breeding page of our farm website.
Practically, leash breeding is a bit of work. Our happy, happy bucks live at one corner of the big pasture, where they pass their days grazing, peeing on their beards, making grotesque noises, and trying to relieve their sexual tensions with each other. Our does live in a pasture on the other side of the big pasture, over a hundred yards away, and pass their time with grazing and meditating--except for when they are in heat. Then, they stand up on the junked workbench that I put in their pasture for their amusement, orient themselves towards the distant bucks, and sing a loud song of lust and desire.
Two of our does, Opera and Mizuki, were in heat last Friday. It was far from a beautiful day for romance--it was pouring, and Nigerian Dwarf goats hate rain. But, omnia vincit amor, so Opera didn't complain when I tied her up under the barn's awning. Cernunnos was not too enthusiastic about being rousted out of his dry shelter, but once he figured out what was up, he picked up his pace. The deed done, each went back through the downpour and into their shelters. Then it was Mizuki's turn; she knew what was up, and was willing to be tied up under the barn's eaves to await her mate, Go Daddy.
What happened next was all a wet, furry, stinky blur. I went to fetch Go Daddy, who had figured out what was going on, and was defying the downpour to wait at the gate of his pasture. Cernunnos had the same thought, and the other bucks--Guy, Cherubino, Mustafa, and Caliban, who are less experienced--were curious as to what was going on, so they were at the gate too. I slipped through the gate, attached the lead to Go Daddy's collar, and shooed all the other bucks away from the gate. Go Daddy, I should mention, is the strongest and most eager of our bucks, and it is a genuine struggle to hold onto him. So, perhaps it’s understandable that my attention was focused on restraining him as I fumbled in the pouring rain to close the balky latch on the gate. I failed to notice Cernunnos charging the gate. I did notice him when he barged past me and Go Daddy and was moving at an urgent, waddling trot towards the barn.
And here is where we were suspended between farce and frustration. Rain pouring down, Mizuki tied up at the barn singing of her desire, Cernunnos eagerly galloping across the field towards a doe he should definitely not mate, me getting forcibly dragged away from an open gate by Go Daddy, who is trying to beat Cernunnos, and four naive but intrigued bucks looking intently at the open gate and their buddies who seemed quite keen on...something. I didn't hesitate: the most important thing was to intercept Cernunos--if it were necessary, I could simply pick Mizuki up and throw her over the electric fence, provided I got to her before Cernunos. So, I charged across the field in the pouring rain, accompanied by the lusty Go Daddy, and trailing a train of confused bucklings who didn't know anything about what was going on but that it looked like fun.
Fortunately for the resolution of the affair, Go Daddy and I are faster than Cernunnos. Despite my attempt at sprinting, Go Daddy still towed me most of the way (from the strain he puts on his collar, I have come to the conclusion that his kink is erotic asphyxiation). We got to Mizuki, who was urging her suitors onward, just before Cernunnos. I let go of Go Daddy’s leash, figuring that he would know what to do, and grabbed a hold of Cernunnos’ collar. The other bucks were strung out in a line, halfway between their pasture and the barn, reconsidering the wisdom of going out in the heavy rain for an uncertain reward. Once he was finished, I grabbed Go Daddy's lead, and held onto it with the same hand that was restraining Cernunnos; with the other hand, I hustled Mizuki back through her gate. Temporarily sated, Go Daddy was not too difficult to lead back to his pasture, and Cernunnos also seemed to realize that his date had left him standing in the rain. We shuffled back across the field, and were joined by the other bucks, who seemed confused by the whole business, but content to fall in line and follow the big boys back into the pen. I closed the gate behind everybody, and let out a deep sigh of relief, and some laughter.
So, if you look at our farm’s web page, you will see our breeding list. I can assure you that it is accurate.
*****
There are a lot of incidents that launch themselves on a trajectory that can lead either to farce or to tragedy, and until they play out, there's no knowing whether to laugh or cry. One such incident happened last Friday.
We "leash breed" our goats, so we can be absolutely sure that breeding has taken place and we know exactly who is the daddy. It means leashing up a specific doe and a specific buck individually and leading each to some place where we can watch them mate. What ensues has nothing that a human would recognize as romance; the deed takes a few seconds, and then the animals get led back home. Being able to provide certainty about our pedigrees enhances the value of our stock, and is reflected in the breeding page of our farm website.
Practically, leash breeding is a bit of work. Our happy, happy bucks live at one corner of the big pasture, where they pass their days grazing, peeing on their beards, making grotesque noises, and trying to relieve their sexual tensions with each other. Our does live in a pasture on the other side of the big pasture, over a hundred yards away, and pass their time with grazing and meditating--except for when they are in heat. Then, they stand up on the junked workbench that I put in their pasture for their amusement, orient themselves towards the distant bucks, and sing a loud song of lust and desire.
Two of our does, Opera and Mizuki, were in heat last Friday. It was far from a beautiful day for romance--it was pouring, and Nigerian Dwarf goats hate rain. But, omnia vincit amor, so Opera didn't complain when I tied her up under the barn's awning. Cernunnos was not too enthusiastic about being rousted out of his dry shelter, but once he figured out what was up, he picked up his pace. The deed done, each went back through the downpour and into their shelters. Then it was Mizuki's turn; she knew what was up, and was willing to be tied up under the barn's eaves to await her mate, Go Daddy.
What happened next was all a wet, furry, stinky blur. I went to fetch Go Daddy, who had figured out what was going on, and was defying the downpour to wait at the gate of his pasture. Cernunnos had the same thought, and the other bucks--Guy, Cherubino, Mustafa, and Caliban, who are less experienced--were curious as to what was going on, so they were at the gate too. I slipped through the gate, attached the lead to Go Daddy's collar, and shooed all the other bucks away from the gate. Go Daddy, I should mention, is the strongest and most eager of our bucks, and it is a genuine struggle to hold onto him. So, perhaps it’s understandable that my attention was focused on restraining him as I fumbled in the pouring rain to close the balky latch on the gate. I failed to notice Cernunnos charging the gate. I did notice him when he barged past me and Go Daddy and was moving at an urgent, waddling trot towards the barn.
And here is where we were suspended between farce and frustration. Rain pouring down, Mizuki tied up at the barn singing of her desire, Cernunnos eagerly galloping across the field towards a doe he should definitely not mate, me getting forcibly dragged away from an open gate by Go Daddy, who is trying to beat Cernunnos, and four naive but intrigued bucks looking intently at the open gate and their buddies who seemed quite keen on...something. I didn't hesitate: the most important thing was to intercept Cernunos--if it were necessary, I could simply pick Mizuki up and throw her over the electric fence, provided I got to her before Cernunos. So, I charged across the field in the pouring rain, accompanied by the lusty Go Daddy, and trailing a train of confused bucklings who didn't know anything about what was going on but that it looked like fun.
Fortunately for the resolution of the affair, Go Daddy and I are faster than Cernunnos. Despite my attempt at sprinting, Go Daddy still towed me most of the way (from the strain he puts on his collar, I have come to the conclusion that his kink is erotic asphyxiation). We got to Mizuki, who was urging her suitors onward, just before Cernunnos. I let go of Go Daddy’s leash, figuring that he would know what to do, and grabbed a hold of Cernunnos’ collar. The other bucks were strung out in a line, halfway between their pasture and the barn, reconsidering the wisdom of going out in the heavy rain for an uncertain reward. Once he was finished, I grabbed Go Daddy's lead, and held onto it with the same hand that was restraining Cernunnos; with the other hand, I hustled Mizuki back through her gate. Temporarily sated, Go Daddy was not too difficult to lead back to his pasture, and Cernunnos also seemed to realize that his date had left him standing in the rain. We shuffled back across the field, and were joined by the other bucks, who seemed confused by the whole business, but content to fall in line and follow the big boys back into the pen. I closed the gate behind everybody, and let out a deep sigh of relief, and some laughter.
So, if you look at our farm’s web page, you will see our breeding list. I can assure you that it is accurate.
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