La Moretta

Grudge match

I come from a people that is well known for holding grudges. No one, and I mean, NO ONE, can hold a grudge like a Freedonian. I have worked really hard to alter that part of my personality, but there is still that tendency.

I'm not talking about people who have earned my enmity -- those are things one works out with time. I'm pleased to say that I don't actively dislike anyone, or hate anyone. Grudges are about smaller things.

However, I realize that on this trivial level, I still dismiss people summarily if they make a mistake or hold a belief I consider to be unacceptable.  Boom. Done. They've crossed some line that only I know about, and they are out. I view them with contempt from then on.

My husband is often bewildered by these petty dismissals because I am in many ways so much more tolerant of what is overtly bad behavior. But he is only part Freedonian and can't understand.

Here are a few of my grudges/dismissals:

Walky Walkerson --this woman used to health-walk around our neighborhood for several hours a day. She was clearly very frightened of dogs, which we respected and we kept our dogs far away from her. One day Cioppino escaped from our house and was running around in the street. Walky Walkerson walked by during this. I didn't mind or expect her to help catch Cioppino. However, as she walked on, it would have taken only a little arm-waving to alert oncoming cars that there was a loose dog in the street. She saw me doing it. But she didn't. After that I actively disliked her.

Looking back: I feel sorry for this poor woman who was so ruled by her fears.

Verdict: Grudge over.

"Rollo" -- My next grudge was against a former colleague of Ken's who I thought would be a good "couple friend" for us. He had an MFA and I always admired this. We ran into him and his wife at a Nina Simone concert, greeted them and moved on to our respective seats. We later found out that he and his wife left early because they didn't think that the somewhat frail Simone was a very good singer. He said, "You wouldn't pay some lady from down the street to hear her sing like that." I instantly lost all respect for him and for his wife.

Looking back: I still have no respect for this colleague, and I have extended it to include the organization that gave him his MFA.

Verdict: This one is still alive.

"Billie Sue" -- My old boss (who didn't hire me) clearly resented the heck out of me, and when I asked her for a generous raise of a specific amount (which had to go through the GM), she said, "You're not going to get it. I have my own people who have worked really hard and they're not going to get this." I said, "Nevertheless, that's what I'd like you to propose." When she came back, she was visibly shocked. "You got it." She also offered me a Xanax right before I presented on C-SPAN to calm my nerves. 

Looking back: She was very limited by her own feelings of being threatened. She was a toxic boss, but her work didn't undo my career trajectory. And I didn't take the Xanax.

Verdict: Grudge over, but I would not trust her to work with her again.

and finally,

The prosecuting attorney in the hoarding case -- Her incompetence and arrogance caused these dogs to be crammed into tiny cages for the better part of a year. She only visited those dogs once during the entire case. She refused our offer to guarantee the placement of these dogs, or to convey our offer to the hoarder. She was incredibly patronizing and clearly thought she was our intellectual superior, which caused her to discount our information. She lost evidence that was provided to her.

Looking back: She was fired near the end of the case, but she's in private practice and is quite likely that she will some day run for office (that's how it's done around there). She still has a reputation as being a champion of animals due to self-aggrandizing statements she made at the outset of the case.

Verdict: This still needs to be documented with the state bar and with key animal welfare organizations. There might not be a reckoning, but that information will be available if anyone ever needs to dig it up.

BUT

I can't do it until I get past my irritation that she thought she was my intellectual superior. I've only been condescended to intellectually a few times in my adult life on things that matter to me, and this one still irritates me. I have to do it for the right reasons -- because her behavior was in violation of the state bar and because she would be a threat to animals if elected -- not because she dared to think that if Moretta were a chemical element, she would be a boron.

Girl Scouts are back -- what's your favorite cookie?

Girl Scouts have the art of cookie selling down to a science at this point, but they are still taking the time to send some of their girls to cookie college. http://www.kpbs.org/news/local?id=13743

This reminded me -- what's your favorite Girl Scout cookie and why? My favorite is the Samoa, pure and simple. It is excessive and amazing.

Stop me before I see again!

Like most of us, I'm economizing these days. I'm putting off non-essential large purchases, and bargain shopping. But there are still some things one needs. For example, my 9 year-old eyeglass frames (the Rx had been updated a few times during that time frame).

So, in the words of the French musicians, viola!

 

Here are my new Lafont glasses. I got them from Optical Needs on eBay for a whopping $60 bucks including shipping. I have already received them and they are clearly brand-new and look exactly the way I wanted. They are retailing for $288 on Coolframes.com. 

The problem is that I went a little crazy because the prices were so low and the designs were so cute.

I also got these:

Fun and cute!

And these:

Also flatt

And these: 

There are only two problems:   

The first is that I had planned to wear some of these glasses with my contacts on (i.e., not get prescription lenses), but you see that "lafont" on the front? Well it's not a sticker, it's etched on, so I still need to get them replaced, albeit with clear glass. In which case, why not get prescription lenses.

The second is that the last pair are AWESOMELY unflattering. Those little ridges at the bottom are the kicker. I suspect that they would probably flatter a heart-shaped face the most. I'm going to see if my sister wants them, and if not, they are going to charity.

OK, there is one more problem:

I'm still visiting the Optical Needs store to look at their frames.

Warning! They are here!

I wish I knew how to embed a video clip, but I haven't had the chance to learn. So I must strongly urge you to click here.

http://jalopnik.com/5141930/we-told-you-not-to-hack-the-electronic-road-signs-didnt-we

Abe update

The local WV paper did an update on Abe, now known as Sarge. I wasn't able to attend, but hopefully I'll have a link to an article for you to check out. In any case, here's the skinny (or, now, the not-so-skinny). Abe has gained 22 pounds (from 48 to 70) since he came into care. He looks fantastic and is lightly muscled. His muzzle is now a soft pink, and there is healthy tissue there. He won't grow fur, and he'll always have an indentation, but it will not be angry. Susan says that he'll always look as if he's wearing a pink headband on his muzzle. 

Abe was in excellent spirits and very happy to see everyone. His adopter is crazy about him and Susan says that there is no chance that Abe will be coming back. 

Hello....

 

Recognize this?

If Barbies could talk, what would yours say?

I was never a big fan of Barbies, but I did have one. I was talking with my sister about Barbies, and we were reminiscing about how we played with our dolls. She said she was obsessed with the Barbie pink  convertible and always fell asleep happily imagining Barbie hitting the highway in her cute little car. In her envisioning, though, Barbie was always leaving for good.

I, on the other hand, had a Barbie who was involved in current events. It was the 70s, so my Barbie did what every young woman her age did -- she joined a cult. She had sunglasses with swirls that made her look hypnotized, so I'd have the disembodied voice of the cult leader say, "Fall down the stairs, Barbie" and Barbie would fall down the stairs. 

My friend Wendy had a Barbie doll and a few of the Barbie friends, including a Midge companion who was probably a limited run. Wendy called her Haggie Hogg, but I can't remember her real name. Haggie was a poorly conceived doll -- she was the same size as Midge, but her light brown hair looked almost gray, and it was frizzy. Her outfit was drab, too. Poor Haggie had a very unhappy life -- she was ostracized, played tricks on and mocked, even by her parents. The game would always go something like this: Haggie  would be happy to finally be included and to get to come to the picnic. Then, as everyone was going out the door, one of the other dolls would stop Haggie  and say, "You're not coming, Haggie." Haggie would try to persuade the other dolls to let her come, but finally her parents would intervene. "You can't come, Haggie, because you are dumb and stupid." (This line was always delivered by the dad in a deep voice while the Mom laughed hysterically.) Then Haggie would throw herself off a table.

And look, our Barbie play did predict our adult life -- my sister has been a rambler for much of her life, I remain fascinated by the dark side, and Wendy is the president of her local chapter of the Junior League.

Now, of course, Barbies have been somewhat supplanted by Bratz Dolls, who, instead of a play house, congregate in the free clinic. But I imagine the play is equally twisted.

Just for fun: Polyvore

I know what I like - by Gingerella on Polyvore.com

Polyvore is this kind of amazing Web site where you can create outfits, palettes and home decor using contents from different Web sites. This is a quirky upscale classic look called "I know what I like." Incidentally, there is not really anything in this outfit that I would wear IRL except for the snail necklace and the vegan purse. 

If you feel like shopping but can't afford to, or otherwise want to be creative with possessions you don't own, check it out!

Letters by post

It has probably been more than a decade since I wrote a personal letter, but I was reminded today of how different it is to send a letter than an email. I saw a young woman putting a letter into a mailbox, and the look on her face -- excitement, pride and satisfaction -- reminded me of those occasions.

Perhaps it is a sign of my generation, but writing a letter is such an act of trust -- you must own your thoughts in a way that emails don't require, and there is something about longhand that is painfully vulnerable -- with all the smudges and imperfections that mark the average person's penmanship (or at least the average southpaw's).

Another thing is dropping the email into a mailbox, if you go that route. Once it's in there, you can't get it back without committing a federal crime. It's done. So you are truly declaring yourself -- that you've thought something through and it's how you feel.

And, if you send it by regular mail, there is always the possibility that the most heartfelt of letters will never arrive. Depending on the circumstances, you might never know -- your overture to an old friend could be rebuffed by silence or simply never received. Your letter informing a distant relative of a death in the family could get delivered to the next street over and remain in a pile of misdirected mail until it is mistakenly discarded.

Confessions of a Closet Ginger

 

 Since I was a little girl growing up in Boston, I have always thought that red hair was the most beautiful of hair, and a blessing for those lucky enough to have it, but in some places it seems it is actually criticized rather cruelly. This is not a new thing (Anne Shirley of Anne of Green Gables bemoaned the teasing she received for her red hair), but it's getting a bit more intense these days.

I first became aware of it when I saw an episode of South Park where the insane evil genius child Eric Cartman began a campaign against what he called Ginger Kids -- children with flaming red hair, pale skin and an abundance of freckles. Cartman called these children daywalkers and was fast on his way to talking about mass extermination when he suddenly became a ginger himself. It was all in good fun -- after all, ginger kids look different and they are frequently singled out in childhood by circumstances because they can't stay out in the sun as long -- they are the kids who wear the T-shirts at the beach, even while swimming. Also, it's impossible to remain anonymous as a redhead. So no big deal, right?

However, a larger anti-ginger movement, which I thought of as a joke, apparently is nothing of the sort in some cases. Police in Canada recently investigated a Facebook group called Kick a Ginger Day. There were 5,000 members.

There are some specific prejudices associated with the dislike of ginger hair -- in Italy I remember that red hair was viewed with great disdain, in large part due to anti-Semitic tendencies among those who held the dislike. Ironically, Italian artists have produced some of the most beautiful portraits of red-haired men and women, like the Gentileschi painting below. In the UK, where I can't help but associate gingerism with some latent anti-Irish sentiments, there are advertisements making fun of redheads and reports of widespread taunting.

I'm not ginger, but underneath this very dark hair is some serious red -- whenever I've tried to highlight my hair even slightly, it has almost immediately turned red. The same for my sister, who has to battle the red whenever she lightens her hair to blonde. And one of my brothers was ginger during part of his childhood. And we have two red-headed cousins (no freckles, and their hair is soft red, but they are without a doubt ginger). And like all good gingers, sunscreen is part of my biological makeup at this point.

So, I'm casting my lot in with the gingers. If you criticize them, you criticize me. And as soon as there's an overcast day where I can stay out for a while, I'll track you down.