Toadfish Monastery

Wrapping up residual post-flood problems here is revealing an Awful Truth.

Mom and I think differently.    

She's had a variety of repair*men* in and I am expected to be present and attentive. (It's for the best, believe me.) But I am chronically tense from the whole "you can't change others, only yourself" gestalt when she is in conversation with a repair*man*.

These people are on the clock. Even if she is a valued / premium / favorite / plus / whatever customer and they are not actually billing her per minute, they still have other calls to make, and she has been bitching every minute that the appointment ahead of hers is running late. She does not -- She can not -- She will not -- CUT TO THE CHASE. She has to Tell a Story. And the story gets bigger and better with each rehearsal and retelling. She absolutely *can not* say something like, "This was installed in year XXXX. I've scheduled your recommended maintenance calls and never had any problems. But as of [date] it's been [clear, concise description of malfunction]. I've followed the troubleshooting instructions in the manual with [x remaining issues]. Do you need to know anything else before taking a look at it?"

Instead she tells a long, rambling, dramatic story full of completely irrelevant details, omitting crucial facts. I let her go through the Story once or twice, to which the repair*man* gives variations on the same reply; intervention any earlier is disregarded and the Story gets longer. Then, if needed I give him a bullet-point summary using the correct terms for equipment, problem, and troubleshooting attempted. She immediately jumps back in and re-launches the Story, adding little giggly footnotes like, "We read the manual again  and again,  but we just couldn't make any  sense of it. We're just not very good  at this sort of thing. I'd hate to think I broke it because I'm just not very mechanical... My husband always took care of these things, but of course when it was installed, he [did something wrong] and I said [blah blah blah]..."

If I have done any troubleshooting, she interrupts me to give her own description, avoiding proper terminology and with an additional story about how she felt about my work. Then the coup de grâce, dismissing my troubleshooting: "or is that just women's logic - hahahahahaha." She may add a left-handed compliment to my "mechanical" skills, but immediately dismisses them and adds a list of her own, superior talents. Like long-range planning.

Now I am seething.  SEETHING.   And not hiding it gracefully. As she begins another flirtatious recitation of the sort that her children would have been smacked for blabbing as an attention-getting device and further diminishes *our* intelligence and *our* abilities, inside I start screaming, "Shut the #@% up!"

For the most part, things are going very well here, and I have to give her major props for putting up with *my* foibles. But this is driving me CRAZY.

Afterwards, I have to hear a million repetitions of The Story, now embellished with exciting details of the repair*man*s visit, inflicted multiple times on me, personally, and in overheard, very loud telephone conversations with her cronies.

GAHHHHHH!!!!!!

Any suggestions on either reaching inner peace [and not the email version a friend just serendipitously sent!] with Accepting What I Cannot Change, or ways to "assist" her with learning new ways to interact with professionals providing a technical service on the clock, not here to flirt with her on an extended social call.

Yes, I am choking hard on my own glib advice to some of the rest of you with ... MOTHERS.

Just remembered *another* thing I DO NOT LIKE about this city: floods. 

(If it isn't the tornadoes, it's the hailstorms; if it isn't the hailstorms, it's the plagues of cicadas; if it isn't the plagues of cicadas, it's the ice storms; if it isn't the ice storms, it's the floods...)


Some of the rest of you have had Too Much Rain lately as well. At some point last night, Too Much Rain turned into flooded basements on this end of town. I spent a quarter hour getting Mom's cat into the basement when the tornado warning sirens went off -- "Bring the capture bag, Jim!"   When they called those off we all returned upstairs and remained there for the rest of the off-and-on thunderstorms and hail storms. This morning I went downstairs and noticed that the tile looked unnaturally shiny. Carp! Carp! Carp!


Got almost the entire library upstairs and out to the dry-as-a-bone garage. 4 boxes of books on bottom layer were inverted onto side chairs and wet bottom flaps ripped away -- there doesn't appear to be any damage, hallelujah! 4 adjacent boxes were inverted and *very wet* bottom flaps ripped away -- minimal damage, yay. Final 2 boxes from bottom layer were inverted and extremely wet bottom flaps fell away -- all those books transferred, wet-side-down to line stairway while I turned my attention to other problems. I don't think I'll be able to save many of those, WAH! Oh -- it also rained twice -- once with hail -- while I was doing this. 


Worked like a proverbial dog for twelve hours, snorkeling water with my one-gallon wet/dry shop vac, and emptying it every 3(!) seconds into an 18-gallon plastic trash can. I have no idea how many of those I dragged to the toilet to empty, while steadily encouraging the single floor drain to not give up. 


Apparently it's been awhile since they had flooding, as 4 rooms have carpeting laid down. I was able to roll up and drag away soaked carpet from 2 rooms, but the other two have heavy furniture which I can't move upstairs alone, and carpets large enough that I couldn't move *them* alone even if there was anywhere to go with furniture. 


Finally called mom's contact number on her trip, which I really hated to do as she will not enjoy the rest of it. I was distressed to find that she has no plan to deal with this. WTF? If this had happened when I lived 3 blocks from *the* lake in a previous state, I would have picked up a large-capacity shop vac, maybe a sump pump, and rented a carpet shampooer (designed to suck water thoroughly and leave floor completely dry), but I have an out-of-state ID, checking account, and contingency funds only here. :-(   The neighbors seem to be 'waiting for water to go down" before doing anything in their basements, and have spent the day socializing with each other outside (when new rain wasn't falling). Where is CNN and their "Let's interview disaster idjits" camera teams... 

I  *should*  continue snorkeling water tonight, but I am exhausted and after 6"pm wimped out to dragging the 18-gallon can only half full before emptying it. I found a number for her handy-woman helper; she's coming tomorrow to help me finish the job. So instead I'll be running down here every 15 minutes to make sure that the drain is still draining, and sweep another mini tide of water at it. Whoever designed and built this house back in the 50s constructed the basement with one high, absolutely dry spot: the freaking unfinished shower. (I have revisited, perhaps unfairly, my theory that the purpose of the necktie is to completely shut off the flow of blood to the brain, rendering the wearer an imbecile.) 


I have also entertained myself when dragging by re-writing the words to the spirituals I learned as a child, to better reflect the actual working conditions here. So far, my favorite is:

When pieces went to Grand Is-land
(let my basement dry!)
More water than a 'triple-water' Sign can stand
(let my basement dry!)

Go-down! Noah! Wa-ay dow-own in Grand Is-land...
Tell Po-sei-don, let my basement dry!

There are other equally touching verses, but I will spare you. 
But I've found that I can really belt out the refrain...
(Swato -- can I borrow the "Choral Squids" to sing backup?) 
       

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ps: where is the "non-smiling mop" icon!

I've been on both sides of this enough to know that no one is automatically on the moral high ground here.
Well, *I* am, but I digress... 

I was out picking up some cleaning supplies. The middle-aged clerk was very efficiently ringing orders, while running through her scripted speech as if she actually meant the lines for each customer:
Hi!
Did you find everything?
Is there anything else?
Do you have any coupons?
Cash or check?
Paper or plastic?
Do you want to make a donation to (charity of the month)?
Thank you, and you have a nice day!

An elderly lady (and not an anxious pensioner, by the looks of her) was line-jumping between two queues, managing to jump back into my line each time the clerk delivered another part of the scripted speech, in a friendly tone, while making eye contact with the customer in front of her.

In a voice quavering with indignation, she asked -- in a voice pitched to carry -- "Is she having a conversation  with him?"

I do not know why I appointed myself the vigilante here, but I turned around, smiled at Old Lady pleasantly, and in voice also pitched to carry, I answered, "No. She is doing her job. To the standards required by her employer for good customer service. What  is wrong  with you?"   Part of me is embarrassed for smiting an old lady who probably has problems of her own. Part of me felt very pleased with myself. A third part of me enjoyed the *extremely* fast and friendly service I received from the clerk when it was my turn...

I've seen bad waitstaff, bad clerks, bad receptionists, bad grand poubas. It happens too often and I don't 'reward' that behaviour. But I've been on the other side of public service enough to know that teh public  often dumps a lot of grief on these people in the belief that they have to take it.


Question:
How do you handle rude employees or rude customers violating your aura?
(Because I know Toadfish do not initiate the rudeness!) 

Oh, sure, this may seem frivolous, but it's been on my mind, on and off, for  mumble mumble  years.

I implore my more scientifically minded sibs:
Why is it that a foot-shaped sock on a foot-shaped foot will not  stay in what seems to be the logical foot-shaped alignment?

As I am racing around my apartment, I am continually annoyed by the uncomfortable sensation of my socks migrating around my feet until the heel is on the top of my instep. (Furthermore, these pedal orbits are not synchronous.) I understand the theory  of why they slide down in certain (although, inexplicably, not all) boots and shoes, or when acting as independent footwear agents, but have never found a reasonable excuse for this willful rotational misalignment, seemingly in violation of the Law of Conservation of Matter, Energy, and Anatomy. Especially  when I have not observed so-called 'tube socks' as subject to the same sock chaos theories or uncertainty principles.

I feel certain that a Nobel Prize may be in the offing for anyone who can solve a problem so vexing to sock-wearing humanity.

HEEL!


"My friends, my name ees Bobby..."



"Who is with me?..."

Quote from: Portsmouth NewsDruid hands over sword in bid to promote peace
A DRUID who had to fight a legal battle to get his sword back after police confiscated it has now handed the weapon in to promote world peace. Merlin Williams used his blunt sword, Taliesin, to create a circle of safety around members of the druid order at ceremonies. The sword had been consecrated for use in the religious ceremonies, which are often held in Portsmouth. They either take place on the beach or by the bandstand near to the Blue Reef Aquarium in Southsea.

story link here

Oi nose we be pyrates an not druids, but oi finks this be a bad president to set. Oi has a blunt sarah moanial sword 'angin in me own cabbin, an oi wood not *fink* ov callin up thee local constabulary, hofferin ter 'deconsecrate' an give hit to them fer worlde peece an such-loike. (Oi be docked in a 'red' state, fer thee luv ov Cronan!)

Tis true that wot be in thee hearrrt is morrre himportant than thee bobbles an tchotchkies wot arrre used fer cymbals an hornaments. But hit seems to me all but sayin that a weaponish hobject can an will be used fer 'arm, be onlie playin hinto thee fears ov those wiv unnachurallie tents sfinckters.

Wot do thee rest ov ye fink?

cap'n pieces o nine

D I S C L A I M E R
I am aware that this is not, strictly speaking, *food*. I shall post here anyway.

In 4th Grade I was puzzled by something and asked Sr. Josetta why we celebrated the life, death, and resurrection of a Jewish teacher with baked ham. I learned an important lesson that day: asking these kinds of questions gets you (1) no theological answers and (2) an extra fifty thousand years in Purgatory.

As an adult I like to concoct my own sacred traditions. I now celebrate the Spring Equinox  with one package of Peeps purchased --[for 50% off!]-- on the day after Easter Sunday. Today I ventured out in great excitement for what weird treasures awaited and found a horrifying new color:


Here is the dreadful follow-through, too horrifying to post without cover of a concealing link:
Peep Carnage.

No cats were harmed in the filming of this documentation.


~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
To help liven up dull family dinners: Peep Waldorf Salad .

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The scientifically minded may also consult: Peep Research.

Happy news! Short article quoted in full in case the link expires. There's a video link as well.

Dolphin rescues stranded whales

QuoteWELLINGTON, New Zealand (AP) -- A dolphin swam up to two distressed whales that appeared headed for death in a beach stranding in New Zealand and guided them to safety, witnesses said Wednesday.

The actions of the bottlenose dolphin -- named Moko by residents who said it spends much of its time swimming playfully with humans at the beach -- amazed would-be rescuers and an expert who said they were evidence of the species' friendly nature.

The two pygmy sperm whales, a mother and her calf, were found stranded on Mahia Beach, about 500 kilometers (300 miles) northeast of the capital of Wellington, on Monday morning, said Conservation Department worker Malcolm Smith.

Rescuers worked for more than one hour to get the whales back into the water, only to see them strand themselves four times on a sandbar slightly out to sea. It looked likely the whales would have to be euthanized to prevent them suffering a prolonged death, Smith said.

"They kept getting disorientated and stranding again," said Smith, who was among the rescuers. "They obviously couldn't find their way back past (the sandbar) to the sea."

Along came Moko, who approached the whales and led them 200 meters (yards) along the beach and through a channel out to the open sea. 

"Moko just came flying through the water and pushed in between us and the whales," Juanita Symes, another rescuer, told The Associated Press. "She got them to head toward the hill, where the channel is. It was an amazing experience. The best day of my life."

Anton van Helden, a marine mammals expert at New Zealand's national museum, Te Papa Tongarewa, said the reports of Moko's rescue were "fantastic" but believable because the dolphins have "a great capacity for altruistic activities."

These included evidence of dolphins protecting people lost at sea, and their playfulness with other animals.

"We've seen bottlenose dolphins getting lifted up on the noses of humpback whales and getting flicked out of the water just for fun," van Helden said.

"But it's the first time I've heard of an inter-species refloating technique. I think that's wonderful," said van Helden, who was not involved in the rescue but spoke afterward to Smith.

Smith speculated that Moko responded after hearing the whales' distress calls.

"It was looking like it was going to be a bad outcome for the whales ... then Moko just came along and fixed it," he said. "They had arched their backs and were calling to one another, but as soon as the dolphin turned up they submerged into the water and followed her."

After the rescue, Moko returned to the beach and joined in games with local residents, he said.

video link

Well kids, I am deliriously happy to be able to log in here this evening (make that morning!) and see what you all have been up to. Around 7:pm I thought the pc had suffered sudden death. It took me over 4 hours to methodically remove several files I needed on the hard drive (because each command was taking over a minute to process and folders just randomly closed on me), then restart (again), run the complete Nortons battery and optimize. Finally! the mouse interacted with the desktop icons again--hurray!



Then I spent another hour going back into the *latest* candidate application on-line portfolio -- the one that the pc spun on for *one hour* trying to save my files and numerous fields of BS commentary on each before having the pc equivalent of a grand mal  seizure and giving up -- to verify that all the files had uploaded correctly, delete inexplicable artifacts, and finish the requirements.



Thank you, employers of America, for deciding that Each and Every One of you needs his own, proprietary software, which must be downloaded (with, may god have mercy on my soul) yet *another* round of usernames and passwords and chest-pain-inducing struggle to get *my* resume data to fit *your* sadistically designed fields, after uploading the formatted-to-your-filetype-specifications version anyway, so that you can refuse to respond or provide any feedback whatsoever. Thank you from the bottom of my heart, which is still experiencing stress pains. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. There is a special circle somewhere in the afterlife waiting, where you will spend eternity filling out forms which reject your data and ask for ever more inane and intrusive information.



[ex: a position which hints strongly that 'successful candidates' should have a *Master's* and *years* of increasingly specialized experience, has a field for HIGH SCHOOL GPA, a field which *cannot* be bypassed or filled with a dash or anything other than a GPA, and which I bald-facedly lie to insert a number I assume is roughly correct. Others demand explicit contact info for every job, not allowing you to pass to the next field, even if the company is no longer in existence, and the job was 20 years ago. I have no idea what the telephone number *was* there, any more, and I seriously doubt that whoever has it now wants to hear from some HR person two states away asking for information on a person and business they've never heard of.]



"pieces takes a deep breath*

I've held three positions where I made or had serious input into hiring decisions. I know how to write a resume, how to interview well, and to show up looking professional. I also know that much of what is being demanded on these data-mining digital forms is unnecessary and intrusive. In this process I have doubled the number of computers extracting private information about me to hold and savor forever. I'm not happy about it. I am furious with a business culture which demands near-proctological exams -- by computer -- of potential candidates, yet refuses to provide any feedback whatsoever (e.g.: not even a "thank you, no" email). I am frustrated with 95% of postings including some version of the phrase "Do Not Contact Us!" in the verbiage, because it kinda screws the pooch on those 'did you follow up?" requirements from the government. I am depressed that as a "Creative" (more useless and irresponsible than a Philosophy major, to most MBAs -smile-) with management experience, and as a woman in her late 40s, I am now simultaneously under-*and*-over-qualified, and officially INVISIBLE and OBSOLETE.



"pieces takes another deep breath*

okaaaaaay. rant over, I think. Stress chest pains subsiding. A quick check verifies that there is no swearing and no identification of the guilty. A fresh post of herbal tea is ready, I think... Thanks for reading, anyone who has made it this far, and I will think up some really good pirate comedy to post to make up for this! Oi swares it!

-pieces 

I'd be the first to admit that he's not real scary in this version, but this would be an...interesting...gift for just the right baby or toddler. You're gonna need some crocheting skillz, though.

                              
The Elder God Imbolc 2008.