Mirele's Mandalas - Image Heavy

This is what I've been up to lately.

Innocent? Nope. Deceptive? Yup. Insanely Crazy? Absolutely.

That's how I feel about some people who are selling this bumper sticker:

It sounds like a nice sentiment. "Oh, let's pray for the President." However, if you whip out your Bibles, this is what Psalm 109:8 says:

"Let his days be few; and let another take his office."

Uh...that sounds like Secret Service material.

And then there's the next verse (Psalm 109:9):

"Let his children be fatherless, and his wife a widow."

Reminds me of a story I read just last month about a guy in California who was threatening Obama:

(10-15) 11:40 PDT SAN FRANCISCO -- A Del Norte County man has been indicted by a federal grand jury in San Francisco on charges that he threatened in an e-mail to kill President Obama and members of his family.

John Gimbel, 59, of Crescent City e-mailed a message Sept. 28 bearing a subject line that read, in part, "Kill the 'president' ... then write 'fed s-' on his chest with a felt tip," said the indictment issued Tuesday, two days before Obama's scheduled visit to San Francisco today for fundraisers at the St. Francis Hotel.

In the body of the e-mail, Gimbel allegedly wrote, "Kill that ... wife of yours," and, "Do it to his children and family first in front of him. Failure to comply. That'll teach him."

Gimbel was indicted on charges of making threats against the president, threats against the president's immediate family and threats transmitted through interstate communication.

Link

What a fun guy!

So, my question is, if John Gimbel can be arrested for this, why aren't these bumper sticker and gimme cap and t-shirt makers prosecuted? (These links may hopefully disappear soonish.) I don't know that a Bible verse should make a person any less immune from prosecution. After all, I suspect that these are the same guys who will quote the Qur'an and say, "Oooh how wicked!"

Pot. Kettle. Black. Or, to be biblical about it, mote, beam, eye. (Matthew 7:3, Luke 6:42)

Update: The bumper stickers, gimme caps, t-shirts and so on have been removed from CafePress and Zazzle.

Voice Mail Hell

I'd just like to rant for a minute about how there isn't a standard voice mail system in this country. Hell, there's not a standard system in the (admittedly very large) company I work for. I don't do a whole lot of calling, but when I do, I'm usually in a hurry and need to work down a list of people within a fairly short period of time. Therefore, it's not part of the plan that I should erase the voice mail message I just left. Yet, because of the way voice mail systems are configured, that's exactly what happens on occasion.

This came home to me this morning when I was calling my dentist to inquire WHY I'd gotten a phone call about a dental appointment I'd cancelled back on Tuesday. I left the message, which admittedly was a bit scattered since I couldn't remember my home telephone number (I don't call myself). Of course, there are no instructions about what to do at the end of your message. So, based on my experience at work, I pressed star (*).

The recorded voice said, "Message erased." I cursed a blue streak before the recording beeped again. I left a new message, admittedly more coherent, and pressed the pound (#) key. That got me into the message options menu and I pressed to send (1) with normal delivery (1). But I was grinding my teeth the whole time, which, since this was the dentist, may have been the intended result. (Actually, the dentist is a lovely guy with a nice chairside manner, so much so that I didn't feel like I needed to go with the gas while he was working on me.)

I wonder how many man-hours are wasted by people having to rerecord messages because voice mail systems do not have the same sets of commands? Of course, the solution is to get a live human every time, but we're all busy and that's not exactly what happens.

This 'n' that

Here's an update on my foot: It's fine. You can see how fine it is in the post below. It didn't turn purple. I was so disappointed.

I also went to the dentist yesterday and had my teeth prepped for two crowns. Right now I have two temporary acrylic crowns in my mouth. I was rather surprised, as previous experiences with the dentist have been less than thrilling. However, the dentist and his assistant have a fabulous chairside manner and everything went well. The hygienist, however...it's not her fault, but I nearly jumped out of my skin more than once as she worked on my mouth. I asked her if anyone had ever bit her when she was working on her mouth. Yes, she said, a seven year old girl did. She was helping another dental assistant to get x-rays of the kid's mouth, and holding the x-ray in the kid's mouth (of course you can't trust a kid to hold it for you) and the girl chomped right down. It opened a gash down to her second knuckle and took two months to heal. Yikes.

I go back in two weeks to get the permanent crowns put in. Then I have to make a decision about how much more work I want to do this year, since my dental insurance is, like most American dental insurance, uh, less than adequate. I'm thinking one more crown and then I'll do the rest of the work next year.

Clown Barf

I work at home three days a week and two days I drive 25 miles (or so) into the office. When I first started working in this group, people had to dress up (as in suits and ties) but that ended about three weeks after I started. This was back in 2006. Now, people are pretty laid back. Not as laid back as when I worked at the help desk (which was what my then-boss called, "Casual, casual, CASUAL"), but still pretty laid back.

On days I go into work, I usually wear slacks, usually black or khaki colored. Black is the fat woman's friend. If the dress is cut well, it can be really slimming. Well, I'd gotten a dress earlier this year (and, frankly, not cut as well as I'd like) and thought that I'd really like to wear some funky dyed tights with it. So I got a pair of hand-dyed footless tights from We Love Colors. These tights, in fact, #7202 (scroll down), although I'd NEVER be caught dead wearing a dress like that.

Apparently word quickly flew around the office that I'd shown up wearing dyed tights, as related to me by a senior manager. I wasn't surprised, my office is a hotbed of gossip. Me, I had to hop on the phone the instant I got there and work on a communication to the entire enterprise.

Anyway, here are the tights, which I got because I liked the color combination. It wasn't until later that I realized they looked like clown barf. Oh well.

After comprehensive medical care...

We need comprehensive dental care.

Let's just say that the insurance provided by my employer to cover dentistry Ain't Worth Much More Than The Paper It's Printed On. Most employers' dental insurance plans are like that.

So, when I finally decided I needed to get my teeth looked at (yes, it's been a VERY long time), I knew (a) it was going to be expensive and (b) I was going to be pay the lion's share of the cost. But, we have to factor in (c), which is If I had a major dental disaster, I'd never live it down. That's because I'd pointed out a few weeks ago that a sibling had lost a tooth, and said sibling was hacked at me. Very hacked. So, when one of my teeth started feeling a tiny bit *soft*, I thought I might just better go and get them looked at.

I need five crowns and the rest of the fillings need replacing and some other, more minor stuff. This estimate is not quite like buying a car, but it's not cheap either.

Now I need to decide if I should call my doctor and ask for a tranquilizer so I can sit in the dental chair without going berserk. Needles aren't so much the problem anymore, it's the claustrophobia of someone working in my mouth.

Shocked, just shocked

I was shocked to wake up and hear that President Obama had won the Nobel Peace Prize. My first response was, "For what?" We're still in two wars, we still don't have a comprehensive medical plan like most other civilized nations and (if you take U6 as the real estimate of employment) well over 15 percent of Americans are unemployed or underemployed. To say nothing of the housing crisis, etc., etc.

Anyway, I'm thinking that the Nobel Committee's thinking went like this: "He's not That Last Guy. We want to Encourage him. Plus, it will be funny to watch Wingnut Heads Asplode." (And that they have most certainly done.)

I voted for the guy, but, frankly, this is a bit premature. Let's see some concrete results first.

Accident

I slid down the stairs last night. Don't ask me how I did it. It was one of those things that happened and was over within a few seconds. I got rug rash on my left leg and (apparently) part of my right foot got folded under the rest of my foot. Today the folded part is bruising up. I rather hope it turns purple. Back in 1989 I fell and damaged my left ankle AND THEN WALKED A MILE TO WORK. My foot turned the most beautiful shade of purple. I didn't get any pictures. I'd like to get a picture this time.

Ways of knowing

Sometimes, just Googling or looking it up on Wikipedia isn't enough. You want to see a picture. Not only that, you want to see a lot of pictures. Just so you can get a flavor, or an idea for the next piece of art or whatever you might be doing.

Google image is ok, but for real, hard-core picture hunting, I go to one of the photo sites. And, over time, that's turned out to be Flickr, because it's easier to use than some of the others (like Photobucket). So, for example, if I want to look at Siamese cats or quilling (a strange little paper art I've never gotten into) or raku pottery or dichroic glass, I go to Flickr and look at pictures. I'll narrow down my searches or expand them as the case may be.

It's not just to look at pictures of art, too. For example, down here on the border between Mexico and the USA, we have a lot of drug trafficking. One of the patron saints of Mexican drug runners (but not not not recognized by the Catholic church) is la Santa Muerte. In fact, it's to the point where the local policia have decided enough is enough and have taken to bulldozing roadside shrines to her. This is serious business, but it's also a spiritual devotion.

Going to the Wikipedia link above, or the newspaper article will give you a taste, but suppose you want a real flavor of what it's all about? Flickr, my friends. (Or your own favorite photo site.) Plug in Santa Muerte and you get pictures. Like this one, Altar a la Santa Muerte (Altar to Saint Death), with the acerbic comment below, "Aparentemente La Santa Muerte también acepta dólares." ("Apparently Saint Death also accepts dollars.") If you don't know the language, Google Translate is good at giving a very rough translation.

Anyway, that's a way of knowing, which is to root through other people's pictures and see what they find valuable. If you never think you're going to get out to Tunguska, Siberia, to see the site of whatever it was that exploded overhead in 1908 (meteor or comet, scientists are still not sure), you can go look at pictures. And learn.

Dreams

What does it mean if you dream that your pillow is full of bees and you have to get it out of your house before you get stung?

What does it mean if your car is filled with dozens of old legal size files (like the kind that were used in law firms years and years ago), big thick legal files, you know they don't belong to you, you know they need to go back to where they came from and you know that you'll have to sneak them back--when the temptation is to drive up to a dumpster and just throw them in?

What does it mean when you spray water on a ceiling and you see the termites in the ceiling move to another part of the ceiling and start working on that wood?

What does it mean if you walk outside and the pine trees are full of honeycombs, from the bees you got rid of (see first dream)?

What does it mean if you spend the entire dream worrying about getting stung?

Did I mention I had this dream early this morning? I have no idea what it means.

Eight ounces

I am a diabetic. I was diagnosed a little over two years ago, but it's my suspicion that I became diabetic in December 2005. After I was diagnosed, my doctor put me on one of the newer medications, ActosPlusMet, which is a combo treatment. My diabetes rapidly came under control (especially since I got rid of the French lemonade, Sprite, etc.). But I put on 40 pounds over 18 months and my doc was not at all happy.

In January, she changed me over to Januvia, another pill. That was two months of sheer horror. One of the side effects of Januvia is nausea and vomiting. Usually I don't have too much problem with side effects. However, I was nauseous virtually every single morning, to the point where my mother thought I was pregnant. (You have to do something to get pregnant and I wasn't doing that.) And then there was the vomiting. I started to lose weight, in the worst way possible, because I couldn't keep anything down. This went on for two months.

In March, my doctor asked me if I wanted to switch over to Byetta, an injected protein (exenatide) synthesized from gila monster secretions (aka leezard spit). At that point, I was pretty desperate and despite my absolute hatred of needles, I went on Byetta. And then I had to relearn how to eat.

One of Byetta's side effects is that you get fuller sooner, a lot sooner. A LOT SOONER. And, in the beginning, I wasn't paying attention to the gut rumbles, which led to an unfortunate incident on my dad's 75th birthday. (After that little episode, my parents took me seriously about how much I can eat.)

I've been on Byetta five months now and I've dropped the 40 pounds I put on while I was on Actos. I feel better. I look better. I need to lose a lot more weight, but that will come.

Byetta has really has put a cramp in my eating life, particularly since this medication has to be kept between 45 and 78 degrees Fahrenheit. I live in Arizona, this is not possible in the summer, so it sits in my butter drawer in the fridge. I can't take it around with me to give injections unless I want to carry it in a cooler. So, if I stop by the parents after work, I can't eat with them because I have to inject before I eat my evening meal.

Plus, I'm a real downer for dinner, let me tell you. What is driving me nuts is that I can't eat more than eight ounces of anything at a sitting without feeling sick. This means tiny, tiny portions and I have left good food behind. Since I hate wasting food, this is a real problem for me.

I've been pretty good about the limit, but I ate slightly over eight ounces tonight, felt sick, and went and wrapped the rest of it up for "some other time." It's annoying as can be.

Things I should not wear, part 1

Red lipstick.

Normally, I don't wear makeup beyond scrambling to find my ChapStick. I just don't. Back when I was a teenager, makeup was all full of perfume and just horrid to wear if you're even the least bit sensitive, like I was and am. (Aachoo!)

But I've always had a jones for red lipstick, so I bought some today and brought it home, along with some foundation and eyeshadow and so on. I suppose it would have looked ok EXCEPT that I have big old pores and more than a few wrinkles. So when I got done, I looked like an old gussied-up madam (you know, keeper of a House of Ill Repute). Out came the water and the tissues!

What I need is either (a) new skin or (b) some way to minimize the pores (the wrinkles I earned, they stay). Or just go on in my "I really don't give a d*mn" way. Or hie myself off to Sephora and dump bucketloads of cash on overpriced facial paints...

Although I noticed my hair desperately needs coloring...this weekend. (Yes, haircolor, my only true vanity.)

P.S. There are no pictures of this travesty. Thankfully.