Saturday, August 25, 2007
Sunday, August 19, 2007
Earthquake
Thursday night, I had a vivid dream about being in an earthquake. Interestingly, I was in the bathroom of a fast-food restaurant when it happened. Becky and Jody were there (not sure why Amy wasn't), and we seemed to be the only three people who knew what to do (stand in the doorway, of course).
Friday morning, I got to work and started reading newspaper headlines only to discover that Peru suffered a massive earthquake on Wednesday. How very sad. I just finished a book about Dr. Paul Farmer (called "Mountains Beyond Mountains") who has spent all of his adult life providing free health care to the world's poorest people in Haiti. He and his organization, Partners in Health ( www.pih.org), campaign for AIDS and TB treatment for the world's poor, and they have a large TB program in Lima, Peru, which isn't far from the area of Peru most devastated by the earthquake. Furthermore, Hurricane Dean is predicted to pass over Haiti soon, where it will dump floods of water on the mountain regions where Haiti's poorest people live. Erosion and mudslides are inevitable given the lack of trees and plants. Needless to say, this concerns me. At the very least, I hope PIH's facilities and peeps survive. Hospitals are gonna be in high demand. Part of me is tempted to look to God and ask why these things have to happen to the destitute, but then I'm reminded that it's my responsibility to: 1.) help rebuild, 2.) make sure they don't remain destitute, and 3.) make poverty a thing of the past. The problem is, I don't know how to do any of these things.
I've been really frustrated lately because I feel a calling to get out there and try to solve these problems, but I don't know where to begin. I don't know how to start, or what direction to head in. All anyone really asks for is money, and unless I sell all my personal possessions, I don't have any money to give. Unfortunately, I know what Jesus has to say on this subject. Like the rich young man who asks what he must do to follow Jesus, I find most of the Way easy to follow, but I balk at the last little bit: "Go, sell your possession and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. Then come, follow me." (Matthew 19:16-30) I want to do this. My conscience and my conviction are all for it. But I am weak, oh so weak. In the end, I do nothing.
On a brighter note, here's a comic from xkcd.com about dreaming:
Friday morning, I got to work and started reading newspaper headlines only to discover that Peru suffered a massive earthquake on Wednesday. How very sad. I just finished a book about Dr. Paul Farmer (called "Mountains Beyond Mountains") who has spent all of his adult life providing free health care to the world's poorest people in Haiti. He and his organization, Partners in Health ( www.pih.org), campaign for AIDS and TB treatment for the world's poor, and they have a large TB program in Lima, Peru, which isn't far from the area of Peru most devastated by the earthquake. Furthermore, Hurricane Dean is predicted to pass over Haiti soon, where it will dump floods of water on the mountain regions where Haiti's poorest people live. Erosion and mudslides are inevitable given the lack of trees and plants. Needless to say, this concerns me. At the very least, I hope PIH's facilities and peeps survive. Hospitals are gonna be in high demand. Part of me is tempted to look to God and ask why these things have to happen to the destitute, but then I'm reminded that it's my responsibility to: 1.) help rebuild, 2.) make sure they don't remain destitute, and 3.) make poverty a thing of the past. The problem is, I don't know how to do any of these things.
I've been really frustrated lately because I feel a calling to get out there and try to solve these problems, but I don't know where to begin. I don't know how to start, or what direction to head in. All anyone really asks for is money, and unless I sell all my personal possessions, I don't have any money to give. Unfortunately, I know what Jesus has to say on this subject. Like the rich young man who asks what he must do to follow Jesus, I find most of the Way easy to follow, but I balk at the last little bit: "Go, sell your possession and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. Then come, follow me." (Matthew 19:16-30) I want to do this. My conscience and my conviction are all for it. But I am weak, oh so weak. In the end, I do nothing.
On a brighter note, here's a comic from xkcd.com about dreaming:
Monday, July 30, 2007
ninemillion.org
Nine million faces. Nine million names. Nine million stories.
Nine million children are refugees right now.
Ninemillion.org is a UN Refugee Agency led campaign to raise awareness and funds for education and sport programs for refugee youth, many of whom are forced to spend years of their young lives away from home with little hope of returning. What happens to them now, during their years as refugees, is up to all of us.
Go to ninemillion.org. Do it!Also, you should check out my friend, R's, blog. She spent this summer interning for the UN at a refugee camp in Dadaab, Kenya. See: summerindadaab.blogspot.com
Tuesday, June 05, 2007
Can I Keep Him?
Phew, the bridal shower went perty doggone well. Michele is my super-hero for making all the food (and boy, was it delicious). I handed the plates over to Amy (who was able to make it after-all, thanks to my dad). She took the scissors and cut the scalloped edges in half the time it took me to do it, mainly because I'm a perfectionist and she's not. In the end, no one cried out in horror, "But these plates have uneven, ripped edges!!" so I suppose she did a good job. The one game I tried fell a little flat, but I got lots of positive feedback, so I'd stamp it a success. Of course, I can always nitpick the things that could have been better (I'm sure I could come up with a substantial list), but I think that, for once, I'll give myself a break. It went well.
I had a slightly traumatic experience when I came home, though. I parked next to the dumpster and, as I got out of the car, I happened to look to my left, where I noticed something sitting in front of a recycling bin. It looked like a discarded toy, a stuffed cat with something around its neck. It's paws didn't look quite right, either, but I couldn't figure out why not. What was that thing around its neck? It looked like one of those cones that people put around dogs' necks to keep them from scratching their heads. Except it wasn't one of those cones; it actually looked more like...like the neck of a broken bottle. A very realistic-looking kitten with its head stuck in the neck of a broken bottle. There was a large piece of the bottle in front of the thing's face. As I was processing this information and wondering what kind of person would put the head of a stuffed kitten through a broken bottle, the horrible thing MOVED. Then made meowing noises. I was completely weirded out at this point, so I climbed back into my car and shut the door (in fear, just to clarify). When I looked back, the thing was gone, but I could hear meowing. I was sure that someone nearby was laughing at my reaction, that I'd be on Candid Camera next week. After a frantic phone call to Jacque, I gathered my wits and started unloading my car. I went upstairs to the apartment, then back to my car to get the rest of the stuff. As I approached my car, I realized the wretched thing was hiding behind one of my tires, and he was just a little baby. My heart seriously breaks every time I think about this, and I've been thinking about it all day. I can't get the image of him out of my head. It was so disturbing! How did a kitten get its head stuck in a broken bottle? Or was the bottle whole when its head got stuck? If so, how did he get it broken? How long had he been like that? With a big piece of glass in front of its face, it probably couldn't get to any food.
When I saw him under the car, I freaked out afresh, but this time it was less because of the surreality of it all, and more because he was a helpless little baby in serious need of help. He could not have been more than 8 weeks old. I went to get Jacque and find a phone number for an animal hospital, but it was 8pm on a Sunday night so few were opened. Plus, our phone book is USELESS. Most of the listings were for a city 20 miles away. I grabbed a towel and we managed to catch the poor kitty (his reflexes weren't very quick), then we took him to an emergency animal clinic. His fur was completely matted and filthy. He smelled like oil and grease, and one of his eyes wouldn't open. The veterinarian pulled the bottle off without a problem, but found that a fly had laid eggs around the kitten's neck, and they were hatching into maggots. Jacque had held the kitten (in the towel) for the 20 minute drive, so she was more than a little grossed out to learn that. They couldn't be sure at first glance what was wrong with his eye, if it was just infected or if the eye was missing. I cringe to think that it might have been poked out or scratched by the glass bottle.
Jacque has wanted a pet for a while, but I have resisted because there is a large chunk of ice where my heart should be. But this little guy melted my cold, cold heart. I guess I have a bit of a savior complex, because I just want to coddle him to make up for all the crappy things that have filled his short life so far. Anyway, the vet said that our two options were: 1) Claim him as ours and pay $500 for his vet fees, or 2) claim him as a stray, in which case he'll be turned over to Animal Control, at no charge to us. Neither of us were prepared to fork over that substantial a sum of money (he may have melted my heart, but he hadn't melted my vice-like grip on my wallet). The vet said we could call Animal Control tomorrow to ask for information on him and put our names in to adopt him, but I don't really know what the chances are. He is probably still young enough to be domesticated, but because he was feral, he'll probably never grow to be a social, friendly cat. Then again, how many cats are social and friendly? (I should probably explain that I don't generally think very highly of cats. They remind me too much of me.)
I had a slightly traumatic experience when I came home, though. I parked next to the dumpster and, as I got out of the car, I happened to look to my left, where I noticed something sitting in front of a recycling bin. It looked like a discarded toy, a stuffed cat with something around its neck. It's paws didn't look quite right, either, but I couldn't figure out why not. What was that thing around its neck? It looked like one of those cones that people put around dogs' necks to keep them from scratching their heads. Except it wasn't one of those cones; it actually looked more like...like the neck of a broken bottle. A very realistic-looking kitten with its head stuck in the neck of a broken bottle. There was a large piece of the bottle in front of the thing's face. As I was processing this information and wondering what kind of person would put the head of a stuffed kitten through a broken bottle, the horrible thing MOVED. Then made meowing noises. I was completely weirded out at this point, so I climbed back into my car and shut the door (in fear, just to clarify). When I looked back, the thing was gone, but I could hear meowing. I was sure that someone nearby was laughing at my reaction, that I'd be on Candid Camera next week. After a frantic phone call to Jacque, I gathered my wits and started unloading my car. I went upstairs to the apartment, then back to my car to get the rest of the stuff. As I approached my car, I realized the wretched thing was hiding behind one of my tires, and he was just a little baby. My heart seriously breaks every time I think about this, and I've been thinking about it all day. I can't get the image of him out of my head. It was so disturbing! How did a kitten get its head stuck in a broken bottle? Or was the bottle whole when its head got stuck? If so, how did he get it broken? How long had he been like that? With a big piece of glass in front of its face, it probably couldn't get to any food.
When I saw him under the car, I freaked out afresh, but this time it was less because of the surreality of it all, and more because he was a helpless little baby in serious need of help. He could not have been more than 8 weeks old. I went to get Jacque and find a phone number for an animal hospital, but it was 8pm on a Sunday night so few were opened. Plus, our phone book is USELESS. Most of the listings were for a city 20 miles away. I grabbed a towel and we managed to catch the poor kitty (his reflexes weren't very quick), then we took him to an emergency animal clinic. His fur was completely matted and filthy. He smelled like oil and grease, and one of his eyes wouldn't open. The veterinarian pulled the bottle off without a problem, but found that a fly had laid eggs around the kitten's neck, and they were hatching into maggots. Jacque had held the kitten (in the towel) for the 20 minute drive, so she was more than a little grossed out to learn that. They couldn't be sure at first glance what was wrong with his eye, if it was just infected or if the eye was missing. I cringe to think that it might have been poked out or scratched by the glass bottle.
Jacque has wanted a pet for a while, but I have resisted because there is a large chunk of ice where my heart should be. But this little guy melted my cold, cold heart. I guess I have a bit of a savior complex, because I just want to coddle him to make up for all the crappy things that have filled his short life so far. Anyway, the vet said that our two options were: 1) Claim him as ours and pay $500 for his vet fees, or 2) claim him as a stray, in which case he'll be turned over to Animal Control, at no charge to us. Neither of us were prepared to fork over that substantial a sum of money (he may have melted my heart, but he hadn't melted my vice-like grip on my wallet). The vet said we could call Animal Control tomorrow to ask for information on him and put our names in to adopt him, but I don't really know what the chances are. He is probably still young enough to be domesticated, but because he was feral, he'll probably never grow to be a social, friendly cat. Then again, how many cats are social and friendly? (I should probably explain that I don't generally think very highly of cats. They remind me too much of me.)
Sunday, June 03, 2007
Grrrrrrrrr...
Oh my goodness, planning a bridal shower is HARD! Especially if you're both a perfectionist and a procrastinator. Martha Stewart rocks my world and all that, but how are normal people supposed to be able to do all the adorable crafts she does? "Why yes, let me just go grab my soldering iron..." Who has the money? Or the time, for that matter?
And why do special craft scissors work for her on thick paper plates, but when I go to use them, they don't cut properly? Hunh? They rip the paper and cause ragged edges. My world is falling to bits around me...
My Plates
Maybe there's a reason Martha did her scalloping on white plates...
Also, should I be freaking out that ONE OF THE BRIDESMAIDS ISN'T COMING?!? Because I am! Should I be upset that she told me she wasn't coming THE DAY BEFORE THE SHOWER? Or that she may have NEVER told me, if I hadn't called her to remind her and make sure she wasn't working that day? (Of course, I called her because I knew full well that she is the WORLD'S BIGGEST FLAKE and that she would forget the date.) Okay, truth be told, I'm not really freaking out. I'm just good, ol' fashioned furious. I'm sure it'll pass. Maybe. I'm a bit of a grudge-holder.
And why do special craft scissors work for her on thick paper plates, but when I go to use them, they don't cut properly? Hunh? They rip the paper and cause ragged edges. My world is falling to bits around me...
Martha Stewart's plates
(as the cherry on top of this fiasco,
Martha's website is down
and I can't get a good photo;
this is a b&w photocopy)
(as the cherry on top of this fiasco,
Martha's website is down
and I can't get a good photo;
this is a b&w photocopy)
My Plates
Maybe there's a reason Martha did her scalloping on white plates...
Also, should I be freaking out that ONE OF THE BRIDESMAIDS ISN'T COMING?!? Because I am! Should I be upset that she told me she wasn't coming THE DAY BEFORE THE SHOWER? Or that she may have NEVER told me, if I hadn't called her to remind her and make sure she wasn't working that day? (Of course, I called her because I knew full well that she is the WORLD'S BIGGEST FLAKE and that she would forget the date.) Okay, truth be told, I'm not really freaking out. I'm just good, ol' fashioned furious. I'm sure it'll pass. Maybe. I'm a bit of a grudge-holder.
Thursday, May 31, 2007
Mega Tattooage
I never really thought I'd see the inside of a tattoo parlor, but Sara got a tattoo for her birthday and asked me to come along for moral support. Yippee! I love living vicariously through others. When I told Jacque and Amy that I was going, they both immediately responded, "You're totally gonna pass out." Thanks a lot for the vote of confidence, guys! I assured them that I would be JUST FINE, and guess who was right? ME. I love it when that happens.
Watching someone else get tattooed is seriously no big deal. It was sort of reminiscent of going to the dentist, because you sit in a dentist-style chair, and there are machines that buzz, and everything is sterilized. They even had a mini autoclave! But they played funky music, and the walls were spray-painted bright colors, and there were pictures of Lionel Ritchie all over. All the things necessary for relaxation.
Sara handled the pain like a pro, only flinching a couple times. I was Lead Documentarian for the event.
Me looking goofy, but not ill.
Sara pretending to be in excruciating pain.
She actually looks like she was being tickled,
which is probably more accurate to what was
actually going on.
A flinch.
Ta-da! The final product:
Watching someone else get tattooed is seriously no big deal. It was sort of reminiscent of going to the dentist, because you sit in a dentist-style chair, and there are machines that buzz, and everything is sterilized. They even had a mini autoclave! But they played funky music, and the walls were spray-painted bright colors, and there were pictures of Lionel Ritchie all over. All the things necessary for relaxation.
Sara handled the pain like a pro, only flinching a couple times. I was Lead Documentarian for the event.
Before
Me looking goofy, but not ill.
Sara pretending to be in excruciating pain.
She actually looks like she was being tickled,
which is probably more accurate to what was
actually going on.
A flinch.
Ta-da! The final product:
Monday, May 28, 2007
Skagit Valley Tulip Festival
Sometime in April...
The ritual decapitation of tulips is still, in this
day and age, taking place on American soil.
Please do you part to help end the petal-shed.
Yes, that's right. The elusive Ninja tulip.
The ritual decapitation of tulips is still, in this
day and age, taking place on American soil.
Please do you part to help end the petal-shed.
Yes, that's right. The elusive Ninja tulip.
Thursday, May 24, 2007
Two Words
Um, awesome?!
Also, I am loving Muse. Why did I wait so long to listen to them? Sara rocks for giving me their album. Sara rocks for so many things. I would even go so far as to say that she is a rock-star. Happy Birthday, Sara!
Monday, April 16, 2007
Pet Peeve
Picture frame companies that put hard-to-remove stickers directly on the glass. Hellooooo??
Monday, April 09, 2007
Easter Nonsense
Apparently, you celebrate Easter in Scranton, PA, by molding The Lamb of God from butter.
I think it looks like a wolf-bear.
I think it looks like a wolf-bear.
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