of mice and men

One day last winter, I pulled on my boots, buttoned up my coat and went out into the snow to fill the birdfeeder. We kept the seed in a large bucket in the garage and when I went to scoop some out to carry to the feeder, I noticed that the supply was running low. It was dark in the garage and even darker in the bottom of the bucket. I tipped the bucket a little and was startled to hear a faint skittering noise inside. I looked in...a brown field mouse was trapped down at the bottom of the bucket! My first surprised thought was "eek!", quickly followed by "awwww, cute! mousie!" And as I squatted down next to the bucket to get a better look at my new furry friend...

...the mouse growled at me.

It was a small sound, barely audible, and if the world hadn't been so hushed and muffled under its thick blanket of snow, I might not have heard it. I went very still, holding my breath - I heard it again.

Trapped in the bucket and cornered by a large seemingly menacing creature, the tiny mouse, somehow realizing that flight was impossible, decided to fight for its life.

I was so impressed by the mouse's bravery that when I helped it get free, I left it a big pile of seeds on the garage floor and wished it luck.

The struggle for survival is natural. That fight or flight response is what allows all creatures to live to see another day, to pass on their genes to another generation. Humans have the ability to fear death, not out of pure instinct, but because we consciously know that we are valuable; that our lives, despite all sadness and hardship, can still be sweet. Something good could come as soon as tomorrow. That hope of happiness, that mere possibility of joy, is worth fighting for.

But have we gotten so far from nature that we have lost the ability to fight for our lives? Not too long ago, Elizabeth City State University in North Carolina ran an emergency response drill. A campus police officer posing as a gunman burst into a classroom, where he proceeded to hold the students hostage and terrorize them with a fake gun for 10 minutes. Not one of the students fought back. Not one thought to pick up a chair or a desk, or even a book, to defend themselves. They all lined up against a wall and passively waited for death.

One of the students said, "I was prepared to die at that moment." Several students say they considered leaping from a window.

My mouse had more courage than this. Against insurmountable odds, it growled at me and prepared to fight, even to its death. The college students who meekly bared their throats to those who wanted to rip them out are dead already - they just don't know it.
The will to live is life.

ΜΟΛΩΝ ΛΑΒΕ,
ΜΟΛΩΝ ΛΑΒΕ,
ΜΟΛΩΝ ΛΑΒΕ.

Smells like destruction!

This is so cool! I love how Kari's shooting in that flouncy little dress, it just cracks me up. I can just picture her waking up in the morning, looking in her closet and thinking to herself, "Now what should I wear to work today?" knowing the whole time that "going to the office" means trekking out to the desert to shoot a machine gun. Mythbusters is a great show. Explosions, firearms, weird experiments - we're big fans. Plus, that mustache guy? Kind of hot.

numerology

Earlier this week, news sites were circulating a report on a study about the misconceptions Westerners have about Islam. Muslims were polled and it turns out a majority of them condemn terrorism, want democracy, and considered themselves moderates.

In fact, out of the 1.3 billion Muslims in the world, only 7% of them could be considered radical. Only 7%? Great! (right?)

Unfortunately 7% of 1.3 billion is 91 MILLION.

The population of Australia is almost 20,500,000.

The number of radical Muslims in the world is about 4 and a half times the entire population of Australia.

So, 91 million people want to kill you. Yes, you. Your would-be murderers don't know your name and have never seen your face but it is still you that stars in their blood soaked fantasies. 91 million people dream of having the pleasure of decapitating you.

(let's pause here to note that I would be just as worried about 91 million Buddhist monks wanting to kill me. Or 91 million Ursuline nuns. Or 91 million Amish farmers. I didn't make up these statistics, I just did the math.)

The population of the U.S. is 301,139,947.

The number of radical Muslims in the world is approximately one third of the population of the U.S.

Let's pretend for a moment that the U.S. is a little model for the whole of the Islamic world. Go outside and walk out into the street. Turn around and look at your warm happy little house, then look at the houses of your neighbors, standing directly next to yours. Now imagine one of those houses filled with radical Muslims, building bombs in the basement and plotting your death.

How comforting is that 7% now?

__________________________________

As Marko points out in the comments, my example is flawed. It should really be something more along the lines of:"Go stand in the middle of your street, and imagine that there are 100 houses on your street. 7 of those houses would be inhabited by radical Muslims." I did not try to be intentionally misleading. I am the first one to admit that if you put a mess of numbers in front of me, my brain shorts out. It still does not negate my main point of 91 million being a really big fucking number and I'm not comfortable with it.

That said, I am a little baffled at how some are so quick to give these self-proclaimed radical Muslims the benefit of the doubt. These 7% who responded to the poll are the ones who readily admit their radicalism. They are the ones who are openly proud of their beliefs. I'll take them at their word.

the others

Even though I mostly write about the two newest (pesky, nosy, troublesome) members of our household, we do have 4 other (sweet, well mannered, charming) cats. They deserve some blog space too so I'll be introducing them, starting with Oona. (MattG, just scroll past this, ok?)

(enlarge and admire!)

Despite her daintiness, Oona is the only cat of ours to have ever caught a mouse. Quiet and quick, she is also, as you can see, quite beautiful. If she were human she would be a supermodel who moonlighted as a ninja. Not that she would ever dream of lowering herself to that.

Likes: heater vents, warm beds, sunspots, catnip, underwear drawers, dairy products

Dislikes: dirty litter boxes

humpday on the homefront

Mike sets his alarm to go off a half hour or so before he actually needs to wake up. I can usually sleep through it unless, like this morning (and yesterday morning too, in fact), the kittens go off before the alarm does. Ronan likes to walk on us and peer into our faces, a purring version of: "Are you awake yet? Huh? Hello? Awake? Hey! Wakey-wakey!" Tighe then finds something to bat around on the dresser and my warm snuggly sleepytime is all but ruined.

I stumbled out of bed this morning, pulled on something warm and headed down to the kitchen. We keep that part of the house closed off during the night (kittens, remember?) and it was so cold in there you could see your breath. I got the coffee brewing, ran back upstairs, jumped on the bed and announced,"I'm making you breakfast! Get up!"

Mike muttered something unintelligible, the covers were still pulled up over his ears and he had just hit the snooze button.

"Eggs? Waffles? There's coffee!" I said, bouncing on the bed.

"Mmmhmmpfh. I'm awake, zzzzz...," was the reply.

So by the time I had poured the coffee, scrambled some eggs, toasted a multigrain waffle (yes, from a box. Give me a break, it was 6 AM) , and topped it with strawberries cut into little fans,

Mike was up - a little bleary and most likely wondering, "Who the hell are you and what have you done with my wife?"

The sun rose as we had breakfast together and then off he went to work. I have the day off today and have plans for mopping, a manicure, and a Moroccan-themed dinner. (& maybe a nap.)

Random fact #2

I like my sandwiches to be symmetrical.

Bread, condiment, meat, lettuce, cheese, lettuce, meat, condiment, bread...edible palindromes.

I'll eat sandwiches that aren't in the proper order, of course, but I really prefer it when the condiment touches only the meat and the bread because condiments on lettuce = squidgey wilty lettuce, eeew. There is a method to my madness, you know. And, honestly, it'd probably be better for me if you just waved the knife with the mayonnaise on it over the bread, without actually touching the bread. Mayo squishing out the sandwich sides? Ack.

There. I have bared a part of my soul and now you know me a bit better. But be warned - I'll slip in the occasional random fact (aka the "hmm, Breda is little weird") posts because they make great blog filler on days when I can't manage to come up with anything better. I apologize in advance.

manners make a man

Since Sebastian had a visit from foul-mouthed troll recently, it seems like a good time for a brief and humorous review of a well-known intarwebz phenomenon:

(via PennyArcade)

love gun

an interesting take on self-defense...

(no balloons, no party!)

(found at PingMag, a Japanese design site)

the waiting game

This morning at work, I handed in a form requesting permission for the Cleveland Friends of the NRA to hold a meeting here. None of the members would be allowed to carry in the library - obviously - but it's a nice big room and it's free. The date is open and all we need now is for the library director to give her consent and sign the form.

So I'm sitting here expecting the library director to come to my desk and interrogate me. She is, as I noted in an earlier post (excuse the language), very anti-gun.

UPDATE: the woman who schedules meeting room appointments chose not to ask the director to sign off on the request, so as to avoid any hubbub. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't disappointed.

Bug off!

The UN hopes you're really hungry - they've been cooking up a plan!

this is your brain...

...this is your brain on blog.



Scary thing is, it's pretty accurate.

gun lust

I gasped out loud when I saw this...

(click for the pretty)

(new mantra: "desire is the root of all suffering, desire is the root of all suffering...")

happiness is a warm gun...

These very cute "Packin' Heat" reusable handwarmers would be great for chilly days at the range!

Speaking of...I'm going to do some shooting today - range report to follow (maybe).

(available at wishingfish.com)

Dear Tam,

This evening, after spending 8 glorious hours surrounded by books, I met Mike at the brewery. I had an absolutely divine pint of a freshly-tapped black IPA.

And, um...just in case that whole roommate thing doesn't work out, we have a spare room - although you'll probably have to bunk with the turtle.

love, Breda

p.s. and as an additional incentive? - lake effect snow!

Friday funny!

All I can say is, "Why, wHy?!?"

There are times I wish I could unsee.

the girl U want

I consider two of my favorite library pages to be cool (or "kewl", in the case of RobertaX) girls in training...they're both uber-smart and confident, enjoy interesting hobbies, have been friends since they were very young and are, in most ways, well outside of the norm for people their age. One day, while sneaking a chat in the stacks, we got on the subject of pop culture. I asked if they knew of one of my favorite kickass comic book (and cult classic movie) heroines...and then immediately realized, "Crap...they now think of me as the awesome older librarian" because they had never even heard of her.

(p-p-p-POW!)


Terrific soundtrack too! It includes Bjork's "Army of Me" - a tough gun chick anthem if there ever was one.

Obamessiah

You know that old saying, "If a man believes in nothing, he'll fall for anything"?

Seems it's really frighteningly, no...horrifyingly, true.

Help!

I was kidnapped by evil librarians and forced to attend a workshop!

I learned all about our library system's multiple biography databases today from an older librarian who oh-so disturbingly kept using the expression "quick & dirty." (I'm sure she's a lovely woman but is not my ideal mental image when those words spring to mind.) The databases are not even worthy of a class, to be honest. They involve typing in a search term and then clicking on various links until you find the information you need. But the presenter was not deterred. She had to present her Powerpoint presentation! Each slide was shown on the projector and also on paper handouts - which were then read aloud to us. Fascinating.

When I had to spell "Pocahontas" for the librarian leading the workshop I mentally checked out. I'm pretty sure things devolved into a hen party with the other attendees griping and/or trading humorous stories about library patrons, but I can't be sure. I was happily reading blogs by that time, giving the person sitting behind me an eyeful of firearms. Needless to say, no one was quick to chat with me after class.

Earlier this week, I got an invitation to attend a 40-hour workshop on library career development. One of the sessions was cryptically titled "Attitude and Accountability." Sorry, but the only way I would even consider attending was if I was allowed to show up drunk and shout snide comments from the back of the room.

Congratulations.

An eighth-grader knows that it's not spelled "lieberry."

I won the school spelling bee in eighth-grade. My mother felt I had a very appropriate winning word: "obstinate."

Black History, etc.

When I first started working at the reference desk seven and a half years ago, February was a dreaded month. School aged kids would be dragged into the library in the evenings by parents who most likely would have much preferred spending the cold winter evening at home, basking in the blue glow of their television sets. The children would be led to my desk and instructed, "Tell the librarian what you want."

The child would stare at me (in complete awe, naturally) for a moment and then whisper, "I need a book for Black History month."

I would nod patiently and ask, "Okay. What kind of book?" even though I already knew the answer.

The child would say, "A book about someone," and sometimes pull out a list of approved biographees (yes, that is a word, look it up)...because black history month is technically black biography month.

So off we'd go to the cart of books already pulled off the shelf by a nice librarian (not me) to choose a life story of an inspirational African-American like Magic Johnson (put ball through hoop, contracted HIV), Jimi Hendrix (played guitar, dead of an overdose at 27), Tupac Shakur (rapper, bad poet, shot dead), or Jesse Jackson (don't get me started).

I gently attempted to steer them."What about Langston Hughes or Mae Jemison? Or, hey, George Washington Carver - he was the peanut guy! or maybe Condoleezza Rice?"

They'd turn their little faces to me and blink quizzically. "Who?"

And then they'd add, "Can I have a book with not a lot of pages?"

At this point, I am screaming in my head.

oops.

Here it is February 20th, Black History month is nearly over, and I almost forgot to post this photo!

(file under: "things in poor taste that make Breda laugh")

It's got a good beat and you can dance to it

Pants-shitting hysteria, the soundtrack!

Cute video, though.

boob toob 2

The problem of the television has been solved.

Mike killed the tv.

He's probably going to be upset about this post, because I'm going to write about his weird electrical mojo. He won't admit to having it, and denies that it even exists - and honestly, who can blame him? The whole idea sounds downright bizarre and hocus-pocus. But things keep happening and it's getting a little creepy...and annoying. I cannot tell you how tired I am of buying replacement appliances.

When we first met, Mike joked about how every horn on every car he ever owned stopped working. And since then, in our (almost) nine years of marriage, we have had 3 coffeemakers, quite a few answering machines and cordless phones, and I don't know how many clock radios.

He somehow ruins all of his bank cards, making paying for purchases frustrating for all involved. He swipes his card over and over in the little card reading device, to no avail. He hands the card to the checkout girl, who swipes and swipes and then swipes again, covering the card with a grocery bag. Still nothing. I quietly stand there, smirking at him until he asks me sheepishly, "Do you have your card?" I pull out my card, swipe it through the machine - once - and it works just fine.

Now, he doesn't abuse his card in anyway. It's tucked away in his wallet, which is then carried all day in his back pocket. Like any normal man, right? But I married a man with a superpower. Unfortunately, it seems to be a demagnetizing ass.

So, now the 3 year old, not-an-off-brand, television is the newest addition to the small appliance graveyard. Mike touched it and *bloop*! Dead.

Bri is back.

Missing for over a month, 19-year old college student Brianna Denison was finally found last Friday. Her badly decomposed body was discovered dumped amidst trash in a brush covered field. She had been raped and strangled.

DNA evidence has linked her case to two other attacks that occurred near the university campus. Police are warning of a serial rapist-killer on the loose and are asking women to avoid situations that will put them at risk. Rape whistles have been distributed to female university students.

Whistles.

Whistles are not weapons. You cannot fight back with a whistle - and you must always, always, fight back.

Last summer I wrote, choking back tears the whole time, about stories like this - women and girls as prey. I decided then I was not going to be that girl, that ghost on your evening news, lost forever or found, my body unrecognizable from decay.

I often think that so many crimes against women could be stopped if only women chose to fight back. Some would say that it might make you no better than the person committing acts of violence against you, that it might be unladylike, unfeminine, that it goes against a woman's nurturing and loving nature. False. What fighting back might make you is alive to see another day and free to choose the type of woman you want to be.

how about a cold one?

I'm off to the brewery - no beer in bottles there!

oh no.

I've let you down...

You, my dear readers, read my blog faithfully every day but I forgot to post something sweet for you on Valentine's Day and I even missed the Friday funny. I am a terrible blogmistress and I am so sorry. Let me make it up to you. Let me express my appreciation and affection with this little video - it is so cute you'll start your weekend with a smile, guaranteed.

_________ (the eyebrows! zOMG!) _________

The sun is shining, the snow is sparkling, it's Saturday and Mike & I both have the day off! We've got plans!

...sigh...part II

Turns out that one of the paraprofessionals working here at the library has a son who goes to NIU. He was in the building 10 minutes before the shooting happened, and said that he now believes that he passed the shooter in the hall on his way back to his dorm.

The librarians, feeling safe and protected in a gun-free zone, are in a bit of a tizzy saying, "These days, you'd better send your kids to college with bulletproof vests!"

Nice thought...
but bulletproof vests don't help much when you get shot in the head.

It's time.

I just called the range. The next CCW class is at the end of March and we will be in it. I am putting this in writing so that we cannot make excuses and put it off again.

I'm happy to get my license but, to be honest, I would open carry everywhere if it weren't for the inevitable hysterics. (& if you haven't read On Sheep, Wolves, and Sheepdogs by Dave Grossman, go do it now.)

I like my husband. I like my family, my friends, my cats, and my house. I like my brain, thinking my thoughts; I like my body, doing the things it is able - all of these, and more, make up my (pretty damn good) life, and all are worth defending.

...sigh...

Students killed with a gun!

In a GUN-FREE ZONE...

Again.

Eyewitness Lauren Carr had two options. She said,"I could get up and run or I could die here."

She and the others trapped in that classroom had no means of defending their own lives.

The school was able to test their new "security plan". Within 20 minutes of the shooting, officials posted a message on the school's Web site about a report of a possible gunman on campus and warning students to "get to a safe area and take precautions until given the all clear."

Police arrived on scene within 2-3 minutes. By this time, the gunman had already committed suicide, after killing 6 and wounding many others.

♥

yes indeed, I am a lucky girl...

very helpful.

(Um, honey?...why is there cat hair on the silverware?)

boob toob

For the first few years of our marriage, Mike and I didn't own a television. We had a rotary phone. No computer, no internet. People who discovered this would look at me incredulously, wondering if we were some new sect of stealth Amish, infiltrating the modern world.

Mike got me a tiny tv with a VCR player one year for Christmas. I could watch movies, and since it came with a rabbit ear antenna, I could get a couple of channels if Mike was outside the room. (he has a strange electrical force field...more on that later) One channel was consistently clear so we could see the news and watch the Simpsons and late night Dharma & Greg.

A few Christmases later, we got another tv, but this time it was bigger! With a DVD player! And still... rabbit ears. I firmly believe that there's really nothing worth watching on cable that is equal to the cost. I can check out DVD series like HBO's Rome or Discovery's Mythbusters for free from the library and they show programs on the internet now too - all commercial free.

So about one year from now, when the government kills the tv signal, I will throw my rabbit ears in the trash. No converter box for me. Congress has spoken, and I'll reply "No, thank you."

Color.

Before I transformed myself into librarian extraordinaire, I was an artist. I graduated with a degree in fine art from a small Catholic women's college. I had my senior show - an installation of large ceramic and mixed media sculpture. But as much as I enjoyed clay and building things out of it, my first love was, and always will be, color.

Painting classes were a joy. Like a musician with perfect pitch, I could mix colors on my palette easily and with great skill. There has never been any amount of hesitation for me, no "hmm...a little more blue maybe? or is that green?" The color already existed in my head. I could remember colors and duplicate them days later...and when my colors were in close proximity on the canvas, I could physically feel their rightness when everything was harmonizing beautifully together.

My color-love has revealed itself in unusual ways, post art school. In my large collection of art supplies I have a box of Sharpie markers, every color ever made. I have many unworn eyeshadows and nail polishes that I bought just because I want to look at their color. My mother calls me when she wants a new color for the bathroom walls, Mike quickly learned that no, a teal shirt does not go with olive pants even though they are both green (thank goodness I woke up early that day and caught him before he left for work), and now that I shoot - I like colored guns.

(♥ cuteness! ♥)

New to the world of firearms, I've been having trouble understanding why some people have issues with guns that are any other color than black or silver. I liken this to how my husband insists that his blue jeans be Levi's - it's a sort of traditional purism, a Zen-like desire for simplicity, and an adherence to function over form. I acknowledge the beauty of firearms for what they are - tidy little marvels of design and engineering - but I can also appreciate the desire for a more decorative gun.

Customized guns should be applauded since they are a sure sign that more people are becoming interested in shooting and gun ownership. A person willing to spend the amount of money it takes to paint their gun Hello Kitty pink, have it engraved, or even give it a neon orange flame-job is a person who wants to tell the world, "This gun is mine." - and people will protect what belongs to them.

Thanks to technology and a greater diversity of gun owners, the 2nd Amendment will now be protected in technicolor.

the river runs

(click to enlarge the photo)

Two blocks from our house there is a bluff overlooking the Chagrin River. It was all of 7.7 °F as we hurried through the snow and the icy gusts of wind to capture this photo - bleak, gray, desolate and still so very beautiful.

tagged, I'm it.

Being a librarian is so often a bibliophile's version of "water, water everywhere, nor any drop to drink". I cannot tell you how many times someone has said to me, "Oh! you're a librarian! That must be so much fun, being able to read all day!" Librarians do not read all day, contrary to popular belief. The library can certainly be a magical place, but I have yet to see little pixies running around the stacks weeding uncirculated books from the collection.

Like any book lovers, librarians feel the same excitement at the prospect of a new novel by a favorite author, the discovery of an old book filled with beautiful illustrations long forgotten in the non-fiction section, or the chance to browse the shelves uninterrupted. So when Phlegmfatale of Fatale Abstraction tagged me to complete a book meme, I could hardly say no.

Which book do you irrationally cringe away from reading, despite seeing only positive reviews?

I don't know if this makes me snobbish, but I just cannot make myself read books that are popular, whether it be fiction or non. Patrons will come in monthly and order every single novel on the bestseller's list, not even caring what the novels are about...this is the literary version of television, a mindless busying of the brain. I see the people that read James Patterson (who, by the way, does not really write his own books anymore!) and the newest self-improvement schlock from Oprah and I am not that type of person.

Okay, fine. I am a snob.

If you could bring three characters to life for a social event (afternoon tea, a night of clubbing, perhaps a world cruise), who would they be and what would the event be?

Since I don't read much fiction beyond fantasy novels, this question is a difficult one to answer. It'd be fun to hang out with Eowyn, Polgara and Nanny Ogg. Maybe I'd take them all to the range and then for beers after - just a few, though. Too many and we'd risk having Nanny Ogg dancing on the tables and Eowyn blubbering about Aragorn, all under Polgara's disapproving gaze.

You are told you can't die until you read the most boring novel on the planet. While this immortality is great for awhile, eventually you realize it's past time to die. Which book would you expect to get you a nice grave?

Probably anything by Wanda E. Brunstetter. She writes romantic Christian women's fiction with an Amish/quilting theme. (and please - could I get the abridged version, to hurry things along?)

Come on, we've all been there. Which book have you pretended, or at least hinted, that you've read, when in fact you've been nowhere near it?

Perhaps a few works by philosophers. I adore philosophy but tend to hate philosophers - lazy navel-gazing egomaniacs, the lot of them.

As an addition to the last question, has there been a book that you really thought you had read, only to realize when you read a review about it/go to 'reread' it that you haven't? Which book?

I usually have the opposite happen: I read something and am so unimpressed that I forget all about it until I pick it up again. A few pages in, I get book déjà vu.

You've been appointed Book Advisor to a VIP (who's not a big reader). What's the first book you'd recommend and why? (if you feel like you'd have to know the person, go ahead of personalize the VIP.)

I've recommended books I like to people who "aren't big readers." It's a futile effort, most times. I've learned my lesson and now direct them to the DVDs instead.

But if I had to suggest something, I might tell them to take a look at any of the books by artist Andy Goldsworthy. His work makes people gasp aloud and the images stay with you for a long time. It's not reading, exactly - but it will make your brain happy.

A good fairy comes and grants you one wish: you will have perfect reading comprehension in the foreign language of your choice. Which language do you go with?

I'd love to read Sophocles, Euripides, and Aeschylus in the original ancient Greek. I was the geek that not only read Oedipus for literature class, but went on to voluntarily read Antigone and Oedipus at Colonus, too. I also drew out family trees for the Greek pantheon, based on Edith Hamilton's Mythology.

Looking back, I'm surprised that I had friends at all in high school.

A mischievous fairy comes and says that you must choose one book that you will reread once a year for the rest of your life (you can read other books as well). Which book would you pick?

The Norton Anthology of Poetry

I know that the book blogging community, and its various challenges, have pushed my reading borders. What's one bookish thing you 'discovered' from book blogging (maybe a new genre, or author, or new appreciation for cover art-anything)?

I like the new trend in history writing that focuses on the history and impact of single items such as salt, the toothpick, glass, cod, even the color mauve. I really enjoyed Finlay's Color: A Natural History of the Palette. Fascinating stuff!

I'm also very excited about reading more of the Discworld series by Terry Pratchett. His language is rich in imagery, his ideas very often profound, and...

"Magrat had used a lot of powder to make her face pale and interesting. It combined with the lavishly applied mascara to give the guard the impression that he was looking at two flies that had crashed into a sugar bowl. He found his fingers wanted to make a sign to ward off the evil eyeshadow."

I don't think I've laughed so hard while reading in a long time!

That good fairy is back for one final visit. Now, she's granting you your dream library! Describe it. Is everything leatherbound? Is it full of first edition hardcovers? Pristine trade paperbacks? Perhaps a few favourite authors have inscribed their works? Go ahead-let your imagination run free.

My dream library would be quiet, comfortable, and well-lit. There would be a buffet of teas available, any flavor you desire, hot or iced and cozy chairs around a fireplace, warm blankets to snuggle under, and cats to warm your lap on blustery winter afternoons. When the weather is mild and the sun is shining, you could sit under a tree in an outdoor atrium. The atrium would have a koi pond to amuse the cats and a fragrant herb garden to delight your senses.

The library's collection would be heavy on the classics (both fiction and non-fiction) with as many hardcover copies as possible. Fiction would be organized by author only - no separating out special collections such as mystery fiction, African-American fiction, women's fiction or the like. Non-fiction, naturally, will be strictly organized using the Dewey Decimal system. There would be no children's department, although some nostalgic, well-written, and/or beautifully illustrated children's books would be included in the collection.

So. There you have it. A few of my thoughts on reading and books. If you like this meme, and want to give it a try, consider yourself tagged. Please leave a link to your answers in the comments to this post!

weekend warm-up

(click it, you know you want to)

We watched Reno 911!: Miami last night. It was funny(-ish) in an awkward, painful way - but The Rock was in it for, like, 2 whole minutes. He's so purty, it more than made up for that whole "your watch is stuck in my pubes" scene.

I'm tired.

We've had quite a week and a half around here. The kittens got neutered, Mike pulled his back out, the kitten got sick with a 105° fever, and then the sewer line acted up (again).

The previous owners of our house were very nice people but were also oblivious to the fact that you do not plant a tree right near the goddamn sewer line. This is the third time we've had to call someone to come rescue us, "Help! There's really scary stuff coming up out of a hole in the basement floor!" The guy was merciful yesterday and didn't even charge us - he knows we'll be calling him this summer to do what will pretty much be a house colonoscopy.

Tighe must be feeling better, if wrestling like a maniac with his brother and trying to pull the blinds off the bedroom window is any indication. He is still getting his antibiotics twice a day - which he hates. It takes the two of us to get 1 ml of medicine down the throat of one 9-lb kitten. I'd like to have a serious discussion with the genius who decided to make cat antibiotics taste like bananas.

(all better now!)

gun free strikes again.

A man goes to a city council meeting and murders 5 people...and, yes, it was another one of those really safe, "nothing bad could ever possibly happen here" gun free zones.

One of the witnesses said, "I laid on my stomach waiting to get shot. Oh God, it was a horror."

Gun free zones = helpless victim zones...especially when the police have already been killed.

(No Looking Backwards gets the librarian nod of approval for researching the city's ordinances)

gun free zone! for the children!

An Ohio teacher's husband went to her elementary school and shot at her.

Super Thursday

Go vote!

(for me)

I'm in the haiku finals
again
at All Atwitter's!

Grandma!

It's official. Coolest chick ever.

just my type.

Also known as the Illinois babe magnet.

We went to the meeting last night...

...where were you?

The country's leading charitable organization in support of the shooting sports, Friends of the NRA is trying to organize a fundraising banquet in our area and needs people to sell tickets, gather donations, find a venue - that sort of thing. The secretary/treasurer said that they currently have a little over $500. That's it - and they want to have the banquet in May, or June at the latest.

So it was just a couple of guys, with a cause and a few hundred bucks, asking for help so that they can help others.

Grassroots...

_____________________________________

By the way, I was the only woman in the group and to be honest, I can see why. The NRA needs a serious makeover. Shooting isn't just for camo-wearing sportsmen who eat candy out of a dish made of antlers anymore.

Now, I know that the stereotype is false, but it seems the NRA doesn't. I could hardly blame any woman who, upon seeing the image the organization portrays, said, "Oh, shooting and guns...that's guy stuff."

Attention, local readers!

There is going to be a Triangle of Death meeting at Cork's Wine Bar (4084 Erie Street) in downtown Willoughby at 7:00 PM TONIGHT. (Mike just found out about it on a message board)

The northern Ohio NRA field representative is visiting the area for a meet & greet and to find NRA members interested in helping to organize a "Friends of the NRA" event.

We will definitely be there.

Tighe

Little 6 month old Tighe had to be rushed to the vet today. He threw up, had a high fever and was listless. The vet thinks he has some sort of infection. He's on antibiotics now and is resting. We're taking one day at a time.

Could you all think some good thoughts for my sweet boy? Sacrificing a few mice to Bast would be a nice touch too, and greatly appreciated.

UPDATE: The x-rays were clear, no blockages in the intestines, lungs look good. The antibiotics seem to be helping.

A vintage chick...

(...with a gun!)

In 1922, this woman claimed she was exempt from concealed carry laws because she carried a little pistol strapped to her knee, well below the daring new hemlines of the era.

(via Shorpy)

Superbowl Sunday

This is the one with the touchdowns, right? I'd like to be sure because there was this one time while watching baseball with my brother-in-law that I asked, "So, how many points does Cleveland have?"

He turned to me with a look of horror and disgust. "Runs."

"Huh?" I asked, baffled.

"They are called runs. Runs."

"Umm...okay. But aren't runs points? I mean, technically? They keep the score, right? Like points."

He looked at me in disbelief like I had just dropped out of the sky and had antennae sprouting out of my head. "No. Breda...they are runs," he said as patiently as he could manage.

Whoops. I had somehow unwittingly committed some sort of baseball sacrilege akin to left-handed hummus dipping in the Middle East. I'm not sure he talked to me the rest of the day.

I've been invited to a superbowl party today and don't have the slightest clue who is playing, or how. I will busy myself at the snack table and quietly ponder the goodness of beer. I remember watching football as a kid and thinking, "Man, this game takes forever. When is Dad going to give up the remote?" (answer: Not anytime today. Go read a book.)

my Mike

After I told my friend Lydia about the time Mike devised his own salad spinner (wash lettuce, wrap it tightly in clean dish towel, go outside and swing the whole business in circles above your head. Clever, but I think we scare the neighbors enough as is), she told me I should really start a whole new category of posts devoted to Mike's...idiosyncrasies. Among his many and diverse talents, he's a very intelligent creative thinker that has an odd sense of humor and problems with authority. This leads to interesting and, very frequently, funny situations chez Fallacy.

Today, I called up the stairs to figure out why Mike hadn't left for his walk yet. He said, "Oh, I'm having a wrestle with the kitten."

I headed up to the bedroom to see what was going on.

I found Mike, not kitten wrestling, but laying on his stomach on the bed, clutching a pillow. "Are you okay?" I asked.

He answered nonchalantly. "Yeah, sure. I'm just laying here."

Mmmhmm. Laying there, acting really weird. "But, are you okay?" I asked again.

"Yep," he said, still not moving.

I stood in the doorway, staring at him still not moving. He continued to clutch the pillow beneath him.

Mike's lips tend to go white when he's in pain, a dead giveaway. I asked again, patiently. "Are you okay?"

He 'fessed up. "I hurt my back."

Ah-ha.

The most extreme example of this Mike behavior was the time before we were married that he turned white as a sheet, was asked if he was okay (he said yes, naturally) and then proceeded to drive himself to the hospital to be treated for what turned out to be a kidney stone. He didn't call me until the next afternoon and promptly caught hell. He has gotten a lot better since then but we have agreed, just today, after almost 9 years of marriage, that from now on I will ask, all in one breath, "Areyouokay?Areyouokay?Areyouokay?" (3 seems to be the required number of inquiries) and he will then produce an honest answer to save me the worry.

6 more weeks of winter.

(the whistlepig of Gobbler's Knob has spoken)

I recently drove through Punxsutawney. It seemed to be a nice little town, nestled in the hills of Pennsylvania. Most of the city's major buildings like the Chamber of Commerce, the fire department, and the library all had appropriately themed groundhog statuary standing sentinel outside their entrances. We passed by the park in the town center where I imagine the festivities in honor of the mystical meteorologist marmot occur.

This seemingly odd tradition has a longer history than most people might expect.

Today is Candlemas, also known as Saint Brigid's Day in Ireland. Before Christianity came to Ireland, the day was called Imbolc, a festival dedicated to the goddess Brigid that celebrated the return of the sun after a long winter. People watched closely for omens, like animals peeking out from their dens, that would foretell an early spring.

Despite the various names for the day, their histories and traditions are so closely intertwined that it's difficult to see where one ends and the other begins. The human longing for the warmth of the sun is ancient and universal.

............

I am so angry that I cannot even think of a title for this post.

The news story about two mentally disabled women being used as human bombs in Iraq has me positively enraged. Terrorists strapped bombs on these women, sent them into a market, and blew them up by remote control. At least 98 were killed.

When I hear a troubling news story, I usually think about it a while, get pissed off a little, and then let it go - because, honestly, what exactly can I do about terrible things that happen half a world away?

But today, instead of feeling completely powerless, I might say a little prayer - with the hope that some wrathful god hears me.

Friday funny!

Turn up the volume on your computer!