October 13th, 2004

Housewife's Lament

Food & Housework

Sis declared that she was eating ramen. This prompted a run to the store, where I procured ingredients for mythic foodstuffs such as meatloaf, chili, and lasagna, as well as the odd pot pie or two, and some major items of Bachelor Food for Sis to not have to cook for herself.

As I left, I set the menfolk to putting away the clean dishes. Hee. They were all put away when I got back. I was delighted, and now the dishwasher's full with dirty dishes again. I really need to start the thing before I go to bed.

Lasagna is going to be a new skill for me to acquire. I just made the meatloaf; it's going to need more ketchup.

Recipe for meatloaf, Lunatic-style:

Beef, ground. As lean as you want it.
Oatmeal. A couple handfuls in proportion to the meat.
Frozen mixed veggies.
Onion soup mix.

Mix. Bake. The meat and egg should hold the oatmeal and veggies in so it loafs rather than falling apart.

I don't tend to use conventional measurements when I'm making one of my toss-together recipies.

Lasagna's up next, in the big blue pan. I got noodles and ricotta cheese and spinach and all that. I remember watching Mama make it -- that surely makes me fit to make it myself, yes?

My big problem with lasagna when I was a kid was mostly the acidity of the tomato sauce mix. I did not eat spaghetti happily the first day, because the sauce was too acidic. I had it left-over, and I loved it, because it wasn't bad that way, and it didn't make my mouth and all rebel.

When there's room in the freezer, I'll make pie dough and cook up some random things to put in pies, then make little pies to freeze. The pseudo-pizza ones went over very well last time, and I got enough ground meat and mixed vegetables to make other random pie type things.
  • Current Mood
    accomplished accomplished
old school hacker, bug

Telltale signs of class barriers

Grandma (the Little Fayoumis's grandma, no biological relation to me) sends forwarded e-mails without stripping the headers.
So, for that matter, does Guide Dog Aunt.

They? So not geek.

I post forwarded e-mails under a cut tag in my LJ.

Me? So very geek.

pyrogenic? Has a section of website set up where old forwarded stuff is set up all nice and pretty and cleaned-up, organized by general topic/rating.

Him? Geekier than me, and very possibly geekier than thou, depending on thy geek-rating.

Pink-Slip Punk Protest

Employment happy fun: Lunatic's going to go demonstrate about the unemployment rate. 8:30, leave on the Red Line for Tempe. 9:50, show up and mill about on University & Mill and line up with pink slips to represent all the unemployed people.

The Pirate Queen plans on being there, it seems.


Hidden Hill would be proud of me.
lonely, spock


I really need to tweak AzureBlue's AvantGo settings.
wild rose

Pink Slip Protest

I grudgingly whacked snooze on the alarm clock for about an hour after it started beeping at me. I'd stayed up too late, and it told. Finally, I got out of bed and got dressed for the demonstration. I selected a sensible black skirt and a black t-shirt, and pulled on thin-soled canvas sneakers, then dashed out the door with my purse, a can of instant breakfast, a water bottle, and a bottle of coffee.

I listened to the NPR coverage of the pre-debate fufurrah on the bus, until the station tuned out on my cheap portable radio. The busdriver pointed out Air Force One at the Executive Terminal at Phoenix Sky Harbor airport as we drove through. The plane was almost within egg's throw of the bus, and I contemplated that if I were intent on mayhem to the plane, that's how I would do it -- ride the bus innocuously, then hurl my glitter or eggs from the bus. Of course, I probably also overestimate my throwing arm...

A cadre of bike-mounted Tempe police passed the bus as I reached the University and Mill bus stop. I got off the bus and looked about in search of bathroom facilities, because an hour and a half bus ride on top of a can of instant breakfast is not an optimal situation. I checked in with the group of pink-clad people on one of the corners first. As I approached, I saw a man in heated debate with a passing woman, and a scruffy, button-bedecked man with a tape recorder avidly documenting the conversation. It was political, of course, with the passing woman a potential voter who had not decided herself firmly against Bush.

One of the Code Pink ladies, someone with not only a pink shirt, but lovely pink pearl-and-flower earrings, asked me if I was there for the action, and handed me a large vivid pink sign and gave me my instructions. We would start lining up about an arm's length apart at ten, but wait to hold up the signs until the signal was given. We'd hold up the signs between 10:20 and 10:27, in solidarity with all the people who'd lost their jobs. This was to be peaceful, non-confrontational. Meanwhile, I should find some shade and wait for the lineup.

I wandered off to Jack-in-the-Box, for bathroom and a nice cold drink, then sat down in an unoccupied corner of sidewalk and began writing up the events of the day. More people gathered, and I moved to join a rough line against the bar on the northeast corner of University and Mill. A young man with vivid blue and blond hair in a reverse Mohawk hailed me. "I have a prophecy," he said. "Kerry licks Bush." I, ever the slashgirl, smirked at the image of Kerry slipping the homophobic Dubya some tongue. "She didn't laugh," he said, disappointed. Evidently the bad mental image he'd been going for was much more heterosexual.

An envoy of Einstein's Bagels came around with small flyers. "Would you like free coffee?" she asked. "You're giving coffee to anarchists?" the blue-haired guy exclaimed. Evidently anarchists and caffiene are not a peaceful combination.

One of the organizers marshalled a group of us into a line for a photograph. "I want as many of you as possible to stand in a line between these two trees. Now stand facing that way, as if you're in a bread line."

"That's too much organization for us," the blue-haired guy said. "We're anarchists." He got in line anyway. We held up our pink signs as the Code Pink organizer took photos.

Indymedia.org photos

There were cameras out en masse. The blue-haired guy held forth on free media, and how the free media might be getting their pink slips next. He heckled some of the Corporate Media network representatives relatively gently about working for the government, being The Man, and having government security operatives as co-workers. "I'm going to moon Kerry," he declared.

"Equal air time for all candidates," I smirked. "Moon Bush too."

"You have a point," he said. "Bipartisan."

"That implies only two parties."





A Nader van cruised the area, the driver shouting out support of Code Pink through loudspeakers, denouncing the two-party system, encouraging support for Nader, and the opening of the presidential candidate debates to include other people besides just the big two. We waved. Passing cars honked; we waved our pink slips at them.

Code Pink organizers came through, and we spread out along the sidewalk on the north side of University Avenue, reluctantly giving up shade for the mild Arizona fall morning sun. (That's "searing" to non-locals.) The woman on my immediate left was from Anchorage. The woman on my immediate right was the quiet, blue-haired, multiply pierced friend of the loud blue-haired anarchist, though another woman eventually filled in the spot there as the action settled in to wait for the signal. People with cameras cruised about -- large professional cameras, hand-held personal video cameras, and some still-cameras.

At a signal, we raised our signs high, showing them to traffic. There was more honking, and a few isolated shouts of dissent. We held our signs high. Organizers walked back and forth, counting the crowd. "Great job," they announced. "We've got over two hundred people here."

"It's not a protest until there's a riot," someone commented. Tempe police kept their distance on their bicycles, watching us from across the street. A Univision (Channel 33) reporter and cameraman set up right at my section of the line, and filmed a few takes of the reporter commenting on the action, and some shots of us with our pink slips. I felt self-conscious and dowdy, and very aware of the thin soles of my shoes transmitting the heat of the pavement directly into my feet.

A party of Billionaires for Bush people marched down the sidewalk, fancifully costumed, complete with fake cigars, money ties, Enron necklaces, and hats. Their limo cruised the block. Most got a good laugh out of it; one notable exception pointed out the size of Kerry's wallet.

The action started winding down around 10:45. One of the organizers jogged across the street (jaywalking) and chatted with the police briefly. They rode off en masse towards some other hotbed of riot and dissent. I tore off a slip from my Billionaires for Bush handout, and gave the blue-haired guy the address of my journal here (since he'd be majorly featured). (Yo, dude, if you're reading this, I've got anonymous comments disabled, but you can get your own account here so you can comment.) I wandered off to sit down in the shade and wait for the Channel 3 filming (from 11-11:15) and ran into none other than my old associate the Pirate Queen, the former teamster librarian who used to run the library at the women's center; she ran freshstartwrite until recently. We chatted and rested our feet, though not in the shade.

The Channel 3 filming was a bit of an anticlimax, as we were at the wrong end of the line to see what cameras and reporters there were. The Pirate Queen offered me a ride home, which I gladly accepted, and we walked off through downtown Tempe towards her truck, holding our pink signs prominently, discussing what we'd want to do next time. I want to make another Pink Skirt for myself, and I definitely need to bring my backpack to hold my water bottle and all the pamphlets I always wind up picking up. Thicker-soled shoes would be better too, for standing in the sun, and an umbrella for shade.

It was a good event, all in all -- prominent, peaceful, and very, very pink.
  • Current Mood
Azzgrin, Azure: Lunatic, crazy

Worrying Mama

Sometimes I do write Mama the sorts of e-mails that I know will bother her immensely. But I'd rather let her know what's going on, even if it is the sort of thing that unsettles any sane mother (OK, well, my mother; some mothers would be very happy to get this e-mail) ...

It's also all in the phrasing. "Don't worry" uttered by a Fayoumis child is going to make my mother (chicken people: imagine a diminutive Silver Penciled Wyandotte) start worrying hardest.

This is especially true when "Don't worry!" immediately follows up a piece of neutral to pleasant news, because it implies that there's something to worry about. I'm sure that anyone who's ever heard me talking to my mother can imagine the smile I've got when I say it, and the tone of voice... for that matter, anyone who's ever seen the Azzgrin doesn't have to imagine the smile...
running, bomb tech

Bwahaha, I love technology.

I'm at DeVry now, connecting via their wireless network. I love technology. I'm going to attend the lecture on 802.11 now, whenever it starts up. Yay!
teddyborg, geeky

(no subject)

They have rechargable AAA batteries at Fry's Electronics. Glee!

I am the Token Female at the meeting. I think there is one more in the room. I have one of the coveted seats by the power outlet at the Real Desk in the back of the room, the one that still gets signal from the Wired cafe downstairs. Slow, low signal, but signal nonetheless.

Tonight's IEEE Computer Society meeting is on 802.11; that's what I'm connecting via right now.

I like geek networking. It's fun. Most of these guys look to be of FatherSir's generation or Demland's generation (spanning two decades, 40-60).
old school hacker, bug

When Good Computers get an attack of the stupids

Dear Thalia,

I know you like wireless. I do too, honey. But. When you connect to a wireless network, that's no need for you to forget the bloody contact information of the wired network at home. Can you remember your default gateway, darling? Please, remember that for next time. Do I need to write it on the back of a Yu-Gi-Oh card and string it around your neck?

Love and kicks in the ass,
wild rose


I really do need regular snuggle time with someone I trust root-level.

The longer it is between snuggle sessions, the more desperately I need them. The more desperately I need them, the longer I need them to last.

When a potential snuggle session that could defuse me gets me to the point of relaxing enough to start letting me de-stress, but doesn't let me de-stress all the way? That leaves me fragile and easily set off.

But some is better than none.

I wish, though, that I got snuggle-time more often.