Archive for the ‘needles’ Category


give mama some love

Natural disasters/environmental issues explained by conservatives:

”I think there is a handful of people who hate America. Unfortunately for them, a lot of them are losing their homes in a forest fire today.”

—Glenn Beck, on why people who lost their homes in forest fires in California had it coming, ‘The Glenn Beck Program,’ Oct. 22, 2007

”God gave us the earth. We have dominion over the plants, the animals, the trees. God said, ‘Earth is yours. Take it. Rape it. It’s yours.”’

— Ann Coulter, on FOX News, June 20, 2001

”It may be a blessing in disguise. … Something happened a long time ago in Haiti, and people might not want to talk about it. Haitians were originally under the heel of the French. You know, Napoleon the third, or whatever. And they got together and swore a pact to the devil. They said, we will serve you if you will get us free from the French. True story. And so, the devil said, okay it’s a deal. Ever since they have been cursed by one thing after the other.”

—Pat Robertson, on the earthquake in Haiti that destroyed the capital and killed tens of thousands of people, Jan. 13, 2010

Does the environment care when it soaks an entire community in molten rock? Nope, uh-uh. Doesn’t go to bed at night going, gee, I don’t know, I think that might have been a mistake.”

Plus, when a volcano blows, it dumps gigantic amounts of greenhouse gases into the atmosphere. Does it have a cap in trade on its eruptions? No! Totally unregulated! Was it man who created all the diseases that have wiped out millions? The plague. No, it was natural. I guess we could just accept the whole wiping out 1/3 of the human race thing. Sorry, don’t need another Holocaust but thanks for chiming in, nature. And while I’m at it, thanks for making Antarctica completely uninhabitable. It’s not like we need more land or more resources. Don’t worry about all the people starving up here. You know, don’t worry about. Just cover the whole continent in ice. Why don’t you do that. Who needs it? Just ice. And penguins, birds that don’t fly and you can eat! Thank you. No, I appreciate it.

Let me tell you something. Thank God for us people who are supposedly melting that pointless piece of ice so someone can put the land to good news. No thanks to you, Mr. Environment.

– Glenn Beck on his radio broadcast, Feb. 26, 2008


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Please tell the Colonel what to do with his pink bucket of fat, cholesterol, sodium and carcinogens.

This campaign has to be a new low in corporate branding.  The more cancer-chicken-in-a-bucket you buy, the more gets donated to finding a cancer cure.  Regular readers know I’m not a fan of Komen,  and fundraising campaigns like this are the main reason.  Many women with breast cancer have received help and support from their local Komen chapters and would arm wrestle me to the floor in defense of this organization.  I respect that.  I know there are good programs under the Komen banner that have helped women deal with this disease.

At some point, however, Komen has to be held accountable for forming partnerships with corporations who tie their donations to the sale of food or other products that undermine healthy lifestyle choices, or out and out contribute to rising rates of cancer.

Please, please, please . . . Think Before You Pink!

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Unshameable. Unreasoning. Hatred as a many-pustuled infection.

If you know a teabagger, isn’t it time you confronted them with a little dose of antibiotic truth?  The least among them are nothing more than playground bullies who will pack up their marbles and go home if you stand up to them. The worst,  the racists and homophobes, can always be encouraged to seek mental health counseling.

Needle a teabagger.  Cast them out.

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photo shamelessly lifted from Juniper Moon Farm because the Internet needs more lamb photos

Rain is washing away the snow and, even though all experienced midwesterners know we are far from seeing the last of snow and cold, we play right into Mother Nature’s cruel streak by doing crazy spring things like:

  • ordering a sky blue cotton shift and sandals over the Internet
  • get a pedicure
  • walk out the door in leggings and skimmer flats with NO SOCKS
  • start seriously paging through the seed catalogs
  • hunt around the foundation of the house for signs of green tulip and crocus shoots

Naturally, our hearts will be broken.  The actual day a couple of weeks ago when I ventured out in the leggings and sockless skimmers?  Had to slog through 5 inches of snow to get to the back door when I got home that night.

And, just like our inner nature screams out for spring even when faced with the unrelenting presence of winter, I have been noticing bigger and bigger disconnects on the political scene, too.  Who am I to criticize, (she of the new Keen sandals), the suburban T-bagging dwellers who complain about the potholes they have to dodge on their way in and out of my city where they earn their living and pay no local taxes? Or, the cagey, flirty Palins of the world who redefine hypocrisy as it’s milder-sounding cousin “irony” when they admit to illegally taking advantage of Canada’s healthcare system while bashing any and all attempts to establish the palest form of Canadian health coverage in the U.S.?

And, are those who rage against the Census and threaten to not return their Census forms living in a universe so bizarrely different from mine as I waltz around the house in bare, pedicured feet in March?

In a word, yes.

They are batshit crazy paranoids.

I’m just a cockeyed optimist.

Here’s to spring and getting your LambCam on.

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iron woman, san francisco harbor

Yesterday, the first Monday of the year was “tourist” day at my gym.  I overheard one regular guy acknowledge this annual phenomenon to a friend and end with, “that’s ok, they’ll all be gone by Valentine’s Day.” Snark.

It’s true, though. I’ve belonged to this gym for over 11 years and I don’t need to look up the statistics to know that the vast majority of yesterday’s newcomers will be gone in a month.  It makes me sad.  Oh, sure, the extra people make everything more crowded, there are lines at the locker desk, waits at the weight stations, extra bodies circling the track.  But, there is also a general air of excitement and promise each January that comes with those shiny new resolutions to lighten and tone and sweat.  I want every one of those newbies to still be there next to me come June and July.  You won’t hear any snarky comments from me, nosiree, ’cause I remember my first day and what it took to come back on day two.

I’ve noticed a good number of female bloggers taking up the “fat and fit” banner as a feminist issue, and I agree with what they have to say about bowing to societal pressure when it comes to body image, shame, standards of what’s sexy and what’s not, all imposed on us by a patriarchy invested in harnessing women as the sex class.  I even buy the criticism of the arbitrary guidelines that purport to tell us if we actually are overweight or not.  I get it.

But, why stop the discussion there?  Forget about your dress size, how many push-ups can you do?  How fast can you run a mile?  Walk a mile? Can you touch your toes? How many minutes of sweat-inducing exercise do you get each day?  Compare your answers to current CDC guidelines for physical activity.  Good health is a lot more than the absence of illness.

Since I’m not aware of any feminist theory that professes my right to die sooner rather than later, I plan to continue sweating  in hopes of living long enough to annoy every conservative I’ve ever known for as long as possible.  That’s all the motivation I need to get to the gym each day.

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Great Sand Dunes, Colorado 2009

I don’t believe in New Year resolutions.  A person can wipe the slate of their life clean at any moment, and on any day begin new and fresh.  For me, the end of the calendar year is more about making room for what lies ahead and listening to the “crackle” of “the things I didn’t do.”

Just another excuse to clean house, the true measure of peace for any true-blooded Polish girl.

Burning the Old Year

by Naomi Shihab Nye

Letters swallow themselves in seconds.
Notes friends tied to the doorknob,
transparent scarlet paper,
sizzle like moth wings,
marry the air.
So much of any year is flammable,
lists of vegetables, partial poems.
Orange swirling flame of days,
so little is a stone.
Where there was something and suddenly isn’t,
an absence shouts, celebrates, leaves a space.
I begin again with the smallest numbers.
Quick dance, shuffle of losses and leaves,
only the things I didn’t do
crackle after the blazing dies.

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Just when you thought the ThreadingWater depressive’s guide to Christmas couldn’t possibly get any lower, I present you with “The Gift.”

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