We went to the vet yesterday afternoon. He took a culture (a lot of white cells and some debris--probably from the litterbox), took her temperature (normal), watched her walk (the limp was a bit more pronounced by the time we got there), and prescribed an antibiotic. Half a pill once a day for two weeks. He said the limp should go away pretty fast. If this doesn't work our next option is biopsy (taking into account Samson and Oreo's medical history). Gulp.
She spent most of yesterday afternoon snuggled up with me on the couch, purring and sleeping. So I'm forgiven for messing with her foot and than dragging her back to the place where she has to suffer all sorts of indignities from That Man in the White Coat.
I gave her the first dose last night, and already she's walking better. Huzzah!
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Please send good thoughts this way
I noticed last night that the cat seemed to be favoring her right front paw. A very, very, slight limp, so slight in fact that I thought I was imagining it. When I finally got her to let me see the paw, it turns out there an area that's swollen and slightly pink. It looks like she's been chewing on it. It's the same paw the vet used last week to take her blood pressure, and he shaved it a little before he did that. I'm thinking maybe the hair growing in was making her itch, so she started chewing.
At least, that's what I hope it is. Last October her litter mate Samson was put down because of a huge tumor on one of his feet. Oreo, Delilah and Sammy's daddy, has a small tumor on his face (has for a while. Every time I take a picture of him, I edit it out with the "spot-healing" brush in Adobe), and I'm pretty sure he's on his way out. He drools constantly, has stopped grooming, and spends a lot of time yowling and looking a little confused. My mom's sure if she takes him to the vet he'll get put down, and she doesn't want to do that. She says he doesn't look like he's in pain.
So anyway, there's a family history of growths. This thing on Delilah's paw doesn't look like the tumors I've seen on Sam and Oreo, but I'm worrried. It's probably a chewed area that got infected. I figure with this whatever-it-is going on with her kidneys, her immune system might not be optimal and I don't want some infection raging through her system.
The vet's office opens in 20 minutes. I hope I can get an appointment. And I hope it's nothing serious. I tend to catastrophize.
If you could send some good thoughts towards Central Pennsylvania, I'd really appreciate it.
At least, that's what I hope it is. Last October her litter mate Samson was put down because of a huge tumor on one of his feet. Oreo, Delilah and Sammy's daddy, has a small tumor on his face (has for a while. Every time I take a picture of him, I edit it out with the "spot-healing" brush in Adobe), and I'm pretty sure he's on his way out. He drools constantly, has stopped grooming, and spends a lot of time yowling and looking a little confused. My mom's sure if she takes him to the vet he'll get put down, and she doesn't want to do that. She says he doesn't look like he's in pain.
So anyway, there's a family history of growths. This thing on Delilah's paw doesn't look like the tumors I've seen on Sam and Oreo, but I'm worrried. It's probably a chewed area that got infected. I figure with this whatever-it-is going on with her kidneys, her immune system might not be optimal and I don't want some infection raging through her system.
The vet's office opens in 20 minutes. I hope I can get an appointment. And I hope it's nothing serious. I tend to catastrophize.
If you could send some good thoughts towards Central Pennsylvania, I'd really appreciate it.
Friday, May 01, 2009
Another little anniversary
Two years ago today I officially started working for the department I'm in now. Yesterday was the 2nd anniversary of the move--when the tech support people took my equipment from my old cubicle and put it in my new one, and I had to follow it down 'cause how else would I do my work? It took every ounce of self-control I had not to skip merrily down the hall behind the tech folks, singing out "See ya! Bub-bye now!" as I left.
Last year I really wanted to send the Dean flowers as a thank-you for getting me the heck outta there. I thought news of that would get around, though, and I didn't want to make things difficult for myself with the people I left. But oh! what a nice bouquet I made in my head.
Last year I really wanted to send the Dean flowers as a thank-you for getting me the heck outta there. I thought news of that would get around, though, and I didn't want to make things difficult for myself with the people I left. But oh! what a nice bouquet I made in my head.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Hey look! Another meme!
I got this one from Antonia, over at Whooppee The original instructions on this were to find song names from your favorite band and make them the answers to the questions. Antonia decided to she'd rather answer the questions head-on, and I agree. It was a consider-yourself-tagged-if-you-want sort of thing, so I tagged me. Here we go:
1. Are you a male or female: Female, but I do possess some version of the "I don't need to ask directions, I'm not lost" gene. Most of the time I can control it, the rest of the time I just pretend I'm exploring.
2. Describe yourself: Large. Bookish. Whimsical. Covered in cat hair. Boisterous. Sarcastic. Like to dance, now that I know how. Generous. Shy. Friendly. Goofy, with a slight smattering of silly. Musical. Easy to amuse. Eager to please. Generally tolerant except for certain noises like slurps or constant sniffling.
3. How do you feel about yourself: I'm comfortable by myself, I amuse myself. I feel a lot more confident than I did a few years ago.
4. Describe your parents: My mom is a little shorter than me, red-headed, articulate, fun and funny. She has an amazing soprano voice. She could have been an opera singer. My dad is tall, thin, quiet, with a very dry wit. He's from Iowa. Keeps most of his feelings to himself. They're an odd pairing, but they've been married for 42 years, so I guess that theory about opposites attracting has some validity. I not only love them, I like them.
5. Describe your ex boyfriend/girlfriends: The first one was dark-haired and blue-eyed, with a lovely singing voice (tenor) and an ego the size of a small planet. He's down south somewhere, has been married and divorced twice. A friend told me recently that he'd like to get in touch with me again, "just as pen pals" or something. Not just no, but hell no.
The second one was my height exactly, had light brown hair and hazel eyes, a lovely singing voice (see a pattern developing? This one was a bass) and a wounded soul. For 3 and 1/2 years he sucked the life out of me, dragged me down to his level of sorrow (misery loves company and all that). Then he graduated, told me he wasn't in love with me, and disappeared. It didn't take long for me to see how much happier I was after he left, and that I didn't miss him. I do miss the 3 & 1/2 years, though.
The third one was a very brief relationship that ended suddenly when an emotional hand-grenade got tossed into my private life. He got hit with shrapnel. I don't think I ever explained the situation, and he's never asked. He's married now, lives in this town, is a bus driver. I see him once in a while, usually when he's driving my bus. Of the three, he's the only one who I wouldn't cross the street to avoid speaking to. And no, he can't sing. Couldn't carry a tune if it had handles on it.
6. Describe your current boy/girl situation: It took a long time for me to figure it out, but I'm really happiest on my own.
7. Describe your current location: In a computer lab on a college campus, in a chair that's too low for me, three terminals down from someone who really needs a tissue (see #2)
8. Describe where you want to be: At home, in PJs, sitting on the sofa with the cat in my lap and a book in my hand. In Lancaster County, visiting my sister. In San Francisco, wandering around staring at everything in an attitude that screams "tourist!" In Stratford, Ontario, watching a performance from their theater festival. Whale-watching. Beach-combing.
9. Your best friend(s) is/are: quick-witted, fast-talking, big-hearted, intelligent, talented (each in his or her own way), and fun to be around. They're also generally a long way off. Some are out of town, out of state, one is on another plane of existence altogether (buried in Kansas. I miss her, and some day when I am able, I'll write about her).
10. Your favourite colour is: anything but orange. I like to wear red, brown, black, pink. I like to look at blue, green, yellow, purple.
11. You know that: I didn't answer #9 very well, so I went back and added some more. Edits are in green.
12. If your life was a television show what would it be called: Running the Asylum
13. What is life to you: Whatever I'm doing at the moment.
14. What is the best advice you have to give: Don't take free advice.
Edited to add: Tag! You're it! But only if you want to play.
1. Are you a male or female: Female, but I do possess some version of the "I don't need to ask directions, I'm not lost" gene. Most of the time I can control it, the rest of the time I just pretend I'm exploring.
2. Describe yourself: Large. Bookish. Whimsical. Covered in cat hair. Boisterous. Sarcastic. Like to dance, now that I know how. Generous. Shy. Friendly. Goofy, with a slight smattering of silly. Musical. Easy to amuse. Eager to please. Generally tolerant except for certain noises like slurps or constant sniffling.
3. How do you feel about yourself: I'm comfortable by myself, I amuse myself. I feel a lot more confident than I did a few years ago.
4. Describe your parents: My mom is a little shorter than me, red-headed, articulate, fun and funny. She has an amazing soprano voice. She could have been an opera singer. My dad is tall, thin, quiet, with a very dry wit. He's from Iowa. Keeps most of his feelings to himself. They're an odd pairing, but they've been married for 42 years, so I guess that theory about opposites attracting has some validity. I not only love them, I like them.
5. Describe your ex boyfriend/girlfriends: The first one was dark-haired and blue-eyed, with a lovely singing voice (tenor) and an ego the size of a small planet. He's down south somewhere, has been married and divorced twice. A friend told me recently that he'd like to get in touch with me again, "just as pen pals" or something. Not just no, but hell no.
The second one was my height exactly, had light brown hair and hazel eyes, a lovely singing voice (see a pattern developing? This one was a bass) and a wounded soul. For 3 and 1/2 years he sucked the life out of me, dragged me down to his level of sorrow (misery loves company and all that). Then he graduated, told me he wasn't in love with me, and disappeared. It didn't take long for me to see how much happier I was after he left, and that I didn't miss him. I do miss the 3 & 1/2 years, though.
The third one was a very brief relationship that ended suddenly when an emotional hand-grenade got tossed into my private life. He got hit with shrapnel. I don't think I ever explained the situation, and he's never asked. He's married now, lives in this town, is a bus driver. I see him once in a while, usually when he's driving my bus. Of the three, he's the only one who I wouldn't cross the street to avoid speaking to. And no, he can't sing. Couldn't carry a tune if it had handles on it.
6. Describe your current boy/girl situation: It took a long time for me to figure it out, but I'm really happiest on my own.
7. Describe your current location: In a computer lab on a college campus, in a chair that's too low for me, three terminals down from someone who really needs a tissue (see #2)
8. Describe where you want to be: At home, in PJs, sitting on the sofa with the cat in my lap and a book in my hand. In Lancaster County, visiting my sister. In San Francisco, wandering around staring at everything in an attitude that screams "tourist!" In Stratford, Ontario, watching a performance from their theater festival. Whale-watching. Beach-combing.
9. Your best friend(s) is/are: quick-witted, fast-talking, big-hearted, intelligent, talented (each in his or her own way), and fun to be around. They're also generally a long way off. Some are out of town, out of state, one is on another plane of existence altogether (buried in Kansas. I miss her, and some day when I am able, I'll write about her).
10. Your favourite colour is: anything but orange. I like to wear red, brown, black, pink. I like to look at blue, green, yellow, purple.
11. You know that: I didn't answer #9 very well, so I went back and added some more. Edits are in green.
12. If your life was a television show what would it be called: Running the Asylum
13. What is life to you: Whatever I'm doing at the moment.
14. What is the best advice you have to give: Don't take free advice.
Edited to add: Tag! You're it! But only if you want to play.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Easter
I went home for Easter. It was relaxing, pleasant, and quiet. TV stayed off most of the weekend. Ah. Nice.
I have some pictures. Wanna see?
That grass in the basket is real, and live. It's a Martha Stewart trick. I was going to link to it but I can't find the link. Basically you take a plastic bag, put potting soil in it, spread the seeds on it, and put it in the basket. Water it once in a while, and it'll keep growing.
The duck is a toy Mom got at a drug store. It comes as an egg. There are holes drilled top and bottom. You soak the egg for a while, and then after you take it out, the shell cracks and the little duck emerges. He's a very dense sponge. He was still wet at the bottom on Sunday afternoon. He's in there partly for cuteness and partly to water the grass.
After Easter the grass will get planted outside somewhere.
This grouse was sitting outside Saturday morning. Saw him through the bathroom window, grabbed the camera, and hoped for the best. I tried to get another shot of him from the porch, but as soon as he saw me he flew away. Oh, well.
And here's another shot of that basket with loot left by the Easter bunny. Mom didn't want to stain the grass, so most of the candy went into a separate basket. The bag in the back and the two flowered eggs are presents from me. The candy eggs are from a chocolatier here in town. The bag has roots for 10 strawberry plants in it.
And that's pretty much my weekend. I took vacation on Monday -- I'd originally planned to be upstate longer, but that's when I thought the cat was coming with me. M'colleague agreed to give the cat her meds (in wet cat food. Lilah likes her a lot now) over Easter weekend, but I thought asking her to do Monday as well would be an imposition. She said (my colleague, not my cat. I'm not that far gone yet!) that Lilah was very friendly, all purring and lovey-dovey, no trouble at all with eating her doctored food. Aha! My sneaky little plan worked.
I have some pictures. Wanna see?
That grass in the basket is real, and live. It's a Martha Stewart trick. I was going to link to it but I can't find the link. Basically you take a plastic bag, put potting soil in it, spread the seeds on it, and put it in the basket. Water it once in a while, and it'll keep growing.
The duck is a toy Mom got at a drug store. It comes as an egg. There are holes drilled top and bottom. You soak the egg for a while, and then after you take it out, the shell cracks and the little duck emerges. He's a very dense sponge. He was still wet at the bottom on Sunday afternoon. He's in there partly for cuteness and partly to water the grass.
After Easter the grass will get planted outside somewhere.
This grouse was sitting outside Saturday morning. Saw him through the bathroom window, grabbed the camera, and hoped for the best. I tried to get another shot of him from the porch, but as soon as he saw me he flew away. Oh, well.
And here's another shot of that basket with loot left by the Easter bunny. Mom didn't want to stain the grass, so most of the candy went into a separate basket. The bag in the back and the two flowered eggs are presents from me. The candy eggs are from a chocolatier here in town. The bag has roots for 10 strawberry plants in it.
And that's pretty much my weekend. I took vacation on Monday -- I'd originally planned to be upstate longer, but that's when I thought the cat was coming with me. M'colleague agreed to give the cat her meds (in wet cat food. Lilah likes her a lot now) over Easter weekend, but I thought asking her to do Monday as well would be an imposition. She said (my colleague, not my cat. I'm not that far gone yet!) that Lilah was very friendly, all purring and lovey-dovey, no trouble at all with eating her doctored food. Aha! My sneaky little plan worked.
Thursday, April 09, 2009
The "puppies" who used to live upstairs
The following is a memory jog, courtesy of yesterday's post by Antonia.
Just after I graduated college, I lived in a two bedroom apartment with three other girls (one in her third year at school, the other two just like me -- recent graduates with crappy jobs). Our upstairs neighbors were four college boys. I don't think they had furniture, because they seemed to use every square inch of that floor. Sometimes they'd practice goosestepping in heavy work boots. Or maybe it was tap-dancing. Stamping out ants?
They also liked to hold impromptu wrestling matches in the middle of their living room. I used to imagine them as a litter of puppies all rolling around on the floor together. We often expected to see the whole lot of them come crashing through our ceiling during these little romps, and I am sure that if this happened the boys would've been completely unfazed. They probably would have looked up briefly, shrugged, and then gone back to their scuffle. Same match, different floor.
Their favorite game (when they weren't playing Pig Pile on the Living Room Floor, that is) was to toss a(n American) football back and forth from the back bedroom down the hall to the living room, then from living room out onto the adjoining deck -- all the while holding shouted conversations about sports, school, girls, and who had been the most drunk the previous evening. One of the guys in the living room constantly overshot (or maybe one of the ones on the deck was trying to catch while wearing greased oven mitts), so every few minutes someone would gallop downstairs, fling open the door, slam it shut, find the football, fling open the door again, slam it shut, and pound back up the steps.
I wonder where they are now. I wonder if they think back fondly on their college days, or if they spare a thought for the four young women who lived beneath them and whose collective fervent wish was that they all go straight to hell.
Oh, hey, look what I grew!
Just after I graduated college, I lived in a two bedroom apartment with three other girls (one in her third year at school, the other two just like me -- recent graduates with crappy jobs). Our upstairs neighbors were four college boys. I don't think they had furniture, because they seemed to use every square inch of that floor. Sometimes they'd practice goosestepping in heavy work boots. Or maybe it was tap-dancing. Stamping out ants?
They also liked to hold impromptu wrestling matches in the middle of their living room. I used to imagine them as a litter of puppies all rolling around on the floor together. We often expected to see the whole lot of them come crashing through our ceiling during these little romps, and I am sure that if this happened the boys would've been completely unfazed. They probably would have looked up briefly, shrugged, and then gone back to their scuffle. Same match, different floor.
Their favorite game (when they weren't playing Pig Pile on the Living Room Floor, that is) was to toss a(n American) football back and forth from the back bedroom down the hall to the living room, then from living room out onto the adjoining deck -- all the while holding shouted conversations about sports, school, girls, and who had been the most drunk the previous evening. One of the guys in the living room constantly overshot (or maybe one of the ones on the deck was trying to catch while wearing greased oven mitts), so every few minutes someone would gallop downstairs, fling open the door, slam it shut, find the football, fling open the door again, slam it shut, and pound back up the steps.
I wonder where they are now. I wonder if they think back fondly on their college days, or if they spare a thought for the four young women who lived beneath them and whose collective fervent wish was that they all go straight to hell.
Oh, hey, look what I grew!
Wednesday, April 08, 2009
Results from my evaluation
I got the supervisor-written part of my evaluation this morning. I'll get the final one after the dean has signed off on it, but nothing that's already been written will change. Our supervisor figured we wanted to know where we stood as soon as possible, so she handed us "unofficial" versions this morning.
The word "exceptionally" was used a lot. I got complimented for my energy, flexibility, cheerfulness, willingness to take on more work, and for getting projects done in "record time."
Okay, so there are no raises this year (the budget for the state is a mess, and this university gets a chunk of our budget from the state), but I don't really care. Sometimes the praise is good enough all on its own.
The word "exceptionally" was used a lot. I got complimented for my energy, flexibility, cheerfulness, willingness to take on more work, and for getting projects done in "record time."
Okay, so there are no raises this year (the budget for the state is a mess, and this university gets a chunk of our budget from the state), but I don't really care. Sometimes the praise is good enough all on its own.
Tuesday, April 07, 2009
Modeling my new backbone
I went down to pick up the next piece of a project I'm working on for my old boss. Waiting on the cart for me were way more items than what I agreed that I would take at one time (and I've emphasized that to them quite a few times already). They do this all the time. They're supposed to pull between 40 and 60 reels of microfilm (I've told them repeatedly to try aiming for 50), and for the third time in as many weeks they had over 60 waiting for me to take away. A couple of weeks ago is was 115. Today it was 88.
I used to just take the reels, reiterate that I wanted between 40 and 60, and think ugly thoughts at them as I dragged stuff back to my cubicle to work on it. Part of me wanted to do it again today, but I stifled that impulse. If I kept letting them get away with this, pretty soon there would be over 100 reels on that cart again. I should know that, having worked with them so long. They push. You offer one of something, they ask for two. Give 'em an inch, they think they're rulers.
Dammit, I set a limit for a reason. I do have other things to do.
I asked my old boss what she wanted me to take, the 63-reel long title (three over my limit, but that's okay because it's an entire title), or the 25-reel long title and the first 35 reels of the 63-reel long one. She looked surprised.
"Well we don't like splitting runs up if we can help it..."
"Okay, so the 63-reel one."
"Well, but we have a list we're going by and we don't want to confuse the students doing the pulling."
They're already confused, I thought. They can't even count to sixty.
I went to the folder with the list in it and flipped a few pages.
"Next title is 37 reels long. I'll take the 63 reels today, and then Thursday I'll take these 25 and that 37-reel title."
She agreed, but I don't think she was happy. I used to have "Welcome" written on my back in 15 languages. I think she expected me to roll over and play dead. I'd said something to my supervisor and the head of my department at my annual review a few weeks ago along the lines of needing to grow a spine where these people were concerned.
Looks like it's starting to happen.
I used to just take the reels, reiterate that I wanted between 40 and 60, and think ugly thoughts at them as I dragged stuff back to my cubicle to work on it. Part of me wanted to do it again today, but I stifled that impulse. If I kept letting them get away with this, pretty soon there would be over 100 reels on that cart again. I should know that, having worked with them so long. They push. You offer one of something, they ask for two. Give 'em an inch, they think they're rulers.
Dammit, I set a limit for a reason. I do have other things to do.
I asked my old boss what she wanted me to take, the 63-reel long title (three over my limit, but that's okay because it's an entire title), or the 25-reel long title and the first 35 reels of the 63-reel long one. She looked surprised.
"Well we don't like splitting runs up if we can help it..."
"Okay, so the 63-reel one."
"Well, but we have a list we're going by and we don't want to confuse the students doing the pulling."
They're already confused, I thought. They can't even count to sixty.
I went to the folder with the list in it and flipped a few pages.
"Next title is 37 reels long. I'll take the 63 reels today, and then Thursday I'll take these 25 and that 37-reel title."
She agreed, but I don't think she was happy. I used to have "Welcome" written on my back in 15 languages. I think she expected me to roll over and play dead. I'd said something to my supervisor and the head of my department at my annual review a few weeks ago along the lines of needing to grow a spine where these people were concerned.
Looks like it's starting to happen.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Little anniversaries
Today is the 1st anniversary of the day I finally Had It Up to Here with my apartment manager and decided to get the bleep outta there. Ah, memories. Have I mentioned that the incompetent twit no longer works there?
Local veggies headed my way
So I just joined (or will have joined, once I get my check in the mail) a community supported agriculture project with a local farm. For $600 you get a crate of fresh vegetables once a week. For $375 you get a crate once every two weeks. If you sign up and pay the whole fee before April 1, you get a 10% discount.
A half-share (the 1-crate-biweekly option) is described as meeting the "produce needs of one vegetable-loving person or a family who consumes only a moderate amount of vegetables." I figured 1 crate every two weeks would be plenty. They give this huge list of the sorts of things the grow:
I have a feeling there's going to be a biweekly feature on the blog this May through November involving a photo of all the stuff in the crate. And probably a plea for recipes/suggestions/ideas about what to do with the contents. For example: Mom says chard is good cooked up with olive oil and garlic.
I figure that $335 or so is a lot to pay up front, but it'll be worth it. It's all local, organically grown produce. It'll make me eat healthier ('cause if I pay that much for it, I sure am gonna eat it). So it looks like I'm taking on cooking this summer as well. Need to learn more of that for Thanksgiving anyway.
A half-share (the 1-crate-biweekly option) is described as meeting the "produce needs of one vegetable-loving person or a family who consumes only a moderate amount of vegetables." I figured 1 crate every two weeks would be plenty. They give this huge list of the sorts of things the grow:
Here is a list of crops you can expect through different parts of the season:Sample Early Season: Spring Greens, Lettuce, Spinach, Radishes, Scallions, Peas, Kohlrabi, Bok Choy, Asian Greens, Cilantro
Sample High Season: Cucumbers, Cauliflower, Carrots, Corn, Summer Squash, Heirloom Tomatoes, Cherry Tomatoes, Garlic, Swiss Chard, Sweet Peppers, Hot Peppers, Potatoes, Fennel Bulb, Beans, Melons, Kale, Eggplant, Basil, Dill and other Herbs.
Egg Corn, Eggplant, Garlic, Carrots, Arugula,
Sample Late Season: Beets, Carrots, Spinach, Potatoes, Onions, Celeriac, Broccoli, Rutabaga, Winter Squash, Leeks, Brussels Sprouts, Garlic, Various Herbs
Sounded intriguing (What's egg corn? What do I do with a fennel bulb? Is celeriac a relative of celery? I sure hope these things get packed with labels on 'em). Sounded healthy. Sounded like a challenge to eat more than just carrots, cucumbers, corn, lettuce, and tomatoes. So I bit the bullet, wrote out the check, and joined.
I have a feeling there's going to be a biweekly feature on the blog this May through November involving a photo of all the stuff in the crate. And probably a plea for recipes/suggestions/ideas about what to do with the contents. For example: Mom says chard is good cooked up with olive oil and garlic.
I figure that $335 or so is a lot to pay up front, but it'll be worth it. It's all local, organically grown produce. It'll make me eat healthier ('cause if I pay that much for it, I sure am gonna eat it). So it looks like I'm taking on cooking this summer as well. Need to learn more of that for Thanksgiving anyway.
Monday, March 23, 2009
And my little heart went pitty-pat...
Holy crap!
Mom just sent me this email:
How would you feel about Ditter and Stretch coming over for Easter dinner?
I stared at it for a few moments (whoo! Feel that adrenaline rush!) before replying:
Over where?
It sounded like there was gonna be some sort of Easter confab (editorial update: wrong word. Apparently that's a conversation. I meant: shindig, do, gathering, partay) at my place. The hell? Last I knew, Mom and Dad were coming to pick up Lolly and me on Good Friday and taking me back home with them. I remember asking if that wasn't a terribly long schlepp, and she replied that it was no worse than the drive to the bus stop to pick me up.
I am totally unprepared for company. I'm planning to host Thanksgiving, and it looked like this email was cutting my prep-for-company time from eight months to three weeks. Gaaaaah!
I followed it up with a second reply:
If you mean over here, this is how I would feel: stressed, panicked, unprepared, under furnished, and guilty if I said no.
I'm not ready for people. I don't have enough furniture for people to all sit on something without some folks getting a kitchen chair. I said I'd host Thanksgiving, and that's what I've been shooting for -- eight months from now. I've never hosted a dinner party, let alone a holiday function, and I'm freaking out right now just thinking about it.
Did you already talk to them about it?
Too antsy to wait for an email back, I called her.
Yep. She thought they were spending the weekend with me, gonna play in my garden, stuff like that.
No.
Nononononono.
I couldn't figure out how she got that idea, and told her so. She mentioned something about a phone conversation we had recently, where we mentioned getting pavers for the garden when they came down, and I said, "Yeah. And I remember thinking, we're gonna do all this on Good Friday?"
So. They're staying home and hosting Easter. I'm gonna do Thanksgiving--I've invited my sister, her hubby, and her in-laws. Don't know if they'll come. Gulp. Need more chairs if they do.
I should buy more chairs anyway.
C'mon tax refund, mama needs to go furniture shopping!
Mom just sent me this email:
How would you feel about Ditter and Stretch coming over for Easter dinner?
I stared at it for a few moments (whoo! Feel that adrenaline rush!) before replying:
Over where?
It sounded like there was gonna be some sort of Easter confab (editorial update: wrong word. Apparently that's a conversation. I meant: shindig, do, gathering, partay) at my place. The hell? Last I knew, Mom and Dad were coming to pick up Lolly and me on Good Friday and taking me back home with them. I remember asking if that wasn't a terribly long schlepp, and she replied that it was no worse than the drive to the bus stop to pick me up.
I am totally unprepared for company. I'm planning to host Thanksgiving, and it looked like this email was cutting my prep-for-company time from eight months to three weeks. Gaaaaah!
I followed it up with a second reply:
If you mean over here, this is how I would feel: stressed, panicked, unprepared, under furnished, and guilty if I said no.
I'm not ready for people. I don't have enough furniture for people to all sit on something without some folks getting a kitchen chair. I said I'd host Thanksgiving, and that's what I've been shooting for -- eight months from now. I've never hosted a dinner party, let alone a holiday function, and I'm freaking out right now just thinking about it.
Did you already talk to them about it?
Too antsy to wait for an email back, I called her.
Yep. She thought they were spending the weekend with me, gonna play in my garden, stuff like that.
No.
Nononononono.
I couldn't figure out how she got that idea, and told her so. She mentioned something about a phone conversation we had recently, where we mentioned getting pavers for the garden when they came down, and I said, "Yeah. And I remember thinking, we're gonna do all this on Good Friday?"
So. They're staying home and hosting Easter. I'm gonna do Thanksgiving--I've invited my sister, her hubby, and her in-laws. Don't know if they'll come. Gulp. Need more chairs if they do.
I should buy more chairs anyway.
C'mon tax refund, mama needs to go furniture shopping!
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
A reader's meme
I lifted this meme from Average Jane:
1. Which book has been on your shelves the longest? Jane Eyre, though not the same copy. I keep reading that story to shreds.
2. What is your current read, your last read and the book you’ll read next?
Current Read: Jane and the Ghosts of Netley, by Stephanie Barron
Last Read: The Archivist, by Martha Cooley
Next Book: Magical Thinking, by Augusten Burroughs -- unless something else catches my eye.
3. What book did everyone like and you hated?
I was significantly underwhelmed by The Bridges of Madison County. I didn't see it as romantic at all. I was impatient with him and irritated by her.
4. Which book do you keep telling yourself you’ll read, but you probably won’t?
Not so much that I'm telling myself I'll read it, but that I despair of ever finishing it: A Suitable Boy. I keep picking it up and putting it down. And it's so long between attempts, I usually have to start over. It's good, but it's l-o-o-o-o-o-n-g. Oy.
5. Which book are you saving for “retirement?”
Well, I have to learn French first, but one thing I'd really like to do is read Les Miserables in its original language. Dunno why, I'm sure there are plenty of good translations out there. I just want to read it in French.
6. Last page: read it first or wait till the end?
I wait 'til the end.
7. Acknowledgments: waste of ink and paper or interesting aside?
I like them if they explain who the people are being thanked. If it's just a list of names, I tend to move on.
8. Which book character would you switch places with?
Can't think of anyone.
9. Do you have a book that reminds you of something specific in your life (a person, a place, a time)?
No, not really. Now, ask me that about pieces I've embroidered, that's a different story. For example, the pillow top I was working on during the long drive back from my cousin J's wedding in Virginia. NASCAR radio was on, I was embroidering in the back seat (roads were well-paved, car had decent shocks, and it was a blunt needle. And my small-hand coordination's very good). I've never finished the piece, 'cause every time I look at it I hear nnnnnnnNNNNNYOWMMMMNNNNnnnnnn in my head.
10. Name a book you acquired in some interesting way.
My aunt gave me the whole "Little House" series by Laura Ingalls Wilder, in hardback, one book every year or so, until I had them all.
11. Have you ever given away a book for a special reason to a special person?
I've been doing for my aunt's grandchild what my aunt did for me. I think the next one I have to get her is The Long Winter. Need to check on that.
12. Which book has been with you to the most places?
Most of my childhood books are packed away somewhere. I haven't seen them since we moved out away from the Philly area when I was 17. I hope they're still in good condition. Somehow or other Northanger Abbey missed getting packed up with everything else. I got that
13. Any “required reading” you hated in high school that wasn’t so bad ten years later?
Nope. I still don't like The Red Badge of Courage, and I can't see "The Big Two-Hearted River" as anything but a fishing trip.
14. What is the strangest item you’ve ever found in a book?
Found a photo in one I bought at a used book sale--old black and white photo of a woman holding a baby. Nothing written on the back. I don't remember what I did with it. If Look at Me had been around at the time, I would have scanned and posted the photo there.
15. Used or brand new?
Either. Both. Gimme!
16. Stephen King: Literary genius or opiate of the masses?
Eh. He's all right. Some of his stuff is really good, other works not so much. I think he answered the question himself when he wrote books under the name "Richard Bachman," and they didn't sell until he leaked it that they were his.
17. Have you ever seen a movie you liked better than the book?
I have learned to treat the movie and the book as separate. Other wise I get irritated with what I see as liberties taken with the way the story is told once it's put on film.
18. Conversely, which book should NEVER have been introduced to celluloid?
The Woman in White.
19. Who is the person whose book advice you’ll always take?
My mom's taste and mine seem to coincide. Though my friend G's pointed some interesting books out for me, too. Another one on my list, either after Magical Thinking or before, depending on my mood when I get down with what I'm reading now, is one he recommended called When Languages Die.
1. Which book has been on your shelves the longest? Jane Eyre, though not the same copy. I keep reading that story to shreds.
2. What is your current read, your last read and the book you’ll read next?
Current Read: Jane and the Ghosts of Netley, by Stephanie Barron
Last Read: The Archivist, by Martha Cooley
Next Book: Magical Thinking, by Augusten Burroughs -- unless something else catches my eye.
3. What book did everyone like and you hated?
I was significantly underwhelmed by The Bridges of Madison County. I didn't see it as romantic at all. I was impatient with him and irritated by her.
4. Which book do you keep telling yourself you’ll read, but you probably won’t?
Not so much that I'm telling myself I'll read it, but that I despair of ever finishing it: A Suitable Boy. I keep picking it up and putting it down. And it's so long between attempts, I usually have to start over. It's good, but it's l-o-o-o-o-o-n-g. Oy.
5. Which book are you saving for “retirement?”
Well, I have to learn French first, but one thing I'd really like to do is read Les Miserables in its original language. Dunno why, I'm sure there are plenty of good translations out there. I just want to read it in French.
6. Last page: read it first or wait till the end?
I wait 'til the end.
7. Acknowledgments: waste of ink and paper or interesting aside?
I like them if they explain who the people are being thanked. If it's just a list of names, I tend to move on.
8. Which book character would you switch places with?
Can't think of anyone.
9. Do you have a book that reminds you of something specific in your life (a person, a place, a time)?
No, not really. Now, ask me that about pieces I've embroidered, that's a different story. For example, the pillow top I was working on during the long drive back from my cousin J's wedding in Virginia. NASCAR radio was on, I was embroidering in the back seat (roads were well-paved, car had decent shocks, and it was a blunt needle. And my small-hand coordination's very good). I've never finished the piece, 'cause every time I look at it I hear nnnnnnnNNNNNYOWMMMMNNNNnnnnnn in my head.
10. Name a book you acquired in some interesting way.
My aunt gave me the whole "Little House" series by Laura Ingalls Wilder, in hardback, one book every year or so, until I had them all.
11. Have you ever given away a book for a special reason to a special person?
I've been doing for my aunt's grandchild what my aunt did for me. I think the next one I have to get her is The Long Winter. Need to check on that.
12. Which book has been with you to the most places?
Most of my childhood books are packed away somewhere. I haven't seen them since we moved out away from the Philly area when I was 17. I hope they're still in good condition. Somehow or other Northanger Abbey missed getting packed up with everything else. I got that
13. Any “required reading” you hated in high school that wasn’t so bad ten years later?
Nope. I still don't like The Red Badge of Courage, and I can't see "The Big Two-Hearted River" as anything but a fishing trip.
14. What is the strangest item you’ve ever found in a book?
Found a photo in one I bought at a used book sale--old black and white photo of a woman holding a baby. Nothing written on the back. I don't remember what I did with it. If Look at Me had been around at the time, I would have scanned and posted the photo there.
15. Used or brand new?
Either. Both. Gimme!
16. Stephen King: Literary genius or opiate of the masses?
Eh. He's all right. Some of his stuff is really good, other works not so much. I think he answered the question himself when he wrote books under the name "Richard Bachman," and they didn't sell until he leaked it that they were his.
17. Have you ever seen a movie you liked better than the book?
I have learned to treat the movie and the book as separate. Other wise I get irritated with what I see as liberties taken with the way the story is told once it's put on film.
18. Conversely, which book should NEVER have been introduced to celluloid?
The Woman in White.
19. Who is the person whose book advice you’ll always take?
My mom's taste and mine seem to coincide. Though my friend G's pointed some interesting books out for me, too. Another one on my list, either after Magical Thinking or before, depending on my mood when I get down with what I'm reading now, is one he recommended called When Languages Die.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Jumping the gun a wee bit
So I've been doing Weight Watchers online the past couple of weeks. I can't tell how much I've lost (if anything), 'cause I can't find my bathroom scale. All right, no, I haven't looked for it. I'm afraid. I'll weigh in when I see significant differences other ways. And even then I'll only do it because I'll need to know how many points I should be using in the WW plan (the smaller you get, the less points you have for food).
I was feeling smaller this morning, so I tried a pair of jeans I haven't worn in months. They fit! Huzzah! I decided to wear them to work.
To tell the truth, they're a little snug. Sitting isn't uncomfortable, but I hope I don't drop something today--I bent over to tie my shoes this morning and nearly knocked myself out from lack of air. I probably should have waited another week.
But still! I'm in 'em! Woo-hoo!
In other news: the research on Thanksgiving dinner has begun. We start with napkins. Can't decide between the fleur-de-lis and the diamond pocket napkin fold.
I was feeling smaller this morning, so I tried a pair of jeans I haven't worn in months. They fit! Huzzah! I decided to wear them to work.
To tell the truth, they're a little snug. Sitting isn't uncomfortable, but I hope I don't drop something today--I bent over to tie my shoes this morning and nearly knocked myself out from lack of air. I probably should have waited another week.
But still! I'm in 'em! Woo-hoo!
In other news: the research on Thanksgiving dinner has begun. We start with napkins. Can't decide between the fleur-de-lis and the diamond pocket napkin fold.
Sunday, March 08, 2009
I'm a grown-up!
You'd think, wouldn't you, that buying a townhouse would make me feel like an adult. Or maybe turning forty? Nope. You know what did it? Using the 1040 long form for my taxes, complete with a filled-out schedule A and schedule B.
Except for the year I had jury duty (and couldn't find a space on any other form but the 1040 long form to declare the $14 bucks or so that they paid me to sit around before being dismissed with thanks), I've used the 1040EZ form. One side of one sheet, very little to do except report what I made, what my tax should have been, what they took, and what they owe me.
This year? What I make, what I paid in state and local taxes, what I paid in property taxes, how much interest I paid on the mortgage, how much I paid in private mortgage insurance premiums...subtract that from what I made, along with the usual exemption I get every year (my head is beginning to spin, how about yours?)...two hours of math and form-filling later, it turns out the IRS owes me close to $800! It used to be between $300-$400.
Holy crap.
Except for the year I had jury duty (and couldn't find a space on any other form but the 1040 long form to declare the $14 bucks or so that they paid me to sit around before being dismissed with thanks), I've used the 1040EZ form. One side of one sheet, very little to do except report what I made, what my tax should have been, what they took, and what they owe me.
This year? What I make, what I paid in state and local taxes, what I paid in property taxes, how much interest I paid on the mortgage, how much I paid in private mortgage insurance premiums...subtract that from what I made, along with the usual exemption I get every year (my head is beginning to spin, how about yours?)...two hours of math and form-filling later, it turns out the IRS owes me close to $800! It used to be between $300-$400.
Holy crap.
Friday, February 27, 2009
Neat video
I'm catching up on some Tweets. A bunch of them have links to videos, and I can't really watch them at work, so I'm going through 'em now. Here's one the Bloggess sent out yesterday:
Cool! I love 3-D effect street painting.
Cool! I love 3-D effect street painting.
Sneaky
About a minute and a half after starting work this morning, I gave myself a wicked paper cut on the tip of the middle finger of my left hand. Oh, it's gonna be a good day. After running around with my finger in my mouth for a bit (don'tbleedonthebooksdon'tbleedonthebooks) I finally located a band-aid and slapped it on the wound.
Shortly after that, my old supervisor popped up outside my cubicle and attempted an ambush. It started with desultory conversation about what I was doing (viewing microfilm), and then moved on to this:
"I was going to ask [my supervisor], but thought I'd run this by you first to see what you thought. [A librarian from another section] usually looks after our desk when we have staff meetings and trainings, but he's on sabbatical right now. We were wondering if you and [my fellow refugee] would be interested in doing the desk for us. I mean, I could get one of the students to do it, but ..." and then she trailed off, looking at me expectantly.
"I have so many things going on right now, I just don't think I can take that on too," I lied, sending up a silent prayer of thanksgiving for Malory's warning.
"Oh. Okay. I just thought I'd ask." And then she vanished.
After she left I tracked down my colleague to warn her of a possible sneak-attack. She hasn't been approached yet. At her suggestion I emailed my supervisor (who's out today) to let her know, just in case those people try to do an end-run 'round us and "seek permission" for us for something we don't want to do.
Here's the thing: if the situation were reversed and someone approached one of my old supervisor's employees with an offer like that without checking with her first, you'd hear her screams of rage from as far away as Pittsburgh. Sneaky little mumblegrumbleumph.
D'you think it was an omen, which finger got the boo-boo?
Shortly after that, my old supervisor popped up outside my cubicle and attempted an ambush. It started with desultory conversation about what I was doing (viewing microfilm), and then moved on to this:
"I was going to ask [my supervisor], but thought I'd run this by you first to see what you thought. [A librarian from another section] usually looks after our desk when we have staff meetings and trainings, but he's on sabbatical right now. We were wondering if you and [my fellow refugee] would be interested in doing the desk for us. I mean, I could get one of the students to do it, but ..." and then she trailed off, looking at me expectantly.
"I have so many things going on right now, I just don't think I can take that on too," I lied, sending up a silent prayer of thanksgiving for Malory's warning.
"Oh. Okay. I just thought I'd ask." And then she vanished.
After she left I tracked down my colleague to warn her of a possible sneak-attack. She hasn't been approached yet. At her suggestion I emailed my supervisor (who's out today) to let her know, just in case those people try to do an end-run 'round us and "seek permission" for us for something we don't want to do.
Here's the thing: if the situation were reversed and someone approached one of my old supervisor's employees with an offer like that without checking with her first, you'd hear her screams of rage from as far away as Pittsburgh. Sneaky little mumblegrumbleumph.
D'you think it was an omen, which finger got the boo-boo?
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Blame Chief Loon for this one
She sent me this in an email. It's really punny. As she wrote when I emailed back to her that it was awful: The only way to deal with a pun or an earworm is to pass it on.
Share and enjoy:
Share and enjoy:
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Once every three years, whether I need it or not
I hate people touching my head. It's the main reason why I have long hair--it usually takes me about three years from the last time I get my hair cut to talk myself into going back and getting another one. If someone could figure out a way to wave the comb and scissors around over my head and magically make my hair shorter, I'd be so very happy.
I particularly hate the pre-cut shampooing session. Friends have told me that's their favorite part of the experience, that it's like getting a scalp massage--soooo relaxing. Not with me. I lie back with my head in someone's sink, trying to make small-talk and all the time thinking stoptouchingmestoptouchingmestoptouchingme. When I get up from the sink and follow the stylist to her station I have little half-moon fingernail marks in my palms.
Part of this may come from the time I got head lice, right before my eighteenth birthday. Mom spent an evening going all over my head with a bottle of Rid and a fine-toothed comb (I'm starting to itch just thinking about it). But I think that just reinforced an attitude about something I never liked anyway. Maybe I was scalped in a past life.
Anyway, I think it's time to let someone have a go at my hair. I've been resisting the idea for a while. When you get to the point, though, that your hair's too heavy to stay in a chignon, and it tickles your elbows when it's down (making you think there's someone behind you. Fun for someone living alone), it might be time to take action. And then there's what happens when I try to comb it. All my hair does is sit on my head all day, and yet when I try to comb it, I find that it's turned into one massive tangle towards the bottom. Is there some sort of party going on just past the nape of my neck? I sit here at night (or in the morning), combing and howling. The cat sits next to me while I do this, and I'll bet she's thinking, "Stop doing that if it hurts. Stupid."
Think of me Saturday. I'm going into Holiday Hair and asking someone to transform this:
into this:
Wish the poor unfortunate scissors-jockey some luck.
I particularly hate the pre-cut shampooing session. Friends have told me that's their favorite part of the experience, that it's like getting a scalp massage--soooo relaxing. Not with me. I lie back with my head in someone's sink, trying to make small-talk and all the time thinking stoptouchingmestoptouchingmestoptouchingme. When I get up from the sink and follow the stylist to her station I have little half-moon fingernail marks in my palms.
Part of this may come from the time I got head lice, right before my eighteenth birthday. Mom spent an evening going all over my head with a bottle of Rid and a fine-toothed comb (I'm starting to itch just thinking about it). But I think that just reinforced an attitude about something I never liked anyway. Maybe I was scalped in a past life.
Anyway, I think it's time to let someone have a go at my hair. I've been resisting the idea for a while. When you get to the point, though, that your hair's too heavy to stay in a chignon, and it tickles your elbows when it's down (making you think there's someone behind you. Fun for someone living alone), it might be time to take action. And then there's what happens when I try to comb it. All my hair does is sit on my head all day, and yet when I try to comb it, I find that it's turned into one massive tangle towards the bottom. Is there some sort of party going on just past the nape of my neck? I sit here at night (or in the morning), combing and howling. The cat sits next to me while I do this, and I'll bet she's thinking, "Stop doing that if it hurts. Stupid."
Think of me Saturday. I'm going into Holiday Hair and asking someone to transform this:
into this:
Wish the poor unfortunate scissors-jockey some luck.
Saturday, February 07, 2009
Kitty's kidneys
We went back to the doctor (to get another shrink...sorry. Wrong song) for Delilah's kidney recheck. He poked and prodded while she put up with it, then he took her out of the room to draw some blood. I'm glad they don't do that with me in the room. Partly 'cause I'd be upset to see it, and partly because I think she'd be upset for me for not helping her get away from the man with the sharp object.
While they were gone, I read this poster with a chart on it that was equating dog and cat years with human ones. It only went up to 15, and at 15 (according to the chart) a cat's age is equivalent to that of a 75-year-old human. Cripes! When Dr. M. came back into the room with my cat, I mentioned that the chart stopped at 15 years. His assistant found me another one that went farther. 18 is 88, 19 is 92, so right now Delilah is the feline equivalent of 90! Yowza.
I got a voice mail from the vet on Thursday. He says she's stabilized, and that actually it looked like her levels had improved a little. He dismissed that as a fluctuation. He wants me to put her on calcitriol, and called Franck's Pharmacy for me--said they'll call me in a day or two. He gave me an 800-number, which made me wonder if this was going to be a mail-order prescription.
I looked them up on the web. It is. They're in Ocala, FL, and it looks like they're the only people who compound calcitriol for veterinary use. Here's the article on the stuff she's going to take, and what it does for her. Sounds promising.
I can't get over the age thing. 90. I hope I'm still galloping around at 90.
While they were gone, I read this poster with a chart on it that was equating dog and cat years with human ones. It only went up to 15, and at 15 (according to the chart) a cat's age is equivalent to that of a 75-year-old human. Cripes! When Dr. M. came back into the room with my cat, I mentioned that the chart stopped at 15 years. His assistant found me another one that went farther. 18 is 88, 19 is 92, so right now Delilah is the feline equivalent of 90! Yowza.
I got a voice mail from the vet on Thursday. He says she's stabilized, and that actually it looked like her levels had improved a little. He dismissed that as a fluctuation. He wants me to put her on calcitriol, and called Franck's Pharmacy for me--said they'll call me in a day or two. He gave me an 800-number, which made me wonder if this was going to be a mail-order prescription.
I looked them up on the web. It is. They're in Ocala, FL, and it looks like they're the only people who compound calcitriol for veterinary use. Here's the article on the stuff she's going to take, and what it does for her. Sounds promising.
I can't get over the age thing. 90. I hope I'm still galloping around at 90.
Thursday, February 05, 2009
Fair warning
My fellow refugee from Hell approached me a few days ago and reported the following:
Our old boss and someone she used to supervise (let's call her Malory) are on the same committee. Malory approached my colleague recently to tell her that she (my colleague) and I should watch out. Apparently at one of this committee's meetings, our ex-supervisor said the following to Malory:
"I don't understand why Vee and Cee haven't come down to work on our desk. They said they'd just need a little time to get settled in their new jobs, and then they could do reference work again."
Okay, first of all, I don't know who "they" are. I think my new boss and her boss said to my old boss and her boss that they'd like us to be left alone for a bit until we settled in. Working on a reference desk is something a few of the catalogers do for a couple hours a week--it's called "job enrichment." They were probably saying that eventually we could join the job enrichment program.
While I am interested in using the reference muscle before it atrophies completely (G, your word questions help me there) I have never, ever, ever indicated in any way that I intended or even wanted go back downstairs and work for them for two hours a week.
I would rather be shot.
From a cannon.
So now every time I go downstairs I'm waiting for my ex-boss to ask me about that. I'm ready for her. I'm planning to ask my supervisor if I can do an exchange to another library entirely, one where I know absolutely nothing about the subject matter. 'Cause really that's the point of this program, to learn new skills. Right? Right.
I am so very grateful to Malory for giving us a heads-up, and I told her so. She shook her head and said, "They just don't get it, do they? They're horrible to their people for years and then are surprised and hurt when those people later shun them."
Yep. That about sums it up.
Our old boss and someone she used to supervise (let's call her Malory) are on the same committee. Malory approached my colleague recently to tell her that she (my colleague) and I should watch out. Apparently at one of this committee's meetings, our ex-supervisor said the following to Malory:
"I don't understand why Vee and Cee haven't come down to work on our desk. They said they'd just need a little time to get settled in their new jobs, and then they could do reference work again."
Okay, first of all, I don't know who "they" are. I think my new boss and her boss said to my old boss and her boss that they'd like us to be left alone for a bit until we settled in. Working on a reference desk is something a few of the catalogers do for a couple hours a week--it's called "job enrichment." They were probably saying that eventually we could join the job enrichment program.
While I am interested in using the reference muscle before it atrophies completely (G, your word questions help me there) I have never, ever, ever indicated in any way that I intended or even wanted go back downstairs and work for them for two hours a week.
I would rather be shot.
From a cannon.
So now every time I go downstairs I'm waiting for my ex-boss to ask me about that. I'm ready for her. I'm planning to ask my supervisor if I can do an exchange to another library entirely, one where I know absolutely nothing about the subject matter. 'Cause really that's the point of this program, to learn new skills. Right? Right.
I am so very grateful to Malory for giving us a heads-up, and I told her so. She shook her head and said, "They just don't get it, do they? They're horrible to their people for years and then are surprised and hurt when those people later shun them."
Yep. That about sums it up.
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