The Bat Girl's blog

Popfiend posted this site, and I thought it needed to be passed on.  Abolish the N Word.

I've been working on my knitting all weekend, and have over a foot and a half of scarf.  On Chris's recommendation, I picked up a copy of Stitch n' Bitch: The Knitter's Handbook, which so far has been a great read.  I also got a copy of Dzur, and Soapmaking for Fun and Profit.  I'm a happy camper overall.  I'll be happy to loan out Dzur, but Ian has first dibs once I'm done.  Y'all can fight him for it.

We spent a lot of this weekend watching Deadwood, which I'm enjoying the hell out of.  As an unfortunate side effect, I'm using the word cocksucker much more often.  Ah well, it could be worse.  I think.   We also went to Ikea with my parents, who had never been before.  They ended up getting a ton of shelf brackets for the shelves they're putting up in the computer room.  We got 4 sets of storage containers, a soft fuzzy rug, and a poster of the Great Pyramids (I'm a sucker for the pyramids, what can I say?).  All in all a nice weekend.

We also had a long night of D&D with our friends Tim and Pat, which went smashingly well, until some stupid, stupid paladin threw a javelin at something swimming in the water, and brought down the wrath of a water elemental on the group.  Stupid paladin.  The player of said paladin shall remain nameless, lest I incriminate myself.  ;)

Nothing simple about boot repair
By: Tom Treece story updated July 03. 2006 11:50AM
It was hotter than blazes and cars were bumper-to-bumper as thousands of bargain hunters choked Luna Pier's 15th Annual Freedom Celebration Saturday. Featured were hundreds of garage sales, including mine. He was still quite a ways off when I picked him out of the crowd. The sight of him triggered my ear-to-ear grin as well as memories of taking shoes needing repair down the little alleyway that led to his shop - Nat's Shoe Repair - in the old Monroe Shopping Center before it burned down. And, of course, the boots! It was my first day back in The Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave and they were like the dead skunk in the middle of the road, "stinking to high heaven." For 13 months I had worn them through mud, monsoons and marathons of mega-sweat with the 11th Infantry in the Vietnam War.
As I processed out of the Army and prepared to resume my interrupted civilian life, I was issued the dress-green uniform that still hangs in my closet, the footwear of which were "low quarters," regular dress shoes. I remember putting them on and then ceremoniously dumping those boots in the trash. I also remember three hours later racing back and rifling through that can to retrieve them, as in that short time those new shoes had already blistered my feet. With my dress uniform, I wore those smelly, ratty, funky old boots home. Once home I tossed them aside and only wore them for dirty work; I had no idea they would one day become one of my most prized possessions. They were canvas jungle boots made with leather soles, toes, heels and laces and by the time they finally became important to me the toes and heels had rotted, along with the stitches holding the canvas together. I had taken them to Nat over and over for repair, but, finally, it looked like the end of the road for them. Again, however, I couldn't bring myself to pitching them, again. "Can you do anything to save them?" I asked Nat one last time. "Let me see what I can do," the consummate cobbler replied and took the boots. The next time I saw them I couldn't believe my eyes. He had cut out the toe and the heel and replaced them with shiny new leather, and had heavy-duty re-stitched every seam of the canvas. The pittance he charged was irrelevant to both of us. The importance to me: I had my priceless boots back; to him: pride in having done an impeccable piece of work, coupled with the joy I expressed in the bear hug I gave him. "I'm 90 now you know!" he shared proudly before walking on down the street with his dear wife at his side. As I watched "Nat" Battistone walk away I realized I didn't even know his real name; he's always just been Nat to me. I also realized that simple things - like 38-year-old boots worn during war and repaired by a simple man of great skill and integrity - can sometimes be the tool that stitches hearts together in order to weave friendships to last a lifetime. It is important to have - and recognize - such simple things in one's life. But what do I know? Tom Treece appears Mondays. Readers may e-mail him at tomt@monroenews.com

I try not to vent about my frustrations with people who choose to formula feed (vs have tried their damnedest and cannot breastfeed) on my main journal.  I know too many people who have done it.  Today I read an article about the benefits of breastfeeding - it lowers stress rates in children and increases their ability to cope with difficult situations.  A large number of people responded to that article saying that the "breastfeeding militia" was just trying to make formula feeding moms feel guilty.

Am I the only one who feels that if they feel so guilty about that decision, maybe they did do something they feel is wrong?  Clearly, they know the benefits of breastfeeding.  If you choose not to do it, then at least stick up for yourself.  Yeesh.  And for the love of [insert diety here] stop whining every time someone tries to promote breastfeeding.  It will cut the cost of health care, and get more women to at least give it a try.  I'd be thrilled if more people tried it for at least a month or two than just went straight to plugging the baby with formula, and starting solids before their gut closes.

Anyway, rant off.

Angry Astronomer:  The Big Bang Common Misconceptions

Since I'm a whore for beta stuff, I thought I would give Vox a shot, and see what I think.  I'm interested so far, but I'm quite fond of my LJ.

I'm interested to see how many people migrate here.

After I get home, I think I'm going to try making more soap.  Yay soap!