Don't ask, don't argue

I've been considering the question currently on the lips of the moderate- to far-left, of rescinding the military policy of don't-ask-don't-tell. The argument used is that the policy "forces people to live a lie." Therefore, the policy must die.

I really don't get the part where this policy forces lies. All it requires is discretion. In other words, keep your sex life to yourself. It's pretty much the same rule for women in service, isn't it? Fraternizing is frowned upon, so don't get caught. They don't want to know that you're having sex, let alone with whom. That's been my own personal view for a while, too. Not that I'm against people having sex... I just don't want to have to think about their doing so. I have an unfortunately graphic imagination, and I'd like it to not go there.

But here the liberal masses are, trying to revoke a policy which was, actually, written to protect gays in the military from unfortunate repercussions... the policy against fraternization and the policies against various turpitudes are old-fashioned and yet designed to maintain a certain solid structure, a solidarity among the troops, a grounding for trust from top to bottom, as it were.

There are still problems with sexist behaviors within the ranks, violence against homosexuals and against women, as well as against others who may not immediately be seen as "fitting in" with the rest of a given unit. And, too often, the internal judicial system doesn't measure up to the needs of those who have borne the brunt of such attacks. It seems to me, before the military lifts the policy on sharing information on your sexual habits with everybody around you, the real target should be, simple and plain, making sure that the troops are ready for the reality that women and gays and other "outsiders" will be let in, and will be able to actually serve their country well.

They don't need to lift a mind-your-own-damned-business policy. They just need to make sure that the real issue that gets addressed always will be the individual's capability and worth in service.

Can't sleep? Have your septum pierced.

Let your cat do the surgery. Don't take time to apply an analgesic or antiseptic in advance of the action. In fact, just let your cats cuddle up around your chin and chest, until one decides the other shouldn't be sharing this nice snuggle time with the old geezer who feeds them and grooms them and otherwise does a fair job of worshipping them. At that point, just make sure your face is partially between the two of them.

It won't actually cure insomnia, but it will give you a better reason for sitting up than "it's too cold to sleep." After all, it will require nearly a full box of tissues, or several trips to the sink to rinse the damp washcloth. It takes a while for the bleeding to stop (one may also be tempted, on a miserable January night, to simply put one's nose just outside the door, where the sub-zero temperature and wind chill could serve as well as an ice pack to slow the flow, but don't give in to that, unless absolutely necessary. It will attract the attention of the neighborhood raccoons and opossums). Half the night will be gone, and you won't have even noticed its passage.

On the plus side, if you're like me, you'll have warmed up the atmosphere fairly well with a spectacular array of good old monosyllabic terms the use of which your mother might not approve. A cold, wintry bedroom does shift rapidly under those conditions.

And, you have the added bonus of seeing the two cats fly off the bed to end up crouched in opposite corners of the room, staring at each other, one looking mightily miffed, the other smug -- as if to say, at least now you can't get those chin skritches you were working toward...

Of course, you know you're looking at a true cat person when the cats are allowed back onto the bed, snuggling on the pillow, within a half hour after the final drop of blood falls -- and there's no complaint about little ones snoring or whiskers tickling that damaged nose.

What snew with you?

I have, as the remaining few of you who occasionally stop by, been neglecting this blog. What's worse, it is for no good reason. I am not more depressed than usual, and neither am I more active than usual... except for the week around TanksGibbon, when my seester and her husband and their dog and cat came to visit. OY! Talk about calm flying out the window!

Not really. They're generally quiet, unassuming people, except for my BIL's habit of pushing people's buttons to see how long it takes for them to either explode or find his buttons. I guess I'm not too much fun, because I like being noncommittal when face-to-face. Unless it can lead to something I'll regret the next day, and will tarnish somebody else's reputation.

So, anyway. Snow is falling outside. The darkness of midnight is nibbled away by tiny ice fractals in a flurry of winter.

Holiday season having plopped itself down in Mom's kitchen, I've been doing a very little bit of baking and a larger bit of wishful thinking about having a working kitchen of my own -- one in which my refrigerator actually refrigerates, the freezer freezes, the stove heats up (as does the oven), and the sink is in the same room with all the other fixtures and appliances... and it will be a kitchen in which the cats will have no interest, and dishes and floors and countertops will wash themselves, and never a spider or mosquito or any other pest shall enter. In other words, a fairy tale kitchen. A Miracle.

But, hey, this is the season of miracles, right? So, shouldn't I go out and spend all my Christmas gift money (all two dollars, thus far) on lottery tickets, in anticipation of the new kitchen (and maybe a whole house to attach it to)? The odds improve, when there's religion involved, right?

I am so very much going to get in trouble for that, aren't I? Don't worry, I'm not betting on a miracle, and, honestly, I'm not going on a tear against faith in this holy season.

I have a lot of friends who live in deep faith, and I admire them, even when I tease them about their reliance upon the bearded guy who lives upstairs and keeps an eye on them all the time (should they consider a restraining order?). Faith -- trust in a higher power -- is a gift few actually have, fewer keep, and fewer still find answers to their most important questions in it.

But the truth is, I'm not dependent upon faith to bring me answers. I am not asking for God or Jesus to bring me a new stove and washing machine. I'm not even asking for an hour free of all pain and frustration. I don't really ask for anything. I gets what I gets when it comes my way. And, I guess, when I thinks about it in the wee hours, what I gets is not entirely horrible. I gots me a family who all actually help me keep from getting crazier -- I think that's miracle enough, don't you?

Still, if I'm still too preoccupied to come back and blog again before next week ends, I want to wish everybody a very merry Christmas, with all the joy of the season. What's more, may you discover that you are loved more than you allowed yourself to believe. May it sneak up on you, like those snowflakes, lighting on your sleeve unheard, unnoticed, until you suddenly find yourself a virtual snowman in a blizzard.

What keeps my skin so young-looking?

Well, not mine, personally, since I keep mine looking wrinkle-free by filling it internally with another double-chocolate doughnut and a scoop of frozen custard... but, if this particular piece is true, then some folks are making their skins all pretty in a truly disturbing fashion:

Neocutis’ key ingredient known as “Processed Skin Proteins” was developed at the University of Luasanne from the skin tissue of a 14-week gestation electively-aborted male baby donated by the University Hospital in Switzerland. Subsequently, a working cell bank was established, containing several billion cultured skin cells to produce the human growth factor needed to restore aging skin. The list of products using the cell line include: Bio-Gel, Journee, Bio-Serum, Prevedem, Bio Restorative Skin Cream and Lumiere.

The very idea that somebody took fetal tissue to turn it into a cosmetic treatment is seriously abhorrent. I can hear the justifications, already, though: "The thing was already dead, so what's the big deal? It would have gone to waste, otherwise."

Well, the thing is, the thing was a human being. It did not die a natural death, but was taken untimely. And now it's being used not to save lives, but to make somebody feel pretty. It's not entirely unlike like putting grandma out of our misery because her medical care is inconvenient to us, and then saying, "As long as she's not using them, can I have her teeth for a necklace and matching earrings?"

Granted, the article says the tissue sample from the aborted fetus was (a) donated willingly and (b) very small, and granted, most of the stuff (the "human growth factor") used in the cosmetic product is grown in a laboratory from said small sample. And, I'm sure people have built great medicines from small samples of stuff I don't really want to know about. I acknowledge that wonders come from unlikely and unseemly sources. Bread mold, pond scum, bee stings, snake bites -- who knows what unsavory thing will help cure the next big disease? Still, it seems to me this is an ugly little foot in the door to much more sinister possibilities -- and no, I don't necessarily mean "Soylent Green." Once we have a marketable product to be made from something only grown from aborted babies, how do we restrict the trafficking of the unborn for such a business? How do we prevent poor young girls from virtually reducing themselves to slaves of a new, modern sex trade? What other "unwanted" lives do we throw away to satisfy the unending hungers of hedonists?

Where is the line drawn on the value of life? What dollar amount marks the end of humanity?

Soupy Sales reaches pie in the sky

Milton Supman, aka Soupy Sales , the comic best known for taking pie in the face on his regular children's show in the 1950s and '60s has had his last pie hit. He passed away this past evening, at the age of 83.

Little lambs

Bo Peep, Illinois style

photo from negative ca. 1910- 1920, "Henderson County" purchased at auction

I could never get my hair to stay up like that, when I had it long. That's why it's so short, now. That, and shampoo gets expensive when you have nearly a meter of braid to wrestle each time you shower...

Certain things you convince yourself are part of your identity when you are young, you eventually realize are merely burdens. The long, wavy hair, the high heels -- sure they're comely, but they're also cause for considerable pain at the end of a day. So much nicer it is to relax, enjoy the breeze blowing on your scalp without worrying how you're going to get rid of the tangles, so much easier it is to walk when you use the whole foot, the way nature designed it to be. Femininity is not defined by silken tresses or stiletto heels, but by manner and by intent. A tilt of the head, a tone of voice, those mark a person as womanly as clearly as does a bottled, blended fragrance and a scoop-necked blouse.

Masculinity, however, sometimes is defined by its trappings. (Language warning)

On the Waterfront

Presumably, the Mississippi River waterfront.


Photo from packet of negatives marked "Henderson County", undated but circa 1910-1920, developed in Galesburg, IL, and purchased by me at auction in the fall of last year.

I don't know where on the river this photo was taken -- the packet of negatives was not clearly labeled, photo by photo. All I know is that many of the pics were described in the accompanying packet's note pages as "Henderson County", and that the packet design was patented in 1910. I don't know if there was anything like this industrial center in Henderson County, IL, during that time frame (the county seat was Oquawka, aka Yellow Banks, and it was something of a hub, then), but there were pics from other areas of the state, as well, so this may be as far-flung as Saint Louis or Rock Island.

Old-fashioned come-hither glance

subject unknown, film developed 9 August 1921

Postcard for college homecoming

This weekend is Homecoming for Monmouth College

Postcard ca. 1905

I'm thinking I ought to attend at least a few of the events, since this would have been the 25-year reunion for my class, had I actually gradgitated with them all. Some of my classmates have already electronically touched base with me or with my folks, so I'm set to spend time already with old friends. My not being terribly social is taking a hit or two, but I think I might actually enjoy the company. Not so much the events, though. I'm still too much a cellar-dweller for that.

We shall see if I survive the weekend...

Okay, so he's not a rocket scientist

I was fool enough, myself, to sit down with the television turned on in the room, again, while I was playing on the computer. I like a little background noise, after all -- otherwise, I hear the creaks and groans of a house and a dog and my own anatomy.

So, there I was, in a room filled with FOX News. No big. Except for the fact that Shepard Smith is demonstrating he is a journalist, not a rocket scientist (or even a reasonable facsimile thereof). And this is about rocket sciences. He's had a guest on, explaining the purpose behind the moon shot experiment, in which NASA has tossed an SUV-sized projectile at the south pole of the moon, in hopes that we may find, among the dust and debris kicked up by the impact, a little water.

If there is water we can mine at the pole of the lunar orb, there is a chance that we can expand our science and industry alike into space, giving us greater survival opportunities, as well as greater knowledge in general. If there is water up there, it means, among other things, the possibility of establishing a lunar station, lunar industrial centers, maybe someday even a small colony. Things needed for research and industry in zero-gee would be already up there, and we wouldn't have to spend huge sums of money and burn huge quantities of fuel (dare I add, contributing to atmospheric problems and other ecological issues?) to ship stuff up there to get the jobs done. That's generally viewed as a good thing.

Even if there is no usable amount of water, at least we will have more answers about the heavens and about our own place in them. That's generally viewed as a good thing, too.

But, at the end of Shep Smith's interview of his guest -- the one explaining clearly what the program was about, and what its benefits might be -- after the farewells and thank-yous were done, Shepard muttered, "I still don't see why we're spending on this, when there are so many other, more pressing ways we should be spending our money, like health care and unemployment and such."

Well, Shep, for one, this project has been in the works for many long years. It's already bought and paid for, long before the economy went into obvious crisis, and long before your invented crisis in the health care industry. The project was planned, the equipment assembled, probably about the first time you heard the words "anthropogenic global warming" and thought they tasted good on your tongue. To pull out now from the research project -- which may very well benefit us all in only a couple of decades -- would be to discard something which has already cost a few billion dollars already spent, and is near completion as of this week. That would be like making a fancy birthday cake, and then throwing it away just before you got the last candle lit, because you thought the money should have gone to buying a birthday scooter instead. You want to complain about waste?

For another thing, the point behind this sort of research is pragmatic. While most scientists enjoy research simply for the sake of greater understanding of the universe (a totally understandable goal, if you have the least portion of genuine curiosity about anything other than how your voice sounds when it comes out those little teevee speakers), they also find that discoveries in space have very useful applications for us groundlings. Everything from non-stick cookware to clean water technologies have come from our sending handfuls of brave individuals out there, away from Mother Earth. It continues to give us new information, new advances, new wonders and new applications every day. Research in space has saved lives. Is that reason enough for you to continue to look to the skies, in these days of crisis?