Of Mice and Men

Tim and I have been plagued recently with some unwelcome guests . . . mice.  For the past few months we thought that we might have an unwanted visitor, as we left the birdseed in the coat closet, and the bag seemed to be punctured.  But we had not heard or seen any rodents, and none of our “real” food had been touched.  That all changed last Sunday (of course, right when Jessica and Seth were visiting).  One mouse, who I am going to call Lennie, seemed to keep dashing from under the stove to under a shelf in our kitchen (a shelf that holds a lot of our dry goods).  Lennie was fearless – every time we walked into the kitchen, he dashed under the stove; every time we turned our backs, he was out again.  And it was the middle of the day.

Jessica and I determined that Lennie was enjoying some of our rice, puncturing a hole in the bag and waiting for the kernels to drop to the floor like milk from a mother’s breast.  We tried to close Lennie’s entry way into the kitchen by stuffing copious amounts of balled-up aluminum foil under the stove.  This just caused him to enter and exit from underneath the refrigerator.  Jes and Seth left Sunday afternoon, and Tim and I discussed our options: traps, poison, ignore?  We had decided to ignore Lennie for the evening and revisit the situation the next day.  Sensing our indecision and lack of commitment to attack, Lennie became more aggressive and recruited his friend, who I’ll call George, for a reconnaissance mission. 

So, Tim and I headed to the store.  We picked up some new-fangled versions of the traditional snapping mouse traps as well as some poison.  Tim laid everything out and we waited anxiously for something to happen.  Something did happen – both Lennie and George counterattacked.  Lennie headed up our shelves to enjoy some bread.  Tim startled them, and George hightailed it to the dining room.  Egads!  Now they are expanding their line!  But Tim, in a feat of immense courage, grabbed the bread bag that Lennie was luxuriating in, threw the whole thing in another plastic bag, tied it tightly shut, and disposed of it (including Lennie) in our outside trash can.  Victory for the humans!!

But George was still lurking behind the sofa in the dining room.  He squeaked out several times, hoping for an “all clear” response from his cohort, but none was coming.  Eventually, he must have made his way back to safety.  Since that night, we have been monitoring the poison pellets, gauging how many George (or perhaps other mice friends, Curley or Crooks or Slim?) have been eating.  How long will it take before we smell the disgusting (yet deeply satisfying) odor of rotting mouse corpse?  The package says 4 to 5 days, and we have exceeded that time frame now.  When will we be free from the mouse tyranny?

My behavior has been less than helpful during this time of turmoil.  I’m afraid that I suffer from musophobia, or the fear of mice:

In many cases fear of mice is a socially induced conditioned response, combined with (and originated in) the startle response (a response to an unexpected stimulus) common in many animals, including humans, rather than a real disorder. At the same time, as it is common with specific phobias, an occasional fright may give rise to abnormal anxiety that requires treatment. Fear of mice may be treated by any standard treatment for specific phobias (source).

I believe that my phobia is really ”a response to an unexpected stimulus” rather than an actual phobia.  (I actually had a pet mouse when I was a teenager – he was an albino and I called him Napoleon.  I hated taking care of him, and, I’m afraid Napoleon the mouse suffered exile from my heart (much like his namesake suffered exile on Elba and St. Helena)).  However, if you believe that you have actual musophobia, don’t worry, there is help!

The problem often significantly impacts the quality of life. It can cause panic attacks and keep people apart from loved ones and business associates. Symptoms typically include shortness of breath, rapid breathing, irregular heartbeat, sweating, nausea, and overall feelings of dread, although everyone experiences mice fear in their own way and may have different symptomsThe good news is that the modern, fast, drug-free processes of The CTRN Phobia Clinic will train your mind to feel completely different about mice, eliminating the fear so it never haunts you again. [Note that CTRN is an acronym for "Change That Right Now," not a very scientific-sounding name.]

I suppose if my phobia was causing me to alienate my loved ones of my business associates (do I even have business associates?), I would take action.

Dairy Potter

In honor of the release of the last installment in the Harry Potter series, I thought I would blog about “Dairy Potter.”  I read about “Dairy Potter” earlier this week and chuckled:

The character will get his likeness carved in the stuff and be placed in a refrigerated glass case next month at the Iowa State Fair, next to the traditional butter cow. 

“The marketing department at the fair and I were looking for something that would be a timely pop-culture thing to do, and with the new movie and new book coming out, it seemed appropriate,” said Pratt, 30, a special education teacher.

She expects her dairy Potter to look more like the character depicted on the book covers than Daniel Radcliffe, who plays the boy wizard in the movies.

Visitors can expect to see Harry’s trademark glasses and scar, but Pratt said she is still deciding on a pose.

 I can think of some poses for good ol’ Dairy.   Not only will the Iowa State Fair feature “Dairy Potter,” it will also have a cow made out of butter.  Genius!! 

I would love to see “Dairy Potter” in person, and I am actually planning a trip to Iowa to visit my friend Stephanie.  But I don’t think I’ll be able to get there in time.  Damn!  Perhaps next year.

I am excited because my copy of the Harry Potter book is on its way.  Yes, Stephanie, I bucked my tradition and pre-ordered a copy to be delivered on release date.

Of course, like all the other Harry Potter books, this one is shrouded by some controversy from the Christian right:

Michelle Cousins, owner of the Capstone Christian Store in Mechanicsville and the mother of seven, has a different take on the Potter novels.

“I have no problem with fantasy per se,” says Cousins, “but the occult factor in them is bothersome to me as a Christian.” Cousins hasn’t read any Harry Potter novels and neither have her children. Because of their values, she says, they aren’t interested. One of her sons chose to leave class rather than listen to his teacher read Harry Potter at story time. Since then, the teacher has put the book away and hasn’t brought it out since [source].

Love Me, Love My Doll

While Jessica and Seth were visiting this past weekend, we watched some bad TV.  One show that we viewed was called “Love Me, Love My Doll” airing on BBC America.  ”Love Me, Love My Doll” is a documentary on the Real Doll phenomenon.  Apparently, there is a company in California that sells these life-like mannequins – they are custom-made for each client.  The dolls have tongues (perfect for kissing) (and replaceable, in case you don’t like the tongue the doll comes with), and other anatomically correct features.  They cost about $10,000.  Here is a description of the show from the BBC America web-site:

Love Me, Love My Doll focuses on a group of men who have fallen in love
with their life-size dolls, called “Real Dolls.” For these men, their $10,000
lifelike, built-to-order creations have replaced human women. Find out what makes these men tick, as they give you a peek at life with their synthetic dreamgirls.

The show provides a glimpse of several men and how they interact with their dolls.  Davecat, who lives with his parents, has one doll whom he seems to truly love.  He treats her as a girlfriend and misses her when she is sent back to the factory for some repairs.   He is the most sympathetic of the men.

The man from Britain has several dolls, and I think that if he did not have them, he would be a serial killer.  He poses the dolls, takes photographs with them, dresses them quite well, and takes them driving with him.  He sounds bitter and resentful toward all women (except of course his mother – he still lives in his childhood home where he keeps his mother’s room exactly how it was when she died, eleven years ago).

The man from Texas is perhaps the most normal of the subjects in the documentary (although very unlikeable).  He has many dolls and does not tend to them well.  His dolls are fashioned, per his requirements, with extremely large breasts.  He also dresses them in very slinky clothes and applies excessively garish make-up.  Apparently, he just uses his dolls for sex and not so much for companionship (in other words, he does not anthropomorphize them, which Davecat did).  Actually, the Texan has a girlfriend and, as the documentary shows, is gearing up to tell her about his dolls.  His girlfriend actually seems to accept the dolls, but we later learn that she ends the relationship about a week after her introduction to the mannequins.

It is interesting that all these men feel that they need the dolls, either for companionship or to satisfy resentfulness or to provide sexual pleasure.  Most of the men resoundingly declare that the dolls are far superior to real women.  Of course, they all just seem bizarre to me.  The show is immensely fascinating, although creepy. 

Death Penalty

I read this article in the Times-Dispatch yesterday about the death penalty.  As you probably know, there has been a lot of controversy about the death penalty and whether or not it is an effective deterrent and/or punishment, as well as whether or not it constitutes cruel and unusual punishment.

I have adamantly opposed the death penalty, as I do feel that errors can and have been made in the court room resulting in a mistaken verdict where an innocent person has been convicted of a capital crime.  (Most notably in Virginia is the Earl Washington case.  Mr. Washington confessed to raping a woman under duress.  He spent 18 years in jail (9.5 on death row) before DNA evidence exonerated him and he was granted a pardon from the governor.)

The bad thing about Virginia law is that a convict cannot appeal his case with new evidence after 21 days have passed since the delivery of the verdict.  21 days is (obviously) not very long.  This needs to be changed.  If a person cannot appeal for his/her innocence (especially since we know that errors have been made), then our justice system is meaningless.  I know that the point of the law is to prevent endless, frivolous appeals, so that punishment is meted out, and some form of justice is delivered to the victim and/or his/her family.  But I still think we have to be careful, and err on the side of caution.

Sometimes I question my opposition to the death penalty, based on the old John Stuart Mill argument: is it more cruel and unusual punishment to be executed, or to rot away in prison for the remainder of a life?  I’m not sure.  I imagine that prison is a pretty terrible experience, but I suppose that while alive there is hope, and, therefore, life in prison is preferable to being put to death.  What are everyone else’s thoughts?  Do you support or oppose capital punishment?  Why or why not?

Jamestown

This past weekend, Tim and I met up with a whole crew of my old college friends and visited Jamestown.  For those of you who don’t know, there are actually two Jamestown sites to visit: the Jamestown Settlement, which is the cheesy, complete-with-re-enactments Jamestown; and Historic Jamestowne (note the ‘e’ at the end of the name to denote its historical authenticity), which is the archaeological excavation site.  Several years ago, a professor from William & Mary (Tribe Pride, Get It!) proclaimed that he knew where the actual site of the original Jamestown fort was located.  He tried to get funding from the government to conduct an archaeological dig.  The government said no.  So, he secured other funding, conducted a dig, and found the original remnants of the fort.  Lo and behold, the government decided that they wanted a piece of that action, so they moved in, set up their own dig, and built a museum and visitors’ center.  I will note that I am not certain of the accuracy of all this information, but it is what I have heard from my “contacts.”

Last autumn, I visited Historic Jamestowne with my fellow employees.  We canoed up the James River, visited the site, and received a special tour.  It was somewhat fascinating.  We viewed several things that had been excavated from a well, the most interesting being a halberd.  The historians presume that someone was trying to use the halberd to fish something out of the well and then accidently dropped it in.  Also interesting (especially in relation to our work), were the oyster shells they discovered from that time period – they were huge (and just made us feel sadder that our current oysters are nowhere near as big).

Anyway, Jessica (frequent commentator on this blog) and Seth (as a couple, we have fondly christened them ”Sethica”) arrived on Friday evening.  We headed for dinner at the Positive Vibe Cafe (which I have already reviewed (and I stand by that original review)), as Jessica works with Developmentally Disabled adults, had read a bit about the restaurant’s mission, and wanted to support it (sidebar: we were told that the Cafe will be featured on NBC Nightly News this Friday, so please check it out).   After dinner, there was some chatting, drinking, and porch-sitting, and then it was time for bed.

Saturday morning we headed to Williamsburg to meet Chrissy, Jason, and their daughter Madeleine, as well as Tara, Mike, and their daughter, Maeve.  We then all drove to the Jamestown Settlement.  We paid our entry fee, which allowed us to see replicas of an Indian Village, the Jamestown Fort, and ships modeled after the ones on which the English settlers arrived.  The village and the fort were OK; we were allowed to actually go inside the structures, which was nice for the kids.  The boats were awesome, and Mike told us how he had sailed on one while he was in college.  I didn’t learn much of anything except that a blacksmith does not usually make horseshoes or nails or really any products – he/she just repairs existing products.  A nailer makes nails, a farrior makes wagon wheels, etc.   

I liked how the Settlement had some hands-on activities for the children, but I thought the lack of educational material was criminal.  There were a few “interpreters/reenactors” who provided some information, but not much.  I would have liked to see more about the decimation of the Native American population and the stupidity/laziness of the English settlers that almost caused them to not survive.  There was one kind of neat Native American-looking circle of carved wooden figures, but we couldn’t seem to find out if they had some significance.  Perhaps if we had gone inside and watched some of the films, we would have learned more. 

We had plans to visit Historic Jamestowne after the Settlement, but heat and hunger caused us to go to lunch at Sal’s by Victor, Italian Cafe (I don’t know why Victor doesn’t just call the restaurant “Victor’s” but it has always been “Sal’s by Victor”).

Lunch was good – we had a Caprese Pizza (cheese, tomatoes, and garlic) that was delicious.  It was definitely nice to get out of the heat.  We discussed Jason’s craving for Dairy Queen Blizzards and my past experience torturing some high school kid in Nags Head by forcing him to serve me my Blizzard upside-down (hey, if you advertise that your ice cream is so thick that you always serve it upside-down, then I want it served upside-down).  That caused a short trip to the nearest Dairy Queen for some tasty dessert treats.  The woman at the Williamsburg Dairy Queen did not serve my Blizzard upside-down, but I let it go.  I’m not sure that they still advertise using that gimmick, and it was just too hot.  That Blizzard would have been on the ground if she had tried it.  

After Dairy Queen, we headed to Jason and Chrissy’s hotel room for a party (well, about as much party as can be expected with a group of thirty-somethings and 2 children).  We drank some beer, watched the kids play, and chatted.  Around 8:30, we headed back to Richmond.

It was great to visit old friends and get out of town for a day trip.

Across the Nightingale Floor

I finished Across the Nightingale Floor by Lian Hearn, a young-adult fantasy book, this weekend.  It is the first in a four-part series.  The protagonist, Takeo, is a teenager being raised by The Hidden, a persecuted religious minority who practice their faith in secrecy.  Takeo’s family is massacred, and he is only saved when Shigeru Otori, a warlord, rescues him from the evil warlord who is governing the country in a tyrannical manner.

This is definitely a book of good versus evil.  The good Shigeru Otori takes Takeo under his wing, adopting him as his son, and educating him.  After some training, Takeo realizes that he has “special” powers, beyond what a normal human possesses.  A mysterious friend of Shigeru’s, Kenji, arrives at his house and explains how Takeo is the illigetimate son of a member of the Tribe, a group that has extraordinary powers in intellect and strength.  Kenji provides further training to Takeo, honing his special skills.

Shigeru is molding Takeo to assasinate his enemy, Iida, who is the evil tyrant ruling the country (and who is responsible for the slaying of Takeo’s family).  There is betrayal, action, sword-fighting, political intrigue, and unfaltering love.  It is a traditional story based on Japanese samurai culture, and, as I stated above, there is clear good and bad sides, and not much in between.

The book is well-written; not very complex, and geared toward a teenage audience (although it is not too simple that it cannot be enjoyed by adults).  The book was a page-turner (I read it in less than a week).  It was not as good as other young-adult fantasy series (His Dark Materials trilogy or the Harry Potter series) and it is not as bad as other young adult series (the misguided and overly-hyped Eragon).  I will probably read the other books in the series, but I am not overly-eager to get to them.  I give the novel 3.5 out of 5 stars.

Purposely advancing secular humanism’s homosexual agenda

I was chagrined to read this short article in the newspaper this past weekend about how Stephen Dunne, who took and failed the Massachusetts bar exam, is suing the state for $9.75 million.  Why, you may ask, is he suing the state for failing an exam that many others have also flunked?  Because he felt discriminated against.  You see, he refused to answer a question on the exam about same-sex marriage.

Dunne refused to answer an exam question addressing the rights of two married lesbians, their children, and their property and says in the suit that it cost him a passing score. Dunne argues that the Massachusetts state government is “purposely-advancing Secular Humanism’s homosexual agenda.”

God forbid that the government be secular!  And protect the rights of minorities!  But, what is more frustrating is that since 2004, same-sex marriage has been legal in Massachusetts.  Mr. Dunne may not like the law, but he is taking a test to certify him to practice the law, so I believe the state has the right to question him on the actual dictates of the law.  If he finds the law morally reprehensible, then he should work to change it, or refuse to take cases that deal with this particular issue.  But the fault for failing the test lies squarely with the test-taker.

However, Mr. Dunne does seem to have successfully adopted the litigation-crazy attitude that infests many attorneys in this nation, so his education was not for naught.  $9.75 million?  Give me a break!

Yakkity Yak

I read this article on-line about a recent study reported by Science magazine.  It discusses perceived and realistic perceptions of social norms of the different genders.  The study essentially debunks the myth that women talk more than men:

Researchers outfitted 210 college students — 179 Americans and 31 Mexicans — with devices that automatically recorded them every 12 1/2 minutes, which amounts to 4 percent of a person’s daily utterances.

The researchers found that women speak a little more than 16,000 words a day. Men speak a little less than 16,000 words. The difference is not statistically significant.

The results apparently surprised even the scientists, although I do not find it particularly startling.  I do think that the results may be skewed due to the age range of the test subjects.  I think college students talk more in general because they are surrounded by their peers and are often in social situations.  I also think college students of today talk more than those of the past.  We live in a society that models and exalts constant interaction – cell phones, text messaging, instant messaging, etc.  We, as a people, cannot stop talking, especially about ourselves.

Tim and I just argued about this article.  He believes the study was pointless; another frivolous waste of money on an absurd study that serves no real purpose and will not change anyone’s viewpoints concerning gender roles.  I disagree.  I think it is a way for us to debunk the myths that women are overly-emotional and men overly-stoic, as well as allow people of both sexes to not feel pressured to act a certain way.  Speaking purely from my personal experience, I definitely made a concerted effort once I entered the professional workforce to chat about what I considered puerile topics.  It just made it easier for me to integrate into the workplace.

Back to the study: perhaps a similar study using an older sample of participants would reveal different results.  Would this be because of an evolution in society over time (i.e. gender roles are more equal now than in the past)?  Or because an older generation has had time to adjust and live up to stereotypical norms (like me, changing to fit in with others)?  Which comes first, the behavior or the attitude?

4th of July: What a disappointment, Richmond

In our endless pursuit to find somewhere in the Richmond vicinity to celebrate the 4th of July (and see some good fireworks), Tim and I went to Dogwood Dell (again) for a picnic on Wednesday.  I say again, because 2 years ago we tried Dogwood Dell and were crushingly disappointed when, after sitting in the heat with thousands of other Richmonders for 5 hours, the fireworks show was postponed, and postponed, and postponed due to drought-like conditions.  We finally left around 11:30, because we had run out of patience (and because we had to work the next day).  Of course, someone had parked so that we were blocked into our spot, so we couldn’t leave for another 45 minutes or so anyway.  That was the worst 4th of July.

Last year we tried Colonial Downs (the horse racing facility).  We actually enjoyed watching some of the races on TV and picking winners (or losers).  We also saw a couple of live races.  But then the promised fireworks show started late, lasted about 2 minutes, and then moved to the corniest laser show ever produced (they inflated a giant screen and then had the lasers dance to songs like Proud to be an American and Sweet Home Alabama).  It was horrifyingly awful.  On a side note, I have to say that Proud to be an American is one of the worst songs.  It is so silly: ”I’m proud to be an American because at least I know I’m free.”  Because no one anywhere else is free.  And no one anywhere else is proud to be whatever nationality they are for whatever reason.  And the song (annoyingly) sticks in my head every freakin’ time I hear it.  What happened to lyrics like, “Oh beautiful, for spacious skies, for amber waves of grain.”  Now that’s a nice turn of phrase.

So, back to this year.  Because of the limited options in the area, we decided to try Dogwood Dell again.  After all, it is free and the weather was surprisingly cooler than normal for the first week in July.  We brought a picnic of sorts and played some cards.  People were giving away free Mentos (yes, the “freshmaker”), free hand fans (advertising a play), and free postcards (advertising the House of Roc, a hip-hop church service held every Friday night on the South Side).  We could not hear the concert band perform, as the speakers were not working.  The few snippets of tunes we did catch on the wind included such patriotic classics as I Had the Time of My Life (remember from Dirty Dancing?) and Help me Rhonda by the Beach Boys.  By 9:00, after sitting there with thousands of others, we were ready for fireworks.  We were also ready at 9:15.  And 9:30.  And 9:45.  My frustration level was at one of its highest points ever.  Finally, at 10:00, the show began.  And lasted about 8 minutes.  It also wasn’t really a show, but just single explosions.  Then we had the struggle to get out and home (at least this time we parked relatively strategically, and the whole trip home took only an hour).

So fellow Richmonders, where else can we go for fireworks?  I’m thinking next year we’ll try the Chesterfield County Fairgrounds, but, I have to tell you, my expectations are low.  I’m open to something else.  Did anyone in this area celebrate a great 4th?

The Case of the Missing Books

I finished The Case of the Missing Books by Ian Sansom last weekend.  The book tells the story of Israel Armstrong, a young, pudgy, geeky, bookseller from London with a library degree, who accepts his first position as a librarian at a library in a small town in Ireland.  When Israel arrives in Ireland, he discovers that the library has been closed due to budget constraints, and that his job would be in a mobile library (which is apparently the lowest rung on the library-career ladder).

Israel’s first job in his new position is to locate the books, as they have all been stolen from the library.  Israel also has to deal with the local characters who are very tight-knit and unpleasant to strangers, being far away from creature comforts he was accustomed to (such as expresso, vegetarian food, etc.), his lack of self-confidence, and the fact that he often cannot understand the Irish brogue and sayings.

Sansom writes in a humorous and light style, and the book is very easy to read.  All the characters are funny and easy to like, except for Israel himself.  There is just nothing likeable about him – he has no confidence, never says or does anything interesting, and is just boring.  He seems overly and needlessly pretentious and makes no attempt to fit in with the people of the town.  His character is the weakest part of the novel.

The writing is flawless and simple, which is appropriate for the story and the characters.  There are some nice moments of imagery, such as:

Dennis’s workshop was a red brick outbuilding behind the tower, stuffed to overflowing, literally stuffed to overflowing, stuff coming out of the doors and windows, like it was making an escape for the wild across the gravelly yard.

I like the image of the furniture trying to make a run from the building. 

The book was fluff, but enjoyable.  It can be read in a short period of time.  I believe this is the first book in a series, so if you like this one, there are more to come.  I give the novel 2.5 out of 5 stars.