A friend of mine shared this article with me about genetically engineered foods. Knowing my love of wheatgrass and the like and my pathetic inability to be disciplined with my natural eating, it was both inspirational and infuriating.

Following are some highlights of our conversation following the reading:

Me: Still reading… So even though the guy makes a hybrid “naturally”, he’s still forcing natures hand…any better / any worse?
Friend: well, look at other plants that are “hybrids” by growing them together. There are many plants who grow close to each other and end up taking qualities of the other
Me: Sure but that’s nature doing it’s own thing, a happy accident…evolution, if you will
Friend: So it is much more natural than injecting a gene into a seed
Me: Right. And more natural than some guy mixing pollen or whatever in a petrie dish
Friend: We have some great plants that were “spliced” together and are as natural as either of the individuals
Me: Just sayin, it’s still humans screwing with nature
Friend: Sure, but it is something that is done without chemicals…
Friend: I agree with what you are saying, and we will find out if it has consequences, but i would rather eat something from a more natural conglomeration than a chemical based GM food
Me: Or our grandnieces and grandnephews will
Me: absolutely
Me: What’s the saying though… call a spade a spade?
Me: it’s still a spade
Friend: True but i don’t think that it will be harmful to us by putting two types of the same plant together.
Me: Maybe not harmful, but things were created the way they were for a reason.
Me: Not our place to fuck with it s’all I’m sayin
Me: What if some other being decided it made more sense for us to have 4 legs
Me: 8 eyes
Me: and genetically engineered us by mating us with Barnum and Baileys Side Show Freaks to make it so
Me: s’all I’m sayin
Friend: haha
Me: seriously
Friend: i know what you are saying, don’t completely agree, but somewhat do
Me: humans are ignorant in their belief of their intelligence
Me: and besides, can we focus on finding a cure for cancer and stop fucking around with tomatoes?
Friend: HA!
Friend: who cares about cancer?

The question I’ve been hearing a lot lately is “Maigh, what do you do with your lunch hour now that you live so close!?”

Well, dear readers, I’ll tell you. Today, I went by Whole Foods and picked myself up some carrots and apples and a fresh loaf of wheat bread and a yummy calzone. I went home, ate the calzone, hung some new curtains, measured a window and watched some E! stories on horrendous people doing horrendous things.

This is where it gets exciting, so keep reading. On my way out of the parking lot, I heard a *POP*. So I’m thinkin’ , “aw shit, what the hell was that?”. I stop and hop out to survey the scene. Below is a picture of what I found.

Luckily, I’m a tough kid and know how to change a tire. Off came the bike rack from the spare, out came the key for the spare, the lug wrench, the jack. Jacked up the car, got the spare off the back, got all the lug nuts off (holy crap were they on tight) but I can’t get the damn tire itself off. Call roadside assistance and wait for a large man in a Corolla (good thing I didn’t need a tow) with his hydraulic jack to lift my baby up just a little higher and wiggle it off.

Back on the road.

This is what happens when I try to be practical and go home for an economical lunch. $10 at El Azteca was replaced by $200+ in new tires.

I swear to you, if shit like this didn’t happen to me, I’d have nothing to write about.

PS I love my camera phone.

So a friend of mine got me this fantastic device.

Not just because he worries about my personal safety as I run through the ‘hood as part of my training, but also because he’d just like to see me use it on someone in a fit of rage. This stuff is so freaking dangerous that I find myself nearly hysterical at the thought of spraying someone with it.

Here’s the description:

These pepper sprays combines OC PEPPER with CN TEAR GAS along with a UV MARKING DYE. OC PEPPER causes eyes to slam shut and uncontrollable coughing and choking. CN TEAR GAS causes profuse tearing, an intense burning sensation to the face and disorientation. UV DYE marks the assailant and may aid in identification once apprehended.Compact design fits comfortably in woman’s hand. Finger-grip dispenser correctly orients the unit even in the dark. Features flip-top safety cap and keychain. 11 gram unit sprays 6-12 feet. Contains 5 one second bursts.

I want to turn someone orange.

It’s the little things in life that thrill me to no end.

At 30-something, I’m using a laundromat for the first time. During my maiden voyage, a nice older woman named Annie showed me how to use the equipment. She pointed out the good machines and the ones that act up. She even retrieved me from my reading spot in the sunshine when it was time to switch from cold and wet to hot and dry. In turn, I gave her a ride home.

One of the FANTASTIC things about it is that you can use 4 washers at the same time and in doing so, do 4 loads in the time it would take to do 1. It’s magnificent! Even consolidated, it forces me to spend at least an hour a week sitting still and reading.

I love my laundromat.

April is a funny month.

The air rich with pollen and the scent of blooms, brides-to-be everywhere anxious to rush down the aisle, the seasons first sunburn visible around each corner. The crisp atmosphere inspires the escape from hibernation, fires the engine that compels us to tidy our homes, to flush out the dust that has crept in to quietly cake our lungs and mini-blinds. For the first in many slow moving chilled weeks, we step forth renewed and ready for battle.

For me, it’s more.

April is a time to honor the memory of my father. Had he not been struck down with pancreatic cancer in brutal irony, this past Tuesday he would have fought valiantly against celebrating another year past since his delivery.

The freedom of having his four needy children grown and out of the house was met with the celebration of evil little malignant cells. Those little fuckers had a grand old time, at first convincing his body that he had the flu. In the weeks it took to discover what they were really up to, they had multiplied and formed a vicious unstoppable gang. The temple had been demolished. They had caused damage that couldn’t be reversed or repaired regardless of how many experts were called in.

As is the case with many girls, I believe my father was perfect. Many frank conversations about his weaknesses and faults did nothing to dispute my theory, even in his imperfection he was without flaws.

Grief, like cancer, does not discriminate. And while his bad jokes and sage council are greatly missed, there is a comfort in having been blessed enough to know him at all. To have seen him sparkle when he would wink at women stuck in traffic and say “I just made her day”, to have devoured his London broil, to have watched him grip the sides of his bucket seat the first time he allowed me behind the wheel — is all a pleasure unparalleled to any other I’ll ever know.

“Be good, sweet maid, and let who will be clever;
Do noble things, not dream them, all day long:
And so make life, death, and that vast forever
One grand sweet song.”

- Charles Kingsley (1819–1875)

Resistance Was Futile
Twice those words have been spoken and haunted me.

The first time was when the Cyborgs attempted to take control on an episode of StarTrek : The Next Generation…er…I mean…crap. Moving on, the second time was in 1996 or so when I moved from my Mom & Pop ISP (a moment of silence for www.avana.net please) and migrated to Big Brother (Mindspring). My old co-worker Tony Galek (where the hell is that guy?) sent me a one line e-mail: “Resistance was futile. You have been assimilated”. That stung.

I’m getting to my point, hang in there. Every time a launch a new IE window, Dogpile pops up. I’ve been a loyal user for a few years now, having fallen in love with it after discovering that it culls results from all the other engines. No longer having to run invididual seearches in Yahoo, Lycos, Excite, etc. etc. rocked…my…world. Well I’m not sure what’s been going on there over the last few months, but my results have become less and less relevant to what I’m really looking for and the GUI changed. Don’t change your hair for me. Not if you care for me. I love you just the way you are. Bad 70′s lyrics aside, I’m not a fan of change of that nature if they don’t ask my permission first.

They did not.

The plot thickens. Our heroine has been exposed to a new virus, contaminated. Googleized. Yes, I’ve gone to the dark side. Resistance was futile.

I have a new love and respect for The Monster that was sparked when I first played with it Google toolbar (80+ popups stopped in 3 days, don’t ask where I’ve been) and the expansion into / with other brian babies like Froogle and Blogger add to the adoration.

There it is. I’m a corporate whore.

Instant messaging is a whole new way of communicating, and the rules are still being defined. Even though I’ve been using mechanisms like ICQ since 1996, I still find myself carefully approaching boundaries I perceive and assume others are aware of.

I remember as a child being taught to answer the phone in our kitchen, it was rotary dial, white, and had a really long cord. When answering it, I had to say “ residence, this is Maigh” and if I didn’t, the privilege of being allowed to answer the phone was revoked.

The other rules that came with it are engrained in me now: you don’t call anyone after 9pm unless someone is in the hospital. You close the call with “good-bye”, you don’t answer call waiting if you’re on with your Grandmother.

The first time I slammed down the phone in a fit of anger, I broke it. It was an answering machine phone my mother had given me as a reward for something or another, maybe not changing my hair color that week or being sent to the principals’ office. Whatever it was, it felt good. I was 16 and full of rage. If the phone rang and you didn’t want to talk, you didn’t answer, no one knew you were really there with a pillow over your head or the phone in the freezer.

My friend Leah mentioned a great bit David Cross had about “looking at porn and having his mom IM him”.(see also: official site)

Seriously, technology has changed everything. You’ve heard it before, and it’s ridiculous how grossly incapable we are of understanding it.

Kids (and adults) can (and do) answer their cell phones in any way they choose at any time they deem appropriate. I’ve been greeted many times in ways that would be punishable in the homes of my youth. Hell, most of my communication anymore seems to be done in Instant Messaging.

Imagine it. The youth of today can crank IM each other then put a block on so their friends can’t retort. When I crank called, it was before caller ID (damn I’m old). Juveniles in soured relationships can just throw a block on their ex.

IM is a new ocean for exploration on our crazy planet, I’ll be out there splashing around in the waves Christopher Colombus-ing it…looking for the edges.

Terminally cool tool : Trillian