Author Archives: Tata

And Words Are Made To Bend

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Watch CBS News Videos Online

This morning, I watched the re-airing of part of this report on CBS’ Early Show and I was struck by the language of the video piece and the framing within the show. This morning’s report more blatantly slathered on the talking points than what I was able to find on CBS’ website. I really couldn’t believe my ears.

Anchor Maggie Rodriguez introduced the piece with remarks about how a new insurance industry study out yesterday indicates that without individual mandates premium costs for families would increase an average of $4000. It should come as no surprise to anyone that the insurance companies would issue such a report, but the report itself is not the question the video is about. No. That question is: are the insurance companies happy?

I was getting ready for work and very busy, but I stopped what I was doing to make sure I was hearing this right. At the end of the video, the reporter – Chip Reid, I guess – said that for now the insurance companies were still at the table. Rodriguez, though, actually asked what we can do to make the insurance companies happy.

Let’s speak plainly: there’s no need for health insurance at all. People do not need health insurance. People need health care. Health insurance companies as for-profit businesses actually deny customers the needed service to make that profit, so customers by definition cannot buy what they need. Even common decency is too much to ask.

I don’t give a flying fuck if the insurance companies are happy. In fact, if it were up to me, we’d burn the system to the ground and prosecute the executives, as we created a national health service, where everyone regardless of means was treated exactly the same way. That would be justice. That would be the fulfillment of the Constitutional promise to promote the general welfare. That would be the cheapest, smartest business model for America.

Instead, we’re left to ponder the happiness of the motherfuckers stealing our money and our lives.

Crossposted at Brilliant@Breakfast.

Up, Up To the Skies

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I sat down to write but Pete was watching Tina Nordström make a perch and sausage soup on PBS’ Perfect Day. Nordström was so light and charming and pronounced kayak as one hard syllable, and next thing I knew it was twenty minutes later. She was on New Scandinavian Cooking, where she was simply fabulous. Once, she cheerfully cooked moose stew in the ice hotel. While I couldn’t relate, culturally, I gave her a lot of credit for having confidence the roof wouldn’t cave in.

Months ago, my favorite Asian market closed to move to the next town. Signs in the windows at the new location said Coming Soon! as it got later and later. I felt positively stricken. When Pete decided to try a gluten-free diet, I mentally scanned the shelves at the Asian market and pouted. As Grandma used to growl, “Tempis was fugiting.” Today, we saw balloons and carts outside the store, grabbed a cart and made a break for the door.

It was heavenly. The building itself was about the same size as the old one, but cleaner, brighter and much, much better organized. The produce section made sense and lacked that this is what you get, goddammit ambience that made shopping the old produce aisles an act of defiance. One whole aisle is stocked floor to ceiling with rice varieties, and another offers a truly luxurious selection of noodles. The placement of the freezer cases close to the bakery counter made it impossible to examine about one-quarter of the frozen foods. I didn’t have to get to that corner to know there were still too few vegetarian dimsum to choose from, and the kind I love wasn’t in the case. Even so, the selection of shumai was exciting. I wanted to look at everything. Seeing the small percentage of items I did made me want to lie down for an hour. Being happy is exhausting! I knew that, but now I’m tired and have cellophane noodles.

In the car again, I sighed a few times.

Tata: I’m so relieved. I felt like I was cooking around holes in my grocery list.
Pete: Me, too.
Tata: No banana leaves.
Pete: Two different kinds of ducks!

Yup. Still no moose.

Bigger And Sleeker And Wider And Brighter

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On Tuesday, I caught our friend Woym, stuffed him in a cat carrier, took him to the vet, got tests and shots and handed him off to a Woym-approved friend. Wednesday, we had a big windstorm here. A huge tree lost a giant branch onto a garage next door. Yesterday, one of the tenants heard crying and told Pete, who found a tiny kitten shivering under our back porch. Pete brought the tiny thing into the screen porch, fed the kitten and called me at the library, where my mind went blank.

Later, I kind of panicked, because I have zero experience with cats less than six months old. By the time I biked home, Pete had fed the kitten a mess o’ wet food, while the tenant scrunched up a soft blanket for warmth. The kitten was still squeaking at top volume, very obviously freaked out to be separated from Mama. The poor thing had a dirty face and watery eyes, but it was so frightened I didn’t dare approach. I stood at the other end of the porch and whispered, and for a little while, the kitten was quiet. Later, Pete picked up the kitten, who now snuggled into his hands, so I held it too. It fit in my hands. It nestled into my neck. My icy heart melted.

Sweetpea and friend.

I couldn’t help but notice the kitten’s resemblance to Sweetpea, who at this moment is the size of a Buick and asleep on my also sleeping leg. Pete and I did the math: two small black cats = one giant orange cat + one miniscule orange baby. For a day, we had achieved cat balance. Today, Trout met the kitten, who immediately curled up under her chin while Trout laughed and laughed. We’d gently washed grime and goo from the kitten’s face, but Trout knew immediately something we did not: the kitten was separated from Mama before Mama taught important things like bathing. Trout promised to teach the kitten cat-things. I mean, really. I didn’t finish high school. Tonight, the kitten has a bathroom to itself at Trout’s house while we find a good home.

Do you have one?

Da Da Da Deee Da

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We’re doing what?

NASA plans to crash a rocket into the moon early Friday, blasting a huge hole in the lunar surface to search for hidden water.

The explosion, scheduled for 4:30am Arizona time, is expected to visible with from Earth using amateur telescopes, according to NASA.

It’s also expected to be aired live by NASA-TV and on http://www.nasa.gov/ntv.

According to NASA’s website, the Centaur rocket will make impact at the Moon’s south pole.

Scientists tell Scientific American Magazine that they expect the blast to be so powerful that a huge plume of debris will be ejected.

A spacecraft will fly through the debris plume, sending data back to Earth before crashing into the lunar surface and creating a second debris plume, according to NASA’s website.

Why blast a hole in the moon? NASA wants to see if any water, ice or vapor is revealed in the cloud of debris. If there is, that might provide supplies for a future manned moonbase.

Countdown to the rumor that the moon had nukes trained on Israel in 3… 2… 1…

Everywhere My Mind Describes Them To

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Pete: Whatcha doin’?
Tata: Coping with anxiety through dried fruit.
Pete: Think you’ll calm down when the fridge is full?
Tata: I think that’s the time to buy a second fridge.

Remember our friend Woym? Yesterday, I caught the handsome kitty, stuffed him in a cat carrier, drove him to the vet, had him tested for all kinds of pesky pussycat maladies and waited with him for two hours. He nestled into my arms and shivered. Finally, he got a clean bill of health, a few more shots and my co-worker took him home. I think I should feel relieved. I found him a good home, where people will treat him like a treasure and love him as much as he can stand. Bonus: they’re anxious to fill Woym with meaty treats and give him his own name. So why won’t my stomach stop churning? I don’t know, but lately, my answer to every question is Greek yogurt.

Disgruntled Co-Worker: I’m always hungry again at 3:30.
Tata: Have you tried Greek yogurt?

Blurting Stranger: My husband and I don’t talk anymore.
Tata: Try talking about delicious Greek yogurt.

Raw Story: The National Republican Congressional Committee did not backpedal Tuesday after coming under attack for a press release calling on a U.S. general to put House Speaker Nancy Pelosi “in her place.”
Tata: The NRCC obviously constipated and stuck in white, male 1956. Here in sexylicious 2009, we would all feel better with the NRCC stuffed full of creamy Greek yogurt. Like really full.

What’ll I dooooooo?

I’ve been thinking, which is always my first mistake: I used to sit down to write PIC without any idea of what I’d write. Some of my favorite posts came from nowhere and developed naturally. Right now, I’m pressed for time and debating topics and fighting the anxiety of human frailty as winter approaches. This morning, I lay down supercool rubber flooring under my desk and set up a mini exercise cycle in my cubicle to fight stiffness, torpor and moral sloth. Maybe my mind will clear along with my sinuses after the first frost. Let’s hope so. I have limited patience with my own anxiety and the clock is ticking.

Got A Bad Case Of Steamroller

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I have all the emotional maturity of an eleven-year-old. Ew:

Human Pee With Ash Is a Natural Fertilizer, Study Says

That sound I just made? Heard only by dolphins. What’s this, then?

The scientists fertilized several groups of greenhouse tomato plants: one with human urine and birch ash, another with commercial mineral fertilizer, and another with just urine.

Plants fertilized with urine and ash yielded nearly four times more tomatoes than nonfertilized plants.

This compared favorably with commercial mineral fertilizers, which produced roughly five times as much fruit as nonfertilized plants.

To the team’s surprise, urine alone produced a slightly greater yield than those of urine and ash together.

But the urine-and-ash plants became larger than the other groups, and they bore tomatoes with significantly higher levels of the nutrient magnesium, which is key for bone, muscle, and heart health, among other biochemical functions.

Recently, I took a gardening class. That endeavor wasn’t entirely successful in that it took me an hour to figure out what we were talking about and about a minute to realize the topic would never apply to my gardening. After that, there remained 59 minutes of listening for useful bits of information and sucking down as much coffee as my kidneys would allow. Gardening instruction is often abstruse and assumes that the student knows both nothing and everything the teacher knows, so I was surprised to learn something simple and useful: when planting nightshades like tomatoes, peppers and eggplants, put a spoonful of epsom salt into the hole first and the plant will develop better roots. Good roots might’ve come in handy this year. Even so, no one at any point in this gardening class suggested fertilizing with pee. I bet there’s a pretty specific way it’s done so no one gets cooties. Speaking of cooties, let’s just get this out of the way:

A group of 20 taste testers ranked tomatoes grown by all methods as equally tasty.

Breathing through the mouth…two…three…four…Okay, then. Final specifics:

Urine can be collected from eco-friendly, urine-diverting toilets. Or farmers could just collect their pee in cans.

The researchers estimate a single person could supply enough urine to fertilize roughly 6,300 tomato plants a year—yielding some 2.4 tons of tomatoes.

The farmer would just need to give plants ash three days or more after applying urine.

Once again: this summary assumes both that the reader knows nothing and everything the farmer knows. Perhaps you’ve had conversations like these:

You: My stomach is upset and tooting like a trombone.
Helpful Friend: Mint will help that.
You: Mint what? How much? What kind? Applied where?

You: How did you grow such enormous pumpkins?
Enthusiast: I milk-fed them. It’s old school.
You: You watered pumpkins with milk?
Enthusiast: No. Yes. Sort of.

You: My house is so haunted my cats look like someone ironed them standing up.
Serious Person: Get some sage.
You: Am I decorating or cooking?

Helpful hint: do not braise your cats if furniture is rearranging itself. My point here is not that people do not know what they’re talking about; it’s that people teach and explain so poorly in general that where fertilizing my food with human waste is concerned I might miss my cue to be nauseous, and in no way is nausea a better late than never scenario.

Turns out, peeing outside is not just old news, it’s some folks’ new habit and a money-saving proposition. There’s even a Facebook page for PeeOutside.org. One commenter pees into a bucket of sawdust. One says add a teaspoon of baking soda. How the outdoor animals would react if the garden beds of suburban neighborhoods smelled like human pee? I have to give this some thought. The idea of accidentally tipping over a bucket of Pete’s pee in the basement fills me with dread. On the other hand, who am I to argue with people who walk it like they talk it?

Well, that’s a good question too because Pete keeps talking about putting a composting toilet into a downstairs closet, but he’s kidding. I think he’s kidding. He may already be planning for our well-fertilized future.

Have No Fear Of Escalation

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Previously on Poor Impulse Control:

On Saturday, Pete had a delightful encounter at the toy store.

Pete: I looked up and there was this little girl, about nine or ten. She looked like your niece.
Tata: Which one? Lois?
Pete: Lois! Light blond hair, blue eyes, skinny. She was wearing a little girl t-shirt, a little girl sweater, jeans and sneakers. And a big fake mustache like that movie critic –
Tata: Gene Shalit?
Pete: Yeah! She was completely serious, so I said, “Can I help you, sir?” She cleared her throat and said in a deep voice, “Yes.”
Tata: GET OUT!
Pete: I didn’t smile or anything, I just kept going. “Would you like me to gift wrap this for you, sir?” and she said, “[deep voice] That would be nice.” She was alone in the store but her mom kept peeking her head in from outside.
Tata: I’m so happy! Did you recognize the little girl?
Pete: How could I recognize her? She was in disguise!
Tata: Omigod, you should have taken a picture!
Pete: I wanted to but I would’ve had to let on I knew she wasn’t a grown man.
Tata: Then what happened?
Pete: She got into a van with her parents and her sister and they took off.
Tata: I’m so jealous! I wish I’d seen her. Oooh, you know who are going to be mad they missed that? Anya and Corinne! My sisters are going to be steamed!
Pete: She’s my favorite customer ever.

Last night, my sisters hosted a book signing party at the toy store for local heroes who’ve written a new book. Pete made tortellini with spicy arugula, spinach and basil pesto, truly beautiful fruit and cheese platters, humus and vegetable trays that’d make you sigh, bruschetta and toast rounds. I worked the cash register and gift-wrapped for the gift store and kept an eye on my niece Lois, who was tending the informal banquet but has never waited tables. One of my brothers-in-law tended bar. My mother hovered nearby, anxious to help. Everyone was very busy, so it was at an odd, slack moment when Pete looked across the counter and asked the question of the evening.

Pete: Have you ever worn a mustache about town?
Little Girl: Yes, I have.
Pete: This is the one! I knew it! She came into the toy store wearing a mustache and speaking in a low voice.
Tata: You’re my hero.
Pete: I love that story! I tell it to everyone!

Pete ran off, while I chatted with the little girl, her friend and a familiar looking woman. At the other end of the store, I saw Pete push through the crowd with my my sister Corinne, telling her, “That’s the girl with the mustache!” and Corinne nodding happily. Presently, Pete reappeared at my side and asked the next best question of the evening.

Pete: What are you going to be for Halloween?
Little Girl: Frida Kahlo.
Tata: Frida Kahlo!
Pete: Who is that?
Tata: A famous, dead Mexican artist.
Little Girl: She had the unibrow. Like mine.

And then I realized what I should have known all along: she’s me.

Tata: My aunt used to take me to museums so I could read her the Latin signs.
Little Girl: You can just sound them out.
Tata: I know! Do you do theater?
Little Girl: I am an excellent actor.

And then, as little girls do, the little girls ran off. We remain delighted, and now we know her name.

And Turn Him Inside Out

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We are doing calisthenics.

Tata: Okay okay okay so yesterday I’m in Carmelo’s shop and he walks toward me holding a magazine. There’s only one customer at a time so there’s only one magazine –
Leilani Goldberg: Of course. That makes sense.
Tata: – and this time it’s the Details Magazine with Clive Owen on the cover. Clive Owen is yummy!
Leilani: That cover is super hot. I saw it at the drug store yesterday.
Tata: But Carmelo opens it to a quiz called something like “63 Signs That You Are A Douchebag.”

Leilani nearly dropped her handweights.

Tata: I’ve got dye in my hair, the print is really small and I can’t get my glasses because that would be an admission of defeat, but none of that’s important when – like – sign #2 is “You’ve made your own ricotta.”
Leilani: Cheese?
Tata: I have made my own ricotta!
Leilani: You’ve made cheese?
Tata: Yes, I’ve made cheese! So we are off to the races: yes, I do look at the lighting in restaurants. Yes, I have talked to my trainer about strengthening my core. I have hosted brunch! Apparently, I am a pretentious tool!
Leilani: Whaaat?
Tata: So I’m like, “Carmelo, I’m a douchebag!” And he said, “Me, too!”