Insects, despite their highly evolved mechanisms of detoxification, are as vulnerable to alcohol as the rest of us. Many insects attack wine grapes and rapidly destroy vineyards, becoming accidentally intoxicated on the odd fermenting grape. In 1545 a legal complaint against the insects was made by the wine growers of St. Julen, a small hamlet in France. The insects were actually brought to trial. The prosecution argued that lower animals should be subject to the laws of man. The insects were appointed an advocate who argued that they were only exercising their biblical rights to be fruitful and multiply, thereby obeying a divine law. The archival recorded indicate that a judge deliberated for a long period, but the final decision is unknown--the last page of the surviving records was destroyed by weevils!

--Intoxication by Ronald K Siegel

I have been eagerly awaiting the release of these two books, and the time has finally come!






If you enjoy (allegedly) kids books with a witty and offbeat sense of humor, go forth and buy now. (Or if you have kids, I guess.)

One of my multiple personalities in my dream last night was appealing the court for emancipation. His desire was to be recognized as a distinct entity, with the rights and responsibilities of any other person. Relatedly, this particular personality also wanted to sue one of my other personalities. Something about dental work.

I am very often male in my dreams. Is that unusual?

I also dreamed that I broke my iPhone. There was shattered glass everywhere, and the inside looked like a motherboard from 1984. It was all rather traumatic.

It seems it's time for another round of Recommend Me a Good Book. Though my to-read shelf is stacked 47 high, little of it is fiction and of that not much is getting me excited. Can you recommend something? I tend to like scifi, though really it's the quality of the writing that counts. Like these.

If something new doesn't turn up, I'm considering re-reading To Think Nothing Of The Dog, Treason or Hyperion.

Oh, and just for reference, I hated The Da Vinci Code.

I recently started physical therapy for some feet issues I have had for a few years now. Nothing too terrible, but firmly in the I-should-probably-do-something-about-this-before-it-gets-worse category. I was given a startling amount of homework to accompany my therapy, and so far I have learned two things:

1. It is much less unpleasant to ice your feet if you are drunk at the time.
2. No matter how tired you may be, it is highly unlikely you will fall asleep while your foot is stuck in a bag of frozen peas.

You know that moment that inevitably happens in scifi shows, and a great many action shows as well, when one of the main characters has to explain the crazy sounding situation to a civilian to save them? Well, just once I want to hear them say, "Ok, look. You may think I'm crazy. And for the sake of argument, lets just go ahead and say you're right. But believe this. There are other, arguably crazy people who believe the exact same thing I do, and they are coming here to kill you."

Seems like it would save a lot of time.

Also, just once I want to see the hero who just had their best friend killed, have to tell the family, "He wanted me to tell you... well, I don't actually know. He started to tell me, but then I cut him off and reassured him we would get out of this. Guess I was wrong about that. My bad!"

Throughout the course of my career, I have worked in support roles doing administrative work, I have worked in support roles in technology companies, and I have worked for technology companies as a skilled employee.

In all of those roles, I have almost never experienced anything that I would classify as sexism. If I were to rate each experience according to how big of a role gender played in the attitude of the people around me, working in a technology company as a developer would win out head and shoulders above the rest.

Here's the thing.

The technology industry is a meritocracy. Geeks don't care where you were born, if you wear a suit or a scruffy tee shirt, what your orientation is, what you look like, and they barely notice if you happen to be female. Geeks care if you are smart, capable, and can make cool shit. Everything else is background noise. The men (and women) that I have known in technology make up one of the most consistently gender neutral cultures I have ever encountered.

I think that one of the reasons working in technology is difficult for many women is the simple challenge of feeling different. Anytime that you are different from everyone around you it is a challenge. You will run into places where the defaults just don't work for you. You will have to do more work to find solutions to problems no one else has. When your fundamental perspective diverges from the people around you, you have to work harder to communicate and understand ideas. At best, it's a lot more work. At worst, you may feel like you don't belong, worry that people don't accept you, or wonder if there is something wrong with you.

Me? Feeling different is comfortable territory. The skills for navigating a foreign environment, carving out my own place, and the ongoing extra effort involved all come second nature to me. Honestly, I don't even know what it would be like to "fit in".

I do know what it is like to be dismissed and looked down upon for being different, something I have seen in spades as a bisexual woman in the gay community, but not once as a female in technology.

I understand that my experience may not be representative of all industries, or even all technology companies.

But it bothers me deeply that women are being taught that they cannot succeed in technology. It offends me that they are told they will be oppressed and not taken seriously. And makes me angry to see women being trained to see every indication gender difference as a sign of prejudice.

Last night I dreamed that I chased down the hulking man that stole my purse, climbed on his back, and held a knife against his throat demanding its return. He questioned my resolve, so I dug the knife into his neck until it drew gurgling blood. It remained unclear by the time I woke up if he was going to be alright.

Disturbing dreams are standard procedure for my unconscious mind. But this theme of deliberate violence on my part is new. Sure I've had plenty of dreams in which I was responsible for terrible things, but it was always terrible things in the past -- things I only held the memory of and bore the guilt for, but did not actually experience.

In other news, I started watching a show, Miracles, the other night. I'm only a couple of episodes in, but thus far it seems like a cross between The Prophesy and Supernatural. Plus, it was canceled after only one season -- so it must be good, right?

Oh, that must be why.

"Cortisol is used in virtually every system in the body, a hormone that literally integrates the body and the mind by altering the configuration of the brain. Cortisol interferes with the immune system, changes the sensitivity of the ears, nose and eyes, and alters various bodily functions. When you have a lot of cortisol coursing through your veins, you are--by definition--under stress. Cortisol and stress are virtually synonymous.

...

In white blood cells cortisol is almost certainly involved in switching on a gene called TCF, also on chromosone IO, thus enabling TCF to make its own protein, whose job is to suppress the expression of another protein called interleukin 2, and interlukin 2 is a chemical that puts whte blood cells on alert to be especially vigilant for germs. So, cortisol supresses the immune alertness of white blood cells and makes you more susceptible to disease."
--Genome by Matt Ridley

It seems like one of the hundreds of times I bemoaned my susceptibility to illness, someone might have told me that my stress-monkey nature that is to blame.

I think one of the things that confuses me most about human beings is that just because they say something, it doesn't mean they mean it.

Being the type of person who analyzes thins all the time, chances are if I express an opinion, it is because I put a lot of thought into it. When I engage in conversation with someone, it is from the perspective of analyzing the new information that they can give me, the different perspective.

When someone approaches a conversation about ideas from the perspective of trying to be polite or aggreable, it's like we're trying to have different conversations.

Moreover, people are so willing to make bold statements based on vague impressions ans prejudices. Since one tends to assume that other people are the same as them, unless presented with dramatic and specific evidence to the contrary, I interpret these proclamations as if they have gone through the same rigorous vetting that such as statement from me would have gone through.

Humans are weird.

whatimeantosay prompted me to tell her about my shitty day in haiku form. I thought I'd share.

My computer? Sucked.
Project finished... then delayed.
Abundant drama.

Posted via LiveJournal.app.

I listened to this episode of Polyamory Weekly a little while ago, and this little excerpt keeps coming to mind. It comes from an interview between the host Minx, and Marcia and Ried, the founders of Cuddle Party.

Minx: "You know, one of the most powerful things, I thought, from the facilitated part, from the workshop part, was teaching people to say 'no' and then having them practice that. Because so many people in this world cannot just say 'no'.

"I love that you said 'No is a complete sentence.' It doesn't have to be 'No, but...' or 'No, well...' or 'No, I'm sorry...'. Just 'No.'"

Marsha: "Yeah, it's been really interesting I think for myself, the work I'm moving into from Cuddle Party is particularly working with women around communication, and particularly around 'No'. And learning how to ask for what you want. And one of the biggest things, it's really hard to ask for what you want if you feel like you can't say 'no'. Because why would you want to put somebody else into that situation? So I've noticed that there's a parallel between: if I can say no to someone without drama ensuing, then I can also ask for things without drama ensuing."

--Poly Weekly Episode
#177

This was one of those concepts that made everything make so much more sense! If you don't feel comfortable saying "no", then of course it will be hard to communicate the things you want. If the word "no" isn't part of your vocabulary, asking isn't asking -- it's demanding.

I so treasure the people in my life who I know will tell me in no uncertain terms exactly what they like, and what they don't like. Seem harsh? Well, sometimes it is. And yet, it is so refreshing.

Trying to ferret useful information out of someone who can not come right out and say what they think is a tedious and exhausting endevor. Did that pause mean that she really didn't want to go? Does this actually sound like fun to him, or is he just trying to make me happy? Is my design actually any good, or do they just not want to hurt my feelings? If someone won't speak up, you can never be sure where you stand -- and that means that you can never really enjoy a "yes".

The contrast between the two types of communication is like putting on glasses for the first time after living a life of nearsighted blur. Suddenly everything is so clear! All the information you need is right there in front of you and you know you can go about your business without bumbling into anyone or pawing about clumsily.

So, please. Tell me "no." I can handle it.

Anyone looking for a ticket to the Edwardian Ball in SF this Saturday?

I'm having personal cards made up. What should my "title" be? What do you think makes a good tagline for me?

Poll #1335138
Open to: All, detailed results viewable to: All

What should my "title" be?

This is what I don't like about arbitrarily assigned significance. When things arbitrarily go wrong, as they are wont to do, it carries a much greater weight than is warranted. Instead of, "Man, today sucks" it's "This doesn't bode well for 2009." Seriously? The whole year is doomed because of one crappy Monday?

Of course, I love birthdays. At least I admit my hypocrisy.

I was chatting with a friend about SciFi hologram technology, and had occasion to look into 3D projection cube that is on Bones. I came across an article which confirmed my suspicions -- while the actual piece of equipment on the show is special effects, the technology itself is based on something that really exists.

I also came across a wired article about the real technology. Given the speed of technology, anyone have a guess as to how long it is between research prototype and affordable consumer products? By next Christmas, y'think?

The house I grew up in was, I realize now with the perspective of adulthood, pretty amazing. Growing up of course, with the innocent entitlement of a child, I thought it was all perfectly natural.

To say I grew up in the house is a bit of a misnomer. It was the house my grandparents lived in when I was young, and even then for less than a decade. But where my mom moved a lot, my grandparents stayed in place. For much of my childhood I would visit them weekly, and spend holidays at their house. They were a huge part of my life and my stability where everything else always changed.

The drive to my grandparents took you from civilization, through golf courses of retirement suburbia, up windy mountain roads with boulders looming over the street. The trees thickened, and eventually you found yourself on a a road lined with white picket fences called "Caminito Quieto" meaning "quiet road" in Spanish. Finally, you turned up a steep, windy private driveway.

The house sat on four acres of avocado trees, which my grandfather spent a huge amount of time maintaining. He had a four-wheeler, and if I was very lucky I would get to ride it with him to go repair a sprinkler.

In the front yard was a playground that my grandfather had built for me, complete with a swing set and play house. Beyond that, behind yet another white picket fence was a garden of fruit trees. I very vaguely remember, for I must have been very young at the time, him excitedly planning the garden, telling us of all the trees he would plant. The gated garden always seemed a little bit secret and magical to me.

All of my clearest memories from childhood came from that house. I remember planting a garden with my grandfather every year. I remember the strawberries that we had planted, and watching them with great anticipation while they turned from green to red, until it was time to pick them. I remember chewing on sour grass and licking honeysuckle. I remember the sweet scent of the gardenia hedges that my grandmother planted around the outside of the house.

I spent nearly every weekend there. Late Saturday mornings, I would get up and jump into my grandparents bed and watch cartoons with them. Birthdays took place in the gazebo, and on holidays the whole family would gather at the long table in the dining room.

The thing that I remember most from that time of my life was the the closeness and love of my family. In reality, those family bonds were seasoned with a hearty helping of obligation, psychological abuse, and an assortment of familial dysfunction. But I was too young to understand that. Like the fairy-tale aspects of my childhood, the unhealthy aspects seemed normal. What I did know was that I was surrounded by people that loved each other, and that I was loved. No matter what happened later or how my perspective changed with maturity, I still count myself blessed for that.

That house is so deeply rooted in my psyche that I still sometimes dream of it, a backdrop to some imagined life. It is only upon waking that I realize with a pang that all of that is gone.

My grandparents divorce drove my grandfather past a sanity that had held only tenuously, and within a year he had a break down. He staged an elaborate plot at which he was the center, both hero and victim. The story involved the powerful family of a jilted lover coming to seek their revenge by threatening him and burning down his, and my, home.

I remember vividly at nine years old sitting on the turret of my playground, crying as I watched the flames consume my childhood. The next day, walking through the damp charred ruin of the halls that had been my whole world.

I do not blame my grandfather for this brief bout of self-centered insanity. He too was watching his life crumble before him, and lacked the fortitude and resilience to adapt. At the same time, I don't think I'll ever forgive him for taking my home and my childhood away, all in one abrupt and spectacular night.

By the way, I was just hit again by some variation of TheGreatHatsby prank. If you post public entries on any number of social sites and either list your AIM contact information on your profile, or your account name is the same as your AIM name, you are a candidate for said prankage.

A bot watches public posts on LiveJournal, Twitter, deviantArt and other social communities, and picks out pairs of AIM names. It then initiates IM conversations with the two accounts, and relays messages back and forth. For both recipients, it appears that they were IMed by a stranger. Hilarity, presumably, ensues.

If you find yourself contacted on AIM by an account that appears to end in "Salmon", "Trout", or "Coho", particularly if it happens immediately after submitting a public post, you are likely being tagged by this bot. There is, of course, an elljay community dedicated to the bot's antics, which can be found over at themissinghat. Consider yourself informed.

"Dear Santa Claus

I want a toy gun and transformers toy tha only I does what I say. I want video game of Sonic X. Please Santa bring my little sister a doll that cries and my sister would like to get a shirt and matching pants.

Thank you Santa Claus: I'm super excited this christmas.

Sebastian & Samantha"

Scrawled on extra wide spaced gradeschool paper, the above letter was mailed to "Santa Clause, North Pole". It came into my possession as part of a charity drive my company is participating in for the holidays.

As you may be aware, the post office receives tons of these letters every year. And as you also may be aware, they are not delivered because (spoiler alert!) Santa Claus does not exist. Apparently the postal rules of privacy do not apply to pretend people, and so it was that a couple of my coworkers spent an afternoon sifting through Santa's mail and picking out some letters for us all to answer.

I chose this letter because I was charmed that the child wants a robot minion, and because he was sweet enough to include his sister in his Christmas wish list. I'm not quite sure if he wanted her to get a doll that cries because she wants one or because he wants to annoy her, but either way I feel it is my duty to support him.

Some of the letters, samples of which are up for display on BeAnElf.org, are more heartbreaking than charming. Amy writes that she doesn't want anything for Christmas, but her brother "needs a pair of new shoes real bad". Marcel hopes he's not asking for too much, but wonders if perhaps Santa didn't make it to his house last year?

The decentralized nature of BeAnElf really appeals to me. There is no question how much of your donation gets sucked dry by bureaucracy. They use the term "micro-philanthropy" which I think is quite apt. It's simple, small and direct -- something easy for anyone to participate in.

I was going to post about how Thanksgiving wins the lamest holiday award. Then I was reminded that I have the awesomest friends in the world. So instead I'll just say: I'm thankful.

I've got it pretty good.