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Archive for the ‘Seychelles’ Category

Hat NOT optional

A couple of caveats lead into this post, the first being that, yes, I have lived outside the good old US of A for going on twenty years now. The second, perhaps even more obvious to frequent readers, is the fact that my take on most Republicans is that they’re morons, evil or self-centered assholes, or, often, all three. The point in putting provisos in paragraph one? Fair warning.

I’ve managed to ignore most of the issue that’s now referred to by the unlikely title of “birtherism”, but in my time off from writing about annoyances this one has grown beyond the boundaries of ignorance … ignorability … whatever … into that dimension we used to call “The Twilight Zone”, but now has gone really scary.

An article in Slate that reports 45% of Republicans saying President Obama was not born in the US had me giggling … at first … with the thought that about that wide a margin in the GOP hasn’t quite got the scoop on Hawaii actually being a state. Although that’s probably true, it gets worse:

Among Republicans, 45 percent believe he was born abroad, while only 33 percent say he was born in the United States. More than a dozen state legislatures have discussed or are discussing “birther bills” that usually seek to force presidential candidates to prove their birthplace, although at least five states have been reluctant to actually turn the bills into law. Oklahoma could soon become the first with a vote expected next week.

What a fucking waste of time and money! And that’s not even bringing up the idiot factor.

As mentioned, I’ve not followed the the buildup to this pile of smelly residue, so followed this link to, TA DAAAA!, “Where it all began”, and am forced to admit it makes even less sense now.

That theory first emerged in the spring of 2008, as Clinton supporters circulated an anonymous email questioning Obama’s citizenship.

“Barack Obama’s mother was living in Kenya with his Arab-African father late in her pregnancy. She was not allowed to travel by plane then, so Barack Obama was born there and his mother then took him to Hawaii to register his birth,” asserted one chain email that surfaced on the urban legend site Snopes.com in April 2008.

Another early version of the theory, reported by the Chicago Tribune in June 2008, depended on a specious legal theory that was, for a time, the heart of the argument: that Obama was born in Hawaii but had a Kenyan father, and his mother was only 18 years old. Therefore, under existing immigration law, he was not eligible for automatic citizenship upon birth — a claim that depended on an understandable, but incorrect, reading of immigration law. Other theories suggested that Obama lost his U.S. citizenship when he moved to Indonesia or visited Pakistan in violation of a supposed State Department ban as a young man. (There was no such ban.)

A birth certificate was produced — produced as in “handed over by the State of Hawaii”, not “run off with the help of Photo Shop” — but apparently proved about as much to “birthers” as any old piece of paper might, not surprising when many dedicated to the concept of Obama being foreign-born most likely have fake diplomas from Whatsamatta U hanging on their walls.

FactCheck.org, the non-partisan website, was allowed to examine the physical copy of the birth certificate in August 2008, and concluded it was real, that it had a raised seal, a signature and met all the State Department criteria for proof of citizenship. Combined with the state’s recognition that the record was real—and contemporary newspaper announcements of Obama’s birth, submitted by the hospitals —they concluded that he was a natural born citizen.

Hawaii has repeatedly confirmed the document’s authenticity.

“I, Dr. Chiyome Fukino, director of the Hawai’i State Department of Health, have seen the original vital records maintained on file by the Hawai’i State Department of Health verifying Barrack (sic) Hussein Obama was born in Hawai’i and is a natural-born American citizen,” one exasperated state official said in 2008 and again in 2009 in a statement.

“Of course, it’s distantly possible that Obama’s grandparents may have planted the announcement just in case their grandson needed to prove his U.S. citizenship in order to run for president someday,” FactCheck concluded. But, “those who choose to go down that path should first equip themselves with a high-quality tinfoil hat.”

As 2012 looms … as an election year or the end of the world, you make the call … those tinfoil hats should be mandatory.

Of course, not all Republicans have fallen under the lobotomy blade …

Some Republicans take the position out of a basic respect for facts, but they also worry about its consequences for their party.

“It makes us look weird. It makes us look crazy. It makes us look demented. It makes us look sick, troubled, and not suitable for civilized company,” one of the first conservatives to turn against the birthers, talk show host Michael Medved, said in 2009. “I’m not a conspiracist, but this could be a very big conspiracy to make conservatives disgrace themselves.”

Hm.

What if …

Donald Trump has been hired by the Dems to stoke the fire under the bonkers birthers … cuz just maybe he’s needing a few extra bucks for those hair plugs he’s needing … so finds it worth it to make a complete ass of himself on the alter of complete assdome in hopes of either fooling all of the people all of the time or just enough idiots for long enough to be president or make the GOP a laughing stock.

There’s a theory …

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Treading water while burdened by worry prompts a shutdown. A bit of verse and some photos on offer, though:

Hue Cares?

Not ice, nor powder
no robin’s egg,
no nothing royal
neither slate nor steel,
electric or baby
Cyan’t and indon’tgo …
just BLUE

Thankfully, there are kids!

Cj in her birthday crown

Birthday Strawberries

Beautiful Girls! Cj and Amber ...

Sam waters Alex

Photos by JP and Christine Larose. Thanks!

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Having way too much fun being lazy with the kids these days to focus on shit in the world, so will now bore the socks off you with photos rather than write …

Cj and Mitzy ...

Cj at the waterfallSam at the same waterfall

Hammock time! Can't touch dis ...

Cj after birthday shopping ... YIKES!

Cj's new dolls meet Sam's toys. Should I be concerned?

Cj’s 6th birthday is day after tomorrow and there’s a beach picnic tomorrow, a gathering on Sunday and much fun to be had! Have a great weekend, all!

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Bill Tabb with this comment:

That first link…it’s the butterfly effect. Or perhaps it’s Heisenberg. Either way, you cannot use the energy without somehow affecting it. The wind blows, the turbine turns, the turbulence created causes a drop of rain to fall in Mali, a seed germinates……

And lets keep religion out of it. That just throws a spanner in the works.

As for Oxford, let us not forget that while Newton made incredible contributions to our knowledge of how the solar system and the universe works and why stuff falls down, he was also one of the preeminent alchemists of his day.

You now owe me a letter, Bill!

I started writing this blog in an effort to build a place I could vent all that didn’t fit on the professional sites I wrote for and as a way to keep in touch before facebook made that so easy. Through it I have met the most wonderful people, reconnected with many I’d worried I’d lost and learned much from all.

To say I’m grateful for every click and comment is understating how blessed I am, but I am truly at a loss when it comes to conveying my thankfulness.

I will occasionally read back through posts, relive moments, and each time I do I realize how much sharing small bits of my world has brought me in return. In joy and grief, in rage and in praise, through celebrations and solitude, I have not been alone.

Yes, I live on this tiny island in the middle of a huge sea, but by connecting as I can … and having you connect back … I feel the threads that bind me to the greater fabric, and I love the tug that comes with being part of the weave.

Thank you.

Thank you.

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May You Live In Interesting TimesHappy 12th of March 2011.

Today is not a holiday that I know of, nor does it mark any specific event. Nope. It just happens to be a Saturday in Seychelles that found me thinking we’re not even a quarter of the way through the year yet, but OH! what an amazing amount of shit has already gone down.

We’re 71 days into 2011 … SEVENTY-ONE DAYS … and already the world has been burning and flooding and rocking and rolling and … well, you know.

Should we be surprised when the first 12 days brought at least:

* Earthquake magnitude 6.9 Argentina-January 1

* Earthquake magnitude 5.2 – Southern XinJiang, China-January 1

* Earthquake 7.1 magnitude Chile-January 2

* More Than 1,000 Dead Birds Fall From Sky in Arkansas-January 2

* Dead fish cover 20-mile section of Arkansas River-January 2

* Uganda yellow fever outbreak kills more than 40-January 3

* Earthquake Near Japan Triggers Tsunami Warning-January 3

* Powerful earthquake hits south-east Iran-January 3

* Earthquake 7.0 magnitude hits northern Argentina-January 3

* Hundreds of dead blackbirds found in Louisiana-January 3

* 10,000s of Birds found dead in Manitoba-January 3

* Thousands of Birds fall from the sky in South America-January 3

* Major Flood in Rockhampto,Australia-January 3

* Dead Birds Found In Kentucky-January 4

* 100 tons of dead fish wash up on Brazil’s shores-January 4

* Hundreds of dead birds found in East Texas-January 5

* Dead birds in Sweden, millions of dead fish in Maryland, Brazil and New Zealand-January 5

* Shift of Earth’s magnetic north pole affects Tampa airport-January 5

* 40,000 crabs found dead on England beaches-January 6

* Heavy floods leave at least 35 dead in Brazil-January 6

* Earthquake 4.5 magnitude in California-January 12

* Huge Waves Destroy Homes in E. Indonesia-January 12

Since then we’ve had floods and fires in Australia and the Middle-Atlantic states of America, monster snow storms in the US and Europe, and far too many earthquakes, including the February devastation in New Zealand and what’s happening right now in Japan.

The shaky ground in Northern Africa and the Middle East came with less warning than the tenuous quake predictions we’ve grown accustomed to, but the damage is huge and the aftershocks will continue for a long time, and although civil war in Africa is no surprise, what’s happening now in Ivory Coast is still a bit of a shocker. And, of course there’s Libya.

That it’s just now that thirty-seven priests are busted in Philadelphia for sex abuse almost figures, but adding it to the ever-growing pile of daily crap going on makes it all smell a bit worse.

Even all this is just a small piece of a much-submerged iceberg when it comes to the suffering going on in the world, and with the global media so busy covering what must be covered today, a lot of what else is going on, was going on, or will be happening soon is off the radar of most of us.

I can’t help having that assumed version of a Chinese curse come to mind:

寧為太平犬,不做亂世人

Translated commonly to go something like this:

May you live in interesting times.

(And by the way, this is thought to be one of three curses, the others being, “May you come to the attention of powerful people,” and, “May your wishes be granted.”)

Interesting times these are, and considering the fact we’re only 71 days into the year so far, my plan is to make the most of what I have, enjoy this lovely view and the ground being still beneath my feet, hope the sky doesn’t start raining dead birds and that we get through this year’s elections with nothing more going on than the usual grousing.

There are 294 days to go … so hang on with me and let’s see what happens on the rest of this ride, shall we?

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I'll haunt the fuck outta you.

“The tender word forgotten, The letter you did not write, The flower you might have sent, dear, Are your haunting ghosts tonight” ~ Margaret Elizabeth Sangster

This post is not about a plea for sympathy, stirring up pre-grief or needing any bolstering, so, please, don’t react to the read with anything but the humor I intend to provoke.

The fact of anyone’s matter is that life is short, and then you die, so getting shook up about being assured that IS the future seems a silly, silly thing to do. We’d all live better if we did it as though each was our last day … the reality being each could be … and we do ourselves a disservice when we force such thoughts from our minds.

Sure, it all gets a bit busy and complicated to spend much time contemplating checking out, but letting the idea of the party continuing on without us soak in isn’t a bad thing. In fact, it helps a lot in enjoying the one we’re dancing in right now.

My biology dictates my life will not be long. My genetic code has more dashes than dots, minuses that shave minutes and hours and days and weeks and years from my tree of life, and that’s a fact I learned long ago to accept. Being rather okay with the idea that I’ll someday be dead, I’m grateful for the time I have … however long that might be.

I’ve made some really crappy lifestyle choices, often don’t eat right or get a good cardio workout nearly often enough. I have vices, am not picky about organic or GM, and have been known to have sex without a condom.

The fact that happened with “committed” partners and didn’t always provide protection brings up the other shit that has and will take a toll on my span … the effect of stress brought on by letting shitty people have power.

From the incompetent, lying peeps who are supposed to provide Internet connectivity, to the lyin’, cheatin’ scoundrels who pledged much more than that, disappointing results create huge pressures. Those who believe karma is the tit-for-tat to be expected would suggest I’ve earned the grief, and if that is the case I’ve most certainly paid off much of what debt I incurred in previous lives. (I must have been a real peach to have earned such pits!)

Today being today, I’m rather liking the idea of that haunting thing (Thanks for that, Jules!), seeing my face, a la Jacob Marly, popping up on door knockers … or someone else’s knockers … with a “Hey, asshole! Boo, fuckin’ BOO!, invading dreams (Why should YOU get any sleep, Fuckwad?), ratting pots and pans, creating havoc, breaking guitar strings mid-song over and over and over again, cutting Skype connections, hiding cell phones, giving icy-cold pinches to warm body parts … ooooh, the list goes on and on.

I could be good at this, but in the meantime I’ll enjoy the sunshine, the sound of birds, conversations with great friends and all the joyful wonders I have, and wait for an Internet connection to happen that will allow me to post this blog.

Betelgeuse! Betelgeuse! Betelgeuse!

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What a lovely dawn! And bloody good thing, as I’m on Day 2 of no Internet connection. Once again, beauty and BlackBerry save the day, but frustration levels are high.

Yes, I am aware my ISP is called Kokonet and that does convey an image of a company run by Gilligan, so I guess I must now assume he and the rest killed off the Professor.

One truly crazy-making aspect of life on this rock is the un-charming tendency for peeps to answer questions with what they think one wants to hear.

Yesterday, for example, I was told every hour that my connection would be restored, “in about an hour”. Not that that was ever a real possibility, but it must have been assumed the answer would please me.

It didn’t.

Professionalism often here means nothing more than one is paid for what he does, no matter how poorly they do … or don’t do … it, and when their pay is partially supplied by bills I pay for a lack of service … well, pleased I am not.

Do I phone with the request: Lie to me more, please.

Uh … nope.

If I had less work pending, I’d say fuck it and head for a beach, but I do have stacks of things needing doing, and doing online, so I’m heading to town where I will threaten testical removal in hopes that inspires some action, then finding friends with another ISP that may or may not be working in hopes of getting something accomplished.

Sheesh. If only I was Mrs. Thurston Howell the Third! I’d just pour martinis and not bother with work …

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Shit asteroids ...It’s Chinese New Year and today kicks off the Year of the Rabbit.

Because I am a rabbit … a metal rabbit to be exact … today is supposed to begin a year of good luck for me and all the rest of us rabbits, and I am more than ready to be a happy bunny. More than ready, so shall we all give a hallelujah in hopes for a turn of the dial toward easier?

I’d really like to do some bitching today, but can’t. Nope. Can’t. Sure, I have no water, but I do now have an electrical supply again, so that’s something. And the water saga has kept David busy, if not actually repairing the problems … well … at least the ever-more-convoluted set of circumstances screwing up the plumbing and that fact that pretty much everything he touches ends up breaking off in his usually-so-capable hands have his brain running in very active circles, and that must be better than being bored. Heh? Maybe?

No, really … check it out …

A couple of days ago a branch fell off a tree and disconnected pipes from my water tank. Okay? Dave fixed those pipes, but suddenly there was no water coming into the upstairs of the house, or into the solar water heater on the roof. Interestingly, hot water WAS coming out of the cold water taps in the downstairs shower. Hm.

Yesterday he managed to completely bypass the only possible area that might have proven to be the problem, yet … guess what … nothing changed. Well, almost nothing. He did decide to repair the leaking toilet downstairs since there’s no pressure today because someone ran over my neighbor’s meter at the top of the road and that cut off all water to everyone and in doing so broke the bloody toilet thingy. Since the toilet tank is oddly shaped, the only sort of replacement part available in Seychelles doesn’t fit, so he needed to modify that … so it’s fixed … but it leaks.

Ah … before I go any further, I should do a bit of describing of yesterday and our efforts to secure the bits needed to get to the point we’ve reached today …

After calling in support in the shape of an Irish builder named Patrick, it was established that what was needed was a length of 1″ pipe with appropriate fittings. Okay. Off we went to town in search of same.

First stop, Bestway Plumbing Supplies where we were told 1″ pipe was not available, but they did have some of the fittings that would sort of work when we found 1″ pipe at any of the three other places we could look.

There was no 1″ pipe. Loads of 3/4″, but 1″ napa (Kreole for “we ain’t got none.)

We decided to get 25 meters of 3/4″ pipe, but now needed new fittings, so more looking around was required to find those. And we did, eventually, find most, and David spent the rest of the day on the roof hooking all the stuff up to the solar tank, etc..

(By the by … Patrick was completely wrong about the 1” thing.)

As mentioned, this accomplished fuck all. Theory had it that it might be a pressure issue, so he connected the house directly from the mains, rather than the tank, but then someone ran over the meter and disconnected all the water except for that in the tank.

The next phase of whateverthefuck is going on involved no water coming into the house AT ALL. No idea why …

BUT … since there is no water, seemed to David a good time to fix the leaking toilet.
Which broke.
And there are no replacement parts to be had.
So, he fiddled it and got it to fit and to work.
Then, we got a bit of water.
And it leaks.
And now there’s no water again.

But some guys did show up and sort out the mess with the electrical situation so we can turn on the light in the bathroom for mopping up the mess in there.

Okay … now I need to explain a bit about David …

He’s a big, brave man who spends a lot of time jumping from cliffs and flying around on updrafts and also enjoys diving, motorcycles and all sorts of guy things involving guts and brains and adrenalin.

We’re calling his time here a holiday …

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The new pole ... nice, heh?

It’s been a while since I wrote on island life, and with today providing such a classic example of a Monday on the rock it seems an opportunity to make up for the lack of slice-(wrists)-of-life posts.

As my dear friend, Gay, insists, it’s never easy, but it is worth it, and I’m happy enough to agree with her on this, the last day of January, 2011.

The morning began at 6, as it usually does. The routine goes something like this: drag my ass out of bed, make tea, glean the house for all the bits and pieces that are to go to school with the kids, brush teeth, check mail, shower, then do the drive to town, after which I’ll work for a few hours while sporadically enjoying this fab view from the veranda where my computer sits between me and said view.

The routine took a few hits today though since 1) the cooking gas had run out, so making tea was interrupted, 2) the Internet connection was up and down more than a politician’s zipper, and 3) there was no water, so so much for the shower.

Thankfully … very thankfully … I have David here for a few weeks, a man who goes by many titles … Lovely Dave, Handsome Hunk, He’s Helpful (That one from Cj), Cuddle Champ … and Mr. Fixit. He began collecting hero points before 6:15 when he found a gas bottle that actually had gas in it and connected it up in plenty of time for my tea and his coffee.

A stop at the water tank showed damage from a large part of a large tree falling down and pulling pipes out. Dave managed to stop the outflow and round up a part that needed replacing, so after dropping the kids at school we found a plumbing shop that had some version of said part. Unfortunately, it turns out that’s not the only issue, but I’m sure he’ll have it all sorted once he’s back from repairing a completely separate plumbing issue at Gay’s house. (Bonus hero points for that.)

In the meantime, a PUC water crew showed up after only ONE call, diagnosed the problem with the tank and rigged up a temp connection that has the water flowing to the house again so showers can happen.

And then …

a PUC electric crew of about 25 guys pulled into the garden avec a brand spankin’ new power pole they installed in all of about 15 minutes … and I hadn’t even had to call them as they were sent at the behest of yet another PUC electric crew who’d done an emergency repair last week that set me up with power to the house in a temp fashion, then dropped by yesterday to see if I’d manage to get the bloody lines repaired. I hadn’t, so they took matters into their own hands and are apparently sorting it out to be sorted out, starting with a new pole.

Now, I know I do a whole lotta bitchin’ on this blog about the trials of island life and about men, but I am very happy to give credit where it’s due. It is sometimes the case that work seems to happen with glacier slowness, people don’t show up when promised and one can find oneself power/water/phone/Internet challenged for days or weeks on end. The breakdown crews, however, can be wonderful, go above and beyond and I happily tip my hat in their worthy direction.

As for men, I have made no secret of the fact that I really do adore the gender in general. Okay … they can confuse, very often frustrate and sometimes break my heart, but all-in-all I’m in favor of them.

In actuality, I’m a big fan. Not only are they mighty handy, some are truly blessings … especially those that cook.

(Thanks, David. You’ve earned some beach time today.)

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Service animal?

Yeah, yeah …

We all know I live on my own with two little kids, a situation that has many ramifications, one of which involves the fact that I’m a complete incompetent when it comes to fixing most stuff that always bloody breaks so end up having quite a few things around that don’t work they way they were originally meant to.

At the moment, I have a non-functioning oven, no inside handle on my front door, a few light fixtures that are now just fixtures, a mess of broken slats formerly known as Cj’s bed, a puny wire hanging dangerously across my garden supplying a bit of electricity, and … well … other stuff that I’ve become so used to not working that I hardly even notice any longer.

If you think I’m in any way proud of the fact that I can’t repair squat you’re off the mark, because I really do wish I had some passing familiarity with what a drill can do and the difference between a wood screw and a masonry bit. Actually I’m a wee bit pleased with being in possession of the knowledge that there is a difference between a wood screw and a masonry bit. (Do NOT ask me to describe what that might be, however.)

I detest being so bloody girly that power tools freak me out and hand tools have only proven to be very effective weapons against myself. I can guess why my father never took it upon himself to teach me jack about any of this … him being an impatient man and me having the upper body strength of a sparrow most likely had him thinking just getting on with it would be SO much easier than trying to explain the proper way to begin a saw cut to his only daughter and my childhood happening in a time when people still assumed such a thing as “man’s work” and “women’s work” and some wisdom in the division.

Whatever …

It’s ended up that shit breaks, I don’t have the foggiest how to fix anything and I live in a place where hiring people to do so just ain’t easy.

I’m prompted today by broken stuff and a photo I came across to consider the concept of “service animals” in relation to my situation. No, I’m not handicapped in any of the serious senses of such a label, but I’m thinking maybe we should move beyond the idea of guide dogs and helper monkeys to things bigger and more powerful with opposable thumbs.

One of the best friends I’ve had in my life was an adult male oran utan, and thinking back on him now I have no doubt he would have been happy enough to take a hammer to a broken bed and could have easily strung electric cables WAY up high through the trees between my meter and my house. Sure, getting his huge fingers into the little divot where the oven pilot light sits would be tough, but some stuff would be a breeze, like changing bulbs beyond my reach and removing large branches that might fall on the roof.

Of course, there would be issues of training and care, but … sheesh … that’s just part of it, isn’t it? Animals are trainable … well, some animals … and what the heck? If they can help a frail and girly human like me, why not?

Then again, there is that idea that a male human could be as helpful … fringe benes might be a factor, too … but it could be an issue when it comes to the “trainable” bit. Treats only go so far and they don’t seem to easily get the hang of that most basic of commands: Stay!

(Thanks, David!)

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