22 March 2017 at 12:17 (Art, WTF?!)
Tags: Art, GIMP, hard to learn, Illustrator
After beating my head on a wall with Adobe Illustrator CC for a month, I’ve given up and gone with GIMP and Inkscape.
Whilst GIMP has its own annoyances and quirks, I’m finding it much easier!
Granted, there was a bit of transfer-of-knowledge from AI to GIMP, which allowed me to comfortably use the latter in just a day’s time. But I was getting things done — happily, easily — getting things done, by the next day.
But Holy Ravioli folks, WHY is AI So Damn Freaking Annoying?
13 April 2013 at 20:49 (Anti-Quackery, Autism/Asperger's, Doctors, Epidemiology, Medical Quackery, Vaccines, WTF?!)
As reported on Thursday, April 11th in the UK paper The Independent, “Swansea measles outbreak: Confirmed cases rise to nearly 700″, which is worse than than last year’s outbreak in Merseyside, England.
Over 2,600 MMR vaccines were given last week, but are still insufficient to counteract the number of unvaccinated people, or those who lack the full number of necessary dosages. Public health officials explained that the outbreak will continue to grow. (This is what is meant by “herd immunity”: there needs to be a sufficient percentage of people who are immune to prevent the spread of infection.)
And as the article reminds us,
Before the introduction of the MMR jab in 1988, about half a million children caught measles each year in the UK. Approximately 100 of those died.
But for reasons I don’t understand, Andrew Wakefield (who apparently suffers from ‘Center of Attention Deficit Disorder’*), was not just mentioned as a historical reference, due to being a pivotal figure in the paranoia that led to the drastic drop in immunisations. The front page of The Independent’s online edition for Saturday, 13 April 2013, has in its top, featured article a large photograph of him, “Struck off MMR scare doctor: Welsh measles outbreak proves I was right“. What in the world for?!
Andrew Wakefield should not be a featured person of interest for opinions. He is no longer a licensed doctor in either the UK or the US. In 2011, Medscape designated him “Worst Physician of the Year” and in 2012, Time listed him in, “Great Science Frauds”. There is also a good editorial in the same edition of The Independent, “Andrew Wakefield’s baleful legacy”.
Wakefield’s unprofessional behavior as a researcher and false assertions that MMR vaccines can lead to autism (in a 1998 article in The Lancet, later withdrawn by the journal) are a bunch of frass (insect dung). Plus, his ongoing media attention and involvement with what initially were fringe groups, inflated such ‘antivax’ sentiments to mainstream popularity.
Vaccination rates dropped drastically, from 92% to as low as 50% in some areas. Measles outbreaks began occurring across Britain, and in 2006 for the first time in 14 years, someone died of this preventable disease.
(Similar outbreaks happened in the US as well, including mumps. In 2006 got an MMR vaccine then because I had never had mumps, nor been vaccinated for it. Even if I had, the old killed-virus mumps vaccine used when I was a child was found to be ineffective.)
Included in The Independent’s series of articles is the useful, “Timeline: How the MMR scare story spread” by Jeremy Laurance.
The front-page feature by Jeremy Laurance is titled, “Struck off MMR scare doctor: Welsh measles outbreak proves I was right”. Which of course, is not true; Wakefield is just bloviating again**. As the front-page subhead reads, “Experts condemn discredited doctor’s outburst pinning the blame for the outbreak of measles in Wales on the Government as cases in the Swansea area rises”.
The linked article posted in the Health News section has a different title, “MMR scare doctor Andrew Wakefield breaks his silence: Measles outbreak in Wales proves I was right” (subhead: “As measles cases rise, experts condemn Wakefield’s outburst”), which begins with with six paragraphs of current events, then describes Wakefield’s assertions in the next eight paragraphs.
BUT, the factual counterpoints to the nonsense, clearly stated by, Adam Finn, paediatrics professor at University of Bristol, and childhood vaccines expert, are not given until afterwords, in the next nine paragraphs of the article.
Unfortunately, not everyone is going to read that far, nor stop to digest the complete refutation of all the idiocy that Wakefield said.
I think Finn’s factual material would have been more useful if presented earlier, such as a point-by-point dismissal of nonsense, e.g. ‘Wakefield claims … but Professor Flinn refutes …’
Alas, perhaps due to following the common news formula of, So-where’s-he-working-now, included this last paragraph, which unfortunately lends him what some might perceive as professional credibility:
“Dr Wakefield moved to Texas, US, in 2001 where he is director of Medical Interventions for Autism and in January was promoting a reality TV series on autism.”
Remember, Andrew Wakefield uses the title “Doctor” because he earned a degree in medicine; he is not licensed to practice medicine in either the UK or the US.
As I said, Wakefield should remain a historical warning, rather than a featured person of interest for opinions. Adding on the reasons why his comments are harmful nonsense at the end of an article are not enough to detract from the fact that all this frass is featured for free!
_____
* I didn’t make up the (fictional) COADD — ‘Center of Attention Deficit Disorder’, but I sure see a lot of it in our problem students (as opposed to the students with problems, who generally want to avoid being in class).
** Bloviating: a lesser-known, but useful addition to one’s vocabulary: to speak boastingly, pompously, aimlessly; as the OED says, “talk at length, especially in an inflated or empty way”
23 November 2012 at 6:45 (Arthritis, Clothing, Hypermobility, Insurance, Rants, WTF?!)
Yeah, you’ve seen them: old ladies wearing Old-Lady Shoes.
Dowdy footwear that inextricably time-travelled from some economically-depressed post-war period.
Or low-heeled, lace-up shoes resembling dull leather sneakers, that shuffled in from the land that fashion forgot.
Practical shoes. Hopefully, comfortable shoes, given the tired way those old ladies are getting around. But damn, I mean dayam, if not quite ugly shoes, then definitely shoes without style.
And, as you may have guessed, suddenly, here I am, too.
Last fall I broke my foot. The displacement fractures in the metatarsals (the long bones over the arch) mended, albeit crookedly, with offset mends that make them look like rivers with meanders. (Don’t fall over in shock when I say that my hypermobility includes rather low arches, too.)
This past spring my foot started hurting again, as my second job stocking groceries involved walking around concrete floors and stocking heavy cases — not good for the osteoarthritis or the broken bones. So I got orthotics to provide more support for my poor ravaged feet.
But now my foot is constantly aching, and I’m limping, and am getting what I’m assuming are referred pains in my knee and hip. And when I saw the orthopedist earlier last week for chronic foot pain, he disapproved of my buckled Mary Janes I’d worn to my first job, and told me I need to wear shoes that lace up.
I’m not much of a fashionista, but I can’t picture wearing either hiking boots or my rumpled black sneakers with skirts, suits or dresses. So that means I need to get a new pair of shoes. Or maybe a pair of knee-high boots.) But, I can’t wear polyurethane (PU), PVC or silicone, which limits me to fabric or leather footwear, which is of course, more expensive.
Great! I need to find:
If you’re laughing and/or groaning, you probably have some idea of the magnitude of that request. I mean, that is pretty specific! Not being fond of shopping, I did some quick noodling around online, and discovered that the lower-end department stores don’t carry leather shoes (boo!), and that many of the online sites don’t mention whether or not the insoles can be removed. (I’e also become quite the connoisseur of Web sites with numerous lists of ways to filter search requests.)
I also noticed a general lack of lace-up shoes, aside from “granny boots” with 2.5″ heels. So I looked up the current addresses to the store with a huge, self-serve selection of shoes, and stopped by there en route home one day.
They had nifty boots full of brass buttons, sharp-looking tweedy spectator pumps [court shoes], loafers and flats with all kinds of fun hardware … but an absolute dearth of lace-up shoes. (Since I have wide feet anyway, I checked out the men’s section, but was dismayed to find walking shoes with heavy lug soles, or stiff wingtips so stylishly long that it seemed my feet would look like aircraft carriers, down to the brogues resembling rows of rivets.)
I finally asked a sales clerk for assistance, just in case I’d missed something. She was understanding of my requirements, even letting me slip out some insoles to test my orthotics on a couple of pairs — only to find that the toe boxes were too low-profiled. She too, was surprised to realise that there were so few lace-up shoes. What few they had were made with the insoles sewn down, or were fashioned of (sweat-inducing) imitation leather. And, apparently this year’s crop of sneakers [trainers] comes in neon colors. Naturally, chef’s or medic’s clogs won’t work either.
Le sigh. And this is why I hate shopping for wardrobe items (in addition to the noisy lighting fixtures that drill into my head.); it seems that no matter what I’m looking for, it’s not to be had. The year I wanted khaki shorts, I couldn’t find khaki shorts — yes, khaki shorts! Ditto denim overalls. Or a long-sleeve white blouse with sleeves to fit my arms, and tails long enough to stay tucked in. Or, good grief, cufflinks to go with a French-cuff blouse I found at the thrift store.
And so it goes.
I already have a pair of black sneakers that I wear (with black trousers) at my grocery job. Sorry, but unless I’m evacuating in an emergency, I can’t imagine wearing either hiking boots or my rumpled black sneakers with skirts, suits or nice dresses.
All I need to find is a pair of slightly-dressy, low-heeled, lace-up leather shoes, with removable insoles, in a size 10.5 wide, preferably brown. No, I’m not being picky, I’m being particular.
The “slightly-dressy” and “preferably brown” are what I want, but the rest are what I need. (And unlike a coworker who has diabetes, neither my orthotics nor my footwear are covered as a necessary medical expense. Those orthotic insoles I had to get cost me half of what I pay for my monthly mortgage!)
Even worse, a lot of those “comfort” shoes don’t lace up or come in 10.5 wide.
Or, I can find lace-up “granny” ankle boots or knee-high boots, but the heels are too high, or they are made of some sweat-inducing synthetic.
Or, I can find oxfords with the right heel height and made of leather, but not in a 10.5 wide.
Or, I can find cute, low-heeled, leather lace-up shoes, but either the insoles are sewn in so I can’t use my orthotics, or else they’re so cheaply made there isn’t any arch support.
And so on, and so on.
So now I have joined the ranks of older women looking for supportive, sensible shoes that don’t look too dowdy. Don’t laugh at us gimping along in our leather sneakers; those specialty shoes are DAMN hard to find!
11 February 2012 at 1:14 (Anti-Quackery, Insects & Arachnids, Logical fallacies, Medical Quackery, Work / Employment, WTF?!)
O.M.G. Last night at the grocery I was stocking non-prescription meds, and a couple came in asking for … colloidal silver! (Meaning, microfine silver dust suspended in water or another carrier.)
I was baffled; she explained that “Dr Oz” suggested it for sore throats.
“I don’t think we carry that,” I answered, somewhat stunned. “I’ve only used it in a research lab.” (In the teensiest of microdabs, to glue ultra-fine gold wire electrodes to insects.)
“Oh, it’s all-natural!” she asserted cheerfully.
Giant mental sigh and cringe on my end; lots of “all-natural” stuff can be all-naturally poisonous.
The guy with her added something to the effect of, “I bet you all don’t like Dr Oz.”
Er, I’m wary and alarmed by media personalities who promote misleading, useless and/or dangerous medical information. (Last year this celebrity was the recipient of the James Randi Educational Foundation’s Media Pigasus Award.)
But I’m guessing the customer was assuming that if people use bizarre “all-natural” remedies, then stores would not sell as many manufactured remedies. Hey, if I want salicylic acid (the stuff in willow bark and spirea that acts as a pain-reliever, fever-reducer and anti-inflammatory), then I will buy it as acetylsalicylic acid, AKA aspirin, because that formulation is less harsh on the digestive system, and you know how much active ingredient you’re getting.
When one of the pharmacists was no longer directly busy with [other] customers, I went up and told him about the customer enquiry. His eyebrows danced a bit at this latest oddity.
“The only thing I’ve heard about taking colloidal silver,” I began, and then the pharmacy intern nearby then chorused with me, “Was about the guy who turned blue!”
“It bio-accumulates, doesn’t it?” I asked, and the pharmacist nodded. That of course, was why I was careful to not let any dots of the lab stuff stick to me. Plus, any clean crumbs re-deposited could be re-used, especially if I held the bottle to the vibrating vortex mixer.
Note: there are antibacterial uses for various ionic silver (Ag+) compounds, such as silver nitrate (AgNO3), but the colloidal stuff is non-ionized metallic form, which has a different biological effect. Of course, poison is always in the dosage — too much silver nitrate can be equally bad. You can read about the hazards of argyria here at the Quackwatch site.
Oh by the way — if you want an “all-natural” remedy for the ordinary sore throat, may I recommend some strong mint tea with honey?
7 December 2011 at 6:28 (Food, Gardening, Social Justice, Work / Employment, WTF?!)
This was a major WTF moment when listening to the news today [transcript this link]: the Chick-fil-A chain is suing a Vermont tee shirt maker for copyright infringement. Their slogan is, “Eat Mor Chikin” and his is “Eat More Kale”.
Now, Bo Muller-Moore’s design uses:
Obviously, the design on his tees is nearly identical to the fast food chain’s! </snark>
The Vermont state Governor, Peter Shumlin, formed “Team Kale” as a fundraiser for legal fees to fight this absurd suit. After all, the Vermonter has been making these (and other) tee shirts for ten years, and this is how he makes a chunk of his living. (Progress on the individually hand silk-screened tees is apparently getting a bit behind due to sudden demand, but there are also big green stickers for a 50-cent donation.)
The phrase “Eat More ____” sounded vaguely familiar, and some googling around quickly showed that it has been used throughout history!
vintage "EAT MORE MILK" advert for Cadbury's Dairy Milk chocolate
WWI Canada Food Board poster, "Eat more Vegetables! SAVE Meat and Wheat for our SOLDIERS and ALLIES"
"Eat MORE FRUIT" poster, Victorian Railways, Australia
WWI poster, U.S. Dept. Agriculture: "Eat More Cottage Cheese...You'll Need Less Meat...A Postal Card Will Bring Recipes...Cottage Cheese or Meat? Ask Your Pocketbook!"
There are other current usages of the phrasing, such as”Stay Healthy. Eat More Bacteria” for a dietary supplement. (After all, one shouldn’t discriminate between biological Kingdoms!)
If you do a visual google search, you can find an antique billboard on Route 66 that says, “Watch Your Curves. Eat More Beef.” from the Beef Industry Council. Apparently, in an earlier incarnation it was the Texas Beef Council, which also offered up quite an absurd pin-up girl (she’s ostensibly changing a tire, but without any cattle in the picture whatsoever). I mention these simply because they are the humorous antithesis of the “Eat Mor Chikin” cows.
BTW, kale is really tasty lightly braised (PLEASE, don’t cook the hell out of it — that just makes it bitter and stringy). Take your gently-wilted kale and sprinkle with some balsamic vinaigrette, or chop and mix into mashed potatoes (with bacon and onions, if you like), or add bite-size pieces in soups (miso soup with udon and kale sounds REALLY good this time of year).
What makes kale so great is that not only will it over-winter (meaning, you can get it from local farmer’s markets or CSA just about year-round, or else grow your own), but also that it has lots of iron, Vitamins A & C, calcium, and fiber.
Tasty Kale 'Curly Leaf'
Many kales are also quite ornamental as well — not just the frilly pink sort (grown for pretty more than nutrition), but also the tall green or purple-tinged sorts, which are often used for cold-weather plants in outdoor container arrangements.
The ornamental Kale 'Redbor Hybrid'
3 December 2011 at 3:46 (Accessibility, Advocacy, Coping strategies, Hypermobility, Physical impairments, Work / Employment, WTF?!)
(No, it has nothing to do with wait times.)
Mid-October I entirely missed the last two steps of the stairs to the basement floor and BLAM! Didn’t even experience the slip and fall. Hurt so much I didn’t even cuss, and only OW’d so folks would know I’d been hurt. My ankle really hurt, so I limped to my bedroom and pulled on an ankle elastic (which I keep in my purse because being hypermobile means easily spraining things). Hobbled around the rest of the day, giving it the usual Rest-Ice-Compression-Elevation between doing stuff. That was a Friday.
The next day it was really swollen, with a purple bruise covering the entire upper surface, but it wasn’t horribly painful like a migraine. I called out from stocking work at the grocery, rested more, and tied on a foot brace. My son-in-law said it might be broken (it’s good to have a medic in the house).
Guess what? Broken bones are not always screamingly painful. Whoda thunk?
Sunday I went to the walk-in clinic, and yeup, two of my metatarsals were broken, in a displacement fracture, no less. (Meaning, the bones weren’t even lined up, but were slightly ajar.) They put on a splint. The next day I went to an orthopedist, and after due examination of the clinic’s radiographs, the doc sent me to get a boot-type cast, and make follow-up appointments. On my end, I remembered to get a ‘script for a temporary Disabled Parking permit. Whee.
That was the easy part. But OMG the annoying part is not the broken foot itself.
The annoying part is dealing with the public,
those discourteous, “well-intended”, damnably useless interactions!
Because you see, when you have a physically-apparent injury, one’s body suddenly becomes part of the public’s purview; they are free to make enquiries, “do help to you”, “charmingly” engage in the social distancing of pity, and give malcommendations.
(Hopefully I won’t use up my month’s share of sarcasm quote marks, but one must hazards risk.)
It’s intrusive. Being visibly disabled [sometimes] means losing status to where anyone can ask most anything of you.I don’t mind answering questions from family, coworkers, and friends about the event and my recuperative status. But seriously, why should every random stranger feel privileged to details? Were the issue nephrological, nobody would want to know what was wrong with my bladder, or why I had to make so many bathroom trips, about the thrills of contrast dye, or what my urologist recommended. Yet like when bearing a belly bump, it’s open season. WTF?
It’s unaccommodating disaccommodating. I had not even left the orthopedists office when I was first treated to un-wanted, un-needed, un-help. I had used crutches before (decades ago when I stepped into a rabbit hole, and you can imagine all the er, lame jokes that transpired), and it took but a couple of days to re-acquire my expertise. When I’m using crutches and opening a push-door, the dance goes as follows: swing my body around to back into the door and push against the bar with my buttocks, then after creating the useful gap, balance on the strong foot to turn again, and swing the crutch on my working side around to prop open the door with the rubber foot. Well, the doctors had removed the splint and were sending me down the hall to get the boot. So with my fractured foot all bare, I approached the door to the waiting room and had gotten as far as butting open the door when —
— some idjit hanging around the waiting room decided to be “helpful” and without saying anything, bounded over and suddenly yanked the door open! Mind you, I was balanced on one foot and leaning backwards against the door, so guess what?! Well, I may be clumsy (it comes with the large territory of hypermobility) but thankfully I also have lightning-fast reflexes, and was able to crash to the floor safely. (Dancers and gymnasts know whereof I speak.) That’s not helpful!
And then we have the other unwanted bits of the social model of disability.
It’s … infantilising. Such as when I’m doing something totally mundane, just minding my own beeswax and swinging through a store to get to the restrooms, when some complete stranger feels the need to comment upon my mobility,
“You’re really good at that!”
Except it doesn’t sound at all like admiration at my ability to execute stunning pivots around pyramids of produce, but rather like praising a school child who had colored between the lines on a Kindergarten worksheet.
It’s patronising. When I took advantage of the store’s motorcart to shop for groceries and am cruising at a whopping three miles per hour in a straight line down the middle of the bread-and-jam aisle, and receive a smarmy,
“Wow, look at you go!”
And of course, it’s pitying.
“Oh, you poor thing!”
There is the assumption of Injury As Tragedy; they have to know when it’s going to be better. Well, what if it’s never going to get “better”? What if it’s permanent, or chronic and intermittent? It’s the sort of pity where people can’t see past the “broken” part and are uncomfortable; they’re full of Schadenfreude, relieved that the Bad Thing didn’t happen to them. Sometimes the coin of pity they pass along is a kind of magical thinking, token payment to Fate to avert similar disaster.
That’s not helpful.
And let us not forget the malcommendations, a subject of such amazing WhatTheFuckery that it deserved its own post. To wit:
You can tell that you’re running into the lousy end of helpers when the need for social recognition outweighs and over-rules the negative feedback from the recipients. You can tell when they lose the “take it or leave it” perspective and insist that what you need is what they have to offer. Protesting the inappropriateness of their pet form of aid is often useless; you get condescending responses about how they are “specially” qualified, and how you are being unappreciative, and cannot know what is best for you simply because you are of the recipient class.
Such dread Helpers and Fixers want not just the ego-boost and recognition; they want status, and will even sometimes create their own imaginary status markers as proof of why others should recognise their special knowledge and munificent public service. At worst they are narcissistic, at best, merely clueless.
One of the oddest things I have run into with such types is not just the insistence that their pet solution is what is needed, but that any solution they have heard of should be helpful and tried. The advice is coming from them and they want what’s best for you, therefor it’s automatically good advice. I have at times been left so amazed that someone could suggest doing something so far off base with my needs, so profoundly inappropriate, that I was all but sputtering. It wasn’t just an off-target bit of advice, an unhelpful recommendation. It was, I decided later, a malcommendation, a bad recommendation (usually inadvertent) but still bad advice nonetheless.
To take that abstract description to a real-life example, I offer this:
I was at one of my jobs, and a coworker said she would do thus-and-such for me. “Oh, no-no, that’s okay; I’m fine,” I politely dismissed, because I had already sussed out how I was going to perform my duties with my own modifications. But no, she was insistent; after all, she was (at her other job) a medical assistant of some sort,
“No no — I know all about that,” she asserted, her smugness wafting over in a perfumed cloud.
::CRINGE::
Look, as a medical assistant or what-have-you, you don’t know “all about that”; it’s obvious that the doctors know LOTS more.
Secondly, you’re presuming that you know what is best to do TO me, or to do FOR me. Apparently you’ve not realised that I don’t want to be a passive recipient of your “expertise”.
Seriously, when doctors-medics-aides-ancillary-healthcare-professionals know things I don’t know, that’s great! That’s why I’m here visiting your officies. But please, presume some self-awareness of my actual needs, and competency on my part. Work WITH me.
Otherwise, that’s not helpful.
8 August 2011 at 0:53 (Auditory Processing Disorder, Migraine, Work / Employment, WTF?!)
in my car!
“It’s a system of tubes.”
a large boxful of cardboard tubes in the back seat
(My son salvaged them from his job because he thought his nephew & niece would enjoy playing with them.)
~#~
And while at work:
Brain’s a little off today; mis-read a woman’s tee shirt as, “Bitchy is my nipple name”. [middle name]
APD (Auditory Processing Disorder) moment: mis-heard a customer’s location query for raisins as “razors” (which, unfortunately, are at opposite ends of the store).
Another APD moment, listening to the radio on the way home: “And now, the Snooze.” [this news]
28 April 2010 at 2:52 (Family, Food, WTF?!)
(I’m abed with a virus, but meanwhile–)
The pancakes smelled -at first whiff- yummy. But then, scorched. Kind of. Not the pan’s-too-hot-scorched, but overly browned. I nibbled on a corner of one left unfinished in a puddle of syrup.
“Did they seem kind of … salty?” I asked my daughter.
Yes.
Ah-ha. “You know, baking soda tastes salty, and aids in browning — that’s why pretzels are dipped in baking soda water before baking.”
“The recipe did say to add baking soda,” explained my son.
I read his scribbled index card, and snorted. “Next time, use one of our general cookbooks.”
“I’ve used that site before …” he protested, annoyed with his normally reliable resource.
“Don’t believe everything you read on the Internets — take it with a grain of salt. Not 3 1/2 TABLESPOONS of baking soda!”
19 January 2010 at 2:40 (Social Justice, Teaching/Tutoring, WTF?!)
Just the other week, I finally got around to mailing an envelope off to Locks of Love, non-profit that makes wigs for children who have long-term hair loss for medical reasons. My son’s not keen on haircuts, so for a long time, he didn’t bother. By the time he finally got around to getting to the salon, his hair reached to his shoulder blades. Because it was “virgin hair” (never died or permed), the pony tail cut off was perfect for making into such a wig.
At least he didn’t get kicked out of school, unlike four-year old Taylor Pugh. That lad is also growing out his hair for donation (whether to Locks of Love, or another organization). But the preschooler goes to school in the Mesquite Independent School District, near Dallas, Texas.
Taylor has been suspended for having too-long hair, and spends his days in the library, with a teacher’s aide. Seriously. In trouble for hair-length that was perfectly acceptable for the country’s founding fathers. Hair that has a social benefit for donation.
But then, this school district has some pretty stringent dress policies. Why, even your shoe laces have to be the correct color, and your socks had better match. Only certain colors of slacks are permitted, and they’d better not be the same color as your shirt. Corduroy pants aren’t acceptable, either.
Sure, I don’t want to see anyone’s cleavage, top or bottom, and this trend of guys wearing pants so low they have to walk around clutching them is pretty damn dumb. But when a school is spending that much time on a kid’s hair length, you gotta wonder if there’s enough time to focus on real issues, like good science education …
Today’s a “bank holiday”, Martin Luther King, Jr. Day., so I thought I’d add this in as well:
Black and white photograph of Dr Martin Luther King, Jr, with the caption, "DR. KING He didn't lead a major civil rights struggle and get assassinated for you to walk around with your pants around your knees."
13 November 2009 at 0:14 (Humor/ Fun Stuff, The Bad Goldfish, Work / Employment, WTF?!)
Grocery stockers are well-familiar with the sight: random empty boxes that are the hidden leftovers to stolen goods. Cold medicine. Hair coloring. Condoms. Diapers. Candy.
A couple days ago I found a different wrapper stuffed behind the tidy stacks of soap bars, a small cylinder of fish food, with the plastic lid missing and the foil seal compromised. About a teaspoon of flakes were gone.
I showed it off to my coworker, Becky. “Don’t you just hate it when those damn goldfish come into the store and steal things?!”
8 August 2009 at 6:11 (Accessibility, w00t!, WTF?!)
The other day, my daughter sent me a link to this post by Xenakis, which describes the wonderful side of Universal Design. In other words, build something right from the start, and you won’t have to go back and tack on ugly access structures.
plaza in Robson Square, Vancouver, with ramps making diagonal switchbacks across the long flight of stairs up the hill
There are a few problems I can see with this approach. One is that it might be too easy for a wheelie to get off-ramp — perhaps there are guiding impediments that I can’t see in the image. Also, someone commenting on Xenakis’ post, points out that people who walk up ramps often need hand rails, and the rails are only along the stairs. Personally, I would also like to see some kind of contrast striping between the stairs and the ramps; can you imagine going up or down this in a rainy, dark night?
Nonetheless, it’s still a really cool advancement over the traditional Deep Flight of Stairs Up to an Official Building.
Next up in today’s post on accessibility: some pix from the Fail Blog. When access is SO BAD that everyone but the installer can tell that It Sucketh, Big Time:
Stucco building with Female and Male bathroom signs over two doors, and between those, a Handicapped sign over a shuttered window
Escalator with a wall neatly built right at the first moving step up/down
A man in sandals demonstrates the futility of trying to climb up a concrete doorway ramp (marked with Handicapped emblem) that is at least a 30° angle upwards
And last but not least (just for grins), Teh Dumb from a hospital somewhere. I’m not fond of MRI machines from the comfort perspective, for all they can make great pictures. The last time I was in one, I wore ear plugs and they gave me the clam-shell headphones to help block out some of the noise. But I have hyperacussis and tinnitus, and 45 minutes later my head was ringing so badly, I slithered off the padded bench and crumpled to the floor.
Powerful MRI with metal hospital bed pulled off the floor and stuck to opening
1 June 2009 at 19:55 (Autism/Asperger's, Home stuff, Rants, Raynaud's Phenomenon, Weather, WTF?!)
Summer sucks. I hate the heat, the humidity, the sizzling sun boring into my head, unpeeling my limbs from each other, the restless nights spent searching futilely for a cool spot on the sheets and being sleepless for the lack of the comforting weight of blankets, the lack of appetite, the omnipresent glare, the complete lack of energy … it’s depressing, and won’t get better until fall weather arrives in late September. I don’t even have the respite of an alpine vacation to look forward to.
Raynaud’s is weird; my toes and thumbs can still go numb, even when I’m hot. WTF?!
Plus, now I have a head cold, the whole sniffly-scratchy throat-more aches-feel crappy routine.
“How can you have a cold?” asked my coworker yesterday, “It’s summer!”
“Back in the 20th century, they discovered that cold are caused by viruses, not by cold weather,” I sniffed. (OMG, now I’m officially Old, I’m saying, “back in the 20th century”.)
“I’m just kidding,” he grinned.
Oh, right. I realised that about the time he said it. Nothing new there, either. (File under: Aspergers, misses jokes.)
My sunglasses broke. Things around the house keep breaking (kitchen drawer track, drawer pull, cabinet front, bathroom ceiling paint, tub’s chipped, towel rack needs to be masticked back on, kitchen needs painting, bedroom needs painting, kitchen flooring’s gouged, back patio’s settling, double pane-windows are fogged up, ad nauseam). And the thermostat is broken and won’t set the air conditioning below 83°F.
The cats keep fighting. My son can’t find a job. And my daughter is nine months pregnant and belly-aching, as is every pregnant woman’s right. But the house is hot and none of us are sleeping well.
::bleh::
But, a good distraction is the latest Circus of the Spineless, over at Bug Girl’s blog!
Rights advocate for the disabled & others. Scientist against quackery. An "Insect Psychologist" puzzling how we can improve the environment for insects & humans.
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