Sure I'm hearing about the wildfires in Cali and can't help but thinking about my buds who live there.
And, yeah, we got fractious Kurds in Turkey and I am so sorry that I am thinking about food all of a sudden.
But for some reason, the sexuality of a fictional character and Ellen's dogDrama (now a week old) are still making major headlines.
It's almost enough to make ya miss the Brad and Jennifer days, you know? News that really mattered.
Maybe it's a failure to really focus. Maybe she's ADD. Maybe she flunked reading. Maybe the animal rescue peeps failed to do what every animal rescue peep I've ever encountered do routinely: verbally underscore the key points in the contract. Whatever the reason, the fact remains that because Ellen DeGeneres did not understand her contract, she fucked over her hairdresser's little girls, but good.
The 49-year-old explained she had adopted a puppy named Iggy from an animal rescue centre on September 20, but, despite training and neutering, Iggy failed to impress the comedian's cats. On hearing her hairdresser was looking for a family pet, and to prevent her feline friends suffering further distress, DeGeneres gave the dog away. When pet rescue agency Mutts and Moms heard of Iggy's new domestic arrangements, it informed DeGeneres that giving away the Brussels Griffon terrier cross was a breach of the adoption contract she had signed. The agency reclaimed the dog, leaving the hairdresser's two young daughters distraught.
And, in a passive-aggressive way, she's (inadvertently?) pinning it on the animal rescue folks.
She went on to beg Mutts and Moms to return the dog to her hairdresser's family. "Well, I guess I signed a piece of paper that says if I can't keep Iggy, it goes back to the rescue organisation, which is not someone's home, which is not a family. These two little girls had bonded to the dog. I thought I did a good thing. I tried to find a loving home for the dog because I couldn't keep it. I was trying to do a good thing. "Because I did it wrong, those people went and took that dog out of their home, and took it away from those kids. I feel totally responsible for it and I'm so sorry. I'm begging them to give that dog back to that family. I just want the family to have their dog. It's not their fault, it's my fault. I shouldn't have given the dog away. Just please give the dog back to those little girls. I'm sorry I didn't call you. I'm sorry I did the wrong thing. Just give it back to the family. Please, please, please."
I hear the Mutts and Moms dudes are getting death threats and have had to fill out a police report..
I mean, come ON. All rescue groups make you sign that pretty basic, easily understood contract because they don't want to have you go dumping the dog in the street, or giving it to inappropriate people. They take doggy things very seriously. They interview you. They visit your home, sometimes. They make sure you understand how much trouble a dog can be. Frankly, I'm a bit surprised they didn't do a trial with Iggy, knowing DeGeneres had cats. Cats are particular about who they permit to be their slaves, after all.
So I guess I'm not understanding why the hairdresser couldn't go to Mutts and Moms and fill out their own contract and get Iggy back. Can't be that difficult.
I adore my own pups and have bonded very deeply with them, but they are dogs. Not humans. While it would break my heart to lose them, I know it's more likely I will outlive them anyway. As I've so far outlived all of my previous pets. I can and will get another dog. If re-adopting Iggy is out of the question for some bizarre reason, the hairdresser can get another dog for her girls. Not the optimal solution, but better than pining, innit.
I don't know why some of these scientists bother. I'm talking about some study that indicates you can run lab tests for chocoholism:
For the first time, scientists have linked the all-too-human preference for a food -- chocolate -- to a specific, chemical signature that may be programmed into the metabolic system and is detectable by laboratory tests. The signature reads 'chocolate lover' in some people and indifference to the popular sweet in others, the researchers say.
Pffft. All the smart peeps know that the test is much simpler. When you ask a chocoholic "Do you like chocolate?" if they moan and say "Oh, yes, PLEASE," well, there you go.
I'd heard a "teaser" ... something about "if you have a sweet tooth, then you'll want to hear about this! Chocolate is being recalled! News at 11".
I was about to panic, when I realized I didn't have to wait until 11, hello, because I have this interwebnet thingie at my disposal.
Imagine my relief, then, when I learned that I have naught to fear. No one's recalling chocolate. Oh, sure, there's a recall of that grotesque waxy white shit that some people stupidly believe is "chocolate," but not, like, actual chocolate.
Kraft Foods Recalls Bakers Premium White Chocolate Baking Squares -Possible Salmonella Contamination
In my father's working career, he wore a business suit and a tie. He addressed his boss as Mr. Slate, not "Rocky" and his boss called him "Rockford", not "Jim."
Women in his work world were secretaries or factory floor assemblers and testers.
I did not break new ground for women when I decided to become an engineer, but I was a rarity. Even so, the work place I entered had already shifted significantly. Men were not in business suits, and women were wearing slacks -- oh, sure, there were pants suits, dresses, skirts, and "uniforms", but it was a lot more relaxed.
The biggest change, though, was that we no longer addressed people by their last names. My boss was not "Mr. Stevens." I called him "Durwood." Even the CEO would sign his memos and reports as "Elvis." Okay, that was weird since his name was "Joe," but whatever.
My point is that the work place had become warmer and more personal than it had been in my father's Brave New World. It had moved away from rigid, nearly militarized formality where a person was known by their father's or husband's name. People were recognized as being individuals.
I don't know if the introduction of women into a formerly male-dominated work place was responsible for that softening, that added level of familiarity, comfort, and family-feeling or not. I just know that being addressed by a personal name is a lot cozier than being addressed by a tribal name.
You're probably going "huh?" round about now, so let me elaborate a bit further.
On the Usenet newsgroup I use to sharpen my sticky little claws is a doofus who has decided that calling a certain female US Senator and Democratic Presidential candidate by her first name constitutes sexism. It's a part of the diminution of womanhood, akin to calling a black man "boy." Or "articulate."
Yah, I'm talking about calling Hillary "Hillary."
Is it?
Sexist?
Not specifically in Hillary's case, because, hello, it's pretty much how she's been marketing herself. But is there something dark, something wrong with using the familiar when addressing a person? Or is that notion something that's still all stone age and part of the militarized machismo crap we've been moving away from?
When you get right down to it, I don't like being called "Mrs. Rubble." It makes me feel like I'm supposed to be Barney's property. Or old.
Maybe it IS sexist, but I think that if it is, then bring on more of that kind of sexism.
Oh, and let's put some floral drapes on that window, while we're at it and do you REALLY think your feet belong up on that table? PICK UP THOSE BEER CANS NOW, MISTER!!!
whoozTalkin?