March 2010

If someone sent one a draft document that contained a paragraph that read something like “blah blah [ADD DATE] blah blah blah [ADD DESCRIPTION X]” one could safely assume that the date and description need to be added.  If one was unsure, one could ask the drafter.  I am baffled and alarmed when I get a partially executed contract, signed by two parties, that still contains provisions with bracketed requests for additional information.  Yes, two parties signed a contract that does not actually contain the information, but still has brackets stating things like “ADD DATE HERE”.  Your tax dollars at work folks (both parties that signed are government entities).

Read the contract.  Please.


mr. jolt received official notice yesterday that, effective July 1st, he is a TENURED faculty member.


I have developed a reputation in my office as an intimidating militant feminist. This development makes me laugh because when I read my favorite feminist blogs and see the various efforts many make on a daily basis the concept that I am anything approaching militant or intimidating is absurd. What was the capstone in my qualifying to this elite cadre of scary ladies? I made a stink about the fact that only women were invited to a recent baby shower in our office and did not confine said stink to merely carping quietly to my peers.

Having cemented the reputation is kind of freeing, you know? They ain’t seen nothing yet.

In response to this horror  of an op-ed, Melissa McEwan wrote this.   To which I say, Yes, Melissa, yes!

 I ran a lot as a young teen, ran the mile in junior high and briefly flirted with being on the cross-country team in high school; in any event, I ran.  During the schoolyear, I’d run in the morning.    I stopped running after my sophomore year in high school after a foggy morning experience that still leaves me shaking when I think about it.

We lived in a classic northern California subdivision, wide streets, two car garages, palm trees mixing with live oaks along the sidewalks, etc., etc.  I was running along the sidewalk along the street, probably around 6am.  It was barely light, and foggy.  The fog was brighter than the sky.  As I neared the end of my run, a  pickup truck was coming the other way towards me.  It began to slow.  Shortly after I ran past it stopped then pulled a U turn in the middle of the street and began to follow me slowly about 50 feet behind me.  I had begun hyperawareness after it had slowed, and when it turned around I went into hyperfreak mode, thinking, “shit, shit, shit, shit”.  I was still running at a jog trying to think fast as it continued to follow me.   I saw a turn off ahead, which I knew to be a cul de sac, Sleepy Hollow Court.  Aha, I thought, I’ll turn there and he’ll think I’m going home because it is only a half block long so no one out for a run would otherwise turn there, right?

 So I did, ran up the cul de sac and hid behind a pine tree, half afraid that I’d made “the wrong decision” because I would now be trapped in the cul de sac if followed.  In my hyperfreak mode I never once thought to bang on a door of the dozen houses I passed, it was too early, people were still asleep. I was alone.  Also, I was simultaneously worried about being labeled a hysteric.  Yes, I was completely terrified and yet at the same time worried about embarrassing myself.  I waited, breathing heavy, for over 15 minutes, terrified that if I left too soon, the truck would still be waiting out on the main drive through the subdivision.  Finally, I left, walking, figuring I’d save energy if I saw the truck again and needed to sprint for home.

 I was lucky, the truck was gone.  Who knows what the driver’s intent was, perhaps they were only lost.  I don’t care.

 I never ran alone in the morning again until I was in my 20s, living in Manhattan, and even then, vast portions of the year I would not run in the morning because it was dark out.  Ten fucking years of less exercise because of one scary event.  Ten fucking years of less FREEDOM because of one scary event.

 Do NOT fucking tell women where and when they can run.  We’ve already internalized it.  We’ve already endured the comments on the street, on the trail, wherever we walk or run by.  We’ve already limited our choices to our own comfort level based on experience and the ever present voice of “WARNING, WARNING you could be next.”  We’ve already turned down the ipods to make sure we can hear any footsteps behind us.  We’ve already

 DO NOT fucking victim blame.  Fuck Off Logan Jenkins.  You just have no FUCKING idea what you are talking about.

Should I take it as a comment on LB’s personality that his role inthe school play is a mule?

It would be accurate.

I sent my dad an email today objecting to a joke he’d sent me about President Obama.  I won’t repeat the joke because I’m sure its been around the interent 5 billion times already.  What does it say when people find funny the idea that even in their concept of heaven, that god would make non-christian/non-whites into personal servants? (The joke relies on the precept that Obama really is a secret muslim).  I’m so not getting it.

But then, I’m sure I’m over-reading.  I doubt my dad took the two minutes to analyze the “joke” and what it really says about him and his views of not just Obama but his own faith.  Which is a whole other problem in itself.  The last time I protested a forward he sent, based on a utterly sexist tagline/subject line for a perfectly adequate science article, he protested that he hadn’t written the subject line.  Um, okay, but you decided to send it “as is” to me and one of your female colleagues (I could see by her email address that they work for the same entity).  Acknowledge your own agency dad!

Ok.  Not really, here, that is.   But I’m working on it. 


1) BB may have finally, finally, beaten a long-standing medical issue (minor, but with annoying and embarrassing side effects).  Keep your fingers crossed for us! And he placed third in his age group in his last climbing competition – huzzah!

2) LB’s agression/impulse issues are improving – huzzah!

3) The paperwork from dealing with mr. jolt’s mom’s estate may be nearing an end – huzzah!