Lucky On Ramp

I had the strangest experience driving home from work today. I was chatting on the phone with my mother. Traffic was very backed up, so I was crawling up the 80 entrance (at Bryant and 9th, or is it 8th? for you SF peeps). I slowly follow the curve to the right, where you can just start to see the 101 traffic up ahead when I see this little gray thing darting between the cars. We're going so slowly I can stare out the window and I see it again. It's a tiny little kitten, can't be more than four or six weeks old, running in between the traffic, ducking under cars. Holy shit, I think. This animal is going to get killed. There's a right shoulder but it's going to end in about ten feet. I can call Animal Control, I think. No, they'll never find it and besides it'll get smushed before that. "I'm okay, but I gotta go," I tell my mother and hang up.**

I pull over, get out of the car and walk back toward where I last saw the kitten. It has now jumped up onto the ledge, with a big drop to the ground below. Then I see a woman walking toward it very slowly, then I see a man next to her. Only then do I see their car--they've pulled over as well. Shrugging out of his jacket, the man sidles up to the kitten, and throws the jacket over it. The kitten starts immediately flailing like a Tasmanian devil, but he keeps a grip on it and thrusts the wriggling bundle into the back of their Subaru Forester. We all look at each other for a second. "Are you okay to take this kitten," I ask. They say yes. "Thanks for stopping," the woman says, putting her hand on my shoulder, and then we all drive away.

Other than the inherent weirdness of seeing a fluffy kitten on the concrete slab of a highway on-ramp is this: no one else stopped. And for a second, I almost didn't, either. But I knew I would hate myself so violently when I later thought about this kitten scared out of its wits and possibly dying a slow death of awful internal injuries on an 80 entrance ramp and that was pretty much it. I've not a clue what other people could have been thinking as they drove past and didn't stop.

On the positive side, this experience made me realize that I might actually find my next cat in this very random non-voluntary way. Since the idea of going to a shelter and being confronted with the non-Miss Kittyness of all of them is too horrendous to entertain, the idea that a cat might be foist upon me in such a way is tremendously appealing.




**Why it's important to say "I'm okay," before you say "Holy shit!" and hang up on your friends. One day I was walking home from work and headed for the library. It so happened that there was a bomb threat that day to some nearby building so the block around the library was cordoned off. I was talking on the phone to Liz, telling her all this, and my plan to walk instead to a branch library that was near my house. As I was walking along, I saw a woman get hit by a car while she was crossing the street. When I saw her fly through the air and land on the road with a horrible thud, I yelled, "Holy shit!" and hung up to call 911. Poor Liz reasonably thought something happened to me since the last thing I had told her involved a bomb threat to the area in which I was walking. Of course she's calling me frantically but I'm not picking up because I'm on hold trying to get through to 911.*** Then I see that Loyal Reader from WA is calling, no doubt worried that I'm lying in a heap of rubble but I have to stay on the line. Why am I on hold while this woman in front of me may be dying, her take-out Chinese food all over the hood of the minivan that hit her, he shoes laying in the road? I never made it to the library.


***I don't know if this is the case elsewhere but apparently here if you call 911 from a cell phone, your call gets routed to the Highway Patrol, not your local dispatcher. Believe it or not, when I told the Oakland FD how long I was on hold with 911, I got a lecture about how I should program the local emergency numbers into my phone. This is fucked, I thought to myself, but you know what? I did it.

A Raisin in the Soap

I just finished a fabulous bathing experience with Lush's Sultana of Soap. Packed with raisins and nuts, once the creamy lather is gone, you can drop the rest into a basic batter for a nutritious breakfast muffin. This bath treat was a gift from Former Honey for taking care of her cat Reh-eh while she was out of town for a few days.

I had a vague idea that sultanas and raisins were not the same thing, or maybe they were different names for the same thing, like how a trunk is a boot in England. I knew currants were definitely different-- currants are tiny drops of chewy sweetness in a cream scone but raisins are big and bug-like and do not belong in a baked good. However, they are pretty good in Indian dishes and in spinach cooked with garlic, olive oil, and pine nuts. You can read this response but in a nutshell, I think raisin generally refers to the Thompson raisin, the dark kind in the red Sun-Maid box that babies poop out whole.

I Stand Corrected

Ay yi yi. Professional Critic is so uncool. Remember a few posts back when I was ragging on the clerk at Peet's for wearing a t-shirt that said "Itty Bitty Titty Committee?" Readers, IBTC is a movie about seemingly fabulous lesbians starring some of the fav dykes on screen--the girl from Go Fish (remember that?), the Asian woman who got all wiggy with Angelina in Foxfire, Mel from thirtysomething (you need to dig deep for this one, the redheaded photographer) etc. Sorry, Peet's girl.

I watched two movies today--The Departed, which was entertaining but not the big whoop we were all led to believe it would be. What's with Matt Damon being so good at playing psychopathic imposters? Remember The Talented Mr. Ripley? I might feel a little concerned if I was his wife. Then The Woodsman, starring Kevin Bacon as a newly-paroled child molester trying to start life over with love interest and real-life wife Kyra Sedgwick. Actually decent, though not what you could call uplifting. Kevin plumbed the depths of sadness not seen since the Reverend outlawed dancing.

There was a jolt of an earthquake in the midst of my movie-watching, a 2.8 according to USGS. I've not experienced anything bigger than a 3. something and can't say I wish to. These little shocks are plenty to remind me where I live.

East, West

I'm back from the east coast. Great to see the family, especially the beloved nephews. Since I last saw him five months ago, the oldest has learned how to ride a bike and read, and he lost his very first tooth the last day I was there. How is this possible when it wasn't that long ago that he was a newborn peeing on me? (I wised up with the subsequent newphews.) I'm semi-helpless against becoming the aunt that kisses too much and dread the day they become too cool to have anything to do with me.

On the plus side, I got my fill of great pizza and bagels, two essential food items the Bay area has yet to master, and the understated classic, the Dunkin Donut old fashioned. Unlike the Krispy Kreme, you can eat more than one without risking nausea. Also the crazy thick accent of my people: lawge black cawfee, no shugah. On the negative side, what is the deal with the east coast insisting on doctoring your coffee for you? Can I not be trusted with a thermos of milk and sugar packets? I'm sorry to say that every cup of coffee I had from DD sucked because it was never made right. I was forced to go to Starbucks, where you are allowed to make your own. Anyone who knows why this is, please weigh in.

In a totally unrelated matter, I visited Rosie O'Donnell's blog for the first time today. Something in me refused to believe that she was really blogging in poetry but it's true. I guess it isn't really poetry, more like "this is 2 u from me 4ever" kind of writing, which is fine for a bathroom wall, acceptable in a text message but unbearable in a blog. Does Rosie not have access to a full keyboard and adequate time to write? Perhaps once she leaves The View due to brouhaha with ninny Hasselbeck she'll have time to write in complete sentences.

Finally, I talked about the groovy global micro-lending organization Kiva a few posts back and today I finally made a couple of loans. Micro is the word here--just $25 for each loan, one for a woman in Mexico who runs a stationery shop out of her home and one for a woman in Samoa who rents fales, open thatched dwellings, to backpackers on the beach. This is my lender page so you can see the ladies and perhaps make a loan yourself if you're so inclined.

Now I must try the new Haagen Daz coffee frozen yogurt. Their "light" coffee ice cream is delicious but at 20% saturated fat for 1/2 cup (as opposed to 55%, oh yes, HD regular coffee ice cream, aka 'stick of butter'), it cannot be a regular occurrence sadly.

Parting Words

I'm about to go east to visit the fam, so just a few things ...

Am I the only one who feels suspicious of the "Forever Stamp?" I wasn't really all that bent out of shape that postage went up two cents. It is still really an amazing deal when you think about it, cheap and pretty darn efficient. Did USPS think that people would just not be able to handle the two extra cents when they are paying almost $4 a gallon for gas in parts of the nation, i.e. the one I live in? Maybe they are counting on people like me who stock up on the Forever Stamp, then forget about the stash and keep buying them as they go up in price. It's a good deal ... almost too good. I'm hard pressed to come up with any kind of conspiracy theory that the US Postal Service might be behind, but let me think on it and get back to you.

This is Good

Check out The Onion's spot-on skewering of the bizarre twists and turns the co-optation of feminism has taken. Right after I read this I was waited on by a young woman at Peet's who was wearing a t-shirt that said "Under Construction: Itty Bitty Titty Committee."

Bits n Pieces

I've been a little out of touch this week, as I've been housesitting at a friend's internet-free apartment and my workplace has the nerve to block any URL with the word "blog" in it. What's up with that? Hopefully no one is keeping track of all the times I try to enter a forbidden site and get the bland, 'We're sorry but your workplace has blocked this site' (Subtext: Back to work, pervert slacker!)

Let's catch up:

Sheryl Crow has adopted a baby boy. The excitement wore off before I finished typing that sentence, but congratulations, Sheryl.

You may have read my post a few weeks back on World Trade Center rescue workers being so desparate for some relief for their respiratory illnesses that they have become vulnerable to pseudo-scientific treatments offered by Scientology. A new research study has concluded what any person with five brain cells in their head could have told you: breathing in the pulverized remains of two skyscrapers seems to cause some pulmonary problems down the line. Lordy lordy. Let's hope this "discovery" will force legitimate doctors and researchers to fill the assistance void that Scientology stepped in to fill.

In another groundbreaking study, researchers discovered that teens who use condoms do not have more sex partners than teens that do not and in fact such teens have lower rates of chlamydia and gonorrhea. What do you know? I may fall down with shock. Harm reduction does actually work.

Back to the superficial yet concerning, Perez relayed this quote from Rosie O'Donnell's video blog:

Ellen's not allowed to [talk about gay issues]. She signed a contract that said she wouldn't. It was on the heels of my show. Right? So that's why she doesn't! But, you know what? She also paved the way for a lot of gay people, especially on TV. There were no gay shows on TV. She was pre-Will & Grace, remember that. So, you know, I talk about 'gay' because I like to and she doesn't talk about it because she doesn't want to or she can't. But, who cares? It's fine. Gay Gay Gay Gay Gay!"

I most fervently hope this is not the case but I do have to admit there is a yawning and very loud silence on Ellen where most hosts talk about their families. Think Kelly Ripa as one extreme example but even Oprah talks about Stedman--though she talks about Gayle more. I'm just sayin'. Perhaps Ellen is just really, really private but then again she does take Portia to awards shows and has her arm around her for the cameras. I almost don't want to know if this is true. Not only is it awful if she signed such a thing but awful that anyone would think it up and awful that she might not have gotten the deal if she didn't. I might be ill now. Have a pleasant weekend.

Flashes of Brilliance in the Dark

"In America, if a Democrat even thinks you're calling him a liberal he immediately grabs an orange vest and a rifle and heads into the woods to kill something."

Thanks, Bill Maher.

I just perused the new Williams-Sonoma catalog and I am pleased to finally learn what clafoutis is. Cooked cherries are vile so I won't be making it but if you're so inclined, here's the recipe. By the way, it's "kla-foo-TEE." I didn't know either.

Those of you that may have been wondering what to get the Professional Critic for her next birthday can rest easy. Behold the money shot of home appliance pornography, the CornuFe stove. $8000 for a stove may sound like a lot of money if you prioritize housing and food but as you will read, it features superb workmanship and can be delivered for only $1300. That should dispel any nagging doubts you may have about buying a stove that costs more than some disabled Americans get in one year from Social Security benefits. Check back soon, as I'll be setting up a PayPal account for donations.

On the outside chance you don't find my CornuFe Fund worthy of your money, check out Kiva. It's a global microlending organization founded by a Bay Area couple. Essentially you make a loan of as little as $25 to an entrepreneur in the developing world (you get to choose from many profiles all over the globe). Once your loan is repaid, you can withdraw your money or re-lend. Kiva reports that their repayment rate to date is 100%--totally amazing. In the era of venture capitalists raising millions for start-ups that end up folding before they net a cent, it's nice to know that $25 can help someone in the world start a self-sustaining business.

How is That Spelt?

While perusing the FDA website as regular readers know I love to do, I came across a warning letter to the Everything Spelt Company, a bakery of spelt products. Many violations were listed, but the most interesting was their failure to properly label their products as containing a major known food allergen, wheat.

These products are misbranded under section 403(a)(1) of the Act [21 U.S.C. 343(a)(1)] in that the labels bear false and misleading statements. For example, your Spelt Challah Medium, Spelt Sandwich Loaf, Original Whole Spelt Bread, and Whole Spelt Challah products claim that these products are a "Wheat Alternative" and are made "in a wheat free environment." Your Pan Crust Pizza label bears the statement "ideal for many who have allergies or intolerances to wheat." These statements are false and misleading because they suggest that the products do not contain wheat, when in fact they are made with spelt, which is a variety of wheat.

How confusing. What other godly reason would one even consider eating anything called Spelt Sandwich Loaf except a wheat allergy? Is that not why people eat breads and pasta made from things like quinoa, rice flour and pencil shavings? I'm feeling a little bad for the alternative bakery and wondering if perhaps the FDA ought be marshaling their resources towards bigger kinds of fish. But more so, I realize I have no idea what spelt actually is--time for some digging.

Germans call it Dinkel and Italians call it Farro, described in various web sites as a grandparent to, cousin of, subspecies of, alternative to and not to be confused with, wheat. This is almost as confusing as trying to figure out whether it's an alligator or a crocodile. How can the FDA be mandating a company label their product as wheat if their product is being sold as a wheat alternative? Wiki to the rescue--spelt can be a good substitute for people with wheat or gluten intolerance, but not suitable for those with allergies. Not sure where that leaves Everything Spelt Company.

More digging yields this blurb on the Purity Foods site, maker of Vita-Spelt products:

New FDA Allergen Law
As of January 1, 2006 the FDA is classifying spelt in the wheat family. To follow this new ruling, all of products are going to have the word "wheat" on the package even though they don't contain any. Every product we carry is made from 100% Pure Spelt. If you have any questions, please feel free to call us at 1-800-99-SPELT (77358).

Wow, now you need a disclaimer for the disclaimer. Weirder and weirder. If you are really bored and/or agriculturally inclined you can read this mind numbingly boring response from the FDA of why spelt is, in fact, wheat.

This taxonomy of wheat fails to interest me, but I do wonder what provoked this FDA interest in alternative bakeries. That might be an interesting story.