Fabulous Alternative to CafePress: Zazzle!

I just uploaded my first product to a Zazzle store. Too fun! And super easy.

Love Your Bump Canvas Prints by GrabillCreative
View more Pregnant Canvas Prints

Things I like about Cafepress:

• Easy to make multiple products, set up a store, etc. SO easy.
• Fun.

Things I don't like:

• Artwork has to be resized for most specialized products.
• Quality isn't always the greatest.

Things I like about Zazzle:

• Beautiful.
• Easy to change artwork for the given product.

Things I don't like:

• Shop set-up can be confusing.
• Product building is slow - with a few exceptions, you must make one at a time.

Is Grimms' "The Death of the Hen" about The Black Death?

The Grimms recorded “The Death of the Hen” with the Audience/Purpose of preserving their German culture. With this in mind, the tale can be read as a morality tale (greed causes downfall) or a tale of death and dying (all die in the end). Yet neither reading explains the more bizarre story elements. If we consider that these stories were handed down orally through generations, we glimpse another Audience/Purpose.

A close study of the text provides clues to a possible original Audience/Purpose: memorializing the Black Death.

First is the brook’s centrality: Water frequently represents the passage from this life to the next, so the brook becomes a door of sorts. When it demands red silk, we might dig down to correlate the silk with the red cross that was painted on plague victims’ doors.

Likewise, we might see the wreath caught in a willow as a representation of Shakespeare’s willow: “the tree of forsaken love” and the traditional bridal wreath: symbol of memory and purity. Both may represent the hen’s promise to the cock, and her grief at violating that promise.

In the end, straw, coal, and rock all fail to save the animals. Reading with an eye to meaning: Bundles of straw were placed at the door of plague victims, so straw promulgates death. Bodies were often burned, so coal is powerless over death. And the impenetrable rock does not even have power over the Black Death.

Other versions of the tale exist, some less in line with this suggested reading. However in one telling, after all the animals board the cart, a flea assures the group that his weight will be no trouble. Yet he causes the cart’s collapse. Interestingly, fleas spread the plague.

This troubling story seems confusing when applied to the Grimms’ Audience/Purpose, but when read with other Audiences/Purposes in mind, it takes on rich new meaning.

[I read the Crane translation, and initially wrote this little blurb for a Coursera class.]

Sites consulted:

http://www.newyorker.com/arts/critics/books/2012/07/23/120723crbo_books_acocella

http://www.project-hamlet.info/scenes-soliloquies/muddy-death.html

http://www.surlalunefairytales.com/authors/grimms/80deathlittlehen.html

Since We Were Talking About Pepperplate

We were, right? Yet another Amazing Advantage of the uber-super recipe management tool: Pepperplate, which is like Ziplist and a host of others, only prettier and more powerful.

The other day I desperately needed to finish a Skype call with a colleague to wrap up a project. I also desperately needed to start dinner. Dr. D had been asking, "What are we having?" for like ever so finally I said, "Check the menu!" Because I print off the calendar page of Pepperplate at the start of the week and post it on the refrigerator.

The question then became, "What can I do to get started?" Which in the past would have been answered by, "You'll just have to wait!" Because unless it's tacos or spaghetti, explaining where the recipe is and how to find it (or the fact that I have no recipe, or how to follow the recipe but omit these ingredients and substitute those, etc.) is just too much.

Not this time! I said, "Look up the recipe on your phone!" So he did.

And would you believe it? Dr. D had most of the meal prepared by the time I finished my call! Now THAT is a Pepperplate success.

The Flavor of a Place: The Customer is Always Wright Rite Write?

I need to confess something: I don't dislike librarians. Really, I don't. I rather like some of them and outright adore others. I also love libraries, because I love books. But, see, in the past three years I've had a Problem. Only this week have I finally, finally realized what is at its root. And here it is! I know you can hardly wait! But first, a story.

Many years ago Burger King had a sandwich called the Big King. It was basically a BK version of the Big Mac. One day I decided to try it, except I hate the "special sauce" so I said, "I'd like a Big King without the sauce."

"You can't do that," the girl said.

We went back and forth like this until she grew snotty and I said, "I don't like sauce on stuff. Why can't you leave it off?"

"Cause then it ain't a Big King."

Ummmmmm. I talked to the manager, who agreed with her that I could not order a Big King without the sauce. I was so dumbfounded I couldn't speak. I switched to a chicken sandwich. With no mayonnaise. Only later did it occur to me to request the sauce on the side, though I expect by that point they would have come up with some reason against it.

How does this relate to the library? A few years ago we moved, and likewise we switched libraries. I was rather glad. I'd had to drag screaming toddlers out of our old branch so often I dreaded walking through the doors. How nice to start over. New toys! New books!

Quite quickly this new branch surprised me. The patrons. Oh my word. I parked a little over the line once and had a woman try to "rip me a new one" for crowding her spot; a grumpy old man made it his duty to silence loud kids. He was equal opportunity about it: he'd harass whichever mom was there, even if the noisy kids weren't hers. If no mom was in the kid area, he'd grab whichever female was closest and lay into her. Then I overheard a woman say to a librarian, "I want you to Mark Down that there's crayon in the book so I don't get CHARGED for it!" She wasn't very polite. The librarian said, "Oh, we'd never do that!" The woman replied, "Yes you would, you have before." I made it a point to be super polite to the librarians. What happened?

Returning about 40 books at once is common for me. We check out A LOT of books. And I mean a lot. We've come close to reaching the max (100) on my card alone, and frequently have at least a few check-outs on each of four cards. Library day can be a little nutty, except I have a system to minimize error. (Of course I do!) I'd been using it for years and while I earn a good number of fines, they're far less than they could be, believe me. Most of them are "convenience fees" - $0.15 each for ten books vs. going to the library on a busy day. Let them be late! Anyhow, the final step in my system involves checking returns online once I get home because sometimes - with 30, 40, 60 returns, a book or two will slide through without getting checked in. Step 1 in that case: renew the book, just in case I actually *did* still have it (though I have a good visual memory for this sort of useless cr@p), and so no fines would accrue if it takes the librarians a few days to find the book. Then I follow to Step 2.

At my old library, I'd call and say, "I returned Book X but it's not showing as returned." "Oh, ok, we'll look for it." If the librarian found it on the shelf, he'd check it in. This new library? Not so easy.

First, the phone call. "What book is this?" "Book X" "When did you return it?" "Yesterday (or whenever)." "No, according to your account you didn't return that book." "Right. I DID return it but it must not have been checked in." "Well, we usually don't miss them. We have safeguards against that." Followed by, "Are you sure you don't have it at home?" By this point I'm frustrated. "I'm sure." "You will have to come in and check the shelf." "Um, why would I do that?" Eventually the librarian would check the @#$ shelf, find the book, and with a bit of guff say, "Well, I guess we let one slide after all."

Then they quit with phones - I can no longer reach the branch without being routed through several levels of customer disservice. So I've taken to doing step 1 (renew) and following up with step 2 in person the next time I'm at the library. The conversation goes something like:

"Um, hi, I returned a book a while ago and I think it didn't get checked in properly."

"It looks like you renewed it."

"I did, so I wouldn't be charged fines between returning it and coming back to tell you I'd returned it." This typically takes at least one repeat.

"But it has $2 in fines."

"Right, that's because it wasn't registered as being returned, and I haven't been able to come in to tell you--"

"You are responsible for your fines."

"Right, I know. What I'm saying is I returned the book before it was due, so it shouldn't have any fines."

"Do you have the book?"

"No, I--"

"So you can't find the book?"

By this point my resolution to be super polite is wavering. "Look, I returned the book several weeks ago and I haven't had a chance to tell you until now."

"Well, ok, if you say so. I'll look for it on the shelf." Librarian goes, returns with the book. "I'll cancel the fine this time, but I'm making a note of it on your account."

WTF? For someone who is just a wee bit conflict avoidant, this is enough to raise my blood pressure the instant I see the dreaded un-returned returned book. It also got me wondering about the culture of grumpiness at this particular library. Do grumpy patrons a grumpy librarian make? Or do patrons come to expect a certain level of courtesy, or perhaps discourtesy, so every time they approach the circulation desk their hackles are raised?

On a whim I visited my old library. I had a problem with the self-check-out and took the deep breath necessary to approach the librarian. To my absolute shock, I was greeted with a smile and helped happily. The librarian smiled at the kids, answered St. Nick's questions without annoyance and at normal speaking voice (i.e., not whispering), and was generally pleasant. I looked around. Yes, there were the requisite screaming toddlers, but everyone was nice. No one using a computer shot daggers at the moms, no librarians had whispered conversations about this or that horrible patron (another thing I'd overheard at the other library).

I had assumed that all libraries would be the same. A library is a library is a library, isn't it? Now I see each one is an organism. And like all organisms, it is only as healthy as the cells that make it up. Like that Burger King (now out of business), there was something seriously messed up from the manager down to the employee. I'm beginning to think the same is true of this nearest library. It seems to me the Culture is defined by those at the height. Miss Big King would have called back to the kitchen, "Yeah I need a Big King without sauce" had her manager instilled the company value of Your Way Right Away. Likewise, the culture of a library has more to do with the King of that branch than the paupers. And by King, I don't mean Elvis.

I'm Dyyyyiiiinnnnngggggg: Or, Why I Love Alice in Wonderland

Below is my second short paper for the Coursera class on Fantasy and Sci-fi taught-ish by Eric Rabkin. But a quick intro. This class operates entirely online, testing a virtual classroom template in which peers evaluate student work. At first I thought this was brilliant.

Awesome! The professor can record lectures in, like, 2009 and teach-ish a course forever! He never has to enter the classroom or grade a single stinky paper! But then I realized something. My peers aren't, uh, so good at this.

Sadly, with this second paper a got a few comments of agreement/disagreement and the rest, "You structure sentence not good done." Ah, well. At least the lectures aren't Peer Recorded.

The Sense of Nonsense

As Martin Gardner writes in The Annotated Alice, "Life viewed rationally and without illusion appears to be a nonsense tale told by an idiot mathematician." But what seems nonsense is the very sense of Alice’s Wonderland journeys, and it is what lends them power to inaugurate the genre of children’s fiction.

Alice’s Adventures are unique in part because they are told from a child’s point of view, yet Carroll also tosses adult expectations down a rabbit hole. He juxtaposes the adult and child worlds and infuses Alice’s plain understanding with a deep subtext of rationality. Everyone Alice meets, in very adult-like fashion, takes themselves and their goings on with utmost seriousness. Rabbit must have his gloves, "Off with her head!" the Queen demands of everyone she meets. The Hatter talks of watches that tell the year. And the Duchess quips, "flamingoes and mustard both bite,” which means, of course, “Birds of a feather flock together.” “Only mustard isn't a bird,” Alice replies.

Throughout Alice observes all this with a curious detachment, at one point thinking, “The Hatter's remark seemed to her to have no sort of meaning in it, and yet it was certainly English.” At last she loses a bit of patience. As she begins to grow during the tart-theft trial, the Dormouse exclaims, "You've no right to grow here.” When Alice replies boldly, “Don't talk nonsense, you know you're growing too,” she proves that she, the child, is the only one in this mixed up world with even one whit of sense. As the Duchess says so blithely, “what a clear way you have of putting things!” Clear, indeed.

In this way Carroll establishes a tradition that future generations will emulate: Rational, commonsensical Alice takes the role of adult, while all around her are mad as Hatters or foolish as Idiot Mathematicians.

Librarians and Darwinian Natural Selection

I wrote a sonnet about my local library. Frustration does something interesting for me. I makes me creative. The quote, so ubiquitous now it's cliché, "Be careful or I'll put you in my book and kill you," has a delicious ring of truth.

The situation is nothing new. I've paid an insane number of fines this year. A book was stolen from my bedside when I was in the hospital with Rowdy. A DVD was put down the register. St. Nick squirreled a host of books in his bunk and insisted, no, he gave them to me. I just didn't feel like going to the library a few times.

And a bunch of movies were two days late because - who knows why - my computer bugged up, their server bugged up. That's the most recent, but was my hope for grace answered? My plea that technological issues aren't necessarily *my* fault. And even if they are, can't you just be Nice? No. I need to "learn my lesson." I suppose so. One thing I've learned, no more DVDs from the library.

I've been thinking quite a bit about why this sort of thing bothers me so much - because it's not just the library. Any time there is an injustice, where an All Powerful Authority exercises that authority capriciously, without concern for human dignity or grace or, in this case, rationality, I'm thrown. More important, when I'm facing an Authority against which I have no recourse, I'm doubly thrown. I feel helpless, violated. And mad as hell. Those who know me understand why.

So I wonder why those who excel in library services do so well? I would be a lousy librarian. Largely because I hate Capricious Authority. I am unable to survive beneath it and just as unable to be it, which I suppose is why my kids are so, uh, spirited. Dr. D might question whether I'm capable of being an Authority at all. Hmmm. Maybe a few whoopin's to "learn them kids their lessons" would work wonders.

Anyway, Dr. D suggested that if you give someone a modicum of power, baptize it with an advanced degree, that person - who knows their job could be done by anyone with a pulse (his words) - feels validated, entitled to their Pound of Flesh. Take away the degree and add the Baptism of Marriage or Parent or Teacher and you have precisely the mix of qualities that drives the abuser. Insecurity x Power x Entitlement. Which circles back to why this sort of expression so bothers me.

So I have no choice. The library is a bureaucracy where customer service is an unknown concept. If I want to use it, I have to take my whoopin', by golly. And if I don't come back? What they lose in fines (I am a regular contributor, you know) will be made up for in tax dollars. Plus, I would have to actually - gasp - buy books.

Which might just be less expensive. Regardless, at least I got a sonnet out of the thing. Whoever said "Words are cheap" obviously did not use the public library.

Oh, and I already had this:

Which has thus far earned me $9.60. Shhh. Don't tell the librarians! I'm sure they'll find a way to fine me for it.

All My Love to the Bravest Family on Earth: How They're Surviving Medical Error

The House of Gort from Steve Tatzmann on Vimeo.

I still remember Gina's call from the hospital, the grief choking off her voice. Her sorrow was so strong it had no name, but her strength grew to match it.

My five heroes, right here. Their story is one of survival, triumph. I'm praying it will also become one of justice.

UPDATE: here is an article in the Press about this family and their struggle after a medical error at DeVos Children's Hospital left little E permanently brain damaged. Finally, good reporting. Even if the comments on the story are moronic. And if that link no longer works, a News 8 story.

Lower Standards, Higher Prices

Sounds like the slogan for government bureaucracy, doesn't it? It isn't (at least not today), because today is a special day. A milestone. No, not a millstone. Goodness, don't get all Freudian on me.

The reason for celebration? Fifteen years of marriage. Fifteen. Wow. Most days I don't feel old enough to be a decade-and-a-half wed. Other days, however, especially if Rowdy has been up several times ...

Years and years ago Dr. D and I would plan a nice dinner out, a special day trip, something fun and memorable. This morning Dr. D and I celebrated by going out for breakfast. To McDonald's. With four kids, summer vacay winding down, school supplies lists longer than our arms, our expectations are, um, how to say it. Nonexistent.

And wouldn't you know, our un-special breakfast was lovely. Pseudo food and a long-ish conversation (we had Rowdy with us) about how much has changed in fifteen years. We realized we are both different people.

While many go a lifetime without any noticeable change, we've adopted new patterns in almost every area. Something about losses: of parents, sibling, pregnancies, and about gains: friendships, careers, all these nutty kids has made us retrospect. Nothing can be taken for granted. Every moment is a gift. Not that I always remember this (who does?), but I know it better than I did fifteen years ago.

St. Nick doesn't fit in the rocking chair quite like Rowdy does ...

The chaos and pain, and, yes, the joy has also cemented our commitment to one another. So, Dr. D, I look forward to another, even better fifteen years to come. And more after that.

Chiro-Nonsense: Thoughts on Crazy Chiropractic: A Horror Story

Chiropractors get a bad rep, don't they? A while back my back was hurting (ha, did you catch that? Back, back? I'm so d@mn clever!). Leftover from childbirth, pregnancy, months of carrying Little Miss Rowdy. So I asked my primary for a referral, which he provided without any opinion on which of the zillion or so chiropractors in the area I should see.

Which left me with the, oh, three or so options my insurance company provided. First on the list: a husband and wife team in a nice building adjacent to a golf course. Perfect!

So I went.

And that's when things got ... weird.

First off, the office was eerie. Waiting room clean to the point of perfection, no stray reading material or chewed up toys, no lint or little bits of stuff people track in on their shoes. But I like clean. Clean is good, right?

Then there was the sign above the expansive doorway which led to the exam rooms: "We Respect the Design as Well as the Designer." Ugh, was I going to get adjusted or saved? Not that I have any real issue with business people carrying their faith into the office. One of the doctors in our family practice of our GP drops little quips about "design" and the "designer." He's a better doctor for it, I think. But to use big fake brass letters to literally spell it out above the door?

Moving on to the adjustment. I expected a little awkwardness for the X-rays. Hard to get a good X-ray with bra clasps and zippers and whatever else, but the adjustments likewise required a medical gown. Because ... (here's the best part) ... the guy used a thermometer to judge which vertebrae needed adjustment. The theory was that minuscule changes in temperature told him where there was inflammation, so when the thermometer registered a temp increase he'd MARK MY BACK WITH A PEN. Then he brought in an elephant and had it stomp on me. More or less. None of the gentle feeling around for the right spot, just a gigantic CRUNCH on the little blue X (or red, whatever, I never saw the pen).

What's worse, despite the creepy feeling and increase in pain after each visit, I went back three times. I don't trust my creep-o-meter like I should, likely because I worry it's overactive. But in this case, I should have run like the wind after the first visit. I'm hesitant to write it, because the whole experience was just so Strange, but I wonder now if the chiropractor just liked messing with the ties on the gown.

That's not me. Just saying.

One more thing: I could see the computer screen as the secretary was scheduling me for my fourth appointment (which I canceled). She flipped through a full week of appointment pages. Page after page, virtually empty. Explained the clean waiting room.

How to Read Your Movies: Kindle, Aldiko and More

I was looking for (free) content for my kindle/eReader and didn't want the typical free stuff - classics and self-published drek full of typos and hackneyed plots and characters. Plus I wanted to research screenwriting, beyond the handful of books I've read in the past year. 

Since reading fiction is the best way to improve in my writing, the same would hold for screenplays, yes? Yup. Add to it, once you get used to the format, which is WoNkY as H@cK to the uninitiated, screenplays are really fun to read.

And heaps of them can be found online in PDF or other formats, totally free. My fave source: Script-o-Rama. Hard on the eyes, yes, but zillions of totally free scripts. And another list, the Black List ...

I now have a bunch of scripts in Aldiko, and have had some fun surprises. Like Bridesmaids was funnier as a screenplay. It was so funny that, though I'd seen the movie already, I rented it again after reading it. Because the read had me in stitches. But just like the first time, it wasn't as funny as I'd hoped. Humor on the page vs. humor on screen ... huh. Who knew they were different?

Next in my TBR pile, folder, whatever: Elizabeth: The Golden Age. Let's see if breathless longing feels the same in text. I hope so.

Button, button. Who Ate the Button?

Picture it: adorable baby girl in adorable little red-checked shirt and matching shorts. Adorable shirt on adorable baby has four equally adorable strawberry buttons:

Imagine it: put adorably dressed, four-button baby down for her nap.

After nap: adorable baby has only THREE buttons.

I searched the crib. The floor. The changing table. Behind the changing table. The diaper pail. The drawers. The car seat. The highchair. The carpet. The chairs.

The nurse asked how big the button was. Smaller than a dime? Yes. Is she eating/breathing ok? Yes.

It will pass.

She kindly offered an X-Ray, because some mothers worry ...

The button never did "show up" (ahem). So we may never know if Rowdy ate her button, or perhaps the cat ate it. Even the dog. Or no one ate it and it will turn up someday in some random spot - behind the refrigerator, perhaps. Ah, the mysteries of parenthood!