Brainscrubber

She is 85-years-old today!!

I just finished making some stuffing, and I earlier made some stuffed celery. In about 40 minutes, I will go to my next door neighbor’s apartment, where he will have turkey, mashed potatoes and gravy, and yams waiting. Both of us, way far from our families will be celebrating Thanksgiving in as traditional a manner as is possible.

If only I could get the Cowboys game while I ate.

Happy Thanksgiving to each of you! Enjoy your family and friends. Stay warm and stay safe!

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My family and I have been blessed with an awesome menagerie of pets over the years – critters that bring with them personality and presence far and above what one would expect from a pet. I still hear stories of Barney, the notoriously ugly terrier, who kept vigil over my son long before I arrived on the scene. I recently used up a lot of bytes talking about my cat, Shakira. I could use up a lot more bytes talking about Morgan, our Airedale Terrier who loved to lead us on a merry chase through the neighborhood from time to time; or Merlin, the loveable Labrador who finally won over my wife by nearly going through a plate glass window in order to get an intruder trying to climb over a fence into our yard. All great pets. All dearly loved and missed immensely.

I am not sure there’s a proper way to say goodbye to Cea (Chaya), named after Boudicca, the Queen of the Britons, who fought bare-chested and proud against the Romans. I don’t know if Boudicca was as beautiful as her namesake, but if she had half the personality, she would have been someone to know.

Cea came to us via a story, as do most good characters that happen into one’s life. We’d become involved with the Society for Creative Anachronism (SCA) as a family, and enjoyed the camping and festivities that surrounded an SCA event known as the Potrero War – fought just a mile or so north of the Mexico-California border. I want to remember that it was the third and final night of War, but it may have been the second. A guy came walking through the various campsites with a bunch of puppies. “Part-wolf, part-Rottweiller, part-Shepherd, ” he told everyone. Though, they didn’t appear to have much Rottweiller in them, the pups were beautiful. One of our kids’ friends who had tagged along on the trip said that he wanted one of them. We tried to talk him out of it, but he insisted and said his parents would let him keep it. So, we relented. Well, he did keep her – until his dad, a Navy guy, came home. Pretty soon, we had an extra dog at our house. She came to be known as Cea.

Now, Cea never had a drop of Rottie in her. There’s no way. But, she did present patent wolf-like behavior, though I think she was mostly a mix of German Shepherd and Husky. Any way you go about it, she was a beautiful dog – full of love and obedience (when it suited her). She could be territorial when the need presented itself, and she didn’t back down. She did not like the pit bull that lived across the street from us (who is also a sweetheart) back in SoCal. The fact that the pit bull could have killed her with one big chomp never seemed to click. Maybe it was because the pit bull would always roll over on its back and show throat. Never impressed Cea, though.

Cea loved to lay beneath things, particularly the coffee table. She found security there that she never seemed to find while out in the open. As she got older, and her bones got stiffer, she reconciled herself to a big blue pillow full of stuffing from which she could reconnoiter everyone and everything coming through the doors. She loved it if you got down on the floor with her, and she’d bring herself out from under the table or lift herself from the pillow and come trotting over to you for a little play fighting or some simple loving.

In the mornings, when she first rose, she’d snarfle, sort of a sneeze, but done quickly and sharply and repeatedly. She’d bounce on her front paws – little short hops – sometimes in place, sometimes from side to side. We read in an article somewhere that the snarfle was a dog’s form of laughter, and she loved to laugh. She was so excited when her humans crawled out of bed and were ready to meet the world. Whenever she got excited, she danced like that. If you came to the house, once she’d finished her barking, if she knew you, she greeted you with her own version of the jive. If she did, that was a high compliment because it meant she liked you.

Throughout the day, wherever she went, Cea moved as gracefully as a dancer moves (only with four legs), gliding more than walking. Cea could run, too. I mean run. She was fast, could turn on a dime, and loved to go full-out until we made her come back. At night, when bed time neared, she would start trying to round us up, start trying to shepherd us, start trying to aim us for the den, where the pack would all be together, safe and sound, for the night. Cristina says she did that to the very end.

She seemed to really embrace the move from SoCal to Oregon. Our place was one big park for her, and she loved to be outside. She loved to take off down the road toward the mailbox, stopping and turning to see if you were coming, too. Even if you weren’t coming, she rarely came back without first making her own trek down to the mailbox. Unfortunately, she developed a tumor, which proved to be cancer. This slowed her down some. We had it removed once, but it came back a second time. At her age, it seemed cruel to subject her to a second surgery. The woods became a no go for her, but she still loved to romp around a bit on the flatter ground – a few slips and falls notwithstanding.

As is often the case, the cancer wouldn’t go away, and the tumor grew quite large. Her movements became hindered, and during the last several months, she began to lose control of her body functions. They tell you not to assign human emotions to animals. Personally, I think it’s a way to rationalize treating them as things rather than as cognizant creatures. Anyone who’s ever seen a dog lose control of their body functions has seen true embarrassment. Dogs have a sense of dignity just as we do. The last few months Cristina commented more than once about Cea struggling physically, sometimes falling, sometimes making a mess. These reports came more and more often, and it became clear that, at 14, her days were coming to an end.

Cristina called me on my cell phone and told me it was time. She’s a practical woman, even when something is crushing her heart. Cea was her dog – devoted to her and protective of her – a true companion. For her to call me and tell me this meant it really was time. Her only regret was the Cea wouldn’t be around when I came home for Christmas. I assured her she was doing the right thing. And, it was.

Cea, the beautiful dog, was 14. She lived a good life. She loved her humans. We are going to miss her beyond measure.

Copyright, Greg Hubbard, 2007.

One of the outcomes of Shakira’s death is that I have not been able to eat meat in the last 3 weeks.  The very thought of biting into animal flesh is pretty much repulsive to me.  I realize this is an emotional, psychological response to a stressful event, but it also reflects a decision toward which I have been moving for several years, including several flawed forays into the world of vegetarianism.

I have decided to give up animal flesh as a part of my diet.  I can see the eyes rolling, now, and that is okay.  This is a personal decision that I’ve made for myself – not for anyone else.  I have come to the conclusion that I am no longer comfortable with killing flesh and blood animals to acquire my sustenance.  I don’t expect anyone else to follow suit – that is up to each individual and their own comfort zone.

Part of this comes as a result of several years of studying Buddhism, but mostly it comes as a result of my deep and abiding love of animals.  The most humane way of killing an animal for food still results in pain and death for a living creature.  Buddha said, “Even the least of animals fears death.”  I no longer want to contribute to that fear, that pain, or that death.

I know one person who contends the argument about not killing animals for food breaks down when brought to its logical conclusion because it is necessary to kill plants to create food, thus ending the life of a living entity.  Fruitarians aside, that is true.  However, I’ve yet to find a cabbage plant that nuzzles me affectionately, returns my affection, or expresses affection to other cabbage plants – let alone other plants of a different type.  Animals do (rats are among the most affectionate pets I’ve ever had), and risking the accusations of anthropromorphizing, animals express a cognizance that can’t be found in the plant world. 

Certainly, the line is arbitrary.  But, each of us has a comfort point for that line.  Most of us in Amercia wouldn’t kill our cats or dogs so we can have something tasty on the table when guests come over on Saturday night, but dog is a delicacy in parts of the world.  I have decided to extend that arbitrary line further and include all animals in my prohibition.

I am not a vegan.  I like cheese, eggs, ice cream and honey a bit too much.  I will continue to wear the leather products I own.   I can’t go back and save the life of the associated animal by tossing out my hiking boots and belts.  However, I probably will consider their replacements a bit more assiduously when the time comes.  No one needs to worry about me trying to convert them to being a vegetarian; as I’ve indicated previously, it’s an individual decision.  Besides, I don’t much like evangelists of any stripe.  However, while I will be as polite as possible, I will have to turn down fleshy fare offered to me, and I will abstain from preparing such fare, too.

Yes, the time may come when I decide that I am once again comfortable with eating or cooking flesh or I am forced by circumstances to stave off starvation by eating flesh.  However, today, at this moment, I can’t do it, and I don’t need to do so.  I think this time something pretty significant will have to occur to cause a change of my mind. 

Well, sorta.

For the last nine years. HSB&R (http://www.hsbr.net) was a fan site for the game Hollywood Stock Exchange (http://www.hsx.com/). I wrote articles for that site, got recruited to do some professional writing as a result of my work on that site, and did a few other things to add content to that site.

That was what people saw up front. What only a few people know (or care about) is that behind the scenes all web sites are hosted on servers. That is, when you execute a command on the web site (the client), that command is sent to another computer (the server) where the command actually does something – then sends the response back to the client – and you see what it is that you asked for (hopefully).

HSB&R was hosted on computers in the home of two folks on the East Coast. They spent their own money on parts, software, and internet access – and a LOT OF TIME. They kept it up and running, and we enjoyed tremendous success as the premiere fan site for HSX. An awful lot of H$ got made as a result of our site, which only kept running because of these two folks.

Something else that very few people knew about was that, behind the scenes, they operated a mailing list for staff members, both active and retired. Over the years, the list transformed from a staff mailing list devoted to discussions of the finer points of the HSX game into a daily must check activity for list members located, literally, around the globe. We shared three marriages, a death that shook us all, births to the families of multiple members (including their two), college degrees, and job successes. Diverse people straddling a wide swath of the socio-economic strata, spanning the political spectrum, speaking mutiple languages and embracing sometimes conflicting worldviews. But, we’ve all been friends.

Last year, the site suffered a crash that corrupted many of the tools on the site. In order to fix it, an awful lot of work would have been required, and it just didn’t happen. We all knew that things were pretty much done. Things end. That’s what is perfect about life. Things start. Things end.

Very shortly, HSB&R (and I will always use the ampersand! ) will cease to exist on the Web. There are plans to migrate a lot of the content to another format, but the site and the domain will be retired. And, after all these years, these two folks have decided to get out of the hosting business and focus on their own needs. Sometime selfishness IS a good thing. We’ll still have the mailing list, and that’s enough.

James and Amy, I want to thank you for everything you did over the years for the site and each of its members. Your work will always be appreciated.

Which brings me to why this blog has moved. One of the services they provided to list members was a blog that they hosted. Part of getting out of the hosting business means moving the blogs. Based on their advice, I have decided to continue using the WordPress blogging software, and I have now migrated the old blog to the new site. In fact, Amy helped me get that done. I decided that, if I was going to move the blog, I’d change the site theme, too. After a couple of years of the old theme, a little change is not a bad thing.

So, bookmark this new site and come back. I’ll be here. I hope you will be, too.

Yes, Cristina and I are still alive!

The last three months have been wild! Wild, I say!

Back in February, Cristina became involved with a friend in protesting the use of torture by American military and spy agencies, and she created some postcards that could be detached and mailed to three Oregon politicians and Sen. John McCain (I strongly support their protest, btw!). She recruited some of the local merchants to make available the cards on their countertops. In fact, one of the women was so impressed with Cristina’s efforts that she called her up that night and said, “How would you like to help us run my husband’s campaign for County Commissioner?” “Uh….” “We won’t know for sure until Tuesday if he’ll make the ballot.” “Um…sure…give me a call if he makes the ballot.”

Fast forward to the next Thursday. I am reading a copy of the Eugene Weekly, and it says that Ron (our candidate) has filed to run against the incumbent. “He made the ballot, Cristina.” “Well, let’s see if we get a call.” Friday, the call comes, and Cristina agrees to meet with them on Sunday. “You’re coming, too.” “Why?” “Didn’t you used to do politics in Texas?” “Well, yeah, but that was a LONG time ago.” “Recent enough.”

To make the long story short, Cristina and I ended up as campaign managers for a local campaign against an incumbent who had all the money, the backing of big timber, big lumber, and the Eugene Register-Guard. Still, managed to pull in some endorsements (including the Eugene Weekly), collect about $5,000, and garner 31% of the vote. Given when we started, how much money we had, and the low number of volunteers, we are actually ecstatic with what we accomplished. The way it looks, we were actually intended as a decoy campaign, meant to draw money from another hotly contested race. If it’s true, the strategy worked because the other campaign turned out the way we all wanted it to go. So, I guess we did our job.

Now, we’re back to our normal lives…whatever that means. For me, that means looking for a job. I had a contract position with Symantec. Unfortunately, after a day of behind closed doors meetings, they decided to terminate non-essential contracts. Guess what? Mine was non-essential. So, I am back pounding the pave…err…searching the depths of the Internet for a job. Keep us in your thoughts.

I have a dog. She is a shepherd mix. She barks.

The mailman comes to the closed door. Dog barks. Mailman goes away.

Dog barks, “Success.”

Mailman sees door is open. Passes by. Delivers mail the next day. Adds note. No mail if the door is open.

I think, “Fair enough.”

Cristina packs for moving. Door is left open. New Mailman drops by for a visit. Leaves mail in mailbox. Dog sees mailman. “What fun, thinks dog. Dog chases mailman. Dog barks. Mailman freaks. Mailman sprays dog.

I think, “Fair enough.”

Door closed for two days. No mail.

Hunt down mailman. Ask, “Where is mail?”

Mailman says, “No mail. Dog scared me. Call supervisor.”

I say, “You couldn’t bother to tell me, ‘No mail.’?”

Mailman says, “Not my job.”

I grow livid.

Cristina calls Post Office. She says, “We want mail.”

Post Office says, “Can’t deliver. You have dog.”

Cristina says, “Fine. I’ll pick it up.”

Post Office says, “No.”

Cristina say, “It’s my mail.”

Post Office says, “Tough shit.”

Cristina says, “How do I get my mail?”

Post Office says, “Talk to supervisor. Sign form.”

Cristina says, “Let me talk to supervisor.”

Post Office says, “No.”

Cristina says, “Why not?”

Post Office says, “Supervisor not here.”

Cristina says, “Have him call me.”

Post Office says, “Sure.”

Supervisor not call.

Cristina calls Post Office.

Cristina says, “May I please speak with Supervisor?”

Post Office says, “No.”

Cristina says, “Why not?”

Post Office says, “Supervisor not here.”

Cristina says, “I need mail.”

Post Office says, “Fine. Come get it.”

Cristina goes to Post Office. Cristina signs form. Cristina receives mail.

Cristina says, “Thank you. Dog moves Thursday. No problem.”

Post Office says, “Tough shit.”

Cristina says, “Huh?”

Post Office says, “Mail still on hold.”

Cristina says, “I signed form.”

Post Office says, “Must have surprise inspection.”

Cristina says, “What?”

Post Office says, “If dog not there, you get mail.”

Cristina thinks, “Fuckwads.”

Cristina goes home.

Cristina and Greg wait for mail.

Copyright 2005 by Greg Hubbard

I hate Wal-Mart. I am not sure I can be much plainer thant that. I am a Target shopper. This morning, MSNBC posted a piece on the competition between the two retailers (http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/8244689/) asking whether Wal-Mart, which finds itself in the unique position of playing catch-up, could really compete in Target’s market.

I think not.

Though they alluded to it, they didn’t really point out one of the key issues that make the Wal-Mart shopping experience so hideous: crowded, over-merchandised, junky aisles.

Cristina and I hate Wal-Mart (I may have said that before), and we only go there if we feel we absolutely must. For the longest time, it was the only place where I could find a particular OTC medicine I found effective in treating my sinus/allergy condition. I always held out as long as I could, then we made a single trip about once every three months. Fortunately, Long’s Drugs now carries the product, and I am no longer required to make that horrific trek any longer. Cristina, however, went there yesterday hoping to find some inexpensive curtains that could be used in the house while it was on the market. Instead, she found narrow aisles filled with junky looking displays, junky products, stockers stocking those junky products – but unwilling to move for her to pass, and wall-to-wall people. After nearly an hour of frustration, she left and went to nearby Kohl’s.

Maybe I’ve become a bit of a snob as I’ve moved up the economic ladder, but I don’t enjoy spending good money on crappy products that will last 1/3 the time of something only moderately more expensive. And, I darned sure don’t like feeling as if I am wading through a sardine can to find what I came to find.

Until Wal-Mart address these issues, they’ll never succeed in wooing the middle-class patrons they desire.