What Do I Know?

Halloween Is a Scary Time of Year

Lately there's been some scary stuff out there on the internets, which [scary music] is accessible to everyone, even terrorists!

For instance, these are the kinds of people who used to write foreign policy speeches for the White House. Is it any wonder we're in the mess we're in?

And George Bush, on the campaign trail, offers this: "the Democrat (sic) approach in Iraq comes down to this: the terrorists win and America loses." Can you imagine Bill Clinton saying anything that scary? Or even Richard Nixon?

But Dick Cheney doesn't want to be left out of the Halloween festivities. "They want to break our will," he says (forgetting for a moment that stupid things you say are generally accessible to everyone on the internet, including the irony police):

Cheney said America's enemies in Iraq possessed the Internet savvy to monitor U.S. developments, helping them to time attacks aimed in part at influencing the elections. But he cited no evidence to back the theory.

"There isn't anything that's on the Internet that's not accessible to them. They're on it all the time. They're very sophisticated users of it," he told Fox's "Your World with Neil Cavuto" program.

Remember, these are only trick-or-treaters. Turn the porch light off and pretend no one's home.

Your Simple-as-Pie Guide to Voting From Overseas

So, I've been trying to exercise my right to vote for like the last 5 hours. I received my ballot on Friday, and since mail wouldn't go out until Monday, I was doubtful that my marked ballot would arrive at the clerk's office in Bernalillo in time to be counted.

Knowing I could fax my ballot, I decided to do that. But when I call the clerk's office as soon as they opened to find out where to fax it to, it turns out no one's ever heard of such a thing. "You can just bring it by here," they told me, as if a jaunt across the Atlantic was within the realm of possibility.

I talked to half a dozen people, none of whom were aware that I could fax my ballot to them. I quoted from the .gov website stating that I could, but that didn't impress anyone. You would think I was phoning from the future, where fax machines were something you'd see inside Marty McFly's DeLorean

Finally, eager to be rid of me, someone gave me an email address and told me to email an application for a ballot. I've already got a ballot, which I carefully marked over the weekend, giving lots of thought to my choices. (For a hint of how I voted, see the upper right hand corner.)

But at this point I had no faith whatsoever in anyone's ability to read email over there.

Frustrated, I called the toll-free number for the Federal Voter Assistance Program (overseas toll free!!!) and explained the problem to the nice young man who answered the phone. He quickly ascertained that yes, New Mexico does allow you to fax your ballot, and he gave me the proper fax number. The whole conversation took about 5 minutes.

If you're having trouble voting from overseas, call my new friend at the FVAP. He'll help. First, go to the Federal Voter Assistance Program. (Here's the long and windy guide they put out.) Then to your state page. Here's the one for New Mexico. See? It says you can fax your ballot. (Not all states allow electronic submission of ballots.) Here's more information about voting electronically.

Then call the toll-free number from the country you're in. Not all countries have toll free numbers. The nice guy at the other end will tell you the fax number to send it. See how easy that is? They even provide a handy cover sheet (pdf).

Now if only I had a fax machine. Anybody seen Marty McFly?

All this has made me realize that voting from overseas is a huge hassle. If I wasn't convinced that this election is the most important since, well, the last election, I wouldn't bother to do it.

"If Ye Break Faith with Us Who Die"

These poppies sprout, not on the usual lapel, but in a field of grain.

Yesterday a neighbor came by collecting money to support military families, exchanging red paper poppies for a donation. This is an annual tradition here, beginning a couple of weeks before Remembrance Day, November 11, when red poppies sprout from lapels and new wreaths are laid at war memorials. When she heard my accent she assured me this was a world wide tradition, but I told her that no, Americans didn't generally honor the memories of their fallen in such a way. Instead, they slap yellow ribbons on their cars and SUVs and promptly forget about the whole concept of "support the troops."

When I mentioned that I didn't support the war in Iraq, she told me she was relieved to hear it. "I don't usually say anything, since you never know." She meant she keeps her mouth shut around Americans, of course. I've heard this before, this huge sigh of relief when Brits find out that despite my accent I never drank the Kool-Aid.

I told her I thought people here had stronger reservations about wars since they'd been affected to such a greater degree by the two great wars of the last century. Memories are much sharper here, honed by the danger of living in a city targeted for destruction by German Luftwaffe. I could go on, examining the differences in the two societies in how they honor the war dead, but I've been there before. The dead would probably prefer to be remembered by their country's honoring the living, who need more than yellow ribbons to bring them home safely.

That's why I was struck when I read this at Military.com, a website that normally posts items of interest to servicemembers, such as info for military spouses seeking work, and a sign-up for a monthly commissary shopping spree.

Joe Galloway, a veteran military affairs reporter, says:

The White House Office of Management and Budget rejected Army chief Gen. Peter J. Schoomaker's extraordinary plea by for the additional funds to pay for repairing and replacing thousands of worn out and blown up tanks, Bradley fighting vehicles and Humvees.

Instead of the $25 billion that Schoomaker says the Army needs just to keep doing what it's been doing with spit, adhesive tape and baling wire for the last five years, the Pentagon says the Army can have $7 billion.

I wonder, will the military vote this year go, as in the past, to the Republicans? Will they finally come to their senses and realize that, unless they're major stockholders in Halliburton they haven't been aided by the massive spending in the Pentagon budget? Their needs just aren't on the Northrop-Grumman radar of Dick "Five Deferments" Cheney, Donald "You go to war with the Army you have" Rumsfeld, and George "AWOL" Bush. As for the Republicans in Congress, they too are more concerned about the military contractors their favorite lobbyists (i.e. Jack Abramoff, who contributed solely to Republicans) are employed by.

When the poppy lady was leaving, she apologized for the flimsiness of the poppies. "They used to be made of silk, in China or somewhere," she said, "but they got too expensive."

"No problem," I said. They are, after all, just a symbol. Supporting the troops— and honoring the fallen—involves more than pinning a poppy to your lapel, or a magnetic ribbon to your bumper. Or even accepting expensive gifts from military contractors, through their lobbyists.

I'll let Major John McCrae have the last word:

If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

Friday Cow Blogging

Warning: What you don't know about cows may harm you.

These cows graze in their pasture near Chequers, the country home of the Prime Minister. All is not as bucolic as it would appear, however. These innocent looking cows are actually destroying the planet, one fart at a time.

I bet you didn't think I'd say fart on my blog.

Did you know that each day each cow gives off 400 litres of methane? Did you know that methane is 24 times as powerful at trapping heat as CO2? Did you know methane is pronounced 'mee-thane" in Britain?

Ha! I knew I would stump you.

Here, kids, take this cow quiz. Don't feel bad; I didn't do too well either.

For the grown-ups, here's something that will scare the shit out of you: global warming may cost the world's economies up to 20% of GDP.

I bet you didn't think I'd say shit on my blog either.

You would, of course, be wrong.

Getting Personal

This morning I've woken to the news, via Digby, that the controversy surrounding Rush Limbaugh's portrayal of Michael J. Fox has crossed over to the mainstream corporate news outlets CBS and NBC. They must not have read my post yesterday condemning Limbaugh, because they're trying to be "fair and balanced" and give the guy some sort of credit for discovering, I don't know, that Michael has a terrible disease and wants it to be cured?

Anyway, all this makes me disgusted with the entire media, and incredibly sad. Sad that the treatments for movement disorders are so ineffectual. Sad that someone with a movement disorder is brave enough to go on TV—and that it takes bravery, in this day and age, to do that, and to subject himself to interviews when he's accused of "manipulating" his symptoms to enlist sympathy.

I didn't want to do this, but I'm going to get personal. If Michael J. Fox can do it, so can I.

My mom suffers from a movement disorder—not Parkinson's, although the chorea associated with Huntington's Disease is remarkably similar to the symptoms Michael J. Fox exhibited in his campaign ad. At support group meetings we'd attend with other patients, the whole room looked like we were rehearsing for a modern dance. None of us wanted to hide our loved ones, with their wild gyrations, their clumsiness, their "odd" behavior, which is what once happened to HD patients like Woody Guthrie. But you have to get used to the stares.

I remember one of our patients, whose family told how he'd been asked to leave a grocery store because he was "intoxicated." He wasn't, of course, just symptomatic, and that same night he slipped on the ice and wasn't found until the next morning, dead of exposure. The people at the store weren't knowingly cruel, not like Rush Limbaugh was the other day.

Eating was one of the few pleasures my mom had, and I indulged her whenever I could. I'd take her out, at least once a week, to Cracker Barrel, or some other place she loved. I didn't worry about what people were thinking as I tied a bib around her neck, when she spilled food on the floor, when she said inappropriate things. If they thought she was "weird" that was their problem, not mine, and no longer, fortunately, my mother's, whose cognitive abilities prevented her from internalizing humiliation.

The sad fact is, there's not much modern medicine can do for sufferers of movement disorders. The medications cause other symptoms—in the case of Parkinson's, the dyskinesic movements;  in the case of Huntington's, some meds that control the movements cause the patient to become catatonic. The decision to take them depends on how much the movements bother the patient, or more often, the family members who have to put up with the stares and who pressure docs to prescribe something.

Some meds, such as Haldol, which control the stares—by controlling the movements—ironically ultimately make the already precarious neurons that much more susceptible to neuronal death. It's a no-win situation.

Will stem cells eventually cure the disease? No one knows for sure. But we do know that conventional medicine hasn't cured, or even effectively treated, HD and other movement disorders. And pharmaceutical companies would much rather find a cure for erectile dysfunction, since there are many more sufferers of ED than HD. (Around 30,000 people in the U.S. have HD, some 100,000 are at risk.) Therefore, we must depend on government research funds, as well as privately raised contributions, to find a cure, just like thousands of diseases that affect a relatively small number of patients.

Fortunately, research on one movement disorder can often lead to breakthroughs in others. That's why I cheer when Michael J. Fox calls out for more government funding for Parkinson's. And that's why my heart breaks when he's mocked for it, when his motives are questioned. His motives are my motives. We want a cure, or at least a treatment that works.

A few years ago I took my mom to a Howard Dean house party. Afterward we went to the Cracker Barrel, and she was still so jazzed by the excitement from the party that she was telling everyone in the restaurant to vote for Howard Dean. "Bush out," she'd say to them happily, forgetting she'd voted for him in 2000.

Thank god no one mocked her, or questioned her motives, or told her she should just be quiet. I think I would have hit them if they had.

I'd like to hit Rush, and all the others who joined in by questioning Michael J. Fox's motives this week. Better yet, I'd like to invite them to meet my mom, and thousands like her, who don't really give a damn about politics. They don't even know the difference between Democrats and Republicans, can't even hold a pen to vote.

If telling my personal story—and I've barely touched the surface of the pain and humiliation HD causes—convinces anyone to vote for a candidate who supports stem cell research I'll be shamelessly thrilled. Not because I have the power to change minds, or that I've enlisted your sympathy—who the hell needs sympathy?

We get plenty of sympathy, trust me—if I had a dime for every pitying look, I'd be able to buy my own ad on corporate TV. What we'd rather have is a cure. And if enough people pull the lever for someone like Claire McCaskill, one day that might just happen.

"Have You Left No Sense of Decency?"

This business about Rush Limbaugh mocking Parkinson's sufferer Michael J. Fox...

I don't think there's any point in chastising Rush Limbaugh for being a jerk. He's been a professional jerk for a long time, and he isn't going to change, especially since the profession has made him so much money.

Instead, it's the people who listen to his broadcast whom we ought to shame. There's a reason they allow Rush to mock people with movement disorders, why they'll tune in tomorrow and the next day.

As Sam Seder put it, "They need Rush to give them an excuse."

Listeners of Rush Limbaugh and his ilk are bitter, hate-filled people like Josh Libhater, who I wrote about before. You know who they are. They work in your offices, share your family get togethers, live in your neighborhoods. They listen to Rush Limbaugh, and instead of feeling shame for their feelings, they are encouraged. They'd never dare openly mock a person with Parkinson's, yet they hate Democrats and liberals so much they cheer on anyone who does, in the name of attacking Democrats.

Kevin Drum talks about the culture of partisanship that exists in today's Republican party. This anything-goes attitude has been allowed to exist without censure for far too long. It's time people called out the supporters of Rush, including Kathryn Jean Lopez, who defends him on the right-wing National Review blog. (Shorter KJ Lopez: If you have Parkinson's, shut up already!)

To paraphrase their president's famous line, if you aren't against mocking the disabled, then you are for it.

They say they hate us because we think we are better than they are. Watch Rush Limbaugh again, and see if you can figure out why we think that.

(Title courtesy of Joseph Welch.)

Wednesday Food Blogging: African Root Vegetable Stew with Injera Bread

Feed the world.

The anniversary of the charter of the UN is October 24, so to celebrate—and to raise money for their trip to The Hague—my daughter's Model UN team had an International Food Day. I wanted to bring something from Africa, the continent that right now seems to need the U.N. the most.

A look through my cookbooks didn't provide much other than inspiration. I wanted to include the root vegetables in my bin, and I wanted something that might appeal to teenagers. Or at least their teachers. But I didn't see anything that fit the bill, so I decided to wing it.

I've cooked African food before, from Morocco as well as Ethiopia. I love Ethiopian food, especially the injera bread, which serves as both a platter and a utensil. My first attempt at making it was a disaster—I used real teff, the tiny grain native to Ethiopia, and the bread never really firmed up in the pan. But I found a few recipes that use wheat flour and soda water, and don't require a three day waiting period.

It actually turned out more like the injera served in Ethiopian restaurants than the authentic recipe using teff, with one noticeable difference: the sour flavor was missing, since the dough hadn't had a chance to sour over three days. My daughter didn't mind; she never liked that part anyway, but I'd like to try for real sour injera one day. This version, however, was quick, and relatively easy once I got the mixture to the right consistency. (More details below)

The stew sent a lovely, spicy aroma through the house. For the most part I used spices that were in my spice drawer, easily found at most supermarkets, except for possibly smoked paprika. Ever since I found it at Tesco the other day it's been finding its way into many ethnically diverse dishes. Try to find it if you can; it adds a smoky, spicy flavor to whatever you toss it in.

After a trial run on Friday, I made the dish again yesterday, doubling the recipe. The team raised some money, and we fed some hungry teachers and their students. Now if only it were that easy for the real U.N. to feed the rest of the world.

Veggies Unite!

This week's food news, brought to you by the vegetable:

Our goal of Total World Domination may be reachable: Notorious British meat eater is contemplating a vegetarian diet.

If eating one vegetable is good, eating two is much better. Here's why.

Eating vegetables, not fruit, helps slow cognitive decline. (And of those vegetables, it was leafy greens that were associated with the least cognitive decline.)

You Vegemite lovers in the U.S., call your congressperson: The U.S. bans import of Vegemite (for a silly ridiculous reason).

What to drink: red wine.

How to survive LatteLand. (pdf) I didn't see my favorite drink listed, so here's the lowdown for those of you who order Zen tea at Starbucks: green tea: 0 calories. 0 fat. 0 cholesterol.

What I'm drinking right now: blueberry juice.

The following is a Wednesday Food News Editorial:

This book Six Arguments for a Greener Diet seems to make a pretty convincing argument for how a plant based diet can lead to a healthier planet as well as a healthier body. I wonder if it takes into account the fact that vegans live an average of 15 years longer than omnivores (vegetarians, 7 years longer), thus having a greater impact on our planet. Hmmm? Didja think of that, smarty pants? Didja?

A Funny Dog Story

With all the sad dog stories out in Blogland today, I thought I'd share a funny one.

This morning, at the appointed time*, I gave the dog a bone. Joy ensued, but not for long. From my desk I heard her whining. She usually likes to enjoy her bones outside, but it was raining. "It's raining outside," I called. "You can have your bone inside today."

More whining. Thinking she hadn't heard me, I said it again, louder. "It's RAINING. Stay inside."

More whining.

So I got up, went in the living room, and instead of standing at the back door, she was sitting on the rug, bone held in her mouth like a cigar. I laughed. "Cute trick. But it's raining. You'll have to eat your bone inside."

She just looked at me, then set the bone on the rug. She gave me a "why are you so dense?" look, and I finally got it.

"Oh, you wanted to play Hide the Bone? Silly me." I was distracted, and had simply handed her the bone without even making her do a trick, or playing the Hide the Bone game we've been playing the last couple of weeks, after I read about the No Free Lunch training technique. We first started hiding things for her years ago, first a sock, then a slipper, then the phone. Now she's a regular Bloodhound.

So I told her to stay, hid the bone by the fireplace, and she quickly found it. She went back to the rug, sat down, and dropped the bone again. So I hid it in the other room. Again she found it, and then she went to the back door.

I let her out. The rain had stopped.

This reminded me of something I read at Gina's the other day. Retrievers quickly become bored if they aren't stimulated by retrieving games. It's sad when someone brings home a retriever puppy and then, when she's out of the puppy phase, ignores her.

Don't get one if you're not willing to learn lots of tricks. You also must be willing to be manipulated now and then.

*appointed time = upon getting home from taking daughter to the bus stop

"He Should Have Planned Better"

Most of my readers probably aren't political junkies like me, so I try to keep the political posts to a minimum. I prefer to link to only the most outrageous misdeeds, or the most insightful comments I find.

Yesterday I found a reminder of why politics matters. Claire McCaskill is running for Senate in Missouri. I found the following comment from one of her supporters on her campaign blog. It illustrates so well what many Americans are feeling, facing medical expenses—via something innocuously referred to as a "donut hole"— that are just too high.

I hope Miriam doesn't mind if I repeat her comment in its entirety. If you find it compelling send it to someone else you know who might not have made up their mind.

I'm certain this will be a long post, and I'll apologize in advance. I can't help it. I feel so strongly that things must change or else we're in a world of trouble.

I just finished spending a year working in an oncology clinic. I mixed chemotherapy drugs for cancer patients. We also had a retail pharmacy there, and I saw our patients, one by one, slip into the Medicare black hole.

Take a moment and think about why it's called a "donut hole." Sounds palatable, maybe even sweet, doesn't it? Well, surprise, it isn't.

Foodie Gets 15 Minutes, Too

...and maybe more.

Go here to Albuquerque's Progressive Radio station and listen to contestant number 3. It's my frequent commenter (and real-life friend) Foodie, who's competing for a chance to have a talk radio program (programme). She's good. Really, really good. And I'm not just saying this...listen for yourself.

See what I mean? She's really a natural at this. In fact, I think she sounds like Amy Goodman, only chewier.

Now, vote for Foodie! 

(She is loads better than the presenters of the Farming Today programme. Trust me.)

My 15 Minutes

A few days ago someone from the website Expat Interviews contacted me. They wanted to interview me for their site. This was the same day someone from Farming Today called, wanting to interview me for their programme.

I considered adopting a baby from Malawi, seeing as I'm so famous, but who wants to mess with baby nappies?

Ah well. Go read.

A Land of Milk and Curry

Alan Cowell in the New York Times writes:

For 40 years, Britain has nurtured a policy of multiculturalism celebrating ethnic diversity and its emblems.

I think maybe Alan went to London, saw lots of ethnic restaurants, and figured the Brits have embraced multiculturalism. Sure, they've embraced curry, but when it comes to the problems of modern society, somehow it's the "foreigners" who are to blame.

At least that's what I've been told, more than once, by my white British neighbors who would be shocked if I told them I haven't heard such racist language since I was growing up in the Deep South.

I would like to invite Alan Cowell to go beyond London next time he visits the U.K. He might be surprised by how few "ethnic emblems" he finds a mere 30 miles from the West End.

The rest of the article wasn't that bad.

The Googlers Are At It Again

When I told my husband that my humble blog was a result for this Google search he became a little concerned.

Just a warning: if you're a stupid husband in Oakland, watch your back.

Looking for a Way to Help?

Remember when I urged everyone to get off the net and help out their local Dem candidate? From eRobin, here's a fantastic way to help motivate people to vote without actually leaving your home!

I'll quote her verbatim, but first, if you need a reason to spend a few hours making calls from the comfort of your own keyboard, view this ad featuring Michael J. Fox. Remember what's at stake if we don't take back the house, and hopefully the Senate, this year.

PA Action, working with Women's Voices Women's Votes and US Action, is working a non-partisan campaign on the phones and on the ground to turnout likely progressive female voters this election.   You've probably read about WVWV over at MyDD. As Matt said in that post:

Right-wingers have two giant fears.  The first is if evangelicals stop voting, as they did from the 1920s until the late 1970s.  The second is if single women start voting.

That second part is our plan and you can help from the comfort and convenience of your home.  We need four hundred people to each call one hundred names on our list.  That's about two hours of work per person.  Trust me, it goes by more quickly than you may imagine.  The script is short and direct.  The focus voters are people we need to get to the polls if we want to see some change in the direction this country. Please make the jump and find out how you can spend a couple of hours helping to get this country back on track.

Thanks! Here's what you do:

Friday Sheep Blogging

The sheep enjoy the view from the highest point in the Chilterns, Coombe Hill.

On our Wednesday hike we returned to the scene of the crime—Chequers, the country residence of the prime minister. Fortunately the dog was on her best behaviour, and not a single reckless squirrel met its demise.

When we climbed to the top of Coombe Hill, we found it covered with sheep, who have the best view in the Chilterns.

Just out of camera range to the left is Chequers, which was given to the state in 1921 as a residence for future PMs. You can read about it here. Click below for the photo I took of the estate, and the pretty church where we started our hike. We also saw a pretty Morris Minor, just across the road from Chequers.

For New Readers of My Niche-free Blog

I've been getting a lot of hits the last couple of days, first from SlashFood and now from Loobylu, a cool craft site. (Both my regular readers know I don't do crafts—unless they involve a sharp knife and a head of garlic). Normally I don't do these self-conscious "howdy, y'all!" posts but I thought I should point out one of the failings of this blog: it actually has no niche. Sometimes I write about dogs, sometimes I write about travel, sometimes I write about food—well, every Wednesday I write about food. And I often write about what's going on in the news, and what's going on in politics, particularly in New Mexico, where politics is more exciting than the green chile.

This is a pretty boring blog, with no well-defined parameters. I'm all over the map—literally.

But for those of you coming here for the food, I did have something exciting going on in the kitchen last night. I was crafting a recipe for International Food Day, an exciting foodie event coming up at my daughter's school. (I am not British; overstatement suits me.) No, nothing blew up, though there was a lot of bubbling. This morning the kitchen still smells like a spice market in the Horn of Africa. Check back on Wednesday if you want to see the results.

And howdy.

Happy Ending

If you want a story about dogs saving their humans with a happier ending than the one recently in the news, try this one.

Meanwhile, my dog has a new friend:

This kitty had no fear of the dog, who was so excited about sniffing an actual cat she forgot all about the age-old dog/cat rivalry.

A Lesson Before Crying

Hey kids,

All that negative campaigning will come back and bite you in the butt one day.

Glass houses and all that.

Seriously, these rumors abour Heather Wilson were floating around for years, but her opponents have been reluctant to wallow in the mud. Not any more. After the petty charges and outrageous mudslinging her campaign has engaged in this time around, someone apparently decided to nullify the Geneva Convention on polite political discourse. Karl Rove would be proud.

Sling mud at your own risk, kids.

By the way, I voted today. Overseas voters who've requested a ballot and not received one can vote by Federal Write-in Absentee Ballot.

Say Goodbye, Heather.

Wednesday Food Blogging: New World Pumpkin Cake

New World Pumpkin Cake spices up an Old World culture clash

Despite having been brought over from the New World at approximately the same time as courgettes (zucchini), pumpkins haven't make much of a mark on British cuisine. Maybe Libby needs to market their canned pumpkin across the pond, or else pumpkin growers need to demonstrate to folks just how easy it is to bake a fresh pumpkin. In the time it would have taken to find a can opener, open a can, and scrape out the pumpkin I had my little pumpkin sliced in half and roasting in the oven.

Good thing, too. The smell of roasting pumpkin helped to counteract the odor of oil-based paint the decorator was putting on the office ceiling. And when I put the cake into the oven, the smell must have had him salivating, but since he took his own sweet time arranging a date to paint the ceiling (approximately two months after being called—the Old World, remember, didn't have clocks either) I didn't mind watching him suffer.

Trick or treat, baby, it's trick or treat.

Welcome to the New World, with our pumpkins and spices and latex paint.

It you want to taunt your own decorator* see directions below.

*People who apply paint and wallpaper here are called decorators. Don't ask me why.