Monday, April 8, 2013

Alyce La Violette

                                                           
                                     Madame LaViolette

Today after classes I went to my psuedoaunt's house. My pseudoaunt is an assistant district attorney. We were watching some of the Jodi Arias coverage. Alyce LaViolette was on the stand for cross examination.  She was asked a lot of "yes or no" questions to which she refused to give a simple "yes or no" answer. She was wily to attempt to insert explanations and clarifications into her answers. My pseudoaunt, who admits  she has a tiny fraction of the experience of the prosecutor in the case, Juan Martinez,  feels that he's making a mistake in verbally sparring with Ms. LaViolette.

My pseudoaunt says that, after asking a "yes or no" question, if the witness refuses to answer yes or no, the prosecutor should cut the witness  off in her testimony and request that the judge compel her to answer yes or no. She should not be permitted to insert her own agenda into the answer of any given "yes or no" question.  In some cases in which a prosecutor asks a judge to compel a witness to answer "yes" or "no,"  opposing counsel might object and prevail, but, for the most part, it is the job of the defense attorney to get his or her side of the story out in direct examination. A prosecutor need not stand by idly while a witness spins a yarn on his time.

Juan Martinez is not exactly sitting, or more literally, standing by idly while Ms. LaViolette spins her yarns, but he's debating with her more than it is good for him or for his case for him to do. He doesn't want to come across as overly combative or aggressive, particularly in cross-examining a female witness. His case would benefit more were he to cut Ms. Violette off with a request to the judge to compel the witness to answer the question "yes" or "no" as asked. I understand his frustration, but he very much needs to be seen by the jury as at least somewhat likeable and relatable.  If he raises his voice too much and is seen either as too hostile, too combative, or too condescending to the witness, his liability factor will not be enhanced.

As far as Ms. LaViolette is concerned, my pseudoaunt, who has also been a public defender, says that, were she defending Ms. Arias,  once  she learned that Ms. LaViolette had given  a presentation  detailing why Snow White was a battered woman, (insert strains of "The Twilight Zone" theme song here)  this in and of  itself would have immediately rendered her a worthless witness for the defense or for any side for which she testified, and she never would have called her.  The "Snow White Was a Battered Woman"  exposition  is the stuff of the fringe element if not of the full-scale bat-shit crazy. It reminds me of a composition an intelligence-challenged classmate of mine in ninth grade wrote comparing Hamlet to Little Boy Blue. The comparison isn't totally parallel, but I suspect the reader understands my point.  If comparing a serious literary character to a Mother Goose figure is silly, authoring a serious treatise or giving a scholarly presentation  suggesting a fairy tale character is the victim of domestic abuse or of any other social injustice is even sillier.

If a movie were to be madeof this case, and if the movie were of sufficient eminence (as in not made for the Lifetime channel) so as not to be cast entirely with Grade B actors, I would cast Kathy Bates as Alyce La Violette. I'm not sure who I would cast in any of the other roles, although, off the top of my head,  I think Rachel McAdams would be convincing as Jodi Arias.

Supposedly the prosecution has caught Jodi Arias in a lie regarding a particular camera shot and whether it was taken by her or inadvertently by the camera itself when the camera was dropped.  Vinnie Politano believes that he has a smoking gun in that a blood stain from the camera was found on the rim of the inside of the washing machine.   I'm still not sure why the blood stain mght not have been there whether Arias had deliberately, inadvertently. or in a state of fugue,  dropped the camera into the machine, but Vinnie Politano is much smarter than I, and he seems to think he has a smoking gun. If it appears as such to others, I hope Juan Martinez or someone on his staff is paying attention.  Still, the idea that Jodi Arias lied about anything would hardly seem to be a smoking or even smoke-free gun to anyone.

If Travis whatever-his-name-was (no disrespect to the dead intended; I just can't remember his last name) attacked Jodi Arias because she dropped his camera while he was making his glamour poses which she was suppposed to photograph,  Jodi Arias was amazingly prepared to defend herself from such an attack. Perhaps she's psychic, although it would seem that her psychic powers might have led her away from the scene in the first place.   I personally don't find much of what Jodi Arias says to make sense, and, as Judge Judy is fond of saying, if it doesn't make sense, it probably isn't true.

My pseudoaunt thinks Juan Martinez should have another attorney sitting second chair -- possibly a female -- who might take over some of the cross-examination. She says sometimes jurors feel that a female witness is being less battered in a tough cross-examination when it's a female attorney conducting the cross examination. This isn't universally true, and it's just one opinion of a single attorney who watches coverage of this case on occasion.

The bottom line here from my point of view is that a whole lot of people, myself included, are paying a great deal of attention to a trial that should matter only to immediate family members and close friends of the deceased and the defendant.  It's a slow news month (or two months, or three months)  and we're (I'm as guilty as the next person) morbidly trying to entertain ouselves with something that has very little entertainment value or relevance to our own lives.   

RIP Annette Funicello



Annette Funicello passed away today due presumably  to complications of multiple sclerosis, a neurological illness she had battled for decades.  From virtually every account, she was a genuinely good person. and the world will miss her.

That being said, I must share with you an account of a very slightly relevant incident that happened today in one of my classes.  Before class began, someone in class read from his IPhone that Annette Funicello had died and said it aloud to the ten or so of us who were sitting in the classroom.  One girl, who is named Mikayla, said, "Oh, I was named after her! That's terrible."

The few of us who knew the girl's name sort of stared at her.  Finally someone asked, "Was Annette Fincello's real name  'Mikayla' ?".

Michaela replied, "No. My middle name is Annette."

That seemed to explain the situation sufficiently, but Mikayla felt the need to offer further clarification. "My mother really liked the Beach  Boys."

By this point, probably eighteen people were in the classroom waiting for the arrival of the professor.
We were staring at her, wondering what Mikayla's mother's fondness of the Beach Boys had to do with Annette Funicello. Our puzzled expressions must have given us away.

"Duh! Annette Funicello was one of the Beach Boys," Mikayla explained to the apparent morons seated around her.

One guys started to bring up something on his Internet, but another guy said, "Don't bother. She's beyond help."

Then the professor entered and the discussion was over, or at least it was until the professor mentioned something about Annette Funicello and Margaret Thatcher both having died.  Some random guy from the back of the room muttered, "Annette Funicello was one of the Beach Boys, you know."

The eighteen or so people who had heard enough of the earlier conversation to get the joke burst into spontaneous laughter. The professor thought we were all hard-hearted or psychotic or both.

I think the guy should have gone to a Beach Boys website and to an Annette Funciello website to show Mikayla that the Internet had no information that Ms. Funicello had ever been a Beach Boy (it's such an obscure reference that it's unlikely one could ever find a site saying specifically that she had not been a Beach Boy) because the girl is the sort who would believe that if something were stated on the Internet, it inherently had to be true.

The good news is that the professor grades on a modified curved. Having Mikayla in the class with me can only be to my advantage.

Saturday, April 6, 2013

You may feel justified in skipping church this weekend. This blog contitutes a sermon/homily/talk or whatever you want to call it from the Church of Alexis

On my Dashboard, one blog topic that popped up was "Tour the Duggars' Laundry Room." Why in hell would I or anyone else want to tour the Duggars' laundry room? I don't think I'd even want to tour the Obamas' laundry room. I'm not sure there's anyone's laundry room I'd care to tour. If you've seen one laundry room, you've seen them all.  Some may have a few more machines due to a particular family's disregard for the environment as evidenced by their rate of reproduction, but big fucking deal! So their laundry room looks more like a stainless steel laundromat than the average home laundry room?  Is a virtual tour of the Duggars'  something from which  you, I,  or anyone with an IQ above seventy would gain enlightenment? The same sort of people who are entertained by watching a video of a log burning in a fireplace might enjoy the video tour of the Duggars' laundry room.

In fact, I'd say the Yule Log channel or video has the advantage in entertainment value over the Duggars' laundry tour.  As silly as it seems, there's a quaint and cozy charm in watching a log burning in a fireplace, even if it's on TV or video. Watching it is not really making the watcher any warmer, though the power of suggestion may be at work, but if we're going to consider the environment, which the Duggars obviously are not, watching a video of a log burning in a fireplace is damaging the air far less than burning a log in your own fireplace at home.

On the other hand, does seeing what kind of detergent the Duggars use (the correct answer is whichever detergent they receive for free via sponsorship) improve the environment, the ambience of your home, or anything else? Does seeing how they make their own fabric softener (I have no idea if they really do this, but it seems like something they would do) make your own life more fulfilling? If it does, whatever floats your boat is fine with me, but it does nothing for me. Does seeing the high-tech machines they have in their laundry room (again I'm guessing; I didn't take the tour) that most of us can't afford but that they can due to the big bucks they get from TLC and other endorsements enrich your life? If so, I feel sorry for you. Does seeing the sheer amount of laundry that  must be done by some juvenile slave laborer with that particular "jurisdiction" add to your sense of pleasure,  without causing you undue concern as to the natural resources that are being exhausted because one couple decided to reproduce at such an alarming rate? If so, I'm concerned about your lack of concern for the Earth and its limited resources.

Perhaps watching the LDS General Conference has made me hyper-aware of segments of the human population who reproduce like head lice when they have the resources and knowledge to do otherwise. I apologize if my words come across as cynicism, but I'm sincere in what I'm trying to convey.

This mass is ended. Go now in peace to love and serve the Lord. (This is my admission that today's blog is more than a bit preachy.)

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The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: What is it about General Conference that brings ou...

The Many Banes of My Existence by Alexis: What is it about General Conference that brings ou...:                  Sung: It's the mossssst won-der-ful tiiiime of the yeeeaaar! Since it's Saturday and I haveno need to be awak...

What is it about General Conference that brings out the sanctimony or slackery in Mormons?

                 Sung: It's the mossssst won-der-ful tiiiime of the yeeeaaar!


Since it's Saturday and I have no need to be awake, I wake up early of course. Isn't that the way it always works?

I need to purchase a few materials for projects for my courses that I'll need to have on hand. I like to get those things early so that in two weeks when I begin "The Big Push," the shopping and little errands have been run, and I can concentrate on the work at hand.  I'm actually somewhat excited about "The Big Push" this quarter.

Incidentally, I borrowed the term , "The Big Push," from the late great Vince Lombardi, legendary coach of the Green Bay Packers in the 1960's. Each time the players felt that they had reached the point that they could push themselves nor be pushed by anyone else any further than had alreay been done, Lombardi would announce, "Next week we begin 'The Big Push,' " leaving his player wondering what more they could possibly give of themselves. The tactic was sone of many Lombardi employed that worked, though.

I don't know if Vince Lombardi could be successful in today's world of football. With the strength of today's players' unions, the general lack of loyalty of most players to their teams, and the overall selfishness of many [not all] players, who want personal glory more than team success, the degree to which Lombardi pushed his players, and the authoritarianism with which he ran his teams might not be accepted by the modern professional football player. In his day, though, he was unparalleled.

LDS general conference is upon us. I believe the General Relief Society (the women's organization) meeting took place last week, and the General Priesthood Meeting  (excluding all women so that the men could be told things too sacred for the ears of women) should have happened last night.  Today and tomorrow will be morning and afternoon general sessions.  The biggie is, I think, on Sunday morning, although I may be confused and it may actually be Sunday afternoon. I think it's Sunday morning, though, where any major announcements will be made. I think that's when they announced the changes in the ages of eligibility for missionaries to begin their service, thereby screwing up the lives of a whole lot of young people, who had thoroughly mapped out then next few years of their lives. It didn't occur to the big boys to disseminate this information as soon as they came up with it, as time is of the essence in planning. It was more important to save the announcement for a dramatic moment, such as the prime time segment of General Conference.  Drama is everything with the Mormons. Even Joseph Smith's first vision was pretty damned dramatic, when you get right down to it.

The Recovery from Mormonism Board typically shuts down for maintenance and for a much-needed break for the moderators the first weekend of each month. I believe there has been talk of shifting the shutdown on General Conference weekends because there is so much for the exmos and connected nevermos to discuss during General Conference.  I do hope the board is kept open this weekend . I'll have to  check it out.

I do wish they would annouce the schedule of speakers in advance. They cannot do that, however, because everyone would tune out when Richard Scott (I'm boycotting the head honchos' first or middle initials, as they're regular people as are the rest of us -- no better or worse -- and normal people don't go around introducing themselves or calling themselves by either their first initial and middle name or first name followed by middle initial; it's pretentiousness any way one views it)  or other similarly sleep- or seizure-inducing speakers were on the docket. On the other hand, everyone would tune in for my personal favorite, Dieter Uchtdorf. While I don't agree with his religious views, I personally find him charming. I know it's desgined that way. It's a role he fills, and I'm doing exactly as expected by considering him charming. Just as a TV show or movie writes a character's part so that viewers will love or hate the character as expected, the church picks out its heroes and hard-to-like guys and we, even the peripheral Mormons such as myself, usually fall for it. Still, I find Dieter Uchdorff charming, Additionally  he was very kind to my pseudoaunt when she was critically ill. He would have to come out with a Boyd Packer-type speech for me to dislike him. Even if that happened, I'd suspect the Mormon body snatchers had replaced his brain with one of their computer-generated  venom-spewing zombie brains.

So all you Mormons out there, enjoy your week away from church if that's what you intend to do. There's always Tivo, or you can read the transcripts of all the "talks." I think the highlights are even on Twitter.  Everyone else in the Christian world calls them sermons, and it's preaching [in the negative context] if I've ever heard preaching, but the Mormons prefer the more folksy term,  "talks." Next Sunday, its back to the grind for you all. Enjoy your week of freedom if that's how you choose to spend it.

P.S. I'm taking the weekend off from dressing as a slut, mainly because my parents know nothing about my social experiment.

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Friday, April 5, 2013

General Conference and the Slut Look.

                             Elder Archuleta in the lame missionary choir

Wouldn't it be interesting to go to General Conference dressed as a slut? I wonder if they have bouncers at the doors or at the gates of temple square to keep people such as I out of the place ?  If so, wouldn't that be ironic? I thought churches were supposed to be like hospitals for the spiritually ill.
General Conference, by the way, is when Mormons get together twice a year for a great set of meetings where the head honchos talk. The MoTab performs at its finest, and a few lame children's or missionary choirs perform at the inferior sessions, although the church got a major publicity boost when David Archuleta was in a missionary choir a year or so ago. They waited until the very final strains of "Praise to the Man" to zero the cameras in on him.   I'll discuss General Conference in a bit more depth later.

I should have fun this quarter.  I will coast next week and the following week, just reading what is required and completing the required assignments. The following week, I will begin my ten days or so of hell, reading everything assigned for the semester and completing all written assignments.  I don't wish to be overly optimistic, but I believe I can do it in fewer than ten days this time.

I've already had to propose my research topic in my Appalachian music class. I'm focusing on Scottish and Irish roots in the folk music and hymns of Tennessee and Kentucky, and surrounding areas of North Carolina and Virginia, and the pentatonic tendencies often present. I can amend slightly, but my final topic has to be somewhere within that scope.

For the Mormons, it's General Conference weekend (pronounced gen/ral con/fernts). Some of my Utah relatives will feel the need to attend in person to see my grandfather sitting on the stand with the other grand poo-bahs. Others will take it as an opportunity for a vacation from church. They probably won't come here for their vacations because they don't want us to know how unholy they are. If they do show up, we'll turn everything off and pretend we're not home, like the introduction to "Everybody Loves Raymond" in one of the earlier seasons.

The slut-look thing is getting old, but I said I'd do it for two weeks, and I'm sticking to it,  I must say that I've been hit on more in the past five days than I have in the rest of my life combined. It must be a good look for me. Either that, or there are many perverts on this campus. I can deal with it as long as no professors hit on me.


Thursday, April 4, 2013

My Courseload: the Good (very little), the Bad (most of it) , and the Bizarre (all of it)

I've now attended each class except for the lab orientation I must attendon Friday. The classes in which I am presently enrolled are a case study  iin abnormal psychology. i'm taking Interactions in Biomolecular Complexes, Fracture Mechanics, Psychopathology, Sports Sociology, Appalachian Music Studies, Asian American Queer Studies (I kid you not; this is the course title), and Religion and Film.  The first two courses I listed will be a legitimate challenge. The other four will be the rough equivalent of returning to middle school. After my last two semesters, I'm not complaining about the ease of most of the courses.

Today I stepped up the slut look a bit, and I was easily the sluttiest -looking girl in class today.   It's almost getting tiring to come up with a new yet still trashy look for each day of classes. Fortunately I have only six more days of this. i'll actually appreciate being able to look the way I normally look, which may not be normal to anyone else, but it's within my comfort zone.

My dad said he would complain about how he's not getting his money's worth with all the garbage courses I'm taking except that he's not paying for any of them.  I've taken virtually evcerything that's required for most of my majors. I'm just filling in a few gaps and finishing off with electives.  my mom  said it reminds her of the 1980's when UC Santa Cruz went all hippie and taught totally flaky course and didn't even give grades. I think they changed the name of their mascot to the banana slug during that time as well.  My university may be a little loosy-goosy, but nothing compares to UC-Santa Cruz.

Wednesday, April 3, 2013

Alexis the Slut and More Sheriff Joe

Today I was, in my opinion, the queen of skanks. I wore too much cheap jewelry and too much makeup. I didn't quite look like a gypsy, but I didn't look refined, either.  My skirt was far too short, although I wore a sleeveless leotard under it because I can't bring my self to take chances on my underwear showing, nor would I ever go without undies.  My tank top, which was just the top of my leotard,  was skimpy as well, but there's a very small area that must be covered.  I just looked . . . well, cheap.  I was quite proud of the effect I achieved. I don't think there was a sluttier-looking girl in the classroom. The female professor looked at me from head to to, then back again from toe  to head. She gave me the most disgusted look.  She'll do the same next week. Then I'll all of the sudden look preppie. I wonder if she'll recognize me.

Later in the day I needed to go to an elementary school for volunteerism. I changed into respectable, almost professional attire for the volunteer service. I was in a kindergarten class today. I go wherever they send me. The sad thing is that I could probably accomplish more by helping higher-level math students at high school, but I'd be too easily mistaken for a student, so I'll probably never be sent there.

I've corresponded a bit with someone on Twitter regarding Sheriff Joe Arpaio and Jodi Arias' treatment at the jail. She says that Jodi Arias  is getting lenty of sleep and that 2, 600 is obviously and adequate caloric count because it's one that the federal government set. Regarding the sleep, unless this person works at the prison and is in a position to observe the amount of sleep that Jodi Arias gets, the person knows no more than you or I about how much sleep Jodi Arias is allowed. Regarding caloric intake, my mom is 5'3" and about 100 pounds, and would lose weight on 2,600 calories daily. Not everyone can maintain weight at a given caloric intake. The person also said the judge can inform the jail that Jodi Arias needs more food. Perhaps the judge should do so.

Far be it from me to become Jodi Arias' staunch advocate. She gives me the creeps. I just don't think Sheriff Joe has the right to be his own temporary judge and jury while waiting for the real ones to do their jobs and render a verdict.  I personally feel that the accused, as long as they haven't acted out while in incarceration while awaiting trial, deserve to be treated with reasonable dignity according to the principle of the presumption of innocense. Once, they're convicted, or if they cause major trouble in jail while awaiting trial,  that's a whole a different story.

The expert witness on the stand in the Jodi Arias trial today apparently became ill, so the trial came to  a halt for the day.  I read somewhere that the McMartin preschool molestation trial was the longest trial in the hisory of the American court system. if Jodi Arias keep getting migragines and her attorney continues to call long-winded expert witnesses, who also develop various and sundry maladies, the Jodi Arias trial may break the record reviously set by the McMartin trial. Congratulations, people of Arizona, it's your tax dollars at work. No wonder Sheriff Joe can't afford to give the inmates as much as they'd like to eat. The county and state have to finance mega-trials. They can't afford to feed all the prisoners enough to allow them to feel full.

Tuesday, April 2, 2013

I'm Not Fond of Jodi Arias, but Sheriff Joe Arpaio Is Not Exactly Shining in the Spotlight, Either


                     Sheriff Joe: sheriff of, by, and for the people, or despot?

I have only one class tomorrow, so it's time for my semi-weekly half-bottle of Guinness. I'm going to need it to get through the next half hour of TV. I'm getting very tired of the Jodi Arias trial. If it weren't an extremely slow news month, would anyone even care?

I'm terribly sorry for poor Mr. Alexander, Mormon  or not, and I believe his character is being assassinated beyond belief.  Didn't some legislation or court ruling happen many years ago that prevented defense attorneys from putting rape victims on trial for their own sexuality? It seems as though this is basically what is happening, except that Travis Alexander isn't even around any longer to defend himself.

I understand that Ms. Arias is entitled to a competent defense, and that a battered woman defense is  viable defense. Still, some lines in terms of propriety seem to have been crossed.

Additionally, some of that of which  defense witness and counselor Alyce LaViolette is testifying seems very much to be hearsay: she's saying what another party said happened, which would seem the very definition of hearsay.  I'm not sure why it's admissible in court. Some of the finest legal minds in the nation are allowing it, so surely I must be incorrect.

A juror was dismissed, and the dismissal of this particular juror seemed to be to the benefit of the defense.

The host of Showbiz Tonight (I think his name is A.J. Hammer) is suggesting that the Jodi Arias trial is perhaps the most covered and the most famous trial in history. Perhaps I'm missing something, but what did Jodi Arias do besides kill someone, to which she admits? Only the circumstances under which it happened is a subject of debate. When a complete nobody kills another private citizen, how does the ensuing trial become the "trial of the century"?

It's a really slow news month or two or three, and we're all paying for it.  I acknowledge that no one is holding a gun to my head and telling me I must turn on my TV and watch, but TV is a major method of unwinding for me, and it seems that coverage of the trial is on every channel. I click and there she is, or at least there appears some talking head discussing the latest trial highlights. Jodi Arias and her trial are robbing me of my stress relief. Why can't she just go away?

And, penultimately, A. J. Hammer (?) just made the statement, "You can't make this stuff up," in reference to witnesses testifying in court. I could not disagree more strongly. Does he really believe what he said -- that witnesses on the stand -- defendants or otherwise -- are incapable of exaggerating, embellishing, conveniently omitting key details, or outrightly lying? If so, if I ever commit a serious crime and get caught, I want A. J. Hammer on my jury.

In conclusion, as much as I don't like Jodi Arias and feel that the evidence points to her guilt, I'm not fond of Sheriff Joe Arpaio. I don't think jailbirds need cable television or Harris Ranch beef, but neither do I think those awaiting trial or in the process of trial need their calories to be restricted, nor do I think they need to be sleep-deprived. While I'm not concerned about the thread-count on Jodi Arias' bedsheets, she deserves as decent a night of sleep as her conscience will allow her to have. Furthermore, she's a thin woman. No one needs to be counting calories for her. She isn't necessarily entitled to cheesecake upon request or an array of Little Debbie's snacks (that would be cruel and unusual punishment), but she may need more than 2,600 calories allotted to her daily intake to maintain weight (even a registered dietician can only estimate as to any given person's caloric needs) and perhaps her headaches really are caused by insufficient nutrition and lack of sleep. While I'm confident that Jodi Arias will be found guilty, and even if she isn't, meaning  that she was not found guilty (either outrightly given a "not guilty" verdict or the jury hung concerning her guilt or lack thereof), a system is in place to deal with her guilt or lack of guilt once a verdict has been reached. Sheriff Joe Arpaio should not feel entitled to extract his own form of justice upon defendants before a verdict has been rendered. I write this believing that Ms. Arias probably is guilty of the crimes with which she has been charged, but Sheriff Joe Arpaio is a mere mortal and needs to stop acting as though he is God, much less a judge and jury.

After Two Days of Dressing as a Slut; and April, the Month that Resembles a Kidney Stone

My social experiment of dressing as a slut has produced mixed results after two days of class attendance. Normally I won't  have classes on Mondays and Fridays, but one class that meets only intermittently met yesterday.  Another lab course, in  which students put in four hours per week at their own convenience anytime the lab is open,  will meet on  this Friday for an orientation.  Two of the other three classes met today. I'll have just one class on Wednesdays, and I'll try to outdo myself in terms of the trampy look.

In yesterday's class, three girls (out of roughly twenty) were dressed similarly to me in style. One girl's attire was noticeably skankier than that of anyone else in the class. I considered stopping her after class and asking her where she purchased her clothing, but thought better of it because I'm not spending any more of my hard-earned cash on this experiment of sorts. I've had the professor of Monday's course before, and he knew me well enough to call me by name on the rare occasions when our paths crossed on campus. When he called out my name and I said "Here!" and raised my hand, he did a bit of a double-take, then just smiled. The next time the course meets, my experiment will have reached its completion, so I assume he'll wonder what the hell I was thinking. If he asks, I'll tell him. If not, I'll say nothing. Four guys in that class hit on me. All were of the type that would have presumed to have had so little in common with me that neither I nor any of them would have struck up a conversation  had we been next to one another in line for ice cream or to have an "add a class" form signed.

In today's classes, I was not nearly so impressive.  In the earlier class, I was out-skanked by at least one-third of the class. In the second class, I was probably the fifth-sluttiest in terms of attire out of maybe eighteen, but considering how hard I had worked at white-trashing my overall look (after such a poor showing in the early class, I went back to my dorm room and added a few de-classifying touches), fifth out of seventeeen really wasn't all that impressive. I  was humbled by my poor showing, overall.

I have just one course tomorrow, which is a music course (stringed instruments, as in violin, viola, cello, string bass -- not guitar) and my mother knows the professor. I could consider that and tone it down a bit, but that would be a coward's way out. If this professor has the gall to tell my mother that her daughter dresses like a typical streetwalker, so be it.   Dressing more moderately on the outside chance that a parent could find out would destroy both the reliability and validity of my study. There's an outside chance I could run into either of my parents on campus, anyway. It's a chance I'm willing to take. What can they do about it, anyway? My dorm room and tuition are paid for this year, and the money is in the bank for next year, and none of the money came from my parents. The car (which did come from them) title is in my name. They would be more puzzled than angry, anyway.

The experiment is only going to last for two weeks, except that I plan to pick another random week in May and do something odd in terms of clothing and makeup, although I'm not certain the slut look is what I'll go for then. My look at that time may be more along the goth-emo style.  If you ever watch Parks and Recreation, you may have seen April's sister Natalie Ludgate. She's not on all that often, actually, but if you caught the episode with April and Andy's wedding, she was on that one. Anyway, I think her basic style will be what I will attempt to recreate.

It will be interesting to see the reaction, if any, that the professors and my classmates display when I return to normal, dull Alexis. While normally most of the people with whom I come into contact at the university neither notice nor care about my accoutrements, the change in my normal style to my present attire and them back again is so drastic that it would be difficult to overlook.  I'm curious to see if I will be treated differently (mainly if I'm ignored less as the slutty Alexis than I am as the mousy Alexis) either with the slutty look or with the return to my standard attire. I'm also curious to see if anyone actually says anything about it to me. I don't care much one way or another. I'll let you know how the rest of the first two weeks goes.

My required course attendance time is down from last quarter. My workload is far from insignificant, but it pales in comparison to lat quarter, which is a good thing. I had begun to mutter strange formulae or make odd comments about pygmies and regional literature in my sleep. My mom heard me hollering obscenities at Rhett Butler one night in my sleep.  One should only spend so many hours torturing oneself over matters such as platykurtotic tendencies  (I think my brother has them, incidentally) or even regional literature.  I'll describe my courses and professors once each course has met for at least one session.

April seems to me to be a lot like a kidney stone, or, if you prefer,  a urinary calculus. Though at just thirty days in length, it seems to take forever to pass. I'm hoping that April of 2013 is an exception to this unwritten rule.





 


Monday, April 1, 2013

Tomorrow: Day 1 of Skank Experiment

I forgot to add that tomorrow (technically today since midnight has come and gone) I begin my experiment of dressing like a slut for the first two weeks of spring quarter classes. I dropped my wardrobe off at the dorm this afternoon. I'll go to school a bit early or occasionally sleep there, then put on the streetwalker clothing.

                                 This is similar to the look I'm hoping to achieve.

A few things I picked up at second hand stores, Goodwill, etc.  Jared's little cousin had a few things she's outgrowing that are a bit snug on me. I went to KMart for a few things, and Forever 21 for a few more. I'm set for one week's worth of clothing. I don't want to waste a great deal more money on this venture. So far I've spent $37.77. The problem is that no one has clothing that will be snug on me that isn't kid clothing, so picking up freebies hasn't been easy. On the other hand, tops that are too big and a little low (though there's no cleavage to display) are not so hard to find.

It will look stupid to wear the same outfits each week, so I'll need to mix, match, and accessorize to achieve different looks.

I typically find the first two weeks of class incredibly boring. Perhaps this will help to liven things up just a bit.

If I want to go really over the edge, once people have gotten over my slut look, I could dress either as a Warren Jeffs-style polyg or as a Duggar. THAT, too, would make a statement, but it might be too much work and not enough fun.  The verdict is not yet in on that one.


Sunday, March 31, 2013

I Have Another Case of Duggaritis

What is it that compels me to click on Duggar links or turn the remote to their show even though I know I'm shaving IQ points off my brain every time I watch a video or program featuring their family?  I cannot help myself. It's somewhat like my trichotillomania, which, by the way, is  getting much better. On the other hand, I'm merely substituting one compulsion for another one. What's worse, pulling one's hair out by the handful or being drawn to clips of the Duggars? I'm not sure there's a clear-cut answer to this question.

I saw the episode where the Duggars toured the Great Wall of China. Any trip, even if it's to the nearest ant hill, must begin with a JimBob narration  stating the historical context a la Mr. Obvious of the "Bob and Tom" radio program. Then the Duggars begin their descent up the wall. The steps bother the Duggar offspring. Some of the younger Duggars worry that they'll fall down those steps and never see their mother and father again. At the risk of sounding rude, if I were  a young Duggar, this would for me be not so much a worry as a fantasy or pipe dream.

Then you see all however many Duggars there are by the time you count spouses, the next generation, and shirt-tail reltionship taggers-along, a number which appears to approach the triple digits. One cannot help but wonder about the colossal carbon footprint being left in the wake of any Duggar entourage visit anywhere. The diapers have to go somewhere (or at least the human by-product has to go somewhere), or has Michelle figured out a way to make her daughters potty train the babies before they reach the age of one month, presumably to help manage the family budget? Surely she wouldn't advocate early potty traning for environmental reasons, or she wouldn't have spawned more children than can fit into a regulation basketball game at a given time.

One clip shows the Duggar grandchildren in their Easter finery. The little girl looks respectable and appropriate enough in her purple-topped and white feathery-bottomed dress, but little whatever his name is, Maackenzie's baby brother, looks as though he is dressed in materials even the Salvation Army or the Goodwill Store couldn't have sold. It reminded me of that part in The Sound of Music  when Captain von Trapp  didn't approve of Maria's dress. It went something like:

Captain:"Put on another dress before meeting the children. "
Maria: "But I don't have another.
When we enter the abbey, our worldly clothes go to the poor."
Captain: "What about this one?"
Maria: "The poor didn't want it."

I suspect the poor would've rejected Baby Grandson Duggar's Easter finery as well.


A Duggar blog maintained not by the family itself but by two people who are either zealots or stalkers (there's a fine line) talks about the Duggars' Easter preparations and celebrations. For one thing, the Duggars do not use the evil word Easter.  Don't ask me what's evil about the word Easter, as I haven't a clue.  Instead they call it Resurrection Sunday.  If they really want to change the name of a holiday, more power to them, but many people all over the world manage to convey the true meaning of Easter to their children (I'm not necessarily saying that my own parents are among these people; my brother and I were really into our chocolate Easter bunnies and other confections) without changing the name of the holiday. The Duggars don't decorate eggs. Instead, under the direction of the older girls,  the little ones bake heart and cross cookies and frost them.  Is it really all that much  more sanctified to frost and eat a cross than to do the same to a rabbit- shaped cookie?  I need to shut up before I go off on a tangent about South Park's spoof of the DaVinci Code.

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The Easter Parade, and Precisely What It Did or Didn't Have to Do with Jesus Having Died on the Cross for Us

In order to avoid an embarrassing public mother-daughter argument in a store, my mom always brings home three or four dresses before Easter, and I choose one of them to wear to church that day. I'm not sure exactly what the big deal is.  Why can I not wear a dress I already own? It's  not as though I've had anything reselmbling a growth spurt.

When Jesus was up there dying on the cross, I doubt he had in mind any sort of fashion parade each year all over the western world commemorating either his horrendous suffering and death or his emergence from the tomb, but some things are simply not worth fighting over. My mom says that since I don't complain about the Easter candy that appears in my basket each year, I have to go along with the new dress routine. At least she doesn't, thank God,  make me wear a hat.  I put her on notice that this is the final "Easter dress" year. I may buy a new dress next year for Easter, or  I may not, but my mom will not buy the dress, nor will she even be in the same shopping mall, much less in the store with me,when it happens.

We're leaving for mass in thirty-five minutes. my hair and makeup are done except for lipstick/lip glass.. My makeup is neutral since I haven't chosen my dress. At least I finally got my mother out of the Zulilly Company when choosing dresses. Matthew simply must get married and produce a  female offspring as soon as possible so that my mother  can obsess over dressing her rather than me.  Anyway, here are the four options. If you weigh in before 8:40 .m. PDT, I'll consider your opinion, but since it's highly ulikely you'll even see this before then, I'll let you know after the fact what I chose.






Saturday, March 30, 2013

March Madness and the Deaths of My Parents' First Twins

March Madness, which is the time when college basketball comes to a climax -- when conferences conclude their own tournaments and when the NCAA draws up and begins its tournament which will culmnate in the final game and national championship -- is now upon us. It's something my dad, uncles, and brother look forward to with eager anticipation each year.  Bets and pools are made, and much fanfare sorounds each televised game, and even some that maybe are not. (Maybe all are televised. I admit to some ignorance.)

I think they start out with sixty-four teams, though again I plead ignorance and admit that I may be incorrect. When it's down to eight remaining games, the teams are referred to as the "sweet sixteen." When those games haveconcluded and only four games remain, the teams still in contention are the "elite eight." Then it's on to the "final four," followed by the national championship. Thought it's termed "March Madness,"  since that's when the bulk of the action takes place, it usually concludes early in April.

For my mom, March Madness is an association that dredges up very unhappy memories. My twin brothers (they were twins but not my twins; I hope I'm explaining it clearly enough) were born and died during the height of March Madness. I believe my mom and dad left for the hospital during the University of North Carolina   vs. Ohio Stae game. It may have been the round of 16, but I'm guessing.  My father was a loyal Cal fan, but tended to root for North Carolina in basketball when Cal wasn't in it  or had been eliminated.  My father might have cared about the outcome of the game, but had the sensitivity not to indicate to my mom that he was concerned about a basketball game when their babies' lives were on the line. My mother was hemorrhaging.

My parents reached the hospital, it was determined that her placenta had separated from the wall of the uterus, which was the cause of the bleeding. There was no time to attempt to get the babies out the conventionl way, so an emergency Caesarean section was performed. The babies were born weighing, and I may be off by a few ounces though I'm sure I'm close, one pound eight ounces and one pound one ounce. The smaller baby was suctioned and took a few breaths but then stopped, and the doctors were unable to revivie him. The larger of the two clung to life h=for two days and a couple of hours, but then the decision was made that they were only prolonging the inevitable - that his major organs were not ready to function -- and the difficult decision to turn off life support was agreed upon by my parents. If my dad wasgiving the slightest thought to what was happening in the world of college basketball, he had the decency not to mention it. Since it's now past midnight and technically March 30 here, yesterday, March 29, was the anniversary of his death.

The period between March 27 (the day of the earlier twins' birth and the day of the smaller baby's death)  and March 29 (the anniversary of the larger babys death) is always difficut for my mother. It's probably hard for my father, but he deals with it differently. All the basketbll that's going on seems to bring up the unpleasant memories all the more. For several years my dad used to not watch the NCAA tournament for my mom's benefit, or at least only if he was atsomeone else's house,but he knew my mom needed him around, so going elsewhere to watch the games wasn't a viable option.  Eventually my momtold him that life had to go on -- that basketball didnt cause her to loise the babies -- and that he should watch the NCAA tournament.

She says she tries to look at it on the bright side, if there is a bright side to losing premature twins. Had the babies lived, they likely would have been severely disabled. that might have made having more children an impracticality for them, as dealing with two severely disabled children is both  time- and emotion-draining. Had the babies lived and been healthy, they probably would have stopped having children under those circumstances as well, as they had planned to have two children.   So matthew and I might not have ever been conceived had the first two babies survivied, healthy or not.  Sad as it was under the best of circumstances, it was a good deal for Matthew and me.  I don't say that to my mother, but it doesn't hurt if I silently look on the bright side. Still, I'll always be sad for my parents and for all their sorrow.

So college basketball now dominates our home from mid-to-late March until early April. If it bothers my mom,  she never lets on, although I'm not sure how she can totally fail to make the association.

Christopher and Nicholas, I miss you though I never met you, and I wish you a belated happy birthday.

Methods of Meteorologists, Etc.



 I spent my beach time today wearing those goggle-type sunglasses that cataract surgery patients have to wear. I'm sure every male on the beach was tremendously attracted by the look. C'sst la vie. I wanted to go to the beach. Depending upong which weather forecaster IK choose to believe, and I'm beginning to believe all of them either toss a coin or use one of those kiddie toy magic 8-balls, anyway, the weather may or may not be conducive to beach   activity. I may be so determined to spend time on the beach that I will don rain geat and Isit on the beach in the midst of a downpour. DoI really care if anyone thinks I'm bat-shit crazy. when they see my skanky school wardrobe next week, they'll think so anyway, so what's the difference?

          My computer is wacked. It's setting margins when it has not asked to do so. I don't have enough
          cash without dipping into saving, which I do not wish to do at this point, so I must either learn to
          work with it or steal on of my parents' laptops. There's an extra desktop that came withmy room.
          I can use it until I work out the problem. My cousin, the Mormon mishie who went into early
          retirement, will be here tomorrow. Sometimes he can repari such things. In a worst-case
          scenario, I'll replace it, but I don't want to part with the money. I'd rather spend it on my new
          slut look, which will cost a fraction of what a new computer would cost, anyway.

          I got to spend a little more time with the new baby twins. Their paternal grandmother was
          hanging around. The woman is seriously touched. She kept trying to do adjustments on their feet
          that   would improve their eating and sleeping. My uncle Scott and Uncle Bret finally took both
          babies away.  wonder if the woman was born crazy, if she chose to be that way, or if a traumatic
          event  in her life causedher to go bonkers. She's gone now, anyway, much to everyone's relief.

          The crazy lady has  a seventeen-year-old daughter and an eleven-year-old son still at home.
          The daughter is staying here for the rest of the week. she's a nice enough girl, especially
          considering who spawned her. the girl is seriously something like six inches taller than I am.

          Tomorrow i beach day, rain or shine. I hope to see you there.



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Friday, March 29, 2013

Alexis, the Girl Who Dresses Like A Slut: A Social Experiment

                                 possibly part of my new temporary "look"

I was considering that between some of the more flexible wardrobe items I own, a few I could borrow, and a few I could pick up cheaply with a miniscule amount of the money I've recently earned, I could make myself look really trashy for the first two weeks of classes next quarter. A few of the other students and professors, particularly those in the music department, will have been in classes with me prior to this and will wonder what the hell is up with my new haute couture, but most will be complete strangers to me, as this is a huge campus. They'll assume it's my normal style of attire. Impressions will be made on such. It will be interesting to see how those first impressions color my classmates'and professors'  perceptions and are or are not altered as I reveal myself to be the achiever that I normally am.

One aspect of trashiness not available to me is prominent display of cleavage. If you don't have it, it isn't an easy look to create on a shoestring budget.

I can store the trampy clothing in my dorm room and put it on at school so my parents will not have cause to wonder what the hell is happening with me. It's not that they would or even could prevent me from leaving the house in such raiment; it just gives them one less thing to gossip about  regarding me with their friends.. My dorm neighbors will wonder why I walk into my dorm room every morning looking relatively preppie and come out looking like a skank, but it will give their vacuous minds something to think about, as God and everyone else knows that they're certainly not thinking about their studies.

There's no real point to doing this except that I'm a bit tired of being invisible. Some might say being invisible is preferable to having everyone think you're a floozy, but I beg to differ. Besides, it's temporary.  I don't plan to dress in this manner every day all quarter. I'll apply the look judiciously if arbitrarily.

Then I'll store the streetwalker wardrobe away in my dorm romm. On random days of random weeks, I'll drag a few items of hussy apparel out and wear them again for no apparent reason. Then I'll go back to my ordinary preppie look. It will cause people to wonder about me, which at least means most of them will at least be aware of my presence. If they think I'm certifiably insane, I don't have a huge problem with it, as I happen to know that several of them are certifiable morons. They may not have been such before they arrived here, but the peculiar combinations of booze and drugs that entered their systems since showing up have rendered them as such.  So if  some of my classmates think I'm bat-shit crazy and I think some of them are idiots, it's a fair and just  case of reciprocal judgmentalism.

If this seems to be attention-seeking behavior, such is probably a reasonably accurate impression. I admit to going through an odd phase. I don't want a professor, when he reads my essay answer aloud, to announce that it was my test he was quoting. I  don't like it when I don't have time to straighten my hair and people comment on its extreme curliness. Not to be racist, but when I was little and my skin tanned in the summer (I no longer tan quite so readily, and I also apply sunblock because I know what the sun can do to unprotected skin) I fumed when people asked or assumed that I was bi-racial. I don't  want anyone to look at the scar that is still somewhat visible on my leg (I'm still applying Mederma faithfully, and I think it's still helping to cause the scar to fade, and at least the bone is perfectly straight now; the surgeons did a very nice job in that respect) that they usually don't have a chance to see, because in regular classes I wear clothing that covers it. I don't necessarily like being singled out by the professor as the only student in my music theory class with absolute pitch.

On the other hand, it doesn't bother me when grades are posted by the last four digits of student ID numbers, and the other students talk amongst themselves and decide the highest score has to be mine.  I don't mind it when the professors only ask me questions if they've exhausted every other poetntial source for an intelligent response. I don't care when the theory prof  writes sets of intervals or a line of  music on the board and asks everyone to come up with the interval or the melody without humming it aloud, but tells me I cannot anwer because it's too easy for me.  I'm not bothered  by being more skilled in a gym full of non-gymnasts.  It doesn't bug me if I get called out of my theory class because there's an accompaniment that the chamber choir accompanist cannot sightread.

There are areas, good or bad,where we all wish to fade into the woodwork, and there are other areas, sometimes not al that different than the ones we do not wish to be recognized for, for which  we're perfectly content to be be noticed. At times there's no logical explanation for the reason for which each falls into its respective category. It's intangible and inexplicable -- partly teen angst and  partly who we are, and that we cannot always impact the way we feel.

We can, however, impact what we choose to do about how we feel. I choose to look like an underaged nymphomanic if I so desire, and it is what I so desire [at school] at this time. I don't particularly want to explain my rationale either to my Uncle Steve or to my Uncle Scott. (Oddly enough, I think my dad would get it, and very little explanation to him would be required.) I think for me, it's really about control. If my classmates who don't know me are going to look at me funny anyway, I may as well control the reason for the discomforting stares.

Classes will start on Monday, and  I'll tell you then about the results of the beginning of my social experiment.



Thursday, March 28, 2013

Baby Kristina, the Party Animal

                                                  Not the Real Baby Kristina



Last night, as no one in the house was getting any sleep because the baby for whom we were caring had no intention of sleeping, my pseuduouncle made the rather sickly facetious comment, "Wouldn't it be great if you could play with babies until you got tired of them, and then just stick them in a drawer or something and close it until you felt like playing with them again?"  We all know that's not how the real world works, although there are probably parents and caretakers who are just psycho enough to do some such thing.  Most of them, I hope, will end up in prison, or at least separated from their babies for life. For the record, pseuduncle was joking and would never even think of mistreating an infant or child.

Baby Kristina is a twin. Her fraternal twin sister (I'd love to share actual pictures, but the babies' parents are paranoid) who looks so much like her that only their mother, their maternal grandmother, and my pseudoaunt can tell them apart at this point. That's in the daytime.  At night, they're easily distinguished from one another, because Baby Jillian is fed, then goes to sleep. She may wake up for another feeding or two, but then goes right back to sleep. Baby Kritina, on the other hand, is prone to a state of wakefulness in general. She catnaps about six minutes out of every hour so that she'll be awake and won't miss anything for the other fifty-four minutes of the hour, twenty hours around the clock,with about a four-hour stint of sleep in the wee hours of the morning, when little is happening, anyway. One would think she wouldn't grow and thrive on so little sleep, but, while neither twin is breaking any records for growth and weight gain, she's maintaining pace with her sister. She eats just a little more, but it takes more energy to be awake practically around the clock.

Last night  pseudouncle swaddled her and did all the stuff one is supposed to do in order to induce an infant to sleep. She didn't care. She enjoyed the attention, but once he put her in her bassinet, she first did her version of talking, which became angrier and angrier unti it turned to all-out screaming. Some experts would have said, "Let her scream it out," but she's not our baby, and we didn't take her for the night so we could listen to her scream.  Jillian got her up, and we put her on a blanket on the floor and listened to her babble, sing, or whatever it was she did for the next few hours. We could have watched her in shifts, but everyone was having fun with her and no one had to work the next day, so we all stayed up and enjoyed her.

The twins are still only eight pounds each, which is roughly the size of an ordinary newborn, so they still fit easily into a bassinet, though at some point they will be too mobile to be in something with such low walls.  They were a little early and each weighed four pounds, two ounces at birth, but, despite their small size, they seem to be reaching milestones at appropriate ages. They can turn over if not swaddled, and eventually they'll be able to break free of the blankets that bind them, so they'll soon be in full-sized cribs.

Eventually Kristina got hungry, so I fed her a bottle of formula. The mom breastfeeds both of them all day, but takes turns at night so that the father can be responsible for one of them. They trade off babies so the twins take turns being breast-fed at night. There's some expressed and stored milk, but they also supplement with formula at night. After I fed her, I sang her Billy Joel's "Goodnight, My Angel," and she conked out from about 4:00 a.m. until her father showed up at 8:00 a.m. to pick her up. I think she usually dropa off in the wee hours of the morning. Her mom said she usually lies down on the floor with Kristina on a blanket and dozes while Kristina makes all her noises, then wakes up all the way when she needs to be fed, then puts her in her bassinet when she finally crashes.

My Aunt Ilianna feels that this is terrible parenting, and it probably is, but everyone is healthy, and the parents aren't going crazy yet.  At some point the parents will be desperate enough to inlist the services of my Aunt Ilianna, who is something of a baby whisperer and will be able to get Kristina on a schedule in about two days, but this baby may always be one who doesn't need as much sleep as the average child. Time will tell.

Meanwhile, we have a wild and crazy baby on our hands. The picture above is obviously not actually of her. I tried to find a reasonably facsimile, but her parents would neither allow an actual picture of her nor allow me to have her pierced insuch a manner even if they weren't practicing Mormons.

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Butter




Butter has good and bad uses as far as I'm concerned.  It's a horrible source of saturated fat. Margarine was inititally touted as the great solution to butter and its saturated fat issues, but, like any "perfect solution,"  the verdict sometimes doesn't come in for quite awhile after it's been in use, and, furthermore, margarine tastes much like what I would imagine pureed rabbit dung to taste. The verdict, of course, eventually came in regarding margarine in the form of the knowledge that the trans-fat substances were more harmful than the saturated fat found in butter.

I detest the greasy, slimy texture of unmelted butter or even the overall greasiness of melted butter unless poured over a whole lot of popcorn. My brother makes a medium-sized bowl full of popcorn with our hot air popper, then melts half a cube of butter and drenches the popcorn with it.  Just watching him eat the concoction makes me nearly physically ill. I can eat butter on toast when the toast is lightly buttered and the butter is thoroughly melted into the toast. i can eat it on baked or broiled garlic bread. I can eat it when it's an ingredient in a cookie, cake or similar recipe, or if it's in an alfredo sauce recipe. I can't spread butter on a roll or piece of bread and eat it in its congealed state.  if someone handed me a pat of butter and forced me to eat it, I would for sure toss my cookies. In fact, the amount of money I'd have to be goiven to eat a piece of butter in its cold, congealed form would have to be at least one million dollars.  Just thinking about it is starting to make me nauseous. Butter in its congealed form or by itself is most definitely on my Donner Party List.

Though I've explained the situation over and over to him, my dad continues to be a complete smartass when it comes to my relationship with butter.  if he sees me pick up a homemade cookie, he grabs it out of my hand and says, "You can't eat that. It has butter in it," though I've thoroughly explained to him in what forms I can and cannot consume butter.  He just can't grasp the distinction. Tonight my mom is making garlic bread to go with spaghetti. I'll have the same argument with my dad that I have everytime something with butter as an ingredient that is edible in my book is served. 

In thelong run, it would be simpler just to go to the drive through at In & Out Burger.

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Wednesday, March 27, 2013

Corneal Abrasions and Babies

My eye problem is a corneal abrasion. My pseudorelative cultured it, and there's no infection. I don't kow exactly how it happened, but it probably happened during the few minutes I was on a snowmobile with no protetive eye gear. It's a mistake I will not make again.  I have various drops and even a narcotic to use if absolutely necessary. It should clear up in four or five days.

Tonight I'm spending the night at the pseudorelatives' home. They're taking care of one of their twin infant nieces overnight. The mother breastfeeds onlyone baby at night so that she gets at least  few minutes' sleep. They typically alternate which baby is breastfed and which one is bottle-fed. The father takes cares of the bottle-fed baby for the night. We're giving him a break. We can't take both twins because the mother would spend the whole night pumping to avoid becoming uncomfortably engorged. She'll get more restjust keeping one baby with her.

I get to take one of the overnight feeding shifts. The baby was breastfed just before hse got here less than two hours ago.   She has two bottles of breast milk and one bottle of formula, plus extra formula in the event that she should be hungrier than usual. The breast milk is better for her, but the formula is more filling, and she'll sleep for longer, so she's getting that at midnight.  Her next feeding, whenever she asks for it,will be formula. I talked Scott and Jillian into allowing me to give her the next bottle, because I'm worried she'll sleep so well that she won't need another bottle and her father will show up early to pick her up and  I won't get a turn at giving her a bottle. I never said I'm not selfish.

I don't have the baby's parents' permission to post any pictures of her, but I doubt they'll
complain about pictures of her feet appearing in an obscure blog.



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Separated at Birth: Twin Brothers from Other Mothers




Separated at birth?

On the left is Steven E. Feldon, M.D., neuro-ophthalmologist extraodinaire (among other areas of expertise, he specializes in Graves' Disease and related thyroid ophthalmopathy, who authored the textbooks concerning thyroid ophthalmopathy being used in medical schools today) and holder of additional degrees including an MBA. Dr. Feldon  invents ophtalmic equipment  and devices (if you've had your eye opressure checked recently, chances are that it was done with the use of a device invented by Dr. Feldon) in his spare time when not conducting his duties as Director of the Bausch and Lomb Department of  Ophthalmology at the University of Rochester School of Medicine.

On the right is Thomas S. Monson, Grand Pooh Bah  (or Presdeint and Prophet, Seer, and Revelator) of the Church  of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.

To be fair, I believe Dr. Feldon is more than a few years younger than [President]  Monson.