The Government of Canada had only two ways to stop this legislation from passing yesterday.
1. Get out of the marriage game altogether, then it would be the sole responsibility of churches.
2. Invoke the notwithstanding clause.
The only reason that same-sex marriage is a "civil rights" issue in Canada is because the Government currently oversees and grants marriages to heterosexual couples. Because heterosexuals can have a marriage license, but not gays, it is automatically a civil rights issue. You can't allow one Canadian to have access to something but then refuse other Canadians the same access; that would be unconstitutional. Fancy that.
It's a real pity the right wing extremists are unable to comprehend that reality.
I have a suggestion for those Yankees who are so homophobic that you oppose this legislation: You stay out of our bedrooms and we'll stay out of your wars.
And for those Canadians who think they can change this now that it's cleared Government...
I suggest you learn to quit whining about the fact that this got pushed through Government and either invoke the Notwithstanding Clause or lobby the Government to get out of the marriage game altogether... Those were the only two ways to do this yesterday and they're the only two ways to do that today.
Sorry Charlie.
Wednesday, June 29, 2005
Tuesday, June 28, 2005
Hypocrite of the Day...
Peter McKay...
For suggesting that the Conservatives didn't get into bed or make an agreement with the Bloc while trying to destroy the Liberal Government.
For suggesting that his dog was more "loyal" than Belinda Stronach.
Peter McKay gets a taste of his own medicine.
And this guy thinks the Liberal's seats will be in question come the next election?
He's lucky he's not running in my riding; we'd have run him out of town on a rail!
For suggesting that the Conservatives didn't get into bed or make an agreement with the Bloc while trying to destroy the Liberal Government.
For suggesting that his dog was more "loyal" than Belinda Stronach.
Peter McKay gets a taste of his own medicine.
And this guy thinks the Liberal's seats will be in question come the next election?
He's lucky he's not running in my riding; we'd have run him out of town on a rail!
Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave...
As I write this, the Canadian House of Parliament is about to vote to pass Bill C-38.
The same-sex marriage bill.
I've waited a long time to see real equal rights for gays in this country.
Today, in Parliament, with the third reading of Bill C-38, the civil marriage for gays bill, and the passing of that bill, those rights became law.
158 yeas to 133 nays.
If the Conservatives wish to change the law, they will now have to invoke the notwithstanding clause.
I couldn't be happier. The only bittersweet is that Guy and Joe didn't survive to see it happen.
The same-sex marriage bill.
I've waited a long time to see real equal rights for gays in this country.
Today, in Parliament, with the third reading of Bill C-38, the civil marriage for gays bill, and the passing of that bill, those rights became law.
158 yeas to 133 nays.
If the Conservatives wish to change the law, they will now have to invoke the notwithstanding clause.
I couldn't be happier. The only bittersweet is that Guy and Joe didn't survive to see it happen.
Friday, June 17, 2005
How the hell does it get to that point?
Have you ever said to yourself, "My house is a pigsty."?
Have you got dirty dishes to be washed, and crumbs from breakfast on the counter and a floor that could use sweeping? Can your fridge and freezer stand to be washed and tidied? Are the garbage cans due to be emptied? Is the laundry due to be done and your bed unmade?
Is your house just untidy, or are you living in squalor?
No really. I don't just mean untidy house, I mean a really messy house.
This photograph (removed photograph of trash piled to within one foot of ceiling) is of someone's living room. It is absolutely incredible to me and makes me wonder what goes through one's mind or doesn't that causes their house to get that way.
A friend of mine took this photo and several others just like it. I can't tell you how he came to be in possession of these photographs or where he is, but what I can tell you is that this is the SECOND time I've seen photos like this from him. My friend says that it's not his second time, that he sees it quite often. He also believes that he has this disorder but caught it early enough to deal with it.
That's frightening.
The person that owns the place in these photographs literally offered to "crawl into the kitchen to fetch him a cup of coffee".
The disorder has several names, from what I can tell: Squalor syndrome and Compulsive hoarding are the two most popular.
According to the February 2005 newsletter of the Mood Disorders Support Group of New York City, it's not quite so uncommon as one might think.
Associated with other mood disorders, such as anxiety, eating disorders, schizophrenia, dementia, mental retardation, autism and brain injury, the disorder can come about in people with absolutely no psychiatric history or illness of any kind.
How do you recognize a hoarder? A common feature of hoards includes piles of paper or newspapers, magazines, books, mail, notes, and lists. Some will have piles of old clothes, rotting food and stray animals. Research tells me that at it's worst, hoarders will have accumulations of both animal and human waste where it ought not to be, such as in the kitchen or on the bed.
Hoarding:
The two hoarders who have had incident to touch my life through my friend, are both elderly, socially isolated and suspicious. This most recent one, whose photos appears in this blog, refused entry to the home by anyone for over 13 years.
Like any other such disorder, hoarders only seek help when they hit bottom or when the hoarding is discovered by others. In other words, when a neighbour or a cop notices the smell or when the filth starts spilling out of the house into the yard.
In this latest case it was a sewer backup in the basement that forced the hoarder to call for help but in the earlier case my friend told me about, the hoarder asked for help after 15 years. As you can see by the pictures; 13 years of trash piles up quite heavily. Imagine how the other place looked when my friend went in to clean up.
I've come across warnings that say that simply cleaning out the clutter will not solve the problem. Sometimes this will create a worse problem and further isolate the hoarder and they just start hoarding again.
I've asked my friend if the first hoarder has gone back to hoarding. He tells me that they've moved into an apartment and their neice has taken care to get them a roommate/caretaker who ensures that the hoarding cannot continue. I don't know what will happen to this latest hoarder. Let's hope they can get the help they need. At 75 though, I'm not holding my breath.
If you know a hoarder, and I don't simply mean someone who won't pick up after themselves, I mean a hoarder, there are ways of helping them get help.
UOCHD offers the following suggestions (click on the link for the details of the text):
1. INFORM YOURSELF AND TRY TO UNDERSTAND.
2. DON'T FIGHT THE FIGHT FOR THEM. (iow, let them clean it up or you're wasting your time)
3. SHOW THEM THE OPTIONS AND THAT THERE IS HOPE.
It's like the old joke, how many psychiatrists does it take to change the lightbulb... and the answer is, Just one... but the lightbulb has really got to want to change.
Only it isn't a joke. It's real, very very very real.
Have you got dirty dishes to be washed, and crumbs from breakfast on the counter and a floor that could use sweeping? Can your fridge and freezer stand to be washed and tidied? Are the garbage cans due to be emptied? Is the laundry due to be done and your bed unmade?
Is your house just untidy, or are you living in squalor?
No really. I don't just mean untidy house, I mean a really messy house.
This photograph (removed photograph of trash piled to within one foot of ceiling) is of someone's living room. It is absolutely incredible to me and makes me wonder what goes through one's mind or doesn't that causes their house to get that way.
A friend of mine took this photo and several others just like it. I can't tell you how he came to be in possession of these photographs or where he is, but what I can tell you is that this is the SECOND time I've seen photos like this from him. My friend says that it's not his second time, that he sees it quite often. He also believes that he has this disorder but caught it early enough to deal with it.
That's frightening.
The person that owns the place in these photographs literally offered to "crawl into the kitchen to fetch him a cup of coffee".
The disorder has several names, from what I can tell: Squalor syndrome and Compulsive hoarding are the two most popular.
According to the February 2005 newsletter of the Mood Disorders Support Group of New York City, it's not quite so uncommon as one might think.
Associated with other mood disorders, such as anxiety, eating disorders, schizophrenia, dementia, mental retardation, autism and brain injury, the disorder can come about in people with absolutely no psychiatric history or illness of any kind.
How do you recognize a hoarder? A common feature of hoards includes piles of paper or newspapers, magazines, books, mail, notes, and lists. Some will have piles of old clothes, rotting food and stray animals. Research tells me that at it's worst, hoarders will have accumulations of both animal and human waste where it ought not to be, such as in the kitchen or on the bed.
Hoarding:
The two hoarders who have had incident to touch my life through my friend, are both elderly, socially isolated and suspicious. This most recent one, whose photos appears in this blog, refused entry to the home by anyone for over 13 years.
Like any other such disorder, hoarders only seek help when they hit bottom or when the hoarding is discovered by others. In other words, when a neighbour or a cop notices the smell or when the filth starts spilling out of the house into the yard.
In this latest case it was a sewer backup in the basement that forced the hoarder to call for help but in the earlier case my friend told me about, the hoarder asked for help after 15 years. As you can see by the pictures; 13 years of trash piles up quite heavily. Imagine how the other place looked when my friend went in to clean up.
I've come across warnings that say that simply cleaning out the clutter will not solve the problem. Sometimes this will create a worse problem and further isolate the hoarder and they just start hoarding again.
I've asked my friend if the first hoarder has gone back to hoarding. He tells me that they've moved into an apartment and their neice has taken care to get them a roommate/caretaker who ensures that the hoarding cannot continue. I don't know what will happen to this latest hoarder. Let's hope they can get the help they need. At 75 though, I'm not holding my breath.
If you know a hoarder, and I don't simply mean someone who won't pick up after themselves, I mean a hoarder, there are ways of helping them get help.
UOCHD offers the following suggestions (click on the link for the details of the text):
1. INFORM YOURSELF AND TRY TO UNDERSTAND.
2. DON'T FIGHT THE FIGHT FOR THEM. (iow, let them clean it up or you're wasting your time)
3. SHOW THEM THE OPTIONS AND THAT THERE IS HOPE.
It's like the old joke, how many psychiatrists does it take to change the lightbulb... and the answer is, Just one... but the lightbulb has really got to want to change.
Only it isn't a joke. It's real, very very very real.
Monday, June 13, 2005
On Rats and Hot Sauce
While researching the makers of a hot sauce called, get this, "Rat Sauce", I came upon Rat Sauce a website dedicated to everything rat related. This of course, is the instigator of this little we-blog. Rats and hot sauce... what more could one ask for?
Let me introduce you to the stars of masses of horror movies specifically designed to perpetuate the myth that rats are horrific critters deservous of naught but destruction.
Rats as animals have been blamed for the black plague and have been long vilified, and unfairly so, I might add. Were one to do their homework, they would learn that it wasn't the rat that caused or carried the plague, it was actually the Oriental Rat Flea which spread its horrific disease by taking advantage of the rat's mobility. But it's not like that... Rats make great pets; they really do.
Of course, I just know you're sitting there thinking, "What? You're nuts! A rat? Why would anyone in their right mind want a rat as a pet?"
And the answer is simple. They are fabulous pets.
They are very clean, (although I've heard that this can be a personality trait and that there are slob rats out there). They are exceptionally intelligent critters. They are fun to play with and much like a dog, they can be taught tricks and to play games with you and they will interact with you quite readily, especially once they think you're part of their pack.
Rats can fit through a hole no larger than a quarter. They are so agile, they can scale brick walls as though they had rungs. So athletic, they can swim half a mile, and tread water for three days. Their powerful jaws can gnaw pipes and cinder blocks with chisel teeth that exert an incredible 24,000 pounds per square inch. Rats have been known to survive being flushed down a toilet, and can even enter buildings through the toilet pipes, the list of their exploits and abilities is endless. Because of their neverending curiosity, search for food and ability to get at it, once found, they are considered to be one of the most destructive mammals that ever lived.
Watch out if you are going to breed rats, though, because, they are so prolific that a single mating pair can easily produce 15,000 descendants in a year. Not one to worry about breeding my pet, Ralph, was a solo rat. He lived alone on my dresser in a rat habitat, which is essentially a very large, elaborate hamster cage built entirely out of metal. He had a swing, a running wheel, (which he much preferred napping in to running in). He had an old ceramic boot, rescued from an aquarium that he used as his hidey hole and a margarine tub which he filled with shredded tissue as his bed. (When I cleaned his cage, I would give him an unopened box of tissue and he would shred this and arrange it just the way he liked it in the margarine tub.) It was quite something to watch.
As a personality, Ralph was really cool. I'd come in from school and he'd immediately jump up to say hello, hanging from the cage top by one paw, pawing at the latch with the other, until I brought him out to play. He was quite cuddly and loved to snuggle with me. He would give kisses and when I was puttering about he'd sit on my shoulders, his tail curling about my neck. He liked to nibble on sunflower seeds, (the hulls of which, he'd deliberately toss down my shirt). He also loved fresh vegetables especially sweet peppers, which makes me wonder, would he have enjoyed habaneros as much as I do? Some relationships end far too early -- sigh. One weekend at a party, Ralph discovered the pleasures of beer. After that he liked to get drunk and laze on my head. Sitting on my shoulder, he'd poke his snout between my lips and the bottle to suck the beer out of the bottle as I would pour it into my mouth. I loved how that grossed some people out! Come to think of it, I wonder if Ralph ever felt the hangovers that I experienced after those parties? You'll be pleased to know that, although I did at that age, Ralph never smoked. He would hide when I pulled out my lighter. Either he didn't like the flash of its lighting up or he was afraid I'd singe his whiskers; which were suprisingly long.
I really enjoyed my stint as a rat owner, and for someone looking for a new pet, rats are a wonderful option. So long as you can get past the stigma of the wonderful critter actually being a "rat". With 20/20 hindsight, I don't recommend getting one for the purposes of making them your drinking buddy. I think that as a species they have a tendency towards alcoholism; not to mention that their livers are much tinier than ours and they probably don't live so long as they could otherwise. What can I say, I was a wild and crazy kid who didn't know any better and who had no concept of my own mortality, never mind that of Ralph.
This:
is Beebop. Beebop appears to me to be a variegated satin rat. Beebop is very similar to Ralph. Beebop is just one of a large variety of pet rats that can be found at Rat Sauce.
Rat Sauce is run by a fellow named Matt, owner of Beebop and an entire Rat Pack! I only ever had one rat in my life so, I can hardly imagine what having a pack would be like; although I did have a slew of gerbils at one time; but in retrospect, comparatively, gerbils are dumb pets, not dumb in the sense of unintelligent, but dumb in the sense that if one didn't need them to feed their pet snakes, I've no reasonable idea why anyone would ever want one. That said, Matt has gone to great effort to introduce people to the joys of having these rodents as their pets and with contributions from other rat owners, his is a definite site to check out in the event that one is looking for a new pet that is out of the ordinary.
Rat Sauce includes sources for the animal, games and toys that will appeal to our little rodent friends as well as referrals for qualified vets and a forum to discuss the joys and stresses of rat ownership with other rat owners.
I suppose I should throw in a caveat about rat ownership at this point. And that is, if you're going to delve into the ownership of a pet rat, don't do it with the wild rattus rattus that your uncle caught rummaging through his pantry. Wild rats are prone to bacterium and disease; read "Oriental Rat Fleas!" and thus are not meant to be domesticated. Instead, see a professional breeder or at the very least, a quality pet store; one that will guarantee their animals. Rat Sauce has links to breeders all over North America and beyond.
Get a rat. You'll be pleasantly surprised; not to mention the fact that they're great fun to have at parties.
Let me introduce you to the stars of masses of horror movies specifically designed to perpetuate the myth that rats are horrific critters deservous of naught but destruction.
Rats as animals have been blamed for the black plague and have been long vilified, and unfairly so, I might add. Were one to do their homework, they would learn that it wasn't the rat that caused or carried the plague, it was actually the Oriental Rat Flea which spread its horrific disease by taking advantage of the rat's mobility. But it's not like that... Rats make great pets; they really do.
Of course, I just know you're sitting there thinking, "What? You're nuts! A rat? Why would anyone in their right mind want a rat as a pet?"
And the answer is simple. They are fabulous pets.
They are very clean, (although I've heard that this can be a personality trait and that there are slob rats out there). They are exceptionally intelligent critters. They are fun to play with and much like a dog, they can be taught tricks and to play games with you and they will interact with you quite readily, especially once they think you're part of their pack.
Rats can fit through a hole no larger than a quarter. They are so agile, they can scale brick walls as though they had rungs. So athletic, they can swim half a mile, and tread water for three days. Their powerful jaws can gnaw pipes and cinder blocks with chisel teeth that exert an incredible 24,000 pounds per square inch. Rats have been known to survive being flushed down a toilet, and can even enter buildings through the toilet pipes, the list of their exploits and abilities is endless. Because of their neverending curiosity, search for food and ability to get at it, once found, they are considered to be one of the most destructive mammals that ever lived.
Watch out if you are going to breed rats, though, because, they are so prolific that a single mating pair can easily produce 15,000 descendants in a year. Not one to worry about breeding my pet, Ralph, was a solo rat. He lived alone on my dresser in a rat habitat, which is essentially a very large, elaborate hamster cage built entirely out of metal. He had a swing, a running wheel, (which he much preferred napping in to running in). He had an old ceramic boot, rescued from an aquarium that he used as his hidey hole and a margarine tub which he filled with shredded tissue as his bed. (When I cleaned his cage, I would give him an unopened box of tissue and he would shred this and arrange it just the way he liked it in the margarine tub.) It was quite something to watch.
As a personality, Ralph was really cool. I'd come in from school and he'd immediately jump up to say hello, hanging from the cage top by one paw, pawing at the latch with the other, until I brought him out to play. He was quite cuddly and loved to snuggle with me. He would give kisses and when I was puttering about he'd sit on my shoulders, his tail curling about my neck. He liked to nibble on sunflower seeds, (the hulls of which, he'd deliberately toss down my shirt). He also loved fresh vegetables especially sweet peppers, which makes me wonder, would he have enjoyed habaneros as much as I do? Some relationships end far too early -- sigh. One weekend at a party, Ralph discovered the pleasures of beer. After that he liked to get drunk and laze on my head. Sitting on my shoulder, he'd poke his snout between my lips and the bottle to suck the beer out of the bottle as I would pour it into my mouth. I loved how that grossed some people out! Come to think of it, I wonder if Ralph ever felt the hangovers that I experienced after those parties? You'll be pleased to know that, although I did at that age, Ralph never smoked. He would hide when I pulled out my lighter. Either he didn't like the flash of its lighting up or he was afraid I'd singe his whiskers; which were suprisingly long.
I really enjoyed my stint as a rat owner, and for someone looking for a new pet, rats are a wonderful option. So long as you can get past the stigma of the wonderful critter actually being a "rat". With 20/20 hindsight, I don't recommend getting one for the purposes of making them your drinking buddy. I think that as a species they have a tendency towards alcoholism; not to mention that their livers are much tinier than ours and they probably don't live so long as they could otherwise. What can I say, I was a wild and crazy kid who didn't know any better and who had no concept of my own mortality, never mind that of Ralph.
This:
is Beebop. Beebop appears to me to be a variegated satin rat. Beebop is very similar to Ralph. Beebop is just one of a large variety of pet rats that can be found at Rat Sauce.
Rat Sauce is run by a fellow named Matt, owner of Beebop and an entire Rat Pack! I only ever had one rat in my life so, I can hardly imagine what having a pack would be like; although I did have a slew of gerbils at one time; but in retrospect, comparatively, gerbils are dumb pets, not dumb in the sense of unintelligent, but dumb in the sense that if one didn't need them to feed their pet snakes, I've no reasonable idea why anyone would ever want one. That said, Matt has gone to great effort to introduce people to the joys of having these rodents as their pets and with contributions from other rat owners, his is a definite site to check out in the event that one is looking for a new pet that is out of the ordinary.
Rat Sauce includes sources for the animal, games and toys that will appeal to our little rodent friends as well as referrals for qualified vets and a forum to discuss the joys and stresses of rat ownership with other rat owners.
I suppose I should throw in a caveat about rat ownership at this point. And that is, if you're going to delve into the ownership of a pet rat, don't do it with the wild rattus rattus that your uncle caught rummaging through his pantry. Wild rats are prone to bacterium and disease; read "Oriental Rat Fleas!" and thus are not meant to be domesticated. Instead, see a professional breeder or at the very least, a quality pet store; one that will guarantee their animals. Rat Sauce has links to breeders all over North America and beyond.
Get a rat. You'll be pleasantly surprised; not to mention the fact that they're great fun to have at parties.
Wednesday, June 08, 2005
Humans are Pack Animals too.
When I was 8, my parents rescued a puppy and brought her home. She was a ginger and white coloured, floppy-earded dog with a beagle-like appearance. We named her Sandy. She was a mutt and I loved her. She had this weird behaviour when it came to milk bones. She'd bury them. The only thing wrong with that, is that she'd bury them in the house while we watched. I don't know if she wasn't too bright herself or if she simply thought that we weren't too bright. She'd take the milk bone, crawl underneath the tv cart and in full view of anyone watching tv, she'd pretend to dig a hole in the carpet, drop the milk bone into the imaginary hole and then kick imaginary dirt into the hole.
Sometimes, if she were feeling coy, I suppose, she'd take the milk bones and disappear with them; down the hallway to my parents' room. There, she'd pull the bedspread from my mother's pillow, shove the milk bone underneath and then attempt to pull the spread back into place. It ticked me off; she made bed better than I could.
I liked taking her for walks with my friend Cathy. Cathy had a dog named Ginger who was also a ginger and white coloured, floppy-eared dog with a beagle-like appearance. Except that Ginger was short and fat and always had something hanging from her teats... Professional puppy maker, that dog. And she thought Sandy was her spawn; and maybe Sandy was, because Sandy behaved just as if Ginger were her mother.
One day as I stepped out my front door, to take Sandy for a walk, the neighbour across the street let out his doberman pinscher puppy; which saw or smelled Sandy and made a bee-line for her. She went for Sandy and Ginger intervened. Ginger went straight for the jugular on that dobie. Which was really surprising because Ginger was less than half the size of the doberman. It took three of us to get the dogs off of each other and Ginger had gotten the worst of it, by far. But the doberman was going to think twice about going after one of Ginger's offspring again; that's for sure.
I went away on a trip and when I came home, my Dad took me into the living room and sat me on his lap. It was then he told me that Sandy had been killed in an accident. She'd been hit by Cathy's older sister's new motorcycle.
They say that losing a pet is like losing a child. I was just a kid when I lost Sandy, but as an adult I have lost another puppy this time to a fire, and although I've never lost a child, (in contrast to occasionally wanting to lose one or four), I imagine it certainly is at least as intense a feeling.
The relationship between people and their animals is one of companionship. One of love, of mutual need and respect and certainly one that truly epitomizes the concept of family. Ok, I suppose that a snapping turtle, which lots of people keep as pets, aren't about to cuddle up with you and lay their head on the pillow beside yours to sleep, still, they have a relationship with the people they interact with.
I've met enormous parrots with vocabularies that will put more than a few five year olds to shame. I've dealt with snakes who know their handlers by smell and are oddly friendly to them. I've held a mynah bird that calls its owner "Mommy". I've seen domesticated cats, dogs, chickens, iguanas and parrots interact as if they were all the same species. I personally, single-handedly populated Richmond, BC with gerbils that the current residents of the island simply believe are field mice and I've taught a pet rat named Ralph to drink beer and sit on my head.
Our pets listen to our troubles when we are sad and share our joys when we are happy and there is no better tribute to our domesticated pals than a website dedicated to loving our critter friends.
Now I must admit that so far, Petlvr.com [The Blog] has been primarily concentrating on standard animals; You know, cats, dogs and dolphins. From what I can glean from the blog, Hart and Yvonne are the proud family of two papillons, Maxie and Sophie and a cat named Zeus.
Personally, you couldn't pay me to have a cat. Not half because Greg and at least one child are allergic, but because I've only ever met one cat that was worth allowing to breathe my air and I believe that cat thought it was a dog. I like to joke that cat's would make a great fricasee, but sometimes when I get hungry, I look longingly at the neighbour's cat and my mouth waters.
Pet lovers will find some useful information and key resources at Petlvr.com [The Blog]. And you'll find a slew of photos of really cute baby animals. This one:
reminds me of a much older (read grayer) Ralph.
And this one:
reminds me of how I feel everytime I think about losing my webmaster.
Sometimes, if she were feeling coy, I suppose, she'd take the milk bones and disappear with them; down the hallway to my parents' room. There, she'd pull the bedspread from my mother's pillow, shove the milk bone underneath and then attempt to pull the spread back into place. It ticked me off; she made bed better than I could.
I liked taking her for walks with my friend Cathy. Cathy had a dog named Ginger who was also a ginger and white coloured, floppy-eared dog with a beagle-like appearance. Except that Ginger was short and fat and always had something hanging from her teats... Professional puppy maker, that dog. And she thought Sandy was her spawn; and maybe Sandy was, because Sandy behaved just as if Ginger were her mother.
One day as I stepped out my front door, to take Sandy for a walk, the neighbour across the street let out his doberman pinscher puppy; which saw or smelled Sandy and made a bee-line for her. She went for Sandy and Ginger intervened. Ginger went straight for the jugular on that dobie. Which was really surprising because Ginger was less than half the size of the doberman. It took three of us to get the dogs off of each other and Ginger had gotten the worst of it, by far. But the doberman was going to think twice about going after one of Ginger's offspring again; that's for sure.
I went away on a trip and when I came home, my Dad took me into the living room and sat me on his lap. It was then he told me that Sandy had been killed in an accident. She'd been hit by Cathy's older sister's new motorcycle.
They say that losing a pet is like losing a child. I was just a kid when I lost Sandy, but as an adult I have lost another puppy this time to a fire, and although I've never lost a child, (in contrast to occasionally wanting to lose one or four), I imagine it certainly is at least as intense a feeling.
The relationship between people and their animals is one of companionship. One of love, of mutual need and respect and certainly one that truly epitomizes the concept of family. Ok, I suppose that a snapping turtle, which lots of people keep as pets, aren't about to cuddle up with you and lay their head on the pillow beside yours to sleep, still, they have a relationship with the people they interact with.
I've met enormous parrots with vocabularies that will put more than a few five year olds to shame. I've dealt with snakes who know their handlers by smell and are oddly friendly to them. I've held a mynah bird that calls its owner "Mommy". I've seen domesticated cats, dogs, chickens, iguanas and parrots interact as if they were all the same species. I personally, single-handedly populated Richmond, BC with gerbils that the current residents of the island simply believe are field mice and I've taught a pet rat named Ralph to drink beer and sit on my head.
Our pets listen to our troubles when we are sad and share our joys when we are happy and there is no better tribute to our domesticated pals than a website dedicated to loving our critter friends.
Now I must admit that so far, Petlvr.com [The Blog] has been primarily concentrating on standard animals; You know, cats, dogs and dolphins. From what I can glean from the blog, Hart and Yvonne are the proud family of two papillons, Maxie and Sophie and a cat named Zeus.
Personally, you couldn't pay me to have a cat. Not half because Greg and at least one child are allergic, but because I've only ever met one cat that was worth allowing to breathe my air and I believe that cat thought it was a dog. I like to joke that cat's would make a great fricasee, but sometimes when I get hungry, I look longingly at the neighbour's cat and my mouth waters.
Pet lovers will find some useful information and key resources at Petlvr.com [The Blog]. And you'll find a slew of photos of really cute baby animals. This one:
reminds me of a much older (read grayer) Ralph.
And this one:
reminds me of how I feel everytime I think about losing my webmaster.
The Much Awaited Chili Pepper Post!
You asked for it; you got it...
Robb Walsh of the Austin Chronicle, in 1991, called it the Chile Pepper Counterculture... Nevermind the fact that Robb Walsh hasn't the slightest clue that Chile is a country in South America and what we eat are called Chilies. According to the concept that Walsh's article created back then, we're a bunch of junkies tripping through life with nothing better to do than get to our next fix. He likened chili peppers to psychotropic drugs, such as peyote, coca (as in cocaine) and tobacco; is that why some chiliheads cough; wink, wink.
Apparently some "experimental psychologist" believes that we chili addicts are "hooked" on endorphins and that we get "strung out".
Right on man, Timothy Leary move over.
I like the burn. The fact that the burn is firing endorphins in my system, makes me feel good, and feeling good is, well... it can't be a bad thing, can it?
Accordingly, in all the times I've ever eaten hot peppers, whereas I've gone through mega-mouth burn. I have never had my thought processes interrupted by simply biting into a pepper. Whereas I have been in so much pain, I've been jumping up and down, I have never been "overwhelmed". And although I get a comfortable good-timey feeling (good-timey? Is that a word??) while my mouth is burning, I don't think I've ever really truly experienced a "rush" or gotten "stoned" or even mildly "buzzed"; Not fair... the only legal stone in the world besides alcohol; which btw is a depressant; and I don't get stoned.
Maybe I'm just immune to endorphins??
Speaking of immunity (How's that for a segue?)... On Sunday, we set up shop at the Ste. Eustache Flea Market. (Ya... like that will ever happen again.) And we watched as chiliheads cravingly looked at our sauces like maybe there was something wrong with them and that's why we were there. A couple of them braved the depths of degradation that was our booth at a flea market (did I say "never again"?) and actually bought little mini-jars to take home. But after four hours, only one real true chilihead did the; eyes lit up pre-endorphin rush approach to our booth...
"Are they hot"?
"Oh, yes"
"How hot?"
"Well...."
"Because, I ate this one sauce called Da Bomb and I like that."
"Ah, I see, well, we only use natural peppers, but they're still hot."
"Yeah... gimme a taste"
I open the jar of hurricane, scoop out a largish quantity, and hand it to him. He pops the 90% pure peppers into his mouth, chews, reflects thoughtfully then mockingly says...
"You've got to be kidding."
Obviously capsaicin sensitive... Not! He didn't cough, or sneeze, or blush but he spun in a circle with a tear in his eye and turned back to us. At which point, I'm thinking... yu huh.
"That's not hot." He says.
Now, he's just being rude... And ya know, I can't for the life of me figure out why. Ego? Machissimo?
Greg says to him; "Well, we only use natural peppers, so you're not going to get the same heat as you can with chemically extracted oleoresins." Of course you aren't; we don't call Greg the Peppermaster for no good reason.
Then Mr. Chilihead realizes that his fiancee has left him and he mentions her.
"Oh," I suggested, "why don't we bring your fiancee over here and have her taste it, I wonder if SHE'LL think it's hot?"
"Oh, she can't eat that, it'd kill her." he says.
How stupid can a person be? It's not hot, but it will kill his fiancee.
Colour me impressed. Not.
Robb Walsh of the Austin Chronicle, in 1991, called it the Chile Pepper Counterculture... Nevermind the fact that Robb Walsh hasn't the slightest clue that Chile is a country in South America and what we eat are called Chilies. According to the concept that Walsh's article created back then, we're a bunch of junkies tripping through life with nothing better to do than get to our next fix. He likened chili peppers to psychotropic drugs, such as peyote, coca (as in cocaine) and tobacco; is that why some chiliheads cough; wink, wink.
Apparently some "experimental psychologist" believes that we chili addicts are "hooked" on endorphins and that we get "strung out".
Right on man, Timothy Leary move over.
I like the burn. The fact that the burn is firing endorphins in my system, makes me feel good, and feeling good is, well... it can't be a bad thing, can it?
Accordingly, in all the times I've ever eaten hot peppers, whereas I've gone through mega-mouth burn. I have never had my thought processes interrupted by simply biting into a pepper. Whereas I have been in so much pain, I've been jumping up and down, I have never been "overwhelmed". And although I get a comfortable good-timey feeling (good-timey? Is that a word??) while my mouth is burning, I don't think I've ever really truly experienced a "rush" or gotten "stoned" or even mildly "buzzed"; Not fair... the only legal stone in the world besides alcohol; which btw is a depressant; and I don't get stoned.
Maybe I'm just immune to endorphins??
Speaking of immunity (How's that for a segue?)... On Sunday, we set up shop at the Ste. Eustache Flea Market. (Ya... like that will ever happen again.) And we watched as chiliheads cravingly looked at our sauces like maybe there was something wrong with them and that's why we were there. A couple of them braved the depths of degradation that was our booth at a flea market (did I say "never again"?) and actually bought little mini-jars to take home. But after four hours, only one real true chilihead did the; eyes lit up pre-endorphin rush approach to our booth...
"Are they hot"?
"Oh, yes"
"How hot?"
"Well...."
"Because, I ate this one sauce called Da Bomb and I like that."
"Ah, I see, well, we only use natural peppers, but they're still hot."
"Yeah... gimme a taste"
I open the jar of hurricane, scoop out a largish quantity, and hand it to him. He pops the 90% pure peppers into his mouth, chews, reflects thoughtfully then mockingly says...
"You've got to be kidding."
Obviously capsaicin sensitive... Not! He didn't cough, or sneeze, or blush but he spun in a circle with a tear in his eye and turned back to us. At which point, I'm thinking... yu huh.
"That's not hot." He says.
Now, he's just being rude... And ya know, I can't for the life of me figure out why. Ego? Machissimo?
Greg says to him; "Well, we only use natural peppers, so you're not going to get the same heat as you can with chemically extracted oleoresins." Of course you aren't; we don't call Greg the Peppermaster for no good reason.
Then Mr. Chilihead realizes that his fiancee has left him and he mentions her.
"Oh," I suggested, "why don't we bring your fiancee over here and have her taste it, I wonder if SHE'LL think it's hot?"
"Oh, she can't eat that, it'd kill her." he says.
How stupid can a person be? It's not hot, but it will kill his fiancee.
Colour me impressed. Not.
Tuesday, June 07, 2005
I Guess I'm a Duck
I know, I know, I'm supposed to be writing a story about the one and only chilihead that actually came into our booth at the Ste. Eustache Flea Market on Sunday, but I just had to put the following thoughts down on paper... So, if you're still patiently awaiting my chilihead story... you'll have to wait another day... Sorry; I never suggested I was organized. That's FTS' thing. ;)
Some days I get it driven home to me in the weirdest ways how very, very important being a Unitarian is to me.
I grew up in a home where a deep personal sense of theology and a relationship with the universe and how I fit into it, was more important than how I perceived who or what God is. I was taught to seek my own personal relationship with God and that I would find that relationship within my own experiences. Or at least that was the end result of what I was taught. I don't think it was because Dad or Mom are particularly Unitarians, per se, but I think it was the end result of my Dad trying to figure out what he is.
Prayer is how I talk to God and that is something so ultimately personal to me that I really don't understand the concept of public prayer. Why would anyone want to do that? In the new testament, Matthew 6:5 to be precise, it says "And when thou prayest, thou shalt not be as the hypocrites are: for they love to pray standing in the synagogues and in the corners of the streets, that they may be seen of men. Verily I say unto you, They have their reward." I'm not even a Christian and that passage makes sense to me. But that's me... Matthew 6:6 is even more telling and it reads: "But thou, when thou prayest, enter into thy closet, and when thou hast shut thy door, pray to thy Father which is in secret; and thy Father which seeth in secret shall reward thee openly."
Yeah, I know, those of you who know me really well are thinking "Who are you and what have you done with Tina?".
And now you want to know what happened to precipitate this blog, that's all weirdly religion-based and not at all about the hot pepper story I've been promising?
Well, I read a really well written blog today that technically was more about civil rights being unnecessarily protected for people who didn't deserve to have them protected, than it was about public prayer, but I was really riled internally as I read the bit that pertained to daily prayer in schools. My sensibilities reeled as I read that Tish, the blog-writer felt I was not sane because I didn't somehow believe that praying in school is a good thing. Well not ME personally, obviously, she has no idea who I am, but people who think like me. Why does not wanting to listen to someone's prayers in a public school setting cause such a personal affront to people? Do they not understand that maybe, just maybe, their religion isn't someone else's; isn't mine?
Well, for what it's worth, I'm perfectly sane.
I simply understand and acknowledge that not everyone in the world is a Christian or has a KJV Bible-based religion at the core of their being. How can I help but not acknowledge it. I'm a Unitarian. But I find it odd that Christians don't know that passage but get all riled up about how prayer in school is a good thing... Am I missing something?
Being a Unitarian, I live in a world of a multitude of religions. We are comprised of Jews and Muslims, Christians and Atheists, we have Wicce and Pagans and Sikhs and Catholics and Druids, well, you get the idea. We come from all walks of life and somehow manage to know and understand that we are all part of this great interwoven tapestry that makes up this world that we live in. And as interwoven Unitarians, we strive to learn and understand what makes each of us tick theologically, and we work to avoid stepping on each others' toes so that in essence; we all become a community blessed and more important than the sum total of each of our own comprehension (or lack thereof) of God.
When folks ask me what a Unitarian is, I like to joke that we're the ones who begin our prayers with "To whom it may concern".
But you know what I've come to learn and understand about Unitarianism above and beyond any other "true" religion that I've so far had the honour of examining?
As a Unitarian, I've never been asked to park my brain at the door. In fact, I've often been challenged and forced to use my brain in order to embrace my other fellow Unitarians.
And from what I understand of public prayer... it deliberately doesn't embrace anyone who isn't of that religion and deliberately, without a care, has the ability to affront the religious and theological sensibilities of those who aren't of that religion. And really, any Christian who says to me that they're all for public prayer in school, that there is nothing wrong with it... Well, let's just say that there is more than one oxymoron in the Bible and New Testament.
Separation of Church and State.
It's necessary.
Tomorrow... Hot peppers; I promise.
Some days I get it driven home to me in the weirdest ways how very, very important being a Unitarian is to me.
I grew up in a home where a deep personal sense of theology and a relationship with the universe and how I fit into it, was more important than how I perceived who or what God is. I was taught to seek my own personal relationship with God and that I would find that relationship within my own experiences. Or at least that was the end result of what I was taught. I don't think it was because Dad or Mom are particularly Unitarians, per se, but I think it was the end result of my Dad trying to figure out what he is.
Prayer is how I talk to God and that is something so ultimately personal to me that I really don't understand the concept of public prayer. Why would anyone want to do that? In the new testament, Matthew 6:5 to be precise, it says "And when thou prayest, thou shalt not be as the hypocrites are: for they love to pray standing in the synagogues and in the corners of the streets, that they may be seen of men. Verily I say unto you, They have their reward." I'm not even a Christian and that passage makes sense to me. But that's me... Matthew 6:6 is even more telling and it reads: "But thou, when thou prayest, enter into thy closet, and when thou hast shut thy door, pray to thy Father which is in secret; and thy Father which seeth in secret shall reward thee openly."
Yeah, I know, those of you who know me really well are thinking "Who are you and what have you done with Tina?".
And now you want to know what happened to precipitate this blog, that's all weirdly religion-based and not at all about the hot pepper story I've been promising?
Well, I read a really well written blog today that technically was more about civil rights being unnecessarily protected for people who didn't deserve to have them protected, than it was about public prayer, but I was really riled internally as I read the bit that pertained to daily prayer in schools. My sensibilities reeled as I read that Tish, the blog-writer felt I was not sane because I didn't somehow believe that praying in school is a good thing. Well not ME personally, obviously, she has no idea who I am, but people who think like me. Why does not wanting to listen to someone's prayers in a public school setting cause such a personal affront to people? Do they not understand that maybe, just maybe, their religion isn't someone else's; isn't mine?
Well, for what it's worth, I'm perfectly sane.
I simply understand and acknowledge that not everyone in the world is a Christian or has a KJV Bible-based religion at the core of their being. How can I help but not acknowledge it. I'm a Unitarian. But I find it odd that Christians don't know that passage but get all riled up about how prayer in school is a good thing... Am I missing something?
Being a Unitarian, I live in a world of a multitude of religions. We are comprised of Jews and Muslims, Christians and Atheists, we have Wicce and Pagans and Sikhs and Catholics and Druids, well, you get the idea. We come from all walks of life and somehow manage to know and understand that we are all part of this great interwoven tapestry that makes up this world that we live in. And as interwoven Unitarians, we strive to learn and understand what makes each of us tick theologically, and we work to avoid stepping on each others' toes so that in essence; we all become a community blessed and more important than the sum total of each of our own comprehension (or lack thereof) of God.
When folks ask me what a Unitarian is, I like to joke that we're the ones who begin our prayers with "To whom it may concern".
But you know what I've come to learn and understand about Unitarianism above and beyond any other "true" religion that I've so far had the honour of examining?
As a Unitarian, I've never been asked to park my brain at the door. In fact, I've often been challenged and forced to use my brain in order to embrace my other fellow Unitarians.
And from what I understand of public prayer... it deliberately doesn't embrace anyone who isn't of that religion and deliberately, without a care, has the ability to affront the religious and theological sensibilities of those who aren't of that religion. And really, any Christian who says to me that they're all for public prayer in school, that there is nothing wrong with it... Well, let's just say that there is more than one oxymoron in the Bible and New Testament.
Separation of Church and State.
It's necessary.
Tomorrow... Hot peppers; I promise.
The Underground Railroad
The term "underground railroad" became best known for helping persecuted nations of people secretly escape their persecutors.
In the mid nineteenth century abolitionists ran the secret underground railroad helping slaves escape their bondage, running north to freedom in Canada.
In the mid twentieth century an underground railroad ran in Western Europe, helping Jews, intellectuals, gays and others escape persecution from the Nazis.
But between 1965 and 1973, over 50,000 Americans used a secret underground railroad to flee North to Canada from the United States, to escape the draft. Avoiding what they felt was an unjust war, the conscientious objectors were welcomed with open arms to a Canada that felt it should be a haven from militarism. And indeed one hopes that Canada is still that.
Today the Underground Railroad again runs from the United States into Canada, but it's not persecution or a draft that the passengers are fleeing, but death in an unjust war.
Jeremy Hinzman, a soldier in the 82nd Airborne Division and Brandon Hughey, another American soldier, are seeking refugee status in Canada in the hopes of avoiding extradition to a country that will probably incarcerate them but could put them to death for not wanting to fight in Iraq.
Mr. Hinzman has lost his initial plea for refugee status but his case will go before the higher court of appeals before he is sent back to the US.
On May 27th a press conference was held in the Trinity Street Church in Toronto bringing light to a question that many of us have not considered. As a nation Canada refused to participate in the war on Iraq because we felt it unjust. We, therefore, need to stand up and protect those who come to Canada hoping to escape the war and allow them refuge from persecution, as we did during Vietnam.
The War Resisters Support Campaign is circulating a petition asking the Canadian Government to live up to it's belief that the war on Iraq is wrong and therefore grant sanctuary to US war objectors.
The list of signatories to the petion is quite impressive.
As of the writing of this blog, the petition held 11,783 total signatures, one of which is mine and weirdly enough, one, #11,657 to be precise, belongs to one Mr. Paul Martin of Ottawa who states his Professional Affiliation as Canada Prime Minister.
Another; #11483 is Jan Wells of Alabama USA who wrote: My brother is in Iraq; 10th Mountain Division, #10843 is Jeff Doran of West La Have, Nova Scotia, a 1970 Conscientious Objector and #123, is Mr. Robert Weiss of Loxahatchee, Fl who wrote: Bush Lied & Our Soldiers Continue to Die.
It's already been proven that Bush and his Government lied in order to invade Iraq, and even though the American people decided in their last elections to allow their Government to continue the Iraq invasion, we as a sovereign nation, must in all conscience allow anyone who disagrees with their Government, the ability to object.
Read the War Resisters Support Campaign Petition written by Michelle Robidoux of War Resisters and if you agree. Please sign it.
And if you are American and are required to register for selective service or are of draft age and you are afraid that your Nation will reinstitute the draft, then this article, Conscientious Objection and Iraq by Joseph Wakelee-Lynch is required reading.
And yet another blog goes by with no mention of hot peppers... What is wrong with me???
In the mid nineteenth century abolitionists ran the secret underground railroad helping slaves escape their bondage, running north to freedom in Canada.
In the mid twentieth century an underground railroad ran in Western Europe, helping Jews, intellectuals, gays and others escape persecution from the Nazis.
But between 1965 and 1973, over 50,000 Americans used a secret underground railroad to flee North to Canada from the United States, to escape the draft. Avoiding what they felt was an unjust war, the conscientious objectors were welcomed with open arms to a Canada that felt it should be a haven from militarism. And indeed one hopes that Canada is still that.
Today the Underground Railroad again runs from the United States into Canada, but it's not persecution or a draft that the passengers are fleeing, but death in an unjust war.
Jeremy Hinzman, a soldier in the 82nd Airborne Division and Brandon Hughey, another American soldier, are seeking refugee status in Canada in the hopes of avoiding extradition to a country that will probably incarcerate them but could put them to death for not wanting to fight in Iraq.
Mr. Hinzman has lost his initial plea for refugee status but his case will go before the higher court of appeals before he is sent back to the US.
On May 27th a press conference was held in the Trinity Street Church in Toronto bringing light to a question that many of us have not considered. As a nation Canada refused to participate in the war on Iraq because we felt it unjust. We, therefore, need to stand up and protect those who come to Canada hoping to escape the war and allow them refuge from persecution, as we did during Vietnam.
The War Resisters Support Campaign is circulating a petition asking the Canadian Government to live up to it's belief that the war on Iraq is wrong and therefore grant sanctuary to US war objectors.
The list of signatories to the petion is quite impressive.
As of the writing of this blog, the petition held 11,783 total signatures, one of which is mine and weirdly enough, one, #11,657 to be precise, belongs to one Mr. Paul Martin of Ottawa who states his Professional Affiliation as Canada Prime Minister.
Another; #11483 is Jan Wells of Alabama USA who wrote: My brother is in Iraq; 10th Mountain Division, #10843 is Jeff Doran of West La Have, Nova Scotia, a 1970 Conscientious Objector and #123, is Mr. Robert Weiss of Loxahatchee, Fl who wrote: Bush Lied & Our Soldiers Continue to Die.
It's already been proven that Bush and his Government lied in order to invade Iraq, and even though the American people decided in their last elections to allow their Government to continue the Iraq invasion, we as a sovereign nation, must in all conscience allow anyone who disagrees with their Government, the ability to object.
Read the War Resisters Support Campaign Petition written by Michelle Robidoux of War Resisters and if you agree. Please sign it.
And if you are American and are required to register for selective service or are of draft age and you are afraid that your Nation will reinstitute the draft, then this article, Conscientious Objection and Iraq by Joseph Wakelee-Lynch is required reading.
And yet another blog goes by with no mention of hot peppers... What is wrong with me???
Monday, June 06, 2005
What You Really Need in Business but are Afraid to Ask...
Number one... Webmaster. Grrrrr
Number two... An accountant. Grrrr, double Grrrrr.
Now don't get me wrong, here. Our accountant is a sweetheart, an absolute doll. I just love him to pieces.
We gave him the account books in March... He told us that we'd be pressed because of tax season, and would have to wait until he finished all of those, but, he's still not finished the books and now it's June! Grrrrr
Here's Greg on the phone with him now, working on last August... what is the matter with these two?
It used to be simple... One ledger, balance sheet tax return... Who in God's name thought it was a good idea to automate this stuff?? There oughta be a law against Quickbooks.
I've got a great story about peppers, but I'm just too annoyed to post it right now... Grrrr
Number two... An accountant. Grrrr, double Grrrrr.
Now don't get me wrong, here. Our accountant is a sweetheart, an absolute doll. I just love him to pieces.
We gave him the account books in March... He told us that we'd be pressed because of tax season, and would have to wait until he finished all of those, but, he's still not finished the books and now it's June! Grrrrr
Here's Greg on the phone with him now, working on last August... what is the matter with these two?
It used to be simple... One ledger, balance sheet tax return... Who in God's name thought it was a good idea to automate this stuff?? There oughta be a law against Quickbooks.
I've got a great story about peppers, but I'm just too annoyed to post it right now... Grrrr
Wednesday, June 01, 2005
Have You Got a Secret???
When I was in Alanon (12-step group for families and loved ones of alcoholics) many years ago, I learned that a secret shared is a secret halved. Very therapeutic and healing that. Simply speaking a secret removes half of it's power. Speaking it over and over again, ultimately not only removes it power but, I believe, eliminates it entirely. It's the reason why such groups are so effective for so many people.
Sometimes I am really glad that my first husband killed himself; and sometimes it really makes me want to cry... I suppose that would be a secret worth sharing. Certainly not one I would need to be anonymous for, not if you know me, certainly, it's not a secret that I would creatively etch into a postcard and sent to PostSecret... or would I?
What is PostSecret you ask?
Well, I found it by Googling "What is the most read blog".
The "instructions for PostSecret are posted as follows:
You are invited to anonymously contribute your secrets to PostSecret. Each secret can be a regret, hope, funny experience, unseen kindness, fantasy, belief, fear, betrayal, erotic desire, feeling, confession, or childhood humiliation. Reveal anything - as long as it is true and you have never shared it with anyone before.
Create your own 4-by-6-inch postcards out of any mailable material. But please only put one secret on a card. If you want to share two or more secrets, use multiple postcards. (Please do not email your secret.)
Please put your complete secret and image on one side of the postcard.
Tips:
Be brief - the fewer words used the better.
Be legible– - use big, clear and bold lettering.
Be creative - let the postcard be your canvas.
Mail your secrets to:
PostSecret
13345 Copper Ridge Rd
Germantown, Maryland
USA 20874-3454
Email questions or comments to: Frank@docdel.com
And the best postcard I found is this one.
The most read blog: PostSecret
Me out.
Sometimes I am really glad that my first husband killed himself; and sometimes it really makes me want to cry... I suppose that would be a secret worth sharing. Certainly not one I would need to be anonymous for, not if you know me, certainly, it's not a secret that I would creatively etch into a postcard and sent to PostSecret... or would I?
What is PostSecret you ask?
Well, I found it by Googling "What is the most read blog".
The "instructions for PostSecret are posted as follows:
You are invited to anonymously contribute your secrets to PostSecret. Each secret can be a regret, hope, funny experience, unseen kindness, fantasy, belief, fear, betrayal, erotic desire, feeling, confession, or childhood humiliation. Reveal anything - as long as it is true and you have never shared it with anyone before.
Create your own 4-by-6-inch postcards out of any mailable material. But please only put one secret on a card. If you want to share two or more secrets, use multiple postcards. (Please do not email your secret.)
Please put your complete secret and image on one side of the postcard.
Tips:
Be brief - the fewer words used the better.
Be legible– - use big, clear and bold lettering.
Be creative - let the postcard be your canvas.
Mail your secrets to:
PostSecret
13345 Copper Ridge Rd
Germantown, Maryland
USA 20874-3454
Email questions or comments to: Frank@docdel.com
And the best postcard I found is this one.
The most read blog: PostSecret
Me out.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
