February 26, 2007
You know, some people should just be shot. In multiple locations.
Take, for example, the man who purchases drinks for a group of women.
One wakes, 12 hours later, with no memory past the first drink. And is still dizzy and nauseous with an erratic pulse 12 hours after that.
Please, be careful. Its spring break, and the assholes are out.
Scrawled illegibly by Meathe at 05:52 PM
August 10, 2006
A selection of the mornings headlines
Plan to blow up 6-10 planes in mid-flight over ocean
'Mass murder' bomb plot
May have been 'the Big One'
'Suggestive' of al-Qaida
UK police hold 21
REPORT: Citizens of Pakistani Descent
Britain on highest alert
USA raises air security alert to red for first time
London-to-Boston flight returns to Heathrow because of security issue Britain facing 'most sustained threat since WWII'
Scrawled illegibly by Meathe at 12:00 PM
June 05, 2006
Reflections on awakening
For the last several months, six days of seven, at 7:30am there has been a great deal of construction noise from the building next door, an old brownstone under renovations. Whilst it is an unpleasant way to awaken as the kitten has a penchant for climbing over the alarm clock and switching it off, it does serve some purpose.
In my personal experience, I've never woken faster than this morning, when the same construction workers started screaming "Fuck, he's dead! Someone call 911!" instead.
Better mornings have been had.
Scrawled illegibly by Meathe at 09:56 AM
January 26, 2006
Felines and kidney failure.
This site has been very helpful. Not encouraging at all, but very helpful.
Scrawled illegibly by Meathe at 03:23 PM
January 18, 2006
Things cats do not like first thing in the morning:
There are about 200,000 tiny structures called nephrons in the kidneys. These eliminate waste products and regulate electrolytes in the body. Nature is a marvelous thing when it works.
In chronic renal failure, these little things gradually die off and the processing slows and stops. The cat becomes poisoned by the waste that the kidneys are unable to filter. It is not treatable, but it is manageable for a time.
So our beautiful chocolate point Siamese has a new regime, and hopefully she'll get used to it without flaying my hands overly much.
It's really the last one that bothers her most, and I can't really blame her, I wouldn't enjoy it either.
Scrawled illegibly by Meathe at 01:41 PM
July 14, 2005
Just another day in an extended June
This is not an email you want to receive.
-------- Original Message --------
Subject: I'm having a six square inch piece of my skull removedOf course it will be put back. But, with titanium clips. And, only after a walnut sized tumor is scraped out from between my cranium and cerebellum.
Scrawled illegibly by Meathe at 04:23 PM
July 07, 2005
London, some time ago.
From late 1940 to mid 1941, my grandmother was living in a mansion, safely out in the english countryside, with a good many other souls. The owners, whom I cannot recall, had offered accomodation to some of those who had their houses during the Blitz.
There were many near misses, and when the sirens went, you sought cover, to the extent that she even hid behind a large crate full of potatos (most of which were destroyed as she crouched).
Or running into a public air-raid shelter and emerging to fires, rubble and very little in the way of recogniseable buildings.
The house where she had lived with her mother had been damaged in the Blitz bombings. The cemetary next door had also suffered a direct hit, and the houses were strewn with things better left underground. Cremation is a good thing. The Anderson shelter was in the back yard, the car headlights hooded, the windows painted black. These were inspected often to ensure no light escaped, as that made aiming much easier for the german pilots.
Buildings burnt, houses and churches were targetted. People banded together and did what they could to help others.
Shortly after the house was repaired, she returned to London to pick up where she left off.
And began working as a secretary, copying documents and laying them out for meetings. Under armed guard, she transported documents from one parliament, outside, down some steps and into another room for some people to peruse. This we did not know until I asked four years ago, as no one else in the family had. And so she told us, because whatever Official Secrets Act she signed (1911) had expired.
1944, from 21st of January through April 8, there was a reprisal of the blitz, dubbed the 'Little Blitz'. 1000 people were killed in the seven (or eight) raids in January alone.
In June 1944, the Doodlebugs arrived. Buzz bombs, V1s. They were named such becuase as the rockets in them worked, they emitted a very distinct hum. And you were safe - so long as you heard the hum, for when it stopped, the engine had cut out, and they descended. And all hell broke loose. The germans launched about 100 a day, fighter planes downed about a third of these as they zipped past, anti-aircraft guns a further 10th. Around half of these fell short. Daily, somewhere beween twenty and forty hit.
It was hard to tell the difference, sometimes, between a car, a motorbike and a doodlebug. And all you could do when the engine stopped was take cover and hope you were not beneath it. By this time, London seemed empty, for many had left.
One landed between the two rows of houses where my grandmother lived and was at the time. Again, luckily, as occasionally happened, this one failed to explode, giving her and her sister just enough time to run like hell and make it out the front and a little way down the street before it did detonate.
All in all, around seven thousand were launched, about two thousand five hundred hit London, causing over five thousand deaths and injuring three times more.
September brought the V2 rockets, which were larger (14 tons?) and supersonic. The roar of the engines could not be heard until after the explosion. There was no warning. There was an explosion, a roaring noise and another explosion, with white flashes in the sky before the noise. Officials told everyone they were gas mains explosions. This was not widely believed by anyone, less so by someone who daily read the cabinet briefs. Nan actually found them less harrowing than the doodlebugs, for if you heard them, you were safe. If you didn't hear them, then it was either safe, or too late. Fatalistic, with a wry twist.
These are the small fragments I can recall. There are many more stories and much greater detail, and I shall always wish I'd written this down earlier.
More, I think, to come much later, if I can somehow get a recording device to her.
Scrawled illegibly by Meathe at 01:17 PM