Just like a Slattery

Saturday was beauty day.

I had a pedicure. With a hot-stone foot massage. Which I got a 20% discount for because the last time I went there it was a sorry excuse for a pedicure, being more of a polish change.

Then I was a whole half hour early to get my eyebrows waxed, so I sat in a quiet, darkened room and read magazines and drank coffee until it was time.

Between those two things, I bought groceries for the week and picked up my pills for my arthritis in my knee.

After that, I spent a delightful seven or so hours bugging the hell out of Mish while updating the OS in my iPhone. Mish, you see, has the patience of a saint. I, unfortunately, do not, and had to leave briefly to go get some ice cream.

Tomorrow I definitely have to clean house, because I have a genuine first world problem.

Today I commented on someone’s Facebook about a link she had posted about Rick Perry’s (wife’s) believe that Perry is being “brutalized” because he’s a Christian.

Which paints him a little too Jesus-like for my personal taste, for one big thing, but that’s not where I’m going today.

They go further to say that he has been “called” to run for office. I’ve got a beef with that too, while I’m bitching. Politics is not a holy calling. You don’t get called to run for office; you get called to the clergy, you get called to give your soul to God. You do not get called to compromise all your principles just to be at the top of the heap.

I posted as much in response and found myself being, er, heavily responded to by some man I do not even know, who extrapolated from that one remark that I’m to the far left (I am not) and am bigoted toward Republicans and slavishly devoted to the POTUS.

I responded about as mildly as I could and he responded that he would not attack me or the way I live.

Nevermind. Here is what transpired between the two of us (names redacted):

ME: In the first place, politics is not a holy calling. You don’t “get the call” to run for office. You get the call to be a preacher. What a maroon.

HIM: You are pathetic. Your opinion is worthless. Very certain that you have a sorry life. Please give up the hate and anger.

I looked the gentleman in question up. He’s a dentist, an educated man. I won’t list his name here, but if you’re going to the dentist in south Metro Atlanta and are concerned that this obviously irrational person might be drilling your teeth, send me a message and I’ll tell you who he is.

Had one friend of mine attacked another like that on my wall, I’d have told them to cut it out, and if they didn’t, I’d have shut them down for being rude and out of control, as I have done previously. I’m a little disappointed that the host didn’t tell him to shut it, not because of his politics, but because he was so rude; I expected better, because I would have given better.

The world is a hard, hard place without people being deliberately ugly.

Maybe you noticed I was gone for a whole week.

I wasn’t in jail or rehab, and I don’t work for the CIA.

That’s all I have to say about that.

I’m back now, and I’m tickled to report that fall is in full swing here in the briarpatch. The sky is bright blue and the weather is just cool enough to require long sleeves, but not cool enough to tote a jacket around.

This is my favorite time of year because it smacks of new beginnings, new chances, a time to change your mind, an opportunity to start something new. It’s also a time to shed the old things in preparation for the new things.

Speaking of new things, Lynn and Pete’s brand new little baby girl, Petra, was born at brunch time on Sunday morning. I knew when the phone rang it was Pete calling to tell me so and I slid across the floor in my socks to get to it.

I met her yesterday and she is the tiniest, prettiest little treat of a baby – warm and snuggly and good-smelling, with hands like little starfish and a great big yawn. She’s already trying to lift her head, like her big sister, Anya, and she’s the most active newborn I’ve ever seen, pedaling her legs like she’s got somewhere to be.

Speaking of old things, I’m reading The Virgin Suicides, by Jeffrey Eugenides. I was going to read his new book, The Marriage Plot, but I read the sample and thought, eh, but I really liked Middlesex. It’s all so complicated. The Virgin Suicides is really good, so maybe I’ll give it another chance. Maybe I’ll read Forrest Gump first, though.

There would be a picture of the day today, had I not left my phone at home. I panicked for a second when I realized I didn’t have it, but for 89% of my life I didn’t carry a phone around with me and nothing bad happened, so I didn’t go back around the block and get it. I’m not a heart surgeon, so it’s not like somebody’s going to call and need me to walk them through life-saving surgery out in the field. I do know how to run the country, but nobody has asked for my opinion yet.

I believe that’s all the news that fits, citizens.

There was a several-hours-long delay while the Supreme Court reviewed the case, but a stay has not been issued.

Reasonable doubt is for the jury case, not for the execution.

I am told that the parole board can take public opinion into consideration, but I can’t verify that. If they can, I cannot get a grip on how Mr. Davis wasn’t granted clemency.

It just sucks. It sucks for the Davis family, it sucks for the MacPhail family, it just sucks.

Troy Davis died at 11:08 tonight.

They’re executing Troy Davis tonight.

In case you’re wondering how they will go about snuffing out his life, you can read about it here. Before you click, however, be warned that it is a fairly graphic link.

Frankly, I’d rather face the firing squad and be done with it.

There is simply too much doubt to proceed with his execution.

I cannot speak to whether his attorneys proved his case for clemency or if they failed him.

Troy Davis is guilty of many things, but there is reasonable doubt as to whether or not he is guilty of killing Mark MacPhail.

I am so sorry for Officer MacPhail’s family’s loss. By all accounts he was an upstanding young man with a bright future ahead of him. I hope that this brings them the peace that they feel it will.

A few weeks ago, two of our favorite guys up in Vermont came up with a new flavor.

They called it Schweddy Balls, after a sketch on “Saturday Night Live.”

Now, predictably, a group of parents is up in arms about the name of the ice cream.

And this is what I have to say about that: not everything in the world is suitable for children, nor should it be.

If those people don’t like the name of the product, it’s a free market and they can make their own ice cream and call it anything they want to.

Apparently yak coats are all the rage right now.