Maybe I’m getting cantankerous – or maybe flat out intolerant – in my old age. But having seen the word “partner” twice used in the past 5 minutes, in two completely unrelated fora, to mean something completely other than what “partner” used to mean, this rant just overflowed.

Remember when “partner” meant the person with whom you were in business?

And remember when “bad” meant not good?

How about when “sick” meant ill?

And hey, remember when “red” and “blue” meant two of the primary colours? And “I’m blue” meant that you were sad?

C’mon, help me out here… I’m sure that you can think of more… is anybody else here longing for the ‘good old days’?

These very words that you are reading now, and the penultimate post with the picture of the Starbucks fashion horse, are why I love the combination of my Sidekick and WordPress ‘blog by email’ function.
As I write and post this, I am doing 70mph down Highway 24, headed on our way to try a new raw food restaurant in Berkeley (chauffered by my indulgent husband).
Blogging from the road (litereally) rocks, it just doesn’t get any more real time than this!

The only thing surprising about the indictment charging 7 U.S. Marines (Lawrence G. Hutchins III, Trent D. Thomas, Melson J. Bacos, Tyler A. Jackson, John J. Jodka, Jerry E. Shumate Jr., Robert B. Pennington and Marshall L. Magincalda) with the brutal and unprovoked murder of Iraqi Hasham Ibrahim Awad, in Hamdaniya, Iraq, is that anybody is surprised by it.

There is a war going on – agree with it or not – you can hardly disagree that it is a war.

And the Marines, above all, are trained to kill first, and, uh, not ask questions. Let alone think.

You train someone to be a killing machine, tell them that the enemy looks like this, sounds like that and dresses like them, and then you are surprised when he kills someone who looks like this, sounds like that and dresses like them?

You let a pack of trained killing machines loose (for some value of “loose”) in enemy territory (for some value of “enemy” and, for that matter, “territory”) and you don’t expect that killing to machine to.. you know .. kill?

What the f*ck did you expect them to do? Sidle up to the Iraqi people and have a cuddle?

For chrissakes, these are the same guys who are coming home and killing their wives, their parents and their friends, because they have been trained so effectively to kill, and not so effectively to cope.

You think they would kill their loved ones, but not someone in the country in which they are trying to drive out the scourge of the scum and where they have a hard time discerning who is the bad guy and who is the good guy and hey after a while under those conditions doesn’t it all blur together? I mean, their wives sure don’t look like Iraqi men but they are getting pasted too.

Now, before someone accuses me of being down on the man, I would remind them that I am a veteran, and darned proud of it.

What I’m saying is this: you made this mess. Now cop to it. Yeah, what Jackson, Thomas, Pennington, Hutchins, Bacos, Jodka, Shumate and Magincalda did was heinous. Unforgiveable – all the more so because they alledgedly dragged Hasham Ibrahim Awad from his house, unprovoked, and returned him – dead – the next day.

But while they need to and deserve to be judged – and harshly – don’t leave them hanging in the wind to take all of the blame.

Just as it’s the owner at fault when a pit bull attacks..well… you get it.

One of the things I evangelize to whomever will listen, lately, is our CPAP machine. Ok, well, technically it’s my husband’s CPAP machine, but it’s made such a difference in both of our lives that I like to think of it as “ours”.

Now, if you are like 90% of the people I know, you are at this very moment thinking “What the heck is a CPAP machine?�

It’s a device which is designed to help with sleep apnea (help to stop it, that is, not to induce it – that’s another machine for a much more sinister purpose). As you may be aware, sleep apnea has some very unpleasant side effects, such as inability to achieve REM state, sleep deprivation, and, oh, death.

But in addition to helping with sleep apnea, a CPAP machine helps with that other condition which keeps one from achieving restful sleep… SNORING! Of course, in this case the one who can’t achieve restful sleep is usually your spouse, or your children, or the people on the next street over.

“CPAPâ€? stands for “Continuous Positive Air Pressure”, and it works by applying, well, continuous positive air pressure through your airway while you sleep. This is a fancy way of saying that you strap a small nose-covering mask onto your face (think nitrous mask at the dentist – oh, right, suuuure you’ve never had that), which is hooked up to a smallish box which generates a constant gentle flow of air through the mask, through your nose, and into your airway, while you sleep. Keeping the airway open, and keeping it from collapsing onto itself, prevents both apnea and snoring.

While this may sound uncomfortable as all get-out, it’s not, although it does take a day or two to get used to it. But that is a very small price to pay for what you get in return: genuine, deep, honest-to-goodness sleep. And that’s just your spouse, your kids, and the guy on the next street over.

For the CPAP wearer, the benefits are beyond measure. Because along with the cessation of snoring and finally getting restful sleep (which you didn’t even realize you weren’t getting until your wife forced you to get the CPAP machine), you get increased energy, clarity of thinking, and a happier disposition. No, really. Headaches go away (and I don’t mean your wife nagging you about your snoring), that pesky falling asleep at your desk becomes a thing of the past, and your boss promotes you and gives you a raise (ok, I made that last one up, but hey, it could happen!)

Seriously, we had two sets of very close friends independently tell us how getting a CPAP machine changed their lives, and oh-so-much for the better. In the first case, the husband’s snoring was so bad that he’d had to move out of the bedroom, and into another room down the hall. The very first day he brought home his CPAP machine he moved back into the bedroom, where he has remained ever since (and hmm…they have since had another baby…).

But it was the telling of his experience by our other friend that convinced us (well, me) that we should look into this for ourselves. This friend has some very serious apnea, along with the snoring. The kind which lead to his wife not being able to sleep not only because of the noise, but because she was afraid he’d expire on the bed next to her – if the noise stopped it meant that his breathing had too.

Now is a good time for me to explain that in order to get a CPAP machine, you must have a sleep study performed. This is where you go to a clinic for the night, let them paste electrodes all over you to monitor your breathing, your oxygen saturation levels, and the like, and then tell you to go to sleep. And amazingly, you do. Then in the morning they tell you what they observed, and if they think that you may benefit from a CPAP machine they have you come in for a follow-up night with the CPAP.

So our friend went in for the sleep study, and his apnea was so bad that half-way through the study the doctors woke him up, and said “put this mask on now,� and off he drifted, back to sleep).

In the morning, when he woke up, he felt, in his own words, “like a new man”. He couldn’t believe the difference in how he felt, and that was after sleeping in a completely strange, clinical environment, and with only about 4 hours of using the machine. He said that he never knew what it felt like to actually get good sleep before, and he’d had no idea what he’d been missing. He felt elated. He also said that the week he had to wait before he could actually have his own machine at home (due to his insurance) was agony – once having finally known what it was to truly sleep, he couldn’t wait to have that kind of sleep again!

So, on the strength of these strong recommendations, and my own desire for both of us to get some decent sleep, after I must confess much pushing and even, yes, nagging, my husband went in for a sleep study. Then he went in for the follow-up, and they said “yes, we think that you would be helped by a CPAP machine – even though you don’t have full apnea, your snoring causes apnea-like conditions”. So he slept a night there with the machine, them figuring out the ideal pressure for him (the machine can be programmed for pressures ranging from gentle like a gnat’s breath to full-on gale force), and in the morning sent him on his way with a prescription for the machine.

And from that very day, we have never looked back. It’s been wonderful. We both sleep well now, and we are both ever so much happier. He has increased energy, clarity of thinking, and a happier disposition. His headaches have gone away, he no longer falls asleep at his desk, and hey, he even got a promotion and a raise.

And now you know why we call it “the Marriage Saver”.

We watched Robots, the Movie this week. In fact, 3 times.

And guess what? I actually enjoyed it each time.

We bought the DVD, having not yet seen it. But we had seen an exhibit about the movie at the Phoenix Children’s Museum. And it looked pretty good. The snippets I saw at the museum had reminded me quite a bit of Monsters, Inc., one of the few Disney movies which we feel is actually appropriate for children. So we took a chance.

Our son and I watched it on Friday – the day that we bought it – with some friends. Then we watched it on Sunday night, with my husband, as the conclusion of our Father’s Day (it’s a great father/son movie). Then we watched it again tonight.

Although actually, even this movie has some stuff in there that makes us wonder “just why the heck do they put that stuff in there?”

Robots, the Movie, could have been a perfect kids movie. The bad guys were just the right amount of bad, the good guys triumph over evil, and it’s got some great morals to it. It’s entertaining, charming, funny, and has enough double entendres and zany adult-level humour to entertain the grown-ups.

The animation is superb.

So why the hell do they feel compelled to include robots not only making rude noises under their arms, but to have them articulate both the street term for the under-the-arm noise, and what it sounds like? And to make jokes about the smell? And about Aunt Fanny’s bottom? WHY do they have to use the terms “butt whooping” (twice, for emphasis?) And why does Mr. Bigweld have to ask about the woman “with the big keester”?

These things added nothing to the movie, were completely gratuitous and had nothing to do with the plot (or, really, even the scene in which they appeared), and the movie would have been not only just as good without them, but even better.

So why?

By the way, for those of you who have seen the movie and find it strangely reminiscent of something on which you just can’t quite put your finger….

The executive producer of Robots, the Movie was William Joyce.

William Joyce is the author and illustrator of Roly Poly Olie.

And now you know.

We had dinner with friends last night, during which we talked about the transformation through which teenaged girls go, much like Linda Blair, particularly with respect to their mothers.

The day before I’d been talking with a friend about 8 year olds and the attitude changes through which they go, and the day before that I was imparting my wisdom about the plight of unwed fathers trapped by unprotected (and untruthful) young women.

There seemed to be a theme, and it all boiled down to one thing.

What do all of these scenarios have in common?

Raging hormones.

And it got me thinking. It’s amazing just how much these little chemicals – and in such minute amounts – can make such a difference, and have such an impact, on how we behave.

And we know it, and yet we choose to overlook it, to downplay it – hell, even to deny it (any of you men ever made the mistake of attributing your wife’s over-reaction to something to “that time of the month”?)

Nobody wants to admit that something that they did was based not on a considered and conscious choice they made, but on a whim – a chemical-induced whim.

Yet, let’s face it: raging hormones are behind a lot of stupid things we do.

In my practice as a fathers’ rights attorney I saw it all the time. Thousands of babies are born every year as a result of raging hormones.

As the mother of a teenaged daughter I saw it, as the mother of a maturing young son I see it.

Hormones are extremely influential in how we feel, and how we want to act.

Sometimes we know it’s hormonal, and we rein it in. Sometimes we don’t (know, or rein).

Children and teenagers don’t understand – they just know that they have “big feelings” and don’t know why, or what to do with them.

Adults know, but sometimes they still don’t know what to do with them.

So c’mon, fess up. What have you done that was blindingly stupid, as the result of raging hormones?

As some of you know, I was recently diagnosed with advanced osteo in one of my hips, along with a healthy (cough) dose of degenerative bone disease. Wow, that sucked. And the thing is, I’m not old. Certainly not *that* old! I mean, I’m 40-something, and hey, I keep being told that 50 is the new 30, which means that really I’m only 20-something, right?

Well, apparently my skeletal structure never got that memo, because here I am, facing a certain hip replacement at some point in my future, and doing physical therapy to ward off that eventuality.

Only, you see, I’m not doing that physical therapy. Because oh yes, I forgot to mention, I’ve also been laid up, mostly flat on my back, for the better part of the past two months (ever since we returned from Arizona), with a herniated disc in my back.

Now, because I couldn’t do the physical therapy, because of my back, my hip is getting worse.

(Everybody: o/` o/` The back bone connects to the pelvis bone, and the pelvis bone connects to the.. hip bone .. and the hip bone … o/` o/`)

Fortunately my back is finally healing, which means that I can go back to physical therapy for my hip soon.

Of course, the best thing that I can do for my back is to walk; while the worst thing that I can do for my hip is to.. wait for it… yep, walk.

But with all this going on, I’ve been very grateful that at least these things are mechanical.

And this was brought home with force recently, having just learned that a friend of mine – someone with a young toddler – just had to have heart surgery for coronary artery disease.

Thank goodness he’s ok, but holy bypass, Batman!

So I’m very grateful. At least I have my health!

But still, what it all means is that yes, we are getting older.

And I’ve made a resolution. I am not, I repeat not going to grow old gracefully.

Nope, not me.

I’m going to grow old disgracefully.