Nearly Random

No amount of work overload can compete with spring fever. Or an actual fever.  My Friday began with an Ethics workshop(something politicians should have to review every day) and ended with a fever.  My husband came home to find me all hot, and not in a good way.   Since fever equals contagious, no outings for me.  I stayed home all weekend, missing Zane's soccer game, where he scored 4 goals(earning an entire dollar from Grandma!), and I missed the family dinner on Sunday.  I did, however, do laundry.  And dishes.  Go ahead and feel very sorry for me right now, because I sure felt sorry for myself.  The weekends are my time to 'relax' as much as someone like me can, and this one was ruined by a fever, which is horrible.  If I were a kid, I would scream and stomp my feet emphatically to punctuate the fact that I am upset.  Actually, I did that, but since I am an adult, my husband only looked mildly amused.

Zane announced yesterday that his school had been on lockdown.  Larry and I looked at each other, because Zane tends to embellish stories. Was this just a practice lockdown? No, Zane said.  It was real.  We sat in the dark and were very quiet, because there was a stranger on campus.  Strangers are bad, Zane told us.  This stranger was so bad, Zane emphasized, that he used the toilet and did not flush.  Larry and I looked at each other, but when in doubt, look in the school backpack.  There was a letter this time, and it said...that there was a lockdown ordered by the police.  No details.   I was not happy about that--a letter home should state what happened in one sentence or less and then emphasize that the situation was resolved.  I don't do vague when it comes to school safety. (I also have a problem with pairing the word 'stranger' and 'bad'.  Not every stranger is bad!)  Plus, now I am in the unenviable position of asking the school office if the lockdown was over whether a stranger forgot to flush the toilet.   They already think I'm slightly off.

I was reading about the Supreme Court hearing a case regarding whether or not human genes can be patented.  It seems that this company "patented" the gene, and therefore the only place where anyone could find out information was from this company.  Of course, you have to pay out the nose to find out.  The company claims that it spend trillions of dollars on that gene and it needs to recoup that money.  If they can't have the patent, they say, then there's no reason for them to do any sort of research. That is a load of bull-hockey, pardon my metaphor.  I understand that medical research is a trillion dollar industry. I understand that these companies have shareholders and are in the business to make a profit.  I get all that, and that is not going to change no matter what the company says.  I think that a company can patent the method by which they found the gene, if they invented it.  They can patent the test that they created to find the gene in other people.  But the gene?  That belongs to the individual who has it, and as such is not patentable.  What do I know?  I don't think that a human genome qualifies as intellectual property, so I am likely viewed as a heathen.

We were driving home last night when all of a sudden one of our tires started making this horrible flappity-flappity sound.  I knew that it wasn't a blowout, but flappity-flappity sounds, unless you're a duck, are always concerning.  While I was turning on the hazards and exiting the highway, Larry helpfully called out suggestions, such as "DON'T SLAM ON THE BRAKES!!!"  Which every idiot on the planet knows, and I wasn't slamming on the brakes, but applying them gently.   Once we were on the side of the road, Larry jumped into action.  He leapt out of the vehicle and stared at the front passenger tire.  Then he stared at the other tires, one by one.  Then he got down in front and looked underneath the car, which made me nervous.  Horror movies often feature people getting run over by random cars possessed by evil deceased race car drivers, but I made sure that the parking break was on and did the sign of the cross, just in case.  It turns out that part of the tread had come off, so we drove to Discount Tires immediately, and they fixed us right up.  I had just been thinking last week that we needed to get new tires on the front!

I've been avoiding all the coverage of the Boston Marathon attacks, because I tend to get vicariously traumatized by the saturation.  All I'll say is that Bostonians are a tough and resilient people, as least as much as New Yorkers.  They will get through this with the dignity and grace that is within.  Instead of sharing random facebook pictures with candles and such, pray if you want to, then go donate blood or give money to the Red Cross or the disaster charity of your choice.  Those are very positive actions that negate the anger, fear, and hatred that whoever did this was trying to incite.  

Go take a break from the news overload about Boston and visit Stacy



Also, today is my brother's birthday.  He's 25 years old, according to Zane, even after I explained that his uncle is only a couple of years younger than me.  I wonder how much cash my brother parted with to plant that suggestion!