The GirlAlive Blog

I really totally want the newest upcoming issue of Craft magazine.  The current issue, volume 8, has a section on weaving and even a little cardboard loom.  I love weaving. 

The problem is that I can't afford to subscribe because it costs a fortune for delivery to the UK ($50 for 4 issues).  I can't buy a single issue either because it's current, so you can't order that issue online.  It's supposed to be on newsstands August 5th, but not in the UK.  

Anyone out there think they can find this issue for me?  I can pay, or trade for stuff from my cafepress shop.  I can even trade for a ball of handspun wool or something.

Alana

Posted by Alana at 01:55 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

I haven't posted any pictures of my guinea pigs for quite a long time.  So here are some pictures I took last night, since I finally have fresh batteries for my camera.

Fudge, reclining:

Elvis

Spike, begging for treats:

Spike and Elvis, getting along just fine:

I still miss Homer like crazy.  He was my little buddy.  But as you can see, our remaining piggies are getting along quite well.  Things are pretty peaceful in the piggy corner these days.  Other than Fudge, who squeaks a lot because he misses humping Elvis all day long.

Alana 

Posted by Alana at 07:10 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

I got myself a Twitter account.  It's kind of dumb because I can't do the "real time update by cell phone" thing.  From the UK it costs a fortune to txt to Twitter, and I don't actually have a cell phone. 

But anyway, if you want to see any random crap from me, in 140 characters or less, you can see my twitter updates.  I'm a little annoyed that I had to be girlalive1 instead of just girlalive, but I think I'll live.  If anyone out there reading this has a twitter account let me know, and maybe I'll read your random crap too.

Alana

Posted by Alana at 06:50 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

The common perception of the British in America is that they all have stained brown crooked teeth.  Living here, a lot of it is true.  But here's the weird part: it isn't their fault.

I underwent years of orthodontia as a kid and when I moved here my teeth were relatively straight and white.  Since I moved here, they've been slowly changing.  I still brush my teeth twice a day, with the same toothpaste I used in the US (Colgate Total Plus Whitening).  I still floss.  I still use mouthwash.  And my teeth are turning brown and I'm getting a gap between my front teeth again.

The water here has no floride added.  That's part of the problem.  There is a lot of tea consumed here.  That may be part of it (though even the people who don't drink tea or smoke or anything like that still have brown teeth).  

I don't know what I'd have to do to keep my teeth white and straight to American standards, but it doesn't even seem possible here.  I don't know if it's just the water here or what, but my teeth are turning brown no matter what I do.

It isn't that the British don't brush their teeth.  It isn't that they don't go to the dentist.  They have oral hygiene equal with most Americans.  But something in this country is working against them.  I have no answers for why this is.  I just wanted you to know that you shouldn't view the British as ignorant of dental hygiene.  They do their best, but there's something in the water (or lacking from the water) or something.  The UK is not good for your teeth.

Alana

Posted by Alana at 12:28 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

I recently got involved in a debate over Guitar Hero (Rock Star, Rock Band and other similar games) on YouTube.  Are these games a good thing for music, or a bad thing?  I'm not sure.

Side One:  These games introduce kids to older music that completely rocks.  Lots of people are fans of "Say It Aint So" by Weezer because they've heard it in one of those games.  Might make them buy some cd's, or at least download some good music.  It's making kids listen to music that involves real bands playing real instruments, and not just some plastic singer with synthesizers.  Current music is formulated empty crap and a lot of kids are learning that music doesn't have to be that way because they hear old stuff by Nirvana and Weezer.  

Side Two:   Though these kids are listening to good old music, made by real musicians, they aren't creating anything of their own.  When I was shopping for my new guitar, I found numerous listings for guitars in brand new condition.  They were bought for kids who were interested in music, but then abandoned their guitars when they found that Guitar Hero was easier.  Guitar Hero is pure imitation with no individual creativity.  You are forced to play exactly like the original track.  There is no reinterpretation of a song.  There is no "making it your own" like with a real instrument. 

I'm not sure where to stand on this.  I'm all in favor of listening to good music, but I'd like the teenagers of today to be creating some of their own too.   It has to be healthier to have guitar string callouses than to have RSI from playing a video game. 

I don't have kids.  I don't know how I'd handle the whole musical game debate if I did.  But I'd hope that my kids would find music they love and then learn to play it on a real instrument, one way or another.

Alana 

Posted by Alana at 09:59 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

I have kind of a history of bizarre dreams.  Most of the time, they're notable for the weird celebrity cameos.  (Robert Carlysle and Ed Mc Mahon on a bus.  Jon Stewart feeding cherry tomatoes to orangutans while Carol Channing sings "Henry the Eighth".  And a remote beach house occupied by Dick Cheyney and Mister Rodgers.)  But the one I had the other night had no celebrities.  Yet it ranks as one of my weirdest ever.

I was pulled in off the street into a dusty old building that looked condemned or at least long abandoned.  I was told that they needed more audience members for a pilot for a new game show that they were shooting inside.  I got inside and the set for the game show looked a lot like a university lecture hall.  There were two podiums at the front.  People from the audience were called up to the front and they had to fart in front of the contestants at the podiums and the contestants had to smell their farts and guess what they had been eating.

Even in the dream, I was thinking, "This is so stupid that not even Fox would buy this show."  But at the same time I was worried that they would call me out of the audience to go up and fart.  I kept wondering, "How am I supposed to fart on cue?"  In the end, I wasn't called up.  The producer decided that they had enough footage to try to sell the show.  I was thinking, "Sitting here in the audience was deadly boring.  This'll be just painfully dull to watch on tv."  Then I left and shortly thereafter, I woke up.

So yeah.  I had a dream about competitive fart sniffing.  That's right up there on the bizarre list with Jon Stewart and the orangutans.

Alana 

Posted by Alana at 08:37 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I have an old green Fender guitar with broken electronics.  It's been frustrating me for several years, and I've never gotten it to play without cutting out on a regular basis.  I love that guitar, but it is aggravating.

My husband has been learning to play bass guitar, so he got himself an amp.  I wanted to play my guitar, but when you plug it into an amp, it's just annoying.  I decided it was time to do something.

I bought a new set of electronics for my Fender.  It didn't work.  My guitar is a bit of a mutant and I'm not good enough at soldering to get it together.  (Next time my brother is in town I'll have him take a crack at it.  He's an electrical engineer.)

I was checking out eBay and seeing if there were any guitars that looked halfway decent.  The price I set for myself was that I didn't want to spend more than 60 pounds including shipping.  There's a crappy Fender look alike in the charity shop, which is poor quality and covered in ugly skater stickers, for 60 pounds.  It's way overpriced.  But I didn't want a top quality brand name guitar.  I just want to play.  So that's the line I drew.  If I couldn't find anything cheaper than the ugly one in the charity shop, I wouldn't get one.

There was one on ebay that I liked.  It was a Stagg brand copy of a Fender Jazzmaster.  The starting bid was 40 pounds, with 12 pounds for shipping.  The auction was ending at 11:30 at night so I couldn't stay up for the end of it because husband had to get up early for work.  I threw a ridiculously small bid in on it and went to bed.

In the morning I found that I had won.  No other bids.  I got it for the starting bid.  52 pounds, with shipping.  It arrived today.

I love this guitar.  It fits into my arms perfectly.  It sounds great.  It's the most comfortable guitar I think I've ever played.  We were meant for each other. 

The picture doesn't do it justice.  It's so shiny and pretty.  I love my new guitar.

Now I just have to figure out what to do with the giant box full of crumpled newspaper that it came in... 

Posted by Alana at 09:49 AM | Permalink

Here is Jayne.  She is very cute.  So far no biting.  She's friendly but nervous.  She loves to dig and poop.  She poops more than any other hamster I've ever had.  She has pooped on me more in two days than Binky did in his entire life.

So that's the newest hamster in our collection.

Alana 

Posted by Alana at 03:03 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Our new hamster Jayne is very shy and nervous, which is totally normal for any new pet.  A while ago, something startled her and she ran into her little house and stayed there motionless for about half an hour.  Until I put on an MP3 of "Pork and Beans" by Weezer.  Then she came out of her house and started trying to climb up the walls.  After that, I wasn't playing any music for a while and she just kind of sat around and nibbled at some food.  Then I put on the early demo version of "Buddy Holly" from Rivers Cuomo's solo album, and she started running in the wheel like a fluffy little lunatic.  I've been playing more Weezer music since then, and I've never seen a hamster so active during the day.

So our new hamster likes Weezer.  Good thing, cause whether she likes it or not, she'll probably be hearing a lot of Weezer around here.  The other rodents don't seem to have strong feelings one way or another, although Spike does like The Beach Boys and The Monkees

Alana 

Posted by Alana at 04:44 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

We have another hamster.  She's a syrian.  Her name is Jayne.  She is orangey colored.  (No pictures yet cause she's still scared and hiding.)

Um.  Yeah.  Now we have three hamsters.  The coffee table is now being called the hamster table.  Cause that's where the three hamster cages are lined up. 

How did we end up with yet another hamster?  With Homer dying and me being homesick and everything I was kind of depressed.  We did inventory and decided that with only three guinea pigs, we could afford another hamster. 

I can't help it.  I like hamsters.

If we had a big enough cage, we would have come home with degus.  But we don't have a cage big enough for two, and they're too social to live alone.  So we're sticking to the plan to get degus once we're down to only one cage of guinea pigs.

Alana 

Posted by Alana at 06:59 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Are there any dentists who are not sadists?  I'd just like to know. 

I was supposed to be getting a temporary filling in one tooth, and then get another tooth yanked out.  I was not excited about this prospect.  I hate people messing with my teeth.  I don't go to the dentist as much as I'm supposed to now because I went to the dentist far too much when I was in my early teens.  My orthodontist was a jerk, and he made me hate all dentists.

Anyway, I got the temporary filling and it hurt kind of a lot.  Then she moved on to the extraction.  Or, as it turns out, the attempted extraction.  Apparently my tooth is not just rotted from the inside, but is also impacted and stuck in there hard.  She yanked, jiggled, twisted and tugged at my tooth for about 15 minutes before deciding that it wasn't going anywhere. 

I am going to have to get a hospital appointment to get my tooth removed, and I'm hoping there'll be anesthesia involved.

I was supposed to end today with a bloody socket instead of a broken tooth.  Instead, I have a throbbing stump of a tooth and yet another dentist appointment.  

Dentists always tell me that I don't see the dentist often enough.  Why would I when this is what I get for it?  Until dentist appointments end with hugs and puppies instead of blood and throbbing, I will continue to avoid them.

Alana

P.S.  In other news, Spike and Elvis are still getting along great.  Fudge is getting used to living alone, and is happier now that we moved him into the bottom cage so he can see what we're doing. 

Posted by Alana at 09:45 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Way back in 1994 I remember watching and loving Weezer's video for Buddy Holly.  (Feel free to click on the link for a reminder.  It'll open in a new window, so you can keep reading.)  It was hilarious and also a good song.  And after that, I pretty much forgot about Weezer for a good long time.  They came up in conversation now and then with my friends, because Weezer is primarily known as nerd rock, and most of my friends (especially back in college) were both musicians and nerds.

Now jump forward to 2007.  I'm a huge fan of Cute Overload.  I mean, who doesn't love puppies and stuff?  At some point Cute Overload posted the video of Weezer's video for Island In the Sun.  There's an air-drumming kitten and a herd of retriever puppies.  It's adorable! 

Then there was Pork and Beans.  I watched the video initially because it's funny.  It's got all kinds of internet stars and it's just fun.  After watching in a few times, I started to really pay attention.  That's when I decided that I love that song, with or without the video.   So after flirting with Weezer for the past 14 years, I'm finally willing to commit.  I am now officially a Weezer fan.  And I think that in Pork and Beans, I have found my new theme song.

Alana 

Posted by Alana at 10:48 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Thursday night, the hamsters were fighting.  They've always fought a little.  It would usually be a little squeaky girlfight, and then they'd run to separate corners of the cage and it would be over.  But Thursday they just kept going after each other.  We left them overnight and in the morning, they were still fighting.  Or more accurately, Dru was chasing and attacking Fred.  I examined Fred and found that her tail had been chewed to bits and there was a fresh wound inside one ear, and there was evidence of a few bites and chomps on her sides and back.  Time to separate the hamsters.

Neil has Friday afternoons off, so I took Fred out of the cage and put her in the carrier with a makeshift food and water bowl.  Then I met Neil at the pet store in the town center and got a small plastic aquarium, wheel, and food bowl and water bottle, and I set up a second hamster cage for Dru.  Since Dru was being mean, she gets the smaller cage.  Fred is happily stuffing her cheek pouches in the big cage, while her wounds heal.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the living room Spike was a bit quiet and depressed since Homer died.  We decided to put Elvis in Spike's cage to see if they can get along.  Fudge is okay on his own because he spends all his time humping and terrorizing Elvis anyway.  

So far Spike and Elvis are doing better than expected.  Elvis has spent all morning humping Spike, but there haven't been any fights yet.  And at least Spike is getting more exercise, as he's being chased around the cage by Elvis.  

In the other cage, Fudge is lonely.  And he won't let us forget it.  He's been squeaking for attention ever since Elvis left.  Fudge is a little like a kid with ADHD, constantly squeaking "Lookitmelookitmelookitme!"

Ah, the joys of rodent ownership.

Alana 

Posted by Alana at 10:52 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I went to the dentist this morning for my stupid broken tooth.  Apparently, here's the deal: the tooth was crooked after I got my braces off, and that put pressure on one point of it.  That made it crack a little, and all kinds of foul germs got into the tooth, around the filling that used to be in it.  So it rotted from the inside, and then fell apart when I was eating a crumpet.

The dentist said that my options are root canal or extraction.  Neither of those sound particularly fun.  I chose extraction because then I'm guaranteed never to have a problem with that tooth again.  Plus, the phrase "root canal" makes me want to scream and cry.

I've got an appointment for next week for the extraction, and I also need a filling in the adjacent tooth.

After the dentist, I went to the pet store to see if I could find any toys to amuse a Spike guinea pig, who is now living alone.  I found a little treat dispenser ball that I think he'll like.  There was also an adorable baby guinea pig that I totally wanted, but I don't want to move any new piggies in until we're sure Spike didn't catch anything from Homer.

We're hoping to move Elvis into Spike's cage in a few weeks.   Fudgie is a little terror and never stops humping Elvis, so it would be best if Fudgie lived alone.  Then we wouldn't have to worry so much about Spike being lonely.  If that doesn't work, we'll think about getting a baby piggy to move in with Spike. 

I failed to mention before that when Homer died, it was to a great extent the vet's fault.  I think he would have died young regardless, but the vet made it faster and more painful by injecting Homer with an antibiotic that is toxic to guinea pigs.  I'm a little pissed about that, and I won't be going back to that vet.  I found a small animal hospital nearby that has rodent specialists.  I'll be taking them there in the future.  (The daughter of one of my former co-workers who hates me works for the vet that killed Homer.  So I'm not sure how accidental the poisoning was.)

The biggest miracle with Homer's illness and death was in my allergies.  I'm allergic to guinea pigs.  I get a rash from handling them, and if I hold them too close to my face I get an asthma attack.  I handled Homer almost all day every day for about three days, and I never got a rash.  Five minutes with Elvis, and I've got hives.  But for the last week of his life, I wasn't allergic to Homer.  It may have just been some chemical changes in him caused by his illness, but whatever it was, it was good that I was able to hold him and feed him without getting sick.

Alana 

Posted by Alana at 10:20 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Since Homer died, we've had to spend extra time with the other guinea pigs to make sure none of them caught Homer's infection.  Especially Spike. 

Spikey has been fine.  He's been eating okay and pooping up a storm.  Elvis and Fudge are fine too.  As normal as they ever were.  

Fudge is irritating.  Yesterday we had to clip his nails because on the front paws they're curling around a little.  I clipped his back paws with no problem, but the front paws are always harder.  Neil held him while I did the clipping.  Right at the start, Fudge latched onto the diamond on my engagement ring and wouldn't let go.  When he got tired of that, I turned the ring around so he couldn't grab it.  So he latched onto my finger instead.  

I have two vampire-style puncture wounds in the side of my finger because Fudge latched on and wouldn't let go.  

I saw a documentary about a scientist who was trying to say that great white sharks aren't dangerous, and you shouldn't be afraid of them.  He's a moron.  Sharks eat meat, and people are made of meat.  Animals can't be trusted.  Fudge is a vegetarian, and he still tried to eat my finger.

Alana 

Posted by Alana at 03:56 PM | Permalink

I didn't have a problem writing about it when my favorite piggy Homer died yesterday.  But later in the day when my mom called and told me that my friend Don died yesterday too, I was left not knowing at all what to say. 

Don Granholm was the husband of my mom's best friend.  That doesn't sound like much of a relationship to me, but my family and theirs grew up together.  I knew him better than I knew a lot of my actual relatives.  He was like a really good uncle to me.  As a kid, his daughters were my best friends, and his son was my brother's best friend.   Our families spent every New Year's and Fourth of July together for years.  Don and his twin brother Doug were the photographers at my wedding.  He's been there for everything important in my life since I was a little kid.  So the phrase, "friend of the family" isn't nearly enough to describe him.

Of all my friends in Minnesota that my husband met, I'd have to say that if Don wasn't his favorite, he was easily in the top five.  It wasn't surprising.  Everyone who met him loved him.  He had a joyfulness that was contagious.   

He's the second friend of my family to be taken by cancer in the last two weeks.  He had colon cancer that went away and came back again.  The only good things about his passing are that he's no longer in pain, and he is in heaven now.  For the rest of us left behind without him, it's heartbreaking.  As his daughter said a few months ago, "This would be a lot easier if he wasn't so wonderful."  

If any of you are in the Duluth area, there is a visitation for him from 5:00 to 7:00 Thursday at Northland Funeral Home in Cloquet, and the funeral itself is Saturday at Cloquet Gospel Tabernacle with visitation at 10am, and the funeral service at 11.  If you can make it there, give Jeannie and the rest of the family a hug from me.  I wish I could be there.

This is a picture of Don and Jeannie from my wedding.  This is how I will always remember him.  Smiling and in love with his family and life.

I'll miss him.  Please pray for Jeannie and their children Bonnie, Jodie and Keith.  His passing wasn't a surprise, but that doesn't make it any less painful.

Alana 

Posted by Alana at 03:08 PM | Permalink

Just after I moved to Scotland I begged my husband to let me get some guinea pigs. I wanted to get females, but there was a bad illness going around among UK guinea pigs at the time, and no breeders could afford to sell any of their females, so only males were available. We got two male piggies and Neil wanted to name the black one with the white spot on his head Spike, after the gremlin who was black with a white spot in the movie “Gremlins.” I agreed because I'm a big Buffy fan. I was left to pick a name for the other one: the brindle colored crested with the little white spot in his crest. I named him Homestar Runner.

Within a week we were calling him Homer because it fit his laid-back personality so well. He was not dumb like Homer Simpson. Never make that mistake. He was a clever devious little piggy. When they were little, Spike and Homer were like Pinky and the Brain, and Homer was the Brain. The first week that we had them, Homer peed on both of us several times, but never uttered the tiniest squeak. Meanwhile Spike never stopped squeaking. So for a while we called them Squeaky and Leaky.

Homer grew to a weight of a little over a kilo by the time he was full grown. He was the chubby one in the cage. We called him Homer-Chunk. He was a picky eater and a bit of a princess. He wouldn't eat anything until his royal food taster (Spikey) tried it first. He still never squeaked.

In November of 2007, when Homer was about 2 years old, he started losing weight. We brought him to the vet and they said he wasn't diabetic, and didn't look unhealthy, but they couldn't rule out heart, liver or kidney problems. He drank more water than two normal piggies, so I suspect it may have been kidney problems. But as long as he was healthy and happy we just treated him like all the other piggies and gave him attention and treats and playtime.

He stayed thin, but mostly healthy until last week. He caught a respiratory infection. He was treated with antibiotics, but his already weak system couldn't handle them, and the treatment killed him before the illness could.

I will miss Homer so much. I will always remember how he used to beg for fenugreek treats and tug on my shirt to let me know when he had to pee. He was a friendly and sweet piggy. Everyone who met him loved him. I just wish we could have had more time with him.

I love you and I'll miss you Homer.  As I'm writing this, the song playing is "Closing Down" by Poor Old Lu,  I think there might be more crying.

Alana 

Posted by Alana at 10:27 AM | Permalink

I brought Homer back into the vet this morning.  His lungs sound pretty good, and his runny nose is getting better.  The problem is that he still won't eat.  He's maybe been drinking on his own a little, but he hasn't eaten anything other than the pellet sludge I've been syringing into him as much as I can.  And now he's even resisting that.  He's holding it in his mouth and refusing to swallow.

On Friday afternoon, Spike and Homer were in the crate on the couch while Neil cleaned their cage.  Neil put the vegetables for their dinner on the couch next to them, and I had to spend the whole time pulling Homer off the side of the crate, where he was trying to climb out and get to the veggies.  Then on Saturday, he started getting sick.  

Homer is sitting in the same crate he was in on Friday.  In only a few days he's sitting in the same place, and instead of scolding him to stop trying to steal the food, I'm crying and begging him to eat something.  I can't get him to eat, and he was too skinny before he got sick.

I don't think he's going to live much longer.

I'm going to have to warn Elvis that he only has a year to live too.  Let me explain.

When I was a kid my brother and I had three guinea pigs.  Mine were Emma and Oreo.  My brother's was Kate.  I mean, we both took care of all of them, but he named Kate and I named the other two, so there was some posession there.  Emma died suddenly of undetermined causes when she was two and a half.  Oreo had to be put to sleep from a bad tumor when she was two and a half.  Homer is two and a half.

I named Homer and Elvis.  My husband named Spike and Fudge.  Elvis only has a year to live cause he's about one and a half, but Spike and Fudge will probably be fine for some time.  They're not really mine.  It's just my guinea pigs that always die way too young.

Alana 

Posted by Alana at 01:49 PM | Permalink