Governor Moonbeam declines spliff

At left: back in the day, when Governor Brown was more open-minded.






California Governor Jerry Brown was once MY governor when I lived on the West Coast. At that time, over 30 years ago, he was known as Governor Moonbeam.

There was a reason for that.

Now that he is old, staid, respectable and not hanging with sexy rock stars with well-documented cocaine issues, Governor Moonbeam has sobered up and got himself re-elected in 2011 ... and with a straight face, claims he doubts marijuana legalization is a good thing:

California Gov. Jerry Brown (D) said Sunday that he is not convinced legalizing marijuana is a good idea because the population needs to "stay alert."

"The problem with anything, a certain amount is okay," Brown said on NBC's Meet the Press. "But there is a tendency to go to extremes. And all of a sudden, if there's advertising and legitimacy, how many people can get stoned and still have a great state or a great nation? The world's pretty dangerous, very competitive. I think we need to stay alert, if not 24 hours a day, more than some of the potheads might be able to put together."

A recent poll found that for the first time ever, a majority of Californians support legalizing marijuana. More than half of U.S. states are also considering decriminalizing or legalizing marijuana since Colorado and Washington did so a little over a year ago.

Brown noted that California already allows medical marijuana, but said he is not completely sold on legalizing the drug for recreational use.

"I'd really like those two states to show us how it's going to work," he said.

Unbelievably, the MEET THE PRESS media flunkies actually let the governor of the state with HUMBOLDT COUNTY in it, get away with that shit.

This is hypocritical, to say the least. Marijuana is a major cash crop of California, and it is reasonable to assume the governor is well aware of that, as is the rest of the world.

Ah, wait. I get it. (((strobe light comes on))))

Wow, Governor Moonbeam has come a loooong way since he allowed fruit fly infestations to get out of hand.

He has turned into a politician! Finally, at long last. He is hustling for his state's economy, as any other governor would. Stay alert, yeah, and get re-elected, those are the goals. Brown knows that California's economy will be hard-hit if marijuana is at last LEGAL. The enormous profits in Humboldt County are a direct result of its illegal status and the inflated prices that have resulted. There is huge concern that certain counties will totally financially collapse if marijuana is made legal.

Certainly, Governor Brown doesn't want that sort of economic crisis on HIS watch.

From Vice:

In the run-up to the vote for California’s cannabis regulation bill in 2010, which would have largely legalized the drug, there was a sticker plastered on trucks, shacks, and homesteads in this secluded, densely forested wilderness area that said, "Save Humboldt County—Keep Pot Illegal." That attitude is based on simple, rational economic reasoning: Experts predict that if weed were to be legalized in California (which is very likely to happen by 2016 at the latest), the price of Humboldt weed would plummet, taking down local businesses with it.

The plants have become so entwined with the local economy that economists estimate a quarter of all the money made in Humboldt comes from marijuana cultivation. And because many of the growers don't pay taxes (or even use banks; they bury their money underground in plastic tubes and glass bottles), local services are maintained by marijuana money, which has been used to buy fire engines and set up a local radio station, two community centers, and small schools.

...

Of course, there are problems with basing an entire economy around an illegal activity. Police raids, although less frequent than they were in the 1980s, can sweep up a family’s entire harvest, and there's plenty of opportunities for gun-toting thieves who prey on grow operations. In one recent raid, a couple in their 60s were relieved of seven pounds of processed marijuana—along with several guns and thousands of dollars in cash—when gunmen turned up at their home. Of the 38 murders that occurred in Humboldt between 2004 and 2012, 23 were drug-related.

Read the whole thing, highly recommended.

After reading that, it will be obvious to you why the former hipster governor is suddenly wary of weed. Alertness, as we see, has little to do with it.

Re-election does.

US adults dumber than average, and other news

Monarch butterfly on Goldenrod. So proud of this photo! ((preen)) I got as close as I could without disrupting her lunch.

As always, you can click all photos to enlarge.







Stuff to check out--

US adults are dumber than the average human, says the New York Post:

In math, reading and problem-solving using technology – all skills considered critical for global competitiveness and economic strength – American adults scored below the international average on a global test, according to results released Tuesday.

Adults in Japan, Canada, Australia, Finland and multiple other countries scored significantly higher than the United States in all three areas on the test. Beyond basic reading and math, respondents were tested on activities such as calculating mileage reimbursement due to a salesman, sorting email and comparing food expiration dates on grocery store tags.

Not only did Americans score poorly compared to many international competitors, the findings reinforced just how large the gap is between the nation’s high- and low-skilled workers and how hard it is to move ahead when your parents haven’t.

In both reading and math, for example, those with college-educated parents did better than those whose parents did not complete high school.

The study, called the Program for the International Assessment of Adult Competencies, found that it was easier on average to overcome this and other barriers to literacy overseas than in the United States.

Are you surprised?

~*~

Above: Clematis flowers gone to seed on the vine (Swamp Rabbit Trail). Clematis are ordinarily fluffy white wildflowers, so when I saw these swirly blossoms, I had no idea what they were. Thanks to my Facebook friends who knew the answer! I think I actually prefer the "gone to seed" version to regular robust Clematis.

First photo is close-up, the second one is from about four feet away.

~*~

What's it like when an unflattering "fat picture" goes viral? Caitlin Seida found out the hard way, and shares her experience with us:

“What a waste of space,” read one [comment on her photo]. Another: “Heifers like her should be put down.” Yet another said I should just kill myself “and spare everyone’s eyes.” Hundreds of hateful messages, most of them saying that I was a worthless human being and shaming me for having the audacity to go in public dressed as a sexy video game character. How dare I dress up and have a good time!

We all know the awful humiliation of a person laughing at you. But that feeling increases tenfold when it seems like everyone is laughing at you. Scrolling through the comments, the world imploded — and took my heart with it.

What is the purpose of these vicious pile-ons and why do they happen? (I have had it happen several times, but with my words, not my photos... I described my first such experience and the attendant blow-back in this post. Another such incident here.)

The internet has seriously shaken my faith in humans, which was already rather tenuous. Is it anonymity that brings out the venom? But this means the venom is undeniably THERE to begin with. That's the depressing thing; internet anonymity has simply UNLEASHED torrents of nastiness that were once inhibited, and in fact, are STILL inhibited when your name is attached to them.

In Seida's case, she fought back. And she stopped viewing such photos herself:

In the months since, my attitude toward these throwaway images of mockery on the Internet has changed. I no longer find them funny. Each one of those people is a real human being, a real person whose world imploded the day they found themselves to be a punch line on a giant stage. I speak up whenever a friend gets a cheap laugh from one of these sites. I ask one simple question: “Why do you think this is funny?” Very few have a good answer. Mostly they just say, “I don’t know.” Reminding people of our shared humanity hasn’t exactly made me popular, but it feels like the right thing to do. I know what it’s like to be the person in that horrible photograph. I can’t inflict such pain on someone else.

~*~

Hm, looks like the ongoing government shutdown is not helping the party who initially started all the trouble. Today, a Gallup poll reports Republican Party Favorability Sinks to Record Low:

WASHINGTON, D.C. -- With the Republican-controlled House of Representatives engaged in a tense, government-shuttering budgetary standoff against a Democratic president and Senate, the Republican Party is now viewed favorably by 28% of Americans, down from 38% in September. This is the lowest favorable rating measured for either party since Gallup began asking this question in 1992.

Get a clue, Repubs.

Its popularly known as shooting yourself in the foot.

~*~

Huffington Post reports that Marital Satisfaction May Be Controlled By Gene, Says Study:

The study found that variations in the serotonin-regulating gene 5-HTTLPR correlated with study participants’ relationship fulfillment. Each of our parents pass us a copy of the gene, which can either be short or long. Participants with two short 5-HTTLPR were most unhappy in their marriages in the face of negative emotion, like contempt, but also happiest when positive emotions like humor were present. On the other end of the spectrum, participants with two long copies were satisfied with their marriages regardless of the emotional atmosphere.

“Individuals with two short alleles of the gene variant may be like hothouse flowers, blossoming in a marriage when the emotional climate is good and withering when it is bad,” lead study author Claudia M. Haase said. “Conversely, people with one or two long alleles are less sensitive to the emotional climate.”

This study may be the first linking genetics, emotions and marital satisfaction.

Oh dear, I hope that isn't true. If so, I am doomed. My mother collected husbands as if they were Fabergé Eggs or Beanie Babies.

And I have been married almost 26 years, so let me remind everyone that genetics isn't everything.

~*~

My post title demands the ONLY possible song under the circumstances:

Dumb - Nirvana

Blogular Updates

WHAT DO YOU ALL THINK of my cool new blog banner? Fabulous Robert of BLUE HERON BLAST did this for me, and I have sent copious cyberkisses and hugs his way. IT'S JUST BEE-YOO-TI-FULL! Thank you, thank you, thank you!

I did my last banner over 5 years ago, and couldn't even locate the website where I made it. Without the banner-making-for-dummies software, I had no clue how to proceed in conjuring up an updated banner. The few free banner-maker-sites I managed to find, did not have the crucial KASHMIR font, which I just HAD TO HAVE. (Led Zeppelin fans will undoubtedly recognize the lovely Kashmir font, named for the band who first used it on their album covers.) Also, I wanted outer space, utterly suitably for a flakey hippie like your humble narrator... the two together were nearly impossible for me to combine on the cheesy banner-maker websites. ((sobs)) I sulked for six whole months before wonderful Robert rescued me.

BLUE HERON RULES! Thank you so much, my friend.

Go visit Blue Heron Blast--which always has cool banners, and he changes them all the time, too... not once every five years, like some of us.

~*~

We did the promo for the radio show, today on Another Voice with Jason and Eric... they were kind enough to let us crazy lefties in to promote our new broadcast endeavor. Old-school Gentlemen! Very polite fellas who are all about free speech and everything... obviously, an endangered species in these parts.

Occupy the Microphone will formally debut on WOLT-FM, January 1st (and a happy New Year to you, too!)... WOLT-FM is a pretty snazzy-looking radio station, headquartered in the old McAlister Square mall, which I have written about here before.

~*~

At left: Daisy meets Country Earl, back on the auspicious date of 11-11-11.


WOLT-FM also once regularly featured local legend Country Earl's radio show. I was lucky enough to meet him last year, which was a real thrill for me. It therefore saddens me to announce that Country Earl passed away about a week ago, to the sorrow of upstate South Carolina:

A longtime Upstate radio personality also known for his Simpsonville restaurant has passed away.

“Country Earl” Baughman, 79, died Monday at Greenville Memorial Hospital.

Baughman was a local radio personality/disc jockey for many years, with numerous upstate radio stations including WESC, WCKI, WFIS, WBBR, WAGI and WOLT where he hosted his “Country Earl’s Country Classics Radio Show.” He started his career in the 1950s and continued until 2000s.

He was also known for his restaurant, Country Earl’s Stompin’ and Chompin’. In recent years, the restaurant became less of a restaurant and more of a performance or event venue, becoming known as “Country Earl’s Celebration Place.”

Baughman was native of Greenville County. According to his obituary, he was the son of the late Herbie Theodore and Susie Mae Lackey Baughman.

He was a member of Brookwood Community Church and was an accomplished musician and songwriter and was inducted into the Rockabilly Hall Of Fame.

A “Celebration of Life Service” will be held 2 p.m. Saturday, Dec. 15, 2012 at Brookwood Community Church.

Forest Hills Funeral Home website says visitation will be held at the church following the service. In lieu of flowers, the family requests that donations be made in Earl’s memory to The Muscular Dystrophy Association, 25 Woods Lake Rd., Suite 412, Greenville, SC 29607.

Another real gentleman of the old school, who will be sorely missed. :(

~*~

For those who asked (I am SO flattered yall care about me!)--my lifelong, growing, ugly brown skin-blotch was technically diagnosed as a dermatofibroma.

Nobody knows what causes them, but one theory is that they are caused by infected insect bites. Oh, GROSS!

You see??? I just knew all those horrific flea bites I endured would somehow have some negative repercussions; it just stands to reason.

I am TOTALLY blaming them.

~*~

We talked about the recent school-shooting at Sandy Hook Elementary School in Newtown, Connecticut, on our last podcast, if you'd like to give us a listen. I don't have much to add to what we said, except the song I played here on Saturday.

There is one quite fascinating link currently making the rounds--Mormon Church 'owns unregulated gun sale website':

One of the most active and unregulated gun sale websites in America is owned by the Mormon Church, an investigation by New York's Mayor Michael Bloomberg has revealed.

You just have to wonder... who else is making a killing, if you will pardon the expression.

My apologies for once again boring my dear readers with Tales of The Call Center, but the fact is, I learned a great deal whilst being cussed out every day, and I was toughened up for the long haul besides (which made me well-prepared for the rigors of talk radio)... My call center took calls for a world-wide shipping conglomerate, whose name (and big brown trucks) you would instantly recognize.

At one point on my call center job, I took calls ONLY from South Carolina for about 6-7 months. I became alarmed when I realized how many involved shipping huge amounts of firearms to other parts of the country, where I knew they were illegal. Most involved gun shows (and similar exhibitions), but some had other creative, shifty ways to get around the local laws. And I don't mind telling you, some of the guys on the phone sounded like they were straight out of Lizard Lick Towing. They initially didn't seem too bright, but honey, you shoulda heard them spout those LAWS--they knew them inside and out, backwards and forwards, state by state and county by county. When packages got held up and/or inspected, which happened fairly often, they would cuss a proverbial blue streak. And I used to get seriously creeped out when packages got LOST (and yes, they did), which made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

I still remember one guy chuckling at the news that his enormous shipment of guns (to New York City) had apparently disappeared into the ether, and he would have to file a claim. "Bummer," he announced, "Hope whoever found it enjoys alla that fine weaponry," he chortled, "--and I hope nobody pisses him off tonight!"

I remember hoping nobody pissed him off too, whoever he was.

Imagine, a cache of weapons and ammo simply evaporating off of a loading dock? I hate to tell you, but it happens all the time.

Got bugs?

The elusive furry yellow resident in my uncle's green bean fields. Photo is from The Homestead Fritz.










I love the way the South Carolina state Farmers Market SMELLS... its 1000% stronger (better) in summer, but it smells great all year round.

I've never seen any open markets in the north during the winter (the heating costs would be staggering), but if they do exist, they probably can't sustain that heady, heavy "soil scent" the southern markets have. The earthy scent reminds me of the fields in Ohio where my uncle grew green beans. Every year, we went out to pick them for ourselves and then my grandmother made huge pots of fabulous, scrumptious beans, cooked all day in onions. It was a wonderful yearly ritual. I loved the scent of the fields, as I knelt and started harvesting the fat beans.

I also remember the tiny fuzzy yellow 'bugs'--which were usually on the leaves.

As a kid, I remember thinking the yellow bugs were just so cute... but I couldn't find their eyes. I tried to turn them over and look for eyes on the underside, and they weren't there either. Bugs with no eyes? How weird is that? I remember them as "furry yellow bugs with no eyes"--I would come home from picking the beans and they would be stuck to me, all over my clothes. They didn't bite, and as a child, this meant they were 'good' bugs. And I thought they were just so cute. But no antennae and no eyes? I remember looking in an insect book at the library and not finding the yellow mystery bugs.

Lo and behold, three seconds on that modern marvel, Google, instantly yields my answer: they were larvae, not bugs. This explains the lack of eyes. They are the larvae of the Mexican Bean Beetle. (I also remember seeing the adults, but I didn't know they were related.)

I often wonder how it is to grow up in a culture in which one can find out anything in three seconds flat, but without any actual contact with those things? When I was growing up, if you were moved to look something up in a book at the library, it signaled it was pretty important to you and you really wanted to know. It wasn't simple idle curiosity.

~*~

I've been on an unofficial blog break, due to a major quandary about troublesome life events that I would love to blog about (which I regard as a form of exorcism, banishing various emotional boogeymen once I subject them to my mean-redneck cultural analysis and withering wit)... and yet, knowing that this might well come back to bite me in the ass. Especially where work is concerned. I have decided not to. Better safe than sorry, blah blah blah.

And so (as a similarly-catty consolation prize), here are links to the last two radio shows: September 28th and October 6th. Have a listen!

The amazing Albino Skunk Music Festival was a much-needed balm to my soul. And just in the nick of time!

Hope your weekend was as terrific as mine was.

Still life with locusts

We watched Terrence Malick's amazing film BADLANDS again last week, and it is such a work of art, I need to share the trailer and insist you all see it. Like, right now.

I can still remember Molly Haskell noting that Sissy Spacek's childlike narration sounded just like TRUE ROMANCES or one of those adolescent magazines. It sure does, and how wonderful and perfect it is.

Roger Ebert includes BADLANDS in his list of GREAT MOVIES:

Kit is played by Martin Sheen, in one of the great modern film performances. He looks like James Dean, does not have bowlegs, and plays the killer as a plain and simple soul who has somehow been terribly damaged by life...

Holly is played by the freckle-faced redhead Sissy Spacek. She takes her schoolbooks along on the murder spree so as not to get behind. She is in love with Kit at first, but there is a stubborn logic in her makeup and she eventually realizes that Kit means trouble. "I made a resolution never again to take up with any hell-bent types," she confides.

Badlands - Trailer (1973)



After presenting the world with this work of art, Malick took several eons directing another amazing work of art, the fabulous DAYS OF HEAVEN. Which you will also go out and rent immediately, especially if you are a working-class or poor person.

Again, Roger Ebert includes this movie among his GREAT MOVIES. And like BADLANDS, there is also a young female's guileless narration, this one by Linda Manz:

Although passions erupt in a deadly love triangle, all the feelings are somehow held at arm's length. This observation is true enough, if you think only about the actions of the adults in the story. But watching this 1978 film again recently, I was struck more than ever with the conviction that this is the story of a teenage girl, told by her, and its subject is the way that hope and cheer have been beaten down in her heart. We do not feel the full passion of the adults because it is not her passion: It is seen at a distance, as a phenomenon, like the weather, or the plague of grasshoppers that signals the beginning of the end.

Unfortunately, this trailer doesn't include any of Manz's wonderfully plaintive narration, as the BADLANDS trailer included Spacek's. You do see, however, that the whole movie looks like an Andrew Wyeth painting come to life. And Richard Gere was... ohhhh my goodness (((fans self)))).

Quite simply, one of the greatest movies ever made.

Days of Heaven - Trailer (1978)



If you are in a suitably biblical/apocalyptic mood, check out the locust invasion. Linda Manz is cutting the vegetables in the first scene.

Incredible, peerless film-making, boys and girls. Took him years, but I'm so glad it did.

So big, we thought it was a bat...

...but no, it was only a giant moth! I knew if I didn't take a picture of him, nobody would believe me.

He is a giant silk moth; Antheraea polyphemus is his name, and the wing span was easily 7 inches. (He is a he since he has the bushy antennae.) Although I have never seen one before, they are common in the Midwest.

Snooping around, I find plenty of symbolism for large black and white moths, but precious few listings for brown ones. I am choosing to see him as a good omen!

Slouching towards Tibet

At left: Authentic Texas goat attempts to eat my camera.



Father Conner grew up in New Orleans, and used to tell us that as a child, he earned extra money from plugging and unplugging various lights and appliances during the Jewish Sabbath. The Orthodox Jews in his neighborhood didn't want to break the Sabbath rules, but still needed the lights on. Tsk! I would think, self-righteously. What kind of hypocrisy is that?

Likewise, on one of those cable networks, I saw how (so-called) high-caste Hindus employ low-caste Hindus to do their killing for them: vermin, bugs, whatever. In this way, the high-caste family doesn't take on the direct taboo of killing or exterminating, yet they still get the job done and get mice out of the house. Hmph! I thought similarly.

And in my arrogance and egotism, I guess I plumb forgot the rest of Father Conner's instruction, wherein he explained that this kinda thing was the human condition, and we all do it. (This is the genesis of the expression: having your cake and eating it too.) Today, a humongous ugly bug was outside my door, still alive despite being trapped inside our apartment building all night... and like always, I flung it over to Cyril, who happily munched away on it. I'm giving him protein, I told myself.

Father Conner came floating back into my memory, and I realized that I have been letting my cats kill bugs rather than do it myself, because yeah, I am trying to stop killing beings and all that good Buddhist stuff. Thus, I am exactly like the Jews and Hindus in the above stories. I am technically not "breaking the law".. but... well, yes I am.

((shame))

Bob Dylan, one of many in my private Greek chorus, bubbles up in my brain:

Not even you can hide
You see you're just like me
I hope you're satisfied

...

Will I ever be able to let the creepy-crawlies roam about in my abode, without rousting some sleeping feline and pointing their snout in the direction of the 6-or-8-legged entity, knowing they will leap upon it in kitty-joy? Munch, munch.

Ohhh, what a thought. Yes, I can easily participate in vegetarianism, even veganism, but when I think of bugs, snakes, vermin and other such gremlins? Makes my proverbial skin crawl. I can't let them in here. What will people think of me? Better to let the cats do it, as a sort of half-assed solution.

Just like those folks that had serious paperwork to do, but still wanted to keep the sabbath, so they enlisted little Herb Conner to plug their lights in and gave him quarters for tips. And everyone was happy.

My self-righteousness in check, I get it now. And I laugh at our common humanity and accompanying dilemmas.

~*~

And just when you thought it was safe to go back into the waters of Blogdonia (nostalgic, summertime JAWS reference, for the baby-boomers in my readership)...

A comment of mine was pointedly not approved on a blog yesterday. Certainly, I'm not surprised, since the blogger's friends really dislike me. But it was a good comment; pertinent, polite, duly linked and on topic. It wasn't approved because I am still persona non grata. ((frowny-face))

Caution: Daisy climbs soapbox. (Last chance; leave now!)

The Tea Party reminds me of something... I stick my finger in the air, remembering that you don't need a weatherman to know which way the wind blows... and I remember THIS MOMENT. I remember the eve of Reaganism and the highly-charged political atmosphere of 1980. History and politics are cyclical. Deja Vu all over again. (In fact, continuing the historical comparison, I wouldn't be surprised if Obama is a one-termer, as Jimmy Carter was.)

And I am here to tell you: We cannot afford to be divided right now. As we were before.

I say this now to the young people, who have only known (as adults) the whole "Hope and Change" Obama-mantra... young people who think Dubya was a real right-winger (and you ain't seen nothing yet): We must come together. We do not have to agree on everything, but we MUST put aside differences and make political alliances. NOW. And these kinds of internal squabbles and petty grudges (I include my own) are a luxury; interpersonal fallout from being on the ascent. In about 5 years, the arguments will seem, well, rather silly. We will wonder why we didn't seize the moment and unite when we had the opportunity. And that window of opportunity will close. People you love will become Republicans, if they haven't already. People will convert to strict, austere religious sects that don't allow popular music. Weird shit will start happening and you will get scared, wondering if everything is going to hell in a handbasket.

To guard against despair, you need like-minded friends. And I offer myself as one.

Because I was there before, and I remember.

Just letting you know. When everyone suddenly seems to be on the Right, you will be heartily sorry for every sectarian snub, every missed chance to make common cause with lefties. Please put aside this cool-kids-clique-mentality NOW, because later, it will bite you in the ass in various and sundry ways, seen and unseen. The more diverse your involvements, the easier it will be to PIVOT (for lack of a better word) to a politically-expedient position when necessary. And the better off you will be.

If you back yourself into a strict, sectarian corner, huddled with only people like yourself who AGREE with you, then you very efficiently cut yourself off. You leave yourself extremely vulnerable in virtually every way. I know this from experience.

Please don't. Reconsider. If it is impossible for you to embrace ME, due to my cantankerous hippie ways, I can dig that... but please find other elder leftists or feminists, who remember the Reagan era and who can connect with you, giving you perspective and helping guide you through it.

I come in peace. Namaste.

~*~

No, I haven't totally GIVEN UP. I am still rabble rousing on behalf of my candidates, still working for alla them good causes. But as I said, I feel the change in the air. Don't need no weatherman. Sarah Palin is the Paul Revere of the movement, and she has effectively crowned my next governor. I have no reason to doubt her resolve, or any of the rest of them. By contrast, the left is currently in shreds; bedraggled and beleaguered. We can't even sustain a real live antiwar movement. (THEY have sustained their PRO-war movement.) I think they will easily kick us to the curb, unless we all WAKE UP.

And I still hear snoring. Hello? Anybody listening?

"Bug bomb" overdose kills infant

Locally, the big story this week is the death of a baby from "bug bombs"--the popular over-the-counter, automatic-spraying insecticides his mother set off in her trailer (a very small, closed-in space) several times a week.

She sounds uneducated, and didn't completely understand the hazards. (She was covered with it herself.) I wonder if she could read the label?

Bug bombs may have killed Williamston infant, coroner says
Baby's mother, brother treated for breathing problems

By Eric Connor • Staff Writer • November 3, 2009
Greenville News

Over-the-counter insecticides are likely what caused the death of a 10-month-old Williamston boy over the weekend and left his older brother and mother in the hospital, an investigator said Monday.

However, additional tests that will measure chemicals inside 10-month-old Jacob Whitfield’s body will be conducted over the next several weeks to definitively determine the cause of death, Anderson County Deputy Coroner Don McCown said.

An autopsy discovered no signs of “injury, trauma or neglect,” McCown said.

“At the present time, we’re tentatively leaning toward that, but we’ve still got a lot more to look at,” McCown said.

Emergency workers arrived at Whitfield’s home on 104 Kirsch Drive on Sunday afternoon to find his mother, Elizabeth Whitfield, trying to resuscitate him after the baby suffered breathing problems, McCown said.

Jacob Whitfield later died at AnMed Hospital from cardiac arrest, McCown said.

Later that evening, emergency workers were again sent to the home when his older brother, 2-year-old Kenneth Whitfield, had breathing problems, McCown said.

Kenneth Whitfield was transported to Greenville Memorial Hospital, where he remained in critical condition Monday in intensive care, but “things look optimistic,” McCown said.

Elizabeth Whitfield also was treated at the hospital, McCown said. Her clothes were so saturated with chemicals that she had to take a shower and change clothes, he said. She was observed at the hospital but wasn’t critically affected, he said.

The mother told authorities that she had been using indoor insecticides — commonly known as “bug bombs” — to eradicate a roach problem, McCown said.

The singlewide mobile home sits in a thickly wooded area off U.S. 29, he said, and an insect problem was evident.

The mother apparently set off the insecticides “several times a week,” McCown said. A hazardous materials team was called out to the scene, he said.

The mother told authorities that her boys felt sleepy Sunday and took a nap, which is when Jacob Whitfield became unresponsive, Anderson County Sheriff’s Office Capt. Scott White said.

It's just such a tragedy. And it certainly underscores the dangers in "household chemicals" presented on TV as handy-dandy cure-alls for every situation.

Many of us talked about being students or clueless young wives, who probably set off too many bug bombs ourselves. We knew enough not to leave humans or animals inside, but we likely did it too often for safety. Back in the day, they didn't even print any 'limits' on the packaging, and it is likely Whitfield didn't grow up with any limits on the bug bombs her family used.

If we'd get rid of these dangerously-noxious and toxic chemicals for everyday uses, these things wouldn't happen. Then again, I dislike the nanny-state as much as many of the rest of you do...

Any comments on how to avoid these types of tragedies, particularly when dealing with illiterate people or non-English speakers?

(sigh)

Note: Although I am tagging this one with "child abuse" (for cataloging purposes), I realize this was not deliberate on the part of Elizabeth Whitfield.

And in this flea our two bloods mingled be

Photo from Microscopy-UK


(((shrieks!)))

If you read my earlier post about Grand Old Man, Feline King of the Daisy Household, you know he went in for a body shave and flea bath last week. Danelle informed me there were "a few fleas"--which is always surprising since my cats don't go outside. I don't think I've had a flea problem since first acquiring them--and since they were throwaways, they DID have fleas when I rescued them. But, oh, that's all in the past, dear reader, all in the in the past, as I have told myself countless times. No fleas in here! Nosirree Bob!

But there he was, the redoubtable Grand Old Man (herein referred to as GOM), on top of the dryer (where he enjoys sitting, since it's warm and cozy)... and I saw... what is -that?-... on his newly-shaven skin. It's---MOVING! OH MY GOD!!!! A MOVING BLACK SPOT!!!! AIYEEEEEEE! (((shrieks)))

And yes, I picked it off, and it wiggled and jumped away.

(((shrieks!))))

I hate them, with every fiber of my being. As a vegetarian, I have guilt over hating any species of God's creatures; hence, I do what every good Christian has historically done: I have consigned rats, cockroaches, fleas and flies to THE DEVIL. That's probably not fair, and yeah, I know the Hindus like the rats and maintain they are really holy (apparently, they are a lot better-behaved over there?) and primarily for this reason, I try to hold off on the rats. But FLEAS!?! NOOOOOOOooooooOOOOOOH! I can NOT abide the evil parasites, bringer of plagues, NASTY THINGS!

Some background is in order.

My initial war with the fleas commenced at age 19, when I dealt with my first overwhelming infestation in my first apartment. For some reason, they ate me alive. Not sure why; they don't seem too interested in biting me now, thank heavens. (Body chemistry changes? Science geeks, please explain!) But there was horrible, pathological itching and swelling from nearly every bite (there were dozens), and every wee tickle I experienced made me even more insane. I would hurriedly look to see if it was a FLEA creating the tickle, and about half the time, it surely was--just often enough to drive me paranoid-raving-batshit. I started keeping a 24-hour flea-vigil. I classified certain areas in my apartment Where The Fleas Are. I went a little berserk, constantly checking myself for those telltale evil black dots that would be there, and then (unlike dirt and lint) hop away, leaving a swollen red itchy welt in their wake.

I went to the library and studied the fleas. They can jump all over the place! They could jump halfway around the fucking world! Not to worry, dammit, I was DEDICATED! In my youthful exuberance and fired-up-flea-frenzy, I was gonna drive them out. I became obsessed, like Peter Weller became obsessed with the rat in OF UNKNOWN ORIGIN. I was gonna GET RID OF THEM if it was the LAST THING I DID!!! Being a good hippie, I started off with politically-correct cloves and lavender from the co-op where I then worked. Ha! They are laughing at you and your pissant cloves! They are eating cloves for breakfast! YUM YUM, say the fleas! CLOVES!

I also dutifully ingested the substances that supposedly make the fleas take a bite of you and then say -ptui!- and spit you out and never come back. Nutritional yeast, brewer's yeast, B-12, blah blah blah. The fleas loved it all, and came back for seconds and thirds. (They particularly liked the brewer's yeast, causing my grandmother to wonder aloud if they were Irish fleas. :P)

Thus, I upped the ante and bombed my apartment with what I now know was a panoply of carcinogenic substances, without even waiting for the prescribed period of time to pass before trying again. Like the cloves, the fleas lapped up the chemicals, growing ever larger and more bold. Just as anti-bacterial soaps and antibiotics are now breeding superbugs, I was breeding them, too.

I even risked my life by giving all four of my cats (count 'em, four) flea baths, which was exactly like when Porky tried to give Sylvester a bath, if you saw that famous episode. The claws sunk deep, deep, into my skin, and I still have a scar from one of them. One of them seemed to be trying to climb up my skull.

Cats, you may have heard, do not like baths.

At some point, I entered what I call flea-psychosis and started attributing characteristics to them, which is possibly a side effect of too much LSD (nobody's perfect). I began to think of them as having personalities, like Socrates and Ben in WILLARD: We will wait until she is peaking on acid and then bite her, and she won't know if she actually saw us or not, since we are little black dots that jump away with lightening speed! (Yes, they really said this; I heard them!)

And so, for years, I engaged in FLEA WARS.

Finally, some years ago, I decided to keep all my cats inside, and that seemed to handle the problem, at long last. As animal rights people have increasingly counseled folks to keep cats inside to conserve the dwindling bird populations (particularly in growing suburbs), I also got the bonus of feeling morally righteous, which is always a big plus. (Also, it was so nice not to worry about my babies getting hit by cars.) But of course, you know the real reason! Totally selfish!

And now, I see MOVING DOTS ON MY GOM! (((shrieks)))

I hightailed it to the vet and got more chemicals, which I had discontinued on my cats some years ago, thinking it was safe to do so because they were flea-free. Ha! I should have known that Ben and Socrates would be back.

And so that's what I've been doing lately. How about yourselves?