A Look At Employment: " . . . consider the following unemployment rates by educational level achieved. The first number is for January 2009 and the second is for January 2010:

Less the high school diploma: 12.4%/15.2%

High School Graduates, no college: 8.1%/10.1%

Some college or associate degree: 6.4%/8.5%

Bachelor's degree or higher: 3.9%/4.9%"

Kids, get as much education after high school that you can. We've lost entire categories of jobs that are not coming back any time soon.

(Via FiveThirtyEight.com: Electoral Projections Done Right.)

You can't win an argument with a fundamentalist, because they don't argue. They have a fixed position that can't be moved by new information. 'I know the earth is 10,000 years old, therefore all evidence that the earth is a sphere must be incorrect.' Try arguing with that. It's the same with political fundamentalists. 'The government is bad at some things, therefore the government is bad at everything.'

People don't see any penalty for holding static views. A highly trained surgeon can safely believe that Obama is not a U.S. citizen because he receives no intellectual penalty for believing it. That belief suits his needs, so he believes it. He's not stupid, he's just chosen to cling to a debunked belief because it's intellectually easier for him to do that than to not.

There is still a small but frighteningly significant number of Americans who believe the moon shot was somehow faked. Do they honestly believe that? Yes, they probably honestly believe it because it's fun to believe it, or it confirms their suspicions of the government, or they are just contrarians. It doesn't matter. What's important is that their crackpot belief is possible for them because it doesn't effect their daily life. They can still perform surgery, trim trees, write software. What's the harm?

The harm is that it does effect their daily life in the long term. The fact of the matter is that the earth is very old, life has been evolving for a very long time, with humans appearing relatively late in the cycle. I can believe that the earth is 10,000 years old and dinosaurs are a hoax and every living thing was plunked down at once, but that doesn't make it true. And the only reason my belief doesn't do permanent harm to society is because there are enough rational people who accept the facts and progress with their work.

We all take intellectual shortcuts. I do it and so do you. We must. One person can not and does not need to personally research every corner of human knowledge. Modern societies are specialized with professionals pursuing their areas of expertise so that I don't have to. You research blind mole rats, I'll write some software, your neighbor will fill put out fires, and we'll progress.

If 98% of the mole rat researchers find that mole rats mate once every six years, I'll take their word for it. If most economists are telling me that spending money to reform health care is worth the short term it to the deficit, then OK then. They're the ones with the Nobel Prizes, not me. I expect the President to explain to me how that will work, but I'm not going to reflexively blast the notion.

But I will try not to glibly pop off on topics that are important or that I don't know about. If you want to cling to irrational beliefs to support your chosen identification group, root for a sports team. There's an entire media industry just for you to shout, scream, berate your opponents, and generally act like an uninformed ass. You can drop all the verbal hand grenades you want and do no harm.

If you've had the pleasure of visiting the Animal Grossology exhibit at the Pacific Science Center (PSC), or if you are lucky enough to own a cat, you'll know that when cats groom themselves, they ingest quite a lot of fur that they can't digest. So they either hack it back up in the form of a hair ball, or they poop it out. Having been to PSC twice in the last month, I assumed it was cat poop.

One member of our family, who will remain unnamed, has been in the habit of getting up to let Max out in the wee hours of the morning and then leaving the door open while he or she went back to bed. I scolded this family member for the bad habit, because it obviously allowed a cat to come in and use our house like a litter box. The said family member agreed to a change of ways.

The next afternoon, Abby reported again. Cat poop in the same place. Beside myself, I scolded again. I was told that it must have happened during the day because the door had not been left open the night before. And there was nothing to be done about it. Max is diabetic and can't hold his water, so if we're going to be out of the house for any length of time, we leave the door open so that he can get out. Oh, and Max is blind. So if a cat comes in, Max might be able to smell it, and he might hear it, but unless a commotion was created, he wouldn't likely know.

All week, Max has been behaving strangely. Aggressively sniffing around the house, knocking things over at night, barking. All-around squirrelly behavior.

So this morning at 06:00, Doug shakes me awake. (This, in itself, is alarming because if you know Doug, you know that Doug does not and would not rise anywhere near 6:00 unless their was a hair-raising emergency.) He says he needs my help. There's a opossum on the dining room table and he needs my help getting it out. Just a bad dream, right? Wrong!

So Doug drags me, literally, downstairs to face this critter with him. Max is going nuts. He knows there's something on the table. Max is on his hind legs, front paws up on the table, sniffing madly, but alas, he can't see the damn thing because, guess what, it's playing opossum. Yes, they really do that.

If anyone has ever listened to NPR's This American Life: Crimebusters and Crossed Wires collection, you'll remember a tale of a squirrel in a couple's home and the mayhem that ensues. It's one of my favorite stories, so I quickly suggest that we call for some animal control team to come and take care of this (unlike the characters in the story). Doug says fine, so I dial 911, knowing that they can patch me through.

911 Dispatcher: 911 Dispatcher, what's the nature of your call?

Me: I have a opossum in my house and need an animal control unit to come and get it out!

911 Dispatcher: (snicker) In your house?

Me: Yes, on my dining room table to be exact.

911 Dispatcher: Um, we don't exactly consider opossums wild animals. But I do have some phone numbers for some services that might be able to help you out.

She gives me 2 phone numbers and wishes me luck. The first phone number has been disconnected. The second phone number is for the county game and wildlife service. I get an automated message telling me to call back after 08:00.

We can't wait 2+ hours for someone to come and get this rodent off of our dining table, but this is the last thing I want to be a part of. What if it goes nuts and starts running and biting and clawing? What if it runs under a piece of furniture, requiring someone to reach in after it? All kinds of terrible scenarios are running through my mind. And, this creature is just a giant rat to me, and I sort of have a rat phobia. Of course nobody likes rats, that's perfectly reasonable. But ever since I can remember, I've had rat nightmares. The sight of a rat can stop me in my tracks and completely immobilize me. So this aversion truly has crossed over into the phobic realm.

Me: Can't you call some big manly man friend to come help you with this?

Doug: I'm the manly man. I just need a little help.

Me: Can't you call Jim Fox? He's just a block away.

Doug: Together, we're as manly as Jim Fox. Come on! What's the trouble? Just hold up that blanket and be prepared to throw it on the opossum if he runs at you.

Me: (hands shaking, tears forming) I just can't. Sob. What if it goes wrong?

Doug: Get ahold of yourself, would you? It's just a little opossum.

Yes, it played out just like a badly written scene from a movie. I was the helpless damsel in distress, and Doug was the macho man who had to knock some sense into me.

Doug's original plan involved throwing a blanket over the thing, then scooping it up in the laundry basket and carrying it out. I recommended hitting it with a broom so that we didn't have to come within 3 feet of the thing. My broom idea won out.

We turned over 2 long ottomans to block a possible retreat back into the living room (away from the back door). Then we moved furniture in the TV room to again block any move away from the door. Then I held up a blanket, which was supposed to be a sort of moving wall, to help guide it in the right direction.

So Doug reaches in with the broom and gives it a pat. HISS! Teeth are bared. Damn, those things are ugly. Doug swats it again and it rolls over (on my dining room table!) and plays dead, but Doug's pushing it with the broom towards the edge, so it has to stop playing dead and hold on for dear life. Doug finally gets it over the edge of the table, but it's clawing to hold on. He frees its claws with the broom and it falls to the floor. Again, it plays dead. Doug sweeps it across the vinyl floor to the threshold of the TV room, which is carpeted. The opossum gets some purchase on the carpet and digs in its claws. Now Doug has to get a little more aggressive with the broom.

Lots of hissing and rolling and swatting ensue, but after what seems like an eternity (really it was probably more like 60 - 90 seconds), Doug finally rolls the thing out the sliding glass door and shuts it quickly.

Doug: Whew! Glad that's done. Let's go back to bed and get some sleep.

Me: Who can sleep after that?

As it turns out, Doug can sleep after that. I'm still wide awake. I had to watch to make sure the critter actually left. The stupid thing crossed the yard and sat at our fence grooming itself. Then it walked the entire fence line looking for a way out. Aren't opossums tree climbers? This one would not go up. It finally rounded the corner of the yard that I can't monitor from inside. I sure hope it's gone.

So all in all, I think that opossum was in our house for the better part of a week. It pooped, surely peed everywhere (that's the source of the funky smell we couldn't explain), and ate food that the kids and dog dropped on the floor or left on the dining table (Ugh!). If anyone wonders what I'll be doing for the next 3 days, you can rest assured that I'll be sanitizing my home and re-shampooing my carpet.

Here's are my requirements:

• Sneakers.

I already have running shoes. I'll likely play some tennis and soccer and such in my sneakers, but these are everyday shoes.

• Low tops.

I prefer high top sneakers, but I already have a pair. I need a set of low tops right now.

• Black or white.

The base color must be black or white. Trim and other colors are not important, but I can't wear red sneakers for the same reason I can't wear a red sport coat. It's just not me.

• Not hideous.

There is no accounting for taste, so I'll just say that I prefer classic models, but I'm not opposed to a squishy tongue or fat laces. If you've ever seen a set of Asics running shoes, those are exactly what I do not want to see. Great shoes, but u-g-l-y.

• Good quality.

I'm not looking for orthopedics here, but I do need my sneakers to treat my feet reasonably well. Yes, I know that soft, comfy, low top sneakers will never be the best thing for my feet, but let's do the best we can.

Potential mates

Here are some candidates for my feet:

• Adidas Samba Millenium

• PRO-Keds Royal Master Suede

• Puma Basket FS Clyde

Can anyone recommend a good sneaker?

(Via Ronald Bog blog - all about Shoreline Washington.)

Abby's been wearing the same haircut, at various lengths, since she's been getting her hair cut. At yesterday's haircut, she said she wanted her a "boy haircut". I said that I thought it wouldn't make her happy. We discussed it with the hairdresser, who said she thought she knew what we wanted. Then Abby excused me. I came back to find the sweetest haircut, and so feminine. Yet Abby is sure that it is a "boy cut" and is perfectly happy. A good hairdresser can please both mom and daughter.

View all of the photos.

(Via TVW, Legislative Podcasts.)

(Via The Capitol Record.)

Here are some photos.

Earlier this week, a package arrived for Wilson and Abby from their grandparents. It was filled with Easter goodies, including Cadbury cream eggs, Beanie Baby Easter bears, M&M dispensers disguised as Easter bunnies, and 2 large caramel-corn Easter bunnies with candy eyes and candy carrots for noses.

Wilson is convinced that his caramel-corn Easter bunny is a crocodile. I tried to convince him otherwise, but he insisted, turning it on its back and repositioning it. And I've got to admit that if I use just a bit of imagination, I can see it, too. The long ears of the bunny could double as the long snout of the crocodile. We can't really explain the carrot on top of the croc's head, but otherwise, it's believable.

You be the judge.

Abby has a copy of The Daring Book for Girls by Miriam Peskowitz (in addition to her copy of The Dangerous Book for Boys). On page 82 she finds "The Daring Girls Guide to Danger" which gives a list of things that any daring girl should do to face her fears and push herself to new heights to inspire her to face challenges throughout her life. Here is the abbreviated list:

• Ride a roller coaster.
• Ride a zip line across the canopy of a rain forest.
• Go white-water rafting.
• Have a scary movie festival in your living room.
• Wear high heels.
• Stand up for yourself-or someone else.
• Try sushi or another exotic food.
• Dye your hair purple.

Abby has always had a strong sense of justice and readily stands up for herself and others. Number 6? Check.

Abby has a pair of high heel brown boots that were handed down to her from Chelsea. She readily wears these to everywhere but school. Maybe they don't fit her school image, or more likely they aren't practical for what I understand are very active recesses. Number 5? In progress.

Tonight Abby dyed her hair cherry red, her favorite color. She asked for this as soon as she read it in this book. Aside from it being a little costly, I honestly didn't have any good reason to not do it. We went to my stylist and she used a food-grade dye for safety. It is absolutely darling. Number 8? Check.

Everyone should have such a list. Abby is lucky to have found it, and I think it is only a matter of time before she starts adding her own things to the list to personalize it to her own needs and goals.

Abby: So I imagine my brain is like a bus, and all my thoughts are riding the bus. I make all my other thoughts go to the back of the bus, and I let Karate stay up at the front. That's how I concentrate.

Me: Is that a technique that your sensai taught you?

Abby: No. I've been working on my bus for while.

Me: Do you use your bus at any other times?

Abby: Yeah, it helps me at school sometimes, too.

We'd read that karate could hone a person's self discipline and concentration skills, we just hadn't imagined that it would come in the form of an imaginary bus. Necessity is the mother of invention, and if Abby ever needed a magic bus, this is the time. In a school classroom with 28 other 6-year-olds, this seems like a great coping device. Maybe we should all have a magic bus.

Wilson: Because YES!

A little later...

Me: Wilson, why aren't you eating your fruit?

Wilson: Because NO!

Abby: You're crying. Did he really hit you that hard?

Me: No, I just had a really bad day at work and I guess I haven't put it behind me yet.

Abby: The best thing to do is just take a nap. You can't be sad when you're sleeping. And maybe you'll feel better when you get up.

Me: (thinking this is just what I need) I can't nap. Your father isn't home.

Abby: Don't worry. Just turn on the tv. We'll be fine.

I did not turn on the tv and disappear for a nap, but instead tried to just suck it up. Then Abby disappeared for a few minutes and came back with a tray on which she had placed a bowl of ice-cream and a mug of apple juice.

Abby: Here, this will make you feel better.

This is where I really start sobbing because I'm so lucky to have such a wonderful family. Who cares about a stinkin' job with some stinkin' mean people?