A few remarks about SLIT:

1) It is not a new treatment modality: First description dates back to 1900 when H. Curtis published his experience involving the previous 25 years for the treatment of pollen allergy with oral drops.

2) SLIT has been in use in the US since that time. It was relatively widely used until the late 1970’s mainly by ENT-Allergists (Ear Nose and Throat doctors -Otolaryngologists- that worked also in the management of allergic conditions).

3) The resurgence of SLIT use occurred in Europe. Reason for this: In 1986 the British Committee on the Safety of Medicines reported in England a series of deaths related to the administration of allergy shots. Subsequent strict governmental regulations made it very difficult to administer shots in regular doctor offices therefore there was the need to seek alternate methods for the administration of immunotherapy. That is how SLIT was “discovered” in Europe (or rather “rediscovered”) . This “new age” of  SLIT uses higher dose regimens than the ones previously used in the U.S.  Good quality research has been and continues to be conducted in Europe, attesting to the efficacy and safety of oral treatments using these high-dose protocols. The Internet  nowadays facilitates to the interested reader easy access to multitude of papers in reference to sublingual immunotherapy.

In general, the literature suggests that SLIT is extremely safe and review series tend to suggest that severe reactions never occur. Because the reactions to the administration of SLIT are in general minor, the European authors have coined the denomination of Adverse Events to describe such reactions in an attempt to differentiate those from the reactions that can occur after administration of allergy shots. These reactions have the possibility of being severe, carrying a risk of mortality – that luckily occurs very rarely, estimated at 1 case for every 2.5 million injections.  Still there are case reports that clearly show the possibility that severe reactions can and do occur after the administration of SLIT.

The well known review series by Canonica and Pasalacqua (JACI 2003) suggests that the reactions are mild and self-resolving if dose continues to be administered. There are a couple of papers that suggest that aggressive courses of treatment (meaning dose is advanced rapidly) do not produce any more adverse events than more conservative treatments (where dose is advanced more slowly).

Even though it is difficult to draw conclusions about this from the published literature, each author generally has a different protocol for the administration of immunotherapy.  Below are my thoughts:

If a reaction-adverse event occurs with the administration of SLIT the dose should be decreased rather than kept at the same level. In case of doubt the practitioner should not hesitate to interrupt treatment until the situation is clarified. Safety is the main consideration when treating and allergy patient. It appears as if some practitioners have this “rush” to attain a high dose level soon. When a good diagnosis is established the treatment will be effective from the initial dose onwards. There is no reason to rush through a treatment that when well planned will be effective early in the course of immunotherapy.

The severe reaction described by Dunsky (Allergy 2006) occurred in a patient that  initially presented with a reaction consisting in diffuse urticaria (acute itchy skin rash) after the administration of 6 drops. After the patient complained to her doctor she was advised to continue with the same dose therefore a new 6-drop dose was administered the following day and this time this dose elicited an asthma attack that required emergency medical intervention. It appears that the treating physician was influenced by the statement in the well known review article by Canonica and Passalacqua (JACI 2003) that suggested that reactions are self-resolving by continuing with the same dose. (For description of other severe reactions after the administration of SLIT see Eifan (Allergy 2007) and Blazowski (Allergy 2008).

With the protocol that I have described in 2005 I successfully treat patients with allergies or asthma (even with severe asthma). Frequently these patients are not treated with immunotherapy because of the fear of eliciting a severe reaction. The fact is that if a reaction to an allergy shot were to occur in an asthmatic patient this reaction could be more severe. In fact the asthmatic patient is considered a “brittle” patient for allergy management as the asthmatic patient is the one that can easily react with a closure of the air ways (bronchospasm). This can require emergency intervention. On occasion patients with an asthma attack need to be intubated and sometimes patients die as a consequence of an asthma attack, therefore it is clear that it is more dangerous to give allergy shots to an asthmatic patient than to a non-asthmatic patient.

This “fear of eliciting a severe reaction” leads into a conundrum:

While the asthmatic patient is the one that has an allergic disease that involves a clear risk of mortality as a consequence of the natural history of the disease, the asthmatic patient is the one that more often than not is denied the only treatment capable of modifying the underlying allergic disease: This treatment is immunotherapy

Another aspect of this problem is the very young patient:

Present immunotherapy guidelines suggest not treating children younger than 5 as severe reactions are more frequent and of worse outcome in children (Des Roches JACI 1997).

It is clearly known that when a child is diagnosed with nasal allergies with no bronchial involvement at the time of initial consultation (meaning this child has nasal allergies only, without asthma) this child has a 19% chance of developing asthma in the following years (Linna et al Act. Paediatr 1992). This is not even a new concept as Johnstone and Dutton (Pediatrics 1968) published already in 1968 that up to 50% of their pediatric patients had developed asthma when they saw those patients again in their teenager years.

On the other hand it is clearly demonstrated in the world literature that immunotherapy when administered early can prevent asthma development, and that immunotherapy often leads into resolution of established asthma (see for example Johnstone DE and Dutton A. Pediatrics  1968, Bousquet J, Demoly P, Michel FB. Annals  AAI 2001,Moller C, Dreborg S, Ferdousi HA, et al JACI 2002, Novembre JACI 2004, Rak S, Lowhagen O and Venge P JACI1988 . Moller C, Dreborg S, Ferdousi HA, et al JACI 2002)

So once more while immunotherapy should be instituted as soon as possible as is the only treatment capable of preventing development of asthma in young children, the present guidelines advise not to treat those children as there is a risk of a severe reaction with the related risk of mortality.

In my opinion here is where the role of SLIT is extremely important:

SLIT is extremely safe and effective. As I explained above even though there is a risk of a severe reaction:

1) These reactions are NOT frequent.

2) To this date (I am writing this on December 2009) no single case of mortality after administration of SLIT for inhalant allergies has ever been reported anywhere in the world

3) With my particular technique I can say that we can safely treat young children without any significant reaction. I continuously review the results of my treatments in weekly meetings with the nursing staff and the cases presented in those meetings are about only minor problems usually involving itching or a rash. On occasion headaches or gastric symptoms.

Initially in 2005 when I presented my first group of 68 patients there were  a total of 10 adverse events 5 were related to oral itching or skin rash and  each for other minor problems. In no case at that time I needed to interrupt the treatment.

Why is my technique so safe:

I start with the smallest dose possible: 1 drop.

I give drops daily. This helps to build immunity . There is evidence in the world literature that frequent doses work better than sporadic administration

I advance drops very slowly: The patient is instructed to increase the dose by 1 drop once a week. Therefore if the patient were not to tolerate the dose this could be clearly established and then safely the dose could be decreased to the previously tolerated level. This happens with patients that develop oral itching or skin itching or nausea after oral drops. There other protocols that advance the dose daily and even though the literature suggests that quick advancements are as safe as more conservative ones  careful review of those papers  reveal that the treated sample (number of patients in each group) is rather small (that is involve sonly a small number of patients ). One could hypothesize that in a bigger sample a difference could be better seen. Ultimately in the art of treating a patient the practitioner should use common sense when no scientific information is available, and my medical common sense tells me that slow advancements are safer.

In summary it is my opinion that Sublingual Immunotherapy is a very safe treatment modality useful in the management of many allergic conditions including the most dangerous one: asthma

Och så är det fredag igen och helgen stundar. En del ska ut och se sig om i vida världen, men för min del blir det nog inget häftigare än en vända till Granngården. Och så det vanliga plocket på jobbet innan dess. Bristen på ljus och soltimmar gör att jag inte känner mig tillräcklig påfylld för att längta ut på äventyr heller. Tycker mest det är skönt att få lägga mig raklång med en god bok och njuta av tystnaden efter dagens stress och slit. Jag väntar på att omega 3 kapslarnas verkan ska börja sätta fart på min hösttrötta kropp. Men ännu inget tecken på att det håller på att ske. I morgon väntar en hel del saker, så det kan vara skönt att ta fredagskvällen bara som den kommer, det får bli en sån där “bara vara”-kväll. Man behöver såna ibland också.

There is a quote from H. L. Mencken that reads, “Every normal man must be tempted at times to spit on his hands, hoist the black flag, and begin to slit throats.” Since first reading it, I’ve been struck by those words and have remembered them. Every normal man must sometimes want to throw caution to the wind and be a pirate, it says, to slit throats with abandon and claim the spoils regardless of consequence. It is tempting. But I also read a deeper meaning in it. A rallying cry, a warning, a call-to-arms. There comes a time, these words say, when every man will have to take action, make a stand, and risk everything to fight for what they value or else lose it to another’s plundering.

I’ve never read that line in its original context. Those sentiments may not be remotely near what the author intended when writing it. But a learned man once told me that what we see on our own is more important than what we are told to see. You can be taught to see more, to see better, he said, but never fully trust what you are told. So Mr. Mencken will have to pardon my conclusions; they are mine alone.

Hoist the black flag, he said. Slit throats. To war, then, and to the victor goes the spoils. It strikes me that much of American society is already busy at pirating, or was until the Big Bust of 2008. Wanting a large payoff from a smaller, somewhat riskier investment seemed to be the prevailing modus operandi. Flip houses. Flip cars. Flip companies. Trust Bernie with your money. Cheat (but slyly) on your taxes. In fact, cheat at anything if you think you won’t get caught. Score as much credit as possible. Buy things you can’t afford with someone else’s money. Lie and steal from your government, your employer, your family, your fellow man. Anything for the almighty dollar.

If you were in construction, you threw together as many buildings as possible and waited for fat profits to roll in, and who cares about the structural integrity of those houses and business spaces. So what if the floor joists won’t last five years, and the basement leaks if so much as a dog takes a whizz two doors down, and the wallboard emits poisonous gas? Sorry, buddy, you were dumb enough to sail into my harbor and your throat just got slit. Thanks for the booty. Besides, that’s what homeowner’s insurance is for.

If you were in insurance you issued thousands of policies that were useless and refused to pay claims, slitting more throats and raking in treasure chests of booty. Your house burnt? Oh, so sorry, we won’t pay for anything damaged by smoke or water or heat or any wall left standing. Tell you what, we’ll give you this month’s mortgage payment plus an extra $50. We’re feeling very generous today. A hurricane you say? Your house flooded? Oh how awful. But no, sorry, we don’t pay off on damages from storm surge. Nope, it’s not a flood, it’s a wave, and we don’t cover that. Sorry. Don’t forget, your next payment is due in two weeks. Bye bye now.

And of course there were still the usual rackets of car sales, internet companies, Wall Street, and, well, anything run by the government. Anything to make another dollar, and the less honest the better. Hey, that’s the new American Dream: getting something for nothing. From the world’s largest corporation to grade schoolers, everyone’s playing pirate.

But someone somewhere is losing. Someone is watching their house or car or savings or future circle the drain when that newest chest is drug on board the winning ship and its golden contents are revealed. With a pirate on every side wondering how they can get their hands on it next.

So what does this have to do with Mencken’s quote? I think the deeper meaning behind it says you have to be your own pirate, be prepared to fight for anything you want, and if you really want it you can’t let others stand in your way. If keeping your job means someone else goes unemployed, so be it. If keeping your house means another family goes homeless, that’s something you’ll just have to face. It is, in a way, Darwin’s evolution in action. No one ever wrote a treatise on the survival of the nicest.

The sad fact of life on this planet is that not everyone will have what they want, and many will not have what they need. And to have anything at all, you will have to fight for it. We do not live in a global utopian society, and if you do not take it you will likely die waiting for it to be given to you.

That goes for liberty as much as for anything else. If you do not fight for your freedoms, you can hardly expect anyone to grace you with them out of the goodness of their heart. Governments, for instance, were not constructed out of goodness but out of fear and desire … even our own illustrious “city on a hill.” It’s nice to stand safely on the sidelines and speak of pacifism and conscientious objections, but in reality they don’t work. At some point, the theory breaks down. Even one man sitting alone in the middle of a garden will have to fight if he wants to eat, fight weeds and animals and drought and frost. Idealism has yet to feed a hungry belly.

I think Mencken’s words reveal that life is simply one fight after another, and if you want to do more than simply survive, you’ll have to do so at someone else’s expense. Is your life more important than someone else’s? Is someone else’s life more important than yours? How can anyone possibly know? So hoist your flag, brandish your sword and pistol, and let the blood run.

Jonestown was a settlement in Guyana, South America. Founded in the early 1970s by religious cult and socialist group, The Peoples Temple. The population peaked in 1978 at over 900 residents. The temple’s leader, Jim Jones, had billed it to his followers as ‘the promised land’ and ‘paradise on earth’. However, those who went to live there told a different story of armed guards, meagre rations and brutal discipline. Several tried to escape as Jones forbid people to leave. Those who made it back to the United States told harrowing stories. One woman who escaped warned that a mass suicide of everyone in the camp was planned. Concerned relatives of people in the group convinced an American Congressman, Leo Ryan, to make a trip to Jonestown. He left with some of these relatives and news crews on November 14. By the evening of November 18 Congressman Ryan was lying dead on an airstrip. After a fairly uneventful visit to the settlement, several residents had come forward to either Ryan or his aide, Jackie Speier, or had approached one of the news crews to say they wanted to leave. Though giving the appearance that he was ok with it, Jones did not want anyone to leave and began to put his final plan into action. Ryan was attacked, but unhurt, by a Jonestown resident wielding a knife, then he, Speier, the news crews and defectors all departed Jonestown. They were bound for the nearest airstrip to fly to Georgetown, Guyana’s capital city. As they boarded the waiting planes a tractor-trailer containing some of Jones’s most loyal followers arrived and the men inside began shooting at the Ryan party. Leo Ryan, defector Patricia Parks, photographer Greg Robinson and NBC cameraman Bob Brown and news reporter Don Harris were all killed by the gunfire. Jackie Speier, reporter Tim Reiterman and NBC sound engineer Steve Sung were among nine injured, Speier critically. Back in Jonestown Jones was commanding his followers, who were surrounded by armed guards, to take cyanide poison, mixed with flavor-aid drink. Some took the potion willingly, but many were forced. The event was captured on audiotape. There were only nine people who were in Jonestown as the poison was being taken and survived. 916 died including Jones, who was killed by a gunshot to the head, his wife Marceline and some of his children. At the temple’s headquarters in Georgetown temple loyalist Sharon Amos shut herself in the bathroom with her three children and slit their throats. After the mass murder/suicide the remaining members closed down the movement. Jonestown stayed deserted until the Guyanese government allowed Hmong refugees from Laos to live there for a few years during the early 1980s. By the late 1980s the buildings of Jonestown were virtually destroyed in a fire and what was left was abandoned and has since, mostly, been reclaimed by the jungle. Thanks for reading.

You know what I love? Coming back from hiatus to an inbox stuffed with fan mail. Like Jay, who wants me to watch him jerk off on webcam. Or SandyBunny, who wants to buy the exercise machine I’ve been trying to unload since spring. But you know what’s even better? The hate mail. There’s nothing that reaffirms a catty, insensitive bitch’s self-value like catty, insensitive diatribes from random bitches. So lets dip into the pot of festering cock-envy and pull out a few gems.

One loyal reader that we’ll call “Jen Connors” (“417 Elm St, Dansing, Connecticut”) just had to weigh in on the overall tone of my blog. She says it’s “adult” and may offend young web surfers. Well, Jen, I think it’s pretty apparent that I didn’t write my piece on Craig’s List whores for a bunch of whiny slit kittens still dangling from a wet placenta. But if they happen on it, fuck ‘em. They’re gonna learn about the birds and the bees somewhere. Might as well be at the hands of a nymphopedobeastialnecrophiliac with an untraceable IP. If you don’t want your cabbages to read, blind them. Bonus: You don’t have to lock them in the closet while you shoot heroin. If they don’t actually witness it, they can’t testify.

I’ve had a universal call for blood over my use of the word “fag” in September. Intellectually, I understand that the word has evolved from an English slang term used to describe elderly and unpleasant women (like we use “canvas-cunted circus whore” today). It is best used to describe a feminine subject with undesirable traits. Like emo kids. On the other hand, I don’t owe anyone an explanation or apology. Within my dominion, I am god. If you didn’t think it was funny, blame it on having a sense of humor like whipped diaper-pail cream, not on my unwillingness to pander to it. And if that doesn’t work, I can always use the “I’m part of the GLBT community, so I can say it” card. Either way, fuck off.

But this is my absolute favorite. I consider the post itself to be a mild boil-over, but the comment I received is priceless. Thank you, Lola, for setting the record straight. Of course we wouldn’t be nearly as shocked if we knew that the woman was practicing adult neurology without a license. And we should, of course, always think of the children. But only select children. Because the children of the patients she treated have no right to be upset that some unqualified psycho was living her dream by poking around in their parents’ heads without any training whatsoever. Oh, and avoid any attempts at spell-check. Perfect. Any other limp-wristed twat waffles want to prove my theory of human inferiority?

So, it’s back to the grindstone… I just hope I still have some spleens to grind. You may not know this, but ground spleen is a proven homeopathic supplement that curdles bile into an ink-like substance. Doesn’t hurt if you harvest your organs from wayward nuns. In an alley behind a deli of ill repute. Under a full moon. While incanting. But watch your incantations. If you end up summoning Count Chocula, you’re just stupid. But if you find yourself staring into the endless face of Nyarlathotep, you’re fucked.

ceva pervers, misto, asa cum stiu ca-ti place.

dar in loc de asta m-am gandit ca te iubesc, si apoi ca te iubesc iarasi, si nu reusesc sa-mi adun cuvintele sa mazgalesc ceva aici.

in loc de asta m-am gandit ca iubesc sexul, dar sexul si dragostea, au oare ceva in comun?
dragoste si sex, stii, de parca suntem in lanul de secara, tu descheiat la slit spunandu-mi te iubesc si impreunandu-ti mainile ca-ntr-o rugaciune de-a lungul spatelui meu.

ce prostie am facut cu pauzele alea, ce tampenie. jumatatea din viata mea mi-am bagat piciorul si am luat o pauza ca sa-mi dau seama ce vreau sa fac, si de fapt vroiam sa fac exact ceea ce faceam deja. silly, ha?

creierul meu e singurul vietuitor pe care nu-l pot controla. il amenint mereu ca-l dezmostenesc, ca nu ma mai semnez sub el sau inaintea lui sau oriunde pe langa el, il hartuiesc sexual mai mult in viata reala si mai putin pe blog si prin caiete, si tot nu-i pot pune haturile.

stai, ii zic.

lumea asta e prea de cacat  pentru tine, stai dracului acasa, citeste, bea o cana cu lapte, fa un examen clinic.

dar nu.

el imi tranteste usa consecvent

de parca nu stiu ca dimineata se va intoarce manga,

spunandu-mi:   si eu te iubesc.

primeste-ma.

iarta-ma.

da-mi voie sa intru acolo, la locul meu.

Wal-Mart fucking sucks. It’s a monster that cheapens the human experience and brings pain and suffering to thousands of people across the world. It’s doing really well, even with this recession shit going around. Why? Because it’s cheap and hypnotic. Everyone knows that Wal-Mart beats most other retailers’ prices on most products, most of the time. And, with typical American short-sightedness, the pimply masses flock to Wal-Mart to support its evil, rather than shop around for moral victory.

Everyone knows that Wal-Mart employees are overqualified slaves who supplement their income with second and third jobs and welfare. And that 99% of their products go to shit within seven weeks of the purchase date. And that 1/4 of the products on the grocery side have been licked by small children and will be recalled in two months. And that as soon as Mike Duke invades Japan, the 1.5 million people who work for the company will be replaced with robotic dinosaurs.

But there is some awesome that leaks out of Wal-Marts festering farthole every once in a while. You’ve no doubt heard of People of Wal-Mart. Fucking gold. Old men with breast implants. Women wearing armbands as skirts. A core sample of all the fucktards and cuntrags in the world. I’m sure you thought it was hilarious at first. But after seeing yourself in those white shorts with your “I Love it in The Ass!” panties showing through… Are those nipple clamps? Put them back in my toy box when you’re done, Gimpy.

Vibrator-moment #2: This guy slaps a fucking kid in the middle of the store because she was being a bitch. Admit it. You’ve wanted to, but never have. Because you’re a bleeding pussy. He told the mom that she needed to control her screaming slit kitten, and she didn’t. But he’s still being charged with “felony cruelty to children.” Isn’t that like “felony chewing of bacon” or “felony sucking my cock with a thumb up my ass”? You can’t punish people for doing what comes naturally. Especially in a Wal-Mart, where children deserve a spleen-shattering drop kick even more than usual.

But what I love the most is the senseless murder. Workers getting trampled to death by asshole customers. Customers getting beaten to death by asshole employees. People are dying of blunt force trauma where we get applesauce and those little dog outfits. How often do you get to be in a crime scene, and know it? It’s like a funnel for our carnality. And since the janitorial staff isn’t exactly Merry Maids, there’s still blood spatter on the walls. Lick all you want.

I’d like to say I’ll never go back to the rotting slushpit that is my local supercenter, but alas… Where else can I wave my clothespins and bottles of lube in front of self-righteous Pentecostals and their humorless spawn? Fortunately for the great satan, we will always have need of two gallon jugs of generic mayonnaise. Even I succumb to its pustulent charm. Which brings me to the real topic of this blog: entrepreneurship. If you’re selling shit out of a raincoat, relocate to the Wal-Mart parking lot. Shoppers can always use an extra Glock or a blowjob from a small Asian child. And they’ll be supporting local businesses. That’s what every community needs.

Jag jobbar, jag sliter. Jag började i omvänd bokstavsordning på efternamn, för att jag tycker synd om mina West och Woolf och Walker och Weldon som alltid får bo längst ner i ett hörn. Det blev inget bra.
Så då började jag med alla vita, röda och svarta i en. Och sen tänker jag mig en regnbåge i de andra två hyllorna. Problemet är förstås att jag har fler röda, vita och svarta.
Vi får se vad det blir.
—————————
Läs även andra bloggares åsikter om bokhyllor, sortering

Les dejo unas funciones que me parecieron más que útiles. 1° es una función de split, lo cual permite pasarle un string ej. ‘1234,4567,890′ y te devuelve un valor por fila en una tabla. 2° es la función inversa lo cual permite a partir de los valores de una tabla concatenarlos quedando un solo string.

A partir de la utilización de esto, me permitió reducir una enorme cantidad de consultas a la base, dado que en vez de pasarle un “id” en cada consulta para chequearlo, le paso el listado de “ids” concatenados lo cual en una sola conexión a la base ya le pase todos, quedando en manos del SQL para hacer el correspondiente chequeo (en mi caso).

Función SPLIT

ALTER FUNCTION [dbo].[fnSplit](
@sInputList VARCHAR(8000) — List of delimited items
, @sDelimiter VARCHAR(8000) = ‘,’ — delimiter that separates items
) RETURNS @List TABLE (item VARCHAR(8000))

BEGIN
DECLARE @sItem VARCHAR(8000)
WHILE CHARINDEX(@sDelimiter,@sInputList,0) <> 0
BEGIN
SELECT
@sItem=RTRIM(LTRIM(SUBSTRING(@sInputList,1,CHARINDEX(@sDelimiter,@sInputList,0)-1))),
@sInputList=RTRIM(LTRIM(SUBSTRING(@sInputList,CHARINDEX(@sDelimiter,@sInputList,0)+LEN(@sDelimiter),LEN(@sInputList))))

IF LEN(@sItem) > 0
INSERT INTO @List SELECT @sItem
END

IF LEN(@sInputList) > 0
INSERT INTO @List SELECT @sInputList — Put the last item in
RETURN
END

Llamando la función

SELECT * FROM dbo.fnSplit(‘1234,4567,890′,’,') AS List

Reversa del SPLIT

Animal
Llama
Manatee
Pygmy Marmoset
Okapi

Result CSV: “Llama, Manatee, Pygmy Marmoset, Okapi”

select Name from Animal

declare @csv varchar(max)
select @csv = coalesce(@csv + ‘, ‘, ”) + Name from Animal
select @csv

Once in awhile,  you’ll buy a pair of pants that have a vent in the hem like these:

The vent is a slit that is located on the side seam of the pants at the hem.

You may want to hem those pants up, but you don’t know how to replicate that vent.

It looks intimidating, but it’s not difficult.

Let me show you how.

The key to making a vent in the pants you bought, is to pay close attention to how it was done in the first place.

The hem I will show you today is the most common way they are done. I have seen a few other ways, but you’ll be able to figure it out once you follow this post.

Ok, I am going to inspect the hem before I begin.

I look to see how it was sewn together. Once I begin taking it apart, I’ll make a mental note of each step because I am going to recreate them in reverse order when putting it back together at the new hemline.

As you can see, these were machine  top stitched. (Most hems with vents are not topstitched here. Most of them are stitched with a blind stitch hem foot.) We’ll cover that part later. Right now, just remember how the hem was sewn.

First, take out those stitches.

Next, take out those vertical stitches that run along the edge of the vent. In the photo below, they are the stitches above my finger on the left side:

Now, rip out the stitches on the other vent and spread the fabric out:

This customer wanted her hem to be 3/4″ higher than it was when she brought it to me.

So, I measured up 3/4″ and pressed a new foldline all the way around the hem:

Your hem may need to be taken up more than 3/4″. Just press up the hem by the amount you need.

Now, lay out all the material flat. Look from the left edge of the fabric over to the 2 1/2″ inch mark on the seam guage. That is the total amount of the original hem. (We have added 3/4″ to that measurement, so the total is 3 1/4″. )

But, we want our new hem to be 2 1/2″ again, the original depth of the hem, so that means we will cut off the extra 3/4″ from the cut edge.

***Usually, the amount you need to raise the hem is the amount you cut off of the cut edge of the hem.

Are you following me?

 So, if you look at the photo, you’ll see that we are going to measure 2 1/2″ from the new hemline along the folded edge and cut off that extra 3/4″ from the cut edge:

Here is the same thing, but from  a different view. I’ve unfolded the hem and you are looking at the wrong side of the fabric.

Cut off that extra hem amount as shown. Again, in this case it is 3/4″:

Now, using the new hemline that you pressed awhile ago, fold it back on itself so that the fabric is right sides together (see photo below). I stuck a pin in it to hold it together for now. 

Do you see that I have turned up a small amount near the head of the pin?

You need to fold under a little for this hem because you don’t want a raw edge showing when you turn the hem right side out.

Do you see the original seamline that runs parallel to the pin, just to the left of the pin?

That is the seamline you are going to stitch on now. 

Do this for both sides of the vent.

Now, when you turn the vents right side out, this is what they look like on the wrong side:

See how the edge is folded under instead of having a raw edge?

Now look at the right side of the vents.

Meet the two ends together and see if they are the same length. The two points should be the same length as in the photo below: 

If they are not, take out the stitches and refold them until they match and then resew them. Match them up again to make sure they match each other.

Once they match each other, press them so they lie flat.

Now, when I pinned this hem up, you can see that it doesn’t lie flat against the leg of the pants.

There’s more leg fabric than there is hem.

That means I have some adjusting to do.

Remember the post, How to hem pants and skirts that are flared or tapered so that they don’t pucker?

Well, that’s what we have to do here. So, I’ll show you again.

On these pants, we need more material in the hem area so that it lies flat on the pants, right?

How do we get the extra fabric?

Well, let’s try increasing the  hem circumference  first.

To do that, turn the hem right side out again.

Sew from the hem fold out to the edge. Do you see the tip of the screw driver pointing to the diagonal seam I just made?

Once you’ve added that little diagonal seam, rip out the original stitches that run vertically. (The ones that lie under the tip of the screwdriver.)

If you turn the pants over, you’ll see how letting out that old seam gives you a little extra fabric:

From the wrong side of the fabric, press that area flat.

Now, for this pair of pants, I just needed to turn the edge under and topstitch it.

When I took out the original hem, it left holes where the original stitches were. So, I am going to stitch over that original hem again so that you won’t be able to tell that I put a new hem in. (see photo below).

If your hem was not topstitched, you’ll want to hem it the way it was done originally. You may want to use a blindstitch hem or sew your hem by hand.

This is how mine looked when I finished:

Here’s a side view:

Remember to always press from the wrong side of the fabric or use a press cloth on the right side so as to protect the fabric from getting a “shine” from the iron.

Vents in slacks are too cute to just cut off.

Putting in new vents are worth the extra steps.

Give it a try!

Jag vaknar med ett ryck. Mobilen ligger bredvid sängen och alarmsignalen skriker i mina öron. Klockan är halv sex. Solen lyser upp lägenheten, jag drar sällan ner persiennerna. Utanför fönstret hörs en tunnelbana åka iväg. Jag snoozar alarmet av dålig vana några gånger men till slut så tvingar jag mig upp ur sängen. Kläderna ligger i en hög på golvet och jag klär på mig snabbt, ingen idé att leta reda på nåt nytt. Ska bara till jobbet.
Går in i köket trots att jag vet att jag glömde köpa bröd dagen innan, eller snarare så orkade jag inte. Funderar ett slag om jag ska koka kaffe men tittar på klockan och ser att jag inte hinner. Bussen går om tjugo minuter. Jag borde diska när jag kommer hem tänker jag, men vet att det inte kommer bli av. Inte idag, imorgon kanske.

Tvättar och borstar tänderna snabbt innan jag trär på mig skorna och skyndar mig ner mot centrum. På bron över bilvägen så sneglar jag hela tiden ner mot hållplatsen. Är det där min buss som kommer? Folk möter mig i långsam morgonlunk på väg till tunnelbanan, de flesta ser trötta ut. Den bleka morgonsolen och sömnen i ögonen gör upplevelsen lite overklig, som en dröm. Jag önskar jag kunde vända och krypa ner i sängen igen.

“Fan, det där är min buss!”
Jag springer för att hinna med

Sitter andfådd på bussen. Tar upp en bok för att läsa lite men slumrar hela tiden till över den. Pinsamt. Jag lägger ner boken. Bussen är fylld av människor på väg till jobbet eller till någon av AMS arbetsmarknadsåtgärder. De har lokaler precis vägg i vägg med lagret.

Skolungdomarna, både små och stora, har sommarlov och även om bussen är full så är det ingen trängsel som under terminerna.

Några stycken går av på samma station som jag. Känner igen dom som arbetslösa på väg till antingen tvätteriet eller slöjdsalen för att arbeta gratis åt… kommunen? Ja jag vet inte. Det är mest äldre. Flera kvinnor än män.

Klockan är tio i sju och jag skyndar mig förbi de andra. Efter gångtunneln så cyklar en man förbi mig. Nära, utan att plinga.

“Kontorist…“, tänker jag. Men är inte säker.

Jag går ner för en lätt sluttande backe och nu ser jag andra komma gående. Från tågstationen, på cykel och vissa från sina bilar. Vi är inte speciellt många, vi går inte speciellt tätt, utan snarare med stora mellanrum. Men ändå tycker jag vi flyter samman till en flod. En ström drar oss, kanske mellan 20-30 människor, i samma riktning. Jag ser arbetskamrater på långt håll, kontorister, personal från lunchrestaurangen, arbetslösa jag känner igen. Ingen av mina kompisar från lagret är nära nog för mig att gå ifatt. Ensamma så kommer vi fram till dörren till den gamla fabriksbyggnaden. Då är redan illusionen av människofloden bruten. Alla har svängt av till sina respektive arbetsplatser. Kontoristerna till kontoret, restaurangpersonalen till restaurangen och de arbetslösa till AMS. Arbetare som jobbar på grannlagret kilar vidare längre bort, som en egen liten bäck av människor.

Innan jag kommer fram till dörren så tänker jag som så många gånger förr att jag har gått här så länge . När jag öppnar dörren så slås jag av en minnesbild från när jag var liten. Alla sommarmornar jag som tonåring viftat med mitt tillfälliga passerkort och hasat in genom dörren och bytt om till arbetskläder gäspandes. Jag kommer ihåg att det fortfarande står “visstidsanställd” på mitt passerkort, trots att jag varit “tillsvidare” i ett år nu och egentligen borde ha en bild på mig tryckt på kortet.

Jag går för att byta om. Säger “morgon” till en arbetskamrat jag möter i dörren till omklädningsrummet. Någon god morgon är det inte och vi gör inte heller något sken av att låtsas det. Jag öppnar mitt skåp, suckar åt alla gamla papper och grejer jag inte orkat städa ur och byter fort om. Byxorna är för stora och tunga av spritpennor, arbetskniv och grejer i fickorna. Tröjan luktar kartong och gammal svett. Jag sköljer ansiktet i vatten och tittar mig i spegeln. Räcker ut tungan. “Fuck you!”

Ser på klockan igen och skyndar ut på golvet. Tänk om chefen är här!
Men det är han inte. Det är skiftet som börjar om två timmar som ska vara oroliga om de är lite sena. För dom klockar han noggrant. Vi som börjar tidigare slipper undan eftersom han inte orkar gå upp så tidigt.

Jag går genom lagret på väg till truckladdningen och hälsar lite slött på dom arbetskamrater jag passerar.
I truckrummet väljer jag samma truck som dagen innan. Jag vet att den är påfylld med plastpåsar, etiketter, gummisnoddar och annat man behöver sen gårdagen. Jag stänger av strömmen från laddaren och drar ut laddaren ur batteriet. Den sitter ganska hårt fast så man får ta i. Eftersom jag fyllde på med vatten igår så stänger jag locket och vrider om startnyckeln. Den elektriska motorn börjar surra och skrivaren vaknar till liv. Jag sätter igång datorn och kör ut för att hämta en pall.
Det gjort så loggar jag in, startar rätt program, loggar in igen och suckar. Inte så värst mycket att göra, men efter kl.10 ska jag packa istället. Jag tar ut några order som ska packas tillsammans. De kommer väga runt 250 kilo totalt när de andra plockarna lämnat sin andel. Inte så mycket, jag har själv packat saker som vägde ett ton eller strax under.

Efter att ha kört runt och plockat allt som är mitt att packa får jag tid över. Chefen är fortfarande inte på plats så jag tar en rast istället för att börja på nåt annat.  Vid nio är det rast, på riktigt alltså. Jag smyger iväg fem i och äter en macka och dricker kaffe. Tjugo minuter över är jag tillbaka. Rasten slutar kvart över och morgonmötet borde ha börjat. Men chefen är fortfarande inte på plats och det blir inget av det.
När klockan är tio går jag och kollar om allt jag ska packa är färdigt. Lite grejer som ligger i automathissarna är kvar och jag ber en arbetskamrat ta ut dom. Sen börjar jag packa.

Jag tycker om att packa tunga saker. Visst så känner man det i rygg och handleder efter en vecka och visst svettas man. Men man måste tänka för att få det rätt. Jag gillar det. Utmaningen i att välja rätt låda. Det tetrisliknande sättet att lägga ner artiklarna. Plankorna jag spikar fast för att säkra motorer och andra stora saker i pallen. Det blir ett projekt istället för något monotomt robotjobb. På lättpaketeringen så gör förväntas man packa paket efter paket. Ibland med bara en artikel i. 5 minuters jobb och när du uppdaterar systemet så har det dykt in mer rader att packa än vad du just blev av med. Stress, stress, stress.

Klockan elva är det lunch. Jag visslar när en vän åker förbi på sin truck och han nickar och pekar mot handfaten. Vi går och tvättar händerna och beger oss sen mot lunchrestaurangen. En annan arbetskamrat signalerar från sin station att han kommer snart. Förut, när vi åt senare mötte vi alltid några som redan käkat när vi gick förbi verktygspackningen. De sa alltid “maten är slut!” och någon av oss skämtade alltid med att svara nåt i stil med “jaha!” och låtsas vända. Samma skämt, varje dag. En ritual.

I restaurangen är det lugnt. Nästan bara arbetare går och äter vid elva och det sitter folk från oss och andra arbetare lite utspridda varstans i salen. Vi betalar och tar för oss av maten.
Vid vårt vanliga bort sitter redan en äldre kamrat och äter. Han skär maten i små, små bitar och äter långsamt. Vi brukar driva lite med honom. Men han tillhör den del av den äldre arbetarskaran vi yngre har respekt för. Han golar inte och gullar inte med chefen. Vi gillar honom.
Vi äter och samtalsämnena rör som vanligt maten dåliga kvalité, hur mycket vi har att göra, vad som hände i helgen och så vidare. Den som klagar mest på maten, går och hämtar mer. Nöden har ingen lag, mätt ska man ju bli.

Tillbaks till arbetet. Nu har chefen kommit och vi får sura blickar inne från hans lilla bås när vi går förbi. “Ni håller väl tiderna? Säger han lite irriterat. “Ni gick väl och åt elva? Vi har halvtimmeslunch”
“Vi gick tio över” svarar vi unisont. Den här dansen kan vi.

Vi arbetar med varsitt till klockan två. Dåsar till i solen ute på lastkajen, dricker kaffe, kollar datorn, sitter och snackar. Chefen är på hugget och efter en kvart är folk tillbaka på golvet. Men fortsätter snacka i några minuter till istället för att börja jobba.

En dryg timme senare, när klockan går över tre, så börjar det tidiga passet att lugna ner sig. Jag har packat klart mitt för länge sen och spenderar en kvart med att städa upp vid min arbetsstation och i allmänhet se upptagen ut. När tillfälle ges tar jag mina personliga tillhörigheter och går mot utgången. Nickar till kamraterna som ska jobba kvar tills bilarna kommer och skyndar till mitt skåp och byter om fort.
Jag småspringer ner för trappan mot utgången. Varje dag när arbetet slutar, hur trött man än är, så spritter det i benen när dagen är slut. Som kor som släpps ut på grönbete efter en lång vinter i ladan.
På vägen till bussen ser jag också att kvigorna från gården i närheten beta i sin hage och jag springer för att hinna med bussen hem…

Det där var i förgår.
Idag, fredagen den 31 augusti, är det min sista arbetsdag på lagret. I över två år har jag arbetat här. Och innan det varje sommar sen jag fyllde 16. Nu är det slut. Nu börjar en period på två månaders arbetsbefrielse med lön. Avgångsvederlaget och lönen är redan betald. Och i september så ska jag börja studera till förskolelärare.

“Adjö kära grottekvarn!“

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