6/19/2006
Things that make me think I'm a man
I was reading this post over at Pandagon, and it made me feel like a "nice guy" per Amanda's definition, which is really more "passive-aggressive guy". I think everyone in my house will agree that I am the remote hogger, and I will criticize the programming that others in the house are watching until they feel shamed and hand me the control. I feel appropriately guilty about my passive-aggressive ways, and will try to change.
6/18/2006
I don't think I've ever done this before
Today I spent father's day with my father. Weird, for us. My father is not big on celebrations, particularly not those that are not associated with the Catholic church. I remember asking him once what he was going to give my mother for mother's day, and he said "Nothing - she's not my mother."
Anyway, the girls and I went out to my parent's house. Sio has decided that she wants to start recording all the great family stories we tell (we went to a party on
Saturday and I was in party mode, so I told some of the great stories, and they got a hugely positive response, which I think triggered Sio to want to get everything down). We had some fun answering Sio's questions - she asked me to tell her about my strongest qualities as a child, and I told her my overriding quality was my know-it-allness. I actually remember the first time I realized that it was possible to be wrong, and let me tell you, that was like getting punched in the stomach.
We did learn some new things. For example, my mother can remember every address and phone number she's ever had. And when my father first came to the U.S., his nickname was Wee Willy (an ironic nickname for the 6'4" Irishman with hands as big as frozen turkeys). And neither one of my parents know how many kids my uncle Ned had ("a lot" was the best they could come up with.) And if my parents remember when they first met and how their relationship progressed, they sure as hell aren't sharing it.
We didn't see Loki until 8:30 or so tonight - he spent the day with his dad, building a gazebo. The girls presented him with the traditional Father's day present of ties (solid colored ones since Loki is not the kind of guy who knows what tie goes with what shirt.)
Anyway, the girls and I went out to my parent's house. Sio has decided that she wants to start recording all the great family stories we tell (we went to a party on
Saturday and I was in party mode, so I told some of the great stories, and they got a hugely positive response, which I think triggered Sio to want to get everything down). We had some fun answering Sio's questions - she asked me to tell her about my strongest qualities as a child, and I told her my overriding quality was my know-it-allness. I actually remember the first time I realized that it was possible to be wrong, and let me tell you, that was like getting punched in the stomach.
We did learn some new things. For example, my mother can remember every address and phone number she's ever had. And when my father first came to the U.S., his nickname was Wee Willy (an ironic nickname for the 6'4" Irishman with hands as big as frozen turkeys). And neither one of my parents know how many kids my uncle Ned had ("a lot" was the best they could come up with.) And if my parents remember when they first met and how their relationship progressed, they sure as hell aren't sharing it.
We didn't see Loki until 8:30 or so tonight - he spent the day with his dad, building a gazebo. The girls presented him with the traditional Father's day present of ties (solid colored ones since Loki is not the kind of guy who knows what tie goes with what shirt.)
6/14/2006
People Unclear on the Concept of Democracy
John F. Droney, Jr.:
Wrong, Mr. Droney, Jr. For Lieberman to have a primary challenge is evidence that democracy is working. Lieberman no longer represents a good 30% of his constituents, at least (judging from the votes he got at the convention), which is not an extremely small group. And that 30% is going to grow as Lieberman's arrogance, his overwhelming sense that he is entitled to his job as Senator, comes out.
Political Wire has learned that key allies of Sen. Joseph Lieberman (D-CT) are making contingency plans for the three-term senator to run as an independent in this fall's U.S. Senate race in Connecticut. Lieberman faces a challenge in the Democratic primary from businessman Ned Lamont.
In fact, an important Lieberman backer, former Connecticut Democratic chairman John F. Droney Jr., is quoted by the Hartford Courant as a supporter of the plan: "I think to be terrorized through the summer by an extremely small group of the Democratic Party, much less the voting population, is total insanity for a person who is a three-term senator."
Wrong, Mr. Droney, Jr. For Lieberman to have a primary challenge is evidence that democracy is working. Lieberman no longer represents a good 30% of his constituents, at least (judging from the votes he got at the convention), which is not an extremely small group. And that 30% is going to grow as Lieberman's arrogance, his overwhelming sense that he is entitled to his job as Senator, comes out.
6/13/2006
Allow me to brag
The a capella group at Sio's high school is ranked 5th in North America, and next year, Sio will be the alto section leader of that group. I'm so proud of her. She is a much better musician than I am (I'm a singer, not a musician), and she has high standards, so I won't be surprised if their rankings improve next year.
6/12/2006
Random Photo Blogging: IMG_9369
alt="" style="border: solid 2px #000000;" />Uploaded on May 24, 2006 by
A thermal coffee pot
saw a bottle of Red Hot
(the patron put some on his tots)
She thought "He would hit the spot,
that tasty bottle of Red Hot.
I wonder whether or not
he's into thermal coffee pots?"
So she opened up her top,
and she flirted, "Hiya, pop!"
And with a shuffle and a hop,
she nudged closer to his stop
on the table they shared at IHOP.
He said "Oh, please, no, dear ma'am,
I suggest you better scram,
you see, I'm quite betrothed
to that pot of strawberry jam."
the picture won't show up, so I linked to it in the title
6/10/2006
Gays vs. Grandkids
My mother-in-law, right-wingnut, was scheduled to come to visit at the end of July. Sister-in-law called me last night to let me know that MIL is changing her plans because her church has scheduled a vote on whether to leave the Episcopalian church over the appointment of a gay bishop. MIL is not sure she will be able to come at all, because it is crucial that she and her husband are there to cast their votes to defeat the gay menace.
SIL confessed to me that she had to resist shouting out a "YES!" at the news that her mother might not visit.
I can't wait to tell my own mother, who says "God must love the gays, otherwise he wouldn't have made them so talented." My mother thinks MIL is a whackjob because she chooses to live 3,000 miles from her children and grandchildren (something that her own children find to be one of MIL's most appealing qualities, actually).
SIL confessed to me that she had to resist shouting out a "YES!" at the news that her mother might not visit.
I can't wait to tell my own mother, who says "God must love the gays, otherwise he wouldn't have made them so talented." My mother thinks MIL is a whackjob because she chooses to live 3,000 miles from her children and grandchildren (something that her own children find to be one of MIL's most appealing qualities, actually).
6/09/2006
I like my steak bloody.
My eggs? Not so much.
I decided to make chicken pot pie for dinner tonight, since we had leftover chicken and gravy. I decided to use this nice popover crust that you make with Wondra flour - a cup of Wondra, a cup of milk, 2 eggs and some herbs.
I mixed together the flour and the milk, and I cracked open an egg, and what landed in the bowl was a bright yellow yolk floating in a sea of blood.
I'm not sure I'll be able to sleep tonight, and I'm damn sure it will be a good long time before I'll be making eggs.
I decided to make chicken pot pie for dinner tonight, since we had leftover chicken and gravy. I decided to use this nice popover crust that you make with Wondra flour - a cup of Wondra, a cup of milk, 2 eggs and some herbs.
I mixed together the flour and the milk, and I cracked open an egg, and what landed in the bowl was a bright yellow yolk floating in a sea of blood.
I'm not sure I'll be able to sleep tonight, and I'm damn sure it will be a good long time before I'll be making eggs.
6/07/2006
I bought some Manchego at the store today....
so now is the time for some whine.
I am slowly losing my mind. I don't know if it's hormonal or neurological or psychological or merely inevitable, but I'm losing it.
When I was a child, I used to do this sort of grimace thing with my face when I was excited or anxious...well, that grimace thing has come back, along with another old friend from my childhood, humming. Maeve told me she heard me humming while I was in the bathroom, but I wasn't humming a tune, I was just humming a tone. I don't think I do it to the level that would mean I have Tourette's syndrome, but I do it without being aware of doing it.
I went to see a psychologist and have a basic diagnosis of depression with a side order of obsessive compulsive disorder - except my OCD isn't the kind where you have to clean things all the time, but the kind that makes you hoard stuff and scratch your ears and make weird faces and eat compulsively.
And I can't even let go and enjoy my slide from sanity, because it seems like such a self-indulgent thing to do. I have to keep putting up the pretense that I'm fully functional.
Today, I was working on a bid at work, and I had to call the insurance company for Sio, and I burst into tears of frustration at trying to do two things at once, something I have to do all the time. Well, maybe that wasn't the crazy, maybe that was just PMS.
I am slowly losing my mind. I don't know if it's hormonal or neurological or psychological or merely inevitable, but I'm losing it.
When I was a child, I used to do this sort of grimace thing with my face when I was excited or anxious...well, that grimace thing has come back, along with another old friend from my childhood, humming. Maeve told me she heard me humming while I was in the bathroom, but I wasn't humming a tune, I was just humming a tone. I don't think I do it to the level that would mean I have Tourette's syndrome, but I do it without being aware of doing it.
I went to see a psychologist and have a basic diagnosis of depression with a side order of obsessive compulsive disorder - except my OCD isn't the kind where you have to clean things all the time, but the kind that makes you hoard stuff and scratch your ears and make weird faces and eat compulsively.
And I can't even let go and enjoy my slide from sanity, because it seems like such a self-indulgent thing to do. I have to keep putting up the pretense that I'm fully functional.
Today, I was working on a bid at work, and I had to call the insurance company for Sio, and I burst into tears of frustration at trying to do two things at once, something I have to do all the time. Well, maybe that wasn't the crazy, maybe that was just PMS.
6/06/2006
Good evening, comrades
| You are a Social Liberal (80% permissive) and an... Economic Liberal (11% permissive) You are best described as a:
Link: The Politics Test on Ok Cupid Also: The OkCupid Dating Persona Test |
6/05/2006
Monday Random Photo Blogging: IMG_1339
I can't help but think that the photographer could have taken a step to the left, and then we'd be looking at a picture of the American Artificial Limbo.
6/03/2006
By Presidential Standards, I still have 3 and a half years to engage in youthful indiscretions
After reading this post and the comments over at Shakespeare's Sister, and then this post and comments at 11D, it is clear to me that I have not had enough wild and crazy, damn the consequences fun. I've only been drunk once in my life, and I didn't do anything embarassing...to be honest, I wasn't even that drunk. I've appeared nude on stage in front of approximately 1100 people, but I wasn't embarassed by that as it fit the character, and you couldn't really see me behind all the other naked people.
My whole life, I've always been the responsible one. In high school, I never smoked, drank, did drugs, or had sex. I tried pot as an adult, but that was primarily because I read that it eased the pain of arthritis, which it did, but I would never take the risk of actually buying any while it's illegal. I don't even speed! I've never gotten a ticket!
Clearly, I need to let loose a little. I am taking suggestions in the comments section.
My whole life, I've always been the responsible one. In high school, I never smoked, drank, did drugs, or had sex. I tried pot as an adult, but that was primarily because I read that it eased the pain of arthritis, which it did, but I would never take the risk of actually buying any while it's illegal. I don't even speed! I've never gotten a ticket!
Clearly, I need to let loose a little. I am taking suggestions in the comments section.
6/02/2006
Friday Pandora
Still no iPod, so here's my Friday Pandora 10:
Overpowered by Funk - The Clash
It's You - Micky & the Milkshakes
Junior Mint - Heat Miser
I'm Not In Love - Talking Heads
Age of Consent - New Order
Do You Remember The First Time - Pulp
Here Me Out - Ben Kweller
Work It Out - The Glands
Tubby Brothers - John Langford
Dodging Seagulls In An '89 Grand Am - A Roman Holiday
Now I'll let you in on a little secret - I didn't actually hear any of these songs, because I don't have speakers on my computer at work! I'm familiar with The Clash, Talking Heads, New Order, Ben Kweller and The Glands songs, the others...I have no idea what they sound like, or whether I even like them or not.
Overpowered by Funk - The Clash
It's You - Micky & the Milkshakes
Junior Mint - Heat Miser
I'm Not In Love - Talking Heads
Age of Consent - New Order
Do You Remember The First Time - Pulp
Here Me Out - Ben Kweller
Work It Out - The Glands
Tubby Brothers - John Langford
Dodging Seagulls In An '89 Grand Am - A Roman Holiday
Now I'll let you in on a little secret - I didn't actually hear any of these songs, because I don't have speakers on my computer at work! I'm familiar with The Clash, Talking Heads, New Order, Ben Kweller and The Glands songs, the others...I have no idea what they sound like, or whether I even like them or not.
6/01/2006
Where's my flying car?
My husband has a post up about the future at my sister's blog, Burb Rocking. I'm amazed at how restrained the post is, because he lost the whole thing moments before he was ready to post it - our electricity went out.
My Friend Leslie
A decade or so ago, maybe 1993 or 94, I was doing a lot of community theater, and I auditioned for The Odd Couple (Female Version). I felt like I had a really good audition, and then I got called back. There were four people called back for the role of Olive Madison (Oscar's counterpart): me, Leslie (who I didn't know at the time), and two other people I don't remember. Leslie was very funny, I do remember that.
I felt fantastic about how I did at the callback, and later that night, the director, Karen, called to tell me the part was mine, because I was funny and vulnerable. I had a lot of fun doing the show and everyone said I did a great job.
A year later, I auditioned for a play called I Hate Hamlet, by Paul Rudnick, which was being staged by the same group. The director called me after the audition to ask me to play a part that is ordinarily written for a man, the part of Gary Peter Lefkowitz. (Sidebar: I have a long career of playing parts that were originally played by men. I have no explanation other than my childhood as a tomboy and my rather deep voice).
I showed up for the readthrough, and Leslie was there, cast as the main character's real estate agent/communicator with other worlds. We bonded fairly quickly, as actorish types seem to do, over coffees after the rehearsal.
We were only a few rehearsals in when Karen, Leslie and I went out after rehearsal (some of the other actors were probably there, too), and Leslie said, with solemnity, that she had a confession to make.
"For the past year, I was plotting your murder."
Okay, that was not anything I ever expected to hear. I had to know why.
"You got the part of Olive Madison. That was supposed to be my part, and my friend Karen gave it to you instead of me. I was going to hire someone to kill you."
Karen interjected "I needed Maureen because I needed someone to be vulnerable as well as funny!"
"I can be vunnerable," Leslie said.
I laughed. "You can't even *say* vuL-nerable!"
I think we all laughed.
I have to admit, I was flattered that someone had been thinking about me so much. True, she painted me as her enemy, but I was in her thoughts. It actually meant a lot to me. Yes, I have self-esteem issues.
I asked Leslie why she confessed.
"Because now that we're doing the show, I got to know you, and you're so nice. I just can't hate you anymore."
And thus a friendship was born. Nowadays, we are lucky if we see each other quarterly, but we still keep in touch, mostly because of Leslie's efforts. She was at the hospital when Monkey was born, she has brought Christmas presents, she helped me clean and organize my dining room (she's a professional organizer - we must be friends because opposites attract). I helped her to find her inner liberal (she was not only a Republican, she was holding elected office!). Aside from theater and humor, we don't have much in common. There's the organizing thing, for one. She loves David Cassidy, was riveted by the OJ trial, and visits psychics. I don't, wasn't, and wouldn't.
Anyway, I wanted to write about Leslie because I know she likes reading about herself (something else we have in common), and because I love her.
I felt fantastic about how I did at the callback, and later that night, the director, Karen, called to tell me the part was mine, because I was funny and vulnerable. I had a lot of fun doing the show and everyone said I did a great job.
A year later, I auditioned for a play called I Hate Hamlet, by Paul Rudnick, which was being staged by the same group. The director called me after the audition to ask me to play a part that is ordinarily written for a man, the part of Gary Peter Lefkowitz. (Sidebar: I have a long career of playing parts that were originally played by men. I have no explanation other than my childhood as a tomboy and my rather deep voice).
I showed up for the readthrough, and Leslie was there, cast as the main character's real estate agent/communicator with other worlds. We bonded fairly quickly, as actorish types seem to do, over coffees after the rehearsal.
We were only a few rehearsals in when Karen, Leslie and I went out after rehearsal (some of the other actors were probably there, too), and Leslie said, with solemnity, that she had a confession to make.
"For the past year, I was plotting your murder."
Okay, that was not anything I ever expected to hear. I had to know why.
"You got the part of Olive Madison. That was supposed to be my part, and my friend Karen gave it to you instead of me. I was going to hire someone to kill you."
Karen interjected "I needed Maureen because I needed someone to be vulnerable as well as funny!"
"I can be vunnerable," Leslie said.
I laughed. "You can't even *say* vuL-nerable!"
I think we all laughed.
I have to admit, I was flattered that someone had been thinking about me so much. True, she painted me as her enemy, but I was in her thoughts. It actually meant a lot to me. Yes, I have self-esteem issues.
I asked Leslie why she confessed.
"Because now that we're doing the show, I got to know you, and you're so nice. I just can't hate you anymore."
And thus a friendship was born. Nowadays, we are lucky if we see each other quarterly, but we still keep in touch, mostly because of Leslie's efforts. She was at the hospital when Monkey was born, she has brought Christmas presents, she helped me clean and organize my dining room (she's a professional organizer - we must be friends because opposites attract). I helped her to find her inner liberal (she was not only a Republican, she was holding elected office!). Aside from theater and humor, we don't have much in common. There's the organizing thing, for one. She loves David Cassidy, was riveted by the OJ trial, and visits psychics. I don't, wasn't, and wouldn't.
Anyway, I wanted to write about Leslie because I know she likes reading about herself (something else we have in common), and because I love her.
Gardening
I may have mentioned this before, but I have the black thumb of death when it comes to gardening. I have killed many fine plants in my time. The only plant that still survives in our house is an aloe, and that's because A) it's a succulent so it's okay if I forget to water it every now and then and B) two people in my house have skin conditions that find aloe soothing, so they are the ones who remember to water it.
Despite my inability to nurture a plant, I love fresh vegetables. I was going to purchase a half share in a local Community Supported Agriculture (CSA) farm, but then I got a better offer - my father tilled an extra chunk of yard for me.
So I have to pick up some seedlings to pop into the garden, and then my dad will work on my garden while he's working on his garden. I've already decided that I must have watermelon and green peppers, and I think I will probably plant some zucchini and other squash for late harvesting. String beans are also good, although they're in season right now, so possibly too late. Potatoes? Maybe - I always liked digging them up. Cucumbers, onions, and maybe some herbs. I'm kind of excited about this. I'll just have to keep my black thumb off of the plants.
Pandora
I love Pandora. Every now and then, though...
Tonight's playlist:
I Need You Back, Ben Kweller
Company Calls, Death Cab for Cutie
My Car, Gin Blossoms
Straight to Hell, The Clash
Kingdom Come, Tom Verlaine
Pet Sematary, The Ramones
Orange Crush, R.E.M. (meh)
Hey Now, Talking Heads
White Lexus, Mike Doughty
Red Shoes, Elvis Costello
I was pretty happy with all those songs (meh on R.E.M., but tolerable). And then Pandora gives me a clunker: Make It Alright, Sammy Hagar. I'm actually slightly offended that Pandora thinks I would like Sammy Hagar. Does Pandora know something about me that I don't?
Tonight's playlist:
I Need You Back, Ben Kweller
Company Calls, Death Cab for Cutie
My Car, Gin Blossoms
Straight to Hell, The Clash
Kingdom Come, Tom Verlaine
Pet Sematary, The Ramones
Orange Crush, R.E.M. (meh)
Hey Now, Talking Heads
White Lexus, Mike Doughty
Red Shoes, Elvis Costello
I was pretty happy with all those songs (meh on R.E.M., but tolerable). And then Pandora gives me a clunker: Make It Alright, Sammy Hagar. I'm actually slightly offended that Pandora thinks I would like Sammy Hagar. Does Pandora know something about me that I don't?
5/31/2006
Restless
It's not just the name of my favorite season ender of Buffy the Vampire Slayer (well, favorite today, anyway.)
I am feeling twitchy and eager to get away from here. When I'm home, I feel anxious to do something...clean the kitchen, move the furniture, paint the walls, sort the laundry, sweep the floor, throw out a bunch of crap. Instead, I bounce around from TV screen to computer screen, stopping at the refrigerator and pantry to see if there is anything there I want that I didn't notice before.
I am starting to wonder if my ever increasing anxiety is tied to the fact that I recently gave up my lifelong nailbiting habit. I don't know what happened, what changed, but about a month or so ago, I just stopped. At first, my nails kept breaking, but now they are getting strong. I know nailbiting is a self-soothing activity, like sucking your thumb. I could start biting them again, to see if it helped, except that I can't bite them now. I just can't.
I was talking to my online moms group about my anxiety over paying for college, and asking them whether they thought I should try drugs or booze to ease my distress. There wasn't a clear answer, but I think I should try exercise. Lord knows I could stand to lose some weight, and maybe I would be too tired to flutter around trying to figure out what to do with myself.
20 or so days until the pool opens...maybe I'm getting anxious because it's been so long since I swam nearly every day. I can't wait to get back in the pool.
I am feeling twitchy and eager to get away from here. When I'm home, I feel anxious to do something...clean the kitchen, move the furniture, paint the walls, sort the laundry, sweep the floor, throw out a bunch of crap. Instead, I bounce around from TV screen to computer screen, stopping at the refrigerator and pantry to see if there is anything there I want that I didn't notice before.
I am starting to wonder if my ever increasing anxiety is tied to the fact that I recently gave up my lifelong nailbiting habit. I don't know what happened, what changed, but about a month or so ago, I just stopped. At first, my nails kept breaking, but now they are getting strong. I know nailbiting is a self-soothing activity, like sucking your thumb. I could start biting them again, to see if it helped, except that I can't bite them now. I just can't.
I was talking to my online moms group about my anxiety over paying for college, and asking them whether they thought I should try drugs or booze to ease my distress. There wasn't a clear answer, but I think I should try exercise. Lord knows I could stand to lose some weight, and maybe I would be too tired to flutter around trying to figure out what to do with myself.
20 or so days until the pool opens...maybe I'm getting anxious because it's been so long since I swam nearly every day. I can't wait to get back in the pool.
5/30/2006
An Invitation
I would like to invite any interested readers to my Pops concert, which will be on Friday, June 16, 2006 at 7:30 p.m., at South Congregational Church, 277 Main Street, Hartford, CT.
This year, we're doing An Evening With Oscar and Steve, featuring the music of Oscar Hammerstein (with his partner, Richard Rodgers) and Stephen Sondheim.
I am particularly excited about this year's concert, because I've been begging to do Sondheim since I first started singing there.
And I will fulfill a longtime dream of singing Mrs. Lovett in "A Little Priest".
This year, we're doing An Evening With Oscar and Steve, featuring the music of Oscar Hammerstein (with his partner, Richard Rodgers) and Stephen Sondheim.
I am particularly excited about this year's concert, because I've been begging to do Sondheim since I first started singing there.
And I will fulfill a longtime dream of singing Mrs. Lovett in "A Little Priest".
Awards
Sio had an awards ceremony at school tonight. The first of at least three separate evenings dedicated to giving awards. She won a book award from St. Joseph College (Loki, in a soft brogue: "It's all right, son, it's Saint Joseph's") and a participation award for math team. Soon will be the Performing Arts awards, and then there is one other one...but I can't remember, that may be vocational awards, and she won't get anything for that.
She's actually had a rough year this year. She's struggled in pre-calculus, and she's lost all interest in History. Right now, she's having trouble concentrating because her psoriasis, which went into lovely remission after her trip to Greece, is back with a vengeance.
She went to school today wearing a short sleeved, v-neck t-shirt and shorts, and she stopped at the nurse's office to get some hydrocortisone cream, since that's one of the things public school kids aren't allowed to carry. The nurse expressed surprise that Sio would expose her skin like that, basically suggesting that Sio should be ashamed of her psoriasis and try to hide it.
Sio was pissed. She said "what if I wasn't confident with my body, what if I did feel ashamed, and someone like a nurse condoned that shame?" Damn right, Sio. That nurse was out of bounds.
Sio starts phototherapy on Thursday, which should clear up the psoriasis. Right now, she looks like she has the worst case of chicken pox in the history of the world. But she is still the most beautiful person I know.
She's actually had a rough year this year. She's struggled in pre-calculus, and she's lost all interest in History. Right now, she's having trouble concentrating because her psoriasis, which went into lovely remission after her trip to Greece, is back with a vengeance.
She went to school today wearing a short sleeved, v-neck t-shirt and shorts, and she stopped at the nurse's office to get some hydrocortisone cream, since that's one of the things public school kids aren't allowed to carry. The nurse expressed surprise that Sio would expose her skin like that, basically suggesting that Sio should be ashamed of her psoriasis and try to hide it.
Sio was pissed. She said "what if I wasn't confident with my body, what if I did feel ashamed, and someone like a nurse condoned that shame?" Damn right, Sio. That nurse was out of bounds.
Sio starts phototherapy on Thursday, which should clear up the psoriasis. Right now, she looks like she has the worst case of chicken pox in the history of the world. But she is still the most beautiful person I know.
College Decision
Sio has decided to apply for Early Action admission to Yale University.
Tuition/Room & Board at Yale for the 2006-2007 academic calendar: approximately $44,000.
Approximate percentage of me & Loki's combined income that the Yale tuition comprises: >75%
Oy.
Tuition/Room & Board at Yale for the 2006-2007 academic calendar: approximately $44,000.
Approximate percentage of me & Loki's combined income that the Yale tuition comprises: >75%
Oy.
5/25/2006
The Power of Fat
Ordinarily, I look at the fat that's on my body as something entirely passive. Just this ring of flab, just below my waistline, giving me an unpleasantly lumpy profile.
But I'm going to see my platonic crush this afternoon, and I wanted to have a smoother profile, so I decided I would wear my tummy tucking underpants. For the men who read the blog, these are underpants that squeeze down rings of flab to make your stomach look flatter. I squeezed myself into the underpants this morning - squeeze being the correct description of how one gets into these garments, as they are engineered to hold their shape.
Everything was fine, at first. I got dressed and checked myself out in the full-length mirror. Looking good!
I started to realize that the fat was rebelling against being held in such tight quarters as I was driving to work. I could feel the fat pressing against the nylon/spandex layers of the undergarment, yearning to be free. As I got out of the car, some of the fat escaped, causing the waistband of the undergarment to roll southward, just a little.
I went to work and didn't really notice any new breaches against the spandex fat prison. But then I went to the restroom, and I looked at myself in the full-length mirror, hoping to enjoy another look at the smooth profile.
Instead, I saw what appeared to be a tumor of fat poking out above the ever retreating waistband of the tummy tuck underpants. I tried to roll it back up, but the fat was free and at war against the garment that kept it confined. Suddenly, my fat was actively working to make me look lumpy.
And I, French loving person that I am, surrendered. I'm going commando for the rest of the day. And my fat seems to be back to it's passive self again.
But I'm going to see my platonic crush this afternoon, and I wanted to have a smoother profile, so I decided I would wear my tummy tucking underpants. For the men who read the blog, these are underpants that squeeze down rings of flab to make your stomach look flatter. I squeezed myself into the underpants this morning - squeeze being the correct description of how one gets into these garments, as they are engineered to hold their shape.
Everything was fine, at first. I got dressed and checked myself out in the full-length mirror. Looking good!
I started to realize that the fat was rebelling against being held in such tight quarters as I was driving to work. I could feel the fat pressing against the nylon/spandex layers of the undergarment, yearning to be free. As I got out of the car, some of the fat escaped, causing the waistband of the undergarment to roll southward, just a little.
I went to work and didn't really notice any new breaches against the spandex fat prison. But then I went to the restroom, and I looked at myself in the full-length mirror, hoping to enjoy another look at the smooth profile.
Instead, I saw what appeared to be a tumor of fat poking out above the ever retreating waistband of the tummy tuck underpants. I tried to roll it back up, but the fat was free and at war against the garment that kept it confined. Suddenly, my fat was actively working to make me look lumpy.
And I, French loving person that I am, surrendered. I'm going commando for the rest of the day. And my fat seems to be back to it's passive self again.
5/24/2006
Poisonous Righteous
Last night, we went to Sio's spring choral concert. Her school has a vibrant Performing Arts department, so in one choral concert we heard 5 different ensembles: Chorus, Chorale (all women), Jazz Ensemble, Roundtable Singers and Women's Chorus. The first two groups are open to any student who enrolls in the course; the last three are all auditioned.
One of the songs the Jazz Ensemble sang was a piece called Gulf War Song, by a Canadian band called Moxy Fruvous (and I apologize for not including the umlaut - I don't know how). The choir director preceded the song with a statement of explanation, which is something he rarely does. He said he won't get into politics, because he doesn't want to offend anyone, but also because his politics don't matter when it comes to teaching music. He chose the song because it's not an anti-war song or a pro-war song, but does talk about the internal conflicts a country at war goes through. He let us know his favorite lyric:
I know I am often guilty of that kind of poisonous righteousness. I can justify it by pointing out that liberals of all stripes are against the wall - the word that best defines my political beliefs has been hijacked by those on the opposite side of the political aisle, made into a dirty word. But it raises a question for me: How do we fight against those who are throwing their poisonous righteousness at us without sinking to the same level? How do we fight the public relations portion of the political battle for the soul of this country without being as brutal as our opposition? Joe Public doesn't necessarily want to hear policy analysis about why, say, universal health care would be good for the country - he sees one player body slamming the other and wants to root for the bigger, louder, stronger player, the one who seems most likely to win.
Despite my hopes that civil discourse is not yet extinct, I do think Tristero was on to something with his post about The Discreet, Measured Tone of the Right.
When there is no merit to the argument, I don't think it is possible to be poisonous righteous in coming down hard. One can only be righteous.
I will be mulling this topic over for a while. I may revisit it.
One of the songs the Jazz Ensemble sang was a piece called Gulf War Song, by a Canadian band called Moxy Fruvous (and I apologize for not including the umlaut - I don't know how). The choir director preceded the song with a statement of explanation, which is something he rarely does. He said he won't get into politics, because he doesn't want to offend anyone, but also because his politics don't matter when it comes to teaching music. He chose the song because it's not an anti-war song or a pro-war song, but does talk about the internal conflicts a country at war goes through. He let us know his favorite lyric:
What makes a person so poisonous righteous
That they'd think less of anyone who just disagreed?
I know I am often guilty of that kind of poisonous righteousness. I can justify it by pointing out that liberals of all stripes are against the wall - the word that best defines my political beliefs has been hijacked by those on the opposite side of the political aisle, made into a dirty word. But it raises a question for me: How do we fight against those who are throwing their poisonous righteousness at us without sinking to the same level? How do we fight the public relations portion of the political battle for the soul of this country without being as brutal as our opposition? Joe Public doesn't necessarily want to hear policy analysis about why, say, universal health care would be good for the country - he sees one player body slamming the other and wants to root for the bigger, louder, stronger player, the one who seems most likely to win.
Despite my hopes that civil discourse is not yet extinct, I do think Tristero was on to something with his post about The Discreet, Measured Tone of the Right.
Now, you may respond that calling this unprincipled fuck an "unprincipled fuck" simply perpetuates his sin or worse, that I don't have any way to attack his position on its merits.
You're 100% right about your first objection. It does perpetuate a pithecanthropic level of discourse for a very good reason: there is no possible way to avoid doing so without being a total fool. You think you can "politely engage" someone who compares an American vice-president who served his country honorably for 8 years - not to mention his previous services to America in government - to a Nazi? You can't, or rather, you shouldn't. Nor can you ignore it (although the vice-president should). The terms of engagement have been set by this slimeball - the rhetorical battle-field must always be level. There is no higher ground and attempts to claim it will lead to your destruction (see Daschle, Tom for details).
As for that second objection you could make, well I gotta admit it: you are right once again. I do have no way to attack his position on his merits, again for a very good reason. What he is discussing is not Gore's ideas or global climate change. No, what he's talking about, the only subject is, "how exactly comparable is Al Gore to Josef Goebbels" and I will not dignify this scumbag's comparison by explaining in measured, avuncular tones why such a comparison is, and I hesitate timidly before saying it, "unfortunate?" There is no way to attack his position on the merits because there is no merit to his position. And he knows it.
When there is no merit to the argument, I don't think it is possible to be poisonous righteous in coming down hard. One can only be righteous.
I will be mulling this topic over for a while. I may revisit it.
5/22/2006
Dance-off
Saturday night, I was flipping through the TV channels and landed on Turner Classic Movies. The Essentials was on, and the featured essential movie was Top Hat, with Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers.
When Monkey saw that the movie was black and white, she started to head up to her room to listen to music and possibly sing into her microphone while she posed in the mirror (I'm not saying that's what she does in her room, but it might be). But I stopped her and told her that Fred Astaire was one of the greatest dancers to ever appear on screen. I told her Bob Fosse's story of an Astaire encounter (Astaire greeted Bob Fosse with a "Hiya, Foss", and Fosse was thrilled that Astaire knew part of his name), and she settled in to watch the movie with me.
At first, she was skeptical - it took a couple of dance numbers for her to thrill at Astaire's elegant grace the way I do - he moves like gravity doesn't work as well on him as it does on the rest of us lunks. I hadn't seen the movie since my childhood, and I was surprised by the sex-oriented jokes, including some winks at same-sex loving. (Loki would suggest that I might have imagined the latter, being the fan of homoeroticism that I am).
As the movie ended, I started to tell Monkey about my favorite movie star/dancer: Gene Kelly.
Gene Kelly defeated gravity through athletic force, and he had those great, manly legs...yeah, he makes me swoon a little.
Anyway, Monkey didn't have to listen to me talk about Gene Kelly, because TCM presenter Robert Osborne mentioned that they had decided to schedule a sort of "dance-off" between the two great dancers, Fred Astaire and Gene Kelly. The next movie up was Anchors Away, in which Gene Kelly co-starred with young, skinny, gawky Frank Sinatra (I think a large part of Sinatra's appeal was that gorgeous, smooth baritone voice - before the years of drinking and smoking - coming out of such a skinny kid), Kathryn Grayson and Dean Stockwell (when he was an adorable little moppet).
Monkey had to go to bed, but I recorded the movie for her, and then I recorded Royal Wedding and Singin' In The Rain, which might be my all time favorite movie-for-pleasure.
While Sio and I were at church on Sunday, Monkey had a little MGM movie marathon. One of the cool things about being a parent is sharing something you love with your kids. That turns into joy when your kids love it as much as you do.
When Monkey saw that the movie was black and white, she started to head up to her room to listen to music and possibly sing into her microphone while she posed in the mirror (I'm not saying that's what she does in her room, but it might be). But I stopped her and told her that Fred Astaire was one of the greatest dancers to ever appear on screen. I told her Bob Fosse's story of an Astaire encounter (Astaire greeted Bob Fosse with a "Hiya, Foss", and Fosse was thrilled that Astaire knew part of his name), and she settled in to watch the movie with me.
At first, she was skeptical - it took a couple of dance numbers for her to thrill at Astaire's elegant grace the way I do - he moves like gravity doesn't work as well on him as it does on the rest of us lunks. I hadn't seen the movie since my childhood, and I was surprised by the sex-oriented jokes, including some winks at same-sex loving. (Loki would suggest that I might have imagined the latter, being the fan of homoeroticism that I am).
As the movie ended, I started to tell Monkey about my favorite movie star/dancer: Gene Kelly.
Gene Kelly defeated gravity through athletic force, and he had those great, manly legs...yeah, he makes me swoon a little.
Anyway, Monkey didn't have to listen to me talk about Gene Kelly, because TCM presenter Robert Osborne mentioned that they had decided to schedule a sort of "dance-off" between the two great dancers, Fred Astaire and Gene Kelly. The next movie up was Anchors Away, in which Gene Kelly co-starred with young, skinny, gawky Frank Sinatra (I think a large part of Sinatra's appeal was that gorgeous, smooth baritone voice - before the years of drinking and smoking - coming out of such a skinny kid), Kathryn Grayson and Dean Stockwell (when he was an adorable little moppet).
Monkey had to go to bed, but I recorded the movie for her, and then I recorded Royal Wedding and Singin' In The Rain, which might be my all time favorite movie-for-pleasure.
While Sio and I were at church on Sunday, Monkey had a little MGM movie marathon. One of the cool things about being a parent is sharing something you love with your kids. That turns into joy when your kids love it as much as you do.
5/21/2006
Tired can't sleep
I really should just head into bed at 9:00 every night, which is when I always seem to feel incredibly tired. But I never can, because there is still so much to do - dishes & laundry, of course, but then regular time wasting stuff like watching TV.
Then I go past the tired feeling, and I get a second wind. And tonight, I'm feeling not so good, so every time I lie down, my stomach starts making noises, and I have to get up again.
It's been a pretty good week this week. Ned Lamont is on the ballot! We've all been eating better because I've been focusing on making more well-balanced meals. We had some sun this week, which was exciting. I finally went to Pandora and set up my radio. I have to add some of the more upbeat stuff I like, because thus far, my radio is really low-tempo.
Today was a crazy day, weather-wise. Beautiful sunny morning with the promise of warmth. By the time we got out of church (I spent the sermon with Elizabeth Bennett and Mr. Darcy rather than listen to Rev. Right-Wing), it was gray.
When we got home, me and the girls played outside with Dopey* the Basset Hound. We were throwing a ball around, and he would go racing after it, ears flying. He brought it back like he was a retriever. But after 10 minutes, he just plopped down flat on his way to get the ball, and then he wandered back and rolled over onto his back so we could rub his belly. I'm going to videotape it tomorrow, because seeing a basset hound run at full speed is something that no one should miss.
For dinner tonight, I grilled some cheeseburgers and made salt potatoes. I planned to make corn, but I forgot to make it, and we had more than enough food already, since it was just Sio and I. This week we'll have rehearsal for our pops concert, a concert at Sio's school, regular choir rehearsal, a field trip to the Mark Twain house...I think that's it. I'm going to give sleep another try now.
*Not his real name.
Then I go past the tired feeling, and I get a second wind. And tonight, I'm feeling not so good, so every time I lie down, my stomach starts making noises, and I have to get up again.
It's been a pretty good week this week. Ned Lamont is on the ballot! We've all been eating better because I've been focusing on making more well-balanced meals. We had some sun this week, which was exciting. I finally went to Pandora and set up my radio. I have to add some of the more upbeat stuff I like, because thus far, my radio is really low-tempo.
Today was a crazy day, weather-wise. Beautiful sunny morning with the promise of warmth. By the time we got out of church (I spent the sermon with Elizabeth Bennett and Mr. Darcy rather than listen to Rev. Right-Wing), it was gray.
When we got home, me and the girls played outside with Dopey* the Basset Hound. We were throwing a ball around, and he would go racing after it, ears flying. He brought it back like he was a retriever. But after 10 minutes, he just plopped down flat on his way to get the ball, and then he wandered back and rolled over onto his back so we could rub his belly. I'm going to videotape it tomorrow, because seeing a basset hound run at full speed is something that no one should miss.
For dinner tonight, I grilled some cheeseburgers and made salt potatoes. I planned to make corn, but I forgot to make it, and we had more than enough food already, since it was just Sio and I. This week we'll have rehearsal for our pops concert, a concert at Sio's school, regular choir rehearsal, a field trip to the Mark Twain house...I think that's it. I'm going to give sleep another try now.
*Not his real name.
5/20/2006
Je'taime, Audrey
I knew Amelie wasn't adorable just because of the way she was written. I like this quote from an interview that appeared on Yahoo!
We've been talking about this controversy, and I haven't seen anything. I think it's just a few little people, very radical, who speak very loudly," Tautou said. "Each time you make a movie about religion, there's a controversy, because even if we are in countries where there is supposed to be freedom of expression, for some radical people it's a condition that you can be free to speak about everything except religion.
5/18/2006
Mmmmmm...cheese
Loki and I have been talking a lot about eating better. A lot of this was triggered by our trip to Paris and Ireland, where the food was uniformly terrific and corn syrup (high-fructose and otherwise) free.
I'm the primary chef in our house, and while I'm nearly obsessed with food (reading cookbooks, watching cooking shows, subscribing to cooking magazines, eating), I'm basically a lazy cook. I have a few recipes that I can do in my sleep, and I tend to lean heavily on them.
And I'm atrocious about side dishes. We usually don't have them at all. I have resolved to do better.
So I found a recipe from a food blog (although I sadly cannot remember which one) for a side dish that sounded great and reasonably healthy. I had to stop in my local market to pick up some ingredients, and then I hit the cheese section of the store.
Right around Easter, Sio and I picked up this amazing sheep's milk cheese, and I have been checking every cheese section in every store ever since, trying to find it again (and, thanks to my early onset Alzheimer's, I cannot recall the name of the cheese). I had no luck yesterday.
But there were several interesting cheeses available, and I pickup up one from a local cheesemaker, Cato Corners Farm.
I picked up a wedge of their Hooligan cheese.
I don't know about the MODERATELY part of the stinkiness - it was pretty damn stinky. It was very creamy and had, at first, a mild taste. But it had a nice, sharpish aftertaste that is making me crave more. It was the first time I've ever had cheese made with raw milk, and I have to say, I was impressed. I'm not a foodie - for all my obsession, I don't have a sophisticated palate, and some foods that are very popular I can't eat because there is too much flavor (oranges, for example) - but I know what I like when it comes to cheese, and I would highly recommend the Hooligan.
ETA: In the world of food blogging, May is "Eat Local" month, so I feel even better about taking a chance on a new cheese. Cato Corner Farm is about 15-18 miles from my front door.
I'm the primary chef in our house, and while I'm nearly obsessed with food (reading cookbooks, watching cooking shows, subscribing to cooking magazines, eating), I'm basically a lazy cook. I have a few recipes that I can do in my sleep, and I tend to lean heavily on them.
And I'm atrocious about side dishes. We usually don't have them at all. I have resolved to do better.
So I found a recipe from a food blog (although I sadly cannot remember which one) for a side dish that sounded great and reasonably healthy. I had to stop in my local market to pick up some ingredients, and then I hit the cheese section of the store.
Right around Easter, Sio and I picked up this amazing sheep's milk cheese, and I have been checking every cheese section in every store ever since, trying to find it again (and, thanks to my early onset Alzheimer's, I cannot recall the name of the cheese). I had no luck yesterday.
But there were several interesting cheeses available, and I pickup up one from a local cheesemaker, Cato Corners Farm.
Cato Corner Farm is a small family farm in Colchester, Connecticut, where the mother-son team of Elizabeth and Mark raises 30 free-range Jersey cows without the use of hormones or subtherapeutic antibiotics.
I picked up a wedge of their Hooligan cheese.
Hooligan:
Hooligan is our signature strong, creamy cheese that many food lovers consider to be our best variety. Made in 1.3 - 1.5 lb wheels, Hooligan is a ripe washed-rind cheese, moderately stinky, with a soft creamy interior and a gorgeous orange rind. Its smooth creamy texture highlights the richness of our Jersey milk. Hooligans are bathed twice a week in a mixture of buttermilk and brine. They ripen quickly, developing a full flavor at 2 - 3 months of age. The Hooligan melts beautifully for a fabulously stinky toasted cheese (a bit like raclette). This is a sophisticated cheese for a sophisticated palate! Sold whole in small wheels with basket lines on the rind.
I don't know about the MODERATELY part of the stinkiness - it was pretty damn stinky. It was very creamy and had, at first, a mild taste. But it had a nice, sharpish aftertaste that is making me crave more. It was the first time I've ever had cheese made with raw milk, and I have to say, I was impressed. I'm not a foodie - for all my obsession, I don't have a sophisticated palate, and some foods that are very popular I can't eat because there is too much flavor (oranges, for example) - but I know what I like when it comes to cheese, and I would highly recommend the Hooligan.
ETA: In the world of food blogging, May is "Eat Local" month, so I feel even better about taking a chance on a new cheese. Cato Corner Farm is about 15-18 miles from my front door.
5/16/2006
some pictures
Monkey slam dunks
Not sure if she's doing Nixon or asking us to give peace a chance
Prom night
Sio strikes a poseI must tell you that these pictures do not capture the gorgeousity of both of my daughters, partly because they were taken on a cheapo disposable camera, and partly because I am the suckiest photographer EVAH.
5/15/2006
Monday Morning Whinge
Whinge because I prefer the British/Canadian version to the porcine-sounding American version.
I had a therapy appointment on Wednesday, as I detailed below. As it turns out, I had no problem being honest, because the therapist asked me many, many specific questions, basically hitting on everything I listed in my previous post. One of the things we touched on was a previous bout of depression that I suffered after getting laid off from my job. I was out of work for a year, and I basically spent the bulk of that year sleeping. I would wake up to take Sio to school, go home and sleep until it was time to pick her up, and then I would sleep again until it was time to wake up and take her to school again.
I told the Doc that I considered that to be classic depression, but he informed me that it was much worse than that, and that the way I feel now is classic depression.
That should be reassuring, but after that horrible year, I emerged a stronger person. I got my ass in gear and found a job, and it turned out to be a job I loved. I got our finances in order and we managed to buy a house. I hope I don't need to sink so low to feel better again.
I say feel better - I would be satisfied just to feel something that isn't anger or this kind of low-grade sadness, a sadness that doesn't cause me to cry or mope, or stop me from smiling and laughing, but a sadness that cuts me off from feeling much of anything.
I've tried to pay attention to the things I do when I want to feel better. I eat, I go for a drive, I watch TV, I try to read. But it never really works, I cannot feed my feelings of inadequacy with food, I cannot feel less lonely by watching TV, I can't escape me by going for a drive. And despite being aware of this, I don't seem to have the power to change what I'm doing, or find something better to do. I don't want to cry on my children's shoulders, and I don't want to bore my husband or sisters with my undefined, low-grade sadness - besides, they would then pelt me with possible solutions, and I would then feel badly because I can't figure out my own way out of this feeling.
I'm going to go cry myself to sleep now. Whingeing is so boring, but it's my blog, and I need to have someone to talk to, even if it's just myself.
I had a therapy appointment on Wednesday, as I detailed below. As it turns out, I had no problem being honest, because the therapist asked me many, many specific questions, basically hitting on everything I listed in my previous post. One of the things we touched on was a previous bout of depression that I suffered after getting laid off from my job. I was out of work for a year, and I basically spent the bulk of that year sleeping. I would wake up to take Sio to school, go home and sleep until it was time to pick her up, and then I would sleep again until it was time to wake up and take her to school again.
I told the Doc that I considered that to be classic depression, but he informed me that it was much worse than that, and that the way I feel now is classic depression.
That should be reassuring, but after that horrible year, I emerged a stronger person. I got my ass in gear and found a job, and it turned out to be a job I loved. I got our finances in order and we managed to buy a house. I hope I don't need to sink so low to feel better again.
I say feel better - I would be satisfied just to feel something that isn't anger or this kind of low-grade sadness, a sadness that doesn't cause me to cry or mope, or stop me from smiling and laughing, but a sadness that cuts me off from feeling much of anything.
I've tried to pay attention to the things I do when I want to feel better. I eat, I go for a drive, I watch TV, I try to read. But it never really works, I cannot feed my feelings of inadequacy with food, I cannot feel less lonely by watching TV, I can't escape me by going for a drive. And despite being aware of this, I don't seem to have the power to change what I'm doing, or find something better to do. I don't want to cry on my children's shoulders, and I don't want to bore my husband or sisters with my undefined, low-grade sadness - besides, they would then pelt me with possible solutions, and I would then feel badly because I can't figure out my own way out of this feeling.
I'm going to go cry myself to sleep now. Whingeing is so boring, but it's my blog, and I need to have someone to talk to, even if it's just myself.
5/14/2006
Mother's Day
I'd like to thank my two wonderful daughters, Sio & Monkey, for making me look like I'm good at this motherhood gig. I love you each more than I love my own damn self, and I'm proud of both of you.
I can't really talk to my own mother about how much I love her. She would just push me away and tell me to shut up, because she is a martyr among martyrs, and being recognized for her contributions would negate her martryrdom. She hasn't been a perfect mother, but I can't imagine life without her. I'll tell you one small way my mother still takes care of me - twice a year, she calls me to tell me that it's time to fall back or spring forward, and she drops off batteries so I can replace the ones in our smoke detectors. Thanks, mom.
I can't really talk to my own mother about how much I love her. She would just push me away and tell me to shut up, because she is a martyr among martyrs, and being recognized for her contributions would negate her martryrdom. She hasn't been a perfect mother, but I can't imagine life without her. I'll tell you one small way my mother still takes care of me - twice a year, she calls me to tell me that it's time to fall back or spring forward, and she drops off batteries so I can replace the ones in our smoke detectors. Thanks, mom.
5/12/2006
When you've lost Mel Gibson....
you've really only lost the nutso Aussie fundamentalist Catholic contigent, but still:
via Salon
If Crazy Mel can see what Bush and his guys are doing, maybe, just maybe, there is hope for this country after all.
Mel Gibson on the similarity between the brutal, human-sacrifice-ordering Mayan rulers in his new movie, "Apocalypto," and the current White House administration: "The fear-mongering we depict in the film reminds me of President Bush and his guys."
via Salon
If Crazy Mel can see what Bush and his guys are doing, maybe, just maybe, there is hope for this country after all.
5/09/2006
short list
I have an appointment first thing in the morning with a therapist, and since I have been less than honest with past therapists, I decided to write down everything that I'm feeling right now, so I can hold myself accountable -- and bring the list with me tomorrow so I can remind myself of what's bothering me even though my urge to put the best possible spin on things will be overwhelming.
- child of abusive alcoholic
- unhappy
- cannot focus or remember things
- feel detached
- no energy
- can't deal with day to day living
- can't think clearly
- feeling very Flowers for Algernon - like I get more stupid every day
- restlessness
- stressed out
- let minor problems become crises before I can muster up the energy to deal with them
- rarely have fun anymore (must qualify - I have fun sometimes, but it's not necessarily in the situation I would have chosen)
- unable to make small talk
- trouble controlling my temper, particularly over small things
- no social life outside of family activities
- no fun - used to have hobby (community theater) that brought me a great deal of pleasure and meaning, and I cannot engage in it anymore because of my declining physical condition, preponderence of familial obligations and lack of support
- overeating
- no self-confidence
- used to be good at some activities (creative writing), but I've lost whatever gift I once had
- feel invisible, unwanted, unacknowledged, or only noticed for negative things
I'm taking bets: how many years of therapy will I need to feel better?
- child of abusive alcoholic
- unhappy
- cannot focus or remember things
- feel detached
- no energy
- can't deal with day to day living
- can't think clearly
- feeling very Flowers for Algernon - like I get more stupid every day
- restlessness
- stressed out
- let minor problems become crises before I can muster up the energy to deal with them
- rarely have fun anymore (must qualify - I have fun sometimes, but it's not necessarily in the situation I would have chosen)
- unable to make small talk
- trouble controlling my temper, particularly over small things
- no social life outside of family activities
- no fun - used to have hobby (community theater) that brought me a great deal of pleasure and meaning, and I cannot engage in it anymore because of my declining physical condition, preponderence of familial obligations and lack of support
- overeating
- no self-confidence
- used to be good at some activities (creative writing), but I've lost whatever gift I once had
- feel invisible, unwanted, unacknowledged, or only noticed for negative things
I'm taking bets: how many years of therapy will I need to feel better?
5/08/2006
A thoughtful gift
My nieces & nephew (although probably more accurately my sister-in-law) bought me a very thoughtful gift: a new, shiny cane. Unlike my boring wooden cane, this one is black with red dragons painted on it, and the handle is a dragon head. It's very spiffy, and I shall use it as my evening cane.
5/04/2006
I am now a bigger part of the problem
Since I'm on a roll with self-centered posts, I will share with you that I am now a bigger part of the problem - the problem being the west's reliance on fossil fuels.
You see, for the first time in my 36 years, I am the owner of my very own car, one that is registered in my name and everything. I can't help but feel guilt about putting another set of wheels on the road, but underneath that, I'm excited.
You see, for the first time in my 36 years, I am the owner of my very own car, one that is registered in my name and everything. I can't help but feel guilt about putting another set of wheels on the road, but underneath that, I'm excited.
5/03/2006
My platonic crush
In real life, I think I must come across as extremely laid back, confident, easy-going, low maintenance, nonchalant, etc. I assume this is the case because other people tend to take me for granted, in a way - they don't worry about me or try to keep me entertained or soothe me with words about how fabulous I am. But inside my mind, I am extremely needy and desperately crave attention and love and adoration from others, even though all those things also make me feel embarassed.
Anyway, the target I currently feel almost desperately in need of attention from is my madrigals teacher (MT). He's just a lovely man. He seems to know exactly how other people in the class need to be treated - the same kids who were shaking in their boots last semester have gained so much confidence. After class lets out, MT is always surrounded by a swarm of my fellow students, all of whom seem to have no problem seeking attention from him.
And I always slink out of the classroom without saying a word, even though I would like to swarm around him and chit-chat, talk politics, maybe go out to coffee with him, or invite him to sing with my choir at our pops concert, or something...
It's a totally platonic crush. I am not sexually attracted to him and I harbor no romantic feelings towards him, I just want to be friends with him, and I can't even figure out how to make friends anymore.
Anyway, the target I currently feel almost desperately in need of attention from is my madrigals teacher (MT). He's just a lovely man. He seems to know exactly how other people in the class need to be treated - the same kids who were shaking in their boots last semester have gained so much confidence. After class lets out, MT is always surrounded by a swarm of my fellow students, all of whom seem to have no problem seeking attention from him.
And I always slink out of the classroom without saying a word, even though I would like to swarm around him and chit-chat, talk politics, maybe go out to coffee with him, or invite him to sing with my choir at our pops concert, or something...
It's a totally platonic crush. I am not sexually attracted to him and I harbor no romantic feelings towards him, I just want to be friends with him, and I can't even figure out how to make friends anymore.
Current State of my Mental Health
If my mental health were a state, it would be Ohio -- teetering on the brink of destruction. I'm not feeling suicidal or anything drastic like that*, but I'm contemplating a nervous breakdown, and it looks better to me than the day to day drudgery of my life.
I have reached a point where I am nearly completely non-functional. I can't muster the energy to sweep the floor or wash the dishes or cook dinner. All I want to do is escape - watch TV, read a book, get on the computer, get in the car and get the hell out - but of course, I bring myself with me, so the problems never go away.
I need professional help, but I've been to therapy before and found it unhelpful. Largely because I bring myself to therapy, and I don't seem to have any power over myself - I remain unable to motivate myself to change.
This probably sounds like it's coming out of nowhere (unless you read my dream interpretation post), and I will admit that I have better than average coping skills, but everything feels like it's falling apart.
If I do end up going to therapy, how can I force myself to be totally honest? I have a tendency to put the best possible spin on my life when I talk to others, and it's a hard habit to break. I was taught to keep secrets at my mothers knee. I know that being aware of a problem is the first step towards solving it, but I have a history of being unable to take a second step.
*On the contrary -- I want to LIVE! and I feel like I'm not really doing that.
I have reached a point where I am nearly completely non-functional. I can't muster the energy to sweep the floor or wash the dishes or cook dinner. All I want to do is escape - watch TV, read a book, get on the computer, get in the car and get the hell out - but of course, I bring myself with me, so the problems never go away.
I need professional help, but I've been to therapy before and found it unhelpful. Largely because I bring myself to therapy, and I don't seem to have any power over myself - I remain unable to motivate myself to change.
This probably sounds like it's coming out of nowhere (unless you read my dream interpretation post), and I will admit that I have better than average coping skills, but everything feels like it's falling apart.
If I do end up going to therapy, how can I force myself to be totally honest? I have a tendency to put the best possible spin on my life when I talk to others, and it's a hard habit to break. I was taught to keep secrets at my mothers knee. I know that being aware of a problem is the first step towards solving it, but I have a history of being unable to take a second step.
*On the contrary -- I want to LIVE! and I feel like I'm not really doing that.
5/02/2006
Save the Internet
Adam Green says:
The only way to protect Net Neutrality is for Congress to take action now, as it re-writes our nation's telecom laws. Senators Olympia Snowe (R-ME) and Byron Dorgan (D-ND) and Representative Ed Markey (D-MA) have introduced legislation to do this. Mike McCurry and his clients like AT&T are fighting it tooth and nail.
If you are outraged, don't just sit there. First comment below, but then take these steps:
1. SIGN a Net Neutrality petition to Congress:
2. CALL Congress now:
3. BLOG about this issue, or put our "Save the Internet" logo on your Web site:
4. MYSPACE: Add "Save the Internet" as a friend:
5. WRITE A LETTER to Congress:
6. VISIT our coalition Web site for more information, SavetheInternet.com:
The big corporations are trying to steal the internet, and control the content we want to access. This is a bipartisan issue that affects *all* internet users. Basically, they want to limit our freedom to access whatever site we want and line their pockets while they're doing it. Net neutrality must remain in place.
Blogging against disablism
I missed blogging against disablism day yesterday, in part because I misinterpreted the term "disablism" on first glance, and wondered why people were against the disabled. Reading is fundamental!
Disability is going to be a featured player in my life and the lives of everyone in my family a few years down the road. In addition to my own functional disability caused by severe osteoarthritis (which will be cured, in effect, when I get my hip replaced, but will come back when the artificial hip fails, as it inevitably will), my younger sister (MYS) has severe rheumatoid arthritis. She is still in her 20's and already needs both her hips replaced, so it's not a question: she *will* be in a wheelchair when she gets older, as will I.
I worry about MYS from a medical/health/logistical perspective: how will she be able to pay for all her medications, just one of which costs over $1000 a month? Why won't she come to swimming lessons, so she can engage in the best exercise to keep her joints moving? How will she be able to get to the bathroom, which is 12 stairs away?
Loki always worries about MYS from a different perspective: who will love her and make sure she doesn't wither away in loneliness?
And both of those perspectives are important and necessary. And I don't have the answers to either one of them.
Disability is going to be a featured player in my life and the lives of everyone in my family a few years down the road. In addition to my own functional disability caused by severe osteoarthritis (which will be cured, in effect, when I get my hip replaced, but will come back when the artificial hip fails, as it inevitably will), my younger sister (MYS) has severe rheumatoid arthritis. She is still in her 20's and already needs both her hips replaced, so it's not a question: she *will* be in a wheelchair when she gets older, as will I.
I worry about MYS from a medical/health/logistical perspective: how will she be able to pay for all her medications, just one of which costs over $1000 a month? Why won't she come to swimming lessons, so she can engage in the best exercise to keep her joints moving? How will she be able to get to the bathroom, which is 12 stairs away?
Loki always worries about MYS from a different perspective: who will love her and make sure she doesn't wither away in loneliness?
And both of those perspectives are important and necessary. And I don't have the answers to either one of them.
5/01/2006
May Day
Is it a coincidence that May Day, aka International Workers Day, is not just a reminder of the contribution that the lowly workers of the world make, but a cry for help?
4/30/2006
The United States of Colbertica...has a nice ring to it
Loki, Sio and I caught the re-run of Mr. Colbert at the White House Press Correspondent's Dinner. Brilliant, every moment. That was some motherfucking satire! And it was especially beautiful because Bush had to sit there and take it. I think it took Bush a while to figure out that he was actually being skewered, but he did not look happy once he did.
Colbert got a round of applause at our house, and a silent prayer that he not fly on any small planes.
Edited because a prayer can be silent, it can be whispered, but I don't think it can be both at the same time.
Colbert got a round of applause at our house, and a silent prayer that he not fly on any small planes.
Edited because a prayer can be silent, it can be whispered, but I don't think it can be both at the same time.
4/29/2006
connections
If you are like me, you or someone in your household gets Scientific American delivered once a month. James Burke used to have a column in SA called "Connections", and I always enjoyed reading it because of the way he would pull together all kinds of interesting little tidbits.
Loki posted something over at my sister's blog (where I occasionally post) that reminds me of those Connections columns: he starts with Coke and ends up with Blake, and it all makes sense somehow.
And he probably knew what a macron was without looking it up.
Loki posted something over at my sister's blog (where I occasionally post) that reminds me of those Connections columns: he starts with Coke and ends up with Blake, and it all makes sense somehow.
And he probably knew what a macron was without looking it up.
4/28/2006
Meme day via Shakespeare's Sister
Accent: My mother has Brooklynese lazy lips (think Archie Bunker); my father has an Irish brogue. I have no accent, though. Connecticut is where the first American dictionary was compiled, so I pronounce everything as it was intended to be pronounced ; )
Booze: I like girly drinks, and whiskey. Not together.
Chore I Hate: All of them. I feel put out by all chores. I guess running errands, e.g., grocery shopping, would be my least hated.
Dog or Cat: I love them both. I have a dog and two cats.
Essential Electronics: Computer, TV (see post about my best friend below)
Favorite Cologne: Don’t wear any.
Gold or Silver: Don't wear any jewelry
Hometown: Hebron, CT, but I now live in cosmopolitan Manchester, CT.
Insomnia: Occasionally.
Job Title: Secretary, alto section leader.
Kids: Two daughters who are gorgeous, intelligent, and funny.
Living Arrangements: Colonial with too many stairs, tiny yard, with forementioned dog, cats, daughters plus one husband.
Most Admirable Traits: Excellent sense of humor, good listener.
Number of Sexual Partners: one
Overnight Hospital Stays: Osteotomy surgery, age 1.5 - about a 30 day stay. Slipped epiphesis at age 10 - 8 day stay, 7 of them in traction. Childbirth, age 19 - 24 hour stay. Childbirth, age 27 - 48 hour stay
Phobias: The dentist, jumping feet first into a pool.
Quote:"The more you know, the more you know you don't know." Stephen Sondheim
Religion: raised Irish-Catholic, now religion free and loving it
Siblings: one older sister, 2 younger sisters, one younger brother
Time I Wake Up: 6:30 - 7:00 a.m., I always plan to sleep later on the weekend, but it doesn't happen.
Unusual Talent or Skill: I can levitate, juggle, whistle with a blade of grass and sing a low B...first thing in the morning, anyway.
Vegetable I Love: green peppers, red onions, white radish
Worst Habit: I don't know where to begin.
X-Rays: So many that my uterus probably glows in the dark - bad hip = many pelvic X-rays
Yummy Foods I Make: I make a great cucumber salad: lemon juice, feta cheese, cukes, red onions and dill. Let me know if you want the recipe
Zodiac Sign: Scorpio. Now you know why I'm so mysterious.
edited to remove some too specific information
Booze: I like girly drinks, and whiskey. Not together.
Chore I Hate: All of them. I feel put out by all chores. I guess running errands, e.g., grocery shopping, would be my least hated.
Dog or Cat: I love them both. I have a dog and two cats.
Essential Electronics: Computer, TV (see post about my best friend below)
Favorite Cologne: Don’t wear any.
Gold or Silver: Don't wear any jewelry
Hometown: Hebron, CT, but I now live in cosmopolitan Manchester, CT.
Insomnia: Occasionally.
Job Title: Secretary, alto section leader.
Kids: Two daughters who are gorgeous, intelligent, and funny.
Living Arrangements: Colonial with too many stairs, tiny yard, with forementioned dog, cats, daughters plus one husband.
Most Admirable Traits: Excellent sense of humor, good listener.
Number of Sexual Partners: one
Overnight Hospital Stays: Osteotomy surgery, age 1.5 - about a 30 day stay. Slipped epiphesis at age 10 - 8 day stay, 7 of them in traction. Childbirth, age 19 - 24 hour stay. Childbirth, age 27 - 48 hour stay
Phobias: The dentist, jumping feet first into a pool.
Quote:"The more you know, the more you know you don't know." Stephen Sondheim
Religion: raised Irish-Catholic, now religion free and loving it
Siblings: one older sister, 2 younger sisters, one younger brother
Time I Wake Up: 6:30 - 7:00 a.m., I always plan to sleep later on the weekend, but it doesn't happen.
Unusual Talent or Skill: I can levitate, juggle, whistle with a blade of grass and sing a low B...first thing in the morning, anyway.
Vegetable I Love: green peppers, red onions, white radish
Worst Habit: I don't know where to begin.
X-Rays: So many that my uterus probably glows in the dark - bad hip = many pelvic X-rays
Yummy Foods I Make: I make a great cucumber salad: lemon juice, feta cheese, cukes, red onions and dill. Let me know if you want the recipe
Zodiac Sign: Scorpio. Now you know why I'm so mysterious.
edited to remove some too specific information
Upsetting - anyone up for some dream interpretation?
I didn't sleep well last night. I had a bad day yesterday - I didn't eat all day long, and then Loki and I had an upsetting fight, and I think both of those contributed to my horrible dreams.
I have this recurring dream that always leaves me feeling disturbed. In this dream, I live in an apartment building, and somehow, I find myself helping a neighbor of mine who I've never met. He sends me an e-mail asking me to take out his garbage, and I run up to his apartment and take the trash out for him. But there is this unsettling feeling in my dream - I know there is something very off about this person, and there is something very wrong about helping this person I've never met.
While I'm in the dream, I feel like I'm under this person's spell - he's appealing to my desire to be helpful, but even as I'm carrying out the task he's asked me to help with, I feel like I'm participating in something terrible that my brain never acknowledges - at least not in my dream. When I'm awake, I speculate that this person is a serial killer and I'm taking out the trash that contains body parts of people he's sliced and diced, or something along those lines. And sometimes when I'm awake and I think about it, I wonder if this other person in my dream is actually just me. In my dream, I never meet him. I never have a problem getting into his apartment, and I feel protective of him.
Any dream interpreters out there?
I have this recurring dream that always leaves me feeling disturbed. In this dream, I live in an apartment building, and somehow, I find myself helping a neighbor of mine who I've never met. He sends me an e-mail asking me to take out his garbage, and I run up to his apartment and take the trash out for him. But there is this unsettling feeling in my dream - I know there is something very off about this person, and there is something very wrong about helping this person I've never met.
While I'm in the dream, I feel like I'm under this person's spell - he's appealing to my desire to be helpful, but even as I'm carrying out the task he's asked me to help with, I feel like I'm participating in something terrible that my brain never acknowledges - at least not in my dream. When I'm awake, I speculate that this person is a serial killer and I'm taking out the trash that contains body parts of people he's sliced and diced, or something along those lines. And sometimes when I'm awake and I think about it, I wonder if this other person in my dream is actually just me. In my dream, I never meet him. I never have a problem getting into his apartment, and I feel protective of him.
Any dream interpreters out there?
4/27/2006
TV
The TV has become my best friend lately. (If Loki is reading this, he will ask "just lately?"). I got season 1 of Scrubs on DVD from Netflix, and I finished watching the first two discs. Kind of a silly show, but it made me laugh a few times, which is all I really need from a sitcom.
On Tuesday, I watch Veronica Mars and House. Veronica Mars is currently my favorite show, and it's getting killed in the ratings, just like all the shows I dearly love seem to (*sob* Firefly; adieu, Arrested Development). First, VM was opposite Lost, and now it's opposite House, both of which are ratings juggernauts. And VM is superior to both of them.
Lost was an intriguing concept that is failing in execution - I liked some of the early episodes, but I started feeling bored midway through season 1. House has an intriguing main character who I can't completely buy because Bertie Wooster should not be wearing a leather jacket and riding a motorcycle. Plus, as a person who walks with a cane, it drives me nuts that House does not use the cane properly. Are there no medical consultants on the show? You use the cane in the hand opposite the bad leg!!! That bugs me.
Veronica Mars, though...the Buffy shaped hole in my heart has been adequately filled. Intricate plots that actually advance, tragic characters, comic relief, witty dialog, tension, mystery. And that leaves out Veronica herself, portrayed in a beautifully complex performance by Kristin Bell. She's been compared to Nancy Drew, but did we meet Nancy Drew when she was trying to figure out who raped her while she was unconcious after being roofied at a party?
I feel slightly guilty about my love for two (well, three, but one is not on right now) reality shows: The Amazing Race & Top Chef (Project Runway is the 3rd). I love TAR because it is the reality show I would most want to be on, although Loki and I would totally lose because of my gimpiness and his inability to be on time for things. I reluctantly tuned into Top Chef because it was produced by the same people who did Project Runway. At first, I didn't really care for TC, since I can't smell or taste the food, which makes it hard to really determine who should win.
But they've had some great "characters" in this first season - Tiffani, the bitchy, no-nonsense bisexual; LeeAnn, who offers hilarious one-liners on her fellow competitors ("I'm on a team with the big thinker and the no thinker") and solid skills in the kitchen; Harold, who is just plain sexy, until he puts his glasses on, which makes him sexier; Dave, who twitches and swears and cries; and Stephen Aspirino, the tool & douchebag - at first he annoyed me, but then I couldn't stop laughing at his clueless arrogance and self-aggrandizement.
As Homer Simpson said: TV: teacher, mother, secret lover.
On Tuesday, I watch Veronica Mars and House. Veronica Mars is currently my favorite show, and it's getting killed in the ratings, just like all the shows I dearly love seem to (*sob* Firefly; adieu, Arrested Development). First, VM was opposite Lost, and now it's opposite House, both of which are ratings juggernauts. And VM is superior to both of them.
Lost was an intriguing concept that is failing in execution - I liked some of the early episodes, but I started feeling bored midway through season 1. House has an intriguing main character who I can't completely buy because Bertie Wooster should not be wearing a leather jacket and riding a motorcycle. Plus, as a person who walks with a cane, it drives me nuts that House does not use the cane properly. Are there no medical consultants on the show? You use the cane in the hand opposite the bad leg!!! That bugs me.
Veronica Mars, though...the Buffy shaped hole in my heart has been adequately filled. Intricate plots that actually advance, tragic characters, comic relief, witty dialog, tension, mystery. And that leaves out Veronica herself, portrayed in a beautifully complex performance by Kristin Bell. She's been compared to Nancy Drew, but did we meet Nancy Drew when she was trying to figure out who raped her while she was unconcious after being roofied at a party?
I feel slightly guilty about my love for two (well, three, but one is not on right now) reality shows: The Amazing Race & Top Chef (Project Runway is the 3rd). I love TAR because it is the reality show I would most want to be on, although Loki and I would totally lose because of my gimpiness and his inability to be on time for things. I reluctantly tuned into Top Chef because it was produced by the same people who did Project Runway. At first, I didn't really care for TC, since I can't smell or taste the food, which makes it hard to really determine who should win.
But they've had some great "characters" in this first season - Tiffani, the bitchy, no-nonsense bisexual; LeeAnn, who offers hilarious one-liners on her fellow competitors ("I'm on a team with the big thinker and the no thinker") and solid skills in the kitchen; Harold, who is just plain sexy, until he puts his glasses on, which makes him sexier; Dave, who twitches and swears and cries; and Stephen Aspirino, the tool & douchebag - at first he annoyed me, but then I couldn't stop laughing at his clueless arrogance and self-aggrandizement.
As Homer Simpson said: TV: teacher, mother, secret lover.
4/25/2006
Results of yesterday's pondering
1. I've resolved to just continue monitoring the housing market and to move forward on some minor home improvement projects that will keep the value of our house from plummeting. I would guess the solution to this problem is more than 5 years away.
2. Possible solution: Trinity College has a special program for non-traditional students that offers classes at night and on the weekends. It offers a lot of flexibility. I am not sure if they offer a music major in this program, though. I'm looking into it.
3. Yes, but this is part of #1.
4. Still freaking.
5. I'm working up a flyer to distribute to neighbors. Before I distribute it, I may enlist my favorite neighbor to help.
2. Possible solution: Trinity College has a special program for non-traditional students that offers classes at night and on the weekends. It offers a lot of flexibility. I am not sure if they offer a music major in this program, though. I'm looking into it.
3. Yes, but this is part of #1.
4. Still freaking.
5. I'm working up a flyer to distribute to neighbors. Before I distribute it, I may enlist my favorite neighbor to help.
4/24/2006
Pondering
I've been quiet lately because I've been pondering some long term plans.
1. Loki and I have to move to a one level house at some point in the future. I will likely only be able to have one artificial hip, and they have a 10-15 year lifespan, so my mobility in the future will be similar to my pre-hip replacement level. So I need to start preparing to do something about that.
2. At some point in my schooling, there will be classes I have to take that are only offered during working hours. How can I manage this and still make money and have health insurance?
3. My younger sister has severe rheumatoid arthritis, and at some point, my mother won't be able to take care of her anymore. Can we think about buying a home that would allow her the opportunity to move away from my parents but still have family close enought to take care of her (i.e., an in-law apt. type of situation?)
4. Sio is going to start her senior year of high school in 4 months. I'm kind of freaking out about scholarships, financial aid, etc.
5. Since gas prices have gone so high, and I don't see that they'll ever go back down again, should I start talking to my neighbors about arranging an errand carpool? For example, if Mr. X at 22 is going to Home Depot on Saturday, he will bring Mr. T who also needs to go to Home Depot. Pros: would save gas, money. Cons: would have to talk to neighbors (my New England side is *very* New England).
1. Loki and I have to move to a one level house at some point in the future. I will likely only be able to have one artificial hip, and they have a 10-15 year lifespan, so my mobility in the future will be similar to my pre-hip replacement level. So I need to start preparing to do something about that.
2. At some point in my schooling, there will be classes I have to take that are only offered during working hours. How can I manage this and still make money and have health insurance?
3. My younger sister has severe rheumatoid arthritis, and at some point, my mother won't be able to take care of her anymore. Can we think about buying a home that would allow her the opportunity to move away from my parents but still have family close enought to take care of her (i.e., an in-law apt. type of situation?)
4. Sio is going to start her senior year of high school in 4 months. I'm kind of freaking out about scholarships, financial aid, etc.
5. Since gas prices have gone so high, and I don't see that they'll ever go back down again, should I start talking to my neighbors about arranging an errand carpool? For example, if Mr. X at 22 is going to Home Depot on Saturday, he will bring Mr. T who also needs to go to Home Depot. Pros: would save gas, money. Cons: would have to talk to neighbors (my New England side is *very* New England).
4/21/2006
I've been discovered!
One of the moms from my list found my blog yesterday, and she was not happy with my post. I won't apologize for expressing my opinion here, and I can't be upset, since I use the same name on the list as I do here, so it wasn't like I was working hard to be anonymous. But it's kind of weird when someone you know from one arena finds you in another...I guess I'm a big fan of compartmentalizing, keeping various aspects of my life separate from each other.
4/20/2006
What's bothering me today
Since 1996, I've been on an e-mail list of moms who were all due to have babies during the same month of 1997. We've been through all kinds of flame wars and insanity: breast or bottle, cloth or disposable, co-sleep or crib, spank or not, etc., etc. We've had list break-ups - a couple of very funny, smart, witty women left the list because they were tired of the more sensitive souls getting offended by bad language or sex talk. I've had some abuse heaped on me over the years because I am always willing to talk politics, and those who disagree with me hate discussing anything political with me because I will not concede them any of their points.
Anyway, we've been having a dust-up in the past week over religious issues. One of the moms, who happens to be a lesbian who belongs to a progressive and gay friendly Catholic parish, mentioned that baptisms are wonderful photo ops. A Catholic mom got hugely offended that anyone would refer to what she believes to be a sacred and deeply meaningful sacrament as a photo op - she saw the comment as a nasty jab. I did get involved at that point, and suggested that it was important that we be generous when interpreting the comments of others and not immediately leap to the conclusion that they were deliberately trying to insult us. I eventually got on the subject of Purity Balls, and once again, we were almost all in agreement that these events are creepy, so everything was good.
Then someone posted a link to a t-shirt that made a joke at Joseph Smith's expense (founder of the Mormon church). And everything got all hot and ugly again.
So today, I'm bothered by the Easily Offended; by the people who have no sense of humor about themselves or the things they believe in; to the folks who seem to get some kind of enjoyment from wearing twisted knickers.
Anyway, we've been having a dust-up in the past week over religious issues. One of the moms, who happens to be a lesbian who belongs to a progressive and gay friendly Catholic parish, mentioned that baptisms are wonderful photo ops. A Catholic mom got hugely offended that anyone would refer to what she believes to be a sacred and deeply meaningful sacrament as a photo op - she saw the comment as a nasty jab. I did get involved at that point, and suggested that it was important that we be generous when interpreting the comments of others and not immediately leap to the conclusion that they were deliberately trying to insult us. I eventually got on the subject of Purity Balls, and once again, we were almost all in agreement that these events are creepy, so everything was good.
Then someone posted a link to a t-shirt that made a joke at Joseph Smith's expense (founder of the Mormon church). And everything got all hot and ugly again.
So today, I'm bothered by the Easily Offended; by the people who have no sense of humor about themselves or the things they believe in; to the folks who seem to get some kind of enjoyment from wearing twisted knickers.
4/18/2006
I've got the blues, I'm in a funk
I can understand how blues music relates to the having the blues.
But I'm not sure how funk music relates to being in a funk. Unless, of course, listening to funk lifts you out of a funk, in which case, in the words of Rufus, in the voice of Chaka Khan, tell me something good.
But I'm not sure how funk music relates to being in a funk. Unless, of course, listening to funk lifts you out of a funk, in which case, in the words of Rufus, in the voice of Chaka Khan, tell me something good.
4/15/2006
For the love of Mom, Apple Pie, God, and everything that is holy and good...
...will someone in the publishing world *PLEASE* give Flea of One Good Thing a major book deal?
4/14/2006
Communion Conversation
At last night's Maundy Thursday service:
Sio: I have some of Jesus' body stuck in my teeth
My favorite tenor: That's okay - just wash it down with his blood!
Sio: I have some of Jesus' body stuck in my teeth
My favorite tenor: That's okay - just wash it down with his blood!
4/13/2006
Monkey speaks
Monkey writes exactly like she talks. I give you the following selections from her book report on Saving Shiloh:
and a later quote:
"What happens in the story is there is a person who got in an
accident from driving drunk, and his name is Judd Travers. Now that
he doesn't need his crutches anymore, everyone thinks that he's the
one committing all the crimes that are going house to house.
Everyone, but Marty. See, Marty keeps standing up for Judd because
he thinks that Judd is trying to change, and so it turns out that he
*is* trying to change, and the reason I found this out so early in
the book is that there is a big blizzard and school is out for,
like, three weeks! Then Judd comes by with one of those things plows
have, and is plowing everyone's drive."
and a later quote:
"When Judd steps back to see how the fence looks, he accidentally
steps on the black & white dog's paw, and it bites Judd, soaking his
leg in blood. So Marty obviously calls Doc, and they give Judd 56
stitches! Yikes!!"
4/12/2006
Lieberman sucks, but the local Democrats are good
On a party line vote, the Manchester, CT (my town) Board of Directors approved a living wage ordinance:
How about that - leveraging the power of town contracts to help working people. My town joins about 130 towns nationwide in approving a living wage ordinance.
"It's the right thing to do and it's important the taxpayers of Manchester know we are for supporting people," Democratic Deputy Mayor Lisa Paggioli O'Neill said, adding that the Republicans' argument that the ordinance hurts the working poor because it pays them more and nets them less government assistance is nonsense. "That just really upsets me. It's very difficult to live on welfare, and it's not a forever thing."
Democratic Director John Topping agreed, saying of employees and businesses, "I have no problem paying someone $11.06 and health benefits if they're going to get something and that's a town contract."
How about that - leveraging the power of town contracts to help working people. My town joins about 130 towns nationwide in approving a living wage ordinance.
Why my dissatisfaction with the Democrats cannot make me a Green Party supporter
I know I complain about the Democratic party, and I do have Lieberman as a Senator, I cannot throw my support to the local Green Party. Why? Because they do boneheaded things like this:
Smooth start, Greens.
The Green Party of Connecticut is poised to nominate a disbarred lawyer from Redding, Nancy Burton, as its candidate for state attorney general, a post statutorily required to be filled by a licensed lawyer.
Smooth start, Greens.
I just don't get the world anymore
St. Bernard Parish is considering hiring Michael "Heckuva Job" Brown's firm.
I just don't know what to say, other than WTF?
I just don't know what to say, other than WTF?
4/11/2006
The things we parents must do...
Tonight, after my madrigals class, I have to go buy two pairs of shoes, because Monkey has not one, but two different projects that require a shoebox.
I suppose I could just ask the people at the shoestore if they have any empty boxes, but that wouldn't be sporting, would it?
I suppose I could just ask the people at the shoestore if they have any empty boxes, but that wouldn't be sporting, would it?
Sio had a bad day
1. She fainted in Biology
2. She got sent home without getting to the library to print out her junior thesis which is due tomorrow
3. When she got home, she realized she had taken another students folder, which contained his junior thesis, which meant he had hers.
4. When she called the other student, she found his phone number has been disconnected.
5. In addition to printing out her junior thesis, she was supposed to have it bound.
6. The nearest Kinko's was open until 9pm.
7. It was 7pm before she got her folder
8. Loki has to leave for work at 9pm.
Thus far, things seem to have worked out okay - we made the folder exchange, and her boyfriend took her to a different Kinko's that is open 24 hours a day. Loki's computer only had WordPerfect, and through some sort of amazing serendipity (i.e., I did a little cleaning in my room), I found the MS Office CD that came with my old computer, and loaded it onto Loki's computer, which is the only working computer we have right now, although it doesn't have a working printer, which is why Sio had to print her paper out at school.
This is the downside to embracing the chaos, which I mostly do because I don't know how to combat it.
2. She got sent home without getting to the library to print out her junior thesis which is due tomorrow
3. When she got home, she realized she had taken another students folder, which contained his junior thesis, which meant he had hers.
4. When she called the other student, she found his phone number has been disconnected.
5. In addition to printing out her junior thesis, she was supposed to have it bound.
6. The nearest Kinko's was open until 9pm.
7. It was 7pm before she got her folder
8. Loki has to leave for work at 9pm.
Thus far, things seem to have worked out okay - we made the folder exchange, and her boyfriend took her to a different Kinko's that is open 24 hours a day. Loki's computer only had WordPerfect, and through some sort of amazing serendipity (i.e., I did a little cleaning in my room), I found the MS Office CD that came with my old computer, and loaded it onto Loki's computer, which is the only working computer we have right now, although it doesn't have a working printer, which is why Sio had to print her paper out at school.
This is the downside to embracing the chaos, which I mostly do because I don't know how to combat it.
4/10/2006
Tagged
Via Tom Hilton:
What is your favorite word? epiphany
What is your least favorite word? proactive
What turns you on creatively, spiritually or emotionally? Music, many different varieties.
What turns you off? bureaucracy
What is your favorite curse word? Motherfucker.
What sound or noise do you love? baby/toddler giggles
What sound or noise do you hate? sirens
What profession other than your own would you like to attempt? almost anything
What profession would you not like to do? Accountant
If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates? "go back, it's not time yet."
What is your favorite word? epiphany
What is your least favorite word? proactive
What turns you on creatively, spiritually or emotionally? Music, many different varieties.
What turns you off? bureaucracy
What is your favorite curse word? Motherfucker.
What sound or noise do you love? baby/toddler giggles
What sound or noise do you hate? sirens
What profession other than your own would you like to attempt? almost anything
What profession would you not like to do? Accountant
If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates? "go back, it's not time yet."
Inequality
Mr. Shakes put a fine post up this morning about feminism, and, as always happens in any online forum, it didn't take long for someone to show up to complain: but what about the men?
As always, there is a feminist sympathetic man who doesn't understand why we need to have a feminist movement (Toast, who I nearly always emphatically agree with - and I understand what he's saying, which is that equality is equality, so shouldn't we be fighting for equality rather than breaking apart women's rights as a separate issue? Toast, if it were a better world we lived in, I would agree with you, but as it stands, I can't).
There is also a commenter who is hostile to the idea of feminism, The Jenga Toppler. My favorite comment complains - in the same comment! - that he/she is offended by the notion that criticism of feminism comes from men feeling threatened, just a couple of short paragraphs above his/her statement of how threatened feminism makes him feel:
emphasis mine.
I'm not schooled in feminist theory, and I find a lot of the language of feminism tiresome, and I have an inner Groucho who doesn't want to join any club that would have me. But how can anyone, particularly a progressive man, take a look at where we are in the U.S. in 2006, and sincerely argue that we don't need feminism? Look at a picture of House of Representatives or the Senate. Look at the Supreme Court. Look at freaking South Dakota. Women are struggling to hold onto the ground they'd already gained. We have to break feminism apart because it's a different movement than humanism.
We shouldn't stop fighting for equal rights, but until we are all truly on a level playing field, we can't abandon the groups that are left behind.
As always, there is a feminist sympathetic man who doesn't understand why we need to have a feminist movement (Toast, who I nearly always emphatically agree with - and I understand what he's saying, which is that equality is equality, so shouldn't we be fighting for equality rather than breaking apart women's rights as a separate issue? Toast, if it were a better world we lived in, I would agree with you, but as it stands, I can't).
There is also a commenter who is hostile to the idea of feminism, The Jenga Toppler. My favorite comment complains - in the same comment! - that he/she is offended by the notion that criticism of feminism comes from men feeling threatened, just a couple of short paragraphs above his/her statement of how threatened feminism makes him feel:
snipped And not to mention the offensive premise that the only criticism of feminism can come because "men feel threatened" and not because the principles of feminism are wrong.
But of course, you haven't bothered to discuss the principles of feminism. Nor have you bothered to discuss the implications for a world in which the principles of feminism hold sway, or contrast this with a world in which humanism holds sway.
In fact, the whole article is thoroughly offensive. Men are denigrated throughout. Men who "are smart" wouldn't fight against feminism! What an argument. Condescension as a vote winner.
emphasis mine.
I'm not schooled in feminist theory, and I find a lot of the language of feminism tiresome, and I have an inner Groucho who doesn't want to join any club that would have me. But how can anyone, particularly a progressive man, take a look at where we are in the U.S. in 2006, and sincerely argue that we don't need feminism? Look at a picture of House of Representatives or the Senate. Look at the Supreme Court. Look at freaking South Dakota. Women are struggling to hold onto the ground they'd already gained. We have to break feminism apart because it's a different movement than humanism.
We shouldn't stop fighting for equal rights, but until we are all truly on a level playing field, we can't abandon the groups that are left behind.
4/07/2006
Me and My Father
Next Friday - Good Friday - I will be waking up early to take my father to Bridgeport, so he can take the ferry to Port Jefferson, Long Island, where my Uncle Michael lives. My father isn't allowed to drive right now because of his drunk driving recidivism, and my mother will be watching my niece, so I'll be the driver.
In light of my recent post about trying to change, I suppose I can look to my father for some guidance. We've never had a good relationship - our relationship was defined by fear, namely, my fear of daddy.
Daddy woke up early every day - before dawn, most of the time. He'd be at work an hour before I ever got out of bed. He worked 6 days a week, 10 hours a day. Monday through Friday, he worked as a carpenter for a big construction company; Saturdays, he did contracting work, mostly for friends and people who got his number from friends.
On Mondays, when daddy got home from work, my older sister and I would disappear to our room. We wouldn't want to come out until we knew what kind of mood he was in, and on Mondays, he was usually in a bad mood - the Irish club, where he would go to drink, was closed on Monday.
Some days he would come home after hoisting a few at the club, and he'd be in a cheerful mood. He'd walk in the door, his 6'4" frame ducking as he walked under the overhead light in the kitchen, and he'd swoop up my sister and I in his arms. He smelled like sweat and sawdust and cigarettes and beer, and his beard would be coming in red, although his hair was black.
On good mood days, he would sit down and my sister and I would each take off one of his boots, and peel off his white tube socks. After dinner, we knew exactly how he liked his tea, and he would sit on the couch and fall asleep with a toothpick in his mouth.
Some days he would come home in what appeared to be a good mood, but it was really the Crazy Mood, the mood that could turn on you and backhand you across the face. We learned how to tiptoe around daddy, to be invisible and unnoticed.
He was in a crazy mood the day he tried to hit my sister with a lead pipe. And the day he punched me in the nose because I was washing the dishes too slowly. And the day he punched me so many times my whole back was black and blue because I was jumping on my bed.
My mother would sometimes take my father's good moods as an opportunity to talk to him about things that would put him a bad mood - we always kind of resented her for that. When he was in a crazy mood, she would sometimes pack all of us kids into the car and start driving to New York, but we rarely got past the caterpillar bridge in Middletown before she would turn back.
As my sister and I got older, the physical abuse subsided, except for one huge incident when T. turned 18 and moved out of the house. My father forbade any of us from saying her name, talking to her, or reminding him that she existed. And one day, I got caught talking to my sister on the phone, and my father picked up a wing chair and slammed it down on my head. I was 16 years old at the time, and I don't even remember getting hurt, I think because I was so furious. I barely remember what happened after that, but my mother tells me she found me two hours later hiding under the picnic table in our backyard.
So you can see why my relationship with my father was defined by fear. He was fucking scary!
Despite all that, my father also could be tender. The back half acre of our yard was a field for many years, and when my father finally cut the field down with a scythe, he found a nest of baby rabbits. He carefully scooped out the sleeping bunnies, finished mowing the field down, and replaced them back in their nest. And when we got splinters, daddy was the one who could take them out without making us cry.
My father would never say he was proud of me, and except for once, he never came to any of my concerts, plays, or softball games. But when I went to the club, his friends always seemed to know what was going on in my life, so clearly, whatever he couldn't say to me, he could say to them.
When I moved out, I basically cut my father out of my life. I didn't do it in a ritualistic, decisive way - I just stopped talking to him.
Lately, my relationship with my father has changed. I can't imagine a time when he would call me to take him on a drive. He's planning to do some landscaping at our house this summer, and he's talked about other projects he'd like to do at our house. It's kind of weird, because we've never talked about things that happened in the past, but I feel like I know how he feels, and he knows how I feel, and we're just putting it behind us.
In light of my recent post about trying to change, I suppose I can look to my father for some guidance. We've never had a good relationship - our relationship was defined by fear, namely, my fear of daddy.
Daddy woke up early every day - before dawn, most of the time. He'd be at work an hour before I ever got out of bed. He worked 6 days a week, 10 hours a day. Monday through Friday, he worked as a carpenter for a big construction company; Saturdays, he did contracting work, mostly for friends and people who got his number from friends.
On Mondays, when daddy got home from work, my older sister and I would disappear to our room. We wouldn't want to come out until we knew what kind of mood he was in, and on Mondays, he was usually in a bad mood - the Irish club, where he would go to drink, was closed on Monday.
Some days he would come home after hoisting a few at the club, and he'd be in a cheerful mood. He'd walk in the door, his 6'4" frame ducking as he walked under the overhead light in the kitchen, and he'd swoop up my sister and I in his arms. He smelled like sweat and sawdust and cigarettes and beer, and his beard would be coming in red, although his hair was black.
On good mood days, he would sit down and my sister and I would each take off one of his boots, and peel off his white tube socks. After dinner, we knew exactly how he liked his tea, and he would sit on the couch and fall asleep with a toothpick in his mouth.
Some days he would come home in what appeared to be a good mood, but it was really the Crazy Mood, the mood that could turn on you and backhand you across the face. We learned how to tiptoe around daddy, to be invisible and unnoticed.
He was in a crazy mood the day he tried to hit my sister with a lead pipe. And the day he punched me in the nose because I was washing the dishes too slowly. And the day he punched me so many times my whole back was black and blue because I was jumping on my bed.
My mother would sometimes take my father's good moods as an opportunity to talk to him about things that would put him a bad mood - we always kind of resented her for that. When he was in a crazy mood, she would sometimes pack all of us kids into the car and start driving to New York, but we rarely got past the caterpillar bridge in Middletown before she would turn back.
As my sister and I got older, the physical abuse subsided, except for one huge incident when T. turned 18 and moved out of the house. My father forbade any of us from saying her name, talking to her, or reminding him that she existed. And one day, I got caught talking to my sister on the phone, and my father picked up a wing chair and slammed it down on my head. I was 16 years old at the time, and I don't even remember getting hurt, I think because I was so furious. I barely remember what happened after that, but my mother tells me she found me two hours later hiding under the picnic table in our backyard.
So you can see why my relationship with my father was defined by fear. He was fucking scary!
Despite all that, my father also could be tender. The back half acre of our yard was a field for many years, and when my father finally cut the field down with a scythe, he found a nest of baby rabbits. He carefully scooped out the sleeping bunnies, finished mowing the field down, and replaced them back in their nest. And when we got splinters, daddy was the one who could take them out without making us cry.
My father would never say he was proud of me, and except for once, he never came to any of my concerts, plays, or softball games. But when I went to the club, his friends always seemed to know what was going on in my life, so clearly, whatever he couldn't say to me, he could say to them.
When I moved out, I basically cut my father out of my life. I didn't do it in a ritualistic, decisive way - I just stopped talking to him.
Lately, my relationship with my father has changed. I can't imagine a time when he would call me to take him on a drive. He's planning to do some landscaping at our house this summer, and he's talked about other projects he'd like to do at our house. It's kind of weird, because we've never talked about things that happened in the past, but I feel like I know how he feels, and he knows how I feel, and we're just putting it behind us.
Have you thanked Harry Taylor yet?
By now, you have heard about Harry Taylor. This story makes me happy and sad at the same time. I was thrilled to read Mr. Taylor's statement to the president - it's about bloody time Bush had to face someone who wasn't a fawning supporter. And I was sort of thrilled to read the pages and pages of Thank You's on this webpage.
But how sad it is for our country that one person getting to say something oppositional or critical to our president is such a stand-out moment.
On the plus side, Bush is at 36%, and as long as Mr. Taylor is only the first of many people to speak up and get noticed, maybe we can get those numbers to do the Limbo.
But how sad it is for our country that one person getting to say something oppositional or critical to our president is such a stand-out moment.
On the plus side, Bush is at 36%, and as long as Mr. Taylor is only the first of many people to speak up and get noticed, maybe we can get those numbers to do the Limbo.
4/05/2006
Tasteless
SCARBOROUGH: Did Hillary Clinton leave the White House in shambles? Well, according to a new book, first lady Laura Bush found worn and outdated furniture, frayed carpeting, and just absolutely tasteless decorations, from the Oval Office to the East Wing. Was Hillary too busy trying to play assistant president?
Now Laura Bush is an arbiter of taste? I submit that she wouldn't recognize taste if it was sitting in the passenger seat with her high school boyfriend.
Exhibit A:
Nice back to the future hair, mrs. Bush - where did you get it cut, 1955?
Exhibit B:
Oh, my goodness, that dress is Texas trashy, and a woman with Laura's figure should not be putting a delicate ribbon around her waist. Plus...are those plastic ornaments on the tree?
Exhibit C:
Look at what she married.
I realize I'm not addressing the larger point here, which is that in 2006, we are still talking about homemaking as woman's domain. This is an effort to put Hillary Clinton in a box - she's a woman, and she's not good at womanly things! - for the sole point of making Hillary appear diminished, worthless. I'm not a fan of Hillary Clinton, and I sincerely hope she is not the Democratic candidate in 08, but this is ridiculous.
And Laura Bush shows her classlessness by spreading the rumor through a subordinate. Graceless, classless, tasteless.
Three Good Things
1. Today's Hartford Courant headline: Bush Visit Delights Dems. I'm glad to see the local Dems embracing the fact that Bush is unpopular, and seeing that it can hurt Shays chances for re-election.
2. It's stopped snowing, and the sun is out.
3. One of my co-workers is now the proud father of twin boys - 6 lbs, 10 oz & 5 lbs, 13 oz - that's 12 lbs, 7 oz of baby!
2. It's stopped snowing, and the sun is out.
3. One of my co-workers is now the proud father of twin boys - 6 lbs, 10 oz & 5 lbs, 13 oz - that's 12 lbs, 7 oz of baby!
Three bad things
1. It's snowing. Big, fat, wet flakes of snow are falling and accumulating.
2. Apparently, I sprained my back while sitting on my fat ass. Who knew that could be an injury prone activity?
3. Monkey has pneumonia. It hurts to hear her breathe, and it sound worse today, 24 hours after she started taking antibiotics.
2. Apparently, I sprained my back while sitting on my fat ass. Who knew that could be an injury prone activity?
3. Monkey has pneumonia. It hurts to hear her breathe, and it sound worse today, 24 hours after she started taking antibiotics.
4/03/2006
Can people change?
I mentioned in my post below that we never leave the house without something to read. The book I stashed in the trunk on Sunday morning was Separate Flights - a collection of short stories plus a novella by Andre Dubus.
The novella included in this collection is called We Don't Live Here Anymore. The protagonist is Jack Linden, and the story is about marriage and adultery - the near dissolution of his marriage due to adultery. It's not a happy picture of marriage, but what makes the story so resonant for me is Jack's description of his wife, Terry, a woman he no longer loves. Terry is described as angry, as a slob; she drinks too much and never takes care of the house, and one event that really raises Jack's ire is when he realizes she never changed the sheets after their son wet his bed. Tied together with finding two pots on the basement stairs, pots that were used a month prior and still were never cleaned, Jack finds his justification for his ongoing adulterous relationship with his friend's wife.
Terry claims she forgot about them, but Jack doesn't believe her - and although Jack may not be the most reliable narrator, he makes a compelling case for why she really didn't forget about them.
Because Dubus is a masterful writer, Terry is still a sympathetic character. She is a woman who found herself unexpectedly pregnant, before her own life even started, and clearly yearns for a life that doesn't involve washing dishes or changing sheets. She spends her days reading books Jack brings home. She wants something other than what she has, but she seems powerless to change.
If you are a regular reader, you might see from the previous paragraph why the story is resonant for me.
So I was navel gazing this weekend in between reading stories and sitting in my car waiting for my promised ride to pick me up. I am a great inputter of stuff: I watch too much television, read too many blogs, eat too much food; meanwhile, I put off doing stuff: while I read, the dishes pile up in the sink. While I watch TV, life is happening. And the eating...alcoholism is prevalent in my family, and food is my substitute for booze. I eat too much and for reasons other than hunger.
As a child, I hated to admit that I was wrong, or that it was even possible for me to be wrong, but I'm comfortable with it now, and I freely acknowledge my many flaws: my bad temper, overeating, neglect of my home, the way I have embraced entropy. And I tell myself that it's just the way I am, and everytime I try to make a change, I find myself back where I started, and that just reinforces it: I cannot change.
But it's not how I want to be, and if it's my life, I should be able to change it, right? I'm not sure I believe that I can change my life; that anyone can change, really. And if I can change, I'm not sure how to do it. I've tried to change my habits before and I always end up back where I started. I am quick to break promises to myself.
I wonder if the only way to really change is do something dramatic, something that throws your old life into upheaval, making it essential to find a different way to do things. Or should it be done incrementally, slowly and methodically?
Any suggestions, oh so quiet and perhaps non-existant readers?
The novella included in this collection is called We Don't Live Here Anymore. The protagonist is Jack Linden, and the story is about marriage and adultery - the near dissolution of his marriage due to adultery. It's not a happy picture of marriage, but what makes the story so resonant for me is Jack's description of his wife, Terry, a woman he no longer loves. Terry is described as angry, as a slob; she drinks too much and never takes care of the house, and one event that really raises Jack's ire is when he realizes she never changed the sheets after their son wet his bed. Tied together with finding two pots on the basement stairs, pots that were used a month prior and still were never cleaned, Jack finds his justification for his ongoing adulterous relationship with his friend's wife.
Terry claims she forgot about them, but Jack doesn't believe her - and although Jack may not be the most reliable narrator, he makes a compelling case for why she really didn't forget about them.
Because Dubus is a masterful writer, Terry is still a sympathetic character. She is a woman who found herself unexpectedly pregnant, before her own life even started, and clearly yearns for a life that doesn't involve washing dishes or changing sheets. She spends her days reading books Jack brings home. She wants something other than what she has, but she seems powerless to change.
If you are a regular reader, you might see from the previous paragraph why the story is resonant for me.
So I was navel gazing this weekend in between reading stories and sitting in my car waiting for my promised ride to pick me up. I am a great inputter of stuff: I watch too much television, read too many blogs, eat too much food; meanwhile, I put off doing stuff: while I read, the dishes pile up in the sink. While I watch TV, life is happening. And the eating...alcoholism is prevalent in my family, and food is my substitute for booze. I eat too much and for reasons other than hunger.
As a child, I hated to admit that I was wrong, or that it was even possible for me to be wrong, but I'm comfortable with it now, and I freely acknowledge my many flaws: my bad temper, overeating, neglect of my home, the way I have embraced entropy. And I tell myself that it's just the way I am, and everytime I try to make a change, I find myself back where I started, and that just reinforces it: I cannot change.
But it's not how I want to be, and if it's my life, I should be able to change it, right? I'm not sure I believe that I can change my life; that anyone can change, really. And if I can change, I'm not sure how to do it. I've tried to change my habits before and I always end up back where I started. I am quick to break promises to myself.
I wonder if the only way to really change is do something dramatic, something that throws your old life into upheaval, making it essential to find a different way to do things. Or should it be done incrementally, slowly and methodically?
Any suggestions, oh so quiet and perhaps non-existant readers?
My kingdom for a Vicodin
I mentioned yesterday that my back hurt, but yesterday was nothing compared to how it feels today. Holy Tibetan Monks, I would kill for a Vicodin right now.
4/02/2006
A beautiful day, and yet
As usual, my mother called me last night to remind me to spring forward, but the sun and blue sky pouring through my bedroom window woke me long before my alarm was due to go off.
Loki had a serious eating and drinking event with his BIL, so he stayed at his sister's last night, and Sio was still in Washington D.C., so Monkey and I headed out the door to church.
Today's sermon was completely inoffensive, and I was in high spirits as Monkey and I left church and headed out to the car. We buckled ourselves in, turned the key, and hit the button for the stupid security system our car came with, and nothing happened. I couldn't start the car. We locked it up and decided to go for a little walk, so we headed over to Bushnell Park with our books.* We came back, tried again. Nothing.
So I called Loki, and he said his sister would come get us. And she did -- almost 3 hours later. She was not assessed of our situation in a timely fashion. Loki is happy to be at work, and not here, where I am still angry that he took so long to get out to us.
I did something to my back, and now I can hardly move. I left the car in the church parking lot (note to self: call the church in the morning to let them know it's your car), and my mother is coming to pick me up at 5:45 a.m. so I can direct her to Loki's place of business.
On the plus side, it really was beautiful today, Sio's group won all the first place awards at the adjudication, and we have enough money in the bank to pay for whatever needs to be fixed (Loki and I think we just have to get rid of that motherfucking security system that we both hate - the battery has juice, everything else seems to work except for the mf security system.)
*We never leave the house without something to read.
Loki had a serious eating and drinking event with his BIL, so he stayed at his sister's last night, and Sio was still in Washington D.C., so Monkey and I headed out the door to church.
Today's sermon was completely inoffensive, and I was in high spirits as Monkey and I left church and headed out to the car. We buckled ourselves in, turned the key, and hit the button for the stupid security system our car came with, and nothing happened. I couldn't start the car. We locked it up and decided to go for a little walk, so we headed over to Bushnell Park with our books.* We came back, tried again. Nothing.
So I called Loki, and he said his sister would come get us. And she did -- almost 3 hours later. She was not assessed of our situation in a timely fashion. Loki is happy to be at work, and not here, where I am still angry that he took so long to get out to us.
I did something to my back, and now I can hardly move. I left the car in the church parking lot (note to self: call the church in the morning to let them know it's your car), and my mother is coming to pick me up at 5:45 a.m. so I can direct her to Loki's place of business.
On the plus side, it really was beautiful today, Sio's group won all the first place awards at the adjudication, and we have enough money in the bank to pay for whatever needs to be fixed (Loki and I think we just have to get rid of that motherfucking security system that we both hate - the battery has juice, everything else seems to work except for the mf security system.)
*We never leave the house without something to read.
3/29/2006
You can still do this in America, right?
Tomorrow morning, Sio will be heading to Washington D.C., along with the a capella singing group at her school, for a Superiors Music ajudication. That means that in order to participate, your singing group must have been judged superior at a previous festival.
Since I am being forced to spend my hard earned money in Washington D.C. (something I didn't want to do while the Republicans hold power, but essentially had to because Sio doesn't have a job), I told Sio that I would feel I got my money's worth if she would go past the White House, flip the bird* towards the occupant, and use her First Amendment rights to express her true feeling towards said occupant, using whatever words she felt appropriate, 4 letters or more.
You can still do that in America, right?
*Alternatively, she could offer the Sicilian Salute, now Supreme Court Justice Approved! Although apparently, it's not really obscene, and therefore, inappropriate.
Since I am being forced to spend my hard earned money in Washington D.C. (something I didn't want to do while the Republicans hold power, but essentially had to because Sio doesn't have a job), I told Sio that I would feel I got my money's worth if she would go past the White House, flip the bird* towards the occupant, and use her First Amendment rights to express her true feeling towards said occupant, using whatever words she felt appropriate, 4 letters or more.
You can still do that in America, right?
*Alternatively, she could offer the Sicilian Salute, now Supreme Court Justice Approved! Although apparently, it's not really obscene, and therefore, inappropriate.
3/27/2006
Action Item
Shorter Firedoglake: enough talking, time for some action.
FDL is asking us to fax our Congresscritters about the illegal wiretapping program of the Executive Branch. Currently, the majority of our Democratic representatives in Congress are set on "dither" - it's time to push them into some action, and the very least they can do, almost literally, is to support Feingold's censure motion.
FDL is asking us to fax our Congresscritters about the illegal wiretapping program of the Executive Branch. Currently, the majority of our Democratic representatives in Congress are set on "dither" - it's time to push them into some action, and the very least they can do, almost literally, is to support Feingold's censure motion.
3/23/2006
"The founding fathers didn't trust George Washington with unlimited power, so why would we trust George Bush?"
Ladies and Gentleman, I give you Sean Patrick Maloney.
from Digby:
Makes me feel all proud to be an Irish-American.
from Digby:
March, 23rd. New York City - Today Sean Patrick Maloney, former senior Clinton White House official and investigative attorney running for the Democratic nomination for New York Attorney General, revealed a fresh idea to "legalize" the Bush Administration's warrantless wiretapping program using a complaint that can be filed in federal court.
The complaint would seek a federal court order requiring the Bush Administration to comply with the law. The plan does not stop, compromise or hamper ongoing operations but instead compels the Bush Administration to appear in federal court, in secret session, to show cause for wiretapping any citizens of New York.
It is against New York state law to monitor communications over the phone without consent of the parties or without a court order. The benefit to New Yorkers, who cannot sue on their own behalf because the wiretapping is secret, is to initiate judicial oversight of the Bush Administration's program.
Maloney said, "As a New Yorker, I am committed to stopping, capturing, punishing or killing the terrorists who target America for attack, but I am also committed to the rule of law in this country, or at least this state. George Bush is not above the law.
"My plan both fights terrorism and protects New Yorkers' privacy from unauthorized or unconstitutional government intrusion. It does not compromise or halt ongoing anti-terror operations. It legalizes them. It's clear the Bush Administration is operating outside of New York law without legal federal authority."
There is recent case law and precedent for state attorneys general to act against federal actors who break state law and are acting outside of congressional authority. The Oregon Attorney General successfully sued then-United States Attorney General John Ashcroft, stopping him from undermining that state's assisted suicide law (analogous to New York's wiretapping law) without Congressional authorization to do so (as with the NSA's actions here).
The Maloney campaign is supporting this idea with the first paid television ads of the campaign for Attorney General. Entitled "Good Question" the 30-second spot, which airs statewide starting today, makes the charge that the President is outside his authority in using warrantless wiretaps and is violating New York state law. In the ad, Sean Patrick Maloney asks, "The founding fathers didn't trust George Washington with unlimited power, so why would we trust George Bush?"
Makes me feel all proud to be an Irish-American.
Wild in the city
I love reading about wild animals in the heart of the city. I know they coyotes can be, at best, a nuisance, and at worst, a real danger, but there is something so viscerally pleasing about the idea of a wild animal roaming the streets of Manhattan.
When I worked for a certain oldest continuously published newspaper in the United States, I volunteered to work on Saturday mornings (old suck-ups die hard). I had to be in at 6am, and I really enjoyed coming into the quiet city, not fighting with any traffic. And since it was Hartford on the weekend, there were no people to be found, either.
One Saturday morning, I was near the train station, about to head towards Farmington Avenue, and a huge deer jumped out in front of me. It was a buck, and I wondered for a moment if The Hartford Insurance Co. was shooting a commercial. But they weren't, it was just me and the deer in downtown Hartford.
When I worked for a certain oldest continuously published newspaper in the United States, I volunteered to work on Saturday mornings (old suck-ups die hard). I had to be in at 6am, and I really enjoyed coming into the quiet city, not fighting with any traffic. And since it was Hartford on the weekend, there were no people to be found, either.
One Saturday morning, I was near the train station, about to head towards Farmington Avenue, and a huge deer jumped out in front of me. It was a buck, and I wondered for a moment if The Hartford Insurance Co. was shooting a commercial. But they weren't, it was just me and the deer in downtown Hartford.
I need to get this off my chest
This is in response to some of the commenters to this post over The Chemist's - his comments aren't working:
However, the choice of when you reproduce is made BEFORE conception...not after.
Yeah, and sometimes the condom breaks, or the birth control doesn't work, and then you find yourself unexpectedly pregnant. Not you, AC, because you're not a woman, but I've been there, sir.
You might find it disgusting that a woman might choose to have an abortion just because she doesn't want to be pregnant. I mean, it's really unseemly that a woman would be able to have sex and not have to suffer some sort of consequence, isn't it? Only women who are already downtrodden and victims, of rape or incest, are permitted to decide whether they are ready to be a parent when they find themselves unexpectedly pregnant?
Frankly, I find it abhorhent and repellent that you think you should have any right to consign a woman to giving birth whether she wants to or not - and to suffer the many risks inherent with pregnancy.
Take me, for example. With my first pregnancy (unexpected because of condom failure, but don't get too disgusted, AC - the guy and I got married, and despite our premarital fooling around, we are still happily married 17 years later) I had hyperemesis, i.e., I threw up several times a day, every day, for the entire pregnancy. I lost 60 lbs when I was pregnant with my first child.
That's actually not as major as some people I know - a friend of mine who was due around the time I was developed preeclampsia, and in order to keep her from dying, they delivered the baby at 24 weeks along. He was in NICU for several months, well after the time he would have been delivered if she had not developed preeclampsia, and to this day, he has trouble breathing and is a few years behind his age cohort in school.
Another friend due the same week as me had what they call an incompetent cervix. Her son was unexpectedly born at about 25 weeks. He is now 9 years old. He doesn't walk, he cannot talk, and he lost an eye because he was on oxygen for so long.
Both of those babies were very much wanted and were lucky enough to come into families that had the resources to care for them. And those are just two of many, many things that can go wrong during pregnancy.
Now, if I had either of those problems, I would have been in deep shit. We had no medical insurance and made about $14,000 a year, which was supposed to support a family of 3. I went a lot of days eating only a hard boiled egg. At Christmas, we splurged and bought a chicken. I breastfed because I couldn't afford formula, and I ended up losing a tooth because I couldn't afford to buy vitamins to supplement my diet and the calcium I was losing by nursing. (Never mind visiting the dentist - I thank my lucky stars that we had fluoridated water, because we couldn't afford a dentist visit until my daughter was 7 years old. You know why? Because we had no medical insurance and it took us 7 years to pay off the hospital bill for her birth.)
You every try to get a job when you're missing a tooth, AC?
So please don't get too disgusted, AC. Sometimes, when a woman has to make a difficult choice, she actually analyzes her current situation, and tries to make the best possible decision she can under the circumstances, and maybe that doesn't meet with your approval. But who the hell are you to tell her she shouldn't be allowed to assess her own life, her own situation, and make the best decision she can without useless, bloviating moralizing from people whose need to feel morally superior is so much more important to them then the lives of the people they are hurting.
to Ryan:
I rather think that the life has intrinsic value, wanted or otherwise.
but apparently, only the potential life has intrinsic value. The slut who had sex made her choice already, am I right?
However, the choice of when you reproduce is made BEFORE conception...not after.
Yeah, and sometimes the condom breaks, or the birth control doesn't work, and then you find yourself unexpectedly pregnant. Not you, AC, because you're not a woman, but I've been there, sir.
You might find it disgusting that a woman might choose to have an abortion just because she doesn't want to be pregnant. I mean, it's really unseemly that a woman would be able to have sex and not have to suffer some sort of consequence, isn't it? Only women who are already downtrodden and victims, of rape or incest, are permitted to decide whether they are ready to be a parent when they find themselves unexpectedly pregnant?
Frankly, I find it abhorhent and repellent that you think you should have any right to consign a woman to giving birth whether she wants to or not - and to suffer the many risks inherent with pregnancy.
Take me, for example. With my first pregnancy (unexpected because of condom failure, but don't get too disgusted, AC - the guy and I got married, and despite our premarital fooling around, we are still happily married 17 years later) I had hyperemesis, i.e., I threw up several times a day, every day, for the entire pregnancy. I lost 60 lbs when I was pregnant with my first child.
That's actually not as major as some people I know - a friend of mine who was due around the time I was developed preeclampsia, and in order to keep her from dying, they delivered the baby at 24 weeks along. He was in NICU for several months, well after the time he would have been delivered if she had not developed preeclampsia, and to this day, he has trouble breathing and is a few years behind his age cohort in school.
Another friend due the same week as me had what they call an incompetent cervix. Her son was unexpectedly born at about 25 weeks. He is now 9 years old. He doesn't walk, he cannot talk, and he lost an eye because he was on oxygen for so long.
Both of those babies were very much wanted and were lucky enough to come into families that had the resources to care for them. And those are just two of many, many things that can go wrong during pregnancy.
Now, if I had either of those problems, I would have been in deep shit. We had no medical insurance and made about $14,000 a year, which was supposed to support a family of 3. I went a lot of days eating only a hard boiled egg. At Christmas, we splurged and bought a chicken. I breastfed because I couldn't afford formula, and I ended up losing a tooth because I couldn't afford to buy vitamins to supplement my diet and the calcium I was losing by nursing. (Never mind visiting the dentist - I thank my lucky stars that we had fluoridated water, because we couldn't afford a dentist visit until my daughter was 7 years old. You know why? Because we had no medical insurance and it took us 7 years to pay off the hospital bill for her birth.)
You every try to get a job when you're missing a tooth, AC?
So please don't get too disgusted, AC. Sometimes, when a woman has to make a difficult choice, she actually analyzes her current situation, and tries to make the best possible decision she can under the circumstances, and maybe that doesn't meet with your approval. But who the hell are you to tell her she shouldn't be allowed to assess her own life, her own situation, and make the best decision she can without useless, bloviating moralizing from people whose need to feel morally superior is so much more important to them then the lives of the people they are hurting.
to Ryan:
I rather think that the life has intrinsic value, wanted or otherwise.
but apparently, only the potential life has intrinsic value. The slut who had sex made her choice already, am I right?
3/22/2006
Trip Day 2
February 17, 2006
As usual, I had to get up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom - it was about 3am, Paris time. And Loki was not back yet. He went out to visit a particular pub that we had passed on our walk back from Sacre Coeur. I don't know everything that happened while he was out, but he did share that the area around the Moulin Rouge gets really, really seedy after midnight.
Unfortunately for Loki, we had a 5:30 wake-up call, so we got up, rearranged our luggage, and set off for Porte Maillot. We took M2 to Charles de Gaulle Etoile, and a very nice custodian led us through the nice warm mall to the door that led to the parking lot where buses to the airports waited. It's the cane, it makes people want to help me.
We got on the bus, and a short time later, we were on our way to the Paris Beauvais airport, about a 50 minute ride from Central Paris. I was the only member of our party to stay awake, and I'm glad I did - we traveled through a lot of the residential areas of the city, and when we left the city, we motored by a lot of farmland.
The Beauvais airport is tiny - it's a hallway with a few canvas hangers attached to it. The announcements were all in French; although someone was attempting to make announcements in English, it really was unrecognizable. We quickly figured out that "Dooblah" was actually Dublin, and therefore we were able to get in the right line.
Loki got out of line to go to the bathroom and almost created an international incident when he tried to get back in line right behind me, right when I was about to go through security, without showing his passport at the gate. What a troublemaker!
We were ushered through to one of the canvas hangers, where the wind was sweeping down the plain - the noise of the wind against the canvas was so loud that I couldn't hear any of the announcements.
Sio, being her friendly self, met a family from Dublin and whiled away the next hour chatting with them. Monkey was surly and overtired, and she and I sat and split a bottle of water and a croissant. A couple sat across from us, and I immediately liked the man - his face expressed such humor and good nature, and he seemed to take to Monkey, offering her peanut M&Ms and doing silly magic tricks for her, which improved her mood. She shared that "nous ne soutenon pas le President Bush", and he laughed - a nice hearty laugh.
Ryanair allows family to board first, so we got good seats at the front of the plane. Loki, Sio, and Monkey all had window seats - I took the aisle so I could keep my left leg straight. Loki tried to stay awake for the landing, but only Monkey and I saw the shoreline of Ireland as we landed at the Dublin airport.
(to be continued....)
As usual, I had to get up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom - it was about 3am, Paris time. And Loki was not back yet. He went out to visit a particular pub that we had passed on our walk back from Sacre Coeur. I don't know everything that happened while he was out, but he did share that the area around the Moulin Rouge gets really, really seedy after midnight.
Unfortunately for Loki, we had a 5:30 wake-up call, so we got up, rearranged our luggage, and set off for Porte Maillot. We took M2 to Charles de Gaulle Etoile, and a very nice custodian led us through the nice warm mall to the door that led to the parking lot where buses to the airports waited. It's the cane, it makes people want to help me.
We got on the bus, and a short time later, we were on our way to the Paris Beauvais airport, about a 50 minute ride from Central Paris. I was the only member of our party to stay awake, and I'm glad I did - we traveled through a lot of the residential areas of the city, and when we left the city, we motored by a lot of farmland.
The Beauvais airport is tiny - it's a hallway with a few canvas hangers attached to it. The announcements were all in French; although someone was attempting to make announcements in English, it really was unrecognizable. We quickly figured out that "Dooblah" was actually Dublin, and therefore we were able to get in the right line.
Loki got out of line to go to the bathroom and almost created an international incident when he tried to get back in line right behind me, right when I was about to go through security, without showing his passport at the gate. What a troublemaker!
We were ushered through to one of the canvas hangers, where the wind was sweeping down the plain - the noise of the wind against the canvas was so loud that I couldn't hear any of the announcements.
Sio, being her friendly self, met a family from Dublin and whiled away the next hour chatting with them. Monkey was surly and overtired, and she and I sat and split a bottle of water and a croissant. A couple sat across from us, and I immediately liked the man - his face expressed such humor and good nature, and he seemed to take to Monkey, offering her peanut M&Ms and doing silly magic tricks for her, which improved her mood. She shared that "nous ne soutenon pas le President Bush", and he laughed - a nice hearty laugh.
Ryanair allows family to board first, so we got good seats at the front of the plane. Loki, Sio, and Monkey all had window seats - I took the aisle so I could keep my left leg straight. Loki tried to stay awake for the landing, but only Monkey and I saw the shoreline of Ireland as we landed at the Dublin airport.
(to be continued....)
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